“Shut up, you coward!” Tiny roared, trying to kick Jimmy with his good leg. But Blue snarled, lunging toward him. Tiny pressed himself back against the wall.
“Go on,” Mike nodded. “Who is Lefty? Why did he send you?” “Lefty is… he’s a local fixer in the city,” Jimmy babbled, tears streaming down his face. “Word got out you had gold hidden up here.”
“That you were prospecting back in the nineties. That you had stones. Lefty said: the old man is alone, no one will look for him. Scare him, take the stash, and…”
“…and finish me,” Mike finished for him. No witnesses. Classic.
Mike sighed. Simple greed. No high politics, no revenge for past ops.
Just thugs who believed local legends. He had prospected once, but that was a long time ago, and he’d sold it all legally. He lived on a pension that sat in a bank account because he had nothing to spend it on here.
“Where’s the car?” Mike asked. “On the highway, by the old logging road. About three miles from here,” Jimmy answered.
“You have a radio?” “Radios. Scar has one in his pocket. I lost mine in the woods when I ran. Cell phones don’t work out here.”
Mike walked over to Scar. He searched his jacket without ceremony. He found a portable Motorola radio.
Professional grade, encrypted. Not a cheap toy for common thugs. “Lefty, you say? A local fixer?”
Mike turned the radio in his hands. “Fixers don’t carry these. This is PMC gear or high-end security tech. You’re lying to me, kid.”
“Or you don’t know the whole story.” He looked at Scar again. The leader smirked, despite the pain.
Something new appeared in his eyes. Not fear, but malice. “You don’t get it, soldier boy?” he managed to say. “Lefty is just the middleman.”
“The client is serious. He didn’t want gold. He wanted you.” Scar’s words hung heavy in the air.
Mike felt a chill run down his spine. If they came for him, everything changed. It meant the past he’d tried so hard to bury had found him.
“Who?” Mike asked shortly. Scar just laughed hoarsely, coughing up blood. “You’ll find out. Soon.”
“There’s a check-in on that radio. Twenty minutes. If I don’t answer, the others come. Not like us. Pros.”
Mike looked at his watch. An old Hamilton. A gift from a general.
The hands glowed in the dim light. Twenty minutes. The situation had shifted from “criminal trespass” to “combat operation.”
If Scar was telling the truth, a cleanup crew was on the way. These three were just scouts, cannon fodder to see if the old man was still alive and what kind of shape he was in. Or to flush him out.
Mike changed instantly. The casualness vanished. The irony was gone.
His movements became sparse and precise. “Get up!” he commanded Jimmy. “Rope in the corner. Now!”
He made Jimmy tie Tiny’s hands and feet. Tiny growled but didn’t resist. The pain in his knee and the sight of the massive dog were enough.
Then Mike tied Jimmy himself. Professionally. A knot that couldn’t be undone without help.
He tied Scar last, cinching his hands tight behind his back. “Listen to me!” Mike said, checking the knots. “It’s about to get hot in here.”
“If you want to live, stay quiet and pray. You move—I shoot. You yell—I shoot. You try to help your friends—I shoot. Am I clear?”
The thugs stayed silent. They saw the change in this man. The woodsman was gone. A killing machine stood before them.
Mike blew out the lamp. The cabin plunged into darkness. Only the red embers in the stove gave off a faint glow.
He went to the window, carefully moving the curtain. The snow was coming down hard. Visibility was zero.
Perfect conditions for an assault. And perfect conditions for defense if you know the ground and the enemy doesn’t. He began to prepare…
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