Breaking The Rules_ A Novel Part 53

Izzy helped himself to the weapon donation and ducked inside-and nearly ran into the guy with the hat he'd seen visiting Greg's house with skinhead Jake. The guy's gun went up in a cla.s.sic g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger sideways hold, and Izzy opened both hands in a gesture that said Whoa, Nellie Whoa, Nellie, even though he was still holding tight to the linebacker's weapon.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you you?" the guy asked.

Jesus, what was was Hat Guy's name? Hat Guy's name?

"Nathan," Izzy said, pulling it out of his a.s.s. "d.a.m.n, you scared the s.h.i.t out of me, man. I just came in from the plane. I'm looking for Jake...?"

The fact that he used their names worked like a charm, and Nathan lowered his weapon just enough for Izzy to hit him in the face with the b.u.t.t of that AK-47-no, wait, it was an AK-74 with a slightly smaller-caliber bullet, but the same grand Kalashnikov design.

Nathan went down, his lights out, and Izzy dragged him back behind a conveniently parked A&B Storage truck, relieving him of his various weapons-that very nice Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol that he'd held like a dips.h.i.t, and a backup SIG Sauer with the same caliber; okay, so maybe he wasn't a total dips.h.i.t. Maybe he just liked the drama of an unconventional handgrip. Maybe he found that holding his handgun like that got him laid.

Although, truly? What it had gotten him this morning was laid out.

Nathan was carrying magazines for his weapons in his pockets, as well as a set of keys-one of them bearing the symbol for a Ford, and no doubt belonging to the van that was parked outside, near a f.u.c.king Volvo.

Hi, my name is Bob, and I'm a security guard for an organization that sells children as s.e.x slaves, and yeah. I drive a Volvo because I'm into auto safety.

Right.

Nathan also was carrying a set of plastic restraints-no doubt because they had cargo that needed to be restrained, aka Eden, Jennilyn, and Ben, due to be shipped out on that plane. Izzy hummed a few bars of "Bohemian Rhapsody"-Mama, just killed a man-as he opened the back of the truck and used one of the pieces of plastic to restrain Nathan, hands behind his back, to one of the anchors on the floor that was inside of the truck, rather than breaking the motherf.u.c.ker's neck the way he kinda sorta wanted to.

But in the aftermath-at least the aftermath Izzy was envisioning-it was good to have one of the bad guys still be capable of communication. And someone relatively far up the chain of command was particularly likely to start communicating effectively; i.e., confessing to all of his evil boss's sins, when faced with life in prison or worse.

So Izzy yanked off the guy's sneaker, stripped off his smelly-a.s.s sock and jammed it into his mouth, then gave him one more tap on the head to make sure he stayed unconscious, before closing and securing the truck door with another of those handy plastic restraints.

Outside on the runway, the sun had risen, and the metal stairs were in place as the plane's door popped opened. And as the two guards stood there along with two of the men from inside, like neatly lined-up little ducks in a shooting range, Izzy knew he'd never have a better opportunity to take all of them out.

And whether they drove a Volvo or not, they did did willingly work for an organization that sold children-internationally-as s.e.x slaves. willingly work for an organization that sold children-internationally-as s.e.x slaves.

So Izzy did what he had to, knowing as he did it that all h.e.l.l would break loose at the sound of that AK-74, but that the dirty dozen that they'd started with-if Danny'd done his job, and if he knew Danny and he did, Danny had had done it quickly and efficiently-would drop down to a far more manageable five. done it quickly and efficiently-would drop down to a far more manageable five.

Not counting, of course, the potential army that awaited him in that plane.

The climb up to the air vent on the north side of the warehouse was a b.i.t.c.h and a half.

But Dan did it, because he had to.

Because he could not fail.

Because he'd trained and trained and trained trained for this. For getting the job done despite the pain. for this. For getting the job done despite the pain.

So he made it up and he made it inside, and he swung himself onto a series of catwalks that crisscrossed the ceiling, up near a set of big, slow-moving fans.

Jesus, it was hot in here, but there was no time to rest or congratulate himself for making it this far. Gimpy McBaby-Man, he was not.

Infrared images had put the three hostages-his potentially pregnant wife, his brother, and his sister-in a small room in the northeast corner of the building. He found it easily. The entire back of the building was part.i.tioned into a row of rooms, with lower ceilings covered by rolls of insulation, probably because those rooms were air-conditioned and the rest of this place sure as h.e.l.l wasn't.

As Dan made his way over in that direction, he could see the tops of the walls that segmented the rooms, and he saw there was a long hallway that connected them all.

It was then that he heard it-the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

And five men burst out of the single door in that long wall that separated the warehouse from the back rooms.

