Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,110
ones you’ll find on gun safes. Piano hinges. Reinforced door jambs. Digital locks. Security doorknobs. Only windows in this home are upfront, top of the door and to its side. Glass is bulletproof, tested to withstand any magnitude earthquake or any caliber munition. Roof is buttressed twelve-gauge steel. Outside walls were designed to look like every other house in this neighborhood, but inside, everything you see is fireproof. Fire suppression will engage instantly in the unlikely case a fire does start. At that point, the online system will notify TEAM HQ, and a team will be dispatched to assist. No one is getting in this safe house without one helluva fight.”
“This house has an online security system?” He couldn’t believe that. “Who’s watching us?”
“Most likely junior agents Ember Dennison or Beau Villanueva back at HQ. Other questions?”
“What’s beneath us?”
“Six feet of reinforced concrete. Down the hall is our last line of defense.”
“Which is?”
“The safe room.”
That surprised him. Stewart was damned thorough.
Persia turned smartly to Izza. “You want to add anything?”
“Just that I’m still waiting for confirmation on the intel Hans provided. Until then, we’ll assume he’s right, that a squad of armed mercenaries is headed our way. ETA in fifteen. Load up, folks. Persia, you and Walker hold our frontline. Hans, you and I’ll cover the rear until reinforcements arrive. No one gets inside. Shoot to kill. Hans? Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he stepped to her side, cleared his throat, and turned to Walker. “I have gone over all the evidence the International Criminal Court has against you, and I find the timeline lacking in sufficient details and corroboration. It’s as if someone has deliberately misled the ICC. There are distinct similarities between your physical description and that of the bomber, but now that I’ve met you in person, I see that you are taller, heavier across here” —he dragged his fingers over his chest— “than the man who killed those people in Jordan. Plus, your eyes are blue; his were distinctly brown.”
“I could’ve been wearing contacts,” Walker explained what any prosecutor would no doubt declare.
Hans nodded. “Yes. You could’ve been wearing contacts that day, but there are other dissimilarities that prove you were not there. When this is over, I will show you what I mean. But now—” Hans glanced over his shoulder at the front door. “Because you fled ICC custody, President Von Schtolz has declared you to be a fugitive of international justice. Every country has been alerted, as well as every bounty hunter. You are to be taken dead or alive—”
“Over my f-ing dead body,” Izza huffed, jamming the bolt on her rifle forward with the cockiness of a pissed-off bantam rooster. She’d wrapped the weapon’s strap around her fist, her jaw set, and her brown eyes gone mostly black. “Von Schtolz sends anyone, they’ll have to come through me.”
“And me,” Hans said quietly. “I stand with you now, Lieutenant Judge. We are all accomplices.”
“Then we’ll all hang together,” Izza declared.
Walker was beginning to recognize her signature head swagger. This woman was as ferocious as Persia. They could’ve passed for blood sisters. But in no way was he putting their lives in more danger. “Listen. Guys. I’m honored you all trust me enough to fight for me, but—”
She had the nerve to flip him off with a covert middle finger salute to her furrowed brow. God, he loved her!
“Now’s not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. One fights, we all fight. Got it?”
“But—”
“Butts and assholes,” Izza quipped. “You ain’t gonna win this one, Hotrod, so shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”
Man, he loved these women. Made him feel like he was back with his guys. Humbled, Walker reached across Hans’ chest and released the safety on the man’s rifle, just in case he didn’t know what that lever was for.
A shy smile came back to Walker. A head nod. Enough that he now knew Mr. Koning had never held a bolt-action rifle before. Possibly not any other weapon, either.
Shit. Stewart had better be right about this building. Because there was no way to adequately protect this house if an ICC squad breached it, not with a team of three and a half against what would, no doubt, be experienced soldiers. Yet that was what Walker meant to do.
He cast a sideways glance at Persia. His dream. His goddess. Now his commander. Pointing to the front and