by A P Bateman
“I can’t see anyone,” she said to Ramsay. “Get up and get the vehicle running. We need to get out of here!” A volley of shots hit the windscreen and tore into the seats. “Marnie!” Caroline ducked back, saw Marnie lying in the footwell.
“I’m okay…” she replied quietly. She was covered in padding that had puffed out of the headrests. “I can hear Rashid talking on the net… they’ve got Alex!”
“Then let’s get out of here,” said Caroline decisively. She aimed at the knoll and fired single shots, the recoil knocking her sharply backwards with every shot. She got into the passenger seat and adjusted her aim out of the window, firing slowly as Ramsay started the vehicle and they pulled away. The gunman fired a volley and bullets struck the rear of the Yukon. Caroline changed over to a magazine of buckshot and within seconds had sent over eighty steel balls back in his direction. She dropped the magazine and replaced it with her last one loaded with solid slugs. She willed Ramsay to drive faster, but all she could do was breathe deeply to steady her nerves and anticipation. She was so close to Alex now, she just wanted to grab him and flee. Get away from danger and have nothing stand in their way.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Bugger me!” Macintosh smiled wryly. “There’s Sporty, Tits and Fop…”
“Where?”
The signals on the Yukons had died an hour ago. But the last they had seen, the vehicle Adams had been driving was stationary and eight miles out when the signal died, but that may well have been the range limit. The vehicle carrying Tattooed Mick and Powell was parked in a grassy depression three-hundred metres from the hangar. That left the MI5 team, who they figured were together after they had watched Big Dave and Rashid storm the hangar and the other two SAS men arrive a few minutes later.
“Right there,” Macintosh paused. He pointed towards the hangar, where Ramsay had driven directly to and was parking in the lee of the building. Macintosh replaced the binoculars to his tired eyes and focused them closer. “Sporty’s tooled up with a shotgun and the Fop is getting out. He has a pistol and is holding it like it’s scalding hot!”
“And Tits?” Yates asked. He adjusted his own field glasses and watched. “Looks like she’s staying put.”
“Right. On me, then. Let’s shut this thing down and get what’s inside.”
“Going in strong?”
“As strong as it gets,” Macintosh grinned. “No witnesses. No chance of any come backs.”
Chapter Sixty
The Americans were tending to their wounded, the doctor working on the casualties from gurneys that had been pulled in and extended and arranged in a makeshift triage. There were drips and saline packs giving precious fluids, and packaging from dressings littered the floor. King looked around but could not see Cole among the dead or walking wounded. He wasn’t on a gurney either.
“Looking for someone?” Rashid asked.
“A black guy,” King said. “Tough looking, five-eight or five-nine, well-muscled.”
“Fucking hell,” said Rashid. “Two weeks and you’re prison gay already?”
“Idiot,” King replied impatiently. “He’s an ex-SEAL and he’s an assassin-come-clean-up man for the NSA agent who put me in here.”
“Is he a good guy?”
“I thought he was, but he proved me wrong. Then he wavered, got on the fence. But I don’t trust him now,” King shook his head. “No, he’s dangerous. And he’s wounded.”
“Which makes him even more dangerous,” Rashid commented.
King saw the trail of blood. He snatched Rashid’s Beretta out of the holster on his tactical vest and followed the blood. A drip here, a smear there. Cole had gotten the bleeding under control, but there was still a trail. King moved as quickly as he could across the hangar space. Every muscle ached and throbbed, and the bruising to his face and ribs was coming out, making breathing through his nose painful, and as he breathed harder and worked his lungs, the ribs ached even more. He reached the Jeep he had jammed the doors with. There were two men down. King bent down and examined one of the men’s kit. He saw the magazine in the pouch and took it out. A regular M9/92F. He put it in his pocket. It then dawned on him he was wearing the dead guard’s uniform and that he would look for all intents and purposes, like the enemy to the rest of the team. The thought of walking right into friendly fire slowed his progress, and he hesitated as he squinted in the setting sun. A vehicle was high-tailing it across the apron. He squinted in the sunlight, noting it was a large, black SUV similar to those he had seen at the camp in Virginia. He wasn’t too familiar with American cars, didn’t know the make merely by its grille badge. He waited, but it was heading straight for him. The headlights lights flashed, and King resisted the temptation to bring the pistol up to aim. The SUV swerved and hit the brakes. The driver flashed the lights again and the passenger door opened. He recognised the SAS operative. The cockney one, Yates, he thought. He nodded, and the man looked relieved. The driver’s door opened, and the other man got out. King couldn’t remember his name. Scotch, he thought.
