The Warrior Code (14 page)

‘We’ll leave after dinner.’

They didn’t leave that night.

Zeb spent the evening outside keeping watch; he lay prone against the side of the house and blended in the darkness of the black strip.

The utter stillness was broken by the occasional chug of a tractor in the far distance or the laughter of the women inside. A fly hovered around Zeb, found him uninteresting, and sped off.

Darkness came, and with it the canopy above lit with tiny pinpricks. Zeb turned down the offer of dinner, his attention focused on the landscape; his inner sense was uneasy.

Then he saw it.

A dark shape that didn’t fit the landscape, that wasn’t there a few moments earlier in his memory. The shape was in front of the neighbor’s house on the right.

Zeb looked at it, looked around the edges of it, and it resolved into a large vehicle, maybe an Escalade. Or a Durango. The neighbor had a Ford sedan.

Broker checked the neighbors out, down to the pets they have. That neighbor’s been away for a month.

This could be a friend visiting the neighbor.

Or an enemy visiting McBride.

A shadow broke the nightline briefly and then disappeared. A shadow moving in their direction.

An enemy, then.

He thumbed his sat phone and called Meghan. He had prepped them on defensive positions before he had stepped out.

‘Draw the curtains over the windows. The basement. Now! Wear your vests. There’s a spare vest in the carryall I’ve placed in the living room. Give that to Maggie. Drop the shelf in the basement across the door. Don’t bunch together. If anyone comes down the basement, anyone, shoot to kill. I will call out before I come in. Turn on the player now.’

He had recorded their conversation on one of his recording devices; playing it back would give the illusion they were in the living room.

How did Krone know?

He erased the thought, the how wasn’t important at this stage, and focused on the problem at hand.

Three of them. One will break in from the front, a diversionary tactic, while the other two will come in hard from the rear. They’ll hear conversation in the living room. At a signal, the one at the front will break in, and then the men at the rear will follow. They’ll all come in through the windows; they’re easier and large enough for a man to come through. Doors might take more time. Palisano, the most inexperienced of the three according to Broker, at the front; Krone and Romero at the rear.

Zeb crawled swiftly away from the home to escape the pincer movement of Krone and his sidekicks. Krone could double bluff, and instead of one at the front, he could deploy two. Zeb considered that and discarded it. Bluffs could run an infinity loop if he dwelt on them long enough.

He stopped three hundred yards away, sought cover in a bush that didn’t envelop him fully, but it would have to do. He stilled his breathing, his heart rate, and made himself go inert.

Palisano waited at the tree line that separated the plots, waiting for Krone and Romero to circle wide and approach the house from the rear.

When they were a hundred yards away, Krone spoke in his ear. ‘Go.’

He bent double to merge with the blackness at the bottom of the white walls and ran swiftly to the front, at an angle. When he was fifty feet away he dropped prone, settled his breathing, and listened above it. He heard nothing. He listened again and thought he heard snatches of conversation, but that could be his imagination.

‘Go,’ came the voice again in his ear, signaling Krone was also fifty feet away from the rear.

He rose and stopped.

Moving forward was impossible with a steel blade against his throat.

‘Slow down, buddy,’ a voice murmured in his ear.

Zeb held Palisano till he lost consciousness, whipped off the man’s head gear and donned it, slipped a black mask over his own head, and dragged the unconscious man to the side. He secured Palisano with ties and tape and ran to the front, and ten feet away from the picture window, Krone whispered, ‘Go!’

Zeb launched himself into the window, back first, brought the curtain down, rolled on his shoulder and got to his feet in one fluid move, whipped the curtain away with his left hand, the blade in it cutting it like butter. Palisano’s Heckler and Koch MP5 flowed from his right hand like a natural extension.

The other picture window shattered, and two dark-clad figures broke through. One of them screamed, ‘Don’t move.’

Zeb fired a three-second burst into the smaller man, took two long steps to the right, and launched himself in the air.

