Present Time…
February 17th; 8:39 p.m.
Werdenberg (Constituency in the canton of St. Gallen), Switzerland
Baumhauer Castle (45 miles southeast of Zurich)
Jumping off the bed, Dahlia dashed out of the room, her fingers fishing around between her breasts. A moment later, she returned to the bedroom, straightening her dress, while inserting a communication device into her ear. “I’m in. The target is subdued—over.”
Hardy: “Copy that. Overwatch, I need a sitrep.” —Situation Report— “Do you copy?”
Pence: “I have eyes on the bogeys, awaiting your orders—over.”
Hardy: “Copy that, Overwatch. Stand by. Phoenix, all teams are waiting to execute on your command.”
Dahlia hiked up her dress. Strapped to her thighs was a Walther PPQ SD 22 Tactical on the left, and a Surefire SF Ryder 22S sound suppressor and spare magazine on the right. Grabbing the Walther and Surefire, she let go of her dress and joined the equipment. “Phoenix copies…going silent.”
Dahlia tapped her earpiece, musing about how her call sign came to be. She and her teammates had been enjoying a night out at a restaurant, laughing, cracking jokes and sharing stories. Without warning, she had set her glass on the table and announced the name with a brief explanation.
Simply put, she had had—and lost due to circumstances beyond her control—this camaraderie with friends. Shunned by the law enforcement community, she abandoned the hope, the concept of friendship; however, Hardy happened, and all that changed. Like the mythological creature—the Phoenix—she had risen from ashes and was once again part of a team. She would be forever grateful to him.
Walking to the front door, she sniggered to herself, thinking of the call sign he had picked out for her—Boots—based on her fashion sense and affinity for the legwear. Dahlia shook her head. He really is terrible at picking names.
She reached the door and held the pistol behind her back, steadying her nerves. After slipping a strap to her dress down to her elbow, she threw the deadbolt and opened the door. The two men faced her. Their eyes zeroed in on the skin she presented to them. “Isaac wants to speak with both of you.” She pivoted and leaned, cocking her head in the same direction. “He’s in the bedroom. He says it’s important.”
Once she had peeked down the hall in both directions and shut the door, Dahlia trailed the men, snagging a heavy pewter candlestick. Before the bodyguards had a chance to see their boss, she squeezed off two subsonic rounds into the back of one man’s knees and clobbered the other with the makeshift club. The latter went limp and collapsed like a well-cooked noodle. The former dropped to his knees, clutching his disability. A one-handed swing of the medieval light source silenced rising screams. “Sorry,” she removed his belt, “but at least you’re still alive.”
Minutes later, the henchmen resembled their boss—bound and gagged. Dahlia tied curtain cords around the one man’s knees, stemming the blood flow. Standing straight, “Don’t let it be said,” she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, “I’m not thoughtful.” Shoving a Glock 19 from one of the bodyguards into her thigh holster, she killed the lights, shut the bedroom door and hurried down the short hallway. “This is Phoenix. Two baddies down for the count. I’m clearing the rest of the structure—over.”
Hardy: “Overwatch, this is Shepherd. You’re cleared to go hot. Take them out. I repeat, take them out.”
… … … … …
Positioned among the shrubs along the slope, Pence closed an eye and peered through the night vision scope, an ATN ARES secured to his CMMG MK4LE rifle. He located the man in the backside tower before finding the second man in the second tower. Each target was shrouded in a green hue.
Centering the first man in the scope, he let out half a breath and held the rest. His forefinger eased back the trigger. One 300 AAC Blackout round zipped down the barrel and through a Sig Sauer SRD762TI sound suppressor. The figure in the crosshairs fell. Pence swung the CMMG right, repeated the process and watched a similar movie play out through the scope. “Shepherd, this is Overwatch. You’re clear to move out.” Pence slung the rifle, drew a Glock 19 and ran. “I’m on my way to the main gate—over.”
… … … … …
Pence: “I’m on my way to the main gate—over.”
Hidden in the shrubs, ten feet from the wall, and dressed in black tactical clothing and boots, faces painted to match, Hardy and Cruz—her long hair tucked under a black stocking hat—knelt. Hardy withdrew a three-foot and six-foot tube from a canvas duffle. “Here,” he gave Cruz the shorter section along with a grappling hook, while he kept the longer piece, a round canister and a backpack. “Let’s go.”
Taking a knee at the base of the wall, Hardy assembled the pieces of the VerTactical ascending pole and activated the system. Compressed air forced upward several telescopic sections. Seconds later, he eased the grappling hook into one of the battlement’s crenels. Come on, baby. Be long enough. Castle walls were several feet thick. Battlements were measured in inches. Hardy had chosen the longer sixteen-inch grappling hook.
He lowered the claw, removed the pole and tugged on the ascending ladder several times. “It’s holding.” After putting on a pair of advanced four-tube night vision goggles, he shrugged into the backpack, slung his sound-suppressed 9mm MP5 and tapped his ear. “You copy, Cruz?”
Her thumb went up. “Loud and clear.”
He grabbed a ladder rung and stuck a boot into another.
Squatting, her back to the stone—MP5 shouldered—Cruz rose up and patted his butt twice, “Watch yourself up there,” before dropping back to her haunches, her head pivoting back and forth. The NVG’s made the night seem like day along the wall. “I’ve got your backside down here.”
“Thanks,” his boot finding the next foothold, he clutched a rung and hoisted his body higher. “I’ll return the favor in a minute.”
