Joe Ledger: Unstoppable

NO GUNS AT THE BAR BY AARON ROSENBERG

“On my mark,” Bradley “Top” Sims declared over the comms. He stood to one side of the front door, pistol out and at the ready. Beside him, Lydia “Warbride” Ruiz nodded, her own gun also out.

“This is Bunny, copy that,” Harvey “Bunny” Rabbit acknowledged. He and Montana “Stretch” Parker were stationed by the back door, while the team sniper, Sam “Ronin” Imura, covered them from the neighboring rooftop. Ronin checked in as well, and Top nodded.

“Echo Team, let’s do this,” he called out. “Go!”

With that he aimed a heavy kick at the front door, splintering the flimsy lock and sending the cheap wooden barricade smashing inward with a cloud of sawdust that filled the air around them. On the house’s opposite end, Bunny did the same. The four team members barreled into the small dwelling, scanning the rooms they’d entered but finding nobody.

“Clear!” Top shouted. Bunny responded with the same, and both pairs moved on to the next rooms. In under a minute they’d covered the entire one-story building and found it empty.

“Well,” Bunny commented as they regrouped in the living room, “that was a bust. And not the kind we figured.”

Stretch rolled her eyes at the bad pun. Warbride snorted. Top just ignored it. “Cowboy, this is Top,” he called in. “Nothing here. Looks like a wash.”

“Roger that, Top,” their boss, Captain Joe “Cowboy” Ledger, replied. “Head on back in.”

“Copy that.” Top reholstered his pistol. “Pack it up,” he told his team, and they all nodded.

“Feels weird, not shooting anybody,” Bunny remarked as they all made for the front door. He brushed some sawdust from his sandy-blond hair, scattering it all around him.

Walking just ahead of him, Warbride swiveled around to eye him warily. “Don’t get any bright ideas,” she warned. “Friendly fire or not, you draw and I’ll put you down.”

“Would I do that?” Bunny asked, plastering what was probably supposed to be a wide-eyed look of innocence on his broad face. The two of them laughed as they exited the building. Top didn’t. The DMS had been in plenty of ugly scrapes, and he should have been relieved to have something turn out completely innocuous for a change.

Instead, it had him worried.

“Must have been bad intel,” Ledger commented. Echo Team had returned to the Pier, their DMS base, and Top had just been debriefed. “Not sure how I feel about that.”

Top nodded. He and Ledger had been working together for a while now — Ledger had been the original head of Echo Team, and Top and Bunny had both been in it with him since the beginning — and they often thought alike, so he knew his superior was feeling the same unease he was. The DMS didn’t always have all the details, and sometimes they missed stuff just like anybody else. But to be completely wrong like this? That’d never happened before.

“Tip was plausible,” Top remarked. And it had been. They’d heard that a terrorist cell had taken up residence in that nondescript little house on the outskirts of Dallas and had been working to fashion a bioweapon of some kind. And that they’d been close to activation. The DMS had dealt with plenty of bioweapons in the past and knew just how deadly those things could be, so they’d immediately jumped all over this. Only to find an empty house with no signs of activity at all, much less the marks of a terrorist group.

“It was,” Ledger agreed. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “That’s what worries me. It’s not like a neighbor called in about loud music or somebody rifling through the trash. And the house was completely empty?”

Top nodded. “There was a FOR SALE sign out front,” he reminded Ledger. “And the place was furnished, but all bland, no personality. Like you do when you’re looking to sell.”

The two of them sat there frowning for a minute before Ledger threw up his hands. “Well, whatever. We checked it out, and that’s that. There isn’t anything else to be done — and no other missions on hand.” He grinned at Top. “Which means you and the rest of Echo Team can take the night off.”

“Yeah?” Top peered at him warily. “What’s the catch?”

That got a bark of laughter from the boss. “No catch,” he answered. “Go on, get out of here. Relax a little. Let your hair down.” He eyed Top’s buzz cut, which was just starting to show hints of gray amid the black. “Metaphorically, anyway. Unless you want to help me with all this paperwork?” Ledger cast a sideways glance at the pile stacked on his desk.

