Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“Are we sure about this?” Leonard asked. “It’s not too late to call it off.”

“Of course we’re sure, they killed Sammy.”

“This won’t bring him back.”

Ernie frowned. “What, you having second thoughts?”

“Getting out of the country is going to be a lot more difficult.”

“Shit, we’ll get out. Is that your only reason?”

Leonard didn’t like the accusatory tone. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Use your fucking head, Ernie. This is a huge thing with huge consequences.”

“Hey, take it easy. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Once we do this, there’s no turning back. You know that.”

“I know,” Ernie said.

“Do you really? Do you have any idea? I wonder…”

“We already talked about this.”

“Well, we’re talking again.”

“So talk.”

Seeing it was hopeless, Leonard slammed the roll-up door and latched it. “Let’s just do this before I change my mind.” He retrieved a helmet with a dark visor from the front seat of the pickup and handed it to his brother. Ernie pulled it on, swung his leg over the motorcycle, and pressed the starter button. Its four-stroke motor hummed to life in a deep-throated rumble. His brother nodded. He climbed into the UPS truck and pulled away from the loading dock, heading for Kern Parkway. He was sorely tempted to drive in the opposite direction and never look back. He thought back to the raid at the compound and had to admit seeing Sammy’s lifeless eyes had hammered him. His youngest brother, someone he’d sworn to insulate and protect, was dead. Murdered. By a sniper, and a damned good one at that. Leonard hadn’t wanted to involve Sammy in Freedom’s Echo, but Ernie had talked him into it. He should’ve known better, should’ve known something like this would happen. And now they were about to raise the stakes.

He forced his mind back to the task at hand and merged into traffic. In the side mirror, he watched his brother gun the motorcycle’s engine to keep up. He scanned the traffic in both directions, looking for cops. Close to his destination, he turned right and slowed. Behind him, Ernie pulled over to the curb and stopped. He drove the brown delivery truck into a driveway and rolled to a stop at a guard shack with an automatic gate.

His hand on the butt of his gun, a security guard, sharply dressed in a blue uniform, came out of the shack and approached the UPS truck.

“Where’s Malcolm?” the guard asked. Then he smiled. “Too many beers last night?”

“Couldn’t say,” Leonard said. “Probably got a case of the flu.”

“Yeah, it’s been going around lately. Since I’ve never seen you before, I’ll have to ask for some ID.”

“No problem, glad to do it.” Keeping his head down so the bill of his cap covered his face, Leonard climbed out of the jumper seat and walked around the front of the truck. A few more paces and he’d be out of the camera’s line of sight. Before the guard could react, he pulled a.45-automatic from his jacket and pressed it into the guard’s belly. “Open the gate and you’ll live to see another day.” In one smooth movement, he removed the guard’s gun, shoved him back toward the shack’s entrance, and pushed him through its open door. Staggering backward, the guard lost his balance and fell with a grunt.

Leonard jammed the barrel of his automatic into the guard’s mouth and pushed until the man’s head met the cabinet under the counter. “Open the gate right now.”

When the guard didn’t move, Leonard stomped on the guard’s left hand with the heel of his boot. Fingers crunched. The guard howled and bit down on the blue steel lodged in his mouth. Chips of teeth flew.

“Open the gate.”

The guard made some unintelligible sounds.

Leonard yanked the gun from the guard’s mouth and pressed it against his forehead.

“I can’t open it from here, they have to do it from inside!”

Leonard’s mind raced with possibilities, all of them bad. Precious seconds were ticking by. “Tell them there’s a UPS delivery for Special Agent in Charge Holly Simpson. I’ll blow your brains out if you try anything cute.” He nodded to the picture sitting on the counter of two girls in pigtails. They looked like twins, around six or seven years old. “Nice-looking girls,” Leonard said. “Yours?”

That got through. The guard struggled to his feet and picked up the phone. He waited a few seconds. “UPS,” he said, but that was all he said.

Leonard squinted.

The guard held up his good hand in a defensive gesture. After a few more seconds, the guard replaced the handset into its cradle. Leonard heard the whine of an electric motor. Through the shack’s rear window, he saw Ernie’s motorcycle pull behind the UPS truck. He knew his brother was retrieving the three-by-six piece of lumber from the back. The heavy iron gate began rolling along a large inverted V-shaped track bolted down to the concrete. As it opened, Leonard knocked the guard unconscious with a blow to the head. Then he pulled a folded envelope from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

Being careful to stay out of the camera’s line of sight, he walked around the back of the truck where Ernie already had the three-by-six in hand. Without looking at his brother, he climbed back in and pulled the truck forward, just inside the gate where it blocked the camera from seeing the motorcycle behind its rear bumper. With the gate fully open, he knew Ernie was setting the board down atop the gate’s V track. He gave his brother a few more seconds to climb back on the bike before driving down the driveway toward the building’s front entrance. In his side mirror, Leonard watched the gate attempt to close, but when it hit the board blocking its path, it reversed direction and stayed open.

Leonard pulled the truck over at the curb in front of the main building’s glass facade and stopped. Come on, Ernie, move it.

At the entrance, Ernie coasted the bike up the curb’s wheelchair ramp, killed the engine three feet from the glass doors, and lowered the motorcycle’s kickstand.

Are we really doing this? Leonard thought. He was tempted to yell for his brother to stop, but knew Ernie would ignore him. He watched his brother slide off the bike, remove the bungee cords securing the lid, and open the ice chest. Leonard knew he was flipping the arming switch and setting the timer for fifteen seconds.

Come on, Ernie. Come on!

Slowly, Ernie walked away from the bike and climbed into the van’s passenger seat.

Fighting the urge to peel rubber, Leonard pulled away from the curb and started out the driveway.

Eleven seconds.

Less than a minute had passed since their UPS truck had first appeared at the guard shack. Trembling from adrenaline, Leonard remembered to breathe. He sucked in a huge lungful of air and audibly blew it out. Quite literally, there was no turning back now.

Seven seconds.

Unconsciously, Leonard pressed the gas pedal a little harder than he needed to. The truck’s engine roared as he accelerated down the driveway. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ernie remove his helmet, lean forward slightly, and stare into the side mirror.

Three seconds.

Mother of God, what are we doing? In his own side mirror, Leonard saw a man in a business suit step through the glass doors. The man looked at the motorcycle, then scanned the area for its rider.

“ Adios amigo ,” Ernie said.

The man vanished in a blinding flash.

One second he was there. The next, he wasn’t.

Forty pounds of Semtex quite literally vaporized him.

A huge mushroom of fire and smoke roiled skyward, looking as though a small nuke had detonated.

The blast wave accelerated through the glass facade with hideous results.