Desert Impact Read online

  He was breathing. “Tony,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder.

  His eyes opened suddenly. “Nadia,” he said. “Where the hell is Cooper?”

  She drew a thin blade from a hidden sheath inside her shirt sleeve and went to work on the zip ties they’d used to secure him to the chair. “I imagine he’s around here somewhere,” she said. “Let’s just get you up. Then we’ll find Cooper.”

  “Sounds like a—look out!”

  Merice dove forward, but Tony’s warning came a split second too late and the blade tore through her shirt, tearing the skin on her back. She continued the roll despite the pain, popping to her feet and spinning around. Before her, Kingston held a KA-BAR knife much like the one Cooper carried. Her blood dripped from the blade and she could feel it running down her back. She wondered how badly he’d cut her, then decided it wasn’t important at the moment.

  “Left you behind to guard him, did they?” she asked, adjusting her grip on her own blade and removing a second, matching one from her other sleeve. Gunshots would be sure to bring whatever guards were nearby on the double. “What makes you think they’ll come back for you?”

  Kingston laughed—a high, nervous sound that reminded her of a dying horse. “I don’t think they will,” he said. “So I have nothing to lose at this point.” He lunged, almost tripping over the chair legs. Merice danced backward.

  Some people were better suited for knife-fighting than others, and it was unfortunate that this was one area where her small size—and shorter reach—could be difficult to compensate for. Kingston closed once more, reversing his grip, then slashing upward. She blocked the cut with her left hand, darted in for a slash of her own and missed. Her short arms could be the death of her, she realized, skipping away again.

  Her only advantage was her speed and agility—something the clumsy Kingston appeared to lack.

  “Keep on running, Tinkerbell,” he said. “Sooner or later, I’m going to gut you like a fish and your flying days will be over.”

  She caught a glimpse of a wide-eyed Isabel out of the corner of her eye and considered the possibilities. She didn’t know for sure what kind of training the woman had, if any, or if she would act to help. Merice dodged Kingston’s blade once more by darting behind the desk.

  He followed, slashing sideways and catching her upper arm with the tip of the knife, drawing a pained hiss from her lips. “I can bleed you all night,” he said. “You’re already losing a lot of blood. Sleepy yet?”

  Taking a risk, Merice went low and scored a slice of her own, the razor-sharp blade sliding through Kingston’s pants and into the vulnerable skin above his knee. Kingston stumbled but stayed upright. He thrust the blade at eye level, nearly taking her ear off. She leapt backward, noting that Tony was still struggling with his bonds. Isabel had disappeared. The entire situation was getting ugly, fast. She needed to force Kingston into a mistake.

  “Come on,” she sneered, stopping her dance to taunt him. “You’re as slow as molasses in winter. I can crawl faster.”

  His eyes narrowed and he lunged again, their blades ringing together as they each made a pass. Merice was tiring quickly as blood flowed from her back wound in a steady stream. She had to end this. She backed away a little more. “You fight like an old woman,” she said. “Slow and sloppy.”

  He sliced the air, laughing his strange laugh.

  She realized that she’d backed herself into the corner behind the desk. It was now or never time. “Don’t need to hide,” she said, straightening. She raised her hands. “I give up.”

  “You what?” he asked, stunned. He took a half-step toward her and she dove low, sliding between his legs on the slick tile floor.

  With the blade in her right hand, she sliced his hamstring. She buried the other knife in his calf. Kingston screamed and toppled. She climbed back to her feet, knowing that she was about played out—at least until she could rest for a few minutes.

  Kingston had somehow managed to hold onto his knife, and he turned around to face her. “I’ll kill you,” he said.

  “Not today,” she shot back, removing a throwing spike from her boot.

  Growling, he tried to roll toward her. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, whipping the spike underhand. It slammed into his throat and hung there, like some sort of weird new piercing.

  His eyes widened and rolled back until all she could see were the whites and fell back, choking on his own blood.