“No, sir!” Top snapped to attention, popped off a quick salute, and reached for the door, all in one breath. “Thank you, sir! Good night!”

He could hear Ledger laughing behind him as he hotfooted it down the hall.

“For reals?” Bunny asked, eyes wide. “No night ops, no field prep, no training, no nothing?”

“You want I should change my mind?” Top suggested, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, man,” Bunny replied quickly. “I’m good.” He grinned. “So, bar?”

Top laughed. “Bar,” he agreed. What the hell, it wasn’t as if he had a wife to go home to anymore anyway. He scanned the rest of the team. “Any of you in?”

Ronin shook his head, gave a short half bow, and walked away, all without a sound. “You talk too much, man!” Bunny shouted after him, earning a dismissive wave from the departing sniper.

“I’m out, too,” Stretch said, grinning wickedly. “Got a hot date.” She turned and sashayed off, to catcalls and whistles from both Bunny and Warbride.

“Well, those guys are wet blankets, but I’m in,” Warbride declared. “Let’s go get drunk and tear it up, yeah?”

“Right on!” Bunny held up a hand — though not too high, since at six feet six inches he towered over Warbride and even Top — and she high-fived him. Top rolled his eyes.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to be on chaperone duty,” he muttered as the three of them strolled toward the Pier’s main exit. Still, it was nothing a good stiff drink couldn’t fix.

“Why here?” he asked twenty minutes later, squinting up at the weather-beaten sign dangling above them. DRINKS DRINKS DRINKS, it declared, as if one time were not enough. Then again, considering that the building looked as battered as the sign, maybe they really did need to advertise as much as possible.

“Why not?” Bunny answered with a shrug. “Besides, look at it.” He pointed at the sign in question. “Drinks, drinks, drinks — it’s an echo.” He grinned. “Get it?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Warbride acknowledged. She shoved him toward the door. “Let’s hope they have at least that many, ’cause with dumb lines like that we’re gonna need it.”

The inside was no prettier than the place’s outsides, with a long, scarred wooden bar taking up most of the right side, worn booths along the left, a few tables scattered in between up front, and a pair of old pool tables near the back. The place was maybe a third full and at least half of those were wearing black leather, which made Top sigh.

Not just a dive bar but a biker dive bar, he thought, shaking his head. Perfect.

Still, the bartender wasn’t a hipster, which was a plus. And he didn’t bat an eye when Top ordered Jameson, neat.

“Whatever ale you’ve got on tap,” Bunny instructed, then glanced at Warbride. She nodded. “Make that two.”

“Lightweights,” Top teased as the three of them took adjoining stools.

“Hey, we’re working up to it,” Warbride replied with a grin. Which was probably true. She’d been a SEAL before joining DMS — one of the first women in that elite unit — so Top had no doubt she could hold her own at the bar. He knew she could in a fight. And he and Bunny had been out drinking plenty of times in the past. Which didn’t stop him from teasing the younger man about his drinking choice, or much of anything else.

The bartender set their drinks in front of them, and Top handed him a credit card. “Run a tab,” he said, and the guy nodded.

“Want to check out the pool table?” Bunny suggested with a gleam in his eye. He’d been a champion volleyball player before he signed on, and still went in for any kind of sports he could.

Top was game, though. He liked the tactics and calculation of pool. Besides, it beat just sitting around. “Sure,” he agreed, taking a sip of his drink as he swiveled on the stool and rose to his feet.

A guy was just stomping past as they rose, and brushed past Bunny. “Watch it, pretty boy,” he growled.

“You watch it, ZZ Top,” Bunny snapped back, which made the man stop and turn, backing up to get in Bunny’s face.

“What was that, punk?” the guy snarled. He was big, not as tall as Bunny and not as built, but still beefy, and he really did have the long, pointed beard of an old country gent — or an old rocker.

“You heard me, grandpa,” Bunny replied, not backing down. “I said—” By then Top was slipping between them, using his own bulk to force both of them back a step.

“All right, simmer down, the pair of you,” he instructed. Bunny was fuming but did as he was told, which left Top to face off against the belligerent bar-goer. “We wouldn’t want anybody getting hurt here.”

