Page 119 of Nothing to Fear

Gideon flattened against the strategic crest of the hill, below the actual peak, where they had maximum visibility without advertising their position. The building was four stories high but appeared to have only two floors. The ground level had three-story-high windows and probably a thirty-foot ceiling. Two tactical helos sat on the roof. No fire escape was visible. That meant there was either one on the far north side or direct access to the roof from inside.

Peering through the Eagle Eye scope, he swept the two floors of the warehouse. Mercenaries in tactical gear crawled throughout the place. The top level was a wide-open space, similar to the bottom floor, but had office space in the far back. Gideon glimpsed a familiar face.

Omega was talking to a man in a suit who had his back to the window.

Fucking perfect. Gideon was a highly trained killing machine who persevered through pain and never hesitated to take out a target. In hand-to-hand combat, he was not only formidable but also powerful. But he’d rather have his prostate checked than go another round with Omega.

Gideon went back to scoping out the place. There were open cases of weapons laid out on the first floor—they had an arsenal—and a fleet of black SUVs was parked outside.

He noted the tail numbers of the helos and relayed them back to Janet along with the team’s status. “Also tell the chief we’re going to need eyes in the sky.”

Despite the abundance of satellites, not every swath of land was always covered, and it was easier to part the Red Sea than redirect one of those suckers. That garbage they showed in the movies—a click of a few buttons and a satellite zooms in on any location—was just that, a crock of shit.

Sanborn would tap and reposition one of the many federal surveillance drones spying on Americans every day.

“Got it,” Janet said. “He just walked in. I’ll let him know.”

Gideon disconnected.

“Damn army down there,” Castle said, lying in a prone position.

“Pishposh.” Alistair’s cavalier tone was too light for the circumstances, but that was him, all the time. “We’ve got this in the bag. SEALs knock out stuff like this for breakfast.”

Castle nodded. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

“Reece, don’t you Delta Force boys live for this shit?”

“Hooah,” Reece replied, staying low to the ground.

Alistair nudged Ares with an elbow. “I know you’re a little intimidated by the vast numbers down there. Don’t worry. We’ll protect you.”

Ares chuckled—the sound sharp-edged, damn near homicidal—and flipped off Alistair.

Popping cinnamon gum in his mouth, Gideon said, “Remind me again what you’re going to do?”

“Nice to see Reaper has recovered the power of speech since we landed.” Alistair winked, then sighted through the scope of the crippler—a tympanic disruptor.

The weapon was patterned after a multiround grenade launcher, fitted with long-range scope but loaded with sonic charges that incapacitated anyone within hearing range.

A special toy courtesy of their weapons designer.

“I’m going to get this party started.” Alistair fired, launching the tympanic disruptors around the north and east sides of the building, debilitating the armed men out front. Then he targeted each level, shooting devices onto every floor.

Everyone put in soundproof earplugs. Gideon flicked off his Maxim 9’s safety. The last traces of distraction dissolved in a jolt of adrenaline. His pulse quickened, his muscles tightening in readiness.

They swept down the hill in a V formation, wearing sleek tac helmets, bulletproof vests, and gas masks in preparation to breach the entrance and pop smoke.

Within seconds, they were in position at the front of the building, facing south.

Men around the perimeter had dropped to their knees, covering their ears. Some rolled on the pavement, shaking as if on the verge of having a seizure. Gideon hated that Laurel was inside suffering along with these scumbags, but the sooner they got to her, the better.

Off his left flank, Castle and Reece took out the mercs on the west side of the building in a controlled sweep of muzzle-suppressed fire.

Alistair and Ares planted trackers on the vehicles parked around the building as a contingency in case anyone slipped through their fingers. They prepared for everything.

A guy staggered out the main door, hands clamped to his ears, stumbling toward an SUV. Gideon put him down with a single shot to the head.

The team flattened up against the brick facade of the building on either side of the doors, and Reece whipped out stun grenades. A tap on Gideon’s shoulder drew his attention to Ares pointing at three dead bodies—mercs who’d snuck up from the northeast side. Ares had clipped them, despite not being able to hear them close in.