Page 163 of One Minute Out

Cage wasn’t happy, at all, but he knew it was best to comply. Hall tended to exaggerate threats, but Ken knew that bitching about it after the fact was the way to go. Fighting with him now would only delay the process and cause everyone more agitation, Cage included.

As they ran, Cage threw his robe on and cinched the belt tight, and Hall brought his walkie-talkie back up to his mouth.

But before he did so, the unmistakable booms of gunfire erupted just above their heads, on the roof of the ranch house.

More rifles outside at ground level rocked off fully automatic a second later.

Hall kept Cage’s pace up by squeezing his hand on his shoulder as they ran towards the stairs. While doing so, he said, “That’s outgoing. That’s our Mexicans. They’ve identified the helo as a threat! Move!”

“Where’s Jaco?”

Hall didn’t answer. Instead he shouted over his walkie-talkie to his men. “We are leaving. Get in the G-Wagens!”

Cage ran along, enraged that, for the second time in three days, he found himself fleeing for his life with a frantic bodyguard’s hands all over him.

•••

“We’re taking fire!” Shep said, and I hear him through the radio, but I also hear the supersonic crack of bullets zipping by the helicopter.

Shep leans out of the opening next to him, his SCAR rifle positioned on a cable running midway across the hatch to serve as a shooting platform. “I’ve got targets on the roof!” he says, then begins firing slow, controlled shots.

I can’t see any targets yet, or even the target building, but A.J. speaks up over the radio from his sniper’s hide behind us. “Overwatch has targets on the property, east side, ground level. Engaging now.”

I can’t hear A.J.’s sniper rifle, but I trust he’s dropping some of the sons of bitches who are shooting at the aircraft I’m clinging to.

I’m still scanning for something to kill; I don’t have any targets from my vantage point because Shep and his weapon are blocking my view in front of me. But I keep searching, hoping to see the telltale sparkle of a muzzle flash somewhere out there in the dark.

Carl speaks up again. “Too much fire to land on the back lawn! I’m going over the target; we’ll come back around and try it from the front.”

I finally see a muzzle flash near a small pond behind the house now, and I fire a few rounds out of my AK towards the source. Then I say, “Negative! Negative! Put Kareem and Rodney down on the roof.”

“What about you?” Shep asks.

“Carl, can you throw me through a window on the third floor?”

There is a pause; through it I hear Kareem firing on the other side of the helo.

Carl replies, “You want me to do what?”

I sling the AK to the side, muzzle down, and I throw out my rappelling line. “Fly exactly thirty feet above any top-floor window on this side of the property. I’ll lower down the rope, and you fly me right through the glass. I’ll link up with the other two as able.”

Carl answers me back quickly as he slows the helicopter. “How do I know exactly thirty feet?”

“You’ll get me close enough.”

I hear him sigh through the radio. “I can do that, but you’ve only got fifteen seconds to get in position!”

“Copy!” I shout, and then I unfasten my carabiner with my left hand, grab the rappelling line with both arms and legs, and begin sliding down, almost uncontrollably fast.

More gunfire, both incoming and outgoing, hammers the air around me, and then I hear a new sound—a pounding, jarring series of thuds.

Carl says, “Taking hits!” And then, “We’re continuing!”

Shep’s rifle booms and booms above me.

I draw the Glock from its drop leg holster, sight it on the window not thirty feet in front of me now, and, while still trying to slide down the rope, I fire two rounds into the upper portion of the glass. It’s at a small upwards angle so I’m not worried about shooting a hostage, and breaking the glass is worth any small risk, because solid windows aren’t much fun to dive through.

I know this from experience, of course.

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