“Got it.” I seized his arm, squeezing hard and hoping he understood.
A quick grin split his grim expression, “I hope there’s a cake left to cut. It looks fucking delicious.” And he was off.
Our men in Gilly suits flew up from their foxholes on the outer perimeter of the farm, most too far away for me to spot but the sound of their bullets cracked through the clearing like thunder. The percussive wave of returning gunfire was just as loud.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, a drone, massive and hovering over the wedding party. The MacTavish aerial surveillance drones were small and unobtrusive. This giant fucker had to belong to Lee Ville, the man I looked forward to killing only slightly less than my wanting to kiss Fee. I didn’t even bother to fix the sight on the rifle, just spraying bullets in the drone’s general direction and watching it disintegrate spectacularly into minute bits of metal and plastic.
Charles took the Lady Elspeth's arm, or she took his, it was hard to tell who was leading who but they raced to the farmhouse. Fee’s girl Meghan Emily had my mother’s hand as they ran, keeping their heads low. Sorcha tried to grab Martin, who was turning in little circles by the overturned flower arch wailing, “What’s happening? This isn’t right! Did one of the cows get loose?”
I groaned when a spurt of blood tore through his tuxedo jacket and he stumbled. Sorcha threw his arm over her shoulder and muscled him through the front doorof the farmhouse.
Fee would never fucking forgive me if her father died… I would never forgive myself either. Gentle, kind Martin deserved better than this.
Furious, I fired toward the little grove of trees hiding the Sicilians. I could recognize the particular staccato blare of the Beretta ARX-160s they were so fond of using. Branches tore apart into splinters and revealed four men, all very dead in a matter of seconds, though I could feel the high whine of a bullet passing my shoulder and a grunt.
“Cameron!”
He was on his side, his leg streaming blood but his wife Mala was already covering him, angrily firing off her Mossberg and decimating what was left of the little grove.
The barn doors flew open and a monstrously large piece of farm equipment came rumbling out, Fintan steering the thing with one knee as he fired his ancient shotgun. The razor-sharp wiring of the front of the machine must have been meant to do something with hay, but instead, it mowed down a shocked clump of Lee Ville’s hired help, raining blood and body parts on the grass and stones.
A body flew past me - likely one of the Sicilians based on the cursing - as the ram guarding Noreen charged another soldier, hitting him so hard from behind that he flew toward the well, landing badly with his head hanging over the cobblestone edge.
Raul raced over, grabbing his ankles and about to upend him down into the well until Fintan roared, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare, lad! I drink from that!”
Based on the angle of the man’s neck, I believe the ram had broken it, so no need for the well, anyway. Noreen had another soldier’s arm between her teeth, propitiously, the arm holding his gun, which fell in the mud as he screamed.
Sight. Fire. Repeat.
I did my job, trying to keep count of how many bodies fell and praying that none of them were ours.
Keeping low, Kyle and I ran for a weak spot near the south pasture where someone with an excellent knowledge of explosives and how to use them was breaking through our perimeter defense.
In the haze of smoke and hay flying like confetti, I could see a slender Black man in a dark suit, calmly firing off grenades from an RPG-40 held to his shoulder. The recoil on a gun like that was vicious, but he barely twitched as he pulled the trigger.
“The Ghost, I presume,” I said, ducking as a clot of rocks and mud flew past us.
Kyle tilted his head, listening to the chatter on his headset. “Preet and one of Fee’s people, Raul, I think? They’ve taken out the oldest Bonadonna son Edoardo and his security unit. That should kill the old Don even if your assassin doesn’t.”
The next explosion was far too close for comfort. “We have to take this fucker out,” I said. “I’ll circle left, you circle right.”
“Sir,” Kyle’s blood-sprayed face was grim. “My first responsibility is to you, always, I don’t think we should separate.”
“Go!” I shouted in his face and with a groan, he obeyed.
My Kevlar vest was doing the Lord’s work, keeping bullets off me, but my useless tuxedo trousers ripped under the rough, shorn stalks of broom and cut my knees up quite well.Fintan should be pleased, I thought.
The Ghost was still calmly, methodically firing, six of his men lying dead around him. He was moving every few seconds, making a headshot difficult. There was no question that he was wearing a bulletproof vest, so my shot had to be…
“Kyle,” I whispered into my headset, “fire into thatbush to his left.”
The bullets rang out and when the Ghost whirled in that direction, I took my shot. His head exploded in a red mist.
“Fuck…” Kyle grunted.
“Did he get you?”
“No, there’s a rock face back here, I just slipped down it,” he said, voice harsh with pain. He must have done more than just slip.
