Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
When gunfire erupted, the acidic taste of fear coated Asher’s mouth.
He pressed himself between the chain-link fence and an overgrown bush. Through his earpiece, the staccato reports painted a grim picture. The second group of mercenaries had found his team.
He readied his Glock.
“Taking heavy fire on the east perimeter.” Whiteman’s voice crackled through the static. “I’m pinned down behind a transformer station.”
“Copy that,” Grant said. “Yartym?”
“Four on this side. I’m circling to get behind them.”
“Copy.” Grant’s response was clipped, professional. “Bartlett and I are in position behind the main factory. Callan, status?”
A pause stretched too long, then Callan’s voice, barely a whisper. “Four—no, five armed men closing from the north. I’m taking cover.” After a breath, he demanded, “Alyssa, report.” His desperation bled through his controlled tone.
Silence.
“Alyssa!” Callan’s whisper was vehement.
Then—three deliberate taps through the comm system. A pause. Three more taps.
“Switch channels,” Grant ordered. “Now.”
Asher did, his stomach knotting. Those taps could mean Alyssa was alive and hiding. Or they could mean an enemy had gotten ahold of her comm unit and was trying to throw them off.
Either way, Asher needed to trust Alyssa to Callan. His job was to save Cici.
He scaled the fence in one fluid motion, ignoring the fire that shot through his wounded shoulder. His boots hit the gravel with barely a whisper.
“Inside the fence,” he said into his comm. “Going in.”
“Negative.” Grant spoke with authority, as if Asher answered to him. “Hold position until—”
“She’s out of time.” But, though it went against his every instinct, he didn’t move. He’d tried to go it alone, and where had that landed him?
Right here, with the woman he loved in the hands of a psychopath.
“Trust me, Rhodes.” Grant’s tone was mostly commanding, but Asher heard the undertone of understanding. “We need to get the power off. Bartlett, you—”
Taps interrupted again. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap tap tap.
They’d switched channels.
He barely knew Alyssa, but she was Cici’s sister, and from what he’d seen, cool under pressure. She wouldn’t have enemies on the team’s backup channel.
Meaning those taps were her. Meaning…
“Alyssa.” Callan sounded almost breathless. “Is that you?”
Tap tap tap.
Callan muttered, “Thank God.”
“Can you cut the power?” Grant asked. “Three taps, yes. Two taps, no.”
Tap tap tap.
“Okay, on my mark,” Grant said. “Yartym, provide cover. Rhodes, the office building is right in front of you. Get low and move around to the opposite side. Take the covered walkway. You’ll meet a guard.”
Asher wanted to sprint straight for the factory on the far side of the property, but Grant was right. Better to move stealthily. The closer they could get before they were seen, the better.
He followed Grant’s order, trying not to think about what Gagnon would do when he knew he was trapped.
Hold Cici hostage? Use her as a shield?
Kill her out of spite?
Please, God. Do Your thing. Keep her safe.
He circled the office building, catching sight of a guard clad in all black, weapon at the ready. This was no dial-a-thug. He looked formidable.
Asher tracked the guard’s focus as he scanned the overgrown landscaping between this building and the factory. When his gaze drifted in the opposite direction, Asher moved in silently.
The guard heard him coming, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Asher tackled him before he could get a shot off. His knife found its mark just below the commando’s bulletproof vest, digging into soft flesh.
The guy went down fighting, though he was easy to subdue. Asher kept his hand on the guy’s mouth to keep him from calling out, tempted to finish him off. But he got a look at the guy’s face. His eyes were wide with fear.
He looked like a farm kid from Iowa or something. Not an enemy, just a hired gun who had no idea who he was being paid to protect.
Asher lifted him just enough, then whacked his head against the cement.
By the time Iowa woke up—if he didn’t bleed to death—this would be over.
Asher reached the back door—heavy steel being held open a crack, thanks to a brick wedged between it and the jamb. Whispering into the comm, he said, “Here.”
“Hold.”
Asher did, counting seconds. Ten passed before Grant said, “Alyssa. Cut power.”
“Three seconds. Two. One.” She answered with zero drama, as if she’d been there all along.
There hadn’t been any lights on outside, so there was no indication she’d done it, but Grant said, “Rhodes, move. Meet you inside.”
Asher eased the door open wider, the sound barely a whisper.
Lifting his night-vision goggles, he stepped into a cavernous space lit by emergency lighting that bathed everything in a bloody glow. The room was filled with all manner of machinery.
No enemies in sight.
The smell hit him. Oil, rust, and something stomach-turning—the metallic scent of fresh blood.
A body lay a few feet away, crumpled and spent.
Cici!
But it wasn’t her. This was a man, shot in the head. Second glance told Asher it was Pretty Boy. Mendez.
Back at the accident site, he’d been terrified when he’d discovered Asher’s body wasn’t there. Seemed he’d had good reason to fear.
Why come back here? What kind of power did Gagnon hold over these people?
Asher slipped past him, his weapon drawn. The factory floor stretched before him. Overhead, a catwalk ran the perimeter of the building, disappearing into shadows.
Though he saw nobody, he sensed he wasn’t alone.
Using the massive machinery as cover, Asher crept deeper into the factory.
A door opened on the far side. Asher ducked behind a rusted conveyor belt, raising his weapon.
Grant entered, moving with practiced silence, followed by Bartlett.
Asher caught Grant’s eyes across the industrial wasteland, and Grant lifted a finger and signaled upward, then took aim.
A catwalk above was metal grating, so Asher could see the man who stood there. Grant had him in his sights.
One upstairs. Maybe one or more down here, though he hadn’t seen them yet.
Another man materialized on the catwalk to his left, rifle trained on Grant.
Asher had no choice.
He fired, the shot echoing through the cavernous space like thunder.
The guard pitched forward, caught on the railing, but his weapon clattered to the factory floor thirty feet below.
Grant took out the other guard.
Asher had expected chaos to erupt. He expected more guards to come out of hiding, to start shooting. But they didn’t.
It was weird.
“Cover me.” Asher moved toward the exposed staircase. Somewhere up there, Cici was waiting.
He just prayed he wasn’t too late.