War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel (21 page)

Nora frowned at him. “Yes, but why?”

Tucker faced Frank again. “Turn right. Go to where we cut through the fence. We’ll try to make it to our boat and cross the river.”

“We’ll be sitting ducks on the open water,” Frank warned.

“That’s why we all better be able to swim.”

Frank looked none too happy with this decision. Still, when he reached the perimeter road, he turned right. He barely slowed, sending the back end of the SUV fishtailing in the loose dirt.

Behind them, Tucker spotted headlights through the trees, racing up the road they had just left. After the initial confusion of the firefight, Tangent was in pursuit.

“We got company on our tail,” Tucker warned.

“I saw ’em.” Frank shoved hard on the accelerator, picking up speed.

Tucker faced the backseat again and lifted up the MP-5 that he had grabbed from the guard from the mess hall. “Does anyone know how to use this?”

“Me, I guess.” Takashi lifted a hand. “Sometimes the guards let me target practice with them.”

Good
.

Tucker passed the weapon across to the young man in back. “Shoot through that hole in the back window if any of the others get close,” Tucker instructed him. “But stay low.”

Takashi nodded, looking sick, but he rolled with his weapon into position.

Turning back around, Tucker reached up and hit the switch for the sunroof. As it opened, he balanced on the passenger seat and rose up through the sunroof. He positioned his rifle on the top of the Suburban and used the gun’s optical sight to spy on the road behind them. As soon as the first of Tangent’s Suburbans sped into view, Tucker fired a trio of bursts into the windshield, stitching across the glass. The SUV veered wildly and crashed into the security fence, but a fleet of four other vehicles skirted the wreck and continued their chase.

Tucker lost sight of them as the perimeter road curved away, but the pursuing headlights continued to glow through the trees. He estimated it was only another quarter mile to where he and Frank had cut through the fence.

He called down to Frank. “When we get to the spot, brake hard, unload everyone, and get them through the fence and to the boat.”

“And you—?”

“I’m going to continue in the Suburban before those bastards see you, try to draw them off, then Kane and I’ll abandon the SUV and set off on foot.”
Hopefully we can lose ourselves in the woods long enough to cut through the fence at a new spot
. “But don’t wait. We’ll swim across the river and find you on the other side.”

“Tucker!”

Frank’s shout wasn’t in disagreement. The Suburban braked hard, throwing Tucker against the front edge of the sunroof. He hauled around as Frank skidded their vehicle through the dirt. Around the next bend, a Suburban sat sideways across the road, its headlamps doused.

Earlier, Tucker could only account for
seven
of Tangent’s Suburbans. Here must be the missing
eighth
. Likely the driver had been out of the camp and had only returned recently through the main gate, just in time to set up this blockade.

From his vantage in the sunroof, Tucker caught a glimpse of a familiar scar-faced figure crouched on the far side, a rifle balanced on the hood of the SUV.

It was the Frenchman from the ambush at the swamp.

With no time to aim, Tucker fired wildly at the parked Suburban. The Frenchman shot at the same time. Rounds shattered glass and pinged off metal all around.

“Ram him!” Tucker yelled before Frank came to a full stop.

Frank obeyed and hit the accelerator again. The Suburban’s engine howled, and the vehicle shot forward, casting up a rooster tail of dirt behind the vehicle. Tucker dropped back into his seat, cradling Kane.

The SUV struck the other with an explosive crunch of metal. Twin airbags deployed, slamming Tucker’s body. Frank let out a strangled cry, echoed by the others in the back. The airbags deflated within a fraction of a second, filling the interior with a flurry of talcum powder.

Coughing and waving at the air, Tucker popped up and noted that Frank had succeeded in striking the rear quarter panel of the other SUV. The impact had knocked the vehicle askew, far enough for them to pass—if they hurried.

“Go, go, go . . .” Tucker urged.

Frank understood and ground them past the wrecked Suburban. As they cleared its bulk, a dark figure dashed away and into the trees to the left. The Frenchman shot at them as he retreated, but Tucker lifted his rifle’s barrel past Frank’s nose and returned fire through the driver’s-side window, chasing the man deeper into the forest.

