Authors: Kennedy Layne
The thing of it was…Townes was no longer looking at his phone with the blank detachment he’d been displaying for the past few hours. His interest was where Ryland had first noticed something was amiss, only to have that something fade from sight. Both men sat there for a good twenty minutes, assessing the land, sea, and air to their direct front. Well, this would certainly change things if it turned out that some group would be willing to go to such extreme lengths to reinstate Ryland’s former career. He smiled wryly at the notion that Fallon might have actually been onto something.
“Ryland, why don’t you go inside?” Townes gave more of an order than a suggestion. “Now.”
“And miss all the fun?” Ryland slowly stood, his gaze never leaving the horizon. He glanced behind him to where the rest of Crest’s team was now undoubtedly scrambling to figure out what it was out on the ocean that had caught their sentry’s attention. He downed the last sip of his whiskey, enjoying the lengthy spicy finish. A shot of adrenaline accompanied recent developments. It was most welcome as he thought over his available choices. “On second thought, Townes, I think I’ll take your advice and refill my glass.”
Townes was already speaking with someone on the phone, no doubt notifying their people inhabiting the two fishing crafts. They had a clearer vantage point over the pitching skyline, but Ryland had something better in mind. Fallon looked up from her laptop when he passed through the French doors, while Crest was in the process of being updated on the potential situation on his cell. His team was nothing if not efficient, but they currently didn’t have the manpower to stop an organization with the backing of a black bag government agency. He conceded that there were gaps in their overall coverage, although not without note.
“It appears we might be expecting some unwanted company,” Ryland explained to Fallon, whose gaze kept flickering between the two men. He didn’t stop to clarify, but did manage to give her one warning. “All exits will be covered, so be ready on my count.”
Ryland didn’t waste time as he maneuvered his way through the house and upstairs to Fallon’s closet, where he’d stored his weapon’s case. It wasn’t long until he had his LT104 equipped VS-6 7-42X56mm Leupold scope in hand. He opened the window and kneeled down back in the room, giving himself ample room to view the patch of skyline he’d noted before.
He instantly caught sight of the two ships that Crest had anchored off of the shore. They were both twenty-eight foot Boston Whaler 285 Conquests. There was nothing to see there, so Ryland concentrated farther out. It took a moment, but he finally caught sight of multiple 11-meter Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats modeled after the U.S. Navy’s special warfare craft coming fast their way. Fallon came running into the room, a little breathless in her inquiries.
“We need to leave. Now.” Fallon grabbed a bag of some sort out of her closet, taking the time to lift one of his as her footsteps indicated she’d walked back to the door. Ryland didn’t take his eyes off of the events unfolding in front of them. He was mentally counting the men aboard the speedboats to see what they were dealing with. “We’ve been compromised somehow, damn it. We have to go.”
“They’ll have already blocked the vehicle access to the property.” Ryland spoke softly, giving himself a quiet moment to envision the multiple ways this could play out. It was as if this last year faded away into nonexistence and he was back at it, doing what made him who he was. Ironic, really, when the people he was about to run from were the same ones he longed to be with. He finally lowered the scope, about to do the opposite of what Fallon and Crest thought they should do. He stood and crossed the room, gathering what he needed from his weapons case. He fastened it closed, bringing the case with him, and then met Fallon at the door. Her blue gaze was studying his as if she were searching for reassurance that he wasn’t about to hand himself over. “It looks as if you were right, my little savior. This definitely changes things, so this is what is going to happen. You will listen to every order I give you and we just might make it out of here without too much bloodshed. We’ll only be able to take one bag with us, so make it what you absolutely need. Be on the back patio in three minutes.”
“The patio?” Fallon asked, her disbelief more than evident. “Didn’t you hear me? Crest has a way out of—”
“You can either join me in getting out of here alive or you can stay with Crest and hope he has the firepower to combat the multiple special ops teams that have been assigned to bring me back in.” Ryland was aware they couldn’t waste precious seconds, but he still stole three to touch her face and press his lips against hers. He didn’t have time to fully comprehend what this realization meant to his future, but he wouldn’t be anyone’s lackey. He allowed the unfamiliar emotion of anger fuel him for what needed to be done in the next few minutes. “Your choice.”
