“The same ones that took your friends?” Keo asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah, that’s them.” Gene lowered his binoculars. “Maybe they heard my gunshots…”
“See what happens when you shoot at strangers?”
Gene snorted. “Whatever. If you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have fired.”
“And you wouldn’t have had that delicious lasagna MRE.”
“That’s true.” Gene reached for his rifle lying nearby.
“What are you doing?” Keo asked.
“I’m going to shoot them.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Let them get closer. You’re not going to hit something moving that fast anyway. You could barely hit me, and I was crawling toward you.”
“Good point.”
“Let them come up,” Keo said, thinking, And I’ll figure it out as we go.
It didn’t take long for the saltwater boat to reach the marina. The pilot deftly glided the vessel into the slip behind Keo’s twenty-two-footer, while one of the soldiers up front hopped onto the dock and pulled security. He watched the man go into a crouch and aim his rifle up and down, then side to side. Meanwhile, the second man tossed the line over, then followed it and tied the boat into place. They had clearly done this many times before, so he wasn’t dealing with complete amateurs.
“You think it was your boat or my shooting?” Gene asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Just curious.” Gene had slid his rifle up next to him and was clutching it. “You sure we shouldn’t-”
“Yes,” Keo said. “Besides, I need to find out what they know.”
“How’re you gonna to do that?”
“I need to take at least one of them alive.”
The motors cut off, and blessed silence once again swept across the island. All three of the soldiers were on the dock now, and one of them jumped onto the tied twenty-two-footer. He searched through the compartments under the console, then spent a few seconds peeking into the livewells.
“I can take them,” Gene said.
“No.”
“But-”
“No,” Keo said, probably a bit louder than he needed to that time.
It had the desired effect, though, and Gene sighed as if Keo had given him a spanking. The kid unclutched his rifle and laid his chin against the ground and pouted.
The soldiers were moving up the dock, the clomp-clomp-clomp of their heavy boots against the wooden structure echoing all the way up here. To his absolute non-surprise, they were all well-armed, wearing gun belts and sidearms, and the sun reflected off the barrels of their assault rifles. Either M4s or AR-15s, though given how every soldier he had met in Louisiana seemed to have been armed with the US military-adopted M4s, he was leaning toward the former.
“Okay,” Keo said. When Gene lifted his head expectantly, he asked, “You see the fat one?”
The kid peered through his binoculars. “Which one?”
“The one in the back.”
“That’s the fat one?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t look that fat.”
“Okay, the biggest one in the back, then.”
“What about him?”
“He’s yours. When I make my move, you take him out. Got it?”
“What about the other two?”
“Don’t worry about them. I’m going to kill the second one and keep the third one alive for questioning.”
“Can you do that?” Gene gave him an earnest look. “I mean, you can do that?”
“Yes,” Keo nodded. “I can do that.”
“Okay. So when should I shoot?”
“After I make my move.”
“And what’s that? Your move?”
“When one of them goes down.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Get ready,” Keo said, then began sliding backward, away from the ridgeline.
Gene watched him go, looking so much younger than he had earlier this morning. Keo had thought he was seventeen, but he was probably closer to sixteen. Which made the fact that Gene had managed to survive these months on Santa Marie Island all by himself something of a miracle.
“Don’t sweat it; you can make the shot,” Keo said.
He didn’t so much as have faith in Gene’s shooting ability than he did in the high-powered scope mounted on top of Deuce. They were, from what he could tell, less than a hundred meters from the marina. Even someone as distance shooting-challenged as Keo could have made the shot all day long with the equipment and position.
“I can make the shot,” Gene repeated, likely more for his own benefit than Keo’s.
When he was far enough away that he was sure the angle kept him from being spotted from below, Keo picked himself up from the ground. He brushed off dirt and pebbles clinging to his clothes, then turned and, bent over at the waist, moved quietly down the sidewalk.
Like most marinas, this one was slightly angled with the entrance at the top and the docks at the bottom, with the parking lot spread out in the middle. The only potential hiding spot Keo had seen when he first walked through the place earlier was a natural defilade made of rocky formations and a wall of dirt that flanked the entrance. It wasn’t very much at all, but at least it would keep him invisible from anyone approaching on the other side.
