Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) (30 page)

Thump … thump … thump—fired rounds buried deep into the wall of hay I hid behind. I stole a quick glance and froze: Heidi Goertz—no, Pippa—was curled up in a ball on the ground. I could see enough of her face to see blood. My heart nearly seized in my chest—did he shoot her in the face? She moved and we made brief eye contact.

I glimpsed movement of something red—Jordan’s red shirt. He was coming around the left side of the barn in an attempt to flank me on that side. I shot at him and missed, as he ducked behind a stack of cut timber.

There was enough of a gap between my barriers of hay to glimpse Carver had taken out both men in the barn’s doorway. Looking up, I saw him change his position in the overhead loft. With another glimpse to the right, I noticed Pippa was gone—then saw her slide in the dirt right by my feet. I pulled her back behind the haystacks, and she rose to her feet.

“Give me a damn gun!”

I pulled the spare third Colt from my holster and she snatched it from me. Crouching low, she fired three successive shots and I heard a man groan. We exchanged a quick glance.

“God, that felt good,” she said, already back to shooting.

I concentrated my aim on Jordan, who’d moved in several feet closer from behind the stack of wood. I felt fingers prying bullets from my belt—Pippa’s gun was out of ammunition and she was quickly reloading. I checked both my guns—only five rounds left between the two.

It was a little while since I’d heard gunfire shoot down from above. I shouted, “Carver, you okay?”

His reply didn’t come from above. A shot rang out, followed by another groan. I looked over, seeing Carver standing near the table, his Colt pointed toward the stack of wood off to my left.

Carver said, “That’s all of them … the ones who haven’t escaped.”

I moved out from the stacks of hay and saw Jordan’s staring eyes, fixed; a bullet hole in his cheek. Pippa joined my side. “I count seven dead in here.”

Bodies were strewn about and I hurried over to each one, confirming he was indeed dead. “Damn!” I said. “Palmolive’s not here.”

“I saw both Jude and Palmolive hightail it out through the barn doors. I think I winged Palmolive, though,” Carver said.

“Look at this,” Pippa said, standing at the makeshift table. She’d wiped most of the blood from her face, but the swelling on her cheeks and lips was significant. She was holding an iPad-type tablet in her hands, with a satellite interface affixed to it.

Carver and I joined her side. “That blood … is that yours?” I asked, noting a large red smear on the screen.

“Nope,” she replied, wiping at the screen.

“It’s Palmolive’s,” Carver said. “He was grabbing for the tablet when I shot him. He dropped it and, with Jude’s help, ran for it.”

Pippa looked up at me and smiled. “He must have been in the process of deploying—this is how he keeps in communication with the individual assault cells.”

“Did he …”

Pippa shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. There’s still a flurry of incoming messages, coming in from different locations. They’re asking for orders to commence their attacks.”

I looked at the screen as two new messages popped up. “Answer them … answer them all. Tell them to stand down.”

Pippa nodded and began tapping on the screen. An
Enter Passcode
prompt popped up. “It’s security protected. I can’t do anything with this thing.”

I turned to the table. There were hand-scribbled notes all over the margins on various blue-line diagrams. “What the hell is this?”

Carver said, “It’s the U.S.” He pointed to the obvious contours of the Eastern Seaboard. “What we’re looking at is a nationwide operational schematic.”

He was right. I counted no less than thirty different operations going on across the nation. The thickness varied on some of the dotted lines that traversed across the country. My guess, these were subterranean passageways, connecting to major city sub-stations.

Pippa pointed to the New York area on the plans and leaned in closer for a better look. “It says Croton, Catskill, and Delaware?” She looked up with a questioning expression.

“Those are reservoir systems … the primary reservoirs that supply New York City and much of the rest of the state.” I’d spotted a satchel lying half open on the ground near my feet. I snatched it up and started to rummage through its contents.

“Well, if I’m reading this right,” Carver said, looking at the opposite end of the table, “Palmolive’s got military assets positioned at key locations … the primary water supplies, all over the country.” He stood up. “This is …”

“Bad,” I interjected. “This plan shows a clear-cut methodology to control the masses. Within a week every man woman and child will be at the mercy of the ones who control the water flowing to their faucets.”