Ryland didn’t wait for Fallon’s answer. She would either be by his side when he vacated the area or she would stay behind with Crest and his outgunned team, wondering where they went wrong as they faced down determined opponents that were heavily armed and seemingly trained for this specific type of operation. The thing of it was…they hadn’t done anything wrong to end up this way. Ryland had, but tipping the one hand he’d believed had been in his favor by placing what he’d thought had been a secure phone call. He would certainly rectify that before the week’s end. No one tried to undermine him without paying the price of underestimating him.
Ryland quickly took the stairs, only pausing long enough to race a round off his first 100 round C-Mag drum magazine into his Beretta ARX-160. Crest and Townes were by the front door, waiting for him and Fallon. They could keep on waiting as far as Ryland was concerned. There was only one surefire way off of this property and he intended to take it without delay.
“Feel free to cause a distraction,” Ryland offered up, hoisting his weapons bag over his shoulder. He could always replace his clothes, although leaving his stock of Crown Royal XR was a little harder. “I’ll be exiting out the back.”
Ryland didn’t waste time listening to Townes’ string of select curses not quite underneath his breath or Crest trying to give solid reasons why they needed to leave by the front. Time was ticking and it was only a matter of moments before—
Ka-Boom…Ka-Boom!
The foundation of the house shook and the windows rattled. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the two boats and half their available friendly force that had been anchored off of the shore had disintegrated into thousands of pieces and were now floating on the surf feeding the fish. That gave Ryland roughly forty seconds to do what needed to be done.
“Ryland, you need to—” Fallon was cut off by Crest.
“Follow him. Take him to the location I gave you earlier and wait for my call.”
Townes had managed to get in front of the group and slip out back, leaving Ryland to stand beside Crest in the open doorway. He must have shut out the lights upon entering, because the only light to see by was that of the moon, which kept constantly hiding behind the clouds. That would work in their favor, as they’d run out of time as the twin engines of the high-speed boats were practically upon them.
“Interesting,” Ryland said aloud, pulling his weapon to the carry. He shot a sideways look at Crest, enjoying the man’s frustration. “Working side by side, being shown that Fallon was right this entire time. This ought to give your team food for thought. It certainly does me. It doesn’t bode well for my future though, but I can only imagine your delight at conceiving what torture I must have been subjected to back in the day.”
“Trust me, it doesn’t make up for even one life taken by your hand. You made your own choices to continue down the same road once the program folded.”
Crest slipped into the darkness, using the shadows of the house to conceal his body. It was at that moment that Fallon had placed her hand firmly on Ryland’s back, letting him know that she was right behind him. He led the way and soon they were making their way down the huge quarried slabs of granite that served as stairs. It wasn’t long until individual gunshots started to ring out followed by sustained bursts, but the heaviest machine gun fire was coming from the house to the right of them. A team must have been assigned to take out those men and women Crest had set up to monitor him from a distance, but that wasn’t his concern. He never took his eyes off of the incoming boats.
“Be ready,” Ryland advised, kneeling on the sand to monitor the situation in front of him. His plan had to be timed accordingly or it would never work. That wasn’t an option. He’d witnessed Crest go one way while Townes had taken up the right flank. Jax had come around the front, but he too disappeared into the shadows. Nothing could be heard over the massive twin engines of the boats and Ryland tensed, hoping that Crest and his two agents wouldn’t fire too soon. They all needed these men to evacuate the assault boats, leaving their heavy machine guns behind. They were a well-organized group, the individual team leaders using hand signals to indicate their intentions and pointing out objectives. Good. They were expecting that Crest would have taken Ryland out the front and would be trapped near the front gate. That worked in their favor and it wasn’t long until they were close enough that Crest finally gave the order to fire. He’d created interlocking fields of fire across an open beach, pinning the incoming force down initially. The opposition leaders would be forced to choose from two equally bad options—take cover to avoid massive casualties or move out under withering fire to reach their objectives. The retired Marine would have made a damn fine assassin himself, if he’d been so inclined. “Now!”