Hardy reached the top of the wall, squeezed sideways between two merlons and dropped onto the wall walk. After scanning the walkway in both directions, he crawled to the other side and peered over the edge; the left side of the courtyard was empty. He looked right and found two men standing guard near three limousines. Beyond the vehicles, he saw a sliver of Pence near the main gate.
Hardy crawled back and double-checked the grappling hook. “I’m in position. Ladder’s secure. Your turn, Cruz.” Covering his teammate, he stuck his rifle into the crenel and swung the weapon left and right, just as an archer would have done hundreds of years ago.
Cruz slung the MP5 behind her back. Mimicking Hardy—handhold after handhold, foothold after foothold—she ascended. Reaching the top of the wall, she grabbed her man’s outstretched hand, flopped over a crenel and readied her rifle, breathing hard.
Hardy squatted next to her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she let out a puff of air. “It’s been ten years since I,” she sucked in more oxygen, “climbed a rope.” She exhaled. “I’ve done it twice now in the last forty-eight hours.”
He curled up one side of his mouth, looked away and came back to her. “You good to go?”
She nodded and flashed a thumb skyward.
“Stay low and follow me.” Crouching, the two hurried along the wall walk.
… … … … …
Having received a grand tour of the castle from Wells, Dahlia cleared two upper floors with no resistance. Coming to the ground floor level, she heard muffled voices. Standing at an archway that led to a huge room, back to the wall, she leaned out and pivoted, expecting to find the source. The room was empty. She glanced at the walls of stone. Every little noise is thrown off in here.
After a glimpse behind her, she crossed the archway, sneaked down a hall, cleared a room and came to a second. The volume on the voices had grown. Heading in the right direction. Back to the wall, one foot crossing over the other, she sidestepped. She stopped at the doorway. With a heavy German accent, a man and a woman conversed in English.
Man: “Come on. It’ll be fun. You know you want to.”
Woman: “Just because I want to, doesn’t mean we should. What if someone comes in and catches us?”
“We’re all alone. What’s his face is upstairs with some slut, and his men are spread out all over the place.”
Gripping the Walther tighter, Dahlia stiffened. Slut? She spied her slinky dress. I think I look pretty classy, thank you very much.
Man: “No one is going to think to come in here. Come on. Let’s have a little fun.”
Dahlia heard a gentle slap, skin-on-skin, and a giggle.
Woman: “Stop it. We can’t do it here.”
“Of course we can.”
Hearing smacking lips and low moans, Dahlia rolled her eyes. And he says I’m the slut.
Woman: “At least—o-oh—shut,” —more kissing— “the door.”
Footsteps drew nearer. Dahlia’s muscles tensed. An appendage appeared from the room. Before the hand could reach the doorknob, she charged forward, grabbing the man by the throat and driving him backward into the wall, pistol to his forehead. Fixing the woman with a steely glare, Dahlia pushed the muzzle harder into the man’s skull. To the twenty something, tall and lanky blonde-haired woman, wearing an old-fashioned maid’s uniform—now disheveled: “You scream,” she bobbed her head, “Player here dies. What’s it going to be?”
Maid shut her mouth and cowered, stepping backward, until she bumped into a counter. Her hands shot upward. “Please don’t hurt us. We don’t know anything. Take what you want. We won’t tell anyone.”
Backing up, gun leveled at the man, Dahlia closed the door. She gestured with the PPQ 22. “Both of you on the floor…now!” The duo complied. “Back to back…interlock your arms…cross your ankles.” She lowered the weapon. “If you uncross your legs, I’ll kill you.” Faces paled. “Do you understand me?” The couple nodded. “Good. Now tell me. How many men are on the premises?”
… … … … …
Dahlia stood. “Are you sure?” Having secured her prisoners at the ankles, interlocked elbows and wrists with strapping tape she had found in a cabinet, she peeled off two long strips and threw the roll onto the counter.
Player and Maid nodded their heads.
Dahlia bent over and stretched tape over Maid’s mouth before coming to Player and staring at him. “Last chance.”
“That’s all we saw. I swea—”
Dahlia slapped the adhesive over his mouth. “Because if you’re lying to me,” she looked around, “you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. I’ll come back. And when I do,” she paused for effect, “I won’t be as nice and pleasant as I am right now.”
She walked to the door and stopped. Pivoting and squinting at Player, she shifted her weight to one heel, put a hand on her hip and ran the other down the length of her body. “Do you really think I look slutty?”
The man’s brows came together.
She waved a hand, “Forget it,” and tapped her earpiece. “All teams, this is Phoenix. Be advised. We have a total OpFor of twelve on site. I repeat…enemy contingent is at twelve. I’ve eliminated two. Integrity of intel,” she eyed Player and Maid, “is eighty-five percent—over.”
Pence: “This is Overwatch. I took down two.”
Hardy: “Copy that. Shepherd and Cruz have stormed the castle walls. We have eyes on two, still upright. That leaves six hostiles unaccounted for. Keep your eyes open everyone—Shepherd out.”
Dahlia closed the door behind her and headed for the other half of the ground floor. She cleared the area in three minutes. Her mind recalling Wells’ tour, she backtracked toward the kitchen. That leaves only one area left...she slipped through the narrow archway that led to basement steps…the wine cellar. Pulling up short at the top of the staircase, she removed her heels, laid them on the landing and crept down the stairs.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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