Марк Грини - One Minute Out

Shep says what I’m thinking. “Johns.”

“Yeah.” If I had a sniper rifle on me I’d be inclined to open up on these bastards, so it’s a good thing I don’t.

I speak softly, knowing how voices can travel on a quiet night. “We’ll do a helo infiltration, concentrate forces on the main building. We secure hostages, and then, hopefully, fight our way back out.”

“Hopefully,” Shep mutters.

“Yeah, I know. Hope isn’t a strategy. But tomorrow night it will definitely have to serve as a tactic.”

Shep nods. “We need two outside to keep the responding forces occupied. I’m old, my knees are pretty shot, but I can snipe. I’ll fly shotgun in the helo and provide air cover; me and Carl will circle the target during the raid. And A.J. can knock the stink off a gnat’s ass from a thousand yards. We’ll put him on that hillock over there on the other side of the canyon; he’ll do his best to keep the guys in the bunkhouse busy.”

I laugh in the dark. “We make it sound so easy.”

Shep spits into the dirt in front of him. “Getting in . . . not easy, but doable. Getting out . . . I don’t know.”

“One problem at a time,” I say. Then I ask, “You’re sure Carl can handle this?”

Without hesitation, he says, “He’ll be fine.”

“You met him at the Agency?”

“Nah, he’s been retired since, like forever. He flies that helo at a two-hundred-fifty-acre gun range north of Las Vegas. Weekend warriors go there to shoot targets from the air, and he gives them the ride of their lives.”

“He knows he’s gonna get shot at tomorrow, right?”

Duvall nods. “He knows the mission. Look, you’ve got five guys willing to face death to help save those girls and frag any of those fuckers holding them who try to stop us. Don’t look too deep into the motivations of any one of us, and we’ll try not to think too hard about yours.”

“Fair enough. Have you seen his helo?”

“Sure. Decent little four-seater.”

I take my eye out of the scope and look at Shep. “A four-seater?”

“Yep.”

Confused, I point out the obvious. “You, me, Rodney, Kareem, and A.J. Plus the pilot. That’s six.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because you, A.J., Kareem, and Rodney are riding the skids.”

Shit, I think. What have I gotten myself into? “Says who?”

Shep shrugs. “Carl in the right seat, me in the left. You guys outboard. When we’re about one and a half klicks out, Carl will drop A.J. off, he’ll set up a sniper position, and the rest of us continue on to the target. You can get off those skids faster than you can get out of the cabin of the helo, and the insertion has to be fast and smooth for us to be able to pull this off.”

He’s right, but now I add falling off the side of a helicopter to my death to my long list of things to worry about.

And with that we settle in for another hour or two of recon before returning to Bakersfield.

• • •

Ken Cage worked in his home office all morning, beginning at seven, well before his normal start time of nine. Heather was annoyed, but she read his mood, and didn’t push things. She only peeked in once to see if he needed more coffee, and the kids didn’t come in at all.

But by ten a.m. Cage realized that he couldn’t stay on task today. No, there was too much on his mind.

He didn’t know how close he’d come to getting killed the night before last, certainly closer than he’d ever been in his life.

White Lion had never had a serious injury in the five years they had been protecting and overseeing the pipeline, but now they had a man dead.

Sean Hall was scared, Kostopoulos was dead, the way station in Bosnia had been closed, and the Serbians, the Albanians, the Greeks, and the Italians were all freaking out about this new danger to the Consortium.

Verdoorn and Hall were both here at the Hollywood Hills mansion today: Hall was outside the office in the living room, working in his close-protection role, his six men patrolling the grounds. Verdoorn was camped in a guest room on the third floor, using it both as a residence and as an office. His men, the eight of them still alive, were up at Rancho Esmerelda, although Cage didn’t exactly know why.

In all the years he’d run the Consortium, Cage had never felt himself on shakier ground. He knew he had to be the leader now, he had to show strength, and for this reason he called in Hall and Verdoorn for a conference in his home office.

The billionaire financier turned up the ambient sound, had Hall lock the door, and then the three men sat together in chairs in front of Cage’s desk.

Cage looked to the South African first. “Any danger your dead guy in Italy is going to get traced back to you?”

“None. All my men have their own offshore corps set up; there’s nothing to trace them to White Lion, any other corporations involved in the Consortium, or you.”

Cage next turned to Hall. “I’m going to Esmerelda tonight. That going to be a problem?”

Sean Hall looked to Verdoorn, then back to his boss. He was obviously less sure of himself than Jaco. “We have no intelligence that says Gentry is in America, or that he even knows your identity. But he’s managed to show up at location after location along the pipeline. I know we’re in America, and that may mean he’s less likely to present himself, but still . . . I think it would be best if you laid low for a couple of weeks, just until Jaco and his men get this situation handled.”

The South African spoke up immediately. “I disagree. As Hall said, we’ve got nothing to say he’s here, he’s coming here, or he even knows about here.”

Cage replied coolly. “You said that in Italy. How did that work out?”

To this Verdoorn shrugged. “Look how bladdy close we got to the prick.”

“How should I know how close you got?” Cage snapped. “Sean and his boys had to rescue me before the Gray Man got within striking distance.”

Verdoorn’s eyes narrowed, but only for an instant. “We were close, sir. We’ve got feelers out for him here, too. If he arrives, we’ll know, and we’ll put a stop to him. I’ve got my men at Rancho Esmerelda, supporting the guard force there. We’ll get him this time, should he come.

“You’ve said yourself a dozen times there is nothing in the paperwork that ties you to the ranch. Even if he does go there, even if he comes with federal cops, you are safe.”

Hall shouted now, the first time Cage had ever heard him doing so. “Not if he’s there on the property when they come!”

To this Cage said, “Calm down, Sean. Look, the feds can’t touch me, we all know that. I’m too important to them. I want to go to the property tonight. Jesus, after what I went through a couple of nights ago, I need it. Your men, Jaco’s men, the Mexicans at the ranch, you’ll all keep me safe.” Cage smiled a little. “Won’t you?”

Hall said nothing; he only looked at Jaco.

“ Won’t you?” Cage demanded.

“Of course, sir,” Hall replied.

• • •

Sean Hall pulled the icy-cold bottle of Grey Goose from his freezer, yanked off the lid, then took one long, hard swig. Wincing with the sting of the alcohol, he walked to the front window of his residence and looked outside at Cage’s mansion, just seventy-five feet away across the pool.

This is bullshit, he told himself.

He looked down at his phone for a moment, saw he’d gotten a text from Cage’s oldest daughter, Charlotte. The two of them had planned to go surfing the following morning, but she’d backed out in favor of spending a couple of days with friends at Lake Arrowhead. He started to read her text, but movement on the patio diverted his attention.