The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2) (3 page)

Zane pressed the device tightly against the side of his head and shouted, “Ross, it’s Watson.”

He was pleasantly surprised that he’d been able to reach the Oracle. Cell reception was hit-and-miss in northern Idaho, especially in the valley.

“Who?”

“Watson!”

The ATV bounced out of a pothole, nearly throwing the phone out of Zane’s hand.

“Watson? I can just barely hear—”

“Ross, I don’t have time to explain,” Zane said. “I know Garet is out in the field, but—”

“You’re breaking up. I can’t…” Finally, the Oracle’s voice disappeared in a burst of static.

Zane held the phone in front of him. The signal bars showed no reception. He cursed and tossed it into a cup holder on the ATV. He had a satellite phone back at the lodge, but ironically he’d left it there to avoid contact with the Oracle, who was the only man who might be able to help him contact Slater.

In the end, it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. It might take hours for the Oracle to run down Slater, hours that the operative didn’t have. And even if he’d been able to reach him in short order, he doubted the CIA officer would’ve had any idea who was encircling the lodge. If he’d had such information, he would’ve passed it along already.

Another pothole helped refocus Zane on the situation at hand. The dirt road was rising now, with dense firs and birch trees closing in on both sides. The lodge sat on a plateau near the top of the mountain, which would only take another ten or fifteen minutes to reach in the ATV. But riding all the way up wasn’t an option. The engine was much too loud. He’d have to approach on foot.

Who was waiting for him just up the mountain? Short of a sensor malfunction, the only logical explanation was a professional hit team. But if that was the case, then who were they after, Slater or himself? Zane knew that there were a number of people who’d love to have his scalp, but he doubted any of them knew where he was. If they did, then Delphi itself was in danger.

A large boulder loomed just ahead on the left. It was the one Zane had been looking for. Just before reaching the rock, he turned the four-wheeler off the road and into a clearing. Once the vehicle was out of sight, he killed the engine.

Wasting no time, Zane quickly hopped out and stepped to the back. He opened the tackle box and raised the lure trays, exposing several magazines underneath. He snapped one into his Glock, chambering the first round, then put the remaining three in his pocket.

Looking into the box again, he pulled out a sheathed knife, a monocular, and a tactical flashlight. He needed to travel light, but he also needed to be prepared for a number of different eventualities.

Zane stared at his phone. The bars still showed no signal, which meant he’d have no access to the device’s GPS software. He turned it off and stuffed it in his pocket. He wouldn’t need satellites anyway. He’d spent the first day of vacation walking the mountain, learning every nook and cranny of the area around the lodge. He’d have no trouble finding his way up.

After making one last check of his gun, Zane began his ascent. Darkness had fallen, which prevented him from moving as fast as he’d like.

Ten minutes later, the ground began to level off. He was nearing the plateau. Directly ahead was a line of large firs, which he knew were situated along the clearing on the south side of the lodge. He paused for a moment, listening for any sound. Hearing nothing, he sprinted to the trees, dropping down to his hands and knees when he arrived. He then lay flat and wiggled underneath the limbs until he got to the other side.

He pushed aside a limb. The clearing opened up in front of him. To his left was the dark silhouette of the barn he’d driven the ATV out of earlier in the day. From there the clearing ran slightly uphill to the right, where the lodge was situated. The home was a massive three-story affair, rustic and yet modern. It was mostly dark now, save for two lights that Zane left on at all times.

“Where are you?” Zane muttered to himself.

He knew from the sensors that one or more attackers had approached from the other side of the lodge, along or next to the paved entrance road. He also knew that another group had approached from the direction of the barn to his left. And if his memory served him correctly, there would be a third group directly opposite his position, on the other side of the clearing.

What concerned him most was the likelihood that the attackers were using night vision and thermal imaging equipment. That would give them a distinct tactical advantage. The key would be to position himself behind them, since they were likely focused on the lodge.

Pulling out his monocular, Zane trained it on the barn. It was hard to make out any detail. All he could see was the outline of the structure and the surrounding trees. If someone were hidden there, it would be almost impossible to pick them out.

