Sniper Fire (Love in the Crosshairs) (2 page)

Kyle stilled, recognizing the voice despite the unusual cadence and rough edge. He swallowed a curse. Had everyone decided to break the damn rules this trip? Rashid should have taken out his target at the same time Kyle took out his, to avoid the risk of detection. He was three minutes ahead of schedule. Details, see, uncontrollable details. Just one more thing that hadn’t gone according to plan. Still, all wasn’t lost. While Kyle could speak and understand Arabic like a native, Rashid
was
a native, having lived just a few miles outside Cairo for twelve years before moving to the U.S. His Arabic was flawless, without a trace of accent. Question was, did the guard in the street know his buddies well enough to recognize voices?

The man seemed to hesitate, cocking his head to the side. Kyle tensed. If he started acting like he knew something was fishy—shooting or running to warn his friends—he’d have to be silenced in short order.

The screech of a pissed off cat preceded the animal sprinting out into the street. Damn if Rashid hadn’t been telling the truth. The guard relaxed, muttering and picking up a rock and throwing it at the cat before turning back to his post. Kyle clung to the shadows. He’d have only a small window of surprise before the guard noticed him. It didn’t help that his target took his time returning, scanning the street, the narrow alley, and the surrounding buildings intently. Fortunately, he looked everywhere but the last place he’d been standing his watch.

Waiting until the guy was almost on top of him, Kyle launched himself in one fluid move. One hand went around the startled man’s head, covering his mouth. With the other, Kyle shoved the knife deep into the man’s chest just under the ribcage, aiming for the heart. A brief struggle, a muffled groan, and the long knife did its job. The man collapsed. Kyle pulled his knife free, wiped the blood on the guard’s clothes, and put it away. Then he grabbed the body by an arm and leg and hefted it over his shoulders. It took less than a minute to dump the lifeless corpse in the blackness of a nearby alley and return to the guard’s post. Shifting his rifle back to his hands, he took up position in the shadows.

Five long minutes passed. Time always seemed to crawl when things were quiet. Finally, a series of soft beeps came over his com, indicating that the next phase of their mission was about to begin. When he heard Joshua give the verbal order to go in, he had to lock his muscles to stay in place. Damn, how he hated this part. Waiting was a bitch. He’d much rather be inside with his best friend, facing death around every corner. Growing up together, they knew each other’s moves, how the other thought in any given situation. But as second-in-command, Kyle had to stay on point. Josh and the others would exit this way in less than ten minutes. Someone had to keep the exit route free of any impediments, be they terrorists or civilians, and it was Kyle’s turn to play watchdog. Still, he didn’t have to like it.

Pulling his thoughts back to his job, he scanned the area. He got a glimpse of Rashid on the roof and stepped out of the shadows long enough to give him the all clear sign. Rash waved an all-clear back. Ty was up there somewhere, too, watching, waiting to provide cover fire if needed.

“What the… Shit! We got a hive!”

Joshua’s vehement swearing came a split second before an explosion shook the building. Kyle staggered, caught himself, and sprinted for the door as the rapid staccato of automatic gunfire filled the night. Way the hell too much gunfire. Their intel had specified a cell of ten, tops. Five men were posted outside, which should have left the other five for Joshua and company to deal with. But from the sound of gunfire and shouts, there were a hell of a lot more than five terrorists inside.

Dread flooded him as he reached the door and wrenched it open. Dust and smoke poured out in a pale envelope, swallowing him, filling his lungs and making his eyes sting. He coughed, found a pocket of clean air that he sucked down like a drowning man, and started for the door again.

“Hold positions! Hold positions! Bastards have a whole platoon in here instead of just a handful. Damn it, Falcon, you and Stitch get the target to Ghost! Peregrine, you’re with me! Brick, do us all a favor and blow these bastards to hell!”

Relief made Kyle sag against the doorframe before anger shot through him. How the hell did surveillance miss fifteen or twenty men?

Joshua growled. “Someone’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Don’t wait for us, Ghost, go to plan B. Repeat, everyone go to plan Baker. Eagle, keep ’em company.”

A quiet “Roger that.” from Ty just before another explosion rocked the neighborhood. Kyle ducked away from the door, but couldn’t escape the concussion that thumped his chest like a freakin’ bass drum. Another cloud of dust and smoke whooshed out. Several smaller explosions followed, one right after the other. From somewhere in the building came Brick’s deep, rumbling roar of pure joy. The operation might be going to hell, but at least one member of the team was having a good time.

