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.”
CHAPTER 4
J. Miller, as it turned out, was a former paramedic, and when Keo tossed him a first-aid kit he had retrieved from the soldiers’ boat, the man quickly took out what he needed, cut off a large chunk of his pant leg, and treated his own wound. He worked without making a sound, though every now and then his breathing accelerated slightly.
They were in the parking lot, with Miller leaning against a white Bronco and the sun beating down mercilessly on both of them. Keo gave Miller space to keep himself from bleeding to death while Gene had retreated back to the ridgeline overlooking the western marina in case more soldiers tried sneaking up on them.
When Miller was finished, Keo handed him a refilled bottle of water, also from the soldiers’ boat. The vessel was packed with supplies, including spare magazines with 5.56 rounds but no 9mm, which was what Keo would have preferred. He’d only used up half of the bullets in his MP5SD and he still had two full spares, but a man with extra ammo (especially the right kind) was a rich one these days.