  “What an ass,” she muttered, easing herself down next to Tony. “I’m bushed.”

  “Why’d you wait on the spike?” he asked.

  “Forgot I had it,” she admitted. “Mostly, I don’t like knife fights.”

  Tony chuckled and shook his head. “Happens sometimes. Help me out of this chair. We’ll get you patched up, then we’ll go find Cooper. He’s probably around here somewhere—just look for the trail of bodies.”

  Merice wearily got back to her feet, saw a pair of heavy-duty scissors on Sureno’s desk and used them to free Tony from the zip ties. He rose slowly to his own feet, moving like a man his age—for once. “Uncomfortable down there,” he said. “Now let’s take a look at that cut.”

  Merice put the scissors back on the desk and eased her tattered shirt off her back.

  Tony whistled under his breath. “That’s a good one,” he said. “It could use some stitching.”

  “No time for that right now,” she replied. “Do what you can, then let’s get going.”

  “I can help with that,” Isabel said from the doorway.

  “Where’d you run off to?” Merice asked without turning around. “A little help would’ve been nice.”

  “I was helping,” she said, entering the office. “I shut off the security system.”

  “I meant with the dead guy over there,” Merice retorted.

  “You had it under control,” she said. She opened a cabinet on the wall and pulled out several clean bar towels. “Besides, with the security system out of commission, we might have a shot at getting out of here.”

  “How’s that?” Tony asked, taking the towels from her and opening the bottle of tequila on the desk.

  “It’s a centralized system—everything runs through it, including the radios and the cameras,” she said. “Without it, Sureno is blind and deaf.”

  “That might be helpful,” Tony said. He turned his attention to Merice. “This is probably going to sting a bit,” he told her.

  “Just get on with it,” she said between gritted teeth.

  He did, pouring the tequila over the wound. It felt like her entire back was on fire and she muffled her scream in the crook of her elbow. As soon as she’d relaxed a bit, Tony applied one of the towels to her back, then covered it with another. He tore the third into a long strip and used it to hold the makeshift bandage in place. When he was finished, he gently pulled her shirt back over her shoulders.

  “That will have to do for now,” he said.

  “It will,” she said. “Let’s go get Cooper and finish this.”

  “Any ideas on where he might be?” Tony asked.

  Gunfire erupted somewhere inside the house. “That sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen,” Isabel said.

  “Then let’s get cooking,” Merice replied.

  * * *

  BOLAN HAD ALMOST reached the kitchen door when four of Bricker’s men appeared in the opening. Bolan didn’t hesitate, firing immediately while making a beeline for a large refrigerator. It was the best cover available.

  The men returned fire, some vying to enter the kitchen and others attempting to back out, causing confusion. Surely trained soldiers should be familiar with indoor combat, Bolan thought. Not that he was complaining.

  He peered around the fridge and spotted a pair of boots h
eaded his way. He shot the toes out of the nearest one. The man howled, dropping his gun and hopping up and down—right into Bolan’s line of fire. Another carefully placed round dropped him as his companions opened fire once more.

  Bullets pinged off the fridge and Bolan knelt down, loading a new clip into his weapon. He leaned against the heavy appliance, reviewing his options. The fridge moved slightly under his weight. It was on wheels. Sometimes, Bolan thought to himself, the best defense was a good offense.

  Bolan put the Desert Eagle back in the holster, then set his shoulder against the fridge and shoved, pushing off hard with his legs. The appliance moved slowly at first but gathered steam. Bricker’s men had just enough time to ponder this development before he crashed into them with as much momentum as he could manage.

  On impact, Bolan let go and threw himself sideways, drawing the Desert Eagle once more. The closest man wasn’t able to get out of the way, but another did, tripping and falling. He clawed for his weapon, but wasn’t anywhere near fast enough and Bolan gunned him down.

