Siren in the Wind Book One of the MIT Series

Chapter Thirty Three

Johnny tried to break up the silence. "Lizbug, we're trying to protect you."

"Go eat soap! I don't know who you are, and I honestly don't give a freaking fuck."

"That's not true, you do give a fuck, and so do I. This matters. It matters that you know the truth about me, it matters that you know how I feel about you."

"'The truth about me.' Those are the exact words my ex used. Everything was a giant lie."

"Don't ever compare me to Ivan."

"You know about him."

"Abby told me he hurt you, but she never gave details."

"Did she now? What a stand-up friend."

"Abby loves you, please don't do this."

Lizzy's reply was lost as Max surged to his feet. A flash of movement to Johnny's immediate left drew his attention. Johnny threw Lizzy to the floor, her landing brutal, his narrowed focus on the patron training a weapon on his tiny woman. Gun already drawn, Johnny squeezed off a shot, providing cover for Lizzy.

Ignoring her dazed expression, Johnny dragged her towards a rear exit. Had Max yelled that Muller was dirty? Fuck.

Johnny communicated with Slater. "Heading to the rear with the second asset."

Slater scrambled for cover behind a concrete pillar. "Check. Visual on a black sedan with additional insurgents."

The black vehicle mounted the curb. Assailants poured out and opened fire on the structure. A nearby vase exploded as bullets rained down on them.

Johnny yelled at Lizzy. "Move! Now. Stay down."

The son of a bitch who'd taken Johnny's round square in the chest staggered towards them, taking aim at Lizzy for a second time. Fucker wore a bulletproof vest. Johnny calmly squeezed the trigger, hitting him between the eyes. He then swiveled, eliminating a second target as Slater took out two militants before coldly cleaning up the rest. Mandla's men lay down suppressive fire and Johnny hustled Lizzy out the back door.

***

Levi Bakal had a gun on Abby, waving it around as he wrestled her towards the three men spilling from the white van. Max fired his first shot, blowing the small man off his feet. Two masked men shoved Abby into the back of the van. Max took out a second militant taking potshots at Donnie and then shot a third, all while clearing his path to the accelerating vehicle. Continual gunshots echoed behind Max. The fuckers had ambushed the café in a diversionary attack. All that mattered was getting to Abby. Max propelled himself through the van's door before it slid closed.

"Squeeze the trigger again and I'll blow her fucking head off!" Roman Petrovich held Abby firmly against his chest, a pistol shoved up against her jaw.

Two men aimed AK47s at her head. A fourth man in the passenger seat trained his weapon on Max. Petrovich was on South African soil—which according to their intel was not possible, but informants could be paid off and photographs doctored. They'd been fed fake intel from Somalia.

He weighed up his odds. Khalid needed her alive but she could still get caught in the crossfire. The men tried to steady themselves as the van lurched around corners, fingers too close to their triggers. Max handed his gun to the man behind him.

"Nicely done. On your knees. Hands behind your back."

Max followed orders as they trussed him up and destroyed his comms. Finally, Roman restrained Abby's hands before shoving her on the floor. She burrowed into Max's side. The small move wrenched his heart. He'd failed her. Their saving grace could be the embedded tracker in his arm, a standard requirement for covert agents on Mobile Intelligence Teams. But he wouldn't rely on the device. He didn't need guns to kill; his hands were just as lethal. Retribution for touching Abby would be brutally swift.