“Strike four,” Hayden said as another familiar face walked up to the brick-built structure and disappeared inside.
Kinimaka aimed a parabolic microphone at the building, listening to their comments through headphones. He gave them a thumbs-up, signaling that he was getting some key information. Of course, they didn’t need the extra evidence; they already had enough, but Hayden saw it as several more nails in Tempest’s coffin, and nobody could deny them that.
By 10:00 a.m. all the players were in place. Hayden signaled the Delta team that they were ready to deploy. A woman came sauntering along then, walking her dog along the dirt path, making the team hit pause.
“Wait,” Hayden said. “No risk to civilians right now.”
“Or canines,” Molokai added.
Hayden gave him a sidelong glance. “Those too.”
The dog-walker vanished only to be replaced by a jogger. Frustration set in. The team waited, primed to go but frozen in place. Another two minutes escaped from the day.
Hayden saw the moment finally arrive and gave Mano a nod which, for her, held multiple meanings; the most important of which was “stay safe.” Delta rose before SPEAR, climbing out of the underbrush. Already, they’d established there was no back door. They ran across the grass, shouting, drawing most of the bodyguards out into the open.
Hayden picked off two men, crossed the open greenery, and then ascended a gradual slope toward the front of the gazebo. Two dead bodyguards sprawled out and then rolled down the hill a short way. Hayden hurdled one, sidestepped the other. Delta Force ranged ahead, pinning men down or killing them. There was no respite. The park, the blue skies and the green shrubbery was no longer real for her—life had narrowed down to survival and victory, the unpleasant fall of what might have been a terrible empire.
More shots came from the gazebo as bodyguards hunkered down behind the walls, creating a stand-off. Hayden hit the grass hard, the slope affording her some cover. Within seconds, before she could ask, the Delta leader was shouting.
“Stand down! We will kill you if you don’t stand down. Look at your position.”
Tempest would be in a state of panic, forcing their armed protectors to get them out of there. Walls would be closing in. Panic in their chests. They deserved all of it and so much more.
A Delta soldier showed their enemies the error of their ways by throwing a grenade. It was hurled deliberately short—a warning blow.
“Last chance!”
Hayden took aim in case they went for a sudden break out. For long seconds nothing happened and then several guns arced through the air, smacking down onto the grass with a heavy thud. Shouts could be heard—Tempest berating their guards and ordering them to fight. But it was futile. The Chamber, as they called it, was indefensible.
Delta ordered the bodyguards out, lined them up on their knees and pointed guns at their heads. Smyth ran forward, ostensibly to help, but Hayden knew exactly what he was doing.
“Lancelot Smyth,” she warned. “You stand down right now.”
He didn’t acknowledge her. Hayden screwed her face up in irritation, but at the same time sympathized with the man. If Urban and Carmine—the two mercs that had tried to kill Lauren—were here, Smyth would take some form of recompense.
Incredibly, it ended as quickly as it had begun. General Gleeson emerged first, hands up, blustering hard, which only made Hayden smile. The others came shortly afterward. Rick Troy, the presidential aide, came last.
Hayden stared at him, the man that had ostensibly made SPEAR enemies of the state. Kinimaka and Molokai spread themselves out, observing every small movement.
Hayden breathed a sigh of relief, her mind turning to Drake and the others for one single, clear moment.
And then it happened; the last act of Tempest.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Hayden’s mind was in cooldown. The enemy were beaten. Not even the jab of faint worry nagged at her. Later, she understood it was always going to end that way—Tempest could never let themselves willingly be taken alive after all the horrors they’d perpetrated.
Gleeson reached for a gun and then so did three of the others. Troy let a small handgun fall from the sleeve of his shirt into his hand. Another—Hayden recognized Mark Digby of the CIA—threw a live grenade high into the air.
“You think we didn’t prepare for this?” Gleeson screamed.