Krone lost a fraction of a second comprehending the empty living room.

Another fraction as he tried to understand why Palisano had fired at them, and by the time realization had sunk into him, another three-round burst from Zeb caught him in the left shoulder.

He grunted, twisted his rifle to aim at Zeb, but Zeb landed on him, pushed away the barrel with his left hand, and the men went down. Zeb landed on his midriff and applied a chokehold with the MP5.

Krone twisted, reared up to dislodge Zeb, but the man above stayed in position and squeezed harder. Krone’s left hand scrabbled for purchase as his right hand searched for Zeb’s throat. Zeb ducked the searching hand, ignoring the punches raining on him, and ignored the knife that appeared in Krone’s left hand.

Krone struck with his knife, encountered the hard body armor Zeb was wearing, changed direction and aimed at Zeb’s throat. Zeb ducked, moved inside the trajectory of the knife arm and head-butted Krone while keeping the choke hold on the prone man.

Window!

Chapter 15

Shadows moved across the front window.

Zeb saw them through the corner of his eye.

Thought translated to action even before his mind processed what his eyes had seen.

He sprang off Krone just as the shadows, three of them, stepped through the window and opened fire where he had just been.

Zeb ran into the dining room and, under the cover of the dividing wall, paused just once to reach into one of his many deep pockets to pull out a flash-bang. He threw it over his shoulder without looking back.

In three long strides he reached the rear of the kitchen, went to a window and, after covering his face with his left hand, jumped through it.

For a second he was illuminated against the intense burst of light in the living room, followed by the loud detonation.

Hostile!

He saw the rifle barrel too late, aimed at him from the side of the window.

It flashed fire and a giant hammer struck him in his ribs on his right-hand side. He fell, gasping for breath, a shadow moved across him and the rifle barrel struck him over his right eyebrow.

Zeb blacked out for a short moment, and when he came to, he blearily made out the shadow looking down at him. The shadow swung; Zeb gritted his teeth, compartmentalized the pain and reached out with his left hand, grabbed the attacker’s legs and jerked.

The man shouted in surprise as he realized Zeb was alive and conscious, and when he fell over, Zeb sank his blade deep in him.

Zeb punched him in the throat and twisted the knife till the body lay still.

Got lucky. He thought I was dead. Didn’t realize I was wearing armor.

Now, Move!

He threw the body away from him, staggered for a minute, leaned against the wall, wiped the flowing blood from his eyebrow with his sleeve, and took stock of himself. His ribs were hurting as if an elephant had trampled over him, but he was sure there was no lasting damage.

Three men inside, along with Krone, who might have been hit by their incoming fire. Romero’s dead.

He thought the men might be incapacitated by the bang, but he couldn’t be sure. He glanced at his watch. Less than a minute since he’d burst through the window.

He took a couple of deep breaths, calmed down his heart rate, and forced his mind to go to the grey space it occupied in times of combat. He drew his Glock and ghosted to the front of the house.

If three more had followed Krone, there could be more.

He thought about various approaches to the living room and finally decided on just stepping through.

If there are more, they’re most likely to be on the outside, at the rear. They’ll be unsure of what’s happened inside and will wait for sit-reps, situation reports, from their guys inside before taking action.

For the third time in the night, he burst through a window, dived low and to his right.

Gunmen shoot to their right instinctively. My left.

He saw one of the three attackers lying on the ground, dazed, a foot ahead of him. He hauled the unresisting man up, kicked away his weapons, and used his body as cover to have a good look around.

The other two men were similarly affected by the flash-bang. One of them was keeled over while the other was struggling to his knees. Krone was lying against the far wall, bleeding from several shots.

Zeb dropped the man he was holding, knocked him out with a blow to the side of his head, secured him with ties and tape, and secured the other two men.

He glanced at Romero first. Dead. Zeb knew where his shots had gone.

He bent over Krone.

