Night nodded. "Bought and paid for. Which means they'll keep coming unless we take them out first."
"He'll just hire more," Rogue pointed out.
"So, we have to take them out and the boss man, too," Spoon replied drolly.
"That's one hell of a task." Ryan looked at each man before locking gazes with Rogue. When Lark called him, his heart jumped to his throat with fear, not just for her or the guys, but for Rogue as well. For some damn stupid reason, the kiss implanted more than a taste of the man, but also a bone deep caring as well.
"Do we have authorization?" Spoon asked.
"If not, I'll get it. No way this viper's going to live to threaten us and our families. One way or another, he's going down." Night bit off his words, his low voice carrying fury mixed with steely determination.
"Where are you going to find him? Shit, for all we know he's tucked away in a ritzy palace in the Swiss Alps." Bryce's shoulders slumped.
"Tracking him won't be an issue," Ryan answered. "We know where he is." All eyes turned to him and stared like he grew three heads. "He's someone the department keeps an eye on," he offered up in explanation.
"You've known all along and didn't bother to share with us?" Rogue accused, his tone scathing.
"Listen, dumbass, I just found out this morning the name of the rich backer. Then I had to run some checks on him. It's not like I keep America's one hundred most wanted memorized in my head," Ryan growled back.
Spoon's mouth opened but Ryan beat him to it, moving forward in the conversation rather than argue over piddly things with the always prickly Rogue. "The problem is where he is and who he surrounds himself with."
"That bad?" Bryce asked.
Ryan leveled him a somber look. "Worse."
"What choice do we have?" Spoon asked.
"None." Night glanced around before pinning Ryan with his gaze. "Get us details. Everything you have on Rossi, his travels, places he frequents, dens of depravity, anywhere he might go that we can have a chance to terminate him and his business in one fell swoop."
"You got it. My supervisor has already given the green light. The FBI has wanted Rossi for a long time. He feels this is our best chance."
"Our only chance," Night concluded.
Chapter 21
Ryan hauled ass under the moonless sky, aiming for a small patch of bushes growing wild in a trench on the west side of the huge, sprawling mansion belonging to Rossi. Keeping low, he dove down, covering the remaining ground on his belly, wiggling like a snake until he tucked in under the lowest limbs, camouflaged for the time being. A quiet thump announced the arrival of Rogue as he claimed the space immediately to the right, putting him nearly shoulder to shoulder with Ryan.
Irritation and annoyance shot through Ryan. What in the hell was Night thinking sticking the two of them together? The question rebounded through his mind over and over without any answers, only an awkward feeling being so close and alone with the one man that twisted his life like a soft pretzel.
Checking his watch, he counted six minutes until rendezvous at the next target. If everything worked out according to plan, they would move in with stealth and speed as a unit.
According to their limited information, Rossi surrounded himself with absolutely loyal military men, mercenaries who had little to live for except the exorbitant salaries their boss presented them for providing the highest level of protection money could buy. A state of the art security system on the entire brick mansion helped ensure no one snuck up without prior warning. Once one of them breached a door, chaos would ensue.
All facts pointed to the worst possible situation any one of them ever faced in their careers. The chances of making it out alive fell way below anyone's level of comfort. Yet, no one bowed out. The stakes were too high. Either take their chances on the offensive or live in fear and paranoia that another attempt would be made on their everyday lives, or worse, Rossi would send his bullies after their loved ones. Either way, it ended that day.
"Want to tell me what was up with that kiss you planted on me?" Rogue whispered, his tone conveying curiosity even as his attention remained on the building ahead of them.
Ryan started. While the question didn't particularly surprise him, he'd feared Rogue would bring it up, another reason he'd avoided the dark haired man like the plague since then. "It didn't happen."
"The hell it didn't." Anger laced his voice. "I was there, remember?"
