Chapter Three #3
By the time Jackson stood back up, Tillman was shooting, making his way across the lane to the civilian trapped in the sedan. But he was exposed.
Two bullets hit Tillman, knocking him backward to the ground.
That’s why Aguilar had set the civilian car on fire. To distract them. Relying on their instincts to help an innocent person in danger.
Jackson took aim through the shattered driver’s-side window of the open door and returned fire.
Aguilar tucked the nine-millimeter in his waistband and gripped the submachine gun with both hands for better control. He just kept coming. Steady. Focused. Like a terminator. Each controlled burst of gunfire was precise.
Christina crawled to the other side of the back seat, closer to him, and remained low.
Incoming shots forced Jackson to take cover behind the door. Bullets punched through the metal, clipping his vest. Jackson swore.
The guy was using hard-core bullets—armor-piercing rounds. Illegal but not impossible to procure.
The level-four body armor they wore had a one-inch-thick ceramic plate only designed to stop one round of AP ammunition. They didn’t stand a chance if Aguilar got off enough targeted shots.
“Jackson!” Christina called out. “We have to leave! Please!”
He risked popping up for a look.
The civilian scrambled out of his sedan through the trunk. At the same time, Jackson spotted Walken through the smoke. The DHS agent had made it out of the other SUV. Staggering forward, he opened fire, using the rear of the vehicle for cover.
“He won’t stop!” Christina said. “Not until you’re all dead! I still need to give you the critical intel Kehoe asked me to collect.”
As soon as Aguilar shifted his focus to Walken, Jackson aimed and squeezed the trigger.
Prepared, Aguilar grabbed the nine-millimeter from his waistband, pointing it Walken’s direction, and kept the MP5 aimed at Jackson, shooting at them both simultaneously.
Another burst of automatic gunfire riddled the hood and penetrated Jackson’s door. Way too close for comfort. Pressed to take cover again, he ducked back down.
Adrenaline flooded his system. It sounded like a war zone.
The noise was deafening. Ambushed and attacked.
Cops mowed down. Agents under siege. All by a single man in mere minutes.
Not long enough for backup to arrive, but once more law enforcement got to the scene, it would only mean more dead bodies.
Kevlar offered no protection against armor-piercing rounds. They were losing this battle.
“This is personal for him!” she said. “We have to go now if you want any of them to live.”
His heart pounded like a jackhammer. Jackson had dragged his SOG buddies into this mess, thinking they’d watch his back and safeguard the mission.
But he’d only endangered them. Put them in Aguilar’s line of fire.
Now, Flores was dead. Three more were out of commission—Tillman, Yazzie, Vazquez—status unknown. He or Walken could be next.
How many people were going to die today?
Jackson had to decide.
More armor-piercing rounds punctured the metal, whizzing by his head. The car door was being turned into Swiss cheese.
“If we leave, he’ll follow,” Christina said. “He won’t stop coming for m—” Gunfire cut her off as she screamed. “Please, Jackson! We have to go. It’s the only way.”
Split-second decision made, Jackson hopped into the driver’s seat. Throwing the gear in Reverse, Jackson jerked the wheel and slammed on the gas, jumping the concrete median into the opposite side of traffic on his left.
Forty yards away, the wind cleared the smoke. Aguilar looked calm, his face expressionless except for the intensity in his eyes. The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out another magazine and reloaded with the quickness of a military expert.
Walken continued to fire, drawing Aguilar’s attention.
Yanking the wheel hard, Jackson did a 180, spinning the SUV around. Any cars that had been sitting idle in the lane, waiting for a light to change, had cleared out of there as soon as the gunfire started.
In the rearview mirror, Jackson watched as a bullet struck Walken, the impact making his body spin ninety degrees before he fell.
Jackson didn’t slow down. With that side of the road open, he floored the gas pedal.
The SUV’s back windshield shattered, and Christina screamed.
Aguilar bolted across the intersection, grabbing something from his pocket. In the next heartbeat the back of the de-icing truck exploded. Flames and metal shot up into the sky.
He must’ve had an explosive device rigged to blow.
Most of the truck cabin was still intact. Maybe Yazzie and Vazquez were all right.
Aguilar stopped at a car positioned close to the intersection, about to turn at the light, leaving the airport. Gun up, he opened the door. Threw the driver from the car. Jumped into the vehicle and sped off after them.
Jackson jammed his foot on the accelerator, weaving through traffic, trying to put as much distance as he could between them and the relentless killing machine in hot pursuit.