Krone had been shot five times, but he was still alive though bleeding heavily. Two shots had been Zeb’s, which had gone through his left shoulder, a third had gone through his chest, and two others had grazed his head and his shoulder. The chest shot was the most dangerous.

Zeb stripped him of his weapons and laid him on his back to reduce his bleeding. Krone’s eyes flickered open.

‘Who’s behind this?’ Zeb asked him sharply.

Krone blinked at him but didn’t say anything.

Probably in shock.
He looked up and around.
Should clear the place before coming back to Krone. If he dies by then, tough.

He tore a piece of the curtain and draped it over Krone to help limit his shock and stepped out through the rear window. He didn’t feel anything for Krone. The mercenary had picked his life and had chosen his side a long time back.

He moved outside, took long steps sideways, and crouched down immediately.

He could see the neighbors’ lights burning brightly, and from inside he heard a phone going off.

The night was still and cool outside, and it listened along with him.

He ran a hundred feet away from the house so that he would no longer be silhouetted and would have a better view against the profile of the house.

No shots came.

He took two steps forward and then fell prone immediately as he felt the brush of air first and then saw the body rushing at him from his right.

He saw the glint of a rifle swinging up and fired from his hip, two shots that sounded like one, both of them hitting the body. The body dropped, and he shot another tight burst into the body.

Zeb moved immediately to his right and went still as his eyes searched the landscape in sections, combing for other hostiles.

He cocked his head when he heard thrashing in the distance, from the same direction his latest attacker had come from. He trained his gun, holding off firing till the source became clear.

Many an innocent had died from reckless firing.

The thrashing died after a while, and then an owl hooted.

Zeb relaxed fractionally. He knew that owl.

He kept watching and saw a shadow detach itself from the ground and lope relaxedly toward him.

‘You were planning to have fun all alone, Zeb?’ a low voice called out, a distinctive Texan drawl.

Roger, an orphan, had grown up with a foster family in Texas who couldn’t wait to see the back of him.

Roger never spoke about his past, but Zeb knew he left the foster family for college and never returned.

At college, he joined the Army ROTC course and had been the only graduate at his commissioning ceremony with no family attending. Roger shrugged mentally and made the Army his family. He made his way up in the army and joined the 5
^th
Special Forces Group (Airborne). It was in Afghanistan that he met Bwana, his closest buddy, who was also in the 5
^th
.

When Bwana and Roger left the army, they were recruited by Zeb, who was putting together his team for Clare’s agency.

Roger was as tall as Zeb, an inch over six feet, had neatly styled brown hair and was always immaculately turned out.

‘The only Special-Ops guy I know who looks like a model and thinks he’s one,’ Bwana used to rib him.

This time of the night, Roger was dressed similarly to Zeb, in dark combat trousers with several pockets, his armor bulging against his T-shirt, a combat jacket concealing a shoulder holster in which his Kimber Target II nestled and a go-bag draped on his back.

Zeb bumped fists with him and hugged him.

‘You don’t seem very surprised to see me?’ Roger’s smiled gleamed in the dark.

Zeb shrugged. He wasn’t.

‘Broker asked me a second time if I needed any help and I then knew he wouldn’t let it go. He said you would be chasing some women in Texas? Hope you didn’t leave any lady in the lurch.’

Roger laughed softly. ‘Not at all. I was solo climbing in Lake Travis near Austin,Texas, when Broker called. Looks like I came in the nick of time. That guy who ran at you – I was too late to stop him. Figured you’d take care of him. I silenced his partner. So what shit’s going down?

Zeb filled him in quickly as the two of them spread out and circled the house to make it secure. They crossed the man Zeb had taken out with his knife but didn’t find any other attacker.

The attacker Zeb had shot and the one Roger had eliminated lay still in the dark. They both had fought their last fight.

Zeb and Roger circled back and repeated their search in widening circles till they reached the perimeter of the plot and, when they were sure there weren’t any other hostiles, hurried back to the house. To Krone, who had still been alive when Zeb left him.