Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“There you go again, talking about retirement.”

Reel shot him a glance. “Why not? You think we’re going to be doing this forever?”

“I can say definitively no, at least I’m not.”

“And you never know, we might be replaced by drones.”

“Not even assassins can stand in the way of technology,” said Robie sardonically.

“So retirement then?”

“Or an early grave.”

“You need to think more positively, Robie.”

“Ask me that again when I’m out of Mississippi.”

His phone buzzed.

He pulled it out and looked at the screen.

“Don’t recognize the number.”

“Better answer it.”

Robie did so.

Bobby Wendell sounded frantic. “Mr. Robie, we have a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” said Robie warily.

“Well, it’s more your problem right now than mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The men that I may or may not have hired to resolve that issue?”

“What about them?”

“They are pissed about what you and your colleague did. And they have called in reinforcements, more badass than they are, apparently. And they are on their way to do something about it.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know they’re coming for us?”

“I got a call from someone, a friend. He’s in the loop. He told me. This group thought the job would be easy. Put the screws to Pete. But then you showed up and wreaked havoc. They want their pound of flesh, Mr. Robie. And you and your friend are it. And then they might come after me. Which is why I’m flying my family out of the country right now.”

“Where are they now, do you know?”

Reel tapped Robie’s shoulder and pointed ahead.

“They’re here,” she said quietly.

Reel had spotted the headlights of two vehicles driving in through the gates.

The SUVs were moving fast, and their drivers obviously didn’t care who heard them approach. They stopped next to the house.

Both Robie and Reel drew their weapons and slipped back inside the garage.

He had his nine-mill plus his blade.

She had her pistol and an ankle backup. And her garrote wire up her sleeve.

Robie tapped the number on his phone.

Taggert answered on the second ring.

He explained the situation to her.

“I’ll get there fast as I can with as much firepower as I can,” she said tersely. Then the line went dead.

“They’re coming,” said Reel.

Robie put the phone away as car doors started opening.

Reel looked around the garage and then her gaze fixed on the open door.

“Huge hole in our defense. If they swarm that and then hit us from the rear, we’re in a pincer we can’t get out of.” She lightly tapped one of the wooden walls. “Or they can just open fire right through this until they hit us.”

He nodded, agreeing with her assessment. “Then let’s extract ourselves,” he said.

Robie looked at the Bentley and then the Range Rover. The Rover was only a couple years old, he estimated. Much harder to hot-wire. All electronic. The Bentley, on the other hand, was vintage.

He climbed into the driver’s seat as footsteps marched toward the garage. They obviously knew exactly where the pair was.

“Cover us,” Robie said, as he ducked under the steering column and started fiddling with the wires.

Reel stepped to the edge of the open garage door. Her breath relaxed, her weapon was held in the same way she had always held it. It was more an extension of her hand than a mere gun. She listened intently, trying to discern what the opposition was doing.

She looked over at Robie. As soon as the car started up, the forces outside would charge. That was a given. She stopped when she heard the voice.

“We know you’re in there. The place is surrounded. You can’t get away. Give up now, you get it fast. If you don’t, you get it slow.”

Robie continued to work away.

Meanwhile, Reel thought about a possible opportunity.

She slipped over to Robie, told him what she was thinking.

He nodded, handed her his gun, and said, “Do it.”

She left him and went to the spot, a narrow sliver behind some junk that provided a clear view of the outside through the open door.

Reel evaluated the probable forces aligned against them. There had been two large SUVs coming down the drive. Max capacity was eight each. Perhaps sixteen men then. Maybe more if some of them had crammed into the cargo area in the very back. But they would have guns. That took space. So maybe just sixteen.

Robie called out softly to her. “Ready.” He held two wires in his hand and was about to cross them.

Reel took her optics from her small backpack, slipped them on, and fired them up. She rested her pistols on top of a metal trash can.

The same voice said, “You have ten seconds to decide, then the option is no longer available.”

“Three... two... one,” said Robie.

He crossed the wires and the big Bentley roared to life.

Robie was glad whoever had last parked it had backed the Bentley in. It would be dicey enough without having to cut a J-turn under these conditions.

The men outside charged toward the garage, firing their weapons.

And revealing their positions.

Reel fired, methodically, unhurried but with pinpoint accuracy.

Four men who had exposed themselves with their muzzle flashes fell dead, while the others took cover.

“Move, Jess,” cried out Robie.

She sprinted across the garage floor as bullets ripped through the space. Reel tumbled into the front seat of the Bentley and then immediately slipped over into the backseat. She rolled down both windows, a pistol in each hand.

“Hit it!” she said.

Robie put the Bentley in gear and slammed down the gas. The big car lurched forward and smashed through the garage door, sending big chunks of it flying away.

They heard a scream and a thunk and then another body fell, presumably by collision with a part of the garage door or the car.

The Bentley careened down the driveway. They were taking fire from all sides now. Robie sat low in the seat, his head barely above the dash. He was glad that the old Bentley was built like a tank with heavy metal sides. He jerked the wheel to the right and clipped a guy reloading his weapon, sending him sailing away where he slammed into a pile of burned objects that had probably been carried out of the house earlier by the fire department.

Reel was firing out of each of the open rear windows. She wasn’t firing wildly but she wasn’t necessarily firing at targets, either. She just needed to get them through this gauntlet.

Glass exploded as a round wiped out the Bentley’s rear window. Bullets hit a front tire and a rear tire, shredding them. Still, Robie kept the accelerator flat to the floor and the Bentley kept moving, though not as smoothly.

The windshield exploded as multiple rounds hit it. Robie ducked in time but he heard Reel grunt from the backseat.

“You okay?” he called out.

“Just keep going,” she yelled back.

Robie swerved to avoid one of the SUVs, which caused the Bentley to crash into the other one. It moved the other vehicle enough to get by and the front right wheel of the SUV was pushed in, making the truck inoperable.

Seconds later they were through the gate. Robie hung a left when the car hit the asphalt, and the wounded Bentley rumbled down the road.

Robie glanced in the backseat. He saw the blood on Reel’s face.

“How bad?”

“Not bad.” She paused and added, “But it’s getting in my eyes. This car have a first aid kit?”

Robie popped open the glove box, and fumbled through it as he drove.