  The refrigerator had rolled to a stop, effectively sealing the doorway, but on the other side, he could hear the two men pushing against it. There seemed little point in helping them, so he adjusted his position again, moving to the opposite side of the opening and waiting patiently for an arm to appear.

  As soon as one did, he grabbed it, yanking hard and pulling the man it belonged to into the kitchen. A sharp twist reversed the elbow and Bolan broke it with a quick palm strike. The man squirmed in agony, and Bolan noticed that his nose was a broken mess—obviously, he’d tried to stop the heavy appliance with his face.

  As Bolan shoved him backward into the narrow opening, he thought that the man’s day was going downhill rapidly—especially when he caught a bullet from his own partner, who had fired blindly, stunned by Bolan’s maneuvers into a knee-jerk response.

  Chapter 22

  Merice and Tony took point, while Isabel trailed behind. As they passed through the foyer once more, Isabel directed them down the central hall. They turned and saw two figures struggling in the dim light coming from the kitchen doorway. Merice and Tony broke into a quick but quiet jog just as the light flared and a third man stepped into the fray.

  After a series of quick, sharp grunts, the first two men went down in a jumbled heap. Merice and Tony reached the kitchen and saw that the third man was Cooper.

  “Back in here,” he said, retreating into the kitchen and gesturing for them to follow.

  Once everyone was inside and Cooper saw Isabel, he smiled. “I wondered if you’d be around,” he said.

  “Yes, but I’m ready to leave,” she said. “Sooner would be better than later, I think.”

  “Suit yourself, but we’re not going anywhere until the job is done,” he said, turning his attention to Merice and Tony. “What’s your status?” he asked.

  “I’ll live,” she said. “Just a good gash on my back. Kingston is dead.”

  “So is Bricker,” Cooper replied. “I guess that leaves us with only two—Sureno and Jesus. Where do you think they’ve holed up?”

  “My guess is the courtyard,” Tony said. “This is going badly, so they’re likely to make a run for it.”

  “That makes sense to me,” Cooper replied. “Merice, I want you to get Tony and Isabel out of here. Go to the rendezvous point and wait for our reinforcements.” He glanced at his watch. “I imagine they’ll be here in short order.”

  “Let Tony guide Isabel out,” Merice said. “I’ll stick with you until Sureno is taken down.”

  Cooper shook his head. “You’re injured,” he said. “And nowhere close to full strength. I won’t have your death on my conscience.”

  She stared daggers at him. “I can handle myself, Cooper. Let’s just finish the job.”

  “Your part of the job is finished, Merice,” he said. “Now take Tony and Isabel and get to the rendezvous point. If you go out the back of the kitchen, you can cut left to the stairs and up onto the wall. I left the grappling hook in place. From there, it’s a pretty short hike to where we left the rest of the gear.”

  She thought about objecting again but knew it would only irritate him further. “Fine,” she said. She passed the Tango 51 rifle to Cooper, along with three more full clips. “You’re going to need this more than I am. Let’s get moving,” she added to the others.

  He slung the rifle over his shoulder, then grabbed her arm and pulled her in close to whisper in her ear. “Keep an eye on both of them, but especially Isabel. She claimed to be part of the Mexican government’s organized crime unit, but something isn’t quite right. She’s not acting like an agent at all.”

  “Noted,” Merice said. “Surprised you didn’t mention her before.”

  “Slipped my mind,” he said blandly, releasing her arm. “Get going.”

  She nodded and crossed the kitchen with Tony and Isabel in her wake. She paused long enough to look down at Bricker’s dead body, then turned back to Cooper, who was watching them leave. “A little overkill, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” he replied. “Not even close.”

  She headed through the door. It would only take a few minutes to get Tony and Isabel over the wall, and from there, the old man could keep Isabel in check, leaving Merice free to return and help Cooper finish the job. She didn’t like leaving a mission unfinished any more than he did.