“What’s it to you—,” the man started, but bit back the last word when he saw the glare in Top’s eyes. Given his attitude, and Top’s ethnicity, it seemed pretty clear where he’d been heading, but Top chose to ignore it.

“Listen, friend,” he said instead, twisting and wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders. “I get it, I do. You’ve probably had a crap day, you’re pissed off, and you’re looking to blow off some steam and make yourself feel big again by picking on somebody. Am I right? And you’re not dumb enough or drunk enough to take on a whole biker gang, which only leaves you a few targets.” He tightened his grip enough to make the man wince, though subtly enough that no one else would notice. “Here’s the thing, though.” Top leaned in and lowered his voice. “My friends and I, we’ve had a rough day, too. See, we thought we were gonna get to kill somebody, and then we didn’t. So we’re also a little pent-up. But hey, the night’s still young, and you’re right here.” He locked eyes with the man. “So just say the word,” he warned.

The other man flinched and pulled away. “Y’all are all crazy!” he stammered, backpedaling so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. The next minute he was out the door and gone, still looking back from time to time.

“What’d you say to him?” Warbride asked, laughing.

Top shrugged. “Just told it like it is. Now let’s go shoot some pool.”

They were each on their second drinks (same ones as before, which had earned Warbride a knowing sneer from Top) and their second game — Warbride having beaten the two of them handily on the first go-round — when Top spotted someone off to the side, watching. He straightened up from his shot — he’d had nothing open so he’d settled for burying the cue ball in a pileup, earning groans and curses from his two teammates — and glanced over. Three guys were watching them play, and at the sight of them Top’s hackles immediately went up. The trio were all big, burly, and fit, but it was more than that. The way they stood, balanced on the balls of their feet, and the way they stayed just far enough apart to not get in each other’s way, turned slightly from each other so they could cover more of the room — they were clearly military, and clearly combat vets.

And good ones.

Finding three of them here, in this out-of-the-way little bar that Echo Team had just happened to pick, felt like too big of a coincidence.

Top looked back toward Bunny and Warbride, but neither of them had noticed — he was too busy lining up his shot, and she was too busy trash-talking to make him mess up. With a sigh Top turned, figuring he’d go brace the trio on his own — and stared.

They were gone.

But he’d glanced away for only a second. There was no way they could’ve left that quickly, and they’d been near the back corner, not the front, which meant they’d have had to cross his path in order to reach the front door or even the small side door by the bar that he guessed led back to the place’s kitchen.

So where had they gone?

“Damn!” Bunny shouted, banging his fist on the table. “Girl, you cheat!” he accused Warbride, but he grinned as he said it.

“Just using what the good Lord gave me,” she replied with a saucy wink and twist of her hips. “Yo, Top, you’re up, man.”

He nodded, forcing himself back to the game at hand. “Yeah, all right.”

He still scanned the area before and after his shot, searching for that trio. Something told him that whoever they were, he’d be seeing them again.

Twenty minutes later, Bunny declared that he needed to see a man about a horse.

“What, you want me to hold it for you, Farm Boy?” Top asked, gathering pool balls to rack the next game.

“Hold this,” his best friend replied, giving him the finger as he turned and made for the bathroom. When he came back, he looked puzzled.

“What, things not where you expected?” Top inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Need me to explain them to you? Your daddy really should’ve covered that, you know.”

But Bunny ignored the dig. “There was a guy in the bathroom,” he started. “Didn’t get a look at him, but your height and build, I’d say. And armed, if I had to put money on it.”

Neither Top nor Warbride mocked him for being able to give such details despite “not getting a look” at the guy — in their line of work you learned to gauge such things by footfall, shadow, breathing, and other measures, and you did it on a subconscious level all the time, with everyone.

“He was over in the corner, I figured he was just taking a leak like me, but then he said, ‘Nice night for an echo, huh?’” The frown marking Bunny’s face deepened. “When I glanced over, he was gone. And I don’t mean ducked out the door, ’cause it was on my other side. He just wasn’t there anymore.”

