“Roger that. En route.”
“And for the love of God, Holland, don’t fuck this up. If they see you, they might release the Grays.”
“Yeah, assuming they’re actually in there.”
“We have to assume they are. You sure you can do this?”
“Relax, I got it. Going dark. Call you when I’m in position.”
“Roger that. Good luck.”
And then there was silence.
I raised a pair of field glasses and peered down the alley behind the building where Great Hawk and I were hiding. Still empty. Scanned the streets, rooftops, and windows for signs of movement. Nothing. Glanced at Great Hawk. He was seated behind a desk set back from a window, head lowered over his sniper rifle, one eye peering through the aperture of a thermal scope.
Ten minutes passed, and then the radio crackled.
“All stations, I’m in position.”
I stopped scanning the streets outside the window and listened.
“Roger,” Gabe replied. “You have eyes inside the building?”
“Affirmative. I’m in the rafters, got everyone on FLIR.”
“Copy. Go ahead.”
“These guys must have been here a long time. Body language is even more exhausted up close, except for one of them. Pretty sure he’s the man in charge. Big motherfucker, gotta be six foot seven, probably weighs over three hundred pounds.”
“Dark skin?” Gabe asked. “Tattoos on his face?”
“Wait one.” A few seconds passed. I imagined Holland flipping the FLIR goggles up on his helmet and squinting into the dim interior of the warehouse. “Yeah, dark skin and tattoos. How’d you know?”
“Pretty sure you’re looking at the guy from the photograph.”
“The one from the hotel?”
“I think so. Any visual on the other guy?”
“Negative. No sign of him.”
“You sure?”
“Affirmative. Nobody tall enough or old enough.”
“Roger. What else do you see?”
Another few seconds passed. “Hang on a sec, guys. Something’s happening down…holy shit!”
“What?” Gabe said. “Holland, talk to me. What’s happening?”
Holland’s voice was a whisper. “The big guy just killed two of his own men.”
“Say again?”
“Two guards on the ground floor, east side entrance. Stabbed one in the back of the head and snapped the other’s neck. Took him two fuckin’ seconds. Jesus.”
“The guy from the photograph?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, him, the big guy. He’s headed topside now.”
“I see him,” Great Hawk said. “He is approaching the rover on the south side.”
“Holland, what do you got?” Gabe said.
The radio clicked three times, indicating Holland could not talk at the moment. The big man must have been close to his position in the ceiling.
“I have eyes on, Alpha,” Great Hawk said.
“Talk to me.”
“He is talking to…scratch that. He just pulled a garrote.”
“What’s happening?”
“He is killing the sentry on the south side.”
A few seconds went by. Great Hawk said, “South side rover is down. Target choked him out, then stabbed him in the back of the neck. What do you want to do, Alpha?”
“Keep watching. Let’s see what happens.”
“Roger that.”
I listened to Great Hawk describe the mystery man as he killed the other two sentries. One he stabbed in the kidney and chocked unconscious before retrieving his knife and planting it in the man’s sternum. The blade got stuck, so he took a tomahawk off the sentry’s belt, tucked it under his jacket, and approached the third sentry. All the while, he made sure to stick to the shadows so the others could not see him. When he reached the third man, he pointed toward a window and let the man walk ahead. There was an operator’s booth for an overhead crane nearby just wide enough to obscure him from the warehouse floor. When they were behind it, the big man produced the tomahawk, buried it in the back of the sentry’s head, caught him on the way down, and gently eased him to the catwalk floor.
“Fuck’s sake,” I whispered to Great Hawk. I had moved over to the window and was peering outward even though it was too dark to see anything inside the warehouse. “This guy’s a professional.”
“So it would seem.” He keyed his radio. “Alpha, I have lost visual on the target.”
“Which way did he go?”
“Down to the warehouse floor. Do you have visual?”
“Negative. Can’t see him either.”
Great Hawk looked up from his scope and stared out the window. “Awaiting instructions, Alpha.”
A brief silence followed. I knew what Gabe was thinking. The plan had been to watch the building, get someone inside, and report back to Agent Kaminsky. He needed to know how many people he would be dealing with, how heavily they were armed, and where they were located. That done, we were to provide overwatch while Stan mobilized a tactical team and surrounded the building. But now, the calculus had shifted. We had not wanted to breach the warehouse but had come prepared with shaped charges and concussion grenades just in case. And now there was a man on the inside systematically executing his own people. We needed as many alive as we could get, and if we let the big guy keep doing what he was doing, there would be no one left. Which meant waiting for Stan was no longer an option. We needed to get inside that building, but to do that, we had to get close. And in order to do that, we had to take out the sentries on the roof. There was a lot of open ground leading to the warehouse, and while Holland was a good enough ninja to sneak inside, it was unlikely all of us would be so lucky. Which left only one viable option.
“We’ll take the guys on the rooftop,” Gabe said finally. “Echo lead, I need you to take position on the building across the street.”
“Roger that. Heading out now. Call you when I’m in position.”
“Copy.”
I picked up my sniper carbine, checked the suppressor was tightened, verified the magazine was secure and there was a round in the chamber, put the safety to semi-auto, nodded to Great Hawk, and headed downstairs. Out on the street, I stuck close to the side of the building and stopped when I reached the corner. Waited. Listened. The eerie keening of high winds blew through empty streets and the whisper of loose snow scuttled across the pale white blanket covering the ground. Looking ahead, I saw no one between me and the next building fifty yards ahead. I would have to cross in the open. Nothing for it. My passing would leave footprints, but there was nothing to be done about that either. After waiting a few more seconds and detecting no signs of life, I stepped away from the wall and moved as fast as I could through the ankle-deep snow. It took less than thirty seconds but felt like forever.
At the other building, I moved closer to an overturned dumpster and took a knee behind it. The short sprint to get there would not have bothered me any other day, but combined with my heavy gear, the cold, and the adrenaline of impending danger, I needed a minute to catch my breath. When my heart slowed down enough, I moved to the doorway. There was no door, just an empty hole and some wood still clinging to broken hinges. I reached up and flipped down my NVGs, turned them on, and slowly made my way inside. Cleared the ground floor. No sign of anyone having been there in a long time. The stairs creaked as I made my way up them, but I heard no movement and saw no one on the second floor. Same story on the third. Finally, I found a ladder leading to the rooftop. There was a broken padlock on the ground beneath the closed hatch. I slung my rifle, climbed the ