Chapter 21 #2
Three clicks on his walkie-talkie told him Cannon was three minutes out. Not long, but more than enough time for Smyth to figure out he wasn’t Parker. For everything to go sideways.
Phoenix pulled the snowmobile up next to the aircraft. No huge loading area in the back like a cargo plane. Where he could have simply driven the machine up into it. Though, he suspected there was more than enough space on the Gulfstream to transport the containers.
One of the men walked up to him, glancing at the sled. “What the hell happened, Parker? Where’s the rest of it?”
Time to see if he could mimic Parker’s voice, despite the fact the man only said a few choice words to him before Relic had knocked him out.
But Phoenix had noted the hint of southern drawl.
The deep tone. And he’d do his best to replicate it.
“Where do you think they are? Back at the base. This is all I could get out before it was overrun by some black ops team.”
“What black ops team?”
“If I knew that, they wouldn’t be a black ops team, now, would they?”
He kept mumbling under his breath as he climbed off the machine. Hoping the guy would get the hint and leave him alone. The mercenary simply glared at him, huffed, then walked off.
Phoenix fiddled with the snowmobile for a moment as he scanned the area.
Ten men plus the two sentries. Probably a handful more inside the plane.
Not great, but at least not thirty like back at the abandoned town.
If he could get inside before anyone realized he wasn’t Parker, he might be able to defend the plane until Cannon arrived.
Two more clicks. Two more minutes to stall.
A tap on his shoulder had him pursing his lips. Taking a breath, his hand hovering close to the Sig holstered on his thigh.
The guy motioned toward the sled. “Smyth wants a SIT REP.”
Phoenix glanced at the aircraft, Smyth’s name echoing inside his head. The bastard really was there. Within his grasp. One shot, and Phoenix would be done with the DIA and any potential threats to Olivia. She’d get a clean slate.
He would, too, if he survived.
“Parker, did you hear me?”
Shit. He needed to stop drifting off—getting ahead of the mission. “Smyth wants a situational report. Yeah, I heard you.”
The guy frowned, giving him the once-over, and Phoenix’s senses went on high alert.
Ran through a dozen scenarios in case he’d just been made.
If this jerk knew Parker well enough to recognize the slight vocal differences in how Phoenix enunciated some words.
That he was an inch shorter than Parker. Slightly leaner.
The asshole stepped closer. “Why are you still wearing your helmet?”
“Have you spent any time outside? The fucking snow froze the snap shut. I can’t budge it. Besides, I can barely feel my fingers. It should thaw in a few minutes once I’m inside. Great idea...holing up at an abandoned ghost town in the middle of winter.”
The guy snorted, then slapped his shoulder. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, jackass.” He took a few steps away. “Oh, and Parker...better get some great excuse ready for Smyth. He’s gonna be pissed you left half of those canisters behind.”
“He’s free to go back and get them, himself, if he wants. Bastard doesn’t pay me enough for what I just went through to bring him this much.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Phoenix took a few steps toward the plane when the guy called Parker’s name. Phoenix turned, wondering if the man had been playing him. That he knew Phoenix wasn’t Parker, after all.
“Smyth’s in the hanger, Einstein.”
The hanger? Shit. That was not the kind of place Phoenix could easily defend. “Of course, he is. Where it’s probably just as damn cold.”
The guy laughed, then waved for him to follow as he headed for one of the buildings on the far left side of the airfield.
Where Phoenix had absolutely zero intel about what he’d face once he walked through the oversized doors.
If he’d be met with far more resistance and fire power than he’d suspected.
The plane was finite. Could only have accommodated a handful of men. The hanger...
Not much he could do about that, other than trust in his buddies. That they’d show up in time—have his back. They’d been in tougher places and had come out ahead. He needed to remember that. Have faith.
One click of the walkie-talkie. One minute out. Just enough time for him to get into the hanger. See if he could get the upper hand without alerting all of Smyth’s forces before his team showed up.
A quick rig of the unit in his chest pocket so Relic would hear everything as it went down, then Phoenix was walking.
Shoulders back. Gait steady. No rushing, no glancing around.
Just his head held high, each step one closer to his prize.
He followed the other man across the tarmac then into the large building.
Tried not to stumble when he got a good visual of what was inside.
