Page 52 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
So, three inside and KD made four. Plus we had Marc and Serena to worry about.
“Something like that.”
“Sweet. Maybe you could give me tips on video editing? I just started a blog.”
“We don’t do videos.”
“You don’t? Shame—they get more engagement than photos, at least, that’s what I heard. How big is this place? Four bedrooms? Five?”
“Five, but we have friends arriving first thing in the morning to take the fifth bedroom.”
Translation: don’t get any ideas about sharing.
“Man, if we have to find someplace else to stay tonight, that’ll suck balls.”
“Let’s try calling the booking company, shall we?”
Storm spoke up again. “Another pair to the right, and it looks like… Yeah, they’re surrounding the buildings. Two more at your nine o’clock, and they’re closing the distance to Marc. Heath, watch your back.”
“Weapons?” Priest asked.
“Rifles slung over their backs. Are we going to Bear? I think we should go to Bear.”
“We can neutralise these three,” Jez murmured, barely audible.
There were guns heading toward Marc.
Guns heading toward Marc.
Damn right we were escalating.
“Go to Bear.”
When it came to moving through enemy terrain, there was nobody better than Priest. He’d become a legend in Delta, then honed his skills at the CIA, including a stint in a squad whose existence would be denied by the US government until the end of time. The Horsemen. The four founding members had done more to change the course of history than anyone would ever know. Black, White, Red, and Pale. Priest called it another life, but beneath the hideous Hawaiian shirts and the laid-back surfer dude persona he wore as a mask, he was still Pale. Death. He’d never change.
And he’d spent years moulding the Choir in his own image.
I took off through the trees, flitting from shadow to shadow like a ghost, silent and really, really pissed off. Who were these assholes who’d shown up to ruin my life? I wanted their heads on fucking pikes.
A few thumps sounded through my earpiece. A muffled groan. Ah, that would be Emmy and Jez and their “neutralising.” The groan was followed by a shriek from KD, no doubt wondering why a man dressed as a bush was advancing with a set of lock picks.
Sin spoke. “I might know who these people are. Remember how I said the West Papua Freedom Army showed slightly too much interest in the kidnapping?”
Unfortunately, I did.
Storm said the words I couldn’t. “I figured we’d see a spate of tourist abductions over the next several years.”
“Me too, and so did Sinaga. But what if they decided to try a different approach?”
“You mean snatch Marc and Serena from Wild Roots?”
“We know they operate in the region, and they have far better connections than we do. A whisper here, a bribe there, and they could have found Marc.”
And if they got their hands on a bona fide Hollywood megastar, we wouldn’t be looking at a little subterfuge and a simple negotiation in order to get him back; we’d be facing all-out war.
“I think they’ve spotted him,” Storm said. “A pair to the east just switched direction, and I see more movement farther back in?—”
I missed the last part because the three prisoners in the house all began yelling at once.
