The Hit (Will Robie 2)

talking, seemingly exhausted by her outburst.

“And are you the only one who’s done that?” asked Robie. “Looked at them collectively?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Missing personnel. Like Reel?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What are you sure of?”

She sat back down. “That something insidious is going on, Mr. Robie. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Jessica Reel. What I do know is that it’s reached a crisis point.”

“Does Evan Tucker share your concerns?”

DiCarlo passed a hand over her forehead. She was about to answer when Robie heard the sounds. He pulled his gun with one hand and hit the table light with the other, knocking it off the desk and plunging them into darkness.

He reached across the desk and grabbed hold of DiCarlo’s arm. “Get under the kneehole of your desk and stay there.”

He groped on the desk, found her gun, and handed it to her. “Kept up with your certifications?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Good,” he said tersely. “Good.”

The next moment Robie was on the move.

He knew exactly what the sounds had represented. He had heard them many times over his career.

Two muzzle blasts equaled two long-distance rifle shots.

This was followed by the sonic signatures of the rounds in the air.

Two thunks represented the impact of those rounds hitting flesh. The last two thunks were the dead bodies of DiCarlo’s trusted security team hitting the dirt.

Her secure perimeter was gone.

Now it was just Robie between DiCarlo and whoever else was out there.

He thumbed a number on his phone but the call didn’t go through. He looked at the bars. He had four. But the call wouldn’t go through.

Because they were jamming the signal. Which meant there was more out there to confront than a single sniper.

He opened the door to the room, shot through the opening, and moved down the hall.

CHAPTER

30

ROBIE PEEKED OUT THE FRONT WINDOW. Lying facedown in the motor court were the two guards who had admitted him to the house. He backtracked down the hall, through the kitchen, found a hard-line phone, and punched in Blue Man’s number. It rang twice and was picked up.

“Ms. DiCarlo?” said Blue Man, who was obviously seeing the number on his caller ID.

“It’s Robie. I was meeting with DiCarlo at her house when shots were fired. Her security team is dead. I’m the only thing between her and whatever is out there. I need backup now.”

“Done,” said Blue Man, and he clicked off.

Robie put down the phone and looked around. He was debating whether to go back and stay with DiCarlo—to form an inner hardened circle around her—and wait for help to arrive. That seemed like a sound plan, only they were in the middle of nowhere and help would take some time in coming.

If he retreated to DiCarlo he would give a clear tactical advantage to the opponent. They could encircle them, close in, and with superior firepower it would quickly be over. A grenade tossed through the window would be enough.

So other things being equal, that meant Robie had to go on the offensive. That was okay. He was more comfortable attacking than defending.

Dead men out front meant the shooter had to be positioned there. But with the men dead that position could have changed.

Robie put himself in the mind of the shooter.

What would I do?

It was what Robie would call a plus-one situation. You think one tactical step ahead but you don’t try to be too cute about it.

Dead out front. Use the rear. They do the plus-one analysis and conclude that Robie would think that far ahead and opt to go out the front.

So Robie did the plus-two and headed out the rear.

Of course, if there were two snipers, front and back, his chess playing was useless and he was dead.

No shots came as he exited the house. He moved away from the door and behind a tree where he could gain a bit of surveillance time while being somewhat shielded. It was dark, so he wouldn’t be able to see much except for perhaps movement. Yet even if he did see the shooters it would be nearly impossible to hit them with a pistol shot if they were any real distance away.

After seeing nothing out there he slipped out from behind the tree and made his way to the right side of the house. In his mind he fixed the dead men’s positions. From there he reverse engineered the trajectory lines necessary to kill them.

The only spot was the knoll about a quarter mile away. He had seen it when he’d driven up. There was a break in the trees there.

High ground was good ground for long-distance murdering. Any competent sniper could have made those kill shots.

He peered up toward the knoll, looking for any sign of the shooter.

Could it be Jessica Reel on the other end of that sniper rifle?

He got down on his belly and slid forward until he was behind his car. From there he could see the two bodies. He was able to grab the leg of the closest dead man and pulled the body behind the car. Robie saw that the round had gone right through the man’s neck, severing the spine on the way out.

Instant kill.

He only glanced over at the other body, but he knew the man had probably suffered the same sort of mortal wound.

Hitting a torso at this distance was not hard if you knew what you were doing. Nailing the spine on an in-and-out was a little more problematic, especially at night. Whoever was out there knew his way around a long barrel and scope. Which meant he could nail Robie just as easily.

He opened the car door and slipped inside.

A plan had hit him in the last few seconds.

He intended to execute it in the next few seconds.

Keeping low, he slid over to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and put the car in gear.

Then what he thought might happen did.

A round slammed through the driver’s-side window, sending shards of glass over him.

They were waiting for him in front. Which meant they had stopped at the plus-one analysis. That lifted his spirits a bit. Now if he could only survive the next few minutes.

He revved the engine and popped it into reverse.

A round hit the front tire, exploding it.

The car backed up, bumping along with the ruined tire, which quickly shed rubber until he was basically running on the rim.

But he didn’t have to go fast. He just needed to go.

Using his side mirror as a guide, he made the turn and sped along the side of the house. At the same time he was dialing the number in DiCarlo’s house, which he had memorized from the hard-line phone’s screen.

“Yes?” DiCarlo’s voice was shaky and Robie could hardly blame her.

He told her the situation and what he was attempting to do. “The signal will be me blowing the horn,” he said.

With the shooters out front, probably at the knoll, he had some time. He backed the car to the rear door of the house, shielding it from the sight line of any gunner who might be back here.

He blew the horn. The back door instantly opened and DiCarlo appeared. As Robie had instructed her, she kept low and scuttled over to the car, getting in the rear door and slamming it shut behind her.

“Stay down,” Robie called out.

He put the car in gear and drove back around to the front. He was exposing himself to fire here, but he had no choice. There was only one road in and out.

The rounds started pinging off the car’s frame and shattering windows as soon as they reached the front. Robie heard DiCarlo gasp and then groan. He poked his head over the seat.

Blood was pouring from a wound in her chest. She’d been hit, probably by a ricochet.

Another shot tore up his left rear tire. Now he had two bad wheels.

He also sensed the shots getting closer and more accurate. That meant the shooters had left the knoll and were moving

in for the kill.

Robie pulled up next to the Range Rover and parked beside it. He got out, searched the body of the guard lying next to it, and found the keys. He looked at the Rover’s frame, glass, and tires.

Armored, bulletproof, and run-flats, he concluded.