An hour ago, Top might’ve joked that his partner was losing his marbles. But not after his own experience. “Something funny’s going on,” he said instead. “And I don’t mean ha ha.” He told Bunny and Warbride about the trio he’d seen — and about how they’d vanished as well.

“What’re we looking at here, Top?” Bunny asked, rubbing at his face. “An ambush?”

Top shook his head. “You picked this bar at random, right? ’Cause of the sign?”

“Yeah, I saw it one time and thought it’d be a kick,” his partner agreed. “No way anybody knew we were headed here.”

“We should call it in,” Warbride suggested.

But Top didn’t agree. “And say what?” he asked. “That we’ve seen some shady characters who pop in and out? Nah. Besides,” he added, “we’re off duty.”

She didn’t seem entirely happy with that, but Top was team leader and it was his call. So instead they ordered more drinks and started the next game.

But all three of them were wary now, and Top noticed that the other two had both automatically checked the smalls of their backs, where their shirts covered their holstered Mark 23s. He’d done the same, and was reassured to feel the pistol there, as always.

It never hurt to be prepared.

They were nearly done with the game — with Warbride beating the pants off them yet again, proving that the former SEAL was a serious pool shark — when she announced that it was her turn to use the facilities.

Top pretended not to notice Bunny watching her go. Lydia Ruiz was a fine-looking woman, no question about it — she had the perfect combination of curves and muscle, and the deadly grace of a panther, coupled with dusky skin and dark, wavy hair. And although in any normal military unit fraternization within the ranks was frowned upon, the DMS was hardly normal, and didn’t have to play by the standard rules. Top figured as long as those two kept their relationship from interfering with the work, he was fine with ignoring it. Hell, Ledger’d had a thing with Major Grace Courtland, who’d headed Alpha Team and been Church’s second back at the Warehouse, where Echo Team had begun. It hadn’t ended well, but that was because she’d given her life to save the world, not because the relationship itself had gotten ugly. Nor had anyone seen any evidence that their relationship had jeopardized either of them, or either of their teams. So there was precedent.

Still, he felt better acting as though it weren’t happening in his own team. At least, as long as they were keeping it on the down-low. This way, if anyone did ask, Top could claim he had no idea what they were talking about.

But when Warbride returned she didn’t just look confused, she looked downright pissed. “How long was I gone?” she demanded.

“Maybe three minutes,” Bunny answered. He glanced at Top for confirmation, and he nodded. He hadn’t checked his watch, but most soldiers had a decent time sense and it had been about that.

“Motherfuckers!” Warbride slammed a hand down on the pool table, making both the balls and their drinks jump. “Must’ve been fast-acting, then.” She looked ready to kill someone.

“What was?” Top went from puzzled to concerned. “You think somebody drugged you?”

“Must have,” she replied, still scowling fiercely. She lifted her shirt to show off a tanned, toned stomach. “Because it’s gone.”

Top didn’t know what she meant at first, but Bunny obviously did, because he started. “What the hell?” the big guy blurted out.

“My belly-button ring,” Warbride explained. “It’s an anchor — I got it after leaving the SEALs.”

Now that he looked more closely, Top could see the puncture marks. “You had it earlier?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer to that.

Sure enough, she nodded. “It was there when we changed out of our gear,” she replied. “Most of the time I don’t really notice it anymore, you know? But when I went to do my business, it was gone.”

Top hated to ask, but knew he had to. “Did they—?”

“No!” she almost shouted, then visibly forced herself to lower her voice. “No, nothing like that.” Top breathed a sigh of relief, as did Bunny, but Warbride was still clearly pissed off. She banged the pool table again. “Somebody’s just screwing with me, and they’re gonna pay for it!”

Bunny looked as if he were ready to take the whole place apart with his bare hands, and Top didn’t blame him, but he put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder anyway. “Slow your roll, Farm Boy,” he warned, but gently. “We don’t know the lay of the land yet, so no sense going off half-cocked, am I right?”

It took a second, but his friend nodded. “Yeah, I hear you,” he answered. “But promise me when we do find out who’s behind this…”

“Oh, they’ll pay,” Top assured him.