"I'm forgetting it ever happened," Ryan bit off between clenched teeth. The more he suffered Rogue's presence, the more he wanted another taste of the man, to delve to the source of why, after all these years, he found Rogue attractive and appealing when he'd never looked twice at a man before.
"Listen, Blue Balls…"
Ryan tensed at the hated nickname, taking a chance to shoot Rogue a severe frown.
"That was one smoking hot kiss. It fucking happened and will again. Once we're finished here."
Opening his mouth, Ryan started to retort, only for his timer to beep once, the sound of a lazy cricket. Pulling his focus back on the situation at hand, he crawled forward, aiming for the next area of cover: a landscaped area a few feet from the outside wall.
Before they hit their mark, spotlights flooded the area with bright light, snatching away the advantage of moving in during the blackest night. Small-arms fire peppered across the open area, kicking up clods of grass and skipping off rocks as gunmen shot at shadows and movements. As a unit, the Wind Warriors surged to the marginal safety of a wall or corner of the stoutly built house.
Ryan sprinted ahead, Rogue just in front, zigzagging now and again to lessen the chances of catching a bullet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the men in solid black fall to the ground. Another stopped, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to safety.
"Spoon's hit!"
The words sent an icy knife through his gut. He'd faced similar situations as an Army Ranger where a few men from his elite unit gave all in the line of duty. But, this somehow hit him harder, more personally. Rage and determination pushed him as he promised retribution for each and every injury or loss the team suffered. Good men shouldn't die because of greedy bullies intent upon feeding weapons to terrorists and drugs to kids.
The bark of a powerful, long range sniper rifle caught his attention. As planned, Ghost took to the roof, laying out a barrage of steady fire, ensuring the team made their destinations with as little danger as possible. More than one too-eager guard met his fate by peeking out from cover.
Swinging to the side of an entrance door, he kicked at the wooden barricade with the bottom of his boot. He rushed in the moment there was a gaping hole big enough to duck through, his gun at the ready, and Rogue on his six. He heard yelling, screaming, and heavy footfalls in between the
rat-a-tat-tat
of automatic gunfire. A loud boom rocked the wall, shaking the floor beneath his feet. Night's grenade launcher working on the north wall.
Moving steadily forward, Ryan cleared a path inside, taking out more than one tango that stood in his way. Rogue broke off, heading to the left, searching a hallway, while Ryan stayed on course. Destination: Rossi's office located in the very center of the sprawling mansion. Through twists and turns, Ryan cautiously walked over debris, keen eyes constantly scanning the area all around, searching for bad guys, threats, and his goal. His gun heated to the point of boiling hot from continuous use. More than once he paused to shove another clip in, rearming for trouble sure to be ahead.
Now and again a voice would sound in his ear, one of the Wind Warriors speaking in code, relaying information. As they communicated in Navajo, a language he and Rogue didn't understand, he ignored most of it. Night promised anything they needed to know would be translated to German for them. Until words crackled through the link he could understand, he fixated solely on his mission.
Turning a corner, Ryan stopped for a split second, watching Rogue drop a smaller dark haired man with his knife. The up close and personal act stunned him into momentary stillness. Though they all received extensive training in hand to hand combat with everything from knives to martial arts to wooden sticks, seeing the skills used firsthand in a war situation took his breath as did the tall, thick-muscled warrior with a scowl on his face as he wiped the blade on the dead man's shirt.
Shaking his head, he spun around, trotted forward to the nearest door, and kicked it open, barely jumping back in time to avoid a barrage of bullets spraying through the opening. Hugging the wall, he eased his gun around the corner and fired without aim, simply raining down a hail of bullets to take out anyone high or low in the room. Patiently waiting, he sucked in air and counted to five before entering the room in slow careful movements.
One step. Two. A third. The sound of a safety clicking off and a trigger tightening stuttered his heart.
Diving to the floor behind a Swiss cheese looking desk, he felt the searing jolt of a bullet hitting him hard in the center of his chest. Breathing became a chore as he labored to draw oxygen into his burning lungs.
