The Midnight Watch: A Sigma Force Short Story Read Online Free Page B

from their superiors.
    Shoot to kill.
    K OWALSKI KEPT ONE eye on the shadowy terrain ahead of him and another on the rearview mirror. The two angry black hornets gained on his position. The riders had momentarily stopped firing, hunkering down instead, forgoing the attack to race faster.
    He understood their plan.
    They intended to flank him, to trap the Jeep in cross fire.
    Like hell . . . you’ re on my home turf now.
    Though admittedly that turf was long gone. Over the past month, he’d often climbed up to the roof of the Castle and watched the heavy equipment scrape away the old lawn, haul in truckloads of new topsoil, and excavate irrigation trenches and deep pits for future cisterns. He had found the rumble of John Deere motors and the chatter of work crews to be soothing. It was his white noise, his version of the patter of rain or the sonorous calls of whales.
    “Where are you going?” Jason called to him, a note of panic in his voice.
    Ahead, a mountain of dirt blocked their path, climbing two stories.
    “Up,” he answered.
    He had no doubt the Jeep could tackle this summit, but he needed all the torque he could muster from the Chevy engine. He momentarily slowed, dropping a gear. The two motorcycles narrowed the gap, each swinging wider, preparing to flank him. From the blistering screams of those bikes, he imagined they were stretching their two-stroke engines to their limits.
    But was it enough for the steep banks of loose dirt?
    Let’s find out .
    As he reached the foot of the mountain, he pounded the accelerator, while popping into first. The Jeep’s wheels momentarily spun—then the treads caught, and the vehicle bolted forward like a spanked horse. It shot up the steep slope, accelerating swiftly, proving how true a thoroughbred the vehicle was deep down.
    Dr. Gutierrez gasped, falling back in her seat; Jason swore behind him.
    The enemy gave chase, riding up the bank of topsoil. Both riders were plainly skilled, shimmying their rear tires to keep from miring down in the dirt. They soon drew even with Kowalski’s rear bumper, their reflections filling either side mirror. The bikers freed pistols from thigh holsters, readying to open fire on the Jeep.
    “Kowalski!” Jason moaned.
    The crest of the mountain was only yards away. Still, they’d never reach the top before being overtaken.
    Just as well .
    Kowalski slammed the brakes hard, drawing the Jeep to a swift stop.
    The maneuver was too sudden for the enemy to respond. Both bikes blasted past the Jeep’s stalled position, then reached the summit and shot high. Kowalski tried to imagine the view from those bikes.
    He grinned darkly and edged the Jeep up to the top. From that lofty vantage, he watched the two cycles arc high—then tumble headlong toward a massive pit on the mountain’s far side. The hill had been formed as the construction crew had dug out a deep cistern, one that was destined to hold over two hundred thousand gallons of water.
    Plus two motorcycles now.
    The pair of bikes crashed hard into the muck at the bottom of the pit.
    Jason patted Kowalski on the shoulder as he reversed the Jeep down the embankment. “I owe you.”
    “A dozen hand-rolled Cubans and we’ll call it even.” Kowalski turned to Dr. Gutierrez, who looked pale and near shock. “So why are you so important?”
    J ASON LET S ARA breathe heavily for a couple of minutes before pursuing Kowalski’s line of questioning. Once the Jeep cleared out of the restoration site and got back onto Madison Drive, he leaned forward in the backseat. Behind him, he watched the flashing lights of emergency vehicles closing in on the Mall.
    It was time to get clear of here—and get some answers.
    “Sara, can you tell us what you were working on for the Smithsonian? Why you were at the museum?”
    She turned toward him. Her eyes were still huge, but her breathing had calmed. “I’m here on a fellowship, working with the Smithsonian’s Ancient DNA program.”
    Jason had