the trespassers.
The younger man grunted. “Definitely got blokes running around where they shouldn’t be. No sign of a vehicle, which means they must’ve stashed it nearby and walked in.”
Something was niggling at King’s mind and he voiced it the moment it crystallized. “But how’d they get inside without setting off any alarms?”
Weathers nodded. “Bloody good question. We’ll be sure to ask ’em once we have ’em in custody. Break out the heavy stuff, mate.”
Trying to control his suddenly shaky hand, King flipped back the carpet in the Rover’s cargo area and unlocked the steel-lined compartment underneath. Lifting the cover revealed two Heckler & Koch MP-5 K personal defense weapons and several 30-round magazines, plus black bulletproof vests and ceramic riot helmets with clear visors.
“How do you want to play this?” King asked, pleased to note that he sounded reasonably calm given the circumstances.
“We’re taking no chances.” Weathers set the drone to hover where it was in the crystal-clear blue sky, then pulled a vest out and slipped it over his head. “Suit up. Helmet, too.”
In a couple of minutes they were both outfitted in protective gear. The older man nodded at the compact submachine gun. “Load up with nonlethal, but grab a couple regular mags, just in case. Don’t forget we’re watching out for the facility, as well.”
“What if they’re armed, too, and using real bullets?” King asked as he cleared the chamber and checked the action on his HK. He then loaded a magazine of rubber bullets and chambered one.
“Well, we should have surprise. So, assuming we get the drop on them, we should have them dead-bang.” Logan adjusted his shooter’s glasses then flipped his helmet visor over his face. “If not, and they start shooting, we’re damn sure shooting back—with lead. I don’t care how much this place cost, I’m not laying my life down for it and you ain’t, either. Got it?”
King nodded as the older man set the iPad down and opened the drone control app on his smartphone, attaching it to his forearm with a Velcro sleeve. “Good, let’s go catch us some vandals.”
His hammering heart feeling like it had risen to the back to his throat, King followed his partner in the approved fashion, a meter back and a meter off to his right. The older man held his HK in a loose port arms, ready to bring the weapon into action at a moment’s notice. In minutes, they’d left the Rover behind and entered the maze of parallel pipes and pumping control stations of the facility proper.
“We probably aren’t gonna see them for a few minutes as least, but keep your eyes open, anyway,” Weathers muttered as they checked a corner before creeping around it. “If they’re smart enough to bust in without setting off the alarms—”
His voice was cut off in midsentence and King felt drops of something patter across his helmet and visor like a burst of rain. He glanced at his partner to ask him what had happened, only to see the other man falling to the ground, blood fountaining from his misshapen head as the report of the weapon that had killed him thundered across the desert.
King stood stock-still for a moment before his reflexes kicked in and he dived to the hard-packed dirt as another shot buzzed overhead, followed by the report again. Weathers’s body had finished its graceless collapse and lay in an ungainly heap, his arms and legs twitching as his nervous system sent last, fruitless, messages to limbs incapable of reacting anymore.
King could hear a high-pitched wheezing and it took him a moment to realize he was making the noise as he panted for breath. Blood roared in his ears as his pressure spiked and he tasted an acrid, metallic tang in his suddenly dry mouth. His training reasserted itself after a few moments and he scrabbled for his radio, which would link to a satellite relay and allow him to call back to base.
“WN Security, officer down! I repeat, officer down! This is Probationary Officer Connor King. Come in please!” he said.
A voice replied after a couple seconds’ delay. “This is WN Security. Go ahead, Officer King.”
“I am under fire by unknown number of assailants at the Amadeus LNG site! My partner is down. I think—I think he’s dead!” King was sure of it, actually, but he didn’t want to commit to that over the radio. “I’ve taken cover nearby, please advise!”
“All right, Officer King, stay calm,” the dispatcher said. “Do you have a visual on your attackers?”
“Uh, no, not really...hang on.” Swallowing the fist-sized lump in his throat, King turned and stuck his head out past the corner of the pipe wall for a brief second, then pulled it back, expecting to see two or three attackers charging toward him.
But other than Weathers’s motionless body, there was no one there.
“Officer King, please report your status,” the voice said.
“No—I have no visual. Repeat, I have no visual on the assailants.”
“All right. We’re sending reinforcements via helicopter, but they won’t be there for approximately three hours. You are to fall back to your vehicle and exit the perimeter, then take up a defensive position to cover the front gate. Help is on the way. Do you understand?”
“Affirmative.” King glanced over at Weathers’s legs. “What about...what about Officer Weathers?”
“Our telemetry readings show him to be deceased” came the dispassionate reply. “We do not want you to risk your own life trying to recover his body. Fall back as ordered, and your backup team will assist you upon their arrival.”
“Yeah...yeah, I hear you. Officer King falling back as ordered.” He cut the transmission and holstered his radio then gripped his subgun tighter and decided to risk one more glance down the corridor of pipes before moving out. Taking a deep breath, he readied his weapon to fire before peeking out again.
And, once again, the corridor was completely empty. What the hell? Where were they? he wondered. Glancing at his partner’s body, he focused on the smartphone on Weathers’s forearm, wondering if he should retrieve it. What, and risk getting his head blown off, as well? he thought. He had to get the hell out of there, like they’d told him.
The only problem was that he would have to run at least a couple straightaways to get back to the Rover—and there was every indication that the unseen shooter was waiting for him to do just that. For a moment he thought of just hunkering down and waiting for help to arrive, but he discarded that plan since the other people on-site might already be creeping up on him right now.
Time to go. King rose, took one last deep breath and then took off running back the way he’d come. He zigzagged as erratically as possible, trying to throw off the aim of anyone looking to shoot him, and expecting to feel the punch of a bullet between his shoulder blades at any moment. A ghoulish thought ran through his mind as he ran for his life: at least a head shot would mean he’d never feel it...
The left corner that should give him cover from the shooter was only a few meters ahead, and King poured on the speed, giving it everything he had. He juked one more time, then aimed for the corner and rounded it in a spray of desert dust. Once there, he plastered his back against the vertical row of pipes and waited a few moments, sucking in the parching desert air. Remembering his water bottle, he grabbed it and drained it. The warm, flat liquid had never tasted so good.
Almost
