Brad Taylor - The Polaris Protocol

“Roger all. Good luck.”

“Luck starts with you.”

We reached the end of the drive and paused, our headlights blinding anyone from seeing the death inside the car. The man nearest to us approached, nonchalantly walking toward the driver’s door. I opened it and swung my leg out. I saw his jaw drop in surprise when he was finally able to see inside, then his head split open from a suppressed sniper shot. The second man, still not understanding, remained on the porch, fiddling with his long gun. He took one confused step toward us and his head snapped back. He collapsed into the wall, then rolled forward in a heap.

I said, “Game on.”

And we launched to the front door.

24

The suit squatted down until he was at eye level with Jennifer. “You may call me Carlos.” He pulled a laminated card from his pocket and said, “From your identification, I see you’re Jennifer.”

“Where is my brother? What have you done with Jack?”

Carlos’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked back at the ID. “Jennifer Cahill. Yes. I didn’t make the connection before. Jack said he’d just called a friend. So you’re family?”

“Yes. We’re family, and I want him freed.”

He said, “I would think you’d be more concerned about what we’re going to do with you.”

The words caused Jennifer to inwardly flinch, but her face betrayed no fear. A few years ago, in Guatemala, she’d been in just such a position and had barely survived. Back then, Carlos’s threat would have been paralyzing, leaving her catatonic, but she’d learned a thing or two about survival since. The fear did nothing but sharpen her will to live.

She said, “Where’s my brother?”

Carlos appraised her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I respect your courage, so I’ll tell you. I don’t know. We had him, but he was taken from us. I thought it was by the US law. I now know it was by a competitor.” He pointed at the dead man behind him. “That traitor fed our information to our enemies. They have him now.”

Jennifer closed her eyes, fearing Jack was dead. Just like her uncle had been in Guatemala.

Carlos said, “What I want to know is what he told you.”

She took a breath, starting the dance she knew was coming. “I never even talked to him. All I got was a voice mail message.”

Carlos tapped her ID against his thigh, thinking, then said, “I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. I need to know everything he said.”

“You can check my phone. Listen to my voice mail. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Unfortunately, your phone hasn’t arrived yet. But I will do that, make no mistake. I need to know what he told you off the voice mail. How much did he say about Predator drones? This will go easier if you talk now. By the end, you’ll be screaming all you know anyway.”

Predator drones?

She shouted, “Nothing! I never talked to him. I’m just an anthropologist. I don’t know anything about drones.”

Carlos smiled. “An anthropologist, huh? Answer me this: If you never talked to him, how did you know what motel he was at?”

“He told his editor where he was staying. That’s all.”

Staring at her, Carlos whispered, “And did the editor give you the address to this house? Is that why you crossed the border and drove right to this location earlier today? Was it the editor who killed my men so that you could escape?”

Jennifer felt her face blanch, searching for an answer that would make sense. When nothing came out, Carlos continued. “Yes, I see you understand. Your story doesn’t ring true, does it? I will have my answers. How did you know to search for this house?”

Before she said anything she heard a beep. He pulled a cell from his pocket and listened. When he hung up he said, “Looks like your partner is finally here.”

Jennifer felt a brief glimmer of hope, relieved that Pike was alive.

Carlos stood and said, “We’ll see what his story is, but I can promise it won’t be as gentle as this conversation.”

He nodded at the gunman who’d caught the phone and both walked up the stairs, leaving her alone with the final man. She felt the spark of hope snuffed like an ember dropped in water.

The gunman stared at her stoically, holstering his pistol and not saying a word. He was crossing his arms over his chest when a large crack split the air, causing dust to sprinkle from the ceiling. The man gave a slight jump, his hands out from his sides, staring up, confused by the noise. Jennifer understood completely.

Yeah, my partner’s here, asshole.

*

The door splintered inward as if it had been cloven by a giant ax, large sections of wood spearing into the walls inside. We entered before the shock wave had even settled, guns and eyeballs flowing in like water out of a split in a bucket.

I focused on my sector and ignored the spitting of a suppressed HK UMP to my right, only registering that a potential threat had been eliminated. I saw a man exit a room ahead, apparently startled awake at the sound of our explosive breach. He raised an AK-47, yelling commands, and I pumped two rounds into his chest. He dropped and I continued on, the lead man in the stack. I heard Retro shout, “Door,” and held up, covering down a hallway.

I heard it breached with a shotgun, then the sharp crack of a weapon from inside followed by the low pops of our suppressors. Three seconds of silence and I felt someone tap my shoulder. I leapt to my feet and jogged down the hallway.

*

Jennifer rolled onto her back, tucked her legs, and raked her arms up. The cuffs caught on the soles of her shoes for a second. She wriggled and jerked, ripping the skin on her wrists before they broke free. She leapt to her feet, hearing gunfire erupt from above. She took two hops at the guard as he began to turn. She threw her hands over his head, cinching the chain of the handcuffs into his neck. She rotated around until they were back to back, then bent over, raising him off the ground by the chain alone, the metal biting deep into his windpipe.

He wheezed and gurgled, flailing his hands in the air. She strained her arms, feeling the cuffs digging into the flesh of her wrists. She rose on her feet and bounced, once, twice, and felt his neck snap. She tucked and dropped him over her shoulder. Untangling her cuffs, she ripped his pistol from his holster and sprinted toward the stairs, one thought in her mind.

Get the man with the phone.

*

A door to my right swung open, and I raised my weapon, fingering the safety. A flash of dirty-blond hair filled my HoloSight, and I recognized Jennifer.

I felt a wave of conflicting emotion but shunted it aside immediately, leaping past her to cover the far side of the door. I keyed the radio and said, “Jackpot, jackpot, jackpot.”

The team collapsed around her in a protective bubble and I heard, “Pike, Decoy. Got a squirter leaving in your infil vehicle. You want me to engage?”

I locked eyes with Jennifer and smiled. “Negative. We got jackpot now. Move to exfil Bravo. We’re too deep into the house and we’re going to need your breach of the fence.”

“Roger all.”

Jennifer, her hands cuffed and holding a Glock, said, “Pike, there’s a guy here we need to find.”

Unlocking her wrists, my smile fading, I keyed the radio again. “Decoy, continue to exfil, but don’t breach the fence until I call.” I heard, “Roger,” and said to Jennifer, “Your brother? He’s here?”

“No. But there’s a guy with a phone that’s the key to his location.”

I tossed her cuffs to the ground and brought my weapon back to high ready. “Forget him. We’re out of here.”

I started getting the team moving when Jennifer said, “I’m not leaving without that phone!”