Chapter 18
EACH WOLF took a moment to call home while preparing their weapons. Mac didn’t anticipate a problem, based on their scouting of the area, but he was as anxious to check with Hannah as the others, each needing to connect with his mate. Once upon a time, the Wolves walked into a mission without looking back. That was before a spitfire blond showed up and insisted she accompany them on their next assignment. Mac’s life had never been the same. Lightfoot, his eye glued to his sniper scope, still managed to call and speak to Liz, murmuring endearments before making daddy noises at his toddler son, Micah. Mac watched the house through binoculars, pretending not to hear.
Lightfoot signed off with a quiet, “I love you both.” He didn’t look at Mac, keeping his focus instead on the scene below.
Mac hunkered next to him, squatting on his heels. “You know what to do.”
“I know what they look like. They won’t get out if the rest of you miss.”
Mac laid his palm on Lightfoot’s shoulder and gave a small squeeze. Then he faded back without a sound. Each man had their assignment. Lightfoot, as always, had high cover and would secure the path of their retreat. It was up to him to make sure they got back, and to ensure that none of their enemies survived. Sean and Nate carried packs of explosives. Sean split right, Nate left. Mac, Rudy, and Antoine filtered down the hillside, shadows moving like clouds across the moon. Half the house was lit up and there were extra cars in the winding driveway. Smith was conducting a business meeting with lots of extra security. According to the intel Hannah had retrieved, the major players were there. Smith. The Secretary of Homeland Security, Harry Reed Jarrett. Hannah’s old mentor, Major General Daniel “Brad” Bradshaw, who was on staff with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. His gut clenched at that last one. He expected betrayal from the politicians, but never from one of their own.
Hannah had read the report, tight-lipped and pale. When she had finished, she’d looked at him and said, “Since I can’t be there to put a bullet in his head, make sure someone does.”
He’d promised he would. As a former soldier who’d sworn an oath to his country, Mac should be sick to his stomach at what they planned to do this night. Ten years ago, he would have been. Now? Now he considered the Wolves to be nothing more than surgeons excising a cancerous growth eating away at the government’s heart. He would do whatever it took to end the threat to his family, his pack, and his kind. Killing these men would go a long way toward that goal. Their earlier scouting confirmed what they already suspected. The men were there, along with about twenty-five bodyguards. Mac had a momentary twinge about the guards, but it didn’t last long. Every Black Root operative knew what was going on. They chose money over ethics so as far as he was concerned, they’d made their beds and the Wolves would bury them there.
Penetration was text book. The Wolves moved through the outside guards as quiet as the wind soughing through the forest, leaving bodies like fallen leaves in their wake. Quick. Efficient. Without emotion. There was no need to prolong suffering. The Wolves had nothing personal against the guards. Those waiting inside? That was a different matter altogether.
Everyone checked in by the tiny radio transmitters and receivers they wore. All targets accounted for. Nate and Sean moved to their secondary targets—the vehicles and the house itself, placing explosive charges to bring the place down like a house of cards. Antoine prowled around the back as secondary backup in case someone escaped. Rudy met Mac at the front entrance.
Rudy picked the door lock and had the alarm system silenced in just under a minute. The two of them prowled through the house looking for tertiary targets and their primaries. One by one, they disposed of the guards inside the house. Five minutes later, Nate caught up to them as planned. The cars were on timer. The house on a switch in Sean’s capable hands. He remained outside with Antoine.
Mac’s phone vibrated and he dug it out. He had a text from Harjo.
WE HAVE A SITUATION
He texted back a single question mark.
SEALS -- SMITH MTN
Fuck! The women and children were there alone and a SEAL team had been dispatched to the facility. He should have anticipated this, should have evacuated them back to Blaidd’s Gap. He should have—
Nate squeezed his shoulder and shook his head as he spoke in Mac’s head. Focus. This target now. That target after.
Mac knew Nate was right, and that the other man could remain so calm helped Mac work through the momentary panic. Hannah was at Smith Mountain. And DJ. They were trained. Jacey, Liz, and Izzy would guard Annie and the kids. Mac’s fingers danced over the virtual keyboard.
HOW MUCH TIME
The reply came seconds later. ENOUGH. Mac glanced at Nate and nodded. He didn’t pass along the information. The men needed to stay focused if they were to survive. He did take the time to text Hannah, warning her of the possible attack and instructing her to take precautions until the Wolves could get there.
He motioned for the three of them to move forward. They encountered two guards drinking coffee in the kitchen. Neither had a chance. They continued moving through the house, an unstoppable tsunami rolling over anyone who got in their way. They finally found the interior room where the meeting was taking place. Each of the four guards went down with barely a sigh. The place looked like a vault—metal doors with a keypad control plate.
Mac whispered into the mic lying next to his cheek. “Boomer?”
“Go.”
“Did you pack anything for a door?” Mac took a picture with his cell and texted it.
Sean’s chuckle and answer whispered back. “Dude, trust in the force. Nate?”
“On it.” And he was. Nate pulled out a pre-shaped charge and trigger device from his pack and affixed it the panel. Then he pulled out what looked like a bag of clay and began working the clay in his hand until a long, thin thread formed. He filled the seam on the door with the substance, added another device, and motioned for the other two to get back. With weapons at the ready, Nate silently counted down from three with his fingers. A moment after his index finger curled into his hand to make a fist, two brief flares erupted. The control panel continued to fizzle and spark, but the doors parted enough they could see light on the other side.
Rudy slung his automatic rifle, jammed his fingertips into the narrow slot, and pulled the door. It slithered open to reveal three men seated in leather club chairs—John Smith, Harry Reed Jarrett, and a man none of them recognized. General Bradshaw wasn’t there. Mac uncharacteristically hesitated. Smith raised a pistol, but before he could aim, Nate put a bullet in the man’s chest.
Surprise washed across Smith’s face, even as Jarrett went down from a tight shot grouping to the torso courtesy of Rudy. The gun in Jarrett’s hand dropped from lifeless fingers. The third man stared at them. All the color drained from his face and he began stuttering as he begged for his life.
“P-please…please. D-don’t shoot me.”
“Shut up.” Mac glared at the man and tried to place him, furious that Bradshaw had slipped through his fingers. “Who are you?”
“N-n-no one.”
Rudy grabbed the guy from behind and lifted him out of the chair with one arm around his neck. Using his other hand, Rudy found the man’s wallet and tossed it to Mac. When Mac looked up from the guy’s ID, his eyes had bled to those of his wolf. The man gurgled as a dark stain spread across the front of his slacks. Rudy dropped him and backed away.
“Does the President know about this?” Mac’s voice was barely human.
“Wh-what? No. No. He doesn’t. P-please. I can help you. I can make this go away. Just p-p-please don’t kill me.” A sly expression settled on the man’s face. “I can help you. Money. Whatever you need. The president listens to me.” The man reached for the inside breast pocket of his suit coat. “I can—”
He was still bargaining when Mac put a bullet in his brain. Rudy flipped the jacket back and found a small pistol. Mac and Rudy gathered up files and laptops as Nate stalked over to Smith and stared down. Smith stared back.
“I should put a bullet in you for each man you tortured, for each family you destroyed. I should.” Nate’s voice could have been freeze-dried. His expression was devoid of emotion. He retrieved the pistol dangling from Smith’s hand. “But I’m not a sadist. I’m a warrior. A Wolf. We only kill to protect.” He aimed his pistol at Smith and pulled the trigger. A hole bloomed red right between Smith’s eyes.