As the man collapsed, Jonathan caught Graham at his middle and lowered him to the floor.
Graham felt unhinged, completely disoriented. So much sound and light. So much pain. Violence swirled from everywhere and without meaning.
“I will kill the boy,” Teddy yelled in his ear. And then a few seconds later, Teddy made a horrible sound and collapsed, bringing Graham with him.
And then Graham felt someone lower him gently to the floor.
“I’m here to take you home,” the stranger said. “Lie on the floor and try to be invisible.”
Graham was not prepared for the kind tone, and he certainly was not prepared for the kind words. While the manhandling was gentler, it was no less painful. Ten thousand questions formed in his head. Before he could form one well enough to ask, he’d been placed on the floor, and the stranger let go of him.
Lying on his stomach, he imagined himself dissolving into the concrete floor, becoming so small as to be an oil slick — not a target at all.
Then a bullet whipped past his ear and slammed into the floor behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Big Guy, I need a status report,” Jonathan said. As he spoke, he toured the bodies on the floor. All six were dead, or close enough to not to be a threat.
“I’m engaged with three OpFor,” Boxers’ voice said in his ear. Two gunshots fired in quick succession out beyond the freezer. “Make it two. The remainders are better at hiding than shooting.”
“Graham and Jolaine, stay down!” Jonathan commanded. He couldn’t see them, couldn’t verify that they were even alive still, but with their threats neutralized, they could fend for themselves for a few minutes. Jonathan headed back for the door they’d created, back to join in Boxers’ war.
He’d nearly made it to the opening when it filled with Big Guy’s massive silhouette. “Four more baddies are sound asleep,” Big Guy said. He listed to the side, but Jonathan couldn’t see any blood.
“Jesus, are you okay?” he asked.
“No, I’m not okay,” Boxers said. “Bastards freaking shot me.”
“Where? Where are you hit.”
Boxers pointed to a spot in the center of his chest. “Right here,” he said. “Where I’m supposed to have a heart.” He grinned. “My vest stopped it.”
Jonathan’s shoulders sagged as the tension drained.
“They had MP5s,” Big Guy said. “Thank God for little nine mike-mikes.” He looked past Jonathan to survey the carnage inside the freezer. “Whoa, you’ve been busy, too.”
Jonathan’s head filled with a thousand things he wanted to say, a hundred prayers he wanted to offer up to thank God for Boxers’ survival. After dropping only a beat, he said, “Those vests aren’t cheap, you know. And now I have to replace that one.”
“Cry me a river, Billionaire Boy. Where do we stand?”
Jonathan switched out his partially empty mag for a full one and re-holstered the MP7. “You take PC One,” Jonathan said. “Be careful. I think that arm’s pretty badly broken.” Everyone who served in the Unit had decent combat medic skills — Jonathan was no exception — but Boxers was particularly gifted. Where injuries were obvious, Big Guy was always the best choice.
Jonathan turned back toward the room. “Graham?” he called. “Speak up.”
For five or six seconds, he heard only silence, and his heart sank.
“Here,” the kid said.
“Jolaine Cage?”
“Right here,” she said. She lay on the floor on her side, her hands tied in front of her. Her voice sounded weak. Jonathan walked over to her. He had to pull a corpse out of the way by its shirt collar to stoop far enough to speak softly. “Hi, Jolaine. We’re here to take you home.”
The H-word, home, was one of the most powerful words in the universe. He never tired of watching the realization dawn on the victims he rescued. That was the money shot — the few seconds that made all the rest of it worthwhile.
“Popping chem lights,” Boxers said as he cracked a luminescent stick and shook it. When the stick shone green, he rolled it across the floor to Jonathan.
Now, the hostages were no longer blind, but seeing didn’t necessarily put their minds at ease. Jonathan and Boxers both wore black hoods that revealed only their eyes, and with the NVGs in place, even those did not show.
“My name is Scorpion,” Jonathan said. “My friend is named Big Guy.”
“W-who are you?” Jolaine stammered. He caught the slurred speech.
“Just friends,” Jonathan said. He examined her arms and the ropes that bound them. The loops were sadistically tight. “You’re going to see a big sharp knife,” he said. “I’m going to cut you loose, so don’t panic or start jerking around. I literally could shave with the edge of this thing, and I don’t need either one of us getting cut.” As he put the KA-BAR into use, he hoped that she couldn’t see the blood that remained on the blade.
Whoever tied her up was an expert. Rather than wrapping her limbs in one continuous loop as amateurs typically did, her torturer used six knots, which ensured that they wouldn’t loosen until they were supposed to.
“How did you know?” Jolaine asked.
From behind, he heard Graham’s yelps of pain, along with Boxers’ soothing tone.
“I work in a weird business,” Jonathan said.
“So Scorpion is a code name.”
“Or my parents were really twisted. I won’t tell you which.”
With her hands free, Jolaine tried to sit up, but Jonathan put a hand on her shoulder to keep her down. “How hurt are you?”
“I think they broke my jaw,” she said. “And I know they broke a tooth. I don’t think I’m bleeding out anywhere.”
The cogence of her response led Jonathan to believe her. “Can you feel your hands?” They’d been tied so tightly that there might have been nerve damage.
Jolaine wiggled her fingers. “They’re tingly, but they work.”
Jonathan cupped his hand under her biceps and lifted. “Let’s see if we can get you on your feet.”
“How’s Graham?”
“Big Guy, how’s PC One?”
“I’m splinting him up. He’ll live, but this arm needs surgery.”
Jolaine moved carefully as she rose to her feet. She wobbled a little, reminding Jonathan of a newborn colt, but then she seemed to find her balance.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You called him PC One. Are you SOCOM?”
Jonathan recognized the acronym for Special Operations Command, but he opted to ignore the question. “Test out those legs,” he said. “They’re about to get some serious use.” He turned his attention to Boxers and Graham. “Is he about packaged?”
PC One’s arm had been stabilized with a ladder splint — a length of bendable wire that consisted of two long edges connected by cross pieces that together resembled a long ladder — and about a half mile of Kling wrap. Boxers was in the process of putting on the finishing touches to the immobilization by binding the splinted arm to the boy’s chest with another long length of Kling.
“One more minute.”
From behind, Jonathan heard the clattering sound of a gun’s bolt being charged. He snatched his M27 to his shoulder and spun 180 degrees as he dropped to a knee.
“No!” Jolaine said. “Don’t! It’s me.” She held out an MP5 as if it were a peace offering.
“Goddammit,” Jonathan snapped. “What the hell?”