“Aye, Jimmy lad!” Macintosh greeted him loudly. “You’ll ride with us.”
King nodded. He tucked the pistol into the holster and climbed over the Jeep. He walked to them, smiled. Yates stood back and allowed him to go first, but as King passed him, he snatched out his pistol, shoved him in the back and took a step backwards.
“What the...?” King caught himself before falling, turned around.
Yates had the pistol aimed at him and Macintosh had retrieved his pump-action shotgun from his seat. “Tide’s turned on you,” Yates said, somewhat pleased with himself that he had the jump on him. “Where’s the Paki?”
“Fuck you,” said King.
“What the hell is this place?” Macintosh asked, he jacked the pump-action and aimed it at King’s waist. “We thought it might be a goldmine. But there’s no machinery.”
“It’s a prison,” said King quietly. There was a burst of gunfire and King smiled. He guessed the prisoners had made it to the end of the corridor. “Run by all of America’s intelligence agencies.”
“What?” Yates turned and stared at Macintosh. “What the hell have you got us into?”
“Put the guns down and I’ll arrange for a comfy cell for you both,” King smirked. “You two fuckwits have played a duff hand.”
“Aye, but at least we have a hand to play,” Macintosh growled. “Get in the fucking truck.”
“No.”
Yates stepped forward and pushed the pistol into King’s face. “It wasn’t a question, it was an order!”
“Put the gun down!”
The men looked up, but Yates remembered his prisoner in time and turned back to King. Caroline had her shotgun aimed at Macintosh, but he had his aimed at her. There was twenty-metres separating them. No way out for either if they fired.
“Do what she said!” King shouted.
“Shut up!” snapped Yates. “Mac, I’ve got a gun on him. Tell the bitch to put hers down, or I’ll waste her boyfriend!”
“Aye, bitch. Like he said, put down the gun or lover-boy gets it.”
Caroline shook her head. She had her finger resting on the trigger, the barrel aimed at the Scotsman’s midriff. “Put yours down!” she yelled.
“I’ve got a gun on you, too!” Ramsay stepped out of the lee of the building, holding a Beretta.
“You’ve got the right end, eh?” Macintosh laughed, but it was a nervous one at that.
“You’ll find out if you don’t do what we say,” Ramsay said coldly. Despite his inexperience and the seriousness of their situation, the weapon in his hands was unwavering. “Put the gun down.”
“You’re the only one without a gun on them!” Macintosh shouted to Yates. “Waste that fucker, I can take these two!”
“Don’t bet on it!” Adams stepped out from behind the GMC. He was heaving for breath, but he had a pistol in his hand, and he was aiming it at Yates. It was loaded with ballistic gel, but nobody knew that. And they were
close enough to go down hard. “That’s it, Mac! You’re outnumbered!”
Macintosh grinned, red hair, yellow teeth and dark eyes made him look like a troll, or something from a picture book that would scare children. Adults, too. “Aye, outnumbered, but not outclassed…”
Caroline didn’t allow him to finish his sentence. She dodged and fired, but so did he. She caught some of the shot in her stomach and went down. Macintosh caught the blast in his hip and spun like a top. Caroline dropped her weapon, but Macintosh grimaced and pumped the action. Ramsay fired but missed and he was moving to cover when he fired again.
