Cliff Ryder - Aim And Fire

We should be able to hold them off from there. Give it a two-count after the blast so you don’t get hit by shrapnel. Ready?”

Nate pulled the pin, reared up on his knees and threw the grenade overhand toward the shooter. He hit the dirt and covered his ears. A few seconds later, the detonation kicked up a plume of dirt and dust. Hands over her ears, Tracy counted silently in her head—one…two…go!

She ran for the hulk of the disabled Silverado. Nate’s long legs pounded the dirt as he sprinted for cover beside her. She reached the truck a second after him, her chest heaving with the exertion. Pistol gripped tightly, she took up a position at the back and ducked out for a quick peek at their attackers.

“I got nothing back here. How about you?”

Nate’s reply was cut off by the impact of high-velocity bullets against the Silverado, making them both hit the dirt as lead punched through the body panels of the truck above their heads.

Tracy spit dust from her mouth. “You sure this was the best idea?”

“Better than staying trapped on the open desert to be cut down. At least here, under some cover, we’ve got a chance.

All we have to do now is wait for backup,” Nate said.

“And if they come in to get us?”

“Then we take out as many as we can. If they really want us dead, they have to come over here to do it.”

“That’s a comforting thought.” The firing had stopped and Tracy sat up with her back against the wheel, waiting for the next assault to begin. Instead of automatic-rifle fire, she heard tires crunching on the dirt, but no engine noise. As she started to turn to look under the truck to see what was coming, a small four-wheel-drive with an open top raced out of the darkness at the Silverado. A man in the back was leveling a long-barreled assault rifle at her.

“Down!” Tracy shouted and rolled back as the 7.62 mm bullets ripped through the back of the vehicle, shattering the windows and sending glass cascading down on her.

Prone, she raised her pistol and fired four shots in the terrorists’ direction, more out of the need to mount some kind of defense than hoping to actually hit something. She heard a loud roar next to her, and figured Nate must have let loose, as well. The oddly quiet vehicle veered off to the right, back into the desert, moving out of range in seconds.

“Dammit, where’s that backup?” Nate thumbed more rounds into his smoking shotgun as he looked in all directions—whether for other Border Patrol agents or their attackers, Tracy wasn’t sure.

She strained her ears for the sound of the vehicle, but heard nothing. “We have to do something or else they’re going to chop us to pieces here,” she said.

“I’m open to suggestions at this point,” Nate said.

Tracy sniffed the air, inhaling a familiar acrid odor.

“They hit the gas tank. The next time we’d have shot, we’d blow up with it.”

Nate produced a lighter and a cheroot. “Then let’s help it along.”

Tracy glanced under the truck and saw a steady trickle of gas leaking from the tank. She dug a furrow in the dirt to make the gas flow toward them, improvising a fuse.

Crawling backward, she extended the small trench as far as she could, with Nate covering her until the quiet sound of the approaching off-roader reached her ears, followed by the unnerving noise of more bullets tearing apart the truck.

Tracy saw the other vehicle slowly approaching the truck while the gunner on top chewed it up with short bursts from his rifle. She saw the driver was wearing night-vision goggles similar to hers. “Let’s see how you like watching this. Now, Nate!”

Nate flicked his lighter and touched the flame to the trail of gas, then they both scooted away from the booby-trapped vehicle as fast as they could without drawing attention to themselves. The flare of the gas showed up white-hot in her night-vision goggles, and Tracy flipped them up at the last minute and looked away, shielding her face and head with her arms.

The truck’s gas tank ignited with a dull whoomp and blew out the back of the cargo bed, flames licking all around the remains of the vehicle. Tracy felt the patter of shrapnel on her back and legs, and twisted around, making sure no burning debris had hit her.

“Come on, get up!”

She looked up to see Nate standing and ready to charge in.

“You go left, I’ll go right. Shoot as soon as you have a target!”

And with that he was gone, circling around the burning wreck. Goddamn cowboy, she thought, but got up and, holding her pistol low, trotted the other way, using the flames for cover as she tried to see around the inferno. She took another step out, and saw the hood of the four-wheel drive. One more step and she spotted the driver rubbing his eyes with one hand while trying to maneuver the stubby SUV away from the blazing vehicle. The gunner had apparently been more alert. He wasn’t wearing his night-vision goggles and spotted Tracy at the same time she saw him. With a shout, he leveled his rifle at her as she brought her pistol up, knowing that she was about to die but wanting to take this bastard out if she could—

A shotgun blast boomed, and the rifleman jerked in his harness, the rifle barrel wavering as he triggered his weapon, sending a burst of bullets into the dust about three yards from where Tracy stood. She lined up the SIG

Sauer’s sights on his upper chest, squeezed the trigger twice and was rewarded with another jerk from the gunman. Shifting her pistol down a few inches, she put three bullets into the driver’s side of the windshield, making the four-wheel-drive vehicle slowly drift away as the driver slumped over the wheel. The passenger’s door popped open, and a third man staggered out, holding a short-barreled submachine gun. Blood flowed down the side of his face, looking dark in the firelight.

“Homeland Security. Drop the weapon and raise your hands!” Tracy shouted, aiming right at him. Hearing her voice, he stepped up to the hood of his vehicle and aimed the subgun at her.

Tracy’s pistol and Nate’s shotgun roared at the same instant, and the terrorist stiffened under the impact of the bullet and buckshot, the pellets tearing at his face. He slid from sight behind the vehicle.

“Cover me!” Tracy ran to the front of the off-roader, then, keeping her pistol trained on the man, moved up and kicked the subgun out of his hands. It was unnecessary, however—he was already dead.

“Other two are gone, as well.” Nate came around the side.

“You better reload—we’re not done here by a long shot.”

He pointed back down the slope toward the road, and Tracy glanced back to see a procession of police, CBP vehicles and a SWAT team van, all with their lights off, coming toward them.

She looked back at Nate, covered in dust and sweat, and sighed. “About goddamn time.”

“I’m telling you, Kate, if these two make it out of this in one piece, I’m recruiting both of them. Improvisational skills, dead shots, able to think and react on their feet— they’re both naturals.”

Denny had logged in to assist with the coordination of what was suddenly turning into a major U.S. government field operation, and had watched in admiration as the two agents had taken out the Spaceworks security team.

The Room 59 hackers had grabbed a row of geosyn-chronous satellites that would be passing over or near the area, and set up a chain of surveillance to keep an eye on the situation.

“Shut that dangling jaw of yours and let’s keep our eyes on the prize. There’s still a loose nuke on that site, and if we’re not careful, they might just set it off to make sure they destroy something,” Kate said.

“You don’t really think he’d do it, do you?” Denny asked as he tapped keys at his office in D.C.