Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

Remaining focused on providing emergency medical attention to the young woman, he explained. “She’s hit in the back near the lower left shoulder and upper left thigh besides her head wound. I stitched up the thigh. Twenty stitches, fairly deep. Not critical though, the bullet hit just meat.”

“Go on.”

“Won’t be pretty when she recovers. She’ll have a nice scar on her scalp and one on her thigh that’s for sure. The bruise to the shoulder blade will hurt like hell, but it’s really nothing more than that thanks to her body armor.”

“She wore Kevlar?”

“Yeah, level two in fact. Good stuff. So, it’s the bullet crease to her head that has me most concerned. Seen a wound like that in the ER amount to nothing, and seen it turn a man into mush.”

“Uh, huh.”

“She’s still out. Knocked her around quite a bit. Hope she comes around.”

“So do I. Keep at it. What do you need in supplies that we don’t have?”

“Nothing, ma’am, other than a CT scan to check on her brain. We’re good. It’s up to her now.”

Scott finished cleaning and stitching up the head wound, carefully draping gauze and sterile bandage across her scalp. For some reason, he wondered how pissed off this young woman would be when she found out he had shaved the entire left side of her raven black hair.

“You gonna tell me what the hell just happened, uncle? Or, should I just shoot you and find out for my fuckin’ self?”

Phoenix paced the Hilton penthouse floor, angry and fuming. The taking of the Hall of Fame was complete, but there were no captives and certainly no helicopter. Furious at the loss of sixty-three of his own men and the current turn of events, Phoenix gripped his stainless steel Taurus Judge in his right hand, conveying little doubt he might kill Larry Reed where he stood. Using the gun for emphasis, Phoenix waved Reed into the room.

“Not sure yet what happened, Phoenix. Still working on it. There was a third player hidden in the Goodyear warehouse when we launched the attack.”

“Starkes’ men?”

“No.”

“Oh, do tell… please.”

“I’m thinking he was a trained sniper for sure, based on his uncanny accuracy.”

“A sniper?”

“A tall, black-haired woman caught us by surprise, running right through us and into the building right before we planned to go full assault.”

“A woman—”

“She ran like a damn Olympic sprinter.”

“C’mon!”

“No, she ran like a gazelle.”

“Start giving me some damn answers that make sense!”

Phoenix slapped his hand on the bar countertop. Gathering nerve, Larry Reed emphasized his talking points.

“Phoenix, they must’ve killed Ghost and Simpson right off. Had to. We found both bodies on the third floor along with the bodies of twelve of the fourth Brigade near a room facing our assault of the Hall… it was a sniper’s nest, for sure.”

“Uh, huh.”

“And that sniper had some help ’cause the Fourth wasn’t taken out by him, but from behind . They were readying to breach the door to his nest. Probably… way I figured it, they got hit right before they launched into the room.”

“Fuck that! Impossible.”

“I saw it, Phoenix! I did a personal assessment. There was blood, guts and all. A fully trained team, that’s for sure, hit them hard from behind. And, based on their body positions, they were surprised and barely got off a shot.”

Grumbling behind the wet bar, Phoenix placed the Judge on the granite countertop and snatched two crystal tumblers from the mirrored shelf behind him. Sloppily, he poured both half full with Jack Daniels. Simmering with jaws clenched, he carried both drinks toward Reed, pushing one toward him. Cursing again, he stopped in the middle of the room, taking a deep gulp before turning toward the windows. With a slightly shaking hand, Reed took the glass of whiskey, downing a double gulp. He walked to stand beside his nephew and continued in his update. Phoenix stared out the window.

“Whoever killed the Fourth were well trained, nephew. Shot placement was excellent with minimal waste. I’m not talking some amateurs that stumbled into the party. No way, and after they were done, they stripped our men of all weapons, ammo and supplies.”

Phoenix sipped his whiskey and took a few deep breaths. Sufficiently calm, he turned with blazing eyes.

“You think it was this Connor MacMillen everybody’s fuckin’ whispering about these past weeks?”

“I dunno. Though, it certainly fits his profile based on what we’ve heard about the guy in bits and pieces.”

“So, the bastard did decide to show up?”

“Again, dunno. Maybe he was running surveillance prior to his entry to see Starkes. I’d do that if I was him. But, if it was him, what the hell was that woman doing running through us like an antelope on speed?”

“Hmm, she say anything before she went down?”

“No, not that we could make out, no.”

“Nothing?”

“No, but, a few men heard her yell something, but nobody’s confirmed.”

“Hmm.”

“We think maybe this Connor MacMillen must have spotted the assault and sent the woman in to warn the president.”

“Did you kill the black-haired bitch?”

“Yeah, she went down hard entering the doors.”

“Where’s her body? Anybody confirm?”

“No, the guys say Mickey, Rice, Edgars and Burroughs were in position and ready for us at the top of the escalators.”

“Ready? What do you mean, ready?”

“In no time, they scooped the little bitch up and slowed us down with some serious cover fire.”

“They were waiting at the escalators? That’s unusual. For what reason? That’s not their normal protocol.”

“I know. But, they were. Not sure why. But, Starkes is an overly cautious bitch.”

“She is that.”

Larry Reed ventured a thought on the subject.

“Starkes was probably just protecting her ass. And I wouldn’t put it past that fuckin’ major, to dispatch men to run cover at the front entrance simply as a precaution given the dates we overheard. You know, assuming that we might have heard something about why the hell they kept waiting here these weeks with the deadline approaching.”

Enraged, Phoenix threw his empty glass toward the door, watching it shatter into several pieces.

“Find them! Find them all! I want that Bitch of a president. I want that other woman’s dead body. I want this fuckin’ Connor MacMillen. I want all of them. You find them. You hear me?”

Larry stood scared, shaking. Phoenix’s eyes were blazing hot.

“Sure, Phoenix.”

“You find them bastards, uncle. Do it before I do something stupid in the process.”

“Okay. We’re on it.”

“Go on, then. Get the hell outta here.”

Phoenix moved to the bar and picked up the Judge. Waving it gently, he dismissed Larry Reed and made his way to the windows to stare off into the city. A bright and breaking dawn approached. Quickly, Reed exited the penthouse carrying the last dregs of his Jack. He gulped the remainder at the door, handing the empty glass to the guard. He hustled fast to the elevator, but could not help but shiver at the fire-crazed look in his young nephew’s eyes.

“McLeod told me we got the last of ’em trackers hounding us, Mac,” said Roger.

Rhonda stood next to him, waiting.

“How many?” asked Connor.

“The last three of the squad following us. All decent trackers. One was excellent. Another one was practically a kid. No more than fifteen or sixteen.”

“Hmm. I must admit, those last few crotch sniffers were pretty good following us this far from that Cleveland firefight.”