Wired - Douglas E. Richards [63]
Desh sprinted through the woods ahead of his pursuit, stopping abruptly to take up residence behind a particularly thick tree trunk. The two men approached cautiously, keeping to trees for cover, no doubt aware of Desh’s credentials. He was outnumbered, but they had the unenviable task of rooting him out, and he had access to any number of fortified positions. One of the men would circle around and they would coordinate an attack from opposite sides of him. That is if he remained stationary, which he had no intention of doing. Experience told him that he had a better than fifty-fifty chance of escape.
Smith killed the helicopter’s engine and entered the woods. “Stand down, Mr. Desh,” he bellowed into the trees. “It’s Smith,” he added, in case Desh failed to recognized his voice.
Desh said nothing.
Smith made several crisp hand signals and seconds later the two commando’s retreated back toward their commander. “I’m recalling my men,” yelled Smith in Desh’s general direction. “We have your two friends,” he continued. “Cooperate and they get treated like royalty. Help me get the girl and I’ll even let them go.” He paused. “Don’t cooperate and I’ll have them executed. Right here, right now,” he bellowed. “So how about it, Desh?”
Smith paused and waited for Desh’s response, which didn’t come. Desh wasn’t about to be goaded into giving away his position.
“Look, Desh, my men and I will be waiting in the clearing for you to come to your senses. Your friends’ lives are in your hands. You have three minutes!” he finished, his booming voice reverberating off the trees.
While Desh didn’t believe Smith would ever let Griffin and Connelly go, he did believe he would execute them if Desh didn’t play ball. He had already proven this by shooting the colonel. But as long as they were alive, there was a chance Desh could get them out of this mess. He had no other choice but to give himself up, and Smith knew it.
He approached the edge of the tree line. The colonel and the bearded giant were sitting on the ground next to Connelly’s car, their hands and feet bound, while Smith’s men were spread throughout the clearing. Desh was relieved to find Connelly still looking alert despite his gunshot wound.
Desh planned to announce himself before he broke from the woods in case any of the soldiers were trigger-happy. He opened his mouth to announce his presence but slammed it closed in shock as he heard something that took him completely by surprise.
The voice of Kira Miller coming from the opposite side of the clearing.
24
“Drop your weapons!” commanded Kira as she calmly entered the clearing, not wearing either glasses or makeup to alter her appearance. She was unarmed and protected by nothing more than a black sweatshirt and tan jacket.
An image flashed across Desh’s mind of the sweatpants Kira had provided, which he had unceremoniously thrown into the hall. But he was still wearing the gray sweatshirt from the night before. She must have bugged both garments. God, she was clever. She told him she had placed a bug in the sweatpants, knowing he would have changed back into his own pants anyway, but she also knew he would keep the sweatshirt on longer, because she had destroyed his shirt. Like a master magician, she had diverted his attention in one direction while she had continued to operate in another. So she was still listening in when he had read the GPS coordinates of this clearing to Connelly. How had he become so inexcusably sloppy!
“I repeat,” said Kira firmly. “Drop your weapons. Now!”
The soldier nearest to Kira shook his head in dismay. “Are you out of your mind! What are you threatening us with, girl power?”
“Girl power. Very witty,” she said sarcastically.
“Who are you?” said another of the soldiers, his eyes widening in wonder.
Smith had been as stunned as Desh by Kira’s sudden arrival, but finally snapped out of his trance. “Don’t let down your guard,” he instructed his team. “This girl is dangerous. Don’t let her appearance and lack of weaponry fool you.”
The commandos nodded, but