Zane pushed the soldier’s hand away and tried to stand. “I’m telling you, we need to get moving… now!”
“Easy does it.” Tocchet pushed him back down. “How do you know the line was cut?”
“Why the heck do you think I’m lying here?”
Tocchet turned. “Someone get me the climb rope.”
Lights began to bounce around the area. About thirty seconds later, Brett approached with one of the lines in hand. “He’s right. Looks like it was cut about three-quarters of the way through, and the rest ripped.”
Zane rose up again. “That’s what I was trying to—”
Before he could finish, a series of rapid pops sounded from above.
Gunfire.
Shots rained down around them. Some rounds chewed through the soil, and others sparked off boulders.
Amanda screamed as others sought cover behind rocks and trunks. Bennett knelt down a few feet away and raised his rifle toward the crater’s rim. He calmly squeezed the trigger, spraying bullets toward the target. After providing some measure of cover, he turned and shouted, “Move it! Get back into the trees… now!”
Tocchet and Katiya each grabbed one of Zane’s arms in an effort to lift him, but he waved them off. With a loud grunt, he rolled over and climbed to his feet.
More gunshots echoed from above. One bullet impacted close by, causing Tocchet to pivot and loose a barrage of return fire. His movements were fluid. Green Beret fluid, Zane thought.
After suppressing the gunmen, Tocchet turned back to Zane. “Here.” The soldier placed an arm around him. This time Zane didn’t stop him.
Katiya did likewise, but a figure appeared and pushed her aside. Osak. Zane had almost forgotten about the boy. He must have climbed down on his own. Once everyone was in place, the three moved forward into the trees.
Zane rolled his head toward Katiya. “Please make sure Amanda is okay.”
She nodded then ran ahead.
After traveling about a hundred yards, Tocchet and Osak set Zane up against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Brett, Artur, and Wilson were already fanned out, making sure no other attackers waited in the woods.
“Where’s Rod?” Zane asked.
As if on cue, Bennett jogged into view. “We’re safe for the time being,” he said, kneeling next to Zane. “Have no idea where that came from.”
Now that Bennett had arrived, Tocchet left to join the others walking the perimeter.
Zane leaned his head back against the tree, wincing in pain. “That has to be the Chinese.”
“That seems likely,” Bennett said.
“I guess we all knew they could be out here,” Zane said. “I just didn’t expect full engagement this early.” He looked at Bennett. “How many do you think there were?”
“A lot,” the soldier said. “I counted at least ten muzzle flashes on the rim.
“I didn’t want to do this.” Zane reached over and pulled his pack closer. “But it’s time to get Ross to send in backup. If you saw ten, then that means there could be fifteen or twenty… maybe even more.”
Zane fished around in his pack for a moment then pulled the phone out. He frowned as he touched something along the edge. “What the…”
Bennett stepped closer, illuminating the phone with his light. “What is it?”
Zane held the phone at an angle so the Green Beret could see it. The side of the device was crushed, undoubtedly due to the impact with the boulder.
Just to be sure, he pressed the power button. Seconds passed, but the screen remained dark. After letting out a long sigh, he tossed the phone aside and turned toward Bennett. “Looks like we’re on our own.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thirty-one-year-old Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) officer Russell “Russ” Grimes yawned as he lifted the glass carafe and delivered a stream of coffee into his Washington Nationals mug. A lifelong caffeine addict, Grimes generally made the break-room pilgrimage five times prior to lunch and three times after. He then capped off the day with a can of Red Bull on the Metro.
It therefore came as no surprise that colleagues referred to him as the “Jack Russell” of national intelligence, a man of boundless energy who had the heart rate of a caffeinated hummingbird. In fact, some believed it was the caffeine that enabled him to maintain such long hours in the office. Others said it was his insatiable desire to hunt down the enemy.
“Well, well, if it isn’t lover boy. So how was the big date?” Grimes didn’t even have to turn around to recognize the speaker as his chubby coworker Sam Howard.
Grimes wasn’t the least bit surprised at the question. He knew he’d get the third degree after he and his date, Rachel Wickham, had run into Sam and his buddies at a watering hole near Dupont Circle the night before.
“Unspeakably bad,” Grimes said, dumping the usual into his coffee, two packets of sugar and a dash of cream.
“Huh? You gotta be kidding me. That chick was hot. What happened?”
Grimes lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb against his index finger.
Sam nodded slowly. “Gold digger, eh?”
“Of the highest order,” Grimes said, running a hand through his mop of brown hair.
“Well, she must be a dumb gold digger, because Renegades isn’t exactly pricey.”
“Oh, that was only the beginning… the proverbial warm-up.” Grimes set the carafe back in the coffeemaker before turning to face Sam. “Take a guess where we wound up for dinner.”
Sam thought for a moment then shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”
“Victor.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Good grief. I need to talk to HR. You must be making a helluva lot more than—”
“I’m not. Trust me.” Grimes took a quick sip of coffee then held up a finger. “But that isn’t all. After paying my triple-digit bill at Victor, she insisted we catch the end of the Caps game… lower level.”
Sam laughed. “This girl knows how to work it.”
“She’s a professional. Ended up paying some clown outside the Verizon Center a hundred bucks for a period and a half of hockey.”
“Well, please tell me she made all that spending worth your—”
Grimes shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “You apparently weren’t listening very well. It’s all about the money, chief.”
“You at least got some nice tonsil hockey at the end of the night, didn’t you?”
“You kidding? She might as well have had a chastity belt wrapped around her face.” Grimes looked at the ground and shook his head. “She told me she didn’t like to kiss on the first date.”
Sam burst into laughter. “But of course she likes to consume on the first date. Look, just tell her it’s a trip to the Smithsonian on your second date.”
“There isn’t going to be a second date,” Grimes insisted. He walked toward the door and held up his cup. “Anyway, got to run. Time to go catch some bad guys. Gonna be a good way to get the looming financial crisis off my mind.”
Sam lifted his cup in return. “Jack Russell is on the prowl! Have fun.”
Grimes couldn’t help but laugh at what had happened. He should have known better. When the black-haired beauty had approached him at a wedding reception two weeks ago, he’d heard the alarm bells going off as soon as she name-dropped and flashed the expensive jewelry. He had no one to blame but himself.
Then again, could he really blame himself for taking a shot? Rachel was a stunner, and if it had somehow worked out, he’d have been the envy of every red-blooded single man in DC. Besides, his DIA salary could afford one hit like that. Just not two. Next weekend it would be the old standby, cheap beer and a night out with the guys.