“It’s a combination of antibacterial wound glue and an advanced healing agent.”
Ryder’s voice comes in, I suspect only on my comms. “Anthony, he’s a medical doctor.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, watching the guy with a man bun remove the knife and inject whatever that is into the driver’s wound. He holds the wound's edges together for a few seconds, and when he pulls away, it’s as good as a set of stitches.
Luca agrees—after Hopper and I both give him our murder looks—to stay behind with the driver.
“Rafi, checking in. Any movement that indicates alarm?”
His voice soft and clear, Rafi answers, “No, the closest guards do not appear to have broken from routine. As soon as I see you’re clear of the gate, I’ll start taking them out.”
Using the code the Texas team’s guy sent over, we get through the gate then flatten against the perimeter wall while Rafi takes out the outside contingent.
Thoot, thoot, thoot, thoot, thoot, thoot, thoot.
The nearly silent discharge of high-caliber, high-velocity bullets going through skull and brain matter is mostly obscured by the rustle of cedar trees in the wind. No reaction from anyone inside the house.
Anders looks over at me. “Special ops, right?”
I give him a brief nod.
“Me too. Our crew does shit like this pretty frequently, and it never gets old. I fucking love killing bad guys.”
Omar chuckles, shaking his head. “I really have no excuse for him. But he is telling you the truth. He does love killing bad guys,” he says, giving Anders a soft look.
Hopper, overhearing our conversation, grins. “Me too.”
They high-five, and I gesture to the scene before us, silently reminding them we are still, yes, in an active op.
“Oh, right,” Hopper whispers, and he and Anders square up with the rest of us.
I really fucking hope I don’t regret putting those two together.
We make a few on-the-ground decisions and determine they’re probably keeping Mads in the bell tower while the Russian operatives hang out in the lower level, probably the kitchen. Place like this will have a well-stocked mess, and soldiers will absolutely take advantage.
Here's hoping they’ve gotten a little too comfortable.
“I still haven’t seen anyone from Dr. Laghari’s family,” Rafi whispers on the line.
Olga, familiar with the intelligence, nods. “That means we don’t know if Mads’ father is involved or if he’s a hostage.”
I let out a deep breath. “Pretty sure he’s a hostage. We think Mads’ father was trying to tank the manufacturing deal in a way that wouldn’t piss off the Russians.”
Olga grimaces. “Looks like he wasn’t successful.”
Fuck. Everything is conjecture at this point. “Okay, everybody. Try not to kill Mads’ father if you see him,” I direct, wondering if it’d still be okay for me to pop the guy in the mouth.
Not knowing where we might meet people, we put Anders and Hopper on the front door, me and Olga on the back door, and Charlie, Everett, and Omar in the middle, ready to assist whichever one of us gets into the most trouble.
The shadows are in our favor, and Olga and I are able to ride them right up against the house, where two soldiers, speaking in Russian to one another, have walked outside. They haven’t spotted the bodies.
Olga and I get into position, each claiming a guard. Waiting for a beat more to ensure we've got a good handle on the scene, she does a three count, and we pull our respective triggers simultaneously. Two perfect shots, two dead guards, can’t go better than that.
That is until we hear a man scream at the front of the house.
In my time as a Ranger, I saw a lot of shit. Heard a lot of things I can't un-hear, and I've never heard a man scream like that. Unfortunately, the scream is followed by Hopper's out-of-control laughter.
Goddammit.