‘I don’t think she’s in the house,’ he said.
‘Where?’ said Winter.
Gallen pointed at the barn.
On the far side of the barn, three horses walked to the top rail of the fence and looked over at them. Lying as flat as they could, the men waited for the nags to lose interest: if any of the kidnappers were farm people, they’d immediately see the horses’ attention had been caught.
‘Why can you never get a horse focused on any damn thing, until they take an interest in precisely the wrong thing?’ said Winter, lying under the lumber. ‘Fricking nags got a brain like a pea.’
After five minutes, Gallen raised his head and saw the rail was empty. Getting to their feet, they closed on the barn via the horse yards. Peering through the gap made by the horse door and the upright, Gallen saw an empty line of stalls inside. Gently, he slipped his knife up the gap and slipped off the latch that was holding the door from the inside.
Letting themselves into the cold barn, they moved along the empty stalls, the breeze making a loose piece of ceiling flap slightly. The homing signal said she was close by.
Rounding the corner, Gallen looked down the main lane of the barn, horse stalls leading off it. The smell of burning emanated from somewhere and Gallen stealthed to the first stall. Nothing.
At the second stall, he opened the door and looked in, pistol raised. The smell was coming from a burnt-down brazier. Florita Mendes lay on a bed of straw against the far wall.
Gallen made to move and Florita shook her head, wide-eyed. Gallen froze, and looked down. A few inches from his shin was a filament line that ran across the doorway and up the wall. Gallen saw where it ended: a frag grenade taped to the ceiling.
Gallen mouthed, ‘Where are they?’ and she responded with a pointed finger. Leaning back, he caught Winter’s eye. The Canadian had seen Florita’s signal and he and Ford moved softly down the lane of stalls to where an office sat at the end.
Holding his breath, Gallen waited until Ford stuck his head out of the office with the thumbs-up. Winter came out wiping his blade.
Regrouping, Gallen whispered, ‘I think we can make the snatch, take her out in the boat.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Winter.
They cut Florita loose and walked out of the barn the way they’d come. As they crossed the horse yards and made to jog across the fields back to the Klepper, a shot sounded. They turned. The shot had come from the direction of the house, but it sounded further away. More shots sounded.
‘Get eyes,’ said Gallen, pulling Florita back into the lee of the barn.
Winter got his binoculars free and had a look. ‘Shit,’ he mumbled. ‘Looks like they got Liam pinned down.’
‘Okay,’ said Gallen, pulse thumping in his head. ‘Mike, get Florita to the boat, retrace back to the RV. Can do?’
‘Got it,’ said Ford, grabbing Florita by the elbow and dragging her into the horse paddock.
Winter and Gallen checked their weapons for load. ‘Wanna just rush ‘em?’ said Winter, screwing a suppressor onto his SIG 9mm.
‘Let’s finish it,’ said Gallen, falling in behind the Canadian as they set off across the lawn that separated the barn from the house.
Gunfire was still coming from the other side of the house. They jogged to the front door and Winter stamped it down. Gallen brought his suppressed handgun up to a cup-and-saucer grip and turned left into the kitchen where the pistol spat twice, the brass hitting the floor louder than the shots. A woman fell to the boards.
Swinging back, Gallen watched Winter stalk into a living room, where a sliding door opened onto decking. They walked through the door and onto the deck where Winter put two shots into a gunman’s face before ducking back to join Gallen at the ranch slider door.
‘Two shooters, assault rifles,’ said Winter as bullets tore into the ranch slider and the wall they were hiding behind.
Gallen brought his rifle to his shoulder, put two bursts of three-shot at one of the shooters and thought he hit a leg as the man dived behind a tree.
Another shooter emerged from the same maple tree and fired at Gallen, the remains of the ranch slider exploding as Gallen hit the floorboards.
Winter leaned against the frame of the destroyed sliding door and slid a grenade into the launcher. He fired at the branches of the maple tree and they watched the leaves scatter and the trunk split as the grenade went off, making the man they knew as Raffa run from his hide for another tree.
Gallen got a bead on the injured man and shot him in the chest as he tried to let more fire go at the house.
Jumping off the deck, they tracked Raffa until they saw the Israeli camped behind the fourth tree in the line. The Mossad man fired at them again and then came an empty click: dead man’s hammer.
Gallen watched as Raffa discarded the assault rifle and switched to his handgun. Diving to the cover of trees as the handgun levelled, Gallen was too slow and felt the slap of a 9mm slug in his left shin bone. Gasping with pain as he hit the grass, Gallen sucked air, trying to beat off unconsciousness.
‘You okay, boss?’ said Winter, joining him behind the tree. More shots came in, ripping the bark off the maple.
‘It’s a leg wound,’ said Gallen, stars at the edges of his vision. ‘But it got the bone.’
‘I think that’s a Glock,’ said Winter. ‘You counting his shots?’
‘I have twelve,’ said Gallen. ‘If he’s got a standard clip, he’s got three shots in the can.’
Winter took off his shirt, draped it over his rifle barrel, and pushed it out, making it dance like a puppet. Three shots came in, one of them taking the shirt off Winter’s rifle.
Standing, Winter took his time showing himself. Gallen raised himself to one knee, but couldn’t put his weight on his left leg.
The Israeli leapt from his hide and aimed-up at Winter. ‘So, the famous Kenny Winter finally comes into the open?’ he taunted.
‘Pity to waste it,’ said Winter, pulling a smoke from his jeans pocket and lighting it.
The Israeli fired but all that happened was a loud click. Gallen watched him discard the weapon and fish a military Ka-bar knife from the small of his back. He started circling the big Canadian, his muscular body bulging out of the Levis and black jumper.
‘You gotta be careful with those,’ said Winter, keeping his chest pointed at the Israeli. ‘Those Ka-bars are sharp, dude.’
‘You and that redneck Gallen,’ said Raffa. ‘You really chased us all the way out here? Are you fucking mad?’
‘Mad enough to get even,’ said Winter, exhaling a plume of smoke into the early morning air.
‘Leave it, Kenny,’ said Gallen, gasping with pain.
‘I don’t know why you bothered,’ said Raffa as if Gallen didn’t exist. ‘You know who she is?’
‘Who?’
‘Mendes, idiot!’
‘Oh, her,’ said Winter. ‘She signs the cheques. Did I pass?’
‘You’re a smartass, Winter,’ snarled the Mossad man. ‘Why don’t you drop that rifle, see what happens when you’re not assassinating lawyers and bankers? Anyone can shoot an office guy.’
‘Didn’t know the Mossad was using cattiness as a weapon these days,’ said Winter. ‘Although it suits you, Raffa.’
‘Come on!’ yelled the Israeli. He was in a crouching stance, knife in his left hand. ‘What are you scared of, tough guy?’
‘Clowns,’ said Winter, ‘and grown women with pigtails.’
‘Fuck you,’ said the Israeli, rushing at Winter, who sidestepped the attack, dropped his rifle and picked up his shirt, wound it over his left hand.
‘Leave him, Kenny,’ said Gallen, finally getting to his feet and limping towards them with his SIG. ‘I’ll finish him.’
‘No, you carried enough weight, boss. I’ve got this.’
Raffa lunged again, this time with more caution, clearly realising that although Winter was a big guy he had some athletic balance.