Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT SURGE
The storm hit at 11:42 PM, bringing a deluge of cold mountain rain that turned the ravine into a roaring channel of gray water. The wind howled through the white pines, making the old log cabin groan against its foundation. Inside, the only light came from the small iron stove where three hickory logs were burning down to ash.
Titan was standing by the eastern window, his nose pressed against the glass, his tail rigid. A low, continuous vibration was coming from his chest—not a bark, but the deep alert that meant something was moving through the brush that didn't belong to the forest.
I adjusted my tactical earpiece, the static of the local frequency crackling in my ear. "Marcus. You see them?"
"Two targets on the north perimeter," Marcus’s voice came back through the rain. He was stationed in the old equipment shed sixty yards away. "They’re wearing dark gear, no lights. They’ve got catch-poles and tactical vests. These aren't marshals, Arthur. These are the boys from the Richmond private security firm."
"Graham sent his personal collection," I muttered, slipping my old service weapon—a Smith & Wesson Model 4506—out of its leather holster. "Keep your fire low, Marcus. We want them on the grass, not in the ground if we can help it."
A sudden crash shattered the kitchen window. A black tactical canister rolled across the linoleum, spewing a thick, yellow cloud of tear gas into the small room.
"Emily! Basement! Now!" I roared, throwing my body weight into her shoulder, shoving her through the trapdoor beneath the pantry before the gas could hit her lungs.
I pulled my wet bandana up over my nose and mouth, my eyes stinging as the acrid chemical filled the cabin. Through the smoke, a large figure appeared in the doorway, a heavy steel catch-pole extended, its wire loop open to snag Titan’s neck.
"Titan! Vorwärts!" I commanded in German.
The German shepherd didn't hesitate. He launched himself through the yellow smoke like a black missile, his front paws hitting the intruder’s chest with enough force to snap the door hinges. The man went down hard onto the porch wood, his catch-pole clattering into the darkness. Titan’s jaws locked onto the thick ballistic Kevlar of the man's forearm, holding him down with an absolute, crushing grip.
A second man stepped through the broken window, a high-voltage stun gun crackling in his right hand, the blue sparks illuminating his face. He was aiming directly for the dog's flank.
I didn't use the gun. I swung my heavy hickory cane with both hands, the solid wood catching the second man directly across the side of his knee joint. The bone gave way with a sickening pop, and he collapsed into the kitchen table, his stun gun flying into the corner where it sizzled out against the wet floor.
"Call him off! Call the dog off!" the first man screamed from the porch, his face covered in blood from where his nose had hit the wood. "We’re just doing a job! Whitmore paid us five grand each to bring the animal back to Virginia!"
"The animal stays here," I said, stepping onto the porch through the smoke, my breath coming in ragged gasps through the bandana. I pointed my Smith & Wesson directly at his forehead. "Tell your team leader to pull the secondary team off the north gate before I start checking the ballistic properties of these walls."
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Marcus appeared from the shadow of the woodpile, holding a third man by the collar of his tactical vest, his shotgun pressed beneath the man’s chin. "The north gate is clear, Arthur. This one tried to clip the sensor wires with a pair of pliers. He’s not very good at his job."
The rain continued to pour down, washing the yellow gas out of the cabin air, leaving the three mercenaries sitting in the mud of the clearing, their zip-ties locked tight behind their backs while Titan stood watch over them, his tongue hanging out in a satisfied grin.
