Out of breath, I finally reply to Woodstock. “I don’t care what laws you break, or how dangerous you fly. I need you here in two minutes, tops.”
“Music to my ears, boss,” Woodstock says, followed by a “Whoop!” that is cut short, first by a second, angry roar from Nemesis, which seems much louder now that we’re outside (though it’s still muffled) and the resounding thunder of an oversized, intelligent silverback making short work of the stairwell behind us.
18
Hawkins placed his shotgun on the floor and slowly raised his hands, putting all his willpower into not spinning around and diving at the man behind him. Not only was the man armed, but he might not be alone. Attacking was most likely a death sentence, and that wouldn’t do Lilly any good. If they took her now, he needed to survive so he could get her back. Dying in her defense, however noble, would only make her situation worse.
“Turn around,” the man said. “Real slow.”
Hawkins did as instructed, taking in the scene with calm determination. He’d take in every detail, commit them to memory and use the information to hunt these men down. But he didn’t really need to take in details. He recognized the four BlackGuard men, but they weren’t alone. Behind them stood four more men, who looked like regular soldiers, their uniforms dark camouflage, their faces masked, but eyes revealed. The four BlackGuard were hidden behind black masks and those reflective goggles. The man talking was known as Silhouette.
“I’m sorry,” Hawkins said, “you brought a small army to take care of us, but only the four of you to handle an army of Tsuchis?”
If the man was surprised, it was impossible to tell. He just tilted his head and said, “I thought you looked familiar. A little different without the mud on your face.”
Hawkins felt an odd sort of tension fill the room. Men were shifting, like a fight was coming, but it had nothing to do with him.
The man snapped his gloved fingers, the sound muffled, “Dustin Dreyling, right? The new FC-P hire.”
Hawkins just stared at the man, trying to find his eyes through the reflective glass.
“No,” Silhouette said. “That’s not right. Well, not the truth, anyway. Hawkins. Mark Hawkins. That sounds right. You know, for a while we thought you might actually be dead. You and your girlfriend—” He glanced at Lilly. “—and your pet. But here you are, alive and living right under our noses in a vacation home funded by the same assholes who pay our bills. Ironic, don’t you think?”
Hawkins didn’t take the bait. He knew the man was just looking for an excuse to get violent.
“But the real problem lies within a single word of what I just said.” Silhouette leaned in close, whispering. “Do you know what that word is?”
Hawkins said nothing, but pondered the question, replaying the man’s last words in his mind. Then it came to him, along with an understanding of why the men were tensing for a fight, despite the situation being under control.
Alive.
The BlackGuard operative, Specter, had been ordered to kill him and Hudson. Not only had he spared them, but he’d also left the goggles behind. The goggles that had allowed them to uncover the Lompoc location. But it was the same goggles that had revealed Lilly and the FC-P to GOD.
Specter, recognizable as the smaller of the four men, slowly stepped to the side, away from the others, his stance non-threatening. “I didn’t think you’d approve, but I—”
“You’re God-damned right I wouldn’t approve,” Silhouette said to Specter. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you next to this asshat and put bullets in both of your heads.”
Hawkins paid attention to the conversation and noted the revelation that despite the man’s claims to the contrary, Silhouette was planning on killing him, which meant he had to act. The question was, when?
And how?
There were nine men in the room, four of them highly trained killers, the other five potentially as deadly. With Lilly out of commission, Hawkins would have to rely on his shotgun, but there weren’t enough shells in the weapon to take out all eight men, and he wasn’t even sure if the pellets would get past their armor. His only real hope was that things would go south with Specter and that distraction would give him time to act.
And then, probably, die. But he had to try. He watched the conversation, tensing to move.
“I thought I recognized him,” Specter said. “You had already left, so I made the call.”
“And didn’t tell me about it.”
“The results speak for themselves, I think.”
Specter’s confidence was surprising. Silhouette was clearly in charge, but Specter had no problem questioning the man’s authority. But was this cocksure attitude considered acceptable? Or was Specter just digging his own grave?
Hawkins saw his chances of success dwindle to nothing when Silhouette shook his head and laughed. “You’re a ballsy sonofabitch. Now do me a favor, and put a bullet in his head this time.”