It was the matter of but a moment to line the general’s forehead up in her sights. She thought: I don’t care what you think, asshole, as she squeezed the trigger. Gleeson died instantly, which was unfortunate, falling into another man. The grenade looped lazily down. Smyth moved faster than an exploding firework, shifting his aim to Digby even as the aide leveled his handgun.
Smyth fired first. Digby flew back. Hayden grunted with approval.
The grenade came down as Delta and the bodyguards threw themselves to the grass. It exploded a meter above ground, killing several men. One of the dead was a member of Delta Force, sending a jab of pain through Hayden’s heart.
Bodies littered the grassy knoll just in front of the gazebo. Hayden approached the remains, desperate to find at least one still living.
Smyth already had the unlucky felons under close watch. He shifted his eyes briefly as Hayden approached.
“I believe these two are Urban and Carmine,” he said. “My Delta friend here showed me the CCTV captures from the parking lot where they attacked Lauren. I’m happy to fire as much lead into them as you require.”
The Delta leader was kneeling down beside his fallen colleague. “My eyes are blurred because my friend is dead. I see nothing, and so do my team.”
Hayden’s face was mud-streaked, careworn and vicious as she stared at the two mercs. “Where is Secretary Crowe?”
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Drake launched his body across the wide river, landing with boots firmly in the dusty mud, then ran up the short slope to the edge of the tent village. The chaos was intense here. Terrorists and mercs had been resting, some sleeping, taking a break from the day with the sun at its hottest. Gunfire had roused them and they had come out firing, especially the mercs that were better trained.
Drake launched himself atop a dark-skinned young man, punched him to the ground, the two rolled, crashing into a tent. Alicia fell beside him, struck horizontally by a man that had been flung by another. Dahl’s boot landed in Drake’s opponent’s face, smashing down hard; then Dahl was dragged away by two mercs. Drake elbowed his opponent, drew a knife and stabbed him twice. Then he saw Alicia rise, and looked for Dahl.
The Swede lay on his back, arms scrabbling in mud, as two men struggled to stay on top. One punched his face, the other punched his midriff. Dahl was attempting to roll them off. Drake hooked an arm under the closest man’s chin and heaved, crushing the throat at the same time. Alicia went for a flying kick, striking the other man in the left ear with her boot. He toppled clear and Dahl was free.
There was no time for gratitude. Alicia was dragged backward by a huge merc and then that man fell in a pothole, staggering into a tent. The material enfolded them, thrashing left and right as Alicia and her opponent sought superiority.
Drake twisted so hard he thought his foe’s head would come off. The struggle didn’t last long. Drake left the man face-down, turned and was then hit full in the face with the butt of a rifle. He staggered back, down the slope, a step at a time. Blood ran into his eyes, stinging and blinding him. A knife deflected off his stab vest, and then the butt of the rifle came again, making him think the wielder was out of ammo. In the end it was the river that stopped him.
Boots splashed down in running water as Drake finally managed to stop backpedalling. The fighter must have launched himself through the air because his bulk struck Drake then and sent him crashing down into the deep water. He fell and rolled, swallowing a mouthful, coughing, thrashing. A hand found his throat, holding it down. Drake struck up twice, seeking soft targets and finding what he thought was a ribcage. The kni
fe was still in his hand so he twisted hard and thrust that up through the water as hard as he could. The blade sank in and the pressure eased, the figure twisting away still with the knife in its body.
Drake surfaced fast, sputtering. Water fell from his top half in torrents.
At last, his vision cleared. He was on his feet now, chest above water, staring up the slope and at the tent village.
Figures struggled everywhere. Shots and screams rang out without relent. Drake saw several comrades struggling, and splashed his way out of the river and back through the mud to the top of the incline. Handgun out, he resorted to point and shoot. Where a merc or terrorist stood in space, Drake shot them. Eight went down and his own colleagues stood or knelt and did the same.
Mercs came at them again, a wave of screaming outlines. More hand-to-hand combat broke out. The terrorists were backing away from every encounter, being herded toward the center of the tent village. As Drake stood among the fallen tents he looked for his friends.