He bit his lower lip. Since night had just fallen, the attackers were probably waiting for a signal to launch. Should he make a preemptive strike? Or should he simply watch and wait? If the latter, he could always let them do their thing and depart. When you were outnumbered, that was often the smartest thing to do. Live to fight another day, as they say.

But Zane quickly dismissed the thought of just walking away. The men were undoubtedly professionals and wouldn’t leave behind any trace evidence. That meant their identity might forever be hidden if they were simply allowed to leave. And if they came up empty in the house, they would surely turn their attention, and their thermal imaging equipment, toward the surrounding forest.

No, despite the potential dangers, Zane knew he needed to take action in order to have any hope of gathering information. More specifically, he needed to apprehend one of the intruders and take them to a remote location using the ATV. He could then question the subject until he could call for a backup team.

So what now? He clenched his jaw as he thought about how to proceed. The first question that came to mind was one he often asked when in this type of situation: What would he do if he were in their place? How would he organize an attack?

One thing he’d want is a sniper positioned to cover the operation from a distance. But where would he place the gunman?

The barn.

He turned and looked at it. Except for a few bushes and rocks scattered across the clearing, it afforded a shooter a clear view of the lodge. Short of climbing a tree, no other place would provide such an advantageous position.

But where specifically? Zane searched his memory of the barn. The gable roof was a nonstarter. Its pitch meant you’d have to sit or lie at an angle. You could also lie inside, but that might limit your view.

Suddenly Zane remembered a stack of two-by-fours on this side of the barn. Garet had told him he was going to use the lumber to build a new cover for his well. Being both level and elevated, the pile was the perfect place to shoot from.

Zane raised his monocular. After moving it around a bit, he finally found his target to the left of the barn. Was anyone there? There seemed to be a slight irregularity to the top of the pile of lumber, but it was too dark to tell exactly what it was.

An idea rose to the surface of his thoughts. It was bold, risky even, but it might just help him find out if someone was hiding in the shadows.

Reaching out, he slid his hand across the dirt. After patting around for a few seconds, he finally closed his fingers around a small rock.

After tucking his gun away, Zane wiggled out from underneath the tree and rose to one knee. He took a deep breath, concentrating on the direction he was going to throw the rock and how far. Getting those two things right was critical.

Drawing back, he launched the stone with as much force as he could muster. As it flew toward the other side of the clearing, he grabbed the monocular and focused it on the stack of two-by- fours.

Seconds passed, but he never heard the rock land. Had it been too small to make a noise?

Zane squinted through the eyepiece, determined not to take his eye off the target.

Just when he was about to give up, he saw a round shadow move on top of the pile. It was a subtle, yet distinct, turn of a head.

The hairs on Zane’s neck stood on end.

The sniper had given himself away.

IT TOOK ZANE about three minutes to circle through the woods and come up behind the barn. When he arrived, he paused just inside the trees and allowed his eyes to adjust.

He was directly behind the structure, so he moved a couple of trees over in order to see down the right side of the building. He then lowered to one knee and trained his monocular on the woodpile. As he brought everything into focus, the body of a man materialized, lying prone on top of the two-by-fours, his rifle pointed toward the lodge.

Zane looked up. Darkness had now settled over the mountain, so it wouldn’t be long before the signal to attack was given.

Knowing time was short, Zane slipped from behind the fir and crept softly forward. He trained the suppressed Glock squarely on the man’s head, ready to shoot if it became necessary. If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t have to.

He was about halfway there when he heard a soft voice. No others were around, so the man was probably speaking into a headset. Zane took several steps forward and stopped. At first there was only silence, then the man began speaking again. Zane stiffened as he recognized the language.

What are they doing here?

He crept a bit closer. The man was talking faster now, clearly giving some sort of instructions. The attack was either imminent or had already commenced.

Finally, the man grew silent. He then raised his rifle into position, signaling that he was ready to provide cover. It was the moment Zane had been waiting for.

