The Milestone Protocol Ernest Dempsey (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

the plan, they slipped back through the gate and onto the sidewalk, then strolled around the corner and turned left in front of the Ellerby home.

“Oh, hey, look,” Emily said, careful not to shout but also loud enough so the two guards on the front porch could hear. “There are a couple of strong guys who could help us.”

Emily waved at them with her left hand, keeping her right hand in her pocket with a finger on the pistol’s trigger. The two women stepped onto the walkway leading to the front steps, both keeping a steady, determined pace. With every stride, they closed in on the targets to an increasingly lethal distance.

The two men turned and scowled at the women.

The one on the left motioned for them to go away. “Sorry, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave. Investigation going on right now.”

Emily frowned and kept pushing forward. “Investigation? Oh no. Is everyone all right?”

They were thirty feet away now, and still closing.

“We’re not allowed to discuss it, but you two need to step away now.” His voice escalated, and Emily knew that if he got much louder, people inside the house were going to hear. Another gunman would come to check on the commotion, and then their chances of getting the Ellerbys out safely would dwindle.

“I’m so sorry,” Emily said. “Now,” she hissed under her breath. “Our car broke down and—”

The two women drew their pistols and fired. Each unleashed three shots. From that distance, they could have fired blindfolded and still hit two out of three. With their eyes open, they didn’t miss with a single round.

The two guards fell to the ground simultaneously. The one who’d done the talking tumbled forward down the steps. The other dropped onto his knees, then over onto his side.

“Go, now,” Emily ordered.

June didn’t have to be told twice. She sprinted back around the corner of the house and disappeared while Emily continued to the front door. The suppressors on their pistols muted most of the sound from the gunfire, but it was still possible someone inside had heard it.

She glided up the steps, past the bodies, and stopped at the door. Emily counted in her head as she listened for signs from inside the house that the abductors had heard the gunshots outside. The suppressors silenced the sounds of gunfire to little more than clicks and pops.

Relieved that no one was rushing to the front, she reached out and depressed the button on the latch, then eased the door open. Emily said a silent, wishful prayer that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Whether it was the prayer or just good fortune, the door swung open with ease.

From the foyer, she heard the sounds of voices in the next room. A man was pleading with someone else to get out of their home. A woman replied, telling him that this was official government business, and that their children would be in a lot of trouble if they didn’t come home soon. “More trouble,” the female reiterated, “than they are already in.”

Emily padded to the left where an archway opened into a dining room. A quick check verified it to be vacant. She returned to the staircase and looked down the corridor, past an open bathroom door, and into the living room.

The right side of a leather couch stuck out into her view, but she couldn’t see anyone. They were in there—that much she knew—but they must have been grouped to the left and just out of sight.

She tiptoed down the hall with her pistol leveled at shoulder height. The first gunman came into view, standing with his back toward her. Emily caught sight of Mr. Ellerby, then his wife. Another gunman was standing next to the first, behind the couch. Both of them would be easy pickings, though with the Ellerbys just beyond them, the shots would be tight.

Beyond the couch, a third gunman stood with a pistol in his hand and his other arm crossed over his chest, holding the gun arm. The fourth member of the abductors was a female, and it was someone Emily recognized.

Darcy Friedman had popped up dozens of times on Emily’s computer as a name and face suspected of a litany of crimes. Nothing had ever been pinned on her, and Emily was certain the woman had no less than half a dozen false identities in her back pocket should she ever need to disappear.

Emily’s surprise vanished. Darcy had been named in several killings over the years, and one recent report suggested an eyewitness placed her near the scene of the recent murder/suicide involving billionaire businessman Valentin Svoboda.

The other men behind the couch were holding the guns in the same way as the male henchman in front. Emily was at a crossroads. If she were to announce her arrival and tell the gunmen to drop their weapons, they would more likely turn and fire at her—or worse, execute the hostages.

She couldn’t abide either.

“Darcy Friedman!” Emily shouted as her finger tensed on the trigger. The muzzle popped, sending the bullet through the upper chest of the gunman next to Darcy. The round drilled through the skin just below the man’s neck, and he stumbled back into the curtains next to a huge flatscreen television.

The other two gunmen reacted immediately, turning and raising their weapons. Emily took out the one on the right first, zipping a round through the corner of his head before he could fire. The second took aim, but his forehead erupted in pink mist as June appeared through the back door.

The last two gunmen hadn’t even hit the floor when Darcy drew a pistol from her jacket, clearly intent on taking out the hostages.

As she raised the pistol, Mr. Ellerby rolled over on top of his wife to shield her.

He winced as a cacophony of muted pops filled the house.

Mr. Ellerby waited, gripping his wife with every ounce of strength he could muster, knowing that he was about to die.

But the sting