Kyle shook his head to clear it and moved swiftly back along the wall until he could see down the side street. He took a knee, rifle up and ready, willing Gage and Sam to hurry. Shouts were coming from the surrounding buildings, though there wasn’t a flood of civilians emerging onto the streets to see what was going on like there would be back in the states. That didn’t mean the terrorists didn’t have more backup stashed nearby.

Movement behind him. He swung the rifle around as two bodies burst out of the building at a dead run. Kyle aimed, then lowered the barrel as he recognized Gage’s blond ponytail flying in the wind. “Falcon! Here!” he shouted, stepping out of the shadows.

Gage spun, fired several rounds back through the doorway, then grabbed the arm of the figure stumbling beside him and headed for Kyle.

“Where’s Stitch?” Kyle called.

“Pinned down at the bottom of the stairs. I think he’s hit.” Gage shoved the young man with him against the wall. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

Kyle swore. He wanted to be the one to head inside and bring his teammate out, but he had his orders. The safety of the target was his number one priority. Besides, if Sam was hit, Gage could get him up and running quicker than Kyle could. “Can you get to him?”

“Can falcons fly?”

He shot Gage a grin and nodded sharply. “Plan B means the rest are exiting on the north side. They won’t be able to get to him. Go! Pry our boy out of there. I got this one.” Gage was gone before Kyle finished speaking, sprinting for the door that was still spouting smoke. As soon as he was out of sight, Kyle caught their target’s arm and jerked him to his feet. “Jeffery Waterhouse, I presume?” He didn’t really have to ask, having recognized the younger brother of Alabama Senator Wade Waterhouse from the photos they’d been given. He didn’t really expect an answer either, but the guy surprised him.

“Y-y-yes, that’s me. Who are you people?”

“We’re the good guys.” He led his charge to the dubious cover of a burned out car sitting at the mouth of the first alley east of the building. From there he scanned the street that was his exit, noticing that a crowd was finally forming. Plan B hadn’t counted on Brick’s little explosive party drawing unwanted attention. He’d have to improvise.

A shout came from behind him. A quick glance showed at least a dozen men running in his direction. From what little he could see, those weren’t umbrellas they were carrying. He waited half a second more to make sure the front-runners weren’t part of his team. One of them gestured, shouting a string of Arabic. Kyle let the adrenaline settle into his bones as he aimed and fired. One by one, bodies jerked and fell, tumbling bonelessly like puppets with their strings cut. He smiled grimly when a couple of the terrorists diving for cover—ones he’d yet to aim at—suddenly hit the ground and stopped moving. Nice to know Ty was upstairs somewhere, keeping watch with those eagle-eyes of his.

Despite the double-team, some of the bad guys evidently made it to cover. Kyle ducked behind the dead car. “Stay flat!” he ordered Waterhouse. Bullets thudded around their hiding place, some of them pinging sharply against metal.

Another explosion. Kyle chanced a quick peek just in time to see dust and debris rain down on the terrorists from a large hole in the second story of their hideout. Perfect cover. He grabbed Waterhouse’s arm and pulled him up before the last piece of wreckage hit the ground. “Come on!” He glanced back once at the rubble clogging the street. Damn if Brick wasn’t milking the situation for all it was worth. Still, the building hadn’t collapsed yet, so at least the big man was showing a little restraint.

They’d run the length of several alleys and taken a handful of twisty streets when the com beeped. “Approaching from your nine, Ghost. Don’t shoot us.”

About damn time
. Hearing Joshua’s voice loosened some of the tension in Kyle’s chest. He drew his winded charge to a halt in the shadow of a second story overhang. Exactly ten seconds later, his team poured out of the alley to his left. Joshua, Gage, Brick, and Dell looked like they had a few bumps and scrapes, but otherwise, were fine. Sam, codenamed Stitch, on the other hand, looked a mess. His right arm was cradled in a makeshift sling and he leaned against a wall forcing air in and out past clenched teeth. The hit he took must have been pretty bad judging from the wide trail of blood darkening his clothes. Gage hovered, ready to steady his partner if necessary.

