Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (18 page)

“Great,” there was a long pause. “We’re ready.”

With those three words, Sebastian’s heart slowed to a whump thud. The man’s tone was normal, but that was not the correct response.

“Sorry. Bad connection,” Sebastian kept his tone calm, but he was momentarily in disbelief that even this wasn’t going to go well. “Did you say ready?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian didn’t breathe as he waited for the rest of the words, but they didn’t come.

Agent Lewis continued, “Marshal Manckie and I will meet you in the garage.”

Black Raven agents had internal protocols for safe house deliveries. There were customized, pre-arranged words that the agents on the inside were supposed to use, regardless of the collateral authorities who were on the job. The all-clear signal for this delivery from his agents was supposed to be
“We’re ready for the sisters. We even have the damn jellybeans.
”

Skye’s list of necessities had been enormous, and, from what Sebastian guessed, geared to keep her sister busy. The woman didn’t stop at toothpaste and a toothbrush. Her list included organic foods, baking pans that were a certain brand, flour, cake mixes, extracts, five pounds of assorted jellybeans, two hundred three-inch clear glass stackable bowls, and that was just the beginning. Ragno had informed him that it had taken two agents hours to acquire the goods, and they’d had fun doing it. Best assignment ever, they’d reported back.

Sebastian had worked with Agent Lewis before. The man was experienced and competent. His failure to say the correct words meant something wasn’t right. The lines of the house became straighter, while the night became darker, and his heartbeat drowned out all extraneous noise. Sebastian said, “Approaching now. Give me twenty seconds before opening the garage door.” He touched his watchband, muting the connection to Agent Lewis.

“Ragno, you caught that?”

“Yes. The absence of code words is the first indication from Lewis that anything’s wrong.”

“I’m going in.”

“I’ll direct your tail team to split up. One will be on your heels and in the house in three minutes. Driver will stay in the vehicle behind Pete.”

To Pete, he said, “Let me out. Keep going until I give you an all-clear signal. If I don’t say,” he opened the door of the SUV, “‘
It’s time to walk the dog
,’ do not return. After three minutes, if you do not hear from me, drive out of this neighborhood. Ragno will give you instructions.”

He glanced in the back seat before stepping out. Spring, barely awake, looked confused. Skye was focused on him, a worried expression in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He said, “Nothing you need to worry about. Listen to Pete and you won’t be in danger.” He shut the door to the SUV and stepped onto the driveway. The night air was cold. The neighborhood suddenly seemed quieter than before. As Pete pulled away, his last glimpse of Skye made him pause. Dammit. She was worried, but not afraid, and she was thinking. He hadn’t been worried she would try something in the car, not with him and Pete in the front seat and child locks engaged on the rear windows and doors. But with only Pete in the front seat, and with him focused both on driving and communications with Sebastian and Ragno, Skye could present a problem. As the automatic door of the two-car garage at 211 Orchid Street started a slow rise, he said, “Pete. Be sure to watch the backseat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ragno, activate the vehicle’s internal cameras and keep an eye on her.”

“Done.”

The lines of the house became straighter and the interior of the garage seemed unnaturally bright. Sebastian’s breath slowed as he walked up the driveway and into the garage. His heart pulsed hard and effectively, and blood pumped through his veins in slow motion as his mind and body anticipated danger. There was a blue-black SUV in the garage on his left. The garage was otherwise empty. Two doors led into the garage, one from the house, and another from the back yard. The house door opened as Sebastian entered the garage.

A tall, muscular man with close-cropped brown hair, who looked to be in is early thirties, stepped into the garage in the empty parking area. “U.S. Marshal Philip Manckie,” he said in a booming voice. “You’re over two fucking hours late. Where are the guests?”

Far from you, asshole.

None of this was right, and the fucking wrongness confirmed his suspicion that his agents on the inside were in trouble. If things had been running smoothly, his agents would have met him at the door with Manckie. Plus, Manckie should have proffered his credentials. It was a simple act, but consistent with basic protocol. After introducing himself, Sebastian said, “I’d like to do a walk-through before the delivery.”

