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“I have two oblivious targets seated in reclining chairs in front of a TV. Nobody else, no sign of the kids.” Ryker reported.
“I see the same ones, no sign of the kids,” Linc stated.
“I want them alive. On my count,” Kostya said. “Three, two, one, go!”
Ryker rolled in farther and depressed the trigger on his rifle. Once. Twice. Each man was now clutching a knee that would never work again.
Kostya came in through the door with Linc coming in behind him. Ryker kept his rifle trained on the two men clutching their knees. One was now on the floor, writhing and sobbing, trying to reach a gun lying two feet from his hands. The other was still upright in his chair. Ryker watched as he picked up his beer from the table between the two chairs with a very shaky hand and brought it to his lips.
Another shot rang out, jarring Ryker. “What the hell?” he asked.
“One came out of the bathroom, tried to kill Kostya,” Linc said. “He’s dead.”
Ryker moved forward, his rifle in front of him. He kicked the pistol away from the crying man on the floor, then he moved to the man in the chair.
One step.
Another step.
Another step.
He placed the barrel of the rifle between the beer drinker’s eyes. “Where are the kids?” he asked.
The man responded in Turkish.
Ryker pulled back his rifle then shoved it forward, butting the man’s head back against the chair.
“You made me drop my beer,” he sighed in English.
“Where are the kids?”
“What kids? There are no children here.”
Ryker saw the sweat beginning to drip from his high hairline as the pain had to be streaking through his body.
“If this is the way you want to play it, then fine. I’ll—”
“See if he has any keys on him,” Kostya hollered. “I’m not hearing anything from inside these shipping containers, but we might get lucky.”
“Gladly,” Ryker grinned. He pulled the man up out of the chair by the front of his sweater and patted him down for weapons. When he didn’t find any, he then checked his pockets for keys. Nothing. Then he saw the gleam of gold around his neck. “What have we got here?”
He yanked at the man’s necklace.
It was nothing. Just a necklace. He threw the man onto the ground, making sure he landed on his shattered knee. Then he turned his attention to the other man. He yanked him up by the scruff of his neck. The man was wearing a puffy winter coat, and Ryker found a set of keys in the first pocket he checked.
“Got ‘em,” he yelled out. He dropped the man, then looked up and threw the set of keys to Linc who had his hand up to receive.
Kostya came over to him. “Found this from the office. Kind of nice of them to have all the supplies we could want or need.”
“Bomb’s diffused!” Nolan called out triumphantly.
Ryker shuddered with relief. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing that little boy dying. He just couldn’t. He briefly flashed to the day at the beach long ago, the last day he saw his best friend alive.
Focus.
“Ryker, take the zip tie,” Kostya prompted. Ryker thrust his hand into the bucket of zip-ties and took out a set. “I’ll get this guy,” he said pointing to the man who’d spilled his beer. Kostya nodded and started zip-tying the second man.
Ryker was almost done zip-tying his man’s feet when Linc yelled out.
