Chapter 7
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Rural Kentucky
Drake paused the Land Cruiser at the end of the gravel drive and glanced in both directions down the empty two-lane country road as if he were worried about the non-existent traffic.
The black SUV’s engine started.
“Competent surveillance,” Drake said as he looked away. “Government plates?”
Flint used the passenger mirror to get a better angle. “Can’t tell from here. But they’re not trying to hide.”
Drake turned right, heading back toward Lexington. The black SUV pulled onto the road behind them, maintaining a careful distance of about two hundred yards.
“Could be protection,” Drake suggested. “Jason Fisher looking out for his investment.”
“Could be.”
But the positioning was wrong. Protective surveillance stayed closer and used multiple vehicles for better coverage. This felt different. Predatory.
The road wound through a valley between two hills covered in dense woodland. No houses visible, no side roads for the next five miles. Perfect place for an ambush if someone wanted privacy.
Flint checked the weapon holstered under his jacket and confirmed the backup magazine in his pocket. “How’s our fuel?”
“Tank’s three-quarters full.” Drake’s hands remained relaxed on the steering wheel, but Flint caught the slight tension in his shoulders. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That we’re about to find out who doesn’t want questions asked about the Fisher family.”
A second black SUV appeared ahead of them, cresting the hill and approaching fast. It slowed as it drew closer, then pulled into the oncoming lane and stopped sideways across both lanes of the narrow road.
Roadblock.
Drake slowed the Land Cruiser. “Military or law enforcement experience likely.”
The SUV behind them accelerated, closing the distance rapidly. In seconds, they’d be boxed in with nowhere to go except into the trees.
Flint readied his weapon. “How’s the suspension on this thing?”
“Built for off-road.” Drake downshifted and pressed the accelerator. “Hang on.”
The Land Cruiser surged forward, engine roaring. The roadblock was a hundred yards ahead. The pursuing SUV was fifty yards behind and gaining fast.
Drake aimed the Land Cruiser directly at the left front corner of the blocking vehicle. At sixty miles per hour, the Toyota’s reinforced front end would punch through the lighter SUV’s quarter panel and spin it out of the way. Basic physics and superior engineering.
Muzzle flashes erupted from the roadblock. Automatic weapons fire stitched across the Land Cruiser’s windshield. The glass spider-webbed but held because it was designed to stop small arms fire.
“Armor?” Flint asked.
“Factory security package. Won’t stop rifle rounds, but it’ll handle pistol caliber.”
More gunfire from behind. The rear window exploded inward, showering them with safety glass. The pursuing SUV had pulled alongside, and passengers were firing through open windows.
Drake yanked the wheel hard left, then right, weaving to spoil their aim. The Land Cruiser’s heavy suspension kept them stable while the shooters struggled to maintain accuracy from their moving platform.
Fifty yards to the roadblock.
The blocking SUV’s doors opened. Four men in tactical gear took positions behind the vehicle, assault rifles trained on the approaching Land Cruiser. Qualified shooters. Expensive equipment.
“Who has this kind of manpower?” Drake shouted over the gunfire.
“Someone with serious money and federal connections.”
Thirty yards.
Flint aimed through his side window and put one round into the roadblock SUV’s front tire. The tire deflated rapidly, dropping the front end and tilting the vehicle toward the drainage ditch.
Twenty yards.
The shooters behind the roadblock adjusted their aim, concentrating fire on the Land Cruiser’s engine block. Steam began pouring from under the hood. Temperature gauge spiked into the red zone.
Ten yards.
Drake held course, aiming for the SUV’s damaged front corner. Impact in seconds.
The Land Cruiser hit the roadblock fast. The Toyota’s reinforced bumper and frame rails transferred the energy directly into the SUV’s weakened front end. Metal screamed. Glass exploded. The blocking vehicle spun sideways and flipped, rolling down the embankment into the trees.
The Land Cruiser bounced over the debris and kept moving, but its engine was dying. Steam poured through the bullet holes in the hood. Temperature gauge buried in the red.
“How far to the next town?” Flint asked.
“Five miles. Maybe six.” Drake coaxed more speed from the failing engine. “We’re not going to make it.”
In the rearview mirror, the pursuing SUV had stopped at the crash site. Men getting out to check on their teammates. Well disciplined. No one left behind.
But they’d be mobile again in minutes.
“There.” Flint pointed to a dirt road that led up into the hills toward a cluster of farm buildings. “We go to ground.”
He turned onto the dirt track. The Land Cruiser labored up the steep grade, engine knocking and grinding. Half a mile up the hill, the motor seized completely.
They coasted to a stop beside a weathered barn surrounded by rusted farm equipment and overgrown pastures. The place looked abandoned. No vehicles, no lights, no signs of recent habitation.
Flint grabbed his go-bag from the back seat. Communications gear, extra ammunition, medical supplies, cash. Standard field kit for situations exactly like this.
Drake checked his sidearm and shouldered his own pack. “Not long before they find us.”
“Ten minutes if they’re good. Five if they have air support.”
They moved toward the barn. The main doors were chained shut, but a side entrance stood slightly ajar. Inside, sunlight filtered through gaps in the old wooden siding, illuminating bales of moldy hay and farm machinery that hadn’t run for decades.
Flint found a position near a window with clear views down the hill. Drake took the opposite side, covering different approaches.
“Motion sensor cameras would help,” Drake said as he moved into position.
Flint pulled out his satellite phone and speed-dialed Gaspar in Miami.
“You’re supposed to be investigating a cold case,” Gaspar answered on the first ring. “Not starting a war.”
