Desperate Rendition - Chapter 15

John Taylor parked the SUV a quarter mile down from the farmhouse, where it was still blocked by a tree line before the ground upended up to the farmhouse and surrounding pastures.

This far out in the middle of nowhere, there were no street lights and with the cloud cover above, it was pitch black. Even with that, he could see the path up to the farmhouse had no cover except for a self-standing barn to the left of the surprisingly large one-story farmhouse.

“Looks deserted,” Bonnie remarked. “But it is a trap. They know we are coming.”

“No shit,” Taylor muttered.

“We should split up, come at them from two directions. In case one of us gets caught in it. Keeps one of us out of it to pull out the other.”

“And give you a chance to screw you over?”

“After everything I have done since we got back to the States, you still do not trust me?”

“Trust takes time,” Taylor said, but then he paused.

She was right about having a backup. If this guy was as good as Bonnie made it seem, the trap would be well laid and there was a better than even chance either one of them could fall into it.

“But maybe this would be a good first step,” he added.

Bonnie held his stare for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. I will create a diversion. You go for the house.”

Bonnie melted into the darkness without another word. Taylor waited, counting off thirty seconds in his head before moving. He kept low, using the overgrown grass as cover as he approached the farmhouse.

There were no visible lights on inside, but if they knew he was coming, there would not be.

He was about twenty yards out when he spotted it, a thin wire stretched taut across his path, barely visible in the dim light. Taylor froze, studying it. The placement was obvious, amateurish even.

A warning sounded in the back of his head. These guys were supposed to be good, so this was. What? A decoy?

Taylor slowed, easing forward, now more on alert for traps. The only reason to have a decoy was so he would get cocky, overlook the next professional one.

He reached the weathered siding of the farmhouse, pressing his back against it. Taylor edged along the wall until he reached a window. He risked a quick peek inside. The room beyond was dark, but he could make out the vague shapes of furniture. No movement.

He continued on, rounding the corner of the house. A back door came into view. Taylor approached it cautiously. Just then, a loud crash sounded from the far side of the property. Bonnie?

Maybe. Maybe she tripped a trap. Or maybe she was creating a diversion. Of course, maybe it was just an animal knocking stuff over. Taylor reached across, grabbing the door handle and twisting. Locked.

Holstering his weapon, he knelt down, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small lock pick set. Whitaker of all people had shown him how to do this, he thought as he put the tools in the lock, moving the pins carefully until he felt the satisfying click of the lock disengaging.

He eased the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. Taylor put the lock pick away and pulled his weapon, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. He found himself in a cramped mudroom. The smell of mold and decay was prevalent.

In a crouch, he moved into what appeared to be a kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the counter.

A noise from somewhere further in. A creak. He froze. Taylor pressed himself against the wall next to the doorway leading to the rest of the house. He steadied his breathing, straining his ears as he took a few careful steps into the next room. Nothing moved. The room seemed deserted. Taylor knew the trap was here somewhere, but he couldn’t see it.

He only hoped that if he triggered it, Bonnie was still out there to bail him out.

As if brought on by his own thoughts, a dark shape burst from behind a doorway. Taylor barely had time to register the attack before a fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, his gun hand swinging wide.

“Drop it,” a gruff voice commanded from his left.

Taylor’s eyes darted around the room. Two more figures materialized from the shadows, boxing him in. Based on Bonnie’s description, Foster was to his left, a pistol trained at his chest. The other, presumably one of the twins, mirrored him on the right.

“I said drop it,” Foster repeated.

Three on one. Bad odds.

Taylor dropped his weapon and said, “You still need Bonnie. I brought her.”

“Then where is she?” Foster said.

“I’m not an idiot. I knew you guys would have a trap set for me, and when you had her, my kid was as good as dead. You want her, hand my daughter over. You get her when we exchange.”

“You don’t understand how this works, jackass. You give us the girl, and then we turn your daughter over. But we don’t really need you. In fact, I bet you have her nearby. Which means we don’t need you, doesn’t it?” he said, raising his gun straight out and pointing it at Taylor’s head. “Temi, go kill the kid.”

One of the twins gave an wicked grin and started to turn, heading out of the room.

“Wait! I’ll take you to her!” Taylor said, holding up his hands.

“So we can walk into your trap? I think not. Call her in. If you want your kid, she walks in, hands in the air.”

Before Taylor could say anything a deafening crack split the air. One of the twins, the one who wasn’t Temi, was thrown back off his feet, painting the wall behind him in red. The man’s body smashed into the wall, sliding down to the floor.

Taylor didn’t hesitate. He dove for the floor, rolling toward the discarded gun. A bullet whizzed past his ear as he snatched up the weapon. He came up firing, squeezing off two quick shots at Foster.

The mercenary ducked behind the door frame followed by shattered splinters as Taylor’s bullets just missed. Taylor scrambled for cover, pulling the small table on one side over and hiding behind it. Bullets followed after him, thudding into the wood.