King slapped Yates’ wrist aside and the weapon discharged into the truck. He already had his other hand moving and when it finished its arc, the magazine he’d had in his pocket was imbedded in the man’s skull. King smashed the man’s gun hand with his forearm and the pistol clattered to the floor. He drove his hand back up and grabbed the side of Yates’ face for extra purchase, drilling the magazine and its sharp neck, that held the bullets in place, further into the man’s temple. The man, shocked at the initial impact and rendered close to unconsciousness, had no fight in him as he dropped to his knees and King twisted the magazine into his brain. The light went out in the man’s eyes and King let go, the body falling to the ground, snatching the magazine out of King’s hand and taking it with him.
Adams darted around the back of the truck and fired at Macintosh. The man’s adrenalin was flared, and he barely felt the two 9mm bullets against his tactical vest as he spun around in the direction of the gunshots and fired the .12 gauge. He didn’t have time to aim, but at that range the spread pattern did all the work for him and Adams went down.
Ramsay fired a volley and Macintosh grimaced as some of the bullets found their mark. Some hit the trauma plates in the tactical vest, and some tore through the stitching and went right through him. He was still moving, even managed to pump another shell into the action. He was bringing the weapon back on Ramsay when Caroline fired. She was laying on her back, the barrel of the BR99 resting on the toes of her right foot. A full ounce of lead and zinc found its mark at five-hundred and fifty feet per second and Macintosh went down. She fired again, and he slid a foot backwards on the dry concrete. She dropped the shotgun and fell back on the ground.
King picked up the Beretta and ran around the bonnet of the Yukon. He could see Adams but knew there was nothing that could be done for him. He passed Macintosh, didn’t check whether he was alive or dead as he put a bullet through the man’s head, then reached Caroline and dropped onto his knees beside her. There was blood, and she was shaking. Ramsay stood over them and Marnie was standing behind him, her look aghast.
“Caroline…” King said softly. He dropped the pistol and held her hand tightly, stroking her cheek. She went to get up, but he stopped her. “Wait…” He let go of her and checked her stomach. He unzipped the tactical vest and she winced. He looked up at Ramsay and said, “Get inside, there’s a doctor in there. Go and get Rashid to bring him out here…”
Chapter Sixty-One
“You’ve got about an hour,” Doctor Simpson said. “There are fail safes, protocols in place. They have not been adhered to, so the local FBI and their SWAT unit make the first move, but they have the Air Force Special Operations Command over at Ellsworth Air Force Base on speed-dial. You haven’t got long before Blackhawks full of special forces soldiers and helicopter gunships come in and take the place.”
“Why are you telling me this?” King asked, watching the doctor clear the last of the steel balls from Caroline’s midriff.
“I don’t want further bloodshed,” he said. “That person you came for… he’s worth all of this?”
King nodded. He had been squeezing Caroline’s hand, just the touch of her filled him with emotion. He thought he’d lost her. “What he knows is worth a thousand times more.” King looked at Adams’ body on the gurney. They couldn’t take him with them, and he never liked to leave a man behind. It was a mess, but that was what happened when the people who ran things couldn’t talk it out and get things done. “Your government screwed ours, now we’re screwing you. Trust me, when we get around to caring and sharing again, your lot will be thanking ours forever more.”
The doctor dropped the lead ball in a kidney dish and started to perform his tenth cross-thread suture. The tactical vest was made from a core of woven Kevlar, and Caroline had taken some of the birdshot through the seams. The force of the blast had taken her off her feet, possibly broken a couple of ribs and winded her terribly, but ten BBs a centimetre deep in her flesh was getting off extremely lightly.
Caroline looked up at King and smiled. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she had flecks of blood over her, a lot of grime as well, but she was alive and would walk out of here. She shook her head and said, “I thought I’d lost you. I thought we’d come so far, and that bastard was going to kill you because he was the only one without a gun on him. And then Adams came back. Thank God that he did, for us, that is. Oh, shit, it’s a mess!”
King nodded. He wanted to hug her, to hold her and never let go. But he knew that the FBI were on the way, that they could get a force of special forces to secure the place and he eased her off the gurney and nodded to Ramsay and Rashid, who were loitering impatiently in the background. “There’s a lot to talk about,” he said. “But we have to hit the road.” She nodded and winced, the local anaesthetic starting to wear off. As she got unsteadily to her feet, he hugged her close and said, “I love you.”