  * * *

  GIVEN HOW MUCH time had passed, Bolan suspected that all of Sureno’s men—and anyone who’d survived from Bricker’s crew—would now be in the main courtyard. He heard no more sounds in the house, so once Nadia and the others were gone, he made his way to the front of the building. As he started to leave the shelter of the hallway and enter the foyer, he stopped short, noting that the front door was open a crack.

  Jesus leaned casually against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He motioned for Bolan to approach.

  “Not the day you were planning, I expect,” Bolan said, circling to his right.

  The mercenary laughed softly. “Not quite. Even now, my employer is in the courtyard, packing up the last of Bricker’s gifts and preparing to escape. I believed we might have as long as another day before you would attack.”

  “I’m known for doing the unexpected,” Bolan replied. “I’ve heard of you, you know. Some of your work in Africa.”

  “There was good money to be made,” Jesus admitted, sounding pleased. “And a reputation to establish. I see that it worked.”

  “You built your rep on killing unarmed women and children in villages,” Bolan said. “Probably not what you dreamed about doing when you were a little boy.”

  “I was never a little boy,” Jesus said. “In my country, few children get to be children. You’re hardly one to talk, Colonel Stone. Your reputation precedes you as well.”

  “I don’t kill civilians,” he said, “let alone women and children.”

  “But you are not known for your mercy either. We are two sides of a coin, I think.”

  “If you want mercy, drop your weapons and surrender. I’ll see that you get a fair trial.”

  Jesus threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Oh, my friend, you misunderstand me. We knew you were in the house. We assumed you would kill Bricker and Kingston, so Sureno sent me in here to ensure you were dead before we left. I have no interest in your mercy—just your blood.”

  “You’re welcome to try to take some of it,” Bolan said, “but you’re in for disappointment.”

  “I was hoping you would say that,” he said. “Shall we do it the old-fashioned way and fight like men?”

  “Never thought you’d ask,” Bolan replied. He took a step forward, but Jesus’s grin and gaze over his right shoulder had him ducking and rolling. The pressure plate in the floor snapped and three crossbow bolts flew ac
ross the foyer, burrowing into the wall behind Bolan.

  Not wanting to waste his opportunity, Jesus plunged forward, driving a shoulder into Bolan’s midsection and knocking him to the floor. The Desert Eagle spun across the tiles. The mercenary landed a hard punch into Bolan’s stomach, and his breath shot out of his lungs before he could bring in an arm to offer a block. He shoved upward, gaining a little distance, and blocked the next blow, then twisted, forcing Jesus off him.

  Bolan followed through, whipping out a stiff arm that slammed into the other man’s chest like a lead pipe. Now they were closer to even, both of them struggling for breath and trying to stand. It had been a while since Bolan had engaged in a good old-fashioned brawl, but some skills were like riding a bike, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them.

  Jesus scrambled to his feet and staggered away, drawing a pistol from his belt. He turned and fired, but Bolan had already lunged to one side, sliding on the tiles and missing his own grab for the Desert Eagle. Somehow, he made it into the living room as two more shots followed close on his heels. One made stuffing fly as it smashed into a couch. The other round whizzed past his head with the angry, buzzing sound of a hornet.

  The mercenary followed him into the dark living room, but by then, Bolan had his blade in one hand and a high-backed chair in the other. As Jesus began to move around the furniture, Bolan heaved the chair at his enemy, forcing him to duck. The Executioner charged forward, lashing out with his free hand and knocking Jesus’s weapon away. The tiles were slick and it, too, skittered across the stone, ending up in the foyer.

  Jesus wasted no time pining for the weapon as he tried a smooth roundhouse kick to the head. Bolan blocked, catching the leg in a lock and landing a punch directly in the man’s groin. The muted howl of pain was satisfying, even as the bastard managed to twist free.

  Bolan gave him the space, using patience as his weapon, as Jesus pulled his own knife and spun it in the dull light.

  “I thought your reputation was perhaps exaggerated,” he said. “I’m pleased to see I was wrong.”