Just then, Warbride let loose a string of curses.

“They got my piece, too,” she declared in between profanities. “And my keys.”

“Anything else missing?” Top asked. He did a quick double check, just leaning away from them so his back brushed the edge of the pool table, and relaxed a tiny bit as he felt the reassuring bulk of his pistol pressing up against him.

Warbride was doing a quick personal inventory. “ID’s still here,” she reported after a second. “Phone’s fine. Cash and cards, too. Change is gone, though.” That was odd. Keys and weapon Top could understand. And taking her belly-button ring, that was just a personal dig. But why take loose change, especially if you didn’t touch the cash or her credit card? Weird.

“And you didn’t see anybody, hear anything, notice anything? Nothing at all?”

She frowned. “A shadow, maybe,” she answered after a second. “Like somebody was standing there, just outside the bathroom when I went in. That’s it. And I’m not even sure about that much.” She glared up at him. “Now can we call it in?”

Top shook his head.

“You really want to explain all this to the captain?” he asked. “How somebody jumped you in a dive-bar bathroom, got your piece, took your body jewelry, and made off without a sound? Besides, the minute we call in it’s an active case, and we’re on the job again.” He lifted his glass and took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the Irish whiskey burn its way down. “I say we hold off as long as we can, make sure this is really worth all that hassle.”

Warbride grumbled but grabbed her beer and downed it, setting the empty glass back on the table with a bang. “Fine, but next round’s on you,” she stated. “And if I see somebody waving my ring or my gun around, they’d better watch out.”

Top nodded and signaled the barman for another round. Inside, however, he started to wonder. Both about what was really going on here and about whether he was right to keep the DMS out of it.

Still, for now it all just amounted to some harassment and some petty theft. Not worth calling in the big guns. Yet.

But he was definitely keeping his options open.

Top was just leaning over to take aim at the eight ball — for the first time he’d tied with Warbride, and if he sank this he’d actually win one — when a shadow fell across the table. He glanced up, not allowing the cue to shift.

“Good game,” the man standing there said. “Any chance of getting in on the next one? We could play teams.”

On the face of it, the comment was harmless enough. But the speaker wasn’t. He was one of the three Top had spotted earlier; he recognized the blond brush cut and the strong, stubbled jaw. The guy wore black BDUs and a gray shirt with black combat boots, nondescript enough to pass for regular clothes, but to Top’s seasoned eye clearly fighting gear. And judging by the way the man stood — feet apart, shoulders back, hands loose at his sides — he was ready for a fight, too.

Top took the shot. The cue smacked the cue ball right in its sweet spot, sending the white ball careening across the table — to tap the eight ball ever so gently on its left edge.

Just hard enough to spin it into the side pocket it had rested beside.

“Nice!” Bunny shouted, crowding in close for a high five. Still, he and Top had worked together too long for Top not to notice how the younger man’s jaw had set, and how he’d positioned himself just a bit farther away than you’d expect for a buddy congratulating you on a good shot.

But the perfect distance if you were both about to throw down on someone.

So yeah, Bunny had made the newcomer, too.

And his crew. Because the other two members of the trio loomed right behind the speaker. And again they had spaced themselves professionally. These guys weren’t about to get caught unawares.

“Good shot,” the first man said. “So, about that game?”

Top straightened and studied the guy, leaning on his cue as he did. “I didn’t catch your name, friend,” he said slowly.

“Call me Mac,” the man replied. He didn’t offer his hand. “And you’re Top, Bunny, and Warbride. Echo Team.”

Beside him, Bunny stiffened. Warbride, who’d come around to flank Top’s other side, tensed as well. But Top schooled himself not to react. “Seems you know more about us than we do about you,” was all he commented. Inside, though, he gauged distances, angles, kill spots. It was just like pool, really. Only deadlier.

“Oh, we do,” Mac agreed. “We know all about you.” He made a show of turning and looking around the bar. “Nice place. Clever, too. Who’d think to look for you guys here? What, you’ve got the main base down below, is that it?” Top had a top-notch poker face, but Bunny and Warbride were more expressive, and Mac laughed at their reactions. “Whoops, sorry, was that a big secret? My bad. Oh, hey, and — surprise!”