Two Hummers with mounted assault rifles.
Some kind of armored all-terrain vehicle that looked straight out of a sci-fi movie.
The kind that was likely a prototype. One not sanctioned by any governing authority.
All with another dozen men milling around loading supplies.
That’s when he realized they’d been wrong. The plane was for Smyth, not the merchandise. Because there was no way they’d amassed this much ground firepower if they were simply going to fly the containers out of here. It also meant his team would be facing another insane amount of tangoes.
The other man stopped then pointed toward the rear of the hanger where a guy was bent over a laptop. “Smyth’s back there. Have fun explaining how a few Spec Op guys got the better of you.”
Phoenix flipped the guy off. At least, he’d bought Phoenix’s ruse. Wouldn’t sound the alarm before he’d even confronted Smyth.
A relay of the situation to Relic—if his buddy could even hear Phoenix whispering through the layers of his pocket and the helmet—then he was continuing ahead.
Nodding at anyone who walked past as he headed for Smyth.
Ready to draw his pistol if anyone so much as twitched.
He scanned the area, running through a few scenarios if the situation changed. If he had to make a run for it.
Reaching the other man was a pleasant surprise. The kind that made Phoenix think he’d just royally screwed himself because it had all been too easy.
He stopped an arm’s length away, waiting for the guy to address him.
The man closed the laptop, spinning to face him and fuck.
.. Phoenix damn near drew his pistol and fired.
Hit the bastard right between his beady eyes.
Paid him back for all the lies and threats.
The endless suffering he’d been responsible for.
All the orders he’d issued that had targeted his team. His brothers.
Smyth stared at him, cocking his head to the side. “You look like shit. Is that blood?” He grunted. “I thought you said you could handle those jarheads, as you called them. And why are you still wearing your helmet?”
This was it. Smyth obviously knew Parker well. If anyone was going to realize Phoenix wasn’t the other man, it would be Smyth. Here. Now.
Phoenix tilted his head as he yanked on the snap without being able to free it. Silently thanking Relic for the idea. “The damn closure’s frozen. It should thaw quickly.”
Smyth frowned, giving him the once-over just like the mercenary had outside. As if something was out of place that he couldn’t pinpoint. “What’s up with your voice?”
Shit. “What do you mean, what’s up with my voice?”
“You sound...off.” Smyth stood, waving at Phoenix as he reached into his pocket—pulled out a knife. “Cut the damn thing off. I can’t talk to you like this. It’s annoying, and you’re all muffled.”
Thank Christ Phoenix hadn’t drawn his gun the moment Smyth had grabbed the knife because he’d been close.
Had placed his hand on his Sig, had it halfway out of the holster before he realized Smyth wasn’t threatening him.
Not that this was much better. Smyth would sound the alarm the moment he caught sight of Phoenix’s face.
He’d just have to do it slowly. Block anyone else from seeing him before he made eye contact. Hope that the shock of seeing him would give him an opening to knock Smyth out before the room erupted into a war zone. That his men wouldn’t opt to kill Smyth rather than let Phoenix escape with him.
Phoenix took the knife, lifting it to his chin. He made a point of sawing slowly through the strap before removing the helmet. He kept it positioned in front of his face, blocking Smyth until he’d readied himself. Made a mental plan of his next five moves.
Then, he lowered the helmet—looked Smyth in the eyes. “Hello, Smyth.”
Smyth inhaled, then froze. Just for a moment, but that was all Phoenix needed.
A knock of Smyth’s chest had him reeling back enough Phoenix could step in and cold-cock him with the helmet.
He tumbled back across the table, arms out to the side.
His back arched. A turn and a flick of Phoenix’s wrists, and two frags skipped across the floor. Right into the middle of the men.
Phoenix managed to shield his head—cover his ears—before they went off. One smoke. One flashbang. Ripping through the hanger with an overwhelming display of lights and sound. Dropping everyone within twenty meters of the grenades.
Phoenix shook off the worst of the effects, then stumbled over to Smyth, shouldering his weight as he struck off.
Half-carrying, half-dragging the man toward one of the rear exits.
Phoenix got within several feet of the outer door before bullets started flying.
They were targeting off to the left, but it wouldn’t be long before they blanketed the entire area.
Cut him and Smyth down by the sheer number of them.