Sarah hopped to her feet. ‘What’s he doing now?’
‘I have no idea,’ Jasmine said.
‘I do,’ Cobb said with a growing sense of alarm. ‘Zoom in.’
Garcia did what he was told, and the group watched in horrified fascination as McNutt lifted the cover from the bag.
Instead of clubs, it was filled with his private arsenal.
McNutt, an ex-Marine sniper and weapons expert, made his selection and lifted it from the bag. The Vampir — a Russian-made rocket-propelled grenade launcher — was designed to immobilize armored tanks. The gate was sturdy, but it wasn’t that sturdy. The owner hadn’t considered missile attacks when he had designed it.
Grinning with childlike delight, McNutt aimed the shoulder-mounted launch tube at the base of the gate as Cobb sprinted across the room and activated the intercom.
‘Stand down, soldier!’ Cobb shouted.
On the screen, a startled McNutt spun on his heels.
‘Who said that?’ he demanded as he aimed the tube at the touch pad.
‘Lower the RPG,’ Cobb directed. ‘We’ll open the gate.’
McNutt approached the intercom. ‘Major, is that you? You in there?’
‘Yes, Josh, I’m here.’ Then, just to be safe, Cobb clarified his answer. ‘I’m in the house, not the box.’
McNutt laughed at the comment. Unlike some members of the group, who viewed McNutt as a mentally challenged psychopath, Cobb knew most of it was just an act — a way for McNutt to amuse himself when he was away from the battlefield. Some people picked up on his sense of humor right away while others, particularly Garcia, didn’t. This only made things funnier to McNutt, who always looked for ways to mess with him.
Like threatening to use a grenade launcher on their home base.
Cobb hit the button that opened the gate. ‘See you soon.’
‘Thanks!’ McNutt shouted, his mouth no more than an inch from the touch screen. ‘Give me a minute. I gotta pack my missile first.’
Garcia switched the angle back to the control panel’s underside camera. Suddenly McNutt’s mouth filled the television screen. ‘Look at that. I can see his tonsils.’
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my God. I’m surrounded by idiots.’
2
McNutt gunned his engine through the winding driveway that led to the main entrance. Surrounded on nearly every side by a man-made inlet, the house was designed to be easily defensible. The lone bridge across the moat was a small isthmus that looked completely natural but was actually artificial and layered with explosives. With the touch of a button, the peninsula could be quickly transformed into an island.
Were it his estate, McNutt would have built a Mediterranean palace to rival the mansions on Star Island in Miami Beach instead of the 4,000-square-foot ranch that served as their headquarters. It looked more like a bunker than a beach house. But it had been built with practicality in mind, not prestige. Not only could it withstand an aerial assault, but the squat construction was perfect for the coast. The hurricanes and tropical storms that threatened Florida every year had nowhere to sink their teeth — and neither would zombies if they ever decided to attack.
Though he disapproved of the architecture, McNutt was downright envious of the house’s features. After years in the military, he could recognize an Echelon-class Signals Intelligence satellite receiver when he saw one. This wasn’t a standard household satellite dish. It was a top-of-the-line, military-grade device used to transmit secure SIGINT communications. Combined with its own freshwater treatment plant and electrical substation, it was clear that the house was envisioned as a base of operations.
McNutt parked in the roundabout driveway and cut the engine. As he did, the front door opened and Cobb stepped outside.
‘Howdy, chief. Long time, no see.’
‘You’re late,’ Cobb growled.
McNutt frowned and checked his watch. ‘No, I’m not. You said to be here by five. By my count, I’ve still got thirty minutes. I’d have been here sooner if it weren’t for that stupid gate.’
‘I said to be here by five o’clock on Monday.’
‘It’s not Monday?’ McNutt grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Major. Time flies when you’re on leave. One day you’re having a couple of beers with your buddies, the next day you’re running naked through the streets of Tijuana with the mistress of a pissed-off Federale while being chased by a gang of midgets. You know how it is.’
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. And I’ve told you before: stop calling me “Major”. You never know who’s listening.’
‘Sorry, chief.’
‘And at what point in your escapades did you decide that a rocket launcher in a golf bag sounded like a good idea?’
‘The night the midgets almost caught me. They’re small, but surprisingly quick. Their little legs are like propellers.’ McNutt laughed at the image in his head as he unstrapped the makeshift gun case and slung it over his shoulder. ‘You have to admit: it’s the perfect cover down here. Even on the back of the bike, no one gives a golf bag a second look. You should see what I have in the pouches.’
‘Later,’ Cobb said. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Come inside. We’ve been waiting for you all day.’
McNutt nodded and entered the house.
The opulent home had a spacious floor plan, including a living room, library, kitchen, and parlor. Valuable paintings hung on the walls. The furniture that once seemed cold and sterile — as if the protective plastic from the factory had only recently been removed — now seemed familiar and comfortable. The team slept in sparsely appointed bedrooms off a hallway in the northern end of the house. McNutt wondered if the clothes he had left in the dresser drawers were still there or if they had been discarded in his absence.
If they had, he would have to go shopping.
The final area was a formal dining room that looked out on a magnificent terrace. Interlocking swimming pools, landscaped with palm trees and adorned with sculptures, gave the space the feel of a fancy resort. As they walked past the huge picture window, McNutt glanced at the private marina to the rear of the property. A single yacht was parked in the slips. He knew from his past visit that the boat’s name, Trésor de la Mer, translated to ‘Treasure of the Sea’.
McNutt smiled. It meant that his employer was here.
He hoped that he had remembered to bring his checkbook because the team still hadn’t been paid for their first mission.
McNutt followed Cobb into the kitchen where three anxious faces stared at them from across the countertop. As with most homes, the space had become the de facto meeting point. Whenever they all needed to gather in one place, it was inevitably the kitchen.
‘Holy shit, the gang’s all here,’ McNutt said.
To the untrained eye, they looked like a mismatched set. Cobb was broad-shouldered and handsome, with a narrow face and piercing gray eyes that gave him a ‘leading man’ quality. McNutt was strong and scruffy, with hair and clothes that almost always looked like he had just slept under a bridge. Meanwhile, Garcia represented a new wave of hacker. He wasn’t pale and frail like the stereotypical nerds who never left their mothers’ basements. He was tan and athletic and reasonably attractive.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Sarah demanded.
‘We were getting worried,’ Jasmine added.
Their comments couldn’t have been more fitting.