Army of Two (20 page)

It was fortunate he’d disabled them himself. If Knox’s men had done the job, the vehicles likely wouldn’t have been left intact. He bypassed the van and the ATVs and went to the Jeep. “We’ll use this one,” he said. “It’s got the highest ground clearance and the biggest gas tank.”

She gestured toward the red fuel cans along the side wall. “What about those?”

“The Jeep’s gas tank will give us more time to get into position.” He handed Chantal the flashlight. “Here. Keep it steady for me.”

She held one side of her jacket over the beam and kept it angled away from the open front of the garage. “Are you sure this will work?”

No, he wasn’t sure. He would have preferred to have a satchel full of C4 and time-delay fuses. He leaned his gun against the rear bumper and got down on the ground. “Once the fire spreads to the upholstery and the oil around the engine, it’s a matter of time and physics.” He pushed the dry sticks he’d brought with him beneath the vehicle’s undercarriage and extended his arms to arrange them in a pile directly beneath the gas tank. “The tank and the fuel inside will expand as they heat. Pressure will build up until something’s got to give, either the metal shell or one of the connections along the fuel line. When it does and the gas leaks out, it should ignite.”

“Like my truck.”

“Yes.”

“Except this time it will take our supply of spare fuel and the building with it.”

“I’d guess we’ll have ten, maybe fifteen minutes once I light this.” He pulled up his left pant leg and unwound a strip of what was left of Chantal’s blouse. He opened the cap of the gas tank, dunked the fabric inside, then used the branch that had served as his cane to poke the soaked wad beneath the wood. He pulled one end of the cloth past the edge of the bumper and added the cane to the firewood. He could have used its support, but he would need the use of both hands more.

“Did you learn that on
MacGyver,
too?”

He wanted to smile but couldn’t. He could tell what an effort she was making to stay calm, and it moved him. She had no shortage of courage. She must have developed a deep reserve of it to get through her childhood. It hadn’t been fair. Essentially, they’d started out the same, both being raised on army bases, but he’d seen by his parents’ example what real love was supposed to be like. If only things had been different for her.

He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. Otherwise, he might start wondering what would have happened if they’d met again under normal circumstances. If Knox had never arrived, if they could have taken more time to get to know each other and had talked more instead of skipping past the preliminaries and getting ambushed by passion, would she still be as determined to reject him?

Then again, under normal circumstances they never would have gotten past their initial, strained politeness. He wouldn’t have had the chance to meet the real Chantal. She might never have challenged him to take a better look at himself, either.

“No,” he replied. “I picked up this trick from Junior.”

“Junior?”

“One of the men on my team. He can blow up anything.” He reached into his pocket for the matches. “Ready?”

She held out her hand. “Give me the matches, I’ll do it.”

Mitch knew she hadn’t wanted to destroy the garage when he’d first proposed it. It was understandable that she’d want to protect her property. She’d also grasped the tactical advantage of a diversion, though, so she’d pushed aside her own feelings and had supported his plan. Now she was willing to light the improvised fuse herself.

He had an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. Not because she was weak or needed rescuing, but because she was strong.

What he felt for her was more than respect. It was beyond caring. And she was dead wrong about the gold ring that he still wore.

“Mitch?”

But if he stopped to talk about it now, he could get them both killed. That was another good incentive for making sure there would be a later. He used his gun to lever himself back to his feet, took the flashlight from her grasp and gave her the matches.

Chantal pulled herself over the windowsill and dropped lightly to the floor. She closed her eyes to allow them to adjust to the darkness, even though her first impulse was to flip on a light and kick off her shoes. This was her bedroom, her private nest within the Aerie. The familiar stillness closed around her like a hug, a tonic, a reminder of what used to be normal.

“You okay?”

Mitch’s whisper jerked her back to reality. She blinked. The air wasn’t familiar. It stank of cigarette smoke. The bed was unmade. The book she’d left on the bedside table lay on the floor with its spine cracked. What appeared to be a ski mask hung from one of the bedposts.