One of them-a man with a shaved head-stopped a second and snapped out an order as the remaining three ran for the airfield. "Go to the prisoners and get one of them."

The man who'd been given the order hesitated. "Which one?"

"I don't give a s.h.i.t! Just do do it! Now!" it! Now!"

They were too far away, and outside of the range of the weapons that Dan had acquired from the obviously inexperienced guards-which was a shame, because if he had more than this stupid lightweight room broom or these small-caliber pistols, he could've taken them all out when they'd come through the door.

And as the skinhead followed the other men toward the open warehouse bay and the brilliant morning light, and as that last man ran back toward the part.i.tion door, Dan ran, too, heading for that northeast corner of the building.

There was no ladder down. He was going to have to jump, counting on the ceiling's tile-and-metal framework and that insulation to break his fall.

Dan swung himself over the edge of the catwalk and let himself drop.

Eden and Ben were both talking at once.

"It's Izzy!"

"It's Danny! It's got to be!"

They both started yelling. "Hey! We're in here! We're back here!"

Jenn, too, had heard what undeniably sounded like gunfire. She'd heard shouting, too, but none of the voices belonged to Dan, and that worried her.

But then she heard the sound of footsteps running down the hall.

"Here comes the guard," she said. "It sounds like only one..."

Ben and Eden both moved into place.

The door opened with a crash, and the guard-the man Jenn thought of as Nathan's brother-was standing there, waving a gun at them, shouting, "Get back from the door!"

They couldn't get close enough to stick him with the glucagon. At least not yet. But maybe if he ordered them out of there...

"Down on your knees, hands on your heads," he shouted. "You! The big girl! Get over here!"

He was talking to Jenn-she was larger than Eden-and she was going to have a chance to do it.

It was then that the ceiling exploded and Jenn threw herself down on top of Ben, who was still pretending to be unconscious, only to find that Eden had done the very same thing.

But it wasn't an explosion, it was an entrance. The ceiling tiles had shattered from the force of a man plunging through them, bringing insulation and pieces of the metal framework with him, and G.o.d, it was not just any man, it was...

"Danny!"

The jet was one of those personal-sized baby jets that richie-riches or celebrities with pilot licenses used, to flit from L.A. to Palm Springs.

Izzy charged up the stairs and hit the door to the plane with his shoulder before the frightened-looking man standing there could swing it all the way shut.

The guy was a flight attendant, or maybe the copilot-either way he was unarmed-and Izzy pushed his way past him into the cabin, which was wonderfully empty, thank you, baby Jesus, for that lovely surprise.

It had been stripped of seats-all except for the very front row on both sides of the aisle-to make room for the kind of st.u.r.dy cages that could be used to transport dangerous animals.

Or human beings.

And s.h.i.t, he was wrong about the cabin being empty.

There was one little girl locked in the cage in the back. She poked her head up to look at Izzy with brown eyes that were wide with alarm, but then ducked back down, as if trying to hide.

Behind the cages-there had to be a half dozen of them-was what looked like a bar setup.

Just in case the slave traders wanted a gin and tonic midflight.

Izzy tossed the flight attendant into the plush leather of that single row of seats after the guy went unconscious due to his head connecting solidly with Izzy's elbow. He was definitely a flight attendant, because the copilot was up with the pilot in the c.o.c.kpit, both of them fumbling for weapons as they gazed at Izzy with alarm through the open c.o.c.kpit door-which had a pre-9/11 design, seeing as how it swung open into the cabin so they couldn't kick it shut.

If the cages and that little girl hadn't been there, Izzy might've tried a Freeze! Freeze! or a or a Hands where I can see 'em! Hands where I can see 'em!

But that child made it so clear that these a.s.sholes knew exactly exactly what they were doing. They'd chosen to dance with the devil. what they were doing. They'd chosen to dance with the devil.

So Izzy sent them to h.e.l.l.

Dan hit the ground hard amid the rubble and dust from the ceiling, but he rolled, and as he rolled, he brought up his weapon and he fired, and the man in the doorway fell.

"Is Ben badly hurt?" were the first words out of his mouth as he reached for Jenn's hand, to pull her up to her feet.

She was shaking, she couldn't help herself-that man was dead- dead-and she wanted to throw herself into Dan's arms, but she knew there was no time. She settled for looking hard into his eyes-that fall had hurt him, but he'd never admit it-as Ben answered for himself. "I'm fine. I was just pretending-"

"Good," Dan cut him off, even as he squeezed Jenn's hand and released her to help Ben up, because there was no time for even the briefest of kisses.

"Is Izzy here?" Eden asked.

"He's out there," Dan said, crouching next to the dead guard as if he were no more than an unpleasant pile of trash, and taking what looked like a rifle and a smaller handgun off the man's body.

