Free A Bloody Storm: A Derrick Storm Short by Richard Castle

part of a delivery fleet for a national chain of Uzbekistan bakeries.
    Storm ran to one, forced open its door, and hotwired the ignition. “She’s ugly,” he yelled, “but the engine sounds solid.”
    They carried their weapons and equipment to the well-worn Lada.
    “I should’ve known better than to trust INTEL. Every time I do, it nearly gets me killed,” Casper complained. “If I’d had my shotgun, that son of a bitch on the roof never would have gotten the drop on me.”
    “It’s not the size of a gun that matters,” Flowers said flatly, “but the man using it.” She smiled appreciatively at Storm.
    “You’re just damn lucky someone was willing to save your ass,” Dilya added.
    Storm took the wheel. About a mile from the slaughterhouse, a white police car with bright green and blue stripes came speeding toward them on the opposite side of the two-lane road. Once again, Casper drew his Glock but the car zipped passed without slowing.
    “They didn’t give this old truck a second glance,” Storm said. “Must have figured we were making a morning delivery.”
    “Good choice of getaway vehicles,” Dilya said.
    Addressing Showers, Casper said, “Now you know why I didn’t leave any witnesses behind, sweetheart. The cops won’t have any idea what happened and probably will blame it on terrorists. If there was a witness, they’d know it was Americans.”
    Showers didn’t reply. The morphine was taking hold and her eyes were growing heavy. She began to nod off. Somewhere in the distance, she felt a man’s hand move her head onto his shoulder. Storm had moved into the backseat, turning over the driving to Dilya.
    She leaned against him and slept.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    They drove South from Jizzakh toward the Molguzar mountain range, with everyone except Showers taking turns behind the wheel, so the others could sleep. Daybreak found them still traveling, following directions on the handheld GPS navigation device that had been programmed with the coordinates that would take them to the gold. Their course eventually brought them to a gravel road that snaked up the mountain. Eventually, they were forced to leave it and make their own trail. The ride was slow and jarring as the four-wheel delivery truck climbed over the rough terrain, often being forced to detour because of boulders that had fallen and downed trees that blocked their route.
    As they came nearer and nearer to their destination, they began to feel a sense of anticipation. It was hard to imagine so much gold bullion in such a desolated spot, hidden for more than twenty years.
    Dilya stopped the vehicle at what looked like a landslide about a tenth of a mile from where the cavern of gold was reportedly stashed. They would have to walk across the rocks. They exited the old truck.
    It was now Oscar’s turn to be in charge, and he grabbed his backpack of geological gadgets and demanded the GPS from Casper, who had been navigating as Dilya drove. Casper relinquished it begrudgingly and fell in step behind him, with his shotgun slung on his shoulder. Dilya went third, while Storm held back with Showers.
    “You feel okay to walk?” he asked.
    “Just point me to the start line.”
    They began crossing the rocky terrain together. “I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me,” Showers said.
    “Nothing I won’t be bringing up in front of you every day of your life,” he said.
    “So what do I have to do to pay my debt?” she asked.
    Storm thought for a moment about how she’d tricked him in London after they’d been drinking in a pub. He’d believed they were going to spend the night his hotel room bed, but she’d innocently asked him to fetch her a cup of coffee, and when he stepped into the hallway, she locked the door.
    “The next time we check into a hotel together, I get to keep all the room keys,” he said.
    “What makes you think that will happen again—us checking into a hotel room?”
    “I’m an optimist.”
    “An optimist would