“He has to be around here somewhere, move out toward the lake. Let’s see what’s out there.” She studied the monitor. From the drone’s angle looking toward the lake, she saw a finger pier to the left and a two-story boathouse to the right. Something on the pier caught her attention. “There.” She pointed to the spot on the monitor. “Looks like someone standing on the dock, check it out.”
Matt maneuvered the drone toward the finger pier. “What is that?”
“I don’t know.” She said. “Get closer…but not too close.”
“No cigar. Just a wooden owl decoy on a post.” Matt said. “Used to scare birds off the dock. Where to now, boss?”
“Pull up and scan the boathouse.”
The drone climbed vertically and rotated toward the structure. The lower level of the boathouse was covered with tongue and groove siding, no windows, and two boat slip openings facing the lake. The upper level had a large railed sun deck and a sheltered post and beam veranda equipped with a full outdoor kitchen and a stone fireplace.
“Here.” She tapped her finger on the monitor. “The glow under the veranda. Check it out, but make sure he doesn’t spot Jasper.”
“No problem.” Matt smiled. “I’ll make a low pass.”
As the drone moved in closer, she recognized her target. “Bingo. We got him boys. He’s on the upper level of the boathouse. Start working your way down there.”
Francesca’s team had tracked assassin Ian Collins, also known as Shamrock, to the cliffside mansion 90 miles northeast of Atlanta on Lake Burton where he’d been hiding since fleeing Savannah, Georgia. The two operatives were tasked with the hit under her direction, them CIA, she and Matt, The Greenbrier Fellowship.
By Francesca’s orders, Matt hovered the drone fifteen feet above and twenty feet back from Collins. She noticed Collins glance at his watch then stand. “Target’s moving, take cover.” He walked down the stairs and disappeared into the lower level of the boathouse.
“We’ve lost sight. He’s gone inside. Collins is all yours, Johnson. Be careful.” She motioned to Matt. “Find them. I want a visual of the takedown.”
She maintained a constant vigil, scanning each of the monitors while Matt maneuvered the drone into position and followed the operatives’ progress. Johnson and Aaron split up and were approaching the boathouse from adjacent corners. At the bottom of the stairs was the only door into the lower level and it was closed.
She turned to Matt. “Find a way to get in there.”
Francesca watched the drone fly over the boathouse, rotate, and descend vertically. As the opening came into view, she saw what looked like closed garage doors extending down to water level.
Before she could determine her next move, she heard a groan as Aaron’s helmet cam went dead.
“Aaron? Do you copy?”
Nothing.
“Matt, find him.” She turned back to the monitor. “Johnson, man down. Locate Aaron.” She saw a shadow move across Johnson’s monitor then his helmet cam went dead too. “Johnson?”
Nothing.
“Johnson?” She turned to Matt. “Shit. Get that drone over there now.”
He guided the drone to the front of the boathouse, panning down as it homed in on the boathouse door. “Oh God.” She saw someone’s feet being dragged inside and then the door closed.
“Matt, You have to get Jasper inside. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”
“I’ll try. But if it gets wet…” Matt said. “We’re dead in the water. No pun intended.”
Francesca pulled out her silenced pistol and chambered a round. “Get the drone’s video feed on my phone.”
“Where the hell are you going?” Matt asked. “Our orders are technical assistance only.”
“CIA orders, not mine. This is my op and I don’t want their blood on my hands.” She opened the van door. “Call it in.”
Francesca closed the door leaving Matt to handle the command center. Something had gone wrong. Collins got the jump on the two CIA operatives and the mission was on the brink of disaster. She ran up the steep hill toward the mansion. She glanced at her phone. “Matt, how are you coming on the video feed?”
“Almost there. Another few seconds and you should have it.” Matt said. “Jasper’s inside the boathouse — oh shit, this is bad.”
Francesca watched as the video feed came through on her phone. The inside of the boathouse was rustic. Both slips were empty, a small planked walkway wrapped around the outer perimeter and down the middle separating the two slips. Cables used to hoist boats from the water hung from long metal pipes attached to the rafters. Johnson and Aaron were suspended over the water, hands tied above them and secured to the cables. Boat anchors were attached to their feet. The Irish assassin was larger than she’d expected, with a white blaze in his dark hair and a bandage on the left side of his head. He hit Aaron with an oar, held up something, and was speaking.
“Matt, I need audio.”
“Here it comes.” Matt said. "Sorry."
“Are you going to let your partner die?” Collins held a picture in front of Aaron’s face. “Do you want to see her without a father? Now, tell me who sent you.”
She saw Aaron turn his head away. Collins tossed the oar onto the planking, pulled out a knife, and held it against Johnson’s face. “Tell me who sent you or your friend will never see his daughter again.”
“Go to hell.” Aaron spit at Collins.
On her phone screen, Francesca saw Collins gouge the knife into Johnson’s right eye. Johnson screamed behind the duct tape gag. She closed her eyes at the horrific image.
“When I said he’d never see his daughter again, I meant it literally.” Collins said. “His fate is in your hands. Now I'll ask you again, who do you work for?”
Collins flipped the switch on the wall. The metal pipe overhead started turning, slowly unwinding the cable and lowering Johnson into the water. “He still has one eye. Talk and I’ll raise him.”
Aaron said nothing until Johnson’s head went under. Johnson was thrashing about in the water. Francesca couldn’t believe what was happening.
“Stop. Pull him up.” Aaron begged. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just pull him up.”
Collins stopped the boatlift while Johnson’s head was under water.
Francesca ran down the driveway until she reached the mansion, alternating glances from her phone to the path ahead, while keeping her 9mm Glock raised in front of her. “Matt, can you get the drone any closer?”
“Not a chance.” Matt said. “Any closer and he’ll spot it.”
Collins voice again. “Who do you work for?”
“CIA.” Aaron said. “Now pull him up before he drowns.”
“Bentley. I should have known.” Collins leaned against the wall. “Is Jake Pendleton behind this?”
“Pendleton. Yeah, that’s him. Bentley called him ‘JP.’ The two old men go way back.” Aaron said. “Now pull him up.”
“Old men?” Collins said. “This just gets better.”
Francesca ran down the sloping backyard toward the boathouse. She slowed when she reached the wall, descending the stone steps as quietly as she could.
She watched in horror as the assassin picked up the oar and bashed it against Aaron’s head. Blood ran down the side of his face. Collins flipped a second switch on the wall and Aaron’s body began lowering into the lake. He tossed the picture into the water and opened the door.
On her phone, she saw him open the boathouse door at the same time the light beamed outward from the doorway. She was twenty feet away, looking straight into the door and right at the Irish assassin. She dropped her phone and fired three shots at Collins. The man staggered back into the boathouse. She ran toward him and fired two more rounds. The assassin staggered backward and fell into the water next to Johnson.