Page 113 of Fire for Effect

Sierra gave me a nod, as her black clad form snuck up to the door, M4 assault rifle slung over her shoulder, her balaclava over her mouth, but below her nose. We had started out with NVGs - Night Vision Goggles - but had flipped them up as soon as we approached the open area of the building, so we weren’t blinded by the security lights overhead. The inside of the building was still lit, and people inside were up and about.

We would have cut their power, but we worried that forewarning them like that would land a bullet in Taz’s head.

I looked at the satellite phone, where we routed the beacon of her tracker, letting it get as precise a location as it would go - good within one meter. I turned the little picture around, until I got a clear image. With my finger, I pointed up, to indicate she was on the second floor above us. Daria nodded, passing the information to the man behind her - Goose, or Veder. I couldn’t tell in the black and gray get-ups we wore.

They relayed the information and gesture back, until every man on the team was aware.

Me, Sierra, Goose, Veder, Top, and Charlotte. The latter, apparently, was the liaison for Paradigm, her radio linking to Brett who was on standby with the Medevac and the Paradigm Quick Reaction Force, QRF, who were primed and ready to get to us if things went sideways.

As we all entered, she’d stay outside, covering our egress, and keeping comms with our assets.

If we didn’t need them, and managed to secure the hosta— Taz, then their only job would be to come in and sanitize or stage the scene.

That was the best case. The one I hoped for more than anything.

But all hopes were dashed, when the sound of gunfire cracked overhead, and the flash of a muzzles lit up the upstairs window.

Son of a bitch.

If she was dead, nothing would stop me from scorching the earth, and bleeding every Prodigal Son dry, drip by bloody drip.

Chapter 32

Father

Taz

“Why are you helping me?” I asked, even though I was following him down the hallway, reacting to him the way I would to a seasoned soldier I was with in an urban combat situation. “Are you Ghost?”

I knew the answer. But I had to ask it anyway.

Joaquin Guerro was Ghost. Joaquin Guerro was my father. Joaquin Guerro was Cobra.

But the transitive property of those three facts could not link itself in my mind. Cobra, the man at my side now, was my father, and a spy. And he had saved my life.

“I’d love to catch up.” He pushed open a door and shot the people inside. “You wouldn’t believe how much I want to catch up with you.”

I followed to the next, opened the door, and fired one shot at the biker in his cut, huddled in the corner, shaking pistol at the ready.

“But it’s not the time,” Cobra-Ghost-Joaquin said.

He pivoted left, and I swept right as we went into a larger room, our weapons scanning from the corners inward, as we fired on the occupants.

“Why should I believe that you are who you say you are?” I asked, as I fired off two shots at a man that came at us, his cut covered in so many patches that it looked like a Boy Scout’s sash.

He didn’t stop to answer my question as he led us down further down the hall, clearing every room on the way. I didn’t need to ask why. You didn’t want to walk past a room, then get shot in the back. There was only two of us, and if we got surrounded, we’d get deader than disco.

“You’re a skeptic like your mother,” he complained. “You and her are the same height, with the same hair, same cynicism, but the rest of you is all me. You were born at Bakersfield Medical Hospital. I drove her there myself and held you the moment you were born. I cut the umbilical cord too. You came out with your eyes wide open, and you had one tooth out already.”

That last one was true. I was born with the unusual dental abnormality. And it turns out that newborns with teeth? Super ugly looking.

“That enough?” He kicked down a door, and fired two rapid shots, accented by the groan of his targets.

No, it wasn’t enough. I had a million more questions, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever get them answered.

I’d skirted death too much already. I wasn’t guaranteed that later would happen.

“Why did you leave us?” I asked.

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