Vince Flynn - Protect And Defend

Rapp hit the first-floor landing and reached the front door. He looked out the small window and said, “Stan, are you guys ready?” He waited to hear Stilwell’s voice over his wireless earpiece.

“Mitch, I think this is a bad idea,” Stilwell said in a worried voice. “The base says they have air assets on the way, and the quick reaction force is rolling. The smart thing to do is sit and wait.”

Rapp lowered his head. He knew this wasn’t the brightest thing he’d ever done, but sitting and waiting for reinforcements to show up while Kennedy and her people were in all likelihood dying simply wasn’t in his programming.

“Stan,” Rapp said firmly, “we’re done talking about this. On the count of three I’m coming out the door. Are you with me or not?”

“Yeah,” Stilwell groaned.

“One,” Rapp tugged on the black balaclava hood to get a better opening for his eyes. “Two,” he took a breath and told himself he was crazy. “Three,” he put his hand on the doorknob and waited to hear Stilwell and his men open fire. Right on cue there was a massive volley of gunfire. Rapp leaned his shoulder into the door, hit the small stoop, took a hard left, and started running for his life.

The first thing Rapp noticed were four men standing behind an old blue Chevy Impala that had been backed up on the sidewalk to form a makeshift barricade. All four men were pointing their rifles directly at him. Rapp had no choice but to keep moving toward them. If he stopped and went back they would shoot him for sure. If he kept rushing toward them they would hopefully think he was one of them.

As planned, two explosions rocked the opposite corner. Rapp winced as tiny pebbles of debris pelted him. The men behind the car elevated their weapons and began firing at Stilwell and his men. Rapp reached the corner and hopped up onto the trunk of the car. He slid across on his butt and was helped to the ground by one of the men.

Rapp tried to steal a quick glance at the convoy, but the street was covered in smoke. Of the four corners of the intersection this was safest. The two just to the north were getting absolutely hammered by Stilwell and the Kurds, and the fourth corner, just behind him, had received its first incoming grenade. Bodies were everywhere and confusion was spreading rapidly.

Rapp had the.45-caliber Glock in his left hand and kept it up in the air so it was there for anyone to see who might be watching. His right hand slowly slid under his shirt and drew his silenced 9mm Glock from its paddle holster. Rapp moved up behind the first man and placed the tip of the silencer right between his shoulder blades and slightly to the left. At the same time he extended his.45 and aimed it down the street. Rapp fired the 9mm and slid his right knee under the man’s butt to stop him from falling. He kept his left arm raised and angled the 9mm to the left. He fired one quick suppressed round, striking the second man in the head. He instantly collapsed. Rapp fired another shot into the third man’s head and then finally the fourth.

Rapp dropped to his knee, as if he was seeking cover. He placed his back against the Impala, and for the first time he took in the full scope of the carnage. Through the billowing smoke he saw what was left of the vehicles. His heart sank. The fourth vehicle was as bad as the fifth. The white skin was riddled with blackened.50-caliber holes the size of fists. The lead vehicle was in flames and the first Suburban was in two pieces. The second Suburban was shrouded by white smoke, rather than the dark gray smoke caused by explosives. From what he could make out, Kennedy’s vehicle looked pretty much intact.

Just beyond the Suburban, Rapp noticed some movement. There were men in black hoods moving around. He looked up and down the cross street. Stilwell and the Kurds were pounding the hell out of the militia and the few remaining cops. Rapp decided to move closer.

“Stan, I’m moving to take cover behind the last Toyota. Make sure your guys don’t shoot me.”

Rapp could hear Stilwell passing on the information to the Kurds. A moment later there was a slight lull in the shooting. Rapp stayed low and scrambled the thirty-odd feet to the front fender of the Toyota. The dead security contractor was lying a few feet away. From this new angle Rapp could see a group of the militiamen moving hurriedly toward two big late-model American sedans. There was a brief opening, and he got a glimpse of Kennedy. She was being forced into the backseat of the sedan by one of the men.

Rapp was on one knee; his eyes surveying the tactical situation. From left to right he counted eleven men, not counting the ones in the vehicles. They were all carrying machine guns. About half of them were in positions of cover, and they were alert. At best he could take down two or three. The rear door of the first sedan closed and the tires began spinning on the pavement. Rapp’s hope sank as the vehicle took off. Through the back window he saw the man grab his boss by the hair and force her down.

“Stan,” Rapp said tensely. “Irene is alive. I repeat Irene is alive. They just put her in the back of a gray Ford LTD. There is a second car following with a bunch of militia guys inside. It’s a white four-door. Maybe a Chevy. I can’t tell for sure.” Rapp watched both vehicles take a right at the next corner. He passed the information on to Stilwell and then said, “Tell the base commander Kennedy has been kidnapped. He needs to get roadblocks set up ASAP, and I want every Predator and helicopter he has in the air immediately. Then call global ops and tell them to light a fire under everyone’s ass.”

Rapp had a vision of Stilwell having to explain the situation from start to finish with each call. Rapp realized he needed to speak to the president directly, so the orders could be issued from the top down-without question. He was about to tell Stilwell to get him a line to the White House when he noticed a police officer in a hood come running up to one of the men standing by Kennedy’s smoking Suburban. The police officer pointed in one direction and then the other. The man he was talking to began barking orders to the men around him.

“Stan, I need three of your Kurds down here right now!” Rapp holstered the.45, scooted back a couple of feet, and lay down on his stomach. He was just behind the driver’s-side front wheel of the Toyota. Looking under the SUV he could see both men from the knees down. Rapp switched the 9mm to his left hand and lined up the shot. The men were approximately fifty feet away.

“Tell them to hurry up,” Rapp whispered and then gently squeezed the trigger. The bullet spat from the end of the circular suppressor, and seconds later the man on the left collapsed to the pavement. Rapp already had the sights trained on the second man. He fired again with the same results. The police officer joined the first man on the ground, both of them writhing in pain. Rapp stayed right where he was and waited for the inevitable. Two men appeared at the exact same time. They both bent over to grab the man Rapp guessed was their leader. These guys were well trained. Rather than administer first aid on the spot they were going to drag him to a safer location. Rapp dropped both men with shots to the head. They crumpled to the asphalt; the one on the left motionless, the one on the right twitching.

“Stan, where are those Kurds?” Rapp whispered as he searched for more targets.

“They’re on their way, and the Stryker column is two minutes out.”

“Tell your boys not to shoot me when they get here.”

Another man showed up to drag his commander to safety and Rapp put a bullet through the top of his head. Knowing he was pushing his luck, he got to his feet and quickly moved to the rear fender of the Toyota. He leaned against the truck, ejected his magazine, and put in a fresh one. The cops and militia to the north were in full retreat. A block away he spotted a group of men disposing of their weapons and tearing off their hoods and uniforms. Rapp circled around the back of the Toyota and looked back down the street toward the two wounded men. Beyond them he found two militia members taking cover behind Kennedy’s still-smoking Suburban and three more hiding behind parked cars. At the far end of the block there were more men fleeing on foot. As far as Rapp could tell, the five remaining men must have figured there was a sniper in one of the buildings across the street.