Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three Page 3
Suddenly the truck lurched. At first Cyrus thought one of the gunner’s long shot rounds had scored a lucky hit. Then he turned forward to see that they’d left the paved road behind and entered the perimeter of the gravel pit.
“There’s a fork coming up,” Natasha said with some urgency. “Are we going up or down?”
She was referring to the gravel pit itself. They needed to decide if they wanted to take the fork to the left that led down a series of switchbacks and into the fathomless darkness below. The fork to the right led up a steep, washed-out, dirt and gravel slope.
“Up,” Cyrus decided without hesitation. “Always up. Never let the enemy occupy the high ground.”
With no time for debate, Natasha twisted the wheel to the right and feathered the gas. The truck tires threatened to break free in the loose scree as they started across the incline. Cyrus was prepared for this. While Natasha had been focused on the road and keeping them on course, he had already searched the unfamiliar dashboard of the 4x4. He reached over and tapped a button on the console, dropping the transmission into four-wheel-low. The differential locked into synchronized movement and prevented the tires from slipping independently of each other. All four tires bit into the loose gravel and pulled the truck up the slope without the least bit of effort.
As the top of the hill came into sight in the moonlight, Cyrus had a new idea. Actually, it was a new revision on his previously improvised plan, but the environment was ideal.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, shooting a serious look at Natasha.
She flashed a suspicious glance back, but quickly returned her eyes to the hill ahead. The long second it took for her to respond shocked Cyrus. Her delay wounded him more deeply than he might’ve expected. He was asking a question about their current situation, but they both knew there were more far reaching implications when it came to her reply.
The truck shimmied and shook as it hopped over the rutted incline and continued a slow ascent of the slope. She glanced back, looking him directly in the eyes. “I never stopped,” she said in a quiet, husky voice. Another rut in the path slammed them both violently against their seat belts and ended what might otherwise have been a thoughtful moment.
“Ouch,” she gasped and struggled to correct the trajectory of the slow moving truck.
“After you crest the hill,” Cyrus explained, “go on for another half mile. If I pull this off, it’ll all be over. But if you see headlights coming your way, shift into four-wheel-high and hit the gas. Don’t worry about me, and for God’s sake don’t stop till you get home.”
“What do you plan to—”
She never got the chance to finish the question. Cyrus reached up and disabled the cab’s dome light. He grabbed his pack, shoved the door open, and stepped out of the moving vehicle.
The truck wasn’t moving very quickly as it struggled to climb the washed-out road. Still, Cyrus was glad when Natasha kept driving. The door slammed shut behind him and the truck bounced and crawled higher up the incline.
Cyrus threw himself into the tall, wild grass lining the rocky wash. He rolled over just in time to see the truck’s brake lights flash before cresting the hill. The engine revved as it once more found stable ground; then he could hear the sound of the vehicle moving off into the distance.
As soon as the clattering of the truck disappeared, Cyrus heard what he was expecting. The BMW was maybe eighty yards behind, climbing the hill at a much slower pace. As it came closer, he could hear the sounds of the tires scraping and spinning as they broke traction and once more gained purchase. The car’s undercarriage was constantly smashing against the rugged ground as the tires dropped into washed out furrows, each time nearly beaching the vehicle. Whether through luck or pure determination, somehow the BMW continued to manage the ascent.
The car’s glacial progress gave Cyrus more than enough time to prepare. Safe in the seclusion of the tall grass, not ten feet from the side of the road, he sorted through the contents of the backpack. He double checked the 15 round load in his semi auto, then slid a spare magazine into his back pocket. Then, with a whimsical smile, he pulled a small, tennis-ball-sized hand grenade from the bag. With time to spare, he even stopped to zip the backpack closed once more, though he left it in the weeds.
Finally, the grinding and scraping sounds told him that the BMW was nearing his position. Cyrus crawled through the grass on his belly until there was only a foot of concealment protecting him. Taking a deep breath, he readied the pistol in his right hand and the grenade in his left. Holding the grenade’s spoon with two fingers, he pulled the pin with his teeth. The pin fell from his mouth and disappeared into the grass while his eyes remained fixed on the road beyond the weeds.
The BMW’s undercarriage suddenly made a crashing sound that was far more dramatic than anything that had come before it. When the sound was followed by the wild and useless spinning of wheels, Cyrus grinned. He knew the car had just hit the same rut that had nearly knocked the wind out of Natasha and himself.
Stepping from the tall grass, Cyrus saw the silhouettes of three men in the car; two were in the front seats and one was in the back. Almost comically, all three men were looking at each other. They seemed to be arguing. His gun was already up, and Cyrus opened fire. The front and back passenger side windows disintegrated in rapid succession as Cyrus hammered away at the would-be assassins. The man in the back went down fast since he was alone and unprotected. Likewise, the man in the front passenger seat was swiftly ventilated. But the passenger had been a giant of a man, and his girth blocked many of the rounds fired at the car’s driver.
