Brett Battles - The Silenced

They raced inside. Moody was sprawled on the floor, a look of bewilderment on his face.

“Gunshots,” Mikhail said.

Petra kicked the door closed. “I think the first hit the car.”

Mikhail gave her a look that told her they were both thinking the same thing. Kolya. In the driver’s seat. Nowhere to hide.

From outside they heard the shattering of glass as the porch light went out. But Petra ignored it. They had come for information. She couldn’t chance blowing it this time, worrying about something she could do nothing about. Reaching down, she grabbed the old man by the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him to his feet. She pulled the picture from her pocket and held it in front of his face.

“Have you seen this before?”

Moody stared at her like he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He looked scared and old and frail.

“Look at the picture, dammit!”

Moody held Petra’s gaze, fear in his eyes, then looked at the picture and gasped. “Where did you get that?”

“So that’s a yes?”

Moody gave her a single, shocked nod. “Where… how…?”

The shot had been taken in what looked like a small restaurant. There were two tables on either side of the image, and a bar that ran almost the entire length of the background, with plates of sandwiches sitting on top that looked untouched. Scattered around the room were fourteen people, nine men and five women, some sitting at the tables, some standing near the bar. All but one looked like they were between seventeen and twenty-two. The one who didn’t was a man who had to be at least forty. They were dressed comfortably for the time, button-down shirts and slacks for the men, blouses and skirts for the women. Several of the men and one of the women had glasses of beer in front of them, though none were drinking at the time the image was snapped. And though they had all been looking at the camera, not one of them had been smiling. “You’re in this photo, aren’t you?” she asked.

Hesitation, then another nod.

She pointed at one of the men near the bar. Young and smiling and completely average, his hand curved around a glass. “You, correct?”

“So long ago.”

“And this one,” she said pointing at a man at the left table, leaning back casually. “David Thomas, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And this is-”

“Ryan Winters.”

Petra could feel the hair at the back of her neck tingle. Finally, they had their key. Moody. He would be able to point them toward the Ghost, toward closure.

“We know most of the names of the people in the photo,” she said. “What I need is for you to tell us who-”

The shatter of glass cut her off.

Petra pushed Moody back to the floor as a second windowpane blew inward.

She glanced at Mikhail. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“The garage,” he said.

“Is there a car there?” Petra asked Moody.

“Please, leave me alone,” Moody pleaded.

She grabbed him by the arms and rolled him onto his back. “I am not here to kill you. But the people outside are. So if you want to live, you will help us get out of here.”

He nervously licked his lips.

“Is there a car in your garage?”

“Yes,” Moody said. “A pickup.”

“Where are the keys?”

“In the kitchen. On a hook by the door.” Moody motioned toward the back of the house.

“Come on,” Petra said.

“Take my truck. I don’t care,” he said. “But I’m staying here.”

“I already told you, they will kill you if you stay.”

“You’ll kill me if I go.”

“You misunderstand the situation, Mr. Moody. You’re more valuable to me alive than dead.”

The glass on one of the Maxima’s windows imploded.

“What was that?” Donovan shouted over the radio link.

In the moment of silence that followed, something smacked into the side of the house. A voice crackled over the walkie-talkie, one of Donovan’s men. “Someone’s shooting. They hit the car and just hit the house. I think that first shot might have got the driver.”

“Who the hell fired?”

“It looked like it came from the southeast.”

“Mercer,” Donovan said, “did you see anything?”

A slight pause. “Nothing.”

“That’s your area! Check it out! There must be someone else out there.”

“Copy that,” Mercer said.

“What about the two in front of the house?” Donovan asked.

“They’ve gone inside,” one of the men said.

“Son of a bitch,” Donovan said. “Someone take out the porch light.”

“Copy that.”

A second later the lamp above the door shattered, and the yard went dark.

“Light’s disabled.”

Donovan took a deep, audible breath. “All right. Everyone but Mercer, move in. But carefully. There’s a sniper out there somewhere. Mercer, you find that shooter.”

“Copy,” Mercer replied.

With Mercer hunting for the sniper and Dailey monitoring the thermal scanner, Donovan’s six-man team was down to four.

“Well, this is exciting,” Nate said.

“Exciting” was not a word any cleaner wanted associated with the job he was working on. Routine, dull, uneventful. Those were the descriptions most desired.

“You hear even the hint of a siren, that’s an automatic abort,” Quinn said.

“Good by me.”

So far there had been no signs that any of the neighbors had noticed anything wrong. The trees and the distance appeared to be working in their favor.

Just then two men slipped out of the cover of the woods. The first crept to the tree that was near the front door of the house. The other headed toward the Maxima.

“In position across from the door,” a voice said on the radio.

“We have a problem,” a second voice said.

“Like I hadn’t noticed that,” Donovan said.

“More of a problem. I’m at the Maxima. The driver is dead. Bullet caught him right below the ear. Doesn’t look like a random shot to me. He was definitely targeted.”

Quinn blew out a breath. A bad situation had just gotten worse.

“Fine,” Donovan said. “We are still on mission. Dailey, what do you see?”

“The heat signatures are all together, not far inside the house.”

“Is anyone looking out the window?”

“No one’s near any window.”

“Good. Abel, you and Cox move in close. See what you can hear.”

“Copy that,” Abel responded.

The man at the car and the one behind the tree began running in a crouch toward the front door.

“I think I jinxed us with that ‘exciting’ comment,” Nate said to Quinn.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to point that out,” Quinn said.

“Thanks for your consideration.”

There was a sudden movement from the far side of the car. A third man was heading quickly across the front lawn toward the house.

“Donovan, is that you?” Abel said.

“What are you talking about?” Donovan said.

“There’s someone about thirty feet to my right. He looks like one-”

A muzzle flashed. It was followed almost immediately by the disintegration of one of the windows next to the front door. Another flash. Another window shattered. Quinn saw Abel and Cox dive for cover. When he looked back at the front yard, the third man was gone.

“Shooter! Shooter!” Abel yelled as he and Cox sprinted toward the Maxima.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is going bad fast,” Nate said to Quinn. “Someone’s got to be calling the cops by now, don’t you think?”

Quinn nodded. “We’ll hold our position so we can act as eyes for the others. But if there are any bodies, we’re leaving them.”

Abel and Cox circled the Maxima.

“He’s gone,” one of them said.

“Dailey, scan the yard,” Donovan said. “See if you can pick up something.”