"By himself himself?" Eden asked, her worry radiating off of her.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh G.o.d," Eden breathed.

"We counted seven of them," Jenn told Dan. "Two outside and five in."

"We got an infrared head count of twelve from the FBI. Who are on their way, but it's going to be a while before they get here," Dan told her as he handed what looked like a small machine gun to Eden and the handgun to Ben. He offered a similar weapon to Jenn. "Baby, I know you don't like firearms, but-"

She didn't, it was true, and she'd discovered she liked dead bodies even less, but she took it from him willingly. It was heavy and solid. "I've never even held one before."

"Don't point it at anyone you aren't willing to kill," he told her, told all of them. "And if it comes to it, aim for the biggest body ma.s.s-you'll have a better chance of hitting your target."

"I'll show Jenn how to release the safety," Ben volunteered.

Dan looked at him hard. "I'm not sure I want to know how you know that, but good."

"Please. You need to go help Izzy," Eden told Dan. "We'll be all right here. If the FBI's coming..."

Jenn wasn't sure she was in agreement. She herself would certainly be far more all right with Dan safely beside her, but she couldn't be so selfish as to make him stay. "I love you," she told him.

And he did take the time-a fraction of a second-to kiss her. And then he was gone.

Izzy couldn't get the freaking cabin door to close.

Which meant that the three-man a.s.sault team that lurked just inside the warehouse bay door could easily get inside and take him out.

Except they weren't exactly an a.s.sault team. They weren't even close. They were more like three petty criminals who'd graduated to more serious crimes and hooked up with some really evil men with a ton of money and international connections. They obviously had some knowledge and experience when it came to handling firearms. But it was limited to the tune of keep your head down so it doesn't get shot off keep your head down so it doesn't get shot off, and point the barrel of the weapon toward the target and squeeze the trigger until said target doesn't move anymore point the barrel of the weapon toward the target and squeeze the trigger until said target doesn't move anymore.

Two of them were doing just that, their wildly inaccurate bullets bouncing off the concrete and only occasionally pinging into the fuselage of the jet-which was helping Izzy make the d.a.m.n thing unsafe to fly, thanks very much, boys.

They were clearly a little freaked by the display of death at the bottom of the portable aircraft stairs-so much so that one of them squirted.

As Izzy watched, the guy squeezed out of the cover of the warehouse and ran not toward the plane in an heroic attempt to end the battle, but rather toward the parked van and that Volvo. He was fleeing the scene as squirters were p.r.o.ne to do, and Izzy saw no need to take him out, since he was removing himself from the equation.

One of his co-workers, though, apparently had a problem with his desertion, because he leaned out of the doorway to shoot the guy square in the back.

Izzy took the opportunity-and the clean shot-to take out the shooter, who fell, too. Which brought his magic number down from five to three.

He had the location of one of 'em pinpointed. It was the other two he was worried about.

He had to get the h.e.l.l off this plane so he could find them and take them out.

Danny came back-almost right away-into the room that had changed from their prison cell into their fortress for this impending siege.

"I can't leave you here," he said. "There's a cache of weapons in a room down the hall-these guys must be gunrunning, too. It's a freaking munitions dump and Izzy was talking about blowing up that plane-"

"What?" Eden said, not quite able to believe her ears. Eden said, not quite able to believe her ears.

"Possibly blowing up the plane," her brother corrected himself as he took out a cell phone-it was hers-and hit the speed dial. "I don't know what he's doing, not yet, but whatever it is he does, I don't want you to be trapped back here." He led the way out into the hall. "Stay close to me. We're going to head over to where there's a bunch of crates." He looked at Eden and shook his head. "He's not picking up." blowing up the plane," her brother corrected himself as he took out a cell phone-it was hers-and hit the speed dial. "I don't know what he's doing, not yet, but whatever it is he does, I don't want you to be trapped back here." He led the way out into the hall. "Stay close to me. We're going to head over to where there's a bunch of crates." He looked at Eden and shook his head. "He's not picking up."

She took the phone from him. "I'll try him again."

"Do it when we get there," Dan said. "Right now I need eyes open and top speed. If someone starts shooting, don't run in a straight line. Zig and zag. Got it?"

They all nodded.

"Let's go."

Izzy used his feet and kicked the stairs away from the plane, which was another step in the right direction in terms of surviving an a.s.sault, but several steps back in terms of getting his a.s.s off the plane and taking out the final three.

It wasn't until he was completely back inside and he'd shut the door-Jesus Harvey Christ on a pogo stick, so that that was how it latched, wow, he was an idiot-that he realized his pants had been shaking because his carefully silenced phone was ringing. was how it latched, wow, he was an idiot-that he realized his pants had been shaking because his carefully silenced phone was ringing.