The Box, Jeremy Brown [big ebook reader TXT] 📗

The gun?”

Bruder ignored him.

After a few seconds Kershaw said, “Phone call’s over. She handed the phone to Razvan.”

Bruder said, “Where’s the AK?”

“Looking in the garages.”

Bruder told Connelly, “The message.”

Connelly hit some buttons and made sure the volume was low before he put it on speaker.

Nora’s shaky voice said, “Adam, it’s Nora. I need you to call me back as soon as you get this. I, um…just call me. Please. It’s important. It’s about today. Call me.”

The message ended.

Connelly’s eyes were fierce inside the balaclava.

“We gotta go kill that fucker.”

“Give me the phone.”

“What for?”

Bruder held his hand out. The one without the knife in it.

Connelly slapped the phone into his palm and Bruder slid it into a pocket.

“Let’s go,” Connelly said.

“Not yet.”

“Why the hell not?”

Bruder touched the mic and asked Kershaw, “Do you have a shot on the gunner?”

“Nope. He’s hunkered down behind the engine block with the gun in front of his face. I don’t even have a clear shot on Razvan, unless we’re okay with Nora getting hit too.”

Connelly shook his head.

Bruder didn’t care about that, but he didn’t like the machine gun out there, untouchable and free to hose the landscape down.

Kershaw said, “AK going between the garages and the first shed, checking behind. I can’t see him.”

Bruder and Connelly both turned their attention to the other side of the back wall, listening for movement.

They heard nothing.

Kershaw said, “Wait, he’s back. He’s moving. Razvan too. They’re all heading toward the sheds.”

“All?” Bruder said.

“Yeah. Razvan has the gun on Nora, holding her close. AK is at the first shed. He has his phone out. Talking to the machine gunner, my guess.”

Bruder told Connelly, “Get back to your spot.”

Connelly stood there and tapped his trigger finger against the side of his rifle.

“If she gets shot,” he said, “I’m going to be a problem.”

He turned and crept back to his corner.

Bruder put the blade away and flicked the rifle’s safety selector to single shot and pointed it at the opening, listening to the approaching footsteps.

“Open it,” Razvan said.

He kept the pistol aimed between her shoulder blades while she stepped forward and opened the sliding door to the first metal shed.

Razvan walked with her, keeping the door and her body between him and anybody who might be inside.

Benj was off to the right of the opening with his gun ready.

His phone was in his breast pocket with Mihail listening on the other end.

When the door was all the way open Razvan studied the interior from the left side.

He saw an orange Kubota tractor with wet grass and leaves stuck to its wheels and attachments.

A bunch of other farm equipment meant for bigger tractors.

Belts and hoses and chains hanging on a pegboard along the back.

He pushed Nora into the opening and followed, crouching behind her with the gun pointing over her shoulder. It was hard on his back but better than getting shot.

Benj came in from the right, tracking with the rifle, and it was clear there was no white truck hidden among the equipment.

“Check the floor,” Razvan said.

Benj knelt down, then got on his belly and looked under the equipment.

He moved around until he was satisfied, then stood and shook his head.

“Nobody.”

“Next one,” Razvan said.

“Coming to you,” Kershaw said. “I have a shot on AK. Razvan, maybe, but he’s keeping Nora in tight. Machine gunner…still no shot.”

Bruder whispered, “If we shoot, do what you can on the gunner. And nobody shoots before me.”

The criteria for him pulling the trigger was a clear shot on both AK and Razvan.

If they only killed one of the Romanians, they risked getting into a shootout with the gunner out there and another one running around the property, either or both of them calling in backup, even if it was just two more guys.

Who knew what kind of firepower they might bring, including cops?

If they could take AK and Razvan down it would still be bad having the gunner left out at the road, but between the four of them they could keep him busy and away from the phone, hopefully, while somebody flanked him and ended it.

Also, hopefully, without anyone getting shot by the M249.

If they got spotted inside the shed before Bruder fired, he would call out about the explosives in with the money.

Then the negotiations would begin, and they’d probably be trapped inside the shed until the crew from Chicago arrived in—Bruder glanced at his watch—two or three hours.

At that point, things would have officially gone to hell.

A shadow leaked into the sunshine outside the doorway.

Bruder put his optics at the edge of the door, where the owner of the shadow’s head would appear, and waited.

When the face came around the door Bruder had it centered in his rifle’s holosight.

It was Nora, her mouth set in a flat line and her chest lifting and falling from short, tight breaths.

Razvan was tucked in behind her, as much as he could be.

His pistol was pressed under her left ear.

The one with the AK stepped out from behind Razvan and swept the inside of the shed with his barrel, his eyes bright and ready.

Bruder reminded himself they were looking for a white truck full of men, not just the men.

Not yet, anyway.

Razvan risked a peek over Nora’s shoulder and scanned the shed’s contents.

They moved to their right, blocked from Bruder by the chutes and stacks.

He eased the rifle to his left, the other side of the obstruction, and rested the sight’s red dot on AK’s forehead.

He touched the mic and barely breathed the words.

“Anyone have Razvan?”

“No,” Kershaw said.

Rison didn’t answer and Connelly couldn’t, except by firing.

Bruder whispered, “If you have Razvan, take him.”

He kept the dot on AK and waited.

Nobody fired.

Kershaw said, “He’s staying out in the driveway, behind Nora. If he takes her inside you might have a shot from the front corner.”

Which meant Connelly.

Bruder didn’t know if he’d take the shot.

Movement brought him back to the holosight and he watched as AK stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the