She swallowed her revulsion, took the gun Mitch was holding out to her and followed him to her sitting room. They’d chosen to enter the Aerie through her suite because the window had been dark and easy to reach from the ground. Knox or one of his thugs must have found it convenient too, since it was close to the center of the building.

She should have expected this. It was why Mitch had insisted on entering first, in case the room hadn’t been empty. She tried not to dwell on the evidence of intrusion. Earlier, they’d observed that the kitchen windows had blazed with light. So had the window in her office, which Mitch assumed had become Knox’s command center. The entire Aerie was being violated, not simply her personal space.

He pressed his ear to the door that led to the corridor, then flattened on his stomach to look through the gap underneath it. He watched for a few seconds before returning to his feet and easing the door open a crack.

Chantal’s pulse skipped. A large, ski-masked man was standing less than a yard away. His head was partly turned toward the other end of the corridor. Something glinted from his hand. It was a knife with a long, thin blade. Her mind echoed with the conversation they’d overheard in the boathouse, and the man who’d spoken about bleeding Henry…

Before she had an inkling of what he was about to do, Mitch pulled open the door. He leaped straight for the man with the knife. As he’d done on the hilltop with Bamford, he caught the man from behind and closed his elbow around his throat like a vise.

The man didn’t go down as easily as Bamford had. He slashed at Mitch’s arm, opening a gash in his leather sleeve. In response, Mitch hooked his bad ankle in front of the man’s legs and pulled him off-balance, letting his weight add force to the choke hold. Within moments, he dropped the knife and went limp. Mitch held on another few seconds before he shifted his grip to the man’s arms.

Chantal lowered her gun, only then becoming aware that she’d raised it. She snatched the knife from the floor and pocketed it as Mitch dragged the man into the room. There was no need to bind him. His chest wasn’t moving.

She choked down a wave of nausea, reminding herself this was a matter of survival. These men were ruthless. They’d already demonstrated their willingness to kill.

“Taddeo, bring Petherick and Whitby to the office.”

The voice had come from the fallen man’s walkie-talkie. Mitch tore a piece of duct tape from the roll he’d taken from the garage, picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the button to transmit. He wound the tape around the device to hold the button down, then stuffed it beneath the man’s body. “That’s to jam their communications,” he whispered.

She glanced at the open door. The body would be visible to anyone going past. “Shouldn’t we move him?” she asked.

“No, he’s bait.”

She nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t even try. It was clear that Mitch was in his element. He was doing what he and his men had been trained to do. She hung on to that thought. It helped her keep the terror at bay.

Orange light flashed beyond the window. The boom of an explosion split the air, sending Chantal’s pulse off the scale. Their homemade bomb had worked. Flames shot into the sky above the trees. There was no turning back, even if she wanted to. At Mitch’s hand signal, she flattened herself against the wall beside the open door while he took up a position in front of her.

Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Two men ran by the doorway, likely on their way to the rear exit. One slid to a stop. “What the hell… Hold up a second, Ferguson.”

Mitch lifted his gun to his shoulder. He waited until the first man crossed the threshold, then pulled the trigger twice. He did the same when the second man followed a split second later. “Let’s go, Chantal,” he ordered. “And stay close.”

She leaped over the toppled men and ran into the corridor with Mitch. He moved swiftly despite his limp. They had almost gotten past the back staircase when there was the crack of gunfire. Bullets slammed into the wall above her head.

She ducked as Mitch spun and fired. A ski-masked figure crumpled to the floor at the foot of the stairs. Another one appeared around the bend of the corridor. Mitch fired as he ran toward him, dropping the man in his tracks.

Distantly, Chantal heard the sound of raised voices and a woman’s frightened scream. The noise came from the front of the Aerie. The hostages. She instinctively turned toward the lobby.

Mitch clamped his hand around her arm to stop her. “Knox first,” he said.

He was right. They needed to use their heads. Giving in to her emotions could get everyone killed. This was why soldiers like Mitch—and like her father—preferred to bottle up their feelings.

She couldn’t believe she’d ever criticized either of them for doing that. Right now, she’d give anything to have developed that skill herself.