“The good news is, it doesn’t appear from the flurry of incoming messages that the ‘Go’ command has been issued yet,” Pippa added.

I gestured toward the tablet. “I’m sure Palmolive will get his hands on another device … it’s only a matter of time.” Still rummaging in the bag, the only thing I found worthwhile was Palmolive’s sat-phone. I placed it back inside, grabbed the tablet from Pippa, and shoved that too into the satchel—which I handed back to Pippa. “Hold on to this.”

I heard the sound of an engine springing to life. “Pippa, keep looking for a passcode in the margins … maybe someone jotted it down. You never know.” I headed for the barn doors with Carver close behind. We came to an abrupt stop at the front of the barn and stared.

A helicopter, a Sikorsky S-76D, was situated at the end of the street—about seventy-five yards away. The rotor blade was quickly picking up speed. Its rear door was wide open and I could just make out the pilot, seated at the controls. Standing on the ground was a small tactical team of five men—each outfitted with an automatic weapon. Wind from the spinning rotor was now kicking up thick brown dust. In the middle of the pack of five men stood Palmolive, his shirtsleeve bloodied, and Jude standing next to him. Palmolive was yelling over the noise, then pointed in our direction. His Stetson flew off his head and disappeared into the dust as his tactical team dispersed.
Shit!
They were coming for us.

“We’re not going to last long, not armed with pistols.” Carver shook his head at me.

I said, “I have an idea. Back inside now, let’s close and latch the doors.”

With that done, I moved over to the closest of Palmolive’s dead cowboys. “Let’s re-arm ourselves.” I retrieved the dead man’s shotgun, then, rifling through his pockets, I came away with ten shells. I also took his holstered Colt. Pippa and Carver grabbed up shotguns and shells from the other dead men.

“Out the back … hurry!” First Pippa, then Carver, ran out through the same splintered opening I’d smashed through earlier. I followed close behind them. I figured Palmolive’s men should be reaching the front of the barn by now, and that they’d split up—at least one man moving around to cover the back.

As quietly as possible, we moved to the corner of the barn closest to the corral. I peeked around the corner and saw the helicopter in the distance and one of the black-clad men stealthily moving closer to us from inside the corral. Several horses nervously skittered away. One whinnied and reared up on his hind legs.

Out front, multiple hard-soled boots were kicking at the barn doors and making a racket. I let the man in the corral get closer, concentrating my focused attention on his head. At three paces away, staying low and moving far slower now, he saw me. I was in his mind then:
Hey, someone’s coming up right behind you!

It’s an instinctual thing. You can’t be instructed that there’s someone sneaking up behind you without you turning around to protect your six—I’ve seen it time and time again. It’s nearly impossible to ignore the impulse. The soldier’s head and upper torso spun around, spotting nothing amiss. Then, while he was turning back, I drove the stock of my shotgun into the bridge of his nose. He dropped like a sack of bricks.

Moving fast, I relieved him of his M16 and passed it back to Carver. Below the unconscious man’s armored vest was his battle belt, with pouches filled with a combination of M84 flashbang grenades and M67 explosive fragmentation grenades. I unclipped the belt and swung it over my shoulder.

“You best get some distance away from the barn. I’ll be right back,” I told Carver as I retraced my steps to the barn. Coming to a stop at the door opening, I peered inside and saw four men methodically clearing the space.

I figured three would more than do the trick. I withdrew the fragmentation grenades from their pockets and pulled the pin on the first one and immediately threw it all the way to the front of the barn. I did this two more times—throwing one to the mid-left side and one to the right. To give Carver and Pippa warning of what was imminent, I yelled, “Fire in the hole!” The combatant nearest to me spotted me—raised his weapon and fired. Mere inches above my head, a round tore through the back of the barn leaving a hole the size of a man’s fist. I spun and ran while mentally counting down the seconds. I dove just as the first of the grenades blew—quickly followed by two more. The blasts propelled me five more feet and I fell hard in a heap with my ears ringing. My M16 and battle belt were gone—out of reach. Smoldering embers rained down from above. I saw much of the barn was on fire and a large section of the roof had fallen in on itself.

“Doc!”