Manckie arched an eyebrow. He pressed a button that was on the wall, and the garage door slid down, sealing them inside. “Sure.”

He’d bet his life that they had a car and men on Pete and the sisters. He’d rather go it alone than risk losing them, so the two Black Raven agents who were outside needed to stay there. “Ragno. All good here. Keep my back-up outside for now.”

“Got it.” As always, she knew exactly what he meant, even with his instructions abbreviated. “Keep talking,” she said. None of the cool left her voice. “Tell me what you can, as you can. I’m trying to get a read from our agents who are in the house.”

As the garage door shut, the man who called himself Manckie lunged in his direction just as Sebastian pulled his Glock out of his holster. Sebastian was ready. He crouched, jumped to the left, and dodged the man’s frontal assault, but the man managed to smack the Glock out of his hand. It clattered on the garage floor, out of grabbing range.

Fuck.

No need to panic.

He loved his Glock, but his body was just as lethal of a weapon. They were centered in the empty parking space of the garage, with room to move. He turned to face ‘Manckie,’ positioning himself with knees bent, arms up, and leaning forward. The fact that the man was fighting with his fists and not a gun told Sebastian this man wanted him alive, as bait. Sebastian wanted the man who was impersonating U.S. Marshal Manckie alive, but not necessarily well—he needed information, and that wouldn’t be forthcoming from a corpse.

His left side was closest to the man. He used his left arm to deflect fake-Manckie’s blows while counter-striking with his right arm, all the while creeping closer and closer to his weapon. Just in case he needed it. The man’s chest was solid. His punches were rapid-fire fast. He landed a glancing blow on Sebastian’s chin. Sebastian had dodged most of the force, but the man’s power was still enough to make him see stars.

Son of a bitch.

A busted jaw was going to feel nice with the headache that never went away. He shook off the pain, dodged another blow, and repositioned himself into a low crouch.

“Stop fighting now and you won’t be dead like your agents,” fake-Manckie said, gathering his breath and eyeing Sebastian’s position. “They cried like girls when they begged for their lives.”

Sebastian didn’t waste time on a retort.
Cried like girls?
That fucking comment reduced fake-Manckie’s time on earth. Information would have to come from another source.

Sebastian sprang into a low forward lunge, every inch of his body and force targeting the man’s knees. He could hold his own in standing hand-to-hand combat, even with men like fake-Manckie, who were as large as he was, but he fought best when his opponents were on the ground. He hit the man’s knees with his left shoulder and drove forward. The momentum knocked the man off his feet and flat on his back. Sebastian’s fast lunge and the force of the fall onto the hard concrete momentarily stunned the man. He placed one knee on Manckie’s chest, below the rib cage, and directed his body weight into the man’s lungs. His other knee was on the ground, with the toe of his shoes digging down onto the concrete for leverage.

His position had the benefit of putting Sebastian within a few inches of his Glock. He thought about grabbing it with his right hand and ending Manckie’s life the easy way.
No. Too good for him.
Just as Manckie’s shock wore off, and the man started to struggle to get up, Sebastian held Manckie’s head in both of his hands, his fingertips and nails pressing hard past hair and into the man’s flesh. Brown eyes glanced into his. Sebastian saw sudden, wide-eyed fear.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, knowing that the man who had just taunted him with news that his agents had begged for their lives would do the same if given the opportunity. “Now who’s brave?”

Two more men appeared in the doorway and ran in his direction as he pounded fake-Manckie’s head against the concrete floor. He finished by twisting the man’s large head with all of his force. Neck bones and cartilage snapped, just as another man landed on his back with enough body weight to knock him off his knees. He was chest-to-chest with now dead fake-Manckie, and sandwiched into him. The man who was on him should have started punching. His first mistake was that he didn’t. The momentary pause gave Sebastian enough time to catch his breath and watch as another man approached from the doorway of the house, a gleaming knife in hand.

“There were three. Now two,” Sebastian said.

“Good,” Ragno said. “Keep working. Our agents on the inside aren’t answering.”

