His team assumed shooting positions and prepared to engage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
To run would mean turning their backs on their enemy. Jonathan had no choice but to engage. “We’re made,” Jonathan said. “Graham and Jolaine, on the ground, now.”
Graham yelled as Jonathan pushed him to the deck face-first, but Jonathan didn’t care. He didn’t have time to. Jolaine likewise dropped to the ground, but she assumed a prone shooter’s position. Jonathan and Boxers both dropped to a knee, weapons up and ready.
“Everybody hold your fire,” Jonathan snapped.
“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Boxers said.
“Hold your fire,” Jonathan said again. They were out in the open, with zero cover, and they were outnumbered by professional shooters. “We don’t know who they are.”
“I know they’re pointing a goddamn gun at me.”
“As we are them, but you’ll notice they haven’t fired, either. For all we know, they’re good guys.”
“That would explain the pigs I saw flying over frozen Hell this morning,” Boxers said.
A voice called from the other side, “Put your weapons down or we will open fire.” The thick Russian accent did nothing to soothe Jonathan’s doubts.
“Who are you?” Jonathan shouted.
“Does not matter,” the Russian said. “You are outgunned.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Boss,” Boxers growled. “It’s Ivan. Are we really doing this?” Ivan was their generic term for any Russian. Any Eastern European, for that matter.
“Full-auto,” Jonathan said, softly enough to be heard only through his microphone. “If it comes to it, I’ll rake ’em left to right, and you rake right to left.” If this went hot, the best they could hope for was to be hit in their body armor.
“Drop your weapons!” the Russian shouted again. One of the operators on the Russian’s right started to pull away from their skirmish line to move on Jonathan’s left flank.
“Don’t move!” Jonathan yelled. “Get down now or I will open fire!”
The commander on the other side barked something in Russian and the flanker pulled back in.
“This is some weird shit,” Boxers said. “Who are these guys?”
“We are not putting our weapons down,” Jonathan said to the other commander. “For the same reason that you are not. If you shoot, we’ll shoot. If you don’t, we won’t.”
“You can trust us,” the Russian said.
“Easy words for a Russian who just parachuted into the middle of my operation,” Jonathan said.
“Would you like me to make some friggin’ tea?” Boxers said.
In the distance, Jonathan could just hear the first tone of approaching sirens.
“Leash is getting short, Boss.”
“Tell you what,” Jonathan called to the other side. “If you’re here for what I think you are, everything’s fine. Your enemies are dead, and your codes were not revealed. You can go home and sleep well. Meanwhile, my friends and I are going to walk away from you.” Under his breath, he said to his team, “Nobody move till I tell you.”
“Do you have boy?” the Russian yelled.
“Twenty bucks says this does not end well,” Boxers mumbled.
Jonathan ran the options through his head. The approach of sirens made quick action essential, and he couldn’t very well lie about something Ivan was about to see with his own eyes. “I do,” he said.
The Russian paused. “Okay,” he said. “You leave, but go slowly. Give me no reason to shoot you.”
“He wants the kid,” Jonathan whispered.
Graham groaned. “Please, no,” he begged. “I want this to stop.”
“Wanting’s not the same as getting,” Jonathan said.
Boxers said, “They’re waiting till we stand up, and then they’re going to take their shot. I think we should go first.”
“Not yet,” Jonathan said. The two forces were separated by maybe seventy-five yards of open field. Napoleonic face-to-face battlefield tactics had faded away a long, long time ago.
Jonathan saw movement in the night, beyond the Russians. Seconds later, the motion revealed itself to be a dark panel truck, and it was moving way too fast. It skidded a turn into the long driveway, blasted through the chain-link gate, and raced toward them.
Two of the OpFor turned to face the new threat while the others kept their weapons trained on Jonathan and his team.
“Odds will never be better, Boss.”
“Not yet.”
“Shit.”
The truck skidded to a halt a good sixty to seventy feet before hitting the assembled Russians, therefore no doubt preventing the driver from getting seriously ventilated. The driver’s door flew open, and a female voice yelled, “Don’t shoot! Nobody shoot.”
As the driver emerged, Jonathan recognized her right away as Maryanne Rhoades.
“Oh, man,” Boxers said with a laugh. “Ain’t this some shit?”
“Oh, my God,” Jolaine said. “That’s Agent Rhoades.”
Maryanne approached the Russians at a run, her arms extended from her sides, and her hands exposed. “Nobody shoot!” she called. “This is over. This is over. No one needs to shoot anyone.”
Jonathan could vaguely hear the Russian commander speaking to his troops, presumably translating her words.
Maryanne passed through the Russian skirmish line to take a position between both parties. She extended her hands like a traffic cop stopping traffic in both directions. “Please,” she said. “Put your weapons down. The police are coming, and we need to be out of here.”
Jonathan broke his aim, but kept his M27 at low-ready as he stood. The Russian commander said something to his troops, and they likewise lowered their muzzles.
“So, this is what brinksmanship feels like,” Jonathan muttered. He moved casually to his left so that he could see the entire enemy line, without Maryanne being in the way.
“Don’t trust them,” Boxers warned. He, too, had broken his aim, but he maintained a stable shooting platform, up on one knee, his hand still wrapped around the grip of his 417.
“What’s going on, Maryanne?” Jonathan asked. “Why are you here?”
“To interrupt the bloodshed,” she said. “To make sure that Graham is safe.”
“And why are they here?”
“To stop the Chechens,” she said.
“I already did that,” Jonathan said. “You already gave me that job.”
“Can we talk about this later?” Maryanne pressed. “The police are on the way.”
“Hey, Ivan,” Jonathan yelled. “What are your plans now?”
One of them stepped forward. “If we are done, then we are done,” he said. “We will leave.”
“Good,” Jonathan said. “Then we’re done, too. Jolaine?”
“Right here.”
“Help Graham to his feet, will you?”
The Russian said something to his troops.
“Remember the plan, Big Guy,” Jonathan said.
“Uh-huh.”
Jonathan listened to the boy’s moans as Jolaine got him to his feet, but he never took his eyes off the bad guys, just as they never took their eyes off him. He slipped his finger into the trigger guard.
“I’m ready,” Graham said. His voice was weak with pain. And he was posed in the open for a clear shot.
“Good,” Jonathan said. “I’ll be right—”
The Russian leader jerked his rifle up, but before he could bring it to his shoulder, Jonathan fired a five-round burst into his neck and his ear. At the same instant, Boxers opened up on the skirmish line. Jonathan raked the line from left to right. In less than two seconds the Russians were all dead.