Keo slid against the wall of dirt now, and out of pure habit checked the weight of the MP5SD to make sure he had a full magazine in place. The submachine gun was equipped with its own suppressor, which made it longer and less mobile than its smaller cousin, the MP5K. The weapon was heavily chipped and dented, and Keo was resigned to the fact that sooner or later he would have to look for a replacement. Like everything these days, even the German gun would eventually fall apart.
It was too bad Gene didn’t have two-way radios, otherwise Keo wouldn’t have needed to risk peeking around the wall of rock to glimpse the docks and the three soldiers walking up it at the moment. They were taking their time, which was probably a byproduct of being in control of the surrounding area and, most likely, having everything go their way for a long time. Even if they knew Gene was on the island, they were used to him hiding from them.
As he had guessed, they were carrying M4s. New models, from the looks of it, and nearly identical to the one he had left behind in Gene’s two-story house on the hill. Of course, he’d gotten that carbine from Song Island, and the Rangers had converted it to full-auto. Would these bozos have done the same thing to their weapons? He guessed he’d find out pretty soon.
There was fifty to sixty meters of open space, including the parking lot, from where he was and the end of the docks, plus a generous amount of trucks, many with boat trailers, left behind to block his view of the soldiers, and vice versa. The windows of the vehicles were coated with the elements, and not a single one looked even remotely usable. Gene had told him he’d found keys to some of them, but after trying a half dozen or so, he’d given up trying to find one that still worked.
Given the range of the MP5SD, there was no way he was going to hit them from this distance, even if he could shoot around the cars. No, he’d have to let them come closer and make use of the submachine gun’s close-quarters ability. Of course, that would mean Gene would have to wait just a little bit longer to-
Crack! as a single rifle shot smashed the silence.
Or not.
He stuck his head out into the open a second time and watched the soldiers scrambling around on the docks. The two up front, anyway, while the third had fallen and was grabbing onto his left thigh, where he had been shot.
Gene had missed-sort of.
The two able soldiers returned fire on Gene’s position along the ridgeline to the right of them, the pop-pop-pop of their assault rifles rolling back and forth across Santa Marie Island.
Ah. Three-round bursts, and not full-auto.
He should have felt better about that, but of course two people letting loose with a string of three-round shots were still two people too many when lead was involved.
Gene hadn’t fired a second shot, probably because he was trying not to get his head blown off at the moment. That was awfully smart of him, but Keo didn’t have that luxury. Well, he did. He could stay right where he was, and either the soldiers would come closer or they would turn tail and-
Shit, he thought when he saw the soldiers turning and heading back toward their boat. One of them had grabbed the wounded (not really “fat”) man and was half-dragging and half-carrying him, while the third continued raining fire on the ridgeline where they’d last spotted Gene.
Keep your head down, kid.
That was exactly what he should have done, too. There was no point in pursuing the soldiers. Hell, he’d have to get a lot closer just to shoot them with his weapon.
Yup. The smart thing here was to hang back. He could always wait for another group to show up. Gene said they came around regularly, didn’t he? Once a week?
Just hang back and wait. There was no point in doing something stupid now, when the men down there didn’t even know he existed. He could gather intelligence about the operation around here some other way. Maybe even find out if they had Gillian somewhere, if he was really, really lucky.
Right. Because he had been really lucky these last few months.
Keo sighed and slipped out from behind cover and jogged across the parking lot.
He used the parked vehicles as cover, darting from one to the other, but always moving east toward the docks.
While he was going as fast as he could, the soldiers had bogged down halfway back to their boat. The wounded man had proven too hurt to keep moving and was sitting down while the second one tried to dress his wounds, blood spurting on the deck around them. The third soldier was pulling security, pointing his rifle at the ridgeline and still searching for something to shoot. Gene was being very smart, though, and not giving the man anything.
Keo was halfway to the docks, willing the guard to keep his eyes focused on the ridgeline, when the man decided to look down and saw Keo just as he slid behind a blue Chevy truck. The man didn’t waste any time and opened fire.
