The General looked stunned. He’d never anticipated becoming a target in his own backyard, any more than anyone else in the United States had had to fear invasion. And his wife might have been shot and killed by the enemy. The Colonel could hear footsteps now heading towards them, footsteps that suggested that the enemy had abandoned stealth to search the house as quickly as possible. Someone outside might have heard the shot and called the police. He glanced down at his watch and discovered that it had stopped. So had the other two digital watches in the room, along with all the other electronic gear. The only thing that was still working was the clockwork watch the General wore on his right arm.
“Come on,” the Colonel snapped. Fighting inside a house was dangerous enough when one knew the lie of the land. He had no idea how to get the General out the back entrance, or if there even was a back entrance. “We can’t stay here!”
He opened the door, wishing for a grenade. The sound of enemy footsteps was coming closer; a moment later, a shadowy form came into view. The Colonel took aim and fired twice, feeling the satisfaction that came with scoring a direct hit when he heard a yell. He watched as the form tumbled backwards, just before someone half in hiding fired back towards him. They missed, but the shots forced him to keep his head down.
“Bob, get the General out the rear,” the Colonel ordered. The General had found a pistol from somewhere and looked ready to go down fighting, but he was too important to be allowed to die. The resistance would need him. “I’ll hold them off.”
Chapter Seventeen
Washington DC
USA, Day 26
“They killed Kenny!”
“Good,” Davenant muttered back, as they pressed their way into the semi-darkness. “The bonus will only have to be split three ways.”
The Thumper had taken out all of the electric gadgets in the house. There was no lighting any longer, apart from streams of light shining in from uncovered windows and open doors. Davenant was starting to feel as if using the Thumper had been a tactical mistake, even though it prevented the target from holing up in a panic room and screaming for help from the police. General Thomas might have resigned — or been sacked; the press reports were contradictory — but the police wouldn’t hesitate to answer a call from his house. They might be on their way even now.
He glanced down at Kenny’s body and scowled. One of the shots had gone right through his forehead, which meant the person they were facing was either very good or very lucky. Handguns were rarely as accurate as the media made them seem and the shooter had been firing in the semi-darkness… and Kenny had been silhouetted against the light. If only they’d been able to find plans for the house… but the General had been able to get the plans put in the secure files. They had proved impossible to access without tipping their hand too much.
“Keep low,” he muttered, as they pressed onwards. Every shadow could be hiding an enemy gunman, ready to plug them both. He would have given anything for a grenade or ten, but grenades risked drawing too much attention. The false IDs might not stand up to a through scrutiny. “We have to catch them before they get out of the building!”
“They’re blocking our way out,” the General muttered. His combat instincts seemed to be kicking in, the Colonel noted absently. The enemy could be anywhere, hidden within the shadows. He hadn’t even considered the need to bring night-vision gear with him. And with the watches out, their cell phones were largely wasted too. They couldn’t call for help from the guys in the van. “Get up the stairs, quickly!”
The Colonel nodded, allowing Packman to take point. He glanced up once as the former CIA agent headed up towards the light, his lanky form coming into view once or twice. There was a gunshot flash as one of their enemies fired towards him, the slug smacking harmlessly into the plaster. The Colonel fired back, but heard nothing apart from a curse. He would have liked to believe that he’d hit the guy, yet he suspected otherwise.
“Go,” he hissed. The General nodded and crawled up the stairs, while Packman took up position to provide covering fire. It was a situation that called for grenades, the Colonel knew, and silently thanked God for the proof that the enemy weren’t carrying any grenades. He was tempted to hole up and wait for the police, but they’d have to explain what they were doing in the General’s house and why. The General reached the top and joined Packman, his handgun pointed at the enemy position. As soon as the Colonel followed him, they both fired twice into the darkness. There was no sign that they’d hit anybody, but it should discourage them from trying to give chase.
The Colonel was breathing hard when he reached the landing, but the old exhilaration was flowing through him. A dark shadow appeared and vanished back into the shadow when they fired at it, a pair of shots coming back at them and striking the back wall. The General motioned for Packman to follow him towards a large window while the Colonel blocked the stairs, struggling to open it. As soon as it was open, the General pushed Packman out and then waved to the Colonel, motioning for him to follow.
“Hang on,” the Colonel said. His hand had closed around a metal container. It smelled like something from a cosmetic bag. “GRENADE!”
He threw the container down the stairs, pulled himself to his feet and ran towards the window. Behind him, there was a crash as the object he’d thrown hit the stairwell and fell towards the ground. If they were really lucky, their enemies would dive for cover, convinced that a grenade was about to explode. How long would it be before they realised that they’d been duped?
The window opened up onto a smaller roof, covering an outhouse. Ignoring the dangers, the Colonel clambered out of the window and jumped down to the ground. Packman and the General had already taken up covering positions; at the Colonel’s angry shout, they beat feet for the van. Behind him, a face appeared at the window, glaring down at them. The Colonel snapped a shot off at it, but the face jumped backwards and vanished back into the shadows. Cursing, the Colonel turned and followed the other two towards the van.
Blake was already scrambling out of the van, assault rifle in hand. Unlike the Colonel and Packman, he was wearing black overalls and a mask that would protect his identity if anyone was snapping away with a cell phone camera. The Colonel had a feeling that the attacking team would have made sure to disable all local cameras before they struck, but it would only take one picture to put out a national alert. General Thomas was a national hero, after all. It struck him that they might end up being branded kidnappers or murderers — the police might assume that there was only one group of assassins — but it hardly mattered. Right now, they had to get the General to safety before the cops showed up.
There was a shout behind them as two members of the enemy force emerged from the house. They were both wearing suits that made them out to be federal agents, but even the Colonel — who regarded federal agents with as much enthusiasm as he viewed Islamic terrorists — would have conceded that federal agents wouldn’t have started by gunning down the General’s wife. America wasn’t a police state yet, thank God, and it would never be if he had anything to say about it.
Blake took aim and opened fire. The M16 barked twice; one of the enemy managed to throw himself to the ground and scramble to cover, but the other one was caught by repeated hits and almost flew over backwards before he hit the ground. Blake whooped as the General was hauled into the van and then turned to open fire on the remaining enemy agent. There was a roar of engines and two more cars appeared at the far end of the street, driving right towards their position. The Colonel cursed and bellowed at Packman to take the wheel. Reinforcements had finally arrived. The enemy’s reinforcements.