He stepped suddenly to one side, and the man to his left already had something aimed at Top, something that looked more like a small video camera than a gun. Top stiffened, unable to dodge as a red beam played across him. But it didn’t hurt. It didn’t even tickle. In fact, it didn’t feel like anything at all. What the hell?

The one on Mac’s right had played a similar beam across Bunny, who also looked angry, surprised — and both relieved and confused when he realized he wasn’t hurt.

Somewhere behind him, Top heard shouts of panic. The other bar patrons, he guessed. They’d seen Mac and his friend pull what looked like guns, and that was enough to send any normal person running for the door. Good. It meant fewer civilians to worry about.

“Okay,” Top said slowly. “This has gone far enough.” He straightened, and released the cue with his right hand to reach around behind him. “I suggest you three get the hell out of here before—” But he faltered as his fingers grasped empty air.

His gun was gone!

Mac grinned. “I know, right?” he said conversationally, his two buddies smiling with him. “Crazy stuff. There’s a whole scientific explanation for it — something about isotopes and ions and ores and breaking atomic bonds and whatever — but the dummy version is, we aim it at you, all your metal goes away. Poof.” His grin sharpened, like a wolf’s. Or a shark’s. “Which leaves you totally unarmed. You were saying?”

Top frowned. Something about that tickled his memory — making him think back to a previous encounter with high-end combat vets decked out with beyond-cutting-edge gear. “You’re Closers,” he guessed, and knew he’d gotten it right when Mac stiffened, his grin curdling just a little.

Beside him, he could practically feel Warbride’s fury. They’d faced the Closers before, shortly after she’d joined the team. Top-notch mercs whose gear all came from Majestic Three, a crazy think tank that specialized in next-gen military gear. The Closers were tough as they came, and often augmented themselves. Their gear presented as practically science fiction, it was so advanced.

And now they’d tracked down the three of them, and taken away their weapons.

Swell.

That didn’t mean Echo Team was going down without a fight.

Top forced his shoulders to slump a little, his whole body to droop. “Crap,” he muttered, ducking his head.

Then he slammed the cue forward with his left hand.

It banged hard against the pool table, not damaging anyone or anything. The sudden impact brought renewed screams from the few bar patrons still left, however — and made Mac and his men jump.

Which gave Top the half second he needed to grab the nearest pool ball — the fifteen — and hurl it like a fastball right at Mac’s head.

He tried to dodge, and almost made it, but he was too close to evade it completely. The ball, which had been aimed square at the center of his forehead, instead smacked the Closer in the right temple, hard enough that Top thought he heard it crack bone. Mac dropped like a sack of potatoes. His two men grabbed for their guns.

Which was when Bunny gripped the side of the pool table with his massive hands, gave a mighty heave, and flipped the entire thing over on its side. The other two Closers both danced back, narrowly avoiding losing their toes. The fallen Mac wasn’t so lucky, and a heavy, ominous snap and a wet squish arose as the table landed on some part of his anatomy.

Top didn’t waste time standing around feeling sorry for the guy. He dropped into a crouch behind the table, joined by Bunny and Warbride. They immediately cast about for anything they could use as a weapon.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have a whole lot on hand.

“Now can we call it in?” Warbride demanded, phone already in her grip. She’d hit the rapid-call for the Pier even before Top had finished nodding, but a second later she scowled. “No signal — they’re jamming us,” she reported.

Of course they were. Top sighed. It was, after all, exactly what he’d do.

“Okay,” Bunny said, ducking a little lower as the two remaining Closers opened fire, their bullets alternately slamming into the heavy slate of the pool table and shooting past above their heads. “So we’ve got two Closers on us, both heavily armed, and we’ve got no weapons and no way to call for backup. That about cover it?”

Top started to answer, but stopped as something to the side caught his attention. “No,” he answered, fighting the urge to rub at his eyes. He knew what he’d just seen. “Five Closers, all heavily armed, and us with no weapons.” He gestured, and his two teammates both looked in that direction, to where three more Closers approached from the bar’s rear corner.