Chapter 13

L
ewis knocked his walkie-talkie against the desk and tried again. “Who fired those rounds?” he demanded. “What’s happening?”

There was no response, only the hiss of dead air.

Another
boom
shook the floor. He glanced out the window. A second fireball billowed above the trees. It looked as if it had come from the garage like the first one. What was going on out there? The charges weren’t set to blow for fifty minutes.

He shoved away from the computer, took his pistol from its holster and walked to the door. There was no sign of Taddeo or of Petherick and Whitby. The corridor echoed with the noise of raised voices. Some of the women had started screaming again, and he cursed as he stepped through the doorway. No doubt he’d have to sort this out himself, too.

There was no more than a scuffing footstep to warn him. As soon as he walked into the corridor, he felt hot metal press against the back of his neck.

“Drop the gun, Knox.”

Lewis didn’t recognize the voice, but he recognized the tone of command. It was what he’d tried to emulate since he’d left the service. Shock held him immobile. Who was this? How did they get here? And where the hell were his men?

“I said drop it.” More explosions echoed through the walls. “We’ve got you surrounded. It’s over.”

Damn, it sounded as if they’d brought a whole platoon. He opened his hand, letting the pistol swing from his thumb by its trigger guard. He turned his head to the side. At the very edge of his vision he saw a tall figure standing behind him and the gleam of a gun barrel. He let his own gun fall to the floor beside his foot.

The man toed it out of his reach. Lewis got a glimpse of long, dark hair as a woman darted forward to retrieve the pistol. He heard the rip of duct tape. His wrists were seized and fastened together behind his back. His ski mask was yanked off and he was quickly propelled toward the lobby.

Lewis could barely contain his rage. Someone must have talked to the FBI. He’d guess it had been Whitby. Or it could have been Bamford. That would explain his disappearance. The bastard must have made a deal.

But why would the FBI use duct tape instead of handcuffs? And where were the rest of them? He spotted Dodson still at his post beneath the gallery. The hostages were still confined to a clump in front of the fireplace. What the—

Lewis stopped moving just inside the entrance to the lobby. His men were still armed and staring at him. There were no other law enforcement people in sight.

“Tell them to drop their weapons,” the man behind him said.

“Who the hell are you?” Lewis demanded.

At their voices, some of the hostages looked their way. They seemed as stunned as his men. Petherick and the cook’s wife were the first to react. They rose slowly to their feet. “By God, it’s Mitch!” Petherick said, grasping one of the colonels by the shoulder.

“Chantal!” Tyra cried. “We thought you were dead!”

The names hit Lewis like a slap. Mitchell Redinger, one of Petherick’s army guests. Chantal Leduc, the resort owner. Those were the two who had tried to escape. They were supposed to be dead. He jerked to look over his shoulder.

The man behind him could never be mistaken for an FBI agent. He didn’t look much like an army officer, either. He was scratched and unshaven, his hair sticking up at all angles. His leather jacket was ripped and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Despite that, the expression in his eyes was as deadly as the gun he held.

Lewis remembered him. He’d seen both of them through the window the morning he’d arrived. He shifted his attention to the woman who stood beside Redinger. She seemed to be in as rough a shape as her companion was, only she wasn’t calm. Her hands were shaking, the barrel of the AK47 she held was swinging wildly. Her gaze glowed with a desperation that didn’t appear completely rational. If anything, she could be the more dangerous of the pair.

Damn that idiot Molitor. He and Hillock should have landed the chopper to make sure of the kill. Lewis scanned the lobby for them. His gaze settled on Dodson. “Don’t just stand there. Shoot him!”

Redinger hauled him sideways by the elbow, holding Lewis in front of him and the woman while placing their backs against the wall. The gun barrel didn’t move from his neck. Instead, Redinger released his elbow and used Lewis’s own pistol to shoot Dodson in the arm.

Dodson screamed like one of the women and dropped his weapon to the floor.

“Who’s next?” Redinger asked. His voice was as hard as the steel of the gun barrel. “Which one of you men is willing to shed blood for his commander?”