Taylor was pinned down, with Foster ahead of him, hiding behind a door frame and the other twin to his right, also behind a door frame. Worse, the table Taylor was using for cover only protected him from Foster, not the twin, who had a straight shot. 

Taylor put two rounds toward Foster to keep him pushed back. Suddenly, Temi burst from cover, gun blazing. He rolled right, squeezing off two rapid shots. The first went wide, but the second caught Temi square in the chest. The man stumbled, a look of surprise frozen on his face before he crumpled to the floor. 

Taylor exposed himself if Foster had come back around and scrambled back into cover. Foster had other ideas as his backup suddenly disappeared and sprinted further into the farmhouse. 

Taylor charged after him. He didn’t know where he was keeping Kara, but he couldn’t let Foster out of his sight in case he was going to finish her off.

The chase lasted for one hallway, as a series of bullets missed him by inches, forcing Taylor back behind the doorframe. He could hear footsteps receding. Foster moved forward slower, gun at the ready, checking his corners more carefully as he inched forward.

The house was a mess of clutter, old furniture, boxes, and junk piled everywhere. Perfect cover for an ambush.

As he entered what looked like a study, a bookshelf toppled towards him. Taylor dove to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Foster emerged from behind it, squeezing off two shots. One grazed Taylor’s arm, drawing blood but not doing any significant damage.

Taylor rolled behind a desk, ignoring the pain and popping up, firing back. Foster vanished again.

Taylor had just started to move again when Foster suddenly reappeared, only to be forced back out of the room as the window behind Taylor shattered, a large caliber round tearing through a wall, missing Foster by a breath.

Taylor used the distraction to push forward, managing to get a shot off at Foster as he disappeared around a bend, spinning him as a round cut through the side of his arm. Wounded, but not seriously.

A door banged open as Taylor got around the corner, Foster’s hand on the doorknob. Taylor had been sprinting, his gun at his side and Foster had his coming up. He’d win the draw, so Taylor did what he needed to do.

He kept moving, smashing into Foster, both of them crashing to the ground. Taylor grabbed Foster’s gun hand, Foster Taylor’s.

Foster smashed Taylor’s head against Taylor’s once. Twice. Taylor’s hold on Foster weakened, enough for Foster to lift himself up and point his weapon down at Taylor, only to roll aside as another bullet smashed through the window at the far end of the hallway, barely missing him once again.

As Foster got back up in a crouch, Taylor pushed off the ground and tackled him again to keep his gun from coming up. They crashed through the open doorway, tumbling down a short flight of stairs into the basement. Taylor’s gun went flying, skittering across the concrete floor. So did Foster’s.

He scrambled to his feet, but Foster was quicker. The mercenary grabbed him, slamming him against the wall. Taylor’s vision swam as his head connected with the hard surface again. Foster’s hands closed around his throat, choking the life from him. Taylor clawed at the iron grip, struggling for air. His lungs burned as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

With a surge of desperate strength, Taylor brought his knee up hard. It connected solidly with Foster’s groin. The mercenary’s grip loosened as he doubled over in pain. Taylor shoved him back, gasping for air. He staggered forward, throwing a wild haymaker that connected with Foster’s jaw. The mercenary stumbled, falling back against a support beam.

Before Taylor could press his advantage, Foster lashed out with a vicious kick. It caught Taylor in the stomach, driving the wind from him. He fell to one knee, struggling to breathe. Foster charged, tackling him to the ground. They rolled across the floor, trading blows. Taylor tasted blood as a punch split his lip.

He managed to get on top, raining down punches. Foster bucked, trying to throw him off. Suddenly Foster’s hand shot out, fingers closing around Taylor’s discarded gun.

Taylor dove to the side as Foster fired. The bullet ricocheted off the floor, embedding itself in the ceiling. Foster staggered to his feet, keeping the gun trained on Taylor.

“End of the line,” Foster snarled, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead.

“Where’s my daughter?” Taylor demanded, hands raised.

Foster nodded toward the back of the basement, where Kara sat tied to a chair, struggling to get loose.

“First she dies, then you, then I’ll find Bonnie myself,” Foster said, moving the weapon from Taylor to Kara.

Taylor spotted Foster’s dropped gun a few steps away, to his right. The wrong direction. The gun wasn’t on him, but if he dove for it, Foster could easily shoot Kara.

He could dive the other way, intercept the bullet, but that would save Kara for only a few minutes.

A shot rang out, and for an instant, fear gripped Taylor as he saw Kara toppling over in her chair in his mind. His worst fear. And then reality sped up again and Foster fell backward, his chest exploding out, spraying Taylor with blood.

It was so unexpected that Taylor just stood there for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Turning and looking up the stairs behind him, Taylor saw Bonnie standing at the top of the stairs, rifle in hand.

Taylor ignored her for a moment, rushing to Kara, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest. “I’m okay. I knew you’d come.”

“I’m so sorry for getting you tangled up in this.”

“It’s okay. I’m just pissed they got the drop on me. But … could you untie me?”

Taylor released her, smiled, and said, “Sure.”