She smiled. He never said it often and for some reason, it surprised her. “I love you, too,” she said. “Like you’ll never know.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
“We need to ditch this and get another vehicle,” said King. “People have seen these Yukons. And there’s bloody bullet holes in them both.”
“Tell me about it,” Rashid said, bobbing his head so he could see through the spiderwebs of cracks. The holes let in enough air to blow his hair into a quiff.
“What’s up, Elvis?” Caroline said from the rear. She was propped up on kitbags and some sheets.
“I’ve seen him look worse,” Marnie quipped. “Bleached blonde was quite a look.”
“You mean orange, don’t you?” Caroline chided. She grimaced as the vehicle rutted over some rough ground and finally the track became a road. Of sorts.
They were over an hour from the prison and every mile they gained opened-up the search area to hundreds of square miles. Ramsay rode in the Yukon behind them, with Big Dave driving and both Powell and Tattooed Mick either side of Zukovsky, who was handcuffed and thoroughly subdued. He had not said a word since he had left his cell. But King had known that his mind would be working overtime. He would be planning his story, working the angles and countering hypothetical questions. He had not made it this far without outsmarting the opposition, and he was not finished yet.
“What’s the exfil?” King asked.
Rashid smiled. “A stroke of genius, really.”
“Now you surprise me,” said King.
Rashid frowned. “I haven’t let you down yet.”
King shrugged. “By the way this operation has gone, I’m just ready for something simple.”
“Ah, well I can’t do simple,” Rashid paused. “But I can do effective.”
“Such as?”
“Well, Big Dave and I secured a van. A big job, with a big engine.”
“Like the A-Team?” Marnie asked. “This just gets better…”
“No, not like the bloody A-Team,” Rashid said irritably. “Why do you all gang up on me?”
“Because Ramsay’s not here, and you’re the default,” Caroline chided. She shifted and winced. “It’s what we do.”
“You need some humour, mate,” said King. “Otherwise you’d crack up in this business.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about Adams,” Marnie said quietly. “It’s a relief to keep talking and have a joke or two.”
Rashid nodded. He remembered feeling a
nnoyed at how Adams had wound him up about Marnie back in Chicago. He felt foolish now. He’d been over-protective and proud. He wished he could have taken those feelings back. The man had wanted out, the plan too ill-conceived. That was his prerogative, he was here for the money and had no clue as to Zukovsky’s importance. Merely that the government who had cut him free from his career in a round of austerity lay-offs had needed his services once more. Rashid thought that Adams and the rest of the men would have found a perverse satisfaction in that. Perhaps that had been their motivation – to be useful once more. But no matter what Adams had thought, he had returned to help. They had past the destroyed Yukon, and it hadn’t taken them long to work out what had happened. He had taken on both Macintosh and Yates, and when he had been left stranded, he had tabbed quick-time back to the prison. The timings would have dictated Adams to have put in a hell of a run.
“So, what’s the plan, then?” King asked, breaking the silence.
“It seems daft, now,” Rashid said. “What with losing Adams… but Dave and I secured some bikes for the guys to head back. Adams said it was his dream, and Big Dave was bike crazy back at the diner we stopped at.”
“You soft bugger,” Marnie said, reaching forward and rubbing his shoulder.
King chuckled. “I bet Ramsay loved that little lot on the expense account,” he said, trying to break the tension. “So, the van is for Zukovsky and who else?”
“Marnie, Ramsay and myself. The idea is to regroup at the motel, take off in the morning. This bike festival has left the area rammed with people passing through. I thought we’d head back East on the I-90 and then head North into Canada. Simon Mereweather has arranged a freighter to take Zukovsky to Scotland, where he will be held at a safehouse. More of a castle, really. I’ll chaperone him while Marnie and Ramsay fly out from Nova Scotia. With the guys heading East on bikes, I thought you and Caroline could head South for Colorado, maybe even head out to California and be a couple of tourists for a week or so. You can fly back non-stop from LAX.”