by Brent Towns
“Get down! It’s a bomb!”
Then the van blew up in a blinding orange flash.
Outside Charlottesville
Virginia
The Predator drone lifted from the makeshift runway and Cara cursed their predicament. She let loose with a burst of fire from her 416 and saw her target fall. Off to her right, she caught sight of Brick firing his own burst as he advanced on the house.
“Be aware, Bravo, the Pred has just taken off. It’s armed with a missile. Copy?”
“Copy, Reaper Two.”
To her front, Cara saw three men emerge from the barn. One of them jerked and fell to the ground. Axe’s voice filled her head. “Scratch one tango.”
Collins’ men returned heavy fire and bullets split the air all around Cara. She saw one man running towards the house and reacted instantly. Her sights dropped onto him and she let loose with another burst.
Thurston’s voice came over the comms. “Reaper One, you’ve got exactly three minutes before that UAV is in position to fire that Hellfire. If they launch it, the president is toast.”
“Nothing like a bit of pressure, Bravo,” she breathed into her mic. Then, “Step it up, people. We’ve got three minutes. After that, we’re screwed.”
In an instant, things changed. Someone on the other side fired an M203 Grenade Launcher. In a spray of metal splinters and debris, Cara was knocked flat on her back.
Then she heard the cry come through her comms from Axe. “Man down! I say again, man down! Reaper Two is hit!”
New York City, Same time
The explosion rocked the SUV so much that Kane thought it might tip over. Every window facing the blast was punched in, spraying glass all over those within. They were stunned by the impact for a moment, but then Kane’s training kicked in.
“Is everyone OK?”
A few low groans of yes told him all he needed to know. “Zero? Reaper One. They just drove a fucking bomb into the building. Over.”
“Say again your last, Reaper One.”
“I said it was a bomb, Zero. In a van. Send EMTs and fire department. We’re going to take a look.”
“Copy. We felt it from here. Is everyone OK?”
“We’re still alive.”
“It doesn’t make sense, Reaper. Why would they blow up the building?”
Kane turned in his seat and stared at Traynor. He still looked stunned. “Hey, Pete, why would they blow up the building like this?”
“Huh?”
“Concentrate, man. Why would Montoya blow up the fucking building?”
“How should I know?”
They were about to climb from the SUV when the first NYPD cruiser screeched to a stop with its siren wailing and lights flashing. The officer leaped from it and stood, scratching his head as he took in the scene before him.
Where the van had blown, it had taken out most of the front of the building. The upper levels that were left hung precariously over the charred and debris-strewn chasm, threatening to come crashing down at any moment. Two more cruisers pulled up, and their drivers gathered and began a three-way conversation. One indicated the gaping hole while another pointed at the upper floors. Then they turned around and looked up and down the street, working out where to set the perimeter.
Thick dust hung in the air, and now smoke could be seen rising into the pale blue sky above. Sirens blared, and yet more cruisers pulled up. The first paramedics arrived on scene and then a fire truck.
“Reaper One, copy?”
“Copy, Zero.”
“What’s happening? Over.”
“Things are starting to get busy here, Luis.”
“Do you want to stand down?”
“Wait one.”
While Kane watched, the first responders sprang into action, going about their business. Except for the firemen who stood back. One of them started towards the building but was called back, and Kane assumed, was told to stand down.
Then a thought hit him. “Traynor, is there another way into this place?”
“What?”
“Another way in that I don’t know about?”
Traynor thought for a moment and shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
“Zero? I need to know if there’s another way into the store. Over.”
“Give me a minute.”
Carlos said, “Those policemen will be over here checking on us shortly. We need to work out what we’re going to do next.”
Kane nodded. “Pete, go and show them your creds. Fill them in on what we know. I’ll be with you in a moment. And don’t let some trigger-happy cop shoot you.”
The ex-DEA man climbed out and walked towards a tall officer who was giving directions to a fireman. For a moment he seemed taken aback at the sight of a man dressed in tactical gear walking towards him. But Traynor already had his identification out which seemed to set the officer’s mind at ease.
“Reaper One, this is Zero, over.”
“Copy, Zero.”
“Reaper, we’ve managed to track down old blueprints,0 and apparently an abandoned subway station is situated alongside the first basement level of the DEA store. At some stage, the line was meant to go under the river to link up at Hoboken. But someone screwed up, and it couldn’t be done. Anyhow the station is still down there.”
“Christ!” Reaper swore. “That’s it. This is a decoy. They’re coming in from below.”
Climbing from the SUV with his 416, Kane said, “Carlos, grab your NVGs.”
Kane opened the back door of the vehicle and took out Traynor’s carbine. Then he went to the back where Arenas was. The Mexican handed him his helmet and attached NVGs. Then Kane took Traynor’s.
The rear door closed, and both men started towards Traynor and the cop with purposeful strides. When they sensed what was happening, both men looked in their direction. The cop’s jaw dropped, and the former DEA agent knew what was coming. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“They’re coming in through the basement level,” Kane snapped and tossed him his 416. His helmet followed.