The driver had already lived longer than Cyrus had intended. If he couldn’t take the man out in the next second or two, the man might yet get his hands on a weapon and become a threat. Stepping to his right, Cyrus tried to get a better angle on the man through the windshield. His timing was fortunate. Cyrus stepped aside just as the passenger side door was eviscerated with a burst of automatic fire from inside the car.
Cyrus pumped the last of his rounds through the windshield. The gun’s action locked open, leaving it useless. He was certain he’d scored solid hits on the driver because the windshield and driver-side-window were splattered with blood. Still, he didn’t want to see what would happen on the off chance that anyone inside the car could still pull a trigger or aim a gun. With a quick toss, Cyrus hooked the grenade through the window and into the car’s back seat. Without looking back, he ducked into the weeds and rolled downhill for cover.
Seconds later the car exploded in a fiery wreck. The detonation paled in comparison to the car that had impacted against the concrete barrier only a mile away, but results were no less lethal. The car had been turned into a ton of burning shrapnel.
One good thing came from the explosion. The fire provided ample light and made it easy for Cyrus to find his backpack before making the hike up the slope to be reunited with Natasha.
Chapter 5
The Voss Compound
8:12 am
After being confined to his room and dropping into bed from exhaustion, Cyrus expected to spend the night examining all that had happened and reevaluating everything he now knew. But in short order fatigue had set in. His body began to stiffen as new bruises formed around earlier injuries. Still, he was happy to be back inside the walls of the compound. More importantly, he was relieved to have Natasha back in the safe embrace of the facility walls. Not that he was being allowed to see her; once she’d finished tending to his immediate medical needs, security had seen to that.
Phoning from the road, Natasha had a security detail stationed at the gate and ready to escort them inside. They had returned from the mountains sometime shortly after 3:00 am. The call had caught everyone off guard because, at that point, as far as security was concerned, Natasha was still safe and sound in her quarters. The fact that she was off gallivanting around the countryside was extremely unexpected.
For their part, the security detail was on the ball. When N
atasha called in, they were already aware of the shootout at The Cuban—they simply had no idea that a member of the Voss family had been involved. Cyrus was impressed to learn that Dargo’s team constantly monitored the island’s emergency radio frequencies. Dargo ran a tight ship with a team that was thorough, if not terribly friendly.
Upon their arrival, Cyrus and Natasha were hustled through the front gates under the watchful eye of a half-dozen armed guards. Voss met them in the common area of the building’s first floor. There, he listened patiently as Natasha explained all that had happened. Cyrus, for his part, only contributed to the tale when he was directly questioned. He could see that Voss was deeply concerned, but he was waiting to see how Voss reacted to the night’s events before he committed more information than was minimally required.
Cyrus knew he had reached a tipping point in the mission. With personal objectives that didn’t necessarily align with those handed down by the Coalition, he knew he was walking a proverbial tightrope. Natasha was the only thing that mattered to him. He would do whatever it took to protect her. Cyrus had used his position and the resources of the Coalition to gain access to the compound, but once he was through the door, Coalition objectives had become secondary. Voss’s actions following the evening’s events would dictate Cyrus’s actions from that point on.
To Cyrus’s surprise, Voss didn’t rush to a reaction of any kind. First and foremost he was a relieved father, happy to have his eldest daughter back safe and sound. But beyond that, he’d chosen to defer additional conversation until the morning.
Voss explained that he wanted to confer with Dargo, who was still away and dealing with matters in the United States. Though not present, Dargo had insisted Cyrus be confined to quarters and placed under guard until his return. Given the circumstances, Voss had been inclined to agree with the request. However happy Voss was to have his daughter back, he found it curious that Cyrus was so capable, as he put it, of dealing with such extreme circumstances.
Before Cyrus was escorted to his quarters, Natasha noticed the thick patch of blood that had saturated the lower portion of Cyrus’s shirt in the short time it had taken to discuss things with Voss. Reluctantly, Cyrus revealed new damage to his earlier gunshot wound. Nearly all of the stitches had been torn loose on both the front and back of his abdomen.
Seeing this, Natasha looked aghast. Cyrus tried to shrug it off, content to return to his room for some much needed rest. But the blood loss wasn’t something to be taken lightly; the sutures required immediate attention. Thus, Voss, Cyrus, Natasha, and a small contingent of security personnel shuffled off to the infirmary.
Voss watched with quiet patience while Natasha cleaned, re-stitched, and re-dressed Cyrus’s wounds. She also administered another dose of antibiotics via an injection after cleaning out the more serious of his new abrasions.
All the while, Voss watched without a word. Cyrus could see the man was contemplating all that he witnessed. But Cyrus had no idea what conclusions were being drawn from what Voss saw. When it came right down to it, Cyrus knew just two things mattered at that moment. First, that he was ultimately powerless in his current situation. Voss would either let him stay or kick him out. There was a slight chance, however minimal, that Voss would have Dargo go to work on him and try to get a more complete explanation of his reasons for being there. But the more he considered that last option, Cyrus didn’t think it likely. He’d looked into the eyes of some truly evil men over the last three years, yet when he looked at Voss, he didn’t see anything resembling the hard-hearted monsters he’d worked against or with, in the past.
