Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. (34 page)

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“Yes.” Rye pumped a fist in victory, gawking as the fiery helicopter slammed into the ground. Blistering flames hip-hopped from the heap
of metal. Oily smoke coagulated the air with its reek. The rending of twisting metal blended with the screams of men running away from the wreckage.

“Get those men out of there,” he heard List yell. “Spray that bird down with foam. Bring that truck over here and drag that thing out of the way. I want those copters landing in two.”

Rye smiled in acknowledgement that his attack prevented the other helicopters from landing. At least for the moment, he bought his people some time.

He hobbled over to the window and risked a quick peek.

List stood amid the burning twisted metal, pushing his men to clear the mess. The mayor stopped what he was doing, turned, and looked up at the ruined windows. His lips curled in disgust. “Dawlsen,” he screamed. “You’re a dead man.”

The copter exploded and rammed into List like a giant’s fist. It flung the man a dozen feet into a stack of transport boxes. For seconds, he lay still, and Rye thought the evil of Richard List had passed from this earth. Then, the man’s arms twitched, and moments later, he eased himself into a sitting position.

Rye caught movement from his peripheral vision and glanced that way to see Demonio Amo, dressed in a black wolf skin, carrying a woman over each shoulder. The drug lord came around the corner of the building and headed for the stack of munitions. Rye clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he moaned, pounding an unbroken window pane with the meaty side of his hand. “Why, God?” He pounded the window again. “Why did you let this happen?”

One of the paramilitary types hurried over to the mayor and
offered List a hand up. List reached for the man’s hand.

Behind Rye, running footsteps pounded the wooden floor combined with a roar ripping from a man’s throat. Rye swiveled on his good leg when a huge weight blindsided him. The assailant drove him into a bullet-ruined chair, which disintegrated under their impact. Stunned, Rye drowned in shreds of stuffing, fabric, and wood. Before he could recover, a hand grabbed him by the back of the collar and lifted him partway off the floor. Rye gasped a breath of air before a fist pounded him in the kidneys. His vision wavered under a hot explosion.

The hand on his collar released him, and Rye found himself face down in the debris of the chair. A boot kicked his bad knee, and bolts of torture shot through his leg.

A ragged groan tore from his throat.

In the same moment, his left hand touched a length of wood from the chair, his fingers curled around its smooth roundness, a muffled voice snarled something at him, and the pointy toe of a western boot came into his limited view.

Rye stabbed above the boot with the length of wood.

It connected and someone yelled. That someone smacked the wood from his hands, and it landed several yards away
.
Rye rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, his vision swimming in vertigo.

“Barend Jilt,” Rye mumbled.

“That’s right, pig. I’m going to finish what I started back in the Phoenix garage. And I’m gonna enjoy it.”

Jilt bent down to grab the front of Rye’s shirt. With all the force he had left, Rye kicked upward with his good leg, driving the point of his boot in between Jilt’s legs.

Air exploded from Jilt’s lungs, and his eyes bulged. The ex-cop crumbled into an apostrophe shape, hands groping the source of his pain.

Rye struggled to his feet, keeping his wounded knee stiff. He leaned against a splintered pillar, his breathing coming in ragged gasps.

Just as he rested his head on the pillar and closed his eyes, several gunshots rang out.

Rye dove to the floor behind the remains of a couch and grabbed the pistol from the holster at his back. Bullets tore into the fabric of the furniture. He swung the weapon in the direction of the shooter and fired. The man stared at the circle of crimson on his shirt and dropped to the floor.

Hearing a grunt, he turned to see Oakmann struggling with one of List’s men. The sleeve of her left forearm had transformed to blood red. Her opponent swung a ka-bar knife at her, but she dodged and the blade whistled past her by a hair’s breath. Rye aimed at them but hesitated to fire for fear of hitting her.