Ping-ping-ping! as bullets pelted the other side of the vehicle.
“Hurry up!” someone shouted between shots. The shooter. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
The gunfire was continuous, bullets smashing into the truck, some going astray and chipping the pavement around him. Finally, after about ten seconds of nonstop shooting, there was a brief respite.
Keo peeked out from behind the bumper at the soldier as the man was backing up, reloading as he went. His friends had stood up and were continuing to hobble back to their boat.
Should have parked closer, dummies.
Crack! as a bullet punched into the wooden dock floor in front of the third soldier.
Gene, back in play.
But before Gene could correct his errant second shot, the soldier turned toward another part of the ridgeline and opened up with a new magazine.
Keo took the opportunity to slip out from behind the Chevy and race across the parking lot. He picked up speed as he went, taking the remaining meters in a matter of seconds and reaching the docks just as the soldier turned back toward him.
He let loose with a burst and didn’t release the trigger until the man fell sideways and off the dock, splashing into the water below.
The other two were almost at their boat. They were shouldering each other, alternating between hobbling and running, when they turned around just as their comrade disappeared into the water behind them. They hadn’t heard Keo’s gunshots because the MP5SD barely made any noise when it fired, except for the cyclical whirring of its parts. Compared to the crash of the M4 and Gene’s rifle, Keo might as well be spitting. So the remaining soldiers weren’t reacting to Keo’s gunshots, but rather the loud splash of their friend falling into the water.
Keo was running full speed up the dock now, stepping on the trail of blood one of the soldiers had left in his wake as he was dragged off. He switched the submachine gun’s fire to semiautomatic as the second soldier dropped his friend and tried to unsling his rifle.
Keo shot the second soldier once in the thigh, then as the man screamed and grabbed for his leg, shot him again in the chest. Unlike his friend, this one only crumpled to the deck, where he lay still and didn’t move.
The not-really-fat soldier looked shocked to see the body fall next to him. Then he snapped out of it and glanced over at Keo before scrambling to unsling his rifle.
“Don’t make me kill you!” Keo shouted.
The wounded man looked conflicted, and Keo was sure he might finish going for his M4 after all-there was at least a fifty-fifty chance-but the man was apparently smarter than he looked. Either that, or he wanted to live more. He pulled his hands away from the rifle and placed them over his thigh to stanch the bleeding instead.
Blood was squirting out through the man’s fingers when Keo finally reached him. He grabbed the wounded man’s rifle and tossed it up the dock, then kicked the dead soldier’s rifle into the water. Once he secured the remaining soldier’s handgun-a nice-looking Smith amp; Wesson.32 semiautomatic-Keo took a step back to catch his breath.
“Keo!” Gene, waving with both hands (and Deuce) at him from the ridgeline.
Keo waved back. “All clear!”
He looked back at his captive. Like the soldiers Keo had encountered recently, this one had a name tag over his right breast pocket. It read: “J. Miller.” Unlike the ones in Louisiana, Miller and his fellow Texans had a patch of the Lone Star State over one shoulder.
“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Keo said.
“Huh?” Miller said, blinking the sweat and sun out of his eyes.
“Me, you guys, and marinas.”
Miller continued to blink at him, unsure how to respond. He finally said, “I don’t know you, man.”
“No? Hunh. I must be thinking about some other douchebags in uniforms, then.” He looked down at the blood oozing out between Miller’s fingers. “Hurts?”
“What do you think?”
“Looks like it hurts.”
“That’s because it does.”
“You need a doctor?”
“I got medical supplies in the boat.”
“Oh, do you now? That’s convenient.”
Miller didn’t say anything.
Keo glanced at the dead soldier nearby. His name tag read: “Matthew.” Keo hadn’t caught the third soldier’s name before he did his swan dive into Galveston Bay. Not that it mattered. Fish food didn’t need names.
“So,” Keo said, looking back at Miller. “I have a few questions. You mind answering them for me?”
“I got a choice?” Miller asked.
Keo grinned. “Of course you do. It’s a free country, isn’t it? Well, it used to be, anyway.”