Ryland launched himself forward, aiding Crest and his team to clear the way. There were eight men and/or women involved, having no alternative but to exchange fire. They’d been caught on a flat open area without cover away from their boats and the heavier automatic weapons. Unfortunately, the exchange had just tipped their hand to those people who had been guarding the front gate and time would ultimately turn the tables against them. It wouldn’t be long before the opposing force rolled up their rear and pinned them down.
Ryland had roughly twenty feet to go when one of the men dressed in tactical black gear noticed them. He was all decked out in his all black Nomex assault suit and loadbearing gear that Ryland knew all too well had been supplied to the CIA’s crisis response teams. The aggressor turned and aimed just right of his position. Two things dawned on Ryland as he quickly calculated his odds—these people wanted him with a black bag over his head and Fallon would be considered collateral damage who had no impact on their mission objectives.
Crack
!
Fallon’s service weapon had fired and taken out their last obstacle. She’d remained behind him, just as he’d directed. Ryland couldn’t have asked for a better partner, but he was about to pump up the pressure. She couldn’t come with him. He hadn’t realized that until this very moment, but recognizing the desperate tactics this organization was willing to employ to have him back forced him to recalculate the lengths they’d go to in the end game. It wouldn’t be that difficult to leave her behind—a matter of some simple misdirection. All he had to do was take control of the speedboat and then maneuver it so that she couldn’t get aboard at the last minute. He made his way through the incoming waves to toss in his case. He then boarded the small vessel before turning to say something that would distract her. It was he who was taken aback.
“Try it and I’ll drop you where you stand,” Fallon threatened, aiming her standard issue Sig Sauer 229 at the very same leg that Crest had blessed with his bullet. Her .40 S&W wouldn’t make as big of a hole as Crest’s .45 ACP round, but he’d notice the limp it would give him. Well, wasn’t this just grand. Ryland cautiously held up one hand while keeping his weapon down at his side, measuring her words. She hadn’t tossed out an idle threat. She’d stated a promise from the determined look in her eye. Both ignored the altercation still taking place nearby on shore, focused only on this current standoff. “We are leaving this shore together or not at all.”
“This isn’t the time or place for this, Fallon. We’re running out of time.”
“I’m well aware of circumstances.” Fallon carefully placed the two cargo bags she had hoisted on her shoulders into the boat, all but showing him that she’d defied his earlier direction about one bag. Ryland seriously considered raising his weapon, but something stopped him…that alone was rare and something he’d have to take time to contemplate at a later date. “Seeing as how I could have easily left you at your penthouse apartment in the capital, I could have watched from afar as they dragged your ass out of the service entrance with a hood over your head and back into that godforsaken room you keep dreaming about. I chose to see this through to the end for the both of us. I haven’t changed my mind just yet, so I suggest you allow me enough time to come aboard when I push this boat farther into the water.”
Ryland didn’t have much of a choice, unless he physically disabled her in some way. People in general might consider him a psychopath, regardless of how he came to be that way, but he had no wish to see Fallon harmed in any way…especially by him. He shook his head as he sat back behind the launch’s control panel, wrapping his fingers tightly around the wheel. A gunshot came too close to the boat, slicing through the water. Ryland reached into his bag of tricks and retrieved a little surprise to disable the other RIB. Pulling the pin on his CTS-M-14 Incendiary grenade, he threw it about fifteen yards into the aft section of the other assault craft before turning to look at Fallon.
“Get in for fuck’s sake if you’re coming.”
Ka-Boom!
Fallon holstered her weapon and used both hands to push the boat back into the surf until she was knee-deep in saltwater. She never took her wary eyes off of him as she swung herself over the bow and settled into the forward end of the thirty-foot vessel. Ryland didn’t waste time and swung the helm around while advancing the throttles on the twin caterpillar diesel engines. The shore faded from sight, leaving them unsure regarding which side had gained the advantage. The drifting debris from the two boats rode the waves in their wake as he steered them onto a northeastern course.