Using the man’s momentum, she pushed him away from her. Seeing his chance, Rye fired several shots into him. The bloody knife fell from the man’s lifeless hand and hit the floor as he did. Grimacing, Rye stood and limped over to the injured sheriff.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You okay? Your arm?”

“It hurts like a—” She glanced down at the blood-soaked sleeve.
She moved her arm and grimaced. “Still attached. He cut me when I blocked a jab. I really hate knives.”

“Let me have a look at it.” Rye knelt next to her. “It’ll need stitches. The best I can do right now is to wrap it up. Can’t use your shirt, there’s not enough left after Tex’s dressing.”

Oakmann smiled at his attempt at humor. “Go ahead. I’ve got my vest on. Won’t be indecent.”

From the hallway opposite the stairs, an ashen Tex ambled zombie-like into the room, dragging his assailant by the collar. One look at the unnatural angle of the captive’s head, and Rye knew the bad guy was dead. Tex stopped and let loose of the collar. The body hit the floor. Tex opened his mouth to say something and collapsed face first. A wet crimson stain covered the back of his shirt.

“Noooooooooo!” Oakmann pushed Rye away and stumbled over to where Tex lay.

The powder burns around the bullet hole under his shoulder blade indicated a gunshot at close range. Oakmann collapsed next to Tex and rolled him. Blood dribbled out the corner of his mouth when he tried to talk. Rye joined them and bent over to hear.

“He’s killed me, Rye,” the whispered words seeped out. “But I got him … Anne … I love you …” A last soft sigh escaped from Tex’s mouth, and he was gone.

Oakmann wailed, tears staining her face.

The agony of the passing of another brother-in-arms overwhelmed him. Rye lowered his head to hide his tears. Why did one more good cop have to die? He thought of Jilt and the tales of horror when that man ruled as Police Chief. Why do bad cops live?

Heilo, Whitewolf, and Iona burst through the stairwell door.

“Oh, no,” Iona said, stopping when she spotted Oakmann cuddling Tex’s body.

Whitewolf took off his hat and lowered his head. He started a low chant in his native language.

Heilo’s hand covered her mouth. Without making a comment, she walked over and handed her headset to Rye.

He took it from her. Glancing down at the grief-stricken Oakmann, Rye swiped away his tears.
Time enough to grieve later
. “Thanks,” he said, taking the headpiece. “Keep it together, people,” he said, louder. “We still got a job to do.”

He put on the headset and adjusted the mic to his comfort. “This is Crawler One.”

“Oh, Rye, you’re alive,” gushed Gabby.

“Crawler One this is Eye.”
Agent Clark.
“Glad to see you’re still with us.”

“Me too. But we just lost an officer. A sheriff’s deputy named Tex. No last name.” He heard a gasp. “What is it, Agent Clark?”

She struggled with her words. “Tex … Tex is my step-brother.” She took a long breath and paused. Rye sensed her sorrow over the headset. “I will have to deal with this later. Now we need to get you out of there. Officers Heilo and Whitewolf have found evidence that List plans to detonate the house. They spotted C-4 charges.”

“We gotta get you guys outta there,” Gabby broke in. “The house could blow any minute.”

“Roger that. Me and the sheriff,” he said, “have found uniforms from the Mexican army scattered throughout the house. List is planning something big.”

“We read you on that.”
Clark’s back in control.
“First things first, we
need to extract you and your people. With the break in the weather, our helicopters have left out of the Phoenix office and are on their way …” A long sigh followed a deep breath. “They should arrive in five.”

Rye hobbled over to the windows. Hiding behind the wall, he peered into the activity swirling below him. Men loaded boxes of weapons and munitions into the copters at a furious rate. List shouted out directions. The man did not yet know of Jilt’s failure. Only a few cartons of ammo remained.

Rye adjusted his mouthpiece. “You better tell them to hurry. I don’t think we have five minutes until List’s crew departs. Evidence points to him fleeing the country in minutes. For good.”

