Zero Hour (NUMA Files 11)

As Joe pulled a weapon from the rack, the sound of rocks sliding turned Kurt. He spun just in time to see a trickle of pebbles coming down the side of a dune made of red Australian soil. He crouched and drew a bead with the rifle, but no one came at them.

Joe crouched beside him. “What do you think?”

Kurt’s eyes were on the dune. “Cover me.”

Joe nodded, and Kurt eased to a new spot and then dashed toward the small dune. He scrambled up the side and popped up over the top, ready to blaze away at whatever might be there.

The tension in his body vanished. Replaced by remorse.

Down below lay a pile of bodies. Men and women thrown in a heap. They were dressed ruggedly, but they were clean-cut. Their gear and clothing looked almost identical.

Kurt slid down toward them, tracking a series of marks in the sand made by someone who’d tried, and failed, to climb out. He arrived beside a burly man with a buzz cut who looked all too familiar.

“Bradshaw,” Kurt shouted, crouching beside him and rolling him faceup.

As Kurt checked for a pulse, a slight groan of pain escaped Bradshaw’s lips.

“Joe, get over here!”

Joe came over the top of the dune.

“Check the others.”

As Joe slid down, Kurt ripped a piece of fabric from Bradshaw’s shirt and tied a tourniquet around his leg where the worst wound seemed to be. He spotted two other wounds, but they looked superficial.

With the tourniquet cinched up, Kurt pulled out his canteen and splashed some water on the ASIO chief’s face.

“Bradshaw can you hear me? What happened?”

Bradshaw moved his lips, mumbling something incoherently.

Kurt took his small oxygen bottle and placed the mask over Bradshaw’s face. As the O2 began to flow, Bradshaw became more animated. He pawed at the mask. Kurt held it in place until Bradshaw’s eyes began to focus.

“What happened?” Kurt asked, pulling the mask away.

“They went down,” Bradshaw replied.

“Who went down?” Kurt asked.

No response.

“Bradshaw, can you hear me?”

Joe returned. “The rest of them are dead. Gunshots. Close range. I’d say they were thrown on the ground and machine-gunned.”

“Damn,” Kurt said.

Joe’s eyes were searching the sloping walls that rose up like cliffs around them. “I don’t like this, amigo. We’re sitting ducks in a shooting gallery.”

“We’d be long dead if someone was watching,” Kurt replied. He kept the oxygen mask on Bradshaw’s face and turned the valve to full. Bradshaw’s eyes opened a fraction more. Finally, he seemed to become more coherent.

Kurt pulled the mask away once more.

“Austin?” Bradshaw muttered in disbelief. “What are you… What are you doing here?”

“Playing a hunch,” Kurt said. “What happened?”

“I… don’t… know,” Bradshaw said. “Somebody waylaid us. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, listening to gunfire.”