He was bleeding heavily.
A shadow appeared at his window. Renee struggled to focus and then the window exploded as the muzzle of an M4 punched through the glass. Her pistol came up, guided by the primitive part of her brain, and she fired two shots from her place on the floor.
She heard the man grunt as blood misted onto the spiderwebbed windshield. Reaching above her head and grabbing the latch, Renee pushed the door open with her head. The fresh air felt good as she twisted herself onto her stomach and clawed her way out of the Jeep.
A burst of rifle fire hit the Jeep like a handful of gravel being thrown against an aluminum building. She struggled to her feet as what was left of the windshield exploded into the air.
Renee wavered on her feet like a reed caught in a strong wind. Time was slowing down and the events unfolding around her were surreally disconnected. The gossamer fragments of glass danced in the streetlight as the steam from the Jeep’s disabled radiator coiled skyward.
The Malibu screeched to a halt fifteen feet from her position, and the doors were flung open before the car was even in park. Renee brought her pistol up. The sight picture danced in front of her eyes, but she fired five quick shots into the car before retreating behind the SUV.
Stumbling over her feet, she fell to her knees. She turned awkwardly and fired again before the slide locked back on the empty magazine.
Dropping the magazine, she got to her feet and conducted a mag change without thinking.
Renee’s training had taken over the moment she fired the first bullet. She was reacting without actively thinking, and it saved her life. Her head throbbed and her vision spun with each movement, but she wasn’t going to die here. Taking a knee, she called to Joseph one more time. If the amount of fire pouring into the truck hadn’t pulled him back to consciousness, then she assumed he was dead.
Looking back down the road, she saw the edge of a building that would give her cover. Renee knew she could make it, but she refused to leave Joseph behind.
Coming up to a crouch, she held the pistol at the ready as she cut the angle between her position and the van, which sat disabled on her left side. She stepped out and immediately saw a man crawling away from Joseph’s door. His right arm hung awkwardly across his chest, while the muzzle of his M4 dragged on the ground.
She fired a single shot to the head and he went limp. Once her target was out of the fight, she was looking for the next one. Scanning over the sights, she moved forward at a crouch. A head appeared in the space between the two vehicles and she fired twice. The first round went wide, but the second hit her target in the shoulder and he spun out of her line of sight.
Knowing the .40-caliber rounds could punch through the van’s thin exterior, she fired four more shots. Each round hit at chest level, with a three-inch space between them. She transitioned back to the Malibu, got an acceptable sight picture, and fired at one of Decklin’s men before scooping up the rifle in her left hand.
Renee brought the M4 up and laid the rails across her right arm. Still holding the pistol in her right hand, she fired to see if the weapon was working. Before the round was ejected, she holstered up and grabbed the door handle.
It was hard work juggling the rifle and trying to wrench open the twisted door, but she managed to get it open and quickly yanked Joseph out of the driver’s seat.
Something hard hit her in the chest and she stumbled back, leaving Joseph on the ground, as she lost her grip on the rifle. She was off balance and tumbled to the ground with a sharp jolt. Struggling for breath from the impact of the round, Renee scrambled for the rifle and hoped the trauma plate she’d added to her soft vest had been worth the extra bulk.
She heard screeching tires off to her left and a few quick gunshots filled the air as her fingers closed around the rifle’s pistol grip. Renee grabbed Joseph by the collar and dug her feet into the ground as she pulled him toward the rear of the Jeep.
The volume of fire picked up to her front and she could hear the staccato bursts echoing around her as the shooters blasted away on full auto. Looking over her shoulder, she estimated there were two feet until she was in the relative safety of the back of the Jeep. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she dragged her partner’s dead weight along the asphalt.
Ignoring the slamming doors, rifle fire, and screeching tires, she got him around the corner and collapsed in exhaustion. Renee heard sirens in the distance as she let go of the rifle and sat up to check for a pulse.
The side of Joseph’s head was bleeding badly and there was a long jagged cut on his forehead. Two small holes in his chest had stained his shirt a deep crimson and despite the fact that she couldn’t find a pulse, Renee began CPR.
“Friendlies,” a voice yelled as she began rescue breathing.
A man appeared around the corner with a rifle at the ready. As soon as he saw Renee, he lowered his weapon and yelled, “I found them, get an ambulance.”
She ignored him and the men who followed as she tried to save her partner. It wasn’t until an EMT arrived on scene and they forcibly pulled her away from Joseph that she stopped trying to save his life.
CHAPTER 4
Cage strode purposefully to his office, trying to keep a calm exterior as Simmons spoke quickly from his right side.
“I don’t have all the particulars right now, I just know he isn’t dead,” he said, reaching for the door to their office and pulling it open for his boss.
Cage smiled at his secretary, noticing the boxes still on her desk, and said, “Bess, I thought I told you to make sure you got out of here for lunch.”
“Yes, sir, but there’s so much to do. Secretary Collins has already called twice.”
“We can worry about him later; go get yourself something to eat. I don’t want to be blamed for not giving you enough time to plan your wedding.”
Bess blushed, but Cage raised his hand disarmingly.
“I’m serious. Why don’t you see if that fiancé of yours has time to buy you something to eat? The office will be here when you get back.”
His secretary’s eyes lit up as she snatched her purse out of the drawer and stood. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll see you around one, and don’t worry, I’ll call the secretary before you get back,” he lied.
The two men walked into his office, and by the time he got to his desk, Cage was already loosening the tie around his neck.
“Close the door,” he said, switching his cell phone off and tossing it on the desk.
Simmons ensured that Bess was heading out of the office before closing the door behind him, and when he turned to face his boss, it was as if a different man had appeared in the room.
Cage had his jacket off, and the starched white shirt strained against the muscles of his chest and arms. He might have been fifty, but the man was still just as built as the day he left the army.
“What the fuck is the problem?” he demanded as Simmons took a seat on one of the chairs.
“Sir, I have—”
“Jacob, don’t start. If you can’t handle those dumbasses in Bagram, then I will.”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Don’t talk, listen,” Cage said, getting to his feet.
Simmons had been with Cage long enough to realize that his boss was back in military mode, and it was more than obvious that he was pissed.
“How hard is it to kill one fucking man? We have the most advanced military in the world, with every intelligence asset at our fingertips, and those dumbasses can’t put one man in the dirt. Tell me how the fuck this is happening.”
“Sir, reports on the ground are saying that he slipped the ambush and then went to Morocco.”