Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

Katy reflexively dove on top of the kids to shield them from errant bullets. Olivia dove next to her. Atosh, the seated Iranian, wasn’t able to turn more than halfway around before two shots from Garin’s weapon tore the top of his head off, blasting him from the chair and onto the floor next to Olivia.

Mental clock ticking, Garin stepped to the other side of the living room entrance and pivoted to his right to engage the two Iranians standing in front of the window. Before he could lock onto either target, he realized that the one closest to him had already raised his weapon and was about to fire, when the living room window exploded and the skulls of both Iranians burst simultaneously into a pink mist, sending their lifeless torsos crashing to the floor amid a cascade of shattered glass.

Sniper fire.

Garin rapidly checked the six corpses, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the cries of his niece and nephews. He took a brief glance at the women and kids to confirm that they were unharmed, then bolted up the stairs to the second floor, taking three steps at a time.

Reaching the landing, he jutted his head into the hallway and, seeing nothing, moved to the bedroom door, where Joe was standing, chest heaving, Mossberg held at his hip.

Joe turned urgently to Garin. “Katy and the kids?”

“Scared witless, but good as new.”

Garin peered into the bedroom to inspect the carnage. A kaleidoscope of blood was splattered across the walls behind two bodies lying on the floor. Neither body was Bor’s.

To the left of the door, Julian Day sat cowering in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest. The counsel for the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence stared at the mangled bodies of the Iranians, eyes wide and his face frozen in terror. Flecks of blood covered his right arm and shoulder.

“What happened to the third Tango?” Garin asked Joe.

“Only two were here. I shot the two that were standing and tried to avoid the skinny guy like you said. He might’ve gotten nicked by some shot, but he’ll be fine.”

Garin looked at the slightly open window with no screen and understood: Hendrix. Taras Bor, the former Omega operator, had recognized the song and the singing. He’d come to the logical conclusion that Garin wouldn’t have assaulted the cabin without overwhelming force, and coldly made the most rational decision. He was gone and would not be found.

Garin’s cell vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, answered curtly, and heard a familiar voice. “You still playing Lone Ranger or is it safe to come in?” Dwyer asked.

“I thought it was you out there but was a little worried it might somehow be the FBI,” Garin said. “It’s clear. Everyone moving in here’s a friendly.” Garin ended the call.

“Cavalry?” Joe asked.

Garin nodded. “Go take care of your family.”

As Joe hobbled painfully down the hallway, Garin called after him. “Hey, Sergeant Major.”

Joe turned.

“I’m glad you married my sister.”

Garin stuck his SIG back into his waistband, noticing for the first time that he’d been grazed by a shot at the right hip. He walked over to Day, who recoiled as Garin grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet.

“Shape up, Julian. We’ve got work to do.”

Garin pulled Day along the hall and down the stairs to the living room, where half a dozen of Dwyer’s black-clad men were moving efficiently about — searching, then covering the bodies of the Iranians and administering first aid to Olivia, Katy, and the kids. Dwyer stood in the middle of the room, flanked by two men carrying M110 sniper rifles. The man on the left was Matt. Although he’d never met the man on Dwyer’s right, Garin recognized him in an instant.

“Meet the man who saved your life,” Dwyer said as Congo Knox extended his hand. Garin stood motionless, bewildered. Slowly, he relaxed his grip on Day and moved warily toward Knox.

Dwyer, recognizing Garin’s hesitation, said, “Mikey, of all days, today’s Congo’s first with DGT.” Dwyer chuckled nervously. “Baptism by fire. You know he’s no longer with Delta? We signed him up this morning and he wasn’t slated to start with us until next month, but I played a hunch. He didn’t have to come on this assignment, yet he agreed right away when I told him what it was. Heck, he insisted on coming. He took out the shooter who had you dead to rights.”

“Mike, Congo Knox,” the sniper said, hand still outstretched. “Dan told me you thought you saw me in New York and D.C. You were right. He still brought me aboard, figuring the assignment to take you out wasn’t my call. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and probably want to punch me. Maybe worse. But I don’t know where the order to take you out came from. An order like that doesn’t originate at Bragg or MacDill. But that’s the extent of my knowledge.”

After several long seconds, Garin grasped Knox’s hand. “I’m not going to make happy talk with you right now. Even though it wasn’t your call, it’ll take a while to process. And, yeah, I may have to clock you to get it out of my system. But I understand. Unfortunately. Been there.” Garin turned and glared at Julian Day. “I have an idea who might know where the order came from, though.”

Garin then pointed at Dwyer. “Just when were you planning on telling me you were bringing the guy who was supposed to kill me to DGT?”

Dwyer looked sheepish. “Mikey, like I said, it all happened in the last twenty-four. The word in the community was Congo was becoming a free agent, so we tracked him down as fast as we could. Found him down at the Green Beret Parachute Club. Figured it was better to have him on our side than on someone else’s ticket. So we took him off the market. Hey, in the end he saved your life.”

Garin did not look placated.

“What about Bor?” Dwyer asked, anxious to change the subject.

“Gone.”

“I’ll send some men after him.”

“Forget it, you won’t find him, even with NVGs. He had a plan, and he’s prepared for just this.”

Garin saw Katy approaching from the other side of the room and turned back to Knox. “We’ll talk,” Garin said as he pulled Day forward and thrust him toward Dwyer. “Keep an eye on him for me, will you, Dan?”

Katy crossed the room and embraced Garin. “Not bad, little brother,” Katy said, trying with surprising success to remain composed. “Pop would be proud.”

“Not bad yourself. It’s a good thing you’re so pretty,” Garin said drily, “because you’re one scary chick.” He tilted his head toward Kimmy, Nicholas, and Alex, who were hugging Joe. “Traumatic situation. How do you think they’ll hold up?”

“They’re kids.” She shrugged. “They’re resilient. I’m sure there’ll be a nightmare or two. We’ll talk to them, probably with Father Augustine and Sister Frances Marie. But trust me, within a week it will be Kimmy, Nicholas, and Alex’s excellent adventure. They’ll be the envy of all the neighborhood kids. And on top of that their dad’s a hero.”

“Ah, yeah, about that…”

“Don’t worry. We won’t let them talk… much. You think you’re the only one with a brain in this family? No ‘operational details,’ as you call it. Just the part where Dad saves them. Heck, that’s all they really know anyway.”

Even as Katy spoke, Kimmy, Nicholas, and Alex, showing little evidence of being shaken, gravitated to the imposing figure of Congo Knox, whose smart salutes they repeatedly returned with increasing precision and enthusiasm. The Burns family’s version of crisis therapy, thought Garin.

Noticing Katy looking over his shoulder, Garin glanced back and saw Olivia, still visibly jarred, standing behind him.