But the Frenchman wasn’t the only threat any longer. While the man hadn’t stopped them, he had delayed them long enough for the other Tangent forces to close the distance behind them.

Bullets thudded into the Suburban’s back end.

Takashi opened fire from the rear compartment. The young man’s barrage drove off the lead vehicle, sending it veering to the side, where it slowed and momentarily blocked the others behind it.

Takashi lifted his head up and looked back, wearing a proud grin.

Tucker yelled, “Get d—”

Takashi’s forehead exploded outward as a single gunshot rang out. Beyond the man’s falling body, Tucker spotted a dark figure standing at the edge of the forest, a sniper rifle at his shoulder.

The Frenchman.

Frank continued around the curve of the perimeter road, and the gunman vanished out of sight behind them.

1:24
A
.
M
.

Gasping in pain, Karl Webster stood before a mirror in the cabin bathroom. Through his swollen eyelids, he could barely make out his reflection. He looked like a goddamned raccoon, only with a blistered, red mask. His sinuses still stung not only from the capsicum in the pepper spray but from the hit of ammonia salts his men had used to wake him after pulling him to safety during the firefight.

By the time he had woken, the assailants had fled aboard one of his own Suburbans. Then a minute ago, Rafael Lyon radioed that he had arrived at the encampment’s main gates, apparently already fully abreast of the situation. He claimed he was going to set up a blockade on the perimeter road, boasting that he would deal with this group once and for all.

Karl heard the blame in the man’s words.

Furious, he dunked his face into the washbasin for the third time. It was full of a mixture of dish detergent, water, and milk. He blinked his eyes and rubbed his skin, letting the cooling center him.

As he straightened, one of his men stepped into the room. “We’re ready, sir.”

He nodded and limped around on his bandaged ankle.

Lyon didn’t know whom he was dealing with—
certainly not with these assailants and definitely not with me
.

Karl Webster had an ace up his sleeve, a backup in case Lyon failed.

“Get those birds up in the air,” he ordered his teammate. “It’s time to end this.”

1:26
A
.
M
.

Twisted around in his seat, Tucker watched behind their SUV. He focused on the back road, doing his best to avoid staring at Takashi’s crumpled body in the rear compartment. Tucker’s breathing wheezed through his clenched teeth as he pictured that French assassin. Fury threatened to narrow his vision into a pinprick.

Then a warm tongue licked his wrist. At his knee, Kane must have sensed his anguish and distress, offering his support. In turn, Tucker’s fingers found the dog’s scruff and dug deep, reassuring the shepherd.

They were all shell-shocked.

In the backseat, Diane sobbed, huddled into a ball. Nora lay over Stan’s body. From the glassy-eyed stare of the blond man, he must have already bled out. Frank glanced over at Tucker. His pained expression was easy to read, full of guilt, desperate for what to do next.

The lights of the pursuing vehicles were gaining on them. His early plan to dump off the others and lead the enemy away was no longer an option. Instead, he pointed ahead and to the right, to where the forest beyond the security fence had thinned out.

“Make a hard right. Don’t brake if you don’t have to.”

Frank nodded, understanding.

They needed to reach the river as soon as possible.

Frank eked out more speed, then yanked on the wheel. The Suburban bumped off the road and rammed into the fence. Their vehicle’s three-ton bulk burst through chain link. Once clear, Frank juked the SUV left and right, doing his best to avoid trees, sideswiping a few trunks. Branches slapped and scraped their flanks.

Tucker left the navigating to Frank. He craned around and stared up at the road. Headlights reached the break in the fence and stopped back there.

Why aren’t they coming after us?

Worried, Tucker turned around as the Suburban’s nose bucked over the uneven terrain. He spotted moonlight glinting off water up ahead.

“Don’t slow,” Tucker warned. “Take us straight into the river.”

“Bank’s high. We’re gonna catch some air.”

He nodded and turned to Nora and Diane, their eyes shining fearfully back at him.

“The river’s not too wide here. Maybe a hundred yards.”

“Oh, God,” groaned Diane.

“It’ll be okay. Once we get to the other side, we’ll be safe.”

It was a lie, but a necessary one.

Hope helped you survive.