The second thing Cyrus knew was that he was just too tired to care anymore. The night had put him through the wringer and he was cashed. While accustomed to the fall his body suffered following an adrenaline dump like the one that had fueled him so far, he was feeling wiped out in a new and unique way. So when the security detail accompanied him to his room, he simply didn’t care. Not even when two armed guards remained to stand station inside his bedroom door. It was just another worry among many at that point as he began to slip into unconsciousness.
————
When the doorbell chimed, Cyrus opened his eyes and tried to pull himself up on the bed. He was immediately greeted by every ache and pain from the night before, though they now seemed magnified. Looking down at himself, he realized he hadn’t moved since collapsing on the bed hours earlier. He still wore the same clothes.
He was more exhausted than he could ever recall being. It was a fatigue that seemed deeply settled in his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for another dozen hours.
One of the guards flanking the door tapped the panel on the wall. The doors whisked open and Voss walked in looking rested and refreshed. When he looked at Cyrus, he grinned and shook his head with a chuckle.
“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” Voss said with surprising levity.
Cyrus rolled his head slowly on his shoulders. The stretch resulted in several audible pops from his upper vertebrae. “Believe it or not, I’ve had worse,” he said with a shy grin.
Voss’s gaze was penetrating as he studied Cyrus. He stood silent for several long seconds as if considering his words, or perhaps making an important decision. Cyrus felt as if the man was weighing him in some way.
“I suspect that’s not far from the truth,” Voss said at last.
Cyrus could tell from Voss’s penetrating stare that he wasn’t going to be able to attribute last night’s escape to blind luck. He’d feared as much. The concern had been among his last thoughts before passing out the night before.
There was also a very good chance that Voss’s security guys had used the time to take a deeper look into the events of the previous night. While they wouldn’t know for certain everything that had happened, once they started checking, there was a pretty obvious trail of carnage and destruction that could serve as testimony.
“I think it’s time you and I had a talk,” Voss said. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and get yourself some breakfast. Once you’re ready, security will bring you to my office.”
Cyrus only nodded. A serious conversation was overdue. And though it went against mission objectives, it was now unavoidable. Sliding to the edge of the bed, Cyrus noticed that his arms were darkened with dirt and grime. He smelled of gunpowder and burnt whoknowswhat. He needed a shower. A little breakfast wouldn’t hurt, either.
Chapter 6
The Voss Compound
9:02 am
Pushing a slice of banana across her plate, Anna glanced at her sister. It was just the two of them, sitting at the same long table they’d used for dinner the night before. The innocent look on Natasha’s face made Anna smile as she considered all that had happened since their last meal together. And, while Anna had missed out on all of the previous night’s drama, Natasha had reluctantly brought her up to speed when she appeared at her bedroom door sometime after 3:00 am.
Natasha looked pale and exhausted when Anna found her at her bedroom door. So wiped out, both mentally and physically, that Anna had to guide her sister by the arm to bed. After several minutes of not-so-gentle prodding, Natasha relented and was willing to spill what she knew of what had occurred. The tale had taken over an hour.
They sat at the foot of Natasha’s bed, talking in the dim light cast by her nightstand lamp. To Anna, it sounded like something out of a Hollywood action movie. But looking at her sister left no doubt as to the veracity of all that she described. Near the end of the story, when Natasha had broken down in tears, Anna at first mistakenly thought her sister had finally succumbed to the stress of the life threatening events.
Finally choking back the tears and catching her breath, Natasha explained that it wasn’t the dark journey with Cyrus that was weighing on her. She finally admitted to having known Cyrus long ago, well before this had come to fruition. They’d gone to school together.
“We were…” Natasha paused, searching for the right words. “Toget
her.”
Anna shook her head, at first unclear regarding Natasha’s meaning. Then shock spread across her face. “Wait—you mean together, together?”
Natasha responded with only a simple nod.
“But you were all serious about a guy named Jon.” She didn’t understand. “What was his name…Jonny Webb!”
Offering a slight smile, Natasha leaned closer and spoke more softly. “That’s what I mean,” she said. “Back when I knew him, his name wasn’t Cyrus—it was Jonny.”
Her brow crinkled; Anna sat back and stared at her sister for several long seconds. “Very funny,” she said finally. But the look Natasha offered made it clear that absolutely no levity was part of her explanation.
“What the hell is going on around here?” Anna huffed.
“That’s what I want to know.”
“Wait a minute,” Anna said, her voice sharp. “This doesn’t make any sense. You and Jonny broke up after he got into trouble writing something for the school paper. You told me he went into witness protection.”
Natasha offered a shrug. “That’s exactly what happened,” she said. “And that was the last I saw or heard of Jonny until Cyrus showed up here in the infirmary with a bullet hole in him.”
“That’s messed up.” It was a weak retort, but what more could Anna really offer?
“That’s nothing,” Natasha went on. “You didn’t see what happened last night. These guys started shooting and everyone just…lost their minds.”
“Can you blame them?”
“No. Everyone, except Jonny—err, Cyrus. Dammit—I don’t even know what to call him!”