“What’s going on?” asked the bewildered cop.
“We’re going inside,” Kane told him.
“I – I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous.”
The three men pushed past him and kept walking. Kane said, “You can come along if you want.”
Outside Charlottesville
Virginia
Cara drew in deep breaths, and her ears rang with a high-pitched squeal. She rolled onto her side and was aware of bullets sending up small eruptions all around her. In her ear, she heard Brick say, “Stay down, Two. I’ll be right there.”
“No,” Cara hissed. “Get to the family. I’m fine. Axe get that fucker with the two-oh-three before he kills one of us.”
“On it.”
Teller moved to her position and helped her to her feet. “Can’t hang around here all day, ma’am.”
Suddenly he grunted and twisted violently. He dropped to the ground and immediately Cara could see the bright red blood on his upper left arm.
“Christ! Man down!” Cara swore and grabbed him by the collar with her left hand. She started to drag him along with her, the 416 in her right hand spitting out lead.
“Cara, leave him!” Axe snapped in her ear.
“Reaper Two, you have one minute to stop the launch,” Thurston said. “What are you doing?”
“Damn it, ma’am. You have to leave me. You have to get to the barn to stop the launch.”
“It’s too fucking late!” she hissed. “I can’t make it.”
“Reaper Two, this is Viper One-Three. We’re a flight of two AH-64s tasked as air support. Over.”
Tasked? I never asked for air support.
“Say again, Viper One-Three.”
“Just tell us what to shoot, ma’am,” the pilot said as the two Apaches swept overhead.
“Forty-five seconds, Reaper One,” Thurston said in her ear.
“Call the shot, Cara,” Ax
e growled.
More bullets snapped close to her head, and she dropped to her knee. Through gritted teeth, Teller said, “If you destroy the control system and the UAV loses signal, it will RTB, ma’am. It’s all we have.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Shit! The barn, Viper One-Three. Hit the barn. Cleared hot.”
“Copy, ma’am. Missile away.”
“Reaper Team, get down!”
Cara dived across Teller and covered her head with her arms. She could hear the inbound Hellfire above her. Suddenly the barn erupted in a huge ball of flame. The heat from the explosion washed over the two prone team members, followed by the concussive blast.
Debris started to rain down in large clumps. The mushroom cloud had been replaced by flames spewing black smoke into the air.
Cara barked into her mic, “All elements, report.”
“Four, OK.”
“Five, OK.”
Teller groaned, “You’re a solid unit, ma’am.”
She rolled off him and sat up. “Brick, save the family.”
“Ma’am.”
Cara stared at the blazing pyre that had been the barn. A pang of guilt tugged at her heart, but she quickly pushed it aside. There would be time for that after. She came to her feet. “Pete, are you OK?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Reaper Two, report.”
“Target destroyed, Bravo Three is wounded, but ambulatory. Moving on the house.”
“Copy, Reaper Two.”
“Go, I’ll be fine,” Teller told her.
Cara raised her 416 and swept the scene before her as she moved. “Axe, you got anything?”
“Negative.”
That was when a smoldering figure staggered from behind the blazing barn, holding a Bullpup assault rifle. An FN FS2000. And it was pointed straight at Cara.
New York City, Same time
Kane led them down the stairs towards the first basement level. Directly behind him was Teller, then the cop whose name was Miller. Lastly came Arenas. Their footsteps seemed to echo loudly as they descended the concrete thoroughfare. The stairwell had been their only option with the lifts being rendered unusable due to the power outage from the explosion. The store, however, had its own backup power system for lighting which had engaged immediately after the other had cut out.
Kane called a halt when the four of them reached the door with a large B1 stenciled on it in bold black letters. He said to Arenas in a hoarse whisper, “When we breach, you follow me. Pete, you follow Carlos. Miller, you wait out here.”
“I ain’t afraid,” Miller hissed with a hint of indignance in his voice.
“I didn’t say you were,” Kane assured him. “But on the other side of this door are trained killers with automatic weapons. And all you’ve got is that Glock. Watch our backs.”
Miller nodded. “OK.”
The three assaulters moved into position and waited for Kane’s signal. Traynor stepped to the right of the door and reached out to try the door handle. Twisting it, he found it open. Looking back to Reaper, he nodded. Kane raised his 416 to his shoulder and nodded back.
This time Traynor turned the handle all the way then pushed the door open. Without any hesitation, Kane strode through into a dimly-lit room lined with metal cages.
He swept the room and found it empty, then walked further in. With the cages lined against the walls, it resembled a long, steel-lined passage.
Heading towards a doorway at the far end of the thoroughfare, perhaps sixty feet away, his breathing was loud in his ears, and his heart was pounding. He kept his sights on the opening ahead of him, prepared should one of Montoya’s hired guns appear.
It surprised him, however, when a man appeared less than fifteen feet in front of him, not from the doorway itself. The black-clad figure emerged from an open cage, carrying two canvas bags Kane could only assume held bricks of money.