“Remind me to kill someone when we get back to base,” Joshua snarled, flattening himself against the wall next to Kyle.

“Anyone in particular?” The echo of distant shouting had Kyle peering back around the corner.

“Yeah, whoever was in charge of gathering the data for this poor excuse of a mission. A five-year-old could have done better. Damn it, I’d swear they knew when and how we were coming in. There was no other reason for all of those terrorists to be in that one building. That’s not how they operate.”

“Agreed,” Kyle said. “We’ve been dodging way too many bullets for them not to know exactly what streets we were going to take.”

Everyone fell silent. The implication wasn’t pretty. No one liked the idea of a traitor in their midst. More shouts in the distance, closer now. Time was running out. They’d have to break cover soon.

Kyle meet Joshua’s gaze. “Time to go off the rails?”

“Definitely,” Joshua said. He tapped the com, including Ty, Rash, and the others not huddled with them in the shadows. “Attention Hawks, this is the Harrier. Scrap all tickets for this ride. Repeat, this ride is a bust. P2 is still the goal, but we’re going to enjoy a night at the improv. Have fun.”

As if on cue, gunfire burst over their heads.

“Down! Down! Everybody down!”

Kyle dived for the hard cobbles, using a handful of shirt to jerk the senator’s brother down with him. Thankfully, the young man didn’t fight him, not even when Kyle rolled on top of him to act as a living shield against the bullets whizzing by overhead. Most people usually reacted one of two ways when getting shot at. They either went to pieces and started running and babbling like a lunatic, or they went wordless, their brains and body shutting down to robotic level. Nice that the senator’s brother fell into the latter category. Easier to handle that way. Would have been nicer if they’d never had to find out which category he fell into.

So much for a smooth, quick operation with minimum exposure. This job was just full of nasty surprises. He glanced across to where Joshua crouched in a shallow doorway, returning fire. His expression didn’t bode well for whoever had gotten the intel wrong on this particular terrorist cell. The new pickup point was still several miles away. Anything could happen.

More shots. Cover fire from above this time by the sound of it. Kyle traded a quick grin with Josh. You had to love the efficiency of snipers, especially when they were on your side. He’d definitely be buying Ty and Rash a beer first chance he got.

Joshua’s voice rose over the noise of automatic weapons. “Get him out of here, Ghost!” A tap of the com. “Raptor, Ghost is leaving the party. Go with!”

Kyle nodded and pulled Waterhouse to his feet. Fifteen minutes later, the two of them sat huddled out of sight in the back of a stolen vehicle while Rash, in “borrowed” civvies, drove the narrow streets of Cairo like a mad man. It was well after midnight, but they still had to deal with some traffic. Rash swore in Arabic, gesturing with the best of them. Kyle waited another twenty minutes of roundabout driving to make sure they weren’t being followed before checking his GPS. Almost there.

He tapped Rash on the shoulder to get his attention. “Take the next left. Time to find a nice quiet alley where we can ditch the car,” he said.

“You got it, bro,” Rash replied, the inflection pure Boston southie. “One deserted alley, coming up.” The car accelerated, swerved left, right, then left again, all to the tune of a steady stream of Arabic.

Kyle tucked the GPS away, grinning at the occasional swear word he picked out of his friend’s running monologue. He and Rash had a habit of trading cuss words ever since the Arab-American joined the NightHawks a year ago. Nothing like a little cultural exchange.

The young man beside him shifted in his crouch. Kyle gave him the once over. Pale face, dazed, wide eyes, bloodless lips. Yeah, still in shock mode, poor kid. Feeling like he needed to do something about that, he reached over and patted the kid’s shoulder. “Almost at the pickup point, sir. You’ll be safe and on your way home very soon.”

The car screeched to a halt, throwing them forward into the back of the front seat.

“Last stop. All out for the whirly-bird express. Women, children, and brothers of U.S. Senators first,” Rash quipped as he opened his door.

“That would be you,” Kyle said, grabbing a handful of shirt and tugging when Waterhouse showed no sign of moving on his own.

Once in the narrow alley, Kyle parked the senator’s brother in a convenient doorway and motioned Rash to take the high ground. They needed to reach the rooftop where the chopper was due to land in the next ten minutes.

The tiny com in his ear clicked once. “Rats closing at nine o’clock, oh ghostly phantom. Time to do your disappearing act.”