January 3rd; 11:47 p.m.
United Kingdom
A4117 Road (just east of Clee Hill Village)
Headlights appeared from behind and grew larger by the second. The woman adjusted the rearview mirror. The sole of her red three-inch spiked sandal pressed down on the gas pedal. She clutched the steering wheel harder, her eyes shifting back and forth—the mirror, the windshield, the mirror, the windshield. When the lights became too bright, she stole glances at the side mirror. The speedometer read 128 kilometers per hour (80 miles per hour). Her foot rocked forward. The dark blue Audi had more to give. “Do you think they just want to pass?”
The man in the passenger seat pivoted and stared out the back window, which shattered a moment later in a hail of gunfire. Bullets ripped up the rear leather seats, lodged in the dashboard and created spider webs in the windshield. He yanked a pistol from a shoulder holster under his suit coat and spun back around. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say, no.”
The woman jerked the wheel back and the Audi maintained its course.
He released the seatbelt, drove a knee into the seat and pointed the weapon at the opening where the back window used to be. “Hold it steady.” More rounds came from the SUV’s passenger window. The Audi swerved and he lost his balance, wrapping an arm around the headrest to keep from falling backward. “I can’t drive and shoot. Keep it between the ditches.”
“You just aim straight,” she shot back. “I’ve got this.” The woman’s father had taught her how to drive a car before she had learned how to put on lipstick. One big difference, however, was she never had to dodge bullets back in Texas.
The man got into a stable position and let loose with a volley of his own shots. The SUV’s headlights went dark. Sparks flew off the grille. The behemoth lurched left and right before backing off. He climbed into the back and steadied the weapon on the seat. The SUV’s engine roared before the vehicle lunged forward. With his left eye closed and the other one staring down the gun’s sights at where the driver would be, he drew a breath, let half out and finessed the trigger.
Tires screeched and the trailing four-by-four began an uncontrollable high-speed turn, flipping over several times before sliding to a stop in the middle of the road. The light show from the metal scraping against the pavement had been spectacular.
The man holstered the pistol, reclaimed his place in the front and grabbed the seatbelt’s tongue and buckle. He aligned them, grinned at the woman, “Safety first,” and married the two with a satisfying click.
Shaking her head and frowning at the bad humor, she eased her foot off the accelerator and glanced at the dashboard clock. “We’ll be there in an hour.”
… … … … …
An hour later, the Audi travelled down a desolate stretch of roadway. His phone in hand, the man glanced at the navigational app and pointed. “Turn here.” The pavement became a narrow dirt path. On either side, tall grass shot upward through a thin layer of snow. Up ahead, trees waited for them.
“There’s nothing out here,” said the woman, leaning forward to see the trail.
“That’s what makes it so perfect. The only people who have any business coming this way are those who know about the place.”
They drove another ten minutes until a ten-foot steel gate materialized out of nowhere. Dressed in fatigues, two men faced the car, rifles at the ready. Four more men emerged from the woods and surrounded the vehicle, one at each corner. The muzzles of their weapons were closer to pointing at the couple in the Audi.
The man glanced at his companion. Knuckles white, her hands had a death grip on the steering wheel. “Take it easy and stick to the plan. Keep calm and no sudden moves.”
The soldier on the driver’s side rapped on the window, and the woman flinched before rolling down the glass. “Get out of the vehicle, ma’am.” His voice deep and gruff, the burly man stepped backward. “And, keep your hands visible.”
Arms up, both occupants climbed out.
Burly never took his eyes off the woman. “This is a high-security facility. State your purpose.”
“We have official business,” said her passenger from across the Audi’s hood, while pointing, “on the other side of that gate. If you check, you’ll find we’re on the list.”
Motioning toward the two sentries near the gate, who rushed forward and stopped five feet away from the newcomers, Burly withdrew a handheld device; the soldier nearest to the female’s companion did the same thing. Burly grunted at the woman, “Name.”
She hesitated and glanced away before coming back to him. Her cheeks flushed slightly. “Red Ryder.”
He gave her a look.
“I didn’t choose it.” She tipped her head to the left. “It was his idea.”
Burly tapped the device. Periodically shooting glances at the woman, he studied the data on the screen—Age: 22, Height: 5’6”, Weight: 115, Physical Characteristics: Slender build…long, dark hair…eyeglasses. “What’s your authentication code?” She called out ten numbers.
The woman’s colleague gave his name and code, too, and the soldier facing him stared at the man’s information on a second keypad—Age: 30, Height: 5’11”, Weight: 185, Physical Characteristics: Muscular frame…light brown hair, cut short…blue eyes…
Glancing at the other soldier, who nodded his head one time, Burly addressed his team members. “Stand down.”
The six men stood straight. They let their weapons hang from the sling, but kept one hand around the pistol grip.
Burly—it was now obvious he was in charge—made eye contact with the woman. “Miss Sinclair…” he spied the man, “Mr. Hardy…welcome to Wales. How may we be of assistance?”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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