Mike Maden - Drone Threat

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“I kill the same ragheads you do, get the same rush you do when I do it. But I don’t got no ‘rules of engagement’ and I don’t do no ass lickin’ like you chumps gotta do.” He leaned back, smiling. “And, brother, it’s all tax free. If you had any brains, you’d quit, too, and get with the program.”

“You gave your word.”

Barnes’s worn face darkened. “I gave blood, too. Who gives a shit?”

“You’re a hired gun.”

“And you aren’t? Shit. You just don’t know who you’re working for. You’re just a two-bit grocery clerk.” Barnes shoved the tray of food away and stood. “See you around, Boy Scout.”

“Just tell me one thing, Barnes. Why the warning?”

Barnes shook his head. He looked almost hurt. “I’m an American, aren’t I?”

Pearce awoke.

The cold steel of a Beretta 9mm barrel pressed against his forehead.

He focused his eyes. Saw the Aussie’s twisted grin on the other end of the pistol.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

Pearce tensed for a moment, ready to slap away the pistol and lunge at him. But he caught sight of the two Russians on the other side of the room, pointing their weapons at him, too.

“Don’t even think about it,” the Aussie said, stepping back. He kept his pistol pointed at Pearce. “Get dressed. We’re going for a little ride.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re already downstairs. Except for the Kurd. Where is the little bald Turkish?”

“I sent him home yesterday. He’s done.”

“Lucky him.”

Three vehicles bounced along the dusty track heading for God knows where. A sliver of pale moon hung low in the dark predawn sky.

At least they didn’t blindfold us , Pearce thought. He was cuffed and seated on a bench in the back of a covered 6x6 along with Early, Luckett, and Rowley. Barnes was driving. The Aussie sat in back with them, holding his pistol on them, clearly enjoying being in charge. They were in the middle of a three-vehicle convoy. The Humvee leading the way was manned by the Brit and the South African. The Humvee trailing Pearce’s vehicle carried the two Russian mercs along with two of Majid’s Iraqi soldiers.

Pearce sat in the rear near the open flap. His ass was sore from all the bouncing on the unpaved road and the heavy springs in the truck. Seemed like the wild broncs he rode in Wyoming didn’t buck half as bad as this, he told himself, trying to keep up his humor in the face of his impending execution. He watched the headlights of the tailing Humvee a hundred yards back jerk up and down as it hit the same holes in the road they did. He imagined the Humvee in front was just as far forward as the one in the rear and bouncing just as hard. Pearce glanced up into the early-morning sky. The stars were muted by a veil of haze. It wouldn’t be light for another two hours. There was just enough moonlight on the gently rolling hills and scrub to let him know they were out in the middle of nowhere.

“How much longer?” Pearce shouted over the din.

The Aussie checked his watch, grinned. “Time enough to pray or piss, if you do it quick.”

Pearce glanced back at the trailing Humvee, calculating. If he jumped out and could hit the ground on his feet, then roll to the side, he just might be able to get out of the way fast enough before the Humvee would slam into him—

WHOOSH! Pearce saw the rocket’s flaming tail slam into the trailing Humvee. It ripped apart in an explosion of fire and shrapnel. The shock wave hit Pearce in the face just as the 6x6 slammed on its brakes, tossing everyone forward, including the Aussie, who hit the deck and dropped his pistol. Early saw his chance and fell hard on the smaller merc, who grunted in pain as air blasted out of his lungs from Early’s massive bulk. Pearce leaped to his feet and swung his boot hard into the Aussie’s gut and he cried out again while Luckett kicked the merc’s pistol out of arm’s reach.

“What the hell happened?” Early asked, still lying on the Aussie. “And why are we still alive?”

Pearce wondered the same thing. The Humvee in front obviously was hit, too. Why weren’t they?

Three Toyota Hilux pickups swerved into view, machine guns firing. A few shouts up front were quickly cut off. One of the pickups skidded to a halt just behind the 6x6. Its headlights blasted into the back of the truck. Pearce lowered his gaze against the intense light. He made out the figure of a man leaping out of the Toyota and heading for the truck. A moment later he climbed into the 6x6, brandishing a knife.

“About time,” Pearce said. He and Tariq had worked out a plan for the Kurd to gather his own men and keep an eye on the compound. His second father and CIA mentor, Will Elliott, had taught him a long time ago to always have someone watch the back door. Pearce was glad he’d listened to the old-school CIA fighter — and his gut.

Tariq smiled. “Better late than never, yes?” He cut Pearce’s PlastiCuffs. Pearce rubbed his sore wrists as Tariq proceeded to free the others. Kurdish voices crackled on Tariq’s shoulder mic.

“All secured. No survivors.” Tariq nodded at the Aussie still on the floor and pulled his .45-caliber pistol. “Except this one.”

Pearce put a hand on Tariq’s weapon. “No.”

“We can’t leave any witnesses.”

“Majid will hunt you down, Pearce. You and your mates. Let me go and I’ll talk him out of it. I swear.”

Pearce leaned over and picked the Aussie up by his lapels, standing him on his feet. “You can do that?”

“Sure thing.”

“But you wouldn’t.”

“I would, mate! I would! I don’t owe that man a thing. It’s my skin I’m worried about.”

“Waste him. We can take our chances,” Early said.

“It wasn’t personal, mate! It was just business. Following orders, that’s all. I can follow orders. You tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it. It’s a contract between you and me, and I keep my contracts. You’ll see.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Trust me? You own me.”

“Prove it,” Pearce said.

“How?”

“Call Majid. Tell him you did the job. That will give us time to get out of here.”

“Sure thing.”

The four Americans, Tariq, and the Aussie climbed out of the back of the truck. Pearce surveyed the damage. The wreck of the Humvee up front was still burning by the side of the road. The Humvee behind them was closer. The heat from its flames tingled on his skin in the cool air. Bodies were strewn about in the dust, tossed from their vehicles after the explosions or shot by the Kurds. Barnes’s corpse was just ten feet away, cut down while trying to run away into the dark.

The Aussie looked at Tariq and pointed at his inside pocket. “I’m reaching for my phone.”

“I prefer you reach for a gun.” Tariq grinned. “Then I kill you, fair and square.”

“A phone, mate. It’s just a phone.”

The Aussie pulled out his phone and dialed Majid. Tariq pressed his pistol against the Australian’s head, flashing a smile, daring the merc to screw up the call.

The Aussie spoke to Majid, calm and collected. “Yeah. It’s done. All of them. We’re burning the bodies now. Thank you, sir. See you soon.” He hung up. Turned to Pearce. “Satisfied?”

“You think he believed you?” Pearce asked.

“I know he did.”

“Good.”

Tariq’s pistol cracked.

A fist-sized glob of brains and bone erupted out of the back of the Aussie’s head as more than four hundred pounds of foot energy pushed the .45-caliber slug through his skull. His wiry corpse tumbled into the dust, twitching as it bled out.