Diane balled a fist in Stan’s shirt. Nora reached over and forced her to let go. “He’s gone, Di. We’ll have to leave his body. Stan wouldn’t want you to die because of him.”

She pulled Diane to her side, her eyes on Tucker, silently asking what to do.

“When we go in,” Tucker instructed, “the interior will fill up quickly. Go out the windows. Try to stay together, but don’t fight the current. Just get to the far bank and wait. If we get separated, we’ll find you.”

“I see something,” Frank said, drawing all their attentions forward. The river loomed only thirty yards away. “Above the water to the left.”

It took Tucker half a breath to spot a dark object hovering close to the shore.

“It’s a Wasp,” Nora said, her voice strangled. “A surveillance drone.”

“Does it come with any firepower?” Tucker asked

“No.” She scanned through the open sunroof. “It’s meant to paint a target, then a Shrike is summoned to take it out.”

Tucker pictured the fixed-wing drone that had hunted them through the swamps.

So that’s what you call it
.

“We may be okay for the moment,” Nora continued. “Shrikes take longer to get airborne. Wasps are easier, meant to be sent in advance at a moment’s notice. But if it paints us and tracks us . . .”

A Shrike will be on our asses before long
.

Tucker now understood why the Tangent guards had hung back. With the river under watch, they could take their time sending men on foot, intending to catch their targets in this snare.

“What do we do?” Frank asked, starting to hit the brakes.

Tucker pointed forward. “Stick to the plan. Don’t slow down.”

As Frank pushed them faster, Tucker grabbed his rifle and popped back through the sunroof. Careful of low-hanging branches, he raised his assault rifle and wrapped the shoulder harness around his forearm to steady his aim.

Frank shouted up at him. “Hang on!”

The Suburban blasted out of the tree line, bounced over a bank of river rocks, and shot high over the water. Once clear of the forest, Tucker fired at the drone as it hovered in the air, held aloft by four propellers. He strafed without stopping, emptying the entire magazine, knowing he would have only this one chance.

A handful of rounds struck true. The Wasp bobbled in the air—then tilted sideways and crashed into the river.

Now our turn . . .

The Suburban—front-heavy with the engine—nosed down. Tucker dropped back into the cabin, sheltering Kane under him. The vehicle struck hard. Water sprayed over the windshield and began flooding through the front windows.

Tucker shouted above the torrent, “Everybody out!”

Frank boosted to his knees on his seat and rolled through the driver’s-side window. Tucker made sure Nora and Diane got out safely, then lifted Kane, pushing the shepherd through the flooding window on his side.

By the time Kane was clear, the water had risen to Tucker’s nose. Past the windshield, the headlight beams glowed green in the swirling sediment. He took a deep breath and pushed off to follow the others—but then jerked to a stop.

His left foot was tangled on the seat belt. He yanked his leg. Nothing happened. A rush of panic filled his chest. The Suburban, now fully flooded, sank rapidly into the depths, plunging nose-first toward the bottom. The body of Takashi floated over and bumped against him, as if urging Tucker not to abandon him.

Tucker fought harder, twisting his foot and rotating his ankle. Finally, his leg came free. He kicked out the window and toward the watery moonlight. Seconds later, he broke into the night air.

Kane dog-paddled over to him, which plainly took effort. Already the current had hold of them. He looked downstream. There was nothing but swirling water under the glow of the moon. He spun around, looking, looking—

Twenty feet to his right he spotted a flailing arm. Frank’s head surfaced next, sputtering and coughing.

Tucker called, “You okay?”

“Think so! Where’re the girls?”

“Here!” Nora’s voice called out of the darkness.

Tucker spotted her waving. The current had carried her farther, at least fifty yards downstream.

“I have Diane! She’s hurt!”

Frank started swimming in that direction, but Tucker called him off. “I’m closer. Head for the far bank.” He pushed Kane to follow the man, adding a firm command. “S
WIM
TO
SHORE
.”

As the pair set off, Tucker kicked and paddled downstream. The current helped him reach Nora quickly. She had Diane under one arm, holding the woman’s head above water. Blood dribbled from a scalp wound. The brunette looked dazed, but awake, more in shock than anything.