Just then, the man wearing the wolf skin stepped up to the last helicopter. He carried the two forms over his shoulders like they were sacks of potting soil. One after the other, he handed the two unconscious women to someone in the copter

In one gut wrenching moment, Rye recognized them.
Dee and Sunflower.

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DePute shoved several planters under the bar. Not much protection, but it beat being cranked into Swiss cheese. He peered through the bullet holes decorating the bar’s metallic skin and spotted several of List’s men moving ghost-like through the thick haze of expended gunpowder. With so little of the bar remaining, he needed to cruise to another locale.

However, every attempt to reposition brought a hail of hot lead
his way. Smoke from outside thickened the air like a London fog, and tracer ammunition cut through it with eerie streaks.

“Kid,” Batts yelled. “You okay?”

“Dude, this is, like, so bogus. How do you want to handle this?”

“Plan A and B didn’t work out so well.”

Several shots rang out, and a number of bullets smacked into the wall and furniture around him. DePute cringed into the smallest fetal position for protection. When the firing ceased, he glanced over to see Batts peering at him.

DePute nodded in the direction of their assailants. “I know, Bro. Let’s, like, order out some pizza. It’s on my dime.”

He heard Batts chuckle. “No anchovies. I hate those things.”

DePute wanted to ask him about the explosion he heard a few minutes ago. From the orange light dancing on the walls, he figured a big fire raged just outside the house.

List’s men yelled back and forth in rapid Spanish. They moved like pale specters within the smoke. The whine of rotors from waiting copters swelled. Not good.

“Batts,” he called out. “I’m getting hammered here. We’re going to have to boogie on out of here.”

“I hear that. I ain’t waitin’ around for this house to be blowed up and me in it like some skunkin’ coward.”

“Roger that—”

Another hail of bullets interrupted their conversation.

“Shut up, pigs,” yelled one of List’s Latino thugs.

“Bite me,” DePute yelled back. He raised a rifle above the wreckage of the bar and blindly sprayed bullets in the direction of the voice.

Another round of slugs slapped around him. This time, the
metallic wet bar, so riddled with holes, wobbled and came near to disintegrating.
Dude, you so gotta get outta here
. He searched the pool area for another place to hide.

Behind him, a planter crashed to the floor. His head spun in that direction. Beyond the clump of dirt and vegetation, DePute spotted what appeared to be …
what? Rocks?
He had seen these before, but what … then it dawned on him. The rock waterfall for the pool.

He loaded his last clip into the rifle and raised it above the bar. Taking aim in the general direction of List’s shooters, he pulled the trigger and emptied the clip. Spanish curses followed. Leaving the weapons, he sprang to his feet and raced to the waterfall. More tracer shots rang out as he leapt over it.

Bullets smacked into the wet bar, and it collapsed into a heap of twisted metal. Other bullets pinged off the rocks to the waterfall.

“Good move,” Batts said from his cover.

“Except I’m further from the exit.” DePute’s breathing came ragged. “How jacked up is that?”

“Can’t have everything.”

“I figure, if I’m, like, dead, the exit is just bogus.”

“You might be on to something there.”

“Batts, listen.”

It sounded like the workers outside had halted in their progress. Another droning noise rumbled in the distance.

“I hear it,” Batts said. “Sounds like more copters comin’ in. We’re screwed. If List has more men, they’ll flush us right out of here.”

“No. I don’t think that’s it. These copters sound different.” DePute risked a glance over the stones to see the ghostly shapes of List’s men backing out of the pool area. “Hey, they’re pulling back. They’re leaving.”

“Let’s make a go of it.” Batts started to rise.

DePute heard the clink of metal canisters being tossed in their general direction. He knew in a heartbeat what those things were.

“Batts. Get down!”

As he finished saying it, several grenades exploded.

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Zach peered out the crack between door and frame. Several men, black silhouettes against the burning equipment, moved materials into helicopters. The mayor barked orders. The stench of burnt metal lingered in the storage room.