I spun left to see Jude had come round the other side of the barn. He was standing no more than twenty feet away, and he was poised to draw his Colt.

I glanced around me—spotting the M16 lying on the ground—too far to reach. Gunfire erupted in the distance. I figured Pippa and Carver were going up against Palmolive. I remembered there had been at least one … maybe two additional men positioned up on the rooftops.

“Think it’s a good idea leaving your boss unprotected like this, Jude?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Nah … another team’s inbound. Your friends are pinned down. It’s just a matter of time.”

“And what’s this? You missed me? Wanted to say goodbye?” I asked, keeping a close eye on his right hand, now hovering an inch above his pistol.

“Something like that. This won’t take long—been waiting to put you down since you got here. You know … you’re a cocky fuck.”

Slowly, I got to my feet, not taking my eyes off Jude. The distant gunfire had stopped. Only the sound of burning timber was left.

“You’re not the first person to bring that to my attention.”

“Shut up and …”

I didn’t let him finish his sentence. Reading his thoughts, I knew he was planning on drawing any second. He was fast—normally, a bit faster than me. But I had the advantage of drawing my gun a fraction of a second before him. Both guns fired simultaneously—both of us took a bullet: Me in the shoulder, and he—like Calamity Jane—right between the eyes.

I watched as Jude crumpled to the ground, his gun still clenched in his hand.

I heard someone clapping. Behind me was Palmolive. Behind him were Pippa and Carver, held at gunpoint by two of Palmolive’s remaining security team. Pippa’s expression said how sorry she was they’d gotten themselves taken.

“Jude was fast … very fast. I commend you, Mr. Chandler. Makes me wonder if I could take you myself.”

“There’s an easy way to find out,” I said.

Palmolive offered up a courtesy chuckle and became serious. “This is the end for you. You do know that.”

I shrugged. “So what, you’re just going to execute us?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Palmolive gestured toward Pippa. “Do her first. I want him to watch.”

His security man shoved Pippa hard, nearly sending her sprawling. Her eyes were on me. I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“Wait. Let me do it.”

Palmolive raised his brow. “Come again?”

“We’re all toast. She’s toast. Let me be the one to do it … you can drop me right afterwards. I guarantee you, she’d rather it came from me than from this asshole.”

Palmolive continued to look at me blank faced. I saw Carver, two paces behind, make a pained,
this is fucking sick
, expression.

“Fine … this is something I’d like to see. Try something and you’ll only quicken the inevitable.”

The Colt was still in my hand. A fact I was reminded of, seeing Pippa’s steady gaze upon it. The two security guys raised their weapons—one toward Carver—the other me.

Slowly I lifted my arm and pointed the muzzle of the .45 at Pippa’s head. I read her thoughts.
You better not be actually doing this … so help me
…

I pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked but didn’t fire. Everyone took in a breath at the same time.

Palmolive laughed out loud. “Holy mother of God! That was fucking mind blowing. You’ve got some real stones, man … I have to give you that much.”

“I guess I’m out … Jude took my last round.” I held up one palm. “Wait … just hold on …” My shoulder throbbed where I’d been shot and I was losing blood. Slowly, I opened the cylinder and let the spent casings fall free. I reached into my forward left pocket and pulled out another .45 bullet—all without losing eye contact with Palmolive. I snapped the cylinder closed with a quick twist of my wrist and nodded. “Let’s try this again.”

“You’re really going ahead with this?” Palmolive asked. His own pistol was pointed at my head as he moved around, positioning himself away from the gun’s fire behind me.

“It’s best this way,” I said. I looked at Pippa … “I’m so so sorry.” I raised the gun again, and pointed it at Pippa’s head. I pulled back on the hammer and let it click solidly into place. Feeling the smooth curve of the trigger on my finger, I inserted a new image into Pippa’s mind and, with her head no more than three inches away, I squeezed the trigger.

In that split second, as a small flame burst forth from the gun’s muzzle, I heard a near-ear-shattering report echo off into the distance. Pippa tumbled to the ground.

I stood with my arm held straight out, my Colt pointing to a spot Pippa’s head no longer occupied.

“He did it … he fucking did it,” I heard Palmolive say. I looked back at him and smiled. “Got some stones, huh?”