He launched forward, covering the remaining ground with cat-like speed. As he neared the man, his foot hit a rock, sending it skittering loudly against the pile of lumber.

The sniper turned at the sound, but since he was lying on his stomach, he was in no position to defend himself. Zane took one more step and leapt, bringing the butt of the Glock down across the man’s head. Both rolled off the stacked lumber, and by the time they came to a stop, the man was out cold.

Had they been heard? Zane waited but couldn’t hear anyone approaching. Nor did any sound come through the man’s headset.

Without wasting any more time, Zane grabbed the man’s ankles and dragged him behind the barn. Pulling out his flashlight, he turned it on and directed the beam at the man’s face. He was wearing night vision goggles, which Zane quickly ripped off and tossed aside. Illuminated by the light was the face of a young Asian male. Zane knew from the earlier conversation that he was a Chinese national.

As he pondered why they might be conducting an assault on Slater’s lodge, a small snippet of information tried to rise to the top of Zane’s thoughts, but he couldn’t bring it out. He’d have to worry about it later.

He entered the barn and found a length of rope and a rag then returned to the man and quickly bound his wrists and ankles tightly, stuffing the rag into his mouth.

Remembering the night vision goggles, he picked them up and slid them over his head. Immediately the night transitioned to a milky world of greens, blacks, and whites.

Now on more equal footing, Zane sprinted out to a sapling in the clearing and lowered to one knee. He saw movement just ahead. Two dark silhouettes had exited the woods and were now moving toward the lodge with speed. They were hunched over, waving automatic rifles back and forth.

Since the two men were facing in the other direction, Zane stepped out from behind the sapling and sprinted to a bush about halfway across the clearing, just behind the gunmen. They continued toward the lodge, obviously trusting that the sniper had them covered in the rear.

Zane ran after them, knowing their own steps would mask the sound of his approach. Seconds later, the two men parted. Zane followed the one on the right, who eventually pulled up behind a gazebo and stopped. Stealth was not an option now, so Zane bore down on his target. When he was a few yards away, the man turned. At first he seemed startled, but then he recovered and lifted his rifle.

But he was too late. Zane already had his pistol up, a red dot wiggling on the man’s forehead. He squeezed the trigger once. There was a soft spit, and the man writhed spasmodically before crumpling to the ground.

Zane ran past the body without a glance. He knew the man had died instantly. After skirting the gazebo, he saw the other gunman running just ahead and watched as he disappeared into a grove of young cedars planted around the back deck of the lodge. Zane continued to the spot where the man had entered, pausing a few feet inside. The saplings were arranged in neat rows like a Christmas tree farm. Unfortunately they were all about seven feet tall, preventing him from seeing anything beyond the row he was in.

Where is he?

There were no sounds. No signs of movement. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.

Stepping forward, Zane looked down the next row. Empty. Had he already crossed the deck and entered the house? It didn’t seem possible, although he couldn’t rule it out.

As he waited, Zane heard shuffling just ahead, near the deck. He crouched and moved forward slowly. Just after he passed the final line of trees, a shadow closed in on him from the left.

He’d been waiting.

The attacker brought his rifle down toward Zane’s head, but he lifted an arm instinctively, just enough to avoid being knocked out cold. Instead, he received a glancing blow that sent him tumbling backward.

As Zane hit the ground, the night vision goggles dislodged and his gun tumbled out into the darkness. The attacker pounced ruthlessly, pounding Zane’s head with clenched fists. Zane withstood the wave of punches then reached up, yanked the man’s night vision goggles down, and simultaneously pulled the man toward him. Zane then used his own forehead to smash the man’s temple. The attacker grunted in pain, and Zane kicked him off.

Zane rose quickly to his feet and got into a defensive crouch. Surprisingly, the man was already up. Turning, he growled, lowered his head, and charged. Zane reached down and loosed his knife from its sheath. Seconds later, the man hit him. As Zane fell backwards, he held the knife in place, allowing momentum to do its work, impaling the man on the blade.