“Crap,” Bunny muttered. “Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Top answered, “but they weren’t there a second ago. Literally — I looked up and suddenly there they were.”

“Teleporters?” Warbride shook her head. “Yeah, that fits.” It did, too — it explained why all night they’d been seeing the Closers for just a second, or hearing them, and then nothing. “Which means they could call in as many as they want. We’re hosed.”

“We would be,” Top said slowly, “except for one thing.” He waited a second to make sure he had his teammates’ attention. Then he grinned. It was his slow, nasty grin, the one he reserved for right before delivering a serious ass-kicking. “These fuckers are messing with Echo Team. Which means they’re about to find out what being hosed is all about.”

“Hooah,” Bunny replied, matching his grin, and Warbride echoed him. “You got a plan, boss?”

Top nodded, his mind already ticking elements into place. “I do, yeah,” he replied. “You ain’t gonna like it — but I guarantee those Closers’ll like it even less.”

Warbride laughed. “Then let’s do it,” she said. “Those fuckers owe me a belly-ring.”

A lull settled around the place. Top guessed that the Closers had exhausted their first volley. Now they waited to see what Echo Team did next. None of the shots had penetrated the heavy pool table, but that didn’t mean a ricochet couldn’t have gotten lucky, even if there weren’t any groans or cries to confirm a hit. So they waited.

Quiet hung over the bar. Any remaining patrons had fled as soon as the shooting had started. If any of them had called the cops, they were still a ways out. Not a hint of sirens.

Top pointed a finger at Bunny, who nodded back. The big man tensed his muscles, gave a mighty heave — and, with a terrible screech, the pool table practically jumped across the room, slamming into the wall on the other side with a resounding crash.

The Closers had been spaced out facing it, with three right in front and one to either side. Of the three, one managed to get clear completely. Another had the heavy table slam into his ankle as he fled, hard enough to crush the bone there and to spin him around.

The third one, the man in the center, was still fully behind the table when it hit the wall. A wet sound erupted as the two heavy surfaces smushed him between them like jelly on a sandwich.

The remaining Closers all darted forward, ignoring their wounded and fallen comrades for the moment to go after the now exposed and presumably defenseless Echo Team.

The first one to get a clear shot fell backward before he could fire, his forehead caved in by an expertly thrown pool ball.

The second one slipped on a pool of liquid from a tossed pint glass — before he could clamber back to his feet Warbride leaped on top of him, impaling him through the eye with a broken pool cue.

The third found himself staring down the barrel of a gun — an all-too-familiar gun, because it was one of their own. Before he could figure out how that had happened Top shot him twice, once in the chest and once in the head.

Warbride had grabbed her target’s gun from his hands and rolled to the side, clearing the body and coming up shooting. Bunny made the long reach and wrested the gun from his victim, and now Echo Team was properly armed again.

“Head shots!” Top reminded his teammates. “They’ve got body armor!”

Echo Team had discovered the hard way in their previous encounters that the Closers wore some kind of fancy micromesh that stopped not only the bullets themselves but also their impact. They’d been cocky tonight, though, and weren’t wearing helmets.

Only two Closers remained, but they were too experienced to panic at the sudden reversal of fortune. Both ducked down behind tables for cover, and returned fire with Echo Team. In the reflection from a bar mirror Top could see one of them speaking rapidly into a throat-mic. Probably calling in a sit rep and asking for reinforcements.

Apparently the call didn’t go the way they’d hoped, but it did yield results. Because suddenly the bar fell quiet again, as the two remaining Closers disappeared.

“Hold your fire!” Top ordered, and all shooting stopped. He scanned the bar quickly. Not only had their last two foes vanished but so had the others’ bodies. “Damn. Clear.”

Bunny and Warbride nodded. Now that the fighting had stopped, they could hear sirens in the distance. “Stay or go, boss?” Bunny asked.

Top considered. “Go,” he finally decided. “I’m not in the mood to stand around answering questions.” He looked at the other two. “Let’s clean it up.”

