Thunder Down Under. Don Pendleton
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down. I think—I think he’s dead!” King was sure of it, actually, but he didn’t want to commit to that over the radio. “I’ve taken cover nearby, please advise!”
“All right, Officer King, stay calm,” the dispatcher said. “Do you have a visual on your attackers?”
“Uh, no, not really...hang on.” Swallowing the fist-sized lump in his throat, King turned and stuck his head out past the corner of the pipe wall for a brief second, then pulled it back, expecting to see two or three attackers charging toward him.
But other than Weathers’s motionless body, there was no one there.
“Officer King, please report your status,” the voice said.
“No—I have no visual. Repeat, I have no visual on the assailants.”
“All right. We’re sending reinforcements via helicopter, but they won’t be there for approximately three hours. You are to fall back to your vehicle and exit the perimeter, then take up a defensive position to cover the front gate. Help is on the way. Do you understand?”
“Affirmative.” King glanced over at Weathers’s legs. “What about...what about Officer Weathers?”
“Our telemetry readings show him to be deceased” came the dispassionate reply. “We do not want you to risk your own life trying to recover his body. Fall back as ordered, and your backup team will assist you upon their arrival.”
“Yeah...yeah, I hear you. Officer King falling back as ordered.” He cut the transmission and holstered his radio then gripped his subgun tighter and decided to risk one more glance down the corridor of pipes before moving out. Taking a deep breath, he readied his weapon to fire before peeking out again.
And, once again, the corridor was completely empty. What the hell? Where were they? he wondered. Glancing at his partner’s body, he focused on the smartphone on Weathers’s forearm, wondering if he should retrieve it. What, and risk getting his head blown off, as well? he thought. He had to get the hell out of there, like they’d told him.
The only problem was that he would have to run at least a couple straightaways to get back to the Rover—and there was every indication that the unseen shooter was waiting for him to do just that. For a moment he thought of just hunkering down and waiting for help to arrive, but he discarded that plan since the other people on-site might already be creeping up on him right now.
Time to go. King rose, took one last deep breath and then took off running back the way he’d come. He zigzagged as erratically as possible, trying to throw off the aim of anyone looking to shoot him, and expecting to feel the punch of a bullet between his shoulder blades at any moment. A ghoulish thought ran through his mind as he ran for his life: at least a head shot would mean he’d never feel it...
The left corner that should give him cover from the shooter was only a few meters ahead, and King poured on the speed, giving it everything he had. He juked one more time, then aimed for the corner and rounded it in a spray of desert dust. Once there, he plastered his back against the vertical row of pipes and waited a few moments, sucking in the parching desert air. Remembering his water bottle, he grabbed it and drained it. The warm, flat liquid had never tasted so good.
Almost there... His sprint had brought him a lot closer to the vehicle. He figured one more balls-to-the-wall run could get him to its relative safety. He slung his HK and then took several deep breaths, trying to load up on oxygen for the final dash.
Three...two...one...go! Arms and legs pumping for all they were worth, he retraced the path back outside the facility, still zigzagging every few steps to present a more difficult target.
Every step felt like it took a minute. His combat-booted feet pounded the ground, sending puffs of dust up around his legs, but Connor didn’t pause to look down or back. He didn’t stop for anything, just kept moving toward his goal, just like when he’d carried the ball back at university and nothing was gonna stop him from reaching the line—
And just like that, he hit the blisteringly hot side of the Range Rover so hard he almost bounced off it. Crouching, King duck-walked around the back to the passenger side, figuring he should be safe from the shooter there.
The sun was still high overhead and beat down mercilessly on his uncovered head. King realized he’d lost his hat somewhere, but didn’t care about that; he just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Dropping to the ground, he crawled underneath the SUV to the right front tire, then reached up into the wheel well to clean the dust off the spare-key holder mounted there. Digging out his smartphone, he transmitted a combination and was rewarded with the small box popping open. Grabbing the ignition key, he closed the box, was about to crawl back to the passenger side when he happened to look at the rear of the vehicle and the open cargo bay.
The drone... The footage it had taken could reveal who had set up the ambush. In any case, it would be invaluable evidence of what had happened.
Connor swallowed hard. It was a hell of a risk but one he had to take.
He began crawling toward the back of the Range Rover, ready for someone to charge up and demand he come out of there, or just shoot him where he lay. But no voices were heard, no bullets were fired, and he reached the back with no difficulty.
Stretching up again, he couldn’t get to the iPad from where he was and had to stick his upper body out to grab it. Again, he tensed at the possibility of a bullet plowing through him, but he was able to recover the tablet and scoot back under cover of the SUV without incident. Waking it up, he took control of the drone, which was still hovering in place over the facility, and guided it back to him. At any point he expected the phantom sniper to blow it out of the sky and was a bit surprised to see it settle to an ungainly landing near the back of the Rover.
King stretched out far enough to grab it and toss it into the cargo bay, then shoved the door closed behind it. Next, he slithered through the dust to the passenger side, unlocked his door and crawled inside. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he stayed hunched over as he slid the key into the ignition and started the Rover.
The window next to him exploded in a shower of safety glass pellets, and his shoulder felt like it had been struck with a sledgehammer. Pain bloomed across his chest. The closest thing he could compare it to was being dump-tackled during a scrum his freshman year and his shoulder being dislocated when he slammed into the ground. This injury was similar but about a hundred times more painful, and even worse. Connor tried to lift his right hand enough to engage the gearshift lever, but it refused to obey his frantic mental efforts.
As the echoes of the sniper’s shot died away, King could hear the crunch of boots approaching his position. He tried to make his right arm move again and was gratified to have it obey, if haltingly. No matter, he managed to get his numbed hand around the pistol grip of his HK and tried to bring it up to point at his assailant.
“Whoa, mate!” a voice said as the driver’s door opened and King fell out, the submachine gun pulled out of his hand as he tumbled onto the hardpan. He hit with an impact that sent agony screaming down his chest and opened his mouth to speak, only to expel a gob of blood onto the ground.
“Hey—he ain’t dead yet,” the man said to someone King couldn’t see. Something about the speaker’s voice sounded familiar and he struggled to look up at him. “Yeah. Fetch the drone. We’re gonna need it, too.”
His vision tunneling into a gray haze, King looked up at the person who had most likely killed him—and his mouth dropped open again when he saw the uniform of his attacker. “Wh-wh—” he tried to say through the blood filling his throat.
“Sorry, mate,” the man said as he aimed a pistol between the younger man’s eyes. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The muzzle exploding in a blast of flame was the last thing Connor King saw.
Barbara