Alicia spun and shot an oncoming merc. Dahl threw a man into a tent so that the material enfolded him, giving the Swede an easy kill. Kenzie held her own against another, using two knives to confuse and strike in tandem, leaving the man defenseless before ending his life. Luther and Mai were almost at the center of the tent mass, at the far end of a path of fallen material and men which, Drake guessed, the two had mostly caused.
Other members of their team fought all around them.
Sweating, still dripping water, bleeding from a dozen wounds, Drake labored through the mass to Alicia’s side. He was just in time to stop a merc rising from the floor, gun in hand. Drake picked up a discarded gun and shot him. The Special Forces teams consistently watched each other’s backs, always lending an eye for a colleague.
Luther’s voice blared through his earpiece. “Team Ricardo has met major resistance in the false town,” he said. “Mop up here and move out.”
Drake swore. Was Luther implying this wasn’t major resistance? Shit, what were the other team up against? He shot a man emerging from a tent with an RPG cradled across one shoulder; kicked out at one more that lay in the dirt, still lively enough to cause trouble.
Alicia spun. “You in one piece?”
“More or less. You?”
“Think I broke a nail on some bell end’s tooth.”
“Shit, I’m so glad you added that last word.”
Again, they were parted. Drake threw a man over his shoulder; then staggered beneath another’s heavy blow, finding himself on his knees, staring at bloodied earth. A quick twist and he launched his body to one side, gaining precious seconds. The next attack was stalled, though, as Dahl turned up and confronted Drake’s opponent.
Four seconds later, Drake, Alicia and Dahl stood shoulder to shoulder.
“There,” Alicia said.
Luther, Mai and a dozen others had converged on the center of the tent town. The mercs and the terrorists were rallying there, showing the last of their resistance. Luther carried a machine gun in each hand, their barrels so hot with constant use they appeared to be on fire. Smoke surrounded the scene. Kenzie launched herself in to it so carelessly, armed only with knives, that even Dahl winced.
“Shall we?”
Scooping up the weapons they needed, the trio hurried across earth that was thick with clumps of matted soil, grass, dirt and blood. The battlefield was laden with the dead and the dying. Drake saw their own men being tended by others. They came at the center to either side of Luther and Mai, seeing mercs falling ahead, unable to shoot in any one direction for fear of an enemy at all sides. Team Luther came from north and south, east and west, routing and devastating the mercenary lines. Every trainee terrorist that Drake could see knelt in the dirt with their hands on their heads—defeated.
Soon, the tent village was captured. Luther ordered men to bind the captives and just a few to stay behind to watch them.
Drake gazed over to the makeshift town, the last and worst area of resistance. Buildings were on fire, spitting flames from their roofs. RPGs fired and grenades exploded.
And of course, it was right where Team SPEAR needed to be.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
The makeshift town was a war zone but, for Drake, a special sight as dozens of elite Special Forces soldiers fought in conjunction with each other. The mercs were holed up in a diner, complete with red and yellow shutters and lettering, their firepower clear to see as they held off any attempt at assault. The terrorists also sniped from nearby windows—a bank, a coffee shop, a burger joint—recognizable features of American living. Some were heading to the roofs.
Through comms, Luther and the other three coordinators organized their teams. Groups ran through shops and stores, six at a time, sweeping the place clear of enemies. Another team backed them up. Terrorists were allowed to head to the tallest heights of the town simply because world class Special Forces snipers already waited there for them. An incredible pride swelled in Drake’s chest.
“Everyone wants the same thing,” he said.
“If only it could always be like this,” Dahl said.
They had come up against special ops teams themselves—both on the same side yet forced into confrontations. The lines were always blurred.
Not today. Drake listened to the comms chatter as he crouched in the shadows between two structures. It was being reported that the buildings were of inferior design, no doubt through necessity and speed of assembly, and would crumble under heavy assault.
This gave Luther an idea.