They both nodded. Warbride grabbed the pint glasses she and Bunny had used, Top’s whiskey glass, and their pool cues. Bunny went behind the bar and found the surveillance system, yanking out the drive. He also retrieved Top’s credit card, which he handed back to him as he returned. Top had collected the fifteen ball he’d thrown at Mac and the ball — the eight, amusingly enough — that Bunny had used on the other Closer. He surveyed the rest of the room, but other than incidental contacts or places where there’d be too many fingerprints to distinguish, they were clean. All that had remained of the Closers were the guns Echo Team had taken off them, and they’d bring those along as souvenirs.

“Time to move,” he ordered once they had everything. The sirens blared closer now. The three of them headed out the door double time, and were safely around the corner and a block or two away, walking as though nothing strange were going on, by the time the first cop cars arrived.

Top was already thinking about how he would explain all of this to Ledger.

“So they had some kind of teleporters, and a ray gun that could target and destroy anything metal, and they tracked you to this bar and jumped you two to one, and you handed them their asses?” Ledger asked, leaning back in his chair.

Top, who stood at ease across from him, nodded. “Yes, sir. No idea how they found us, either. They seemed to think the bar was our base, or at least a cover for it.”

Ledger nodded and lifted a piece of paper off his desk. “I can answer that.” He waved the paper at Top. “Analysis from Bug and Hu,” he explained, meaning their computer expert and their science director. “You’d mentioned something about sawdust at that site yesterday, the one that was a bust? It wasn’t all sawdust. Some of that was nanites, designed to form a networked tracking signal.”

“So it was a setup,” Top guessed.

“Looks that way. They tipped us off, we sent you in, and they basically bugged you so you’d lead them back here.” Ledger grinned. “But I gave you the night off. Maybe it took them some time to lock down the signal, or maybe they were just basing it on the highest concentration, but they saw you three at the bar and figured that had to be our base.”

“Especially given its name.” Top was glad now that Bunny had picked the place he had.

“Right. Then they decided to mess around before picking you off.” Ledger actually chuckled at that. “Stupid.”

Top nodded. “So what happens now?”

His boss shrugged, though he didn’t look happy about it. “Nothing. It’s not like we know where the Closers operate, or where Majestic Three is right now, or we’d shut them down regardless. They tried for you, you beat them down, that’s that.” He shook his head.

“Well, all right, then.” Top turned toward the door. “Guess I’ll head home.”

“Ah, not so fast.” Ledger gave him a sharp not-smile. “You’re going to need to file a report on all this.”

Top groaned. “Come on, Cap. It’s my night off!”

“It was,” Ledger agreed. He glanced up at the clock, which read 12:03. “But now it’s morning. Welcome back. Hope you enjoyed yourself.”

Top grumbled something under his breath that, in most agencies or units, could have gotten him brought up on charges. Ledger just laughed some more.

But, Top thought as he left the office and trudged down the hall, he had to admit something, even if he never gave Ledger the satisfaction:

He had enjoyed himself.

And what amounted to a simple bar fight, albeit one with guns and fatalities?

For Echo Team, that was a night off!

Was it worth the paperwork, though? That was the real question.

Aaron Rosenberg is the author of the bestselling DuckBob SF comedy series, the Dread Remora space-opera series, and, with David Niall Wilson, the O.C.L.T. occult thriller series. His tie-in work contains novels for Star Trek, Warhammer, World of WarCraft, Stargate: Atlantis, and Eureka. He has written children’s books (including the award-winning Bandslam: The Novel and the number one bestselling 42: The Jackie Robinson Story), educational books, role-playing games (including the Origins Award — winning Gamemastering Secrets), and short stories. He is a founding member of Crazy 8 Press. You can follow him online at www.gryphonrose.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/gryphonrose, and on Twitter @gryphonrose.

EDITORS’ NOTE: In Jon McGoran’s thrillers Drift, Deadout, Down to Zero, and Dust Up, Philadelphia detective Doyle Carrick confronts frighteningly plausible crimes at the cutting edge of today’s biotechnology. In “Strange Harvest,” he teams up with Joe Ledger to take on a mystery more bizarre than anything he’s ever encountered.