THOOOOMP, THOOOMP, THOOOMP
Bailey adjusted his gaze upward, but he couldn’t believe what he was seeing: two attack helicopters emerged over the trees and hovered directly above him before he’d fully processed what happened. The question in his mind — Where the hell did that come from? — came and went unanswered. He switched his target from the door of the mansion to the first chopper that now had four fully armed tactical commandos rappelling down thick ropes.
Each descending figure was clad in full black — fatigues, helmets, gloves, and masks covering their faces. Rifles were slung around their torsos, sidearms attached to their hips and ammo clips dangled from their uniforms. They also wore armored plates that shielded their vital organs, and ribbed, thick fabric covered their limbs.
Whoever these guys were, they’d come for serious business; Stan’s presence and squad car didn’t give them pause. He quickly decided they weren’t friendlies and plugged two rounds into the closest commando just as boots hit the ground.
Both shots landed cleanly in the man’s chest and he started to fall. Stan shifted to the next target before he realized too late that the first man had recovered his footing and was raising his black rifle. Several rounds sounded off in rapid succession and made contact with Stan’s body. He jerked violently from the impact of the bullets, then collapsed to the pavement with a muffled thud. His vision flashed an explosive bright and the last thing he saw was Death — a silver skull grinning down at him — before everything went dark.
Ethan had just begun to make his departure through the gate as the squad car came rushing in, when he saw the two helicopters dropping off what looked like a small infantry unit. His instinct had been slowed by the shock of what was happening, but now it kicked in. He reached inside his coat to pull out his weapon but only grabbed air. Fuck! In his haste to leave the condo this morning, he’d forgotten his firearm.
Two shots rang out. It was remarkable he could even hear them from this distance, over the noise of the house alarm and the helicopter’s spinning blades. He noticed one of the troopers who had just touched down stumble backward. Ethan wanted to do something, but what these guys were armed with could tear him apart in seconds. As this thought flashed though his brain, he heard a flurry of gunfire — different from the first two shots — and saw the cop’s body crash to the ground, crumpled and unmoving.
He had no choice but to get out now, before he got caught up in the hail of bullets. Nothing could be done for the young officer.
There was a sudden, loud screech from across the road as tires burned into asphalt and Ethan jumped, startled by the sound. I’m dead next. His heart skipped in a frenzy to regain normal rhythm and he turned toward the direction of the noise. A car was peeling out from the curb, skidding as it went, but heading away from him. A black, mechanical looking device was tossed from the window and shattered into pieces on the street. Just some lunatic driver, thank God — or someone scared shitless.
No longer concerned with the litterbug, Ethan’s thoughts returned to the immediate situation. Whatever or whoever these guys were after, he hoped it wasn’t him. He couldn’t think of any reason these people would be in pursuit of a measly New York detective like him. It wasn’t like he was connected to anything of importance –
Then he felt the weight of the folder beneath his jacket and realized with dread that he was gravely mistaken. He didn’t know what secret was hidden in those files, but now there was nothing that would stop him from looking into the mystery of his uncle’s work — and death.
He slipped around the edge of the wall, moving swiftly away from the mansion and the men in black.
09
The Dirty Half Dozen
“Name’s Bailey, he’s just a beat cop,” one of the troopers said to his commander as he dropped the fallen officer’s wallet and identification card on top of his unmoving body.
“Pulse?” Lieutenant Jackman asked without looking at the younger sergeant, focused instead on their immediate surroundings.
“He’s alive, but unconscious. All impact sites pose no fatality threat.” The junior commando paused. “I had to take the shot, sir,” he said with regret, clearly hoping that he hadn’t disappointed his leader.
“Understood and approve, Hex — although using no gunfire would have been preferred. If we’d gone into this mission hot, he would have been a casualty. Count your blessings he didn’t shoot you in the face.”
Jackman removed his headgear and continued to scan the area, then gave his next directive over the COM unit with all the demeanor of a seasoned veteran. “Has the prime target been located?”
“He’s gone sir; for how long, we can’t say,” came the recognizable voice of Tinman, Jackman’s second in command. “Thermal scans are negative for the area, but I think there’s something you should see in the bedroom, L-T.”
Lieutenant Jackman headed up the steps in quick form, noting the torn crime scene tape on the ground. He strode into the main hallway, up the staircase, and peered down the corridor. At the far end, Tinman stood at a doorway waving him down. When Jackman entered, he visually registered the physical evidence that a death had taken place. That explained the tape he’d just seen. Adjacent to the bed was a small closet with a false paneled wall that had been opened, and a cast iron safe within that was empty.
“You found it like this?” Jackman asked, aiming his question at Worm, who stood inside the closet holding a thermal scanner against his shoulder.
“Not exactly, sir,” Worm gestured in the direction of the opening. “We noticed fresh tracks on the carpet, and the panel here was uneven with the wall. Upon further inspection, I discovered the safe. The door was closed, but unlocked.”
Jackman squinted in thought for a second and pointed to the bloodstains on the bed. “Take a sample, make sure it’s him. It appears he contacted someone and that someone may have been here — find out who.” He jabbed a finger at the phone. “Get a record on this line, incoming and outgoing. I want to know everything — what he ordered for dinner, who his doctor is, who his lawyer is, and how many times he took a shit.”
He strode out of the room and went back downstairs. In the front foyer he snatched up a stack of mail from the wall table and began scanning the labels. After a moment, he placed the mail back down and pushed the transmit button on his ear piece. “Get me Command.”
There was a static buzz in response followed by, “Code word for the day?”
“Spearhead.”
“Patching through.”
A new voice came over the connection then, and Jackman said, “We have a problem. Target may or may not be dead. We need any info on Tobias Keane from any and all media outlets, local and non-local hospitals, morgues, etc.”
“Keane. Repeat, did you say Keane? As in Tobias Keane?”
“Affirmative.”
“That’s unexpected.” There was a pause. “Wrap it up.”
Jackman ended the transmission, frowning slightly. The expression betrayed traces of annoyance along his jawline. It was time to go. According to the display on his wristwatch they’d been on location for eight minutes, and that was six minutes too long.
He stepped outside. “Team, mount up. Let’s get airborne.” As Jackman gave the order, he put his hand to his earpiece again and adjusted the tuning. He listened for a moment to the local police frequency. “Cops are in route, let’s move it out people!” He barked the order, even though it wasn’t needed. The last of his men were already boarding the twin choppers and the first one was lifting off as he headed for the second.