The Echo of Violence by Jordan Dane Read Free Book Online

the windows down, the dirt made it harder to breathe, but in the distance, he had heard gunshots. He gunned the old car and followed the sound. And without much visibility, he hit every pothole for a bone-jarring ride.
    After he crested a hill, he saw the rotating policelights and heard more gunfire. The terrorists had taken refuge at a medical clinic. Smaller than a hospital, the facility looked closed. No lights were on inside. And from what he saw, even though the cops were positioned for a siege, the hostage takers were taunting them by firing back—a no-win situation with Kate and the others stuck in the middle.
    Kinkaid parked the car with the confiscated AK-47 in the trunk. Because he’d hot-wired the vehicle, he left the engine running in case he’d need it in a hurry later. He looked for someone in charge to plead his case. He’d need balls of steel to press his luck with the Haitian police, especially given his unique line of work. And being an outsider, he’d have little chance to stop the shooting, but he owed it to Kate to try.
    If he couldn’t sway the local cops, he’d come up with a plan B—even if he had to call in markers to do it.
     
    Shattered glass was strewn across the floor. One terrorist lay dead—shot in the face. A dark hole had caved in his nose. And his blood pooled near Kate’s feet. Bullets pummeled the walls again. The gunfire intensified as the police escalated their assault, even after their captors, outnumbered, had ducked for cover. Tear-gas canisters were launched through the broken windows.
    Kate huddled with the children, covering their faces. Her burning eyes streamed tears down her cheeks, and her nose ran without stopping, making her queasy. The coughing had grown unbearable and made her throat sore and chest tight. A heavy fog of gas filled the room,leaving them nowhere to hide from it. Disoriented from the gas, she had trouble thinking clearly, and her body ached all over.
    Yet for her, there was something far more painful to endure than tear gas. Seeing the terrified faces of the children broke her heart.
    And the Haitian police were as deadly as their captors.
    “Please…make this stop!” she cried to no one, more out of frustration—and fear. Her screams didn’t stop the violence. She doubted anyone heard her over the deafening noise.
    “Sister…I’m scared.” A child’s voice filtered through her muddled brain as a small, dark-skinned hand clutched her veil. Her eyesight blurred and made it impossible to see who had said it. She pulled the children closer and lowered her head to pray.
    It was all she had left.
     
    The Haitian police hadn’t been very sympathetic. From what he saw, they were poorly equipped and lacked discipline and training for a hostage-rescue operation. And although they made promises to do what they could for the hostages, Kinkaid noticed that didn’t stop their siege of the clinic. As long as the terrorists fired their weapons, the police returned fire, shooting at anything that moved. The armed men inside the medical facility had not communicated their demands, nor had the police asked their intentions. Both sides let bullets do the talking.
    Not a good sign.
    Feeling dizzy and sick, Kinkaid retreated to a spot away from the front line. He clutched his side to stop the bleeding, but it was too dark for him to see. Blood loss had weakened him. His body raged between feverish and an intolerable chill. And even though everything had happened too fast, now he needed time to think. The Haitian police had escalated the violence and posed a bigger problem. He couldn’t act on his own. He needed help from someone who had connections in the area. And one name came to mind.
    Joe LaClaire. He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. His friend answered with a groggy voice.
    “Hey, boss. What’s up?”
    “Listen, Joe. I don’t have much time to explain.” He briefed the man on what had happened and where he was. “I don’t care who you