“Someone just tried to kill us. Coordinated assault, federal-level resources.”
“How federal?”
“Black SUVs, tactical gear, disciplined fire teams. Either government or someone with government connections.”
Gaspar was quiet for a moment. “I’ll make some calls. See who’s been asking questions about you lately.”
“Do it fast. We’re pinned down in rural Kentucky with limited ammunition and no backup.”
“GPS coordinates?”
Flint read them from his phone.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gaspar said. “But it’ll take time to get help to your location.”
“How much time?”
“Dunno. Not minutes.”
The sound of vehicles approaching drifted up from the valley. Multiple engines. They’d found the abandoned Land Cruiser.
“Gotta go,” Flint said.
He pocketed the phone and checked his ammunition. Three magazines for the Glock. Forty-five rounds total. Drake would have similar loadout.
Not enough for a sustained firefight against a competent, well-trained team.
“Options?” Drake asked.
Flint studied the terrain through the barn window. Dense woods covered the hillside above them. Old bridle trails visible through the trees. If they could reach the high ground, they’d have better defensive positions and multiple escape routes.
“We go up.”
“On foot?”
“Unless you’ve got a helicopter hidden somewhere.”
Drake grinned despite their situation. “Fresh out, I’m afraid.”
They gathered their gear and moved toward the barn’s rear exit. Outside, Flint’s ears noted approaching vehicles. Experienced drivers, taking their time, setting up a proper perimeter before moving in.
These weren’t random thugs or local muscle. Someone had deployed serious assets to stop their investigation.
Which meant they were asking the right questions.
Flint just hoped they’d live long enough to find the answers.
The rear door of the barn opened onto a steep hillside covered in second-growth timber. They could hear the vehicles clearly now, at least three of them. Engines shut down near the abandoned Land Cruiser.
“Move,” Flint said.
They sprinted up the hill toward the tree line, boots slipping on loose shale and dead leaves. Behind them, voices called out tactical commands.
Definitely military or ex-military, Flint noted.
They reached the woods as the first shots rang out from below. Live rounds snapped into the branches nearby, accurate enough to be dangerous but not close enough.
Warning shots. They wanted Flint and Drake alive for questioning.
That was useful intel. These guys wanted information, not two dead men who couldn’t confess what they’d learned about the Fisher case.
They pushed deeper into the forest, following what looked like an old deer trail up the ridge. The trees provided concealment but wouldn’t stop rifle bullets. They needed distance and elevation.
“How’s your cardio?” Flint asked, breathing hard from the climb.
“Better than yours, old man.”
“We’ll see about that.”
They climbed for seven minutes before pausing again to listen. Voices below, closer than expected. Their pursuers were experienced trackers, moving fast and quiet through the woods.
Flint checked his phone. Still had a signal, barely. He sent a quick text to Gaspar: “Thermal imaging likely. Need extraction ASAP.”
The reply came back immediately: “Working on it. Stay alive.”
Sound advice.
They continued climbing, using the terrain to cover their trail and confuse pursuit. But thermal imaging would make hiding difficult. Body heat stood out clearly against the cool March air.
Near the ridge top, they found what they were looking for. A clearing. Thirty feet of elevation and clear sightlines in all directions.
“High ground,” Drake said.
“Best we’re going to get.”
They climbed quickly to the clearing. Flint quickly located pursuers moving up through the trees. Six men in tactical gear, spread out in a proper search formation. Qualified hunters.
But elevation was a force multiplier. Two experienced shooters with good position could hold off a much larger force, at least temporarily.
Flint’s phone buzzed. Text message: “Help en route. Hold position.”
He read the message to Drake, who nodded.
“How long?” Drake asked.
“Didn’t say.”
“Then we’d better make ourselves comfortable.”
The first hunter broke cover at the bottom of the hill, moving carefully but steadily upward. They knew where Flint and Drake had gone. Just a matter of time before they reached the clearing.
Flint waited. When the situation seemed hopeless, he made it expensive for the other side and hoped for a miracle.
In his experience, miracles usually came in the form of superior firepower and good timing.
The lead man was fifty yards away and closing when Flint heard the distinctive whop-whop-whop of helicopter rotors approaching from the east.
Gaspar sent the cavalry.
The tactical team below heard it too. They went to ground, taking cover behind trees and rocks, probably unsure if the approaching aircraft was friendly or hostile.
The Black Hawk helicopter crested the ridge. It circled the clearing once and then settled into a hover just above the platform.
A door gunner leaned out, scanning the woods below with a mounted machine gun.
A voice called through a bullhorn. “Weapons down. Move away from the area.”
The tactical team below ignored the command. They melted back into the forest, recognizing superior firepower when they saw it.
A rope dropped from the Black Hawk’s door.
“Time to go,” Drake said.
They clipped their gear to the rope and winched up to the helicopter’s cabin. Strong hands pulled them inside as the aircraft lifted away from the ridge.
“Michael Flint?” The co-pilot had to shout over the engine noise.
Flint nodded.
“Compliments of your friend in Miami. He said you needed a ride.”
The Black Hawk banked south toward Lexington, leaving the tactical team stranded in the Kentucky hills. Through the cabin window, Flint could see them emerging from the trees, watching the helicopter disappear.
Soldiers once. Probably paramilitary now. Well-equipped. Well-trained. Well-funded.
Someone with serious resources wanted the Fisher investigation stopped.
Which meant they were closer to the truth.
How close could they get before the opposition stopped playing games and decided that Flint was too dangerous to live?