Page 131 of One Minute Out

Chris Travers shot his head around the left side of the iron pylon he was crouched behind, and he spotted Court Gentry about seventy-five feet ahead of him, on his knees by a bunch of scooters in the alleyway.

He touched his push-to-talk button, then said, “Zulu elements, we are two blocks west of the casino, do not know the name of this alley. The Grand Canal is behind us. Three... possibly four hostiles one block to our north. Approach with caution.” Then he said, “But get your asses over here!”

He turned to Hume, a few feet away behind another pylon, and watched his teammate reload his Sig pistol.

“You good, Pete?”

“For now, yeah. We might have to jump into this nasty-ass water behind us, though. Not looking forward to that.”

Hume fired again, then ducked back down.

Travers heard the tone of his sat phone in the earpiece in his left ear, and he jammed a finger in his right ear to drown out some of the shooting.

“Go for Zulu.”

“Status report?” It was Brewer, and to her credit, she wasn’t wasting time with the identity check.

“We are in sight of Violator, but we have enemy contact at this time.”

“Negative! You are not to engage with the hostiles.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that, ma’am.” He leaned out to his right and fired his pistol, and saw a man thirty yards away duck back down behind a row of parked scooters.

Next to him Hume said, “There’s more of them.”

“Keep your eye on the canal. If these dudes have a boat, we’re in trouble.”

Brewer spoke again. “Zulu, your orders are to immediately disengage. I want you out of there, now!”

“We don’t have Violator. If we leave now, he’ll be running for his life.”

“And he’s damn good at that. Leave him, get back to your staging area in town, and await instructions.”

“But—”

“You can’t be compromised. End of discussion. Brewer out.”

“Fuck!” Travers shouted, and then he transmitted to his team again. “All Zulu, belay my last. Move to RP Foxtrot for exfil.”

More gunshots rang out from the north.

A Zulu officer replied to Travers’s command. “Roger that, but... uh, somebody’s still in contact.”

“No shit, that’s us. We’re moving off the X now.” He turned to Hume. “Bound to my left. I’m right behind you.”

Hume took off laterally while Travers emptied his Glock up the street and quickly reloaded. Once Hume arrived at the edge of the building that gave him cover from up the alley, Travers said to himself, “Good luck, Court,” then followed his teammate out of the line of fire.

Both men scampered over crates stacked canalside, and Hume lost his footing on stone polished by centuries of foot traffic and fell into the water on his left. Travers stopped and fished him out, and then the two men took off again to the west through a narrow passage.

•••

I pause for a second to pound my last mag into the grip of my Glock 19, and this is when I realize I’m the only guy returning fire on the enemy. Looking back over my shoulder, I see Chris Travers disappear around the side of the building that runs along the canal.

Well, shit.

I don’t know what’s up, but I have a strong suspicion that Brewer is involved.

I’m just about to lean out around the scooters when behind me I hear the wail of a siren. I look back to see a large police speedboat shifting into view; spotlights train on me and up the street at the other shooters.

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