He caught a glimpse of the armed men advancing on his position and released the bags in his hands. Next, he reached for his slung M4 and desperately tried to bring it around to fire. Kane was too quick for him, even though he’d been caught a little off guard himself.
Reaper squeezed the trigger on the 416 twice. The flat cracks of the suppressed fire bounced off the concrete surrounds. The man in front of him jerked as both slugs struck home. The first hit his tactical vest, the second, slightly higher, in the throat. The mercenary dropped to the floor, slumped over the money-filled bags.
Kane moved quickly forward and stepped over the corpse. He glanced into the cage as he went past and saw that it still held money. The others followed him to the end of the passage then paused as Kane peered around the jamb. The next space was far more open with larger cages. On the other side of the room were two large doors to what Kane guessed was a huge elevator. That would have been how they got the four vehicles down there. One was a Humvee, another a Shelby Cobra, and the last two were a pair of matching Mustangs, one complete with bullet holes.
“Moving,” he whispered into his mic and eased around the corner …
… into a hail of automatic gunfire from a MAC-11 held by Juan Montoya.
Bullets gouged chips of painted concrete from the walls in a diagonal pattern. Kane went down on one knee and fired reflexively. His burst went wide, although it had the desired effect.
Montoya sought cover behind one of the Mustangs. The one without the bullet holes in it. However, that was rectified with the squeeze of the trigger on Arenas’ 416. The suppressed carbine rattled off two bursts, smashing the car’s front window and grill.
The cartel boss rose and emptied another magazine with one squeeze of the trigger. Then, through a jagged hole in the wall, another shooter emerged. He held an M4 and started to fire shots with more efficiency. It forced the three team members to seek cover. The Humvee provided the best they could hope for. Bullets slammed into the solid vehicle like large hailstones from a fierce storm. Traynor rose and fired a single shot. More by luck than design, the 5.56 round took the shooter in the face, killing him when the misshapen slug ricocheted off bone and up into his brain.
“Fucking asshole,” Traynor hissed. “Ever since joining this team, people are always trying to fucking kill me.”
Something hard hit the floor and Kane heard it roll closer. It sounded like it stopped under the Humvee, so he bent down to have a look. His eyes widened when he saw what it was. At the top of his voice, he shouted, “Grenade!”
Chapter 24
Outside Charlottesville
Virginia
When the attack started, Captain Ward Collins was at the console, watching over the launch of the Predator. His headset came to life with warnings of intruders. Issuing orders to his men to stop whoever it was, he then said to Richards, “Get that thing within range or I’ll kill your family myself.”
“I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Please don’t hurt them.”
Outside, the sound of battle echoed across the farm. Calls came over the comms as he lost two of his men. Then more, and finally the Apache thundered overhead. He hesitated for a moment. “How long before we launch?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Just make sure it happens,” he demanded and picked up the FN FS2000 and walked towards the back door of the barn. Collins had only just walked through it when the missile struck.
The explosion was deafening, the searing white heat intense. But somehow through it all, Ward Collins remained conscious. His clothes felt as though they were on fire, the left side of his face seemed as though it had melted away. Blind in his left eye where the heat had seared it, he staggered to his feet. His weapon was still in his right hand; his left was nothing but scorched meat.
With pain ripping through his body, Collins limped around the barn until he saw the person dressed in tactical gear to his front. With a groaning snarl, he raised his FS 2000. “Fug yah!” he managed to mumble and started to squeeze the trigger.
Cara saw the man’s head snap back and the brains explo
de from it as the 7.62 round from Axe’s M110 punched through it. Collins dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Tango down,” Axe breathed into his mic.
Cara heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Axe.”
“My pleasure.”
Now Cara moved towards the house. As she did, she said, “Keep an eye out for any more.”
“Copy.”
By the time she reached the building, Brick had already breached. Cara had started to move along the sparsely-decorated hall when she heard the flat slap of the suppressed 416 and then the cries of alarm from a woman and child. Then came the voice of the former SEAL as he tried to calm them.
Cara shouted, “Friendly!”
Brick appeared from a room ten feet in front to her left. “In here, ma’am.”
“How are they, Brick?”
“They seem fine, all things considered.”
“You got this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cara said into her mic, “Bravo, packages secured.”
“Copy, Reaper Two.”
She emerged from the house and scanned the scene before her. The barn was still blazing, there were bodies strewn in the grass, and Teller was walking towards her, holding his wounded arm. She said, “Axe, anything?”
“No, ma’am. I think we got them all.”
“Come on down.”
“Copy.”
Behind her, Brick escorted the two hostages from the house. The mother, a thin woman with dark hair, came up to her. “My husband. Where’s my husband?”
Cara stared at her for a moment, the solemnity of the situation evident in her eyes. She gave her head a slight shake and said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Richards. Your husband didn’t make it.”
The woman sank slowly to her knees, a high-pitched sound emanating from the back of her throat. The little girl ran across to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. Not fully comprehending the gravity of the situation, she said innocently, “It’ll be OK, mommy. I’ll help you.”