Sebastian drew a deep breath as he used his arms and feet to lift himself, along with the man who was on his back and punching his ribcage, off of now-dead fake-Manckie. Attaining plank position wasn’t easy but once he was in it he had the upper hand. Almost. There was one problem, and that problem was still carrying a glistening knife with a six-inch blade. It would have been easy to get rid of the man on his back, if it weren’t for the guy with the knife. He had to do something though, so he defaulted into the surest thing he knew, even though it would leave him momentarily exposed to knife man.

He lifted up and rolled to the right. The man who had been on his back was now underneath him. He head-butted the man’s forehead with the back of his head, as he grabbed his Glock off of the floor. His action prompted punching, scratching, and clawing, but Sebastian didn’t stay close to the man for the abuse. He leapt to his feet, and, as soon as he steadied himself, he landed four fast kicks into the guy’s ribcage, then backed away from him. He had his right hand on his Glock, just as knife man lunged and landed a slashing blow on his right bicep. The blade ripped through the leather jacket, his shirt sleeve, left a trail of fire along his skin, and royally pissed him off, giving him the fuel that he needed to embrace the suck and to get power from the pain.

With his left hand he two-finger jabbed into knife-man’s eyes. He shoved the man aside before he had an opportunity to land another slicing blow. Knife-man’s hands were at his eyes, and the other man was on his knees, getting up. As they readied themselves for their next moves, Sebastian lifted his Glock and fired at knife man’s forehead.

“Now one. He’s my keeper.”

The final man had a weapon at his hip, and reached for it.

Sebastian aimed for damage, not death. He pointed his Glock at the man’s right kneecap and fired. As the man jolted and yelled in pain, he fired another shot into the man’s left kneecap.

The man fell to his side, clutching at his knees, and howling. He didn’t resist as Sebastian pulled his gun out of its holster. Sebastian undid his belt, kicked the injured man in the side until he turned so that he was on his stomach. He used his belt to bind the man’s wrists. A zip tie would have been better, but he was strong enough to manhandle the leather belt into a suitable restraint, especially with the man’s knees in such bad shape. The man couldn’t walk, and now he couldn’t use his hands. No longer a worry.

“Ragno,” he said, as he checked the bodies for weapons. Three guns between them and knife man had a backup knife. “Call in Cleaners. More agents. I also want one of our interrogators on the scene. Someone highly skilled. We need medics. Let the marshals know what is happening here.”

“Will do.”

He went into the house and through a clean laundry room, pausing as odors of urine, stale sweat, and blood reached him. Blood splattered the walls and floors of what had once been a mostly white kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances. In the corner of the room, a table and chairs were pushed to the side, and three men lay on the floor. Two were face down. One was face up. Pieces of their heads had been blown away. He had no doubt they were dead, even without touching them.

“Ragno,” he said, lifting his wrist and turning it so that the dial of the watch faced the room, and touched the button that turned on the video camera. “Rough footage coming. Three men dead. Two I don’t recognize.” He moved closer. “Presumably the men who aren’t wearing the Black Raven logo are Philip Manckie and John Stamfield, the marshals who were in charge of the safe house.”

He didn’t waste time looking for identification. Ragno could confirm their identities with the marshals through the video footage, or the next group of Black Raven agents and marshals who’d arrive on the scene would figure it out. He bent to one knee, to the man who was face down. The man’s shirtsleeve had the black bird logo that symbolized Black Raven. He turned the man’s face to him. A bullet had entered the man’s forehead and exited the back. His face was still intact.

“That’s Paul Deal,” Ragno said. “Two years in Black Raven. Formerly a marine. Just returned from a lengthy Black Raven stint in Iraq. When he’s stateside he lives in Omaha. Near his mother and father. Not married. No children. Thank God.” She paused. He could hear her breathing as she struggled for composure. He gave her a second, as he fought to control his temper. Blinding anger wouldn’t be good for anyone at the moment. Sebastian didn’t recognize Paul Deal, but that didn’t make his death any easier. He also had never met the two marshals who had been killed, but he was equally irate at their deaths.