Doctors of Death by Peter Nealen

Author:Peter Nealen [Nealen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-18T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

The van was parked around the corner, about half a mile from the target house. Hancock stepped out of the Uber a quarter mile away, thanked the driver, and left him a healthy tip along with an admonishment that he had never dropped anyone off there. The less said about the big, heavy duffel he pulled out of the trunk, the better.

He waited in the hot, humid evening, the duffel slung over his shoulder, as the Uber disappeared around the bend. Only then did he make his way toward the van that they’d passed before he’d told the driver to pull over.

There was some movement in the cab, but no face was visible. Hancock knew that there had been a rifle or shotgun pointed in his direction until he’d been identified.

He came around to the back and tapped on the doors. They opened and he swung the duffel inside before following it. Ian pulled the doors shut behind him.

The van wasn’t big; it was an ordinary commercial panel van. With the gear, there wasn’t a lot of room. But since most of the hit team was in the woods with Burgess already, watching the target house, that was less of an issue than it might have been.

“How we looking?” he asked.

“Santelli got here an hour ago,” Ian replied. “He geared up and headed into the woods. We’re just waiting on Kirk and Gomez now.” Ian had been fully read-in, as had the other Old Fogey in the front, a skinny, mean-looking, balding man named Carl. “Kirk’s gathering some more logistics—mainly med supplies.” Hancock nodded at that. Javakhishvili had put a comprehensive list of what he needed together, given that they didn’t know how much the kidnappers were going to work their paraplegic comrade over. Not to mention if one of them got shot in the process. “Gomez just landed; he’s about forty minutes out.”

“We might not have forty minutes,” Hancock replied, pulling the duffel open. It was packed with CZ Scorpion EVOs, mags, and chest rigs. Hancock had gotten them for a song from a friend of a friend. Hancock knew people. Most of them had certain useful resources and a decided lack of a propensity for asking questions.

The EVOs didn’t have stocks, or braces, but he’d gotten a good crop of tension slings. They’d have to do. He started stuffing mags into a chest rig, after loading and making ready with one of the Scorpions and throwing the sling over his head. He was pretty sure that most of the rest out in the woods weren’t ready for a door-kicking operation yet. They’d have pistols, maybe a couple of rifles or shotguns, but these would be better for CQB.

A car went by with a faint hiss, and then red lights bloomed in the windshield. All three men froze, Carl already watching out the window. Then he relaxed slightly as the red lights dimmed and moved away. “Kirk’s here,” he announced. Hancock turned his head, his Scorpion still held

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