When he voiced it, Drake looked to Alicia and Dahl, shaking his head ruefully. “Trust that bloody dinosaur,” he said.
“I like it,” Dahl noted.
Drake laughed and they backed away, following the lead of every other spec ops soldier in the town. Snipers scurried down from their perches and those that were engaged in combat broke it off as quickly as they could.
The mercs were jeering at the retreat.
Drake frowned. “Not clever.”
Terrorists could be seen here and there, sticking their heads up like meerkats to see what was going on. Shots were fired. Drake returned that fire, giving a dozen of their men the chance to run forward, RPGs braced across one shoulder.
They knelt quickly and fired instantly.
The effect was shattering. In all his life, Drake had never seen anything like it. Powerful rockets sped in pairs into every building, detonating on impact and filling the interiors with fire and death. Not one structure was strong enough to withstand the flaming devastation. Drake whistled as six buildings collapsed onto themselves, timbers and spars, bricks and blocks tumbling down together on top of the killers inside, crushing and devastating everyone within. Luther was at the head of the RPG line, the man most exposed, and already loading another rocket into its barrel.
“You gotta hand it to the man,” Alicia said. “That worked really well.”
“Devastation is his forte,” Drake said. “And yeah, he just saved a lot of lives.”
“Who would even think that way?” Dahl muttered.
“Quit that,” Drake said. “You’re just pissed you didn’t come up with it.”
It became clear that just one building hadn’t entirely collapsed; its left side shored up by a rubble of fallen debris. Within, several mercs were still active. They fired now and Luther ducked, but one of his companions was struck in the chest. More bullets flew. Dahl and Drake were best placed to help.
“You got my back?” Dahl asked, already sprinting.
“Always, pal.”
The Swede darted around the surviving mercenaries’ blind side, coming up around the rear of the building. Drake expected him to leap and run up the collapsed side of it, maybe throw a grenade through a gap. What he didn’t expect was for the Swede to run at full pelt smack-bang into the side of the fragile structure.
“Always the bloody show off.”
Dahl’s sheer momentum shook the entire shop, shifting rubble and the new supports. It waver
ed and then it collapsed, falling on top of all those inside and cutting their enraged shrieks short.
“I saw that, Dahl,” Luther said, “Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
The Swede smirked at Drake. “Bet you were shocked.”
Drake coughed to hide a grateful smile. “Actually, I wasn’t.”
“Check your sixes, boys,” Luther came over the comms. “But I think we just won the fucking day.”
Alicia came over to where Drake and Dahl rested in the rubble, followed by Luther and Mai. Twenty spec ops soldiers held captives over by the tents and the school; a further seventy surrounded the town. Terrorist remnants were being rounded up with minimal resistance. Drake threw down his weapon and wiped the dirt from his hands.
“Tempest is fucked,” he said. “At least here.”
Alicia threw herself down into the dirt beside him. “Can somebody please call Hayden? I can’t relax knowing they’re still fighting.”
Mai held up a satphone. “Already on it, Taz.”
“Thank you,” Alicia mouthed and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the waning sun wash the stress from her features and the horrors from her mind. A few seconds later, she opened them as Mai began to speak.
“You took them out? All of them? Gleeson and those assholes that attacked Lauren? Oh, that’s great. We closed them down over here too. And Secretary Crowe is safe.” Her short repeated comments were for the benefit of the people around her.
Drake found a grin stretching across his face. One more win, and without casualties. One more victory to the good guys; the ones that made the world a safer place.
“I think it’s time for a vacation,” he breathed, even the rubble beneath his back now feeling like a feather mattress as all the worries fell away.
“I think it’s time for a drink,” Luther said amiably. “And then a trip back to DC. We’ve been a long time absent, boys and girls, and we’re far from home.”
It was only then that Drake sat up in shock, catching the eyes of the SPEAR team. “Damn and bollocks, he’s right! We’re free. We’re exonerated. Coburn will unearth all the evidence and clear us.”
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