"He said you would come. Stupid American." A heavily accented voice chastised as a small handgun was aimed in his direction.
* * * *
Rogue's gut clenched at the scene before him. Without hesitating, he raised his automatic weapon, sending a hard wave of bullets through the side wall, toppling the blond man instantly.
In seconds, he raced to Ryan's side, quickly checking him for wounds. "Ryan?" He patted his chest and rolled him with strong hands, searching for blood or injuries.
"I… okay. Breath… knocked… out." Ryan managed to force out between short pants. His face spoke of sharp pain mixed with relief. "Thanks."
Rogue slapped him on the back with a small grin. "Damn, Ranger. I'm glad you're wearing Kevlar. Without it, you'd be toast." He held out a hand to his former comrade, finally able to breathe once more. Watching Ryan fall before his eyes rivaled a horrendous nightmare, one he never wanted to see come to fruition. They had too much unfinished business between them for it to all end before it started.
"Me, too." Ryan took his hand and let Rogue pull him to his feet.
While a bit unsteady for a moment, Ryan seemed to quickly gain his strength and balance.
"Ready?"
"Almost." Pulling what appeared to be a cell phone out of his pocket, Ryan strode over to the dead man, grabbed his hand, and ran his first finger across the screen. A moment later, he shook his head. "It's a Rossi. Not the Rossi."
"Huh?"
"According to finger print records, it's his brother Nael."
"Which means the guy we're after is still on the loose."
"Bingo." Ryan looked around the room. "Let's see what we can find and pack out of here in the next couple of minutes. Maybe we'll get lucky."
Without another word, and constantly checking the doorway, Rogue dug through the battered desk, dragging out files, which he stuffed under his shirt. Ryan did the same, managing to slip a laptop under his vest along with a couple of business cards. With time running short and Rogue's neck hairs standing on end, he motioned to Ryan.
With a nod, Ryan started toward the only exit in the room. Rogue stepped in front, instinctively assuming the lead. He didn't care if Ryan made faces or called him four letter words. His heart couldn't stand another near crisis like before. The only way to prevent it was to face what came first, move swiftly, and hope they didn't run out of lead before making it to the nearest exit.
Sounds of war enveloped them. Explosions, the bark of gunfire, the yell of men all told of a desperate situation, one spiraling down the drain as they stood there.
Lark's voice broke through the link, yelling for Loco. Twice she called with no answer. Only silence.
Rogue's gut churned at what the lack of response more than likely meant. "Shit," he whispered to himself, feeling the mission falling to pieces.
"Bryce's down!" Night injected in between heavy pants.
"Fuck." Ryan muttered behind him.
Lark came across again, her voice full of pain and anxiety.
"Damn it," Ryan spit out behind him. "We have to do something. Anything. They're cutting us down like target practice dummies."
"What I wouldn't give for Tempest and her missiles right now." An image of the petite brunette flashed before his eyes. He wondered if he would walk away from such a fiasco and ever see her again.
"Air strike coming," Night rattled off in English, breaking his rule of no communication except in Navajo or, in today's case, also German. "Balls to the walls. Everyone out. Now!"
Not bothering to ask questions, Rogue surged from the room, jumping over overturned furniture, piles of debris, and a body here and there, sprinting back the way they came. He heard Ryan right behind him, his boots crunching heavily on the floor, his breathing hard.
Finding a gaping hole where a wall once stood, Rogue gestured and raced for it. Once they hit solid ground, both he and Ryan ran flat out, putting as much distance as possible between them and the compound. Hitting their previous position in a ditch, he slid to a stop, lying flat on his belly, firing now and again to provide cover for the other Wind Warriors still exiting the building. One hobbled, another trotted, but held one arm to his side. The last one, presumably Night, carried another man covered in solid black in a fireman's hold over his shoulders. All crept into the pre-dawn, searching for shelter.