Page 73 of Lash

"Affirmative," I respond.

"West patrol approaching our position," Lorenzo says.

I can see them from here, small black dots skylined against the white adobe wall, bathed in floodlights.

A few seconds later, Scarlett comes on the radio. "East patrol approaching."

"On my signal," Solomon says. "Hold—hold—"

He's watching the east side, and glancing at me every couple of seconds. I give him a hand signal, and he nods. "Now—now—now. Neutralize."

Lorenzo, Scarlett, and I carry suppressed MP5s, making the sound of gunfire almost indiscernible from this distance. The only noise is a faint click of the bolt and a soft WHUMP, barely audible beyond a short distance.

The outermost guard's head jerks sideways and blood sprays in silhouette. Before the other two can react, even to shout, Lorenzo is moving in a fast tactical crouch, firing as he moves, dropping the other two a split second later.

"All targets neutralized," Solomon reports. “Hide the bodies and converge at the gate. Scarlett and Tatiana, prepare to deploy flashbangs."

Everyone replies with a "Copy," and within a minute or so, we're approaching the gate from oblique angles, staying out of eyeline in case there are guards within the courtyard.

"Ricardo, report," comes a gravelly male voice in Spanish in my stolen earpiece.

I key the team comms. "I have one of their radios, Sol," I say. "They are asking for a report in. Ignore or respond?"

"They're about to know we're here, so ignore," he answers.

"Ricardo! Report now!"

We're crouching in clusters on either side of the gate, waiting. I hear boots on gravel, and the same voice now echoing in both my ear and in the earpiece simultaneously. "Ricardo? Mateo? Alvarez?"

"Deploy," Solomon orders.

A few seconds later, there's a loudBANG! from the far side of the compound, and the boots sprint away, the voice shouting.

"We're under attack! All units, we're being breached at the south wall. Luis, Andre, Carlos, gate. Everyone else, south end."

"Breach the gate," Sol orders.

Kane moves in front of the gate and applies the breaching cord to the hinges and lock. Before he can fire it, though, he curses and ducks back around behind cover.

"Contact," he hisses.

“Light 'em up," Sol snaps. "Oath-holders, center mass shots only."

Kane, Silas, and I move in unspoken unison, rolling out in front of the gate. Another series of loud bangs erupt from the south end in quick succession, accompanied by automatic weapons fire.

"Who are they shooting at?" Saxon asks across the line.

Three men approach the gate at a jog—they see us a split second too late; their rifles are lifting as we're firing. Silas and Kane do not have silenced weapons so their shots are a giveaway.

"Contact at the gate," someone says on the enemy line. "Shots fired at the gate."

"Breaching," Kane grunts into the mic.

We all turn away and cover our ears; the detonation of the charges is deafening, even with our ears plugged. The gate creaks and then topples inward. Ears ringing, we roll around into the opening in double file, sweeping the interior of the courtyard.

The compound covers several hundred acres. The main house sits on the far rear of the property, barely visible from the gate. A long, low garage parallel to the west wall just inside the gate, and a two-story guard barracks is along the east wall opposite the barracks. Three black Suburbans are parked on each side of the courtyard, facing inward. Smoke billows skyward from the south wall, and a confused overlap of chatter in Spanish fills the comms line of my stolen earpiece—orders, questions, curses.

Perhaps two minutes after the first flashbang went off, a new voice fills the channel, this one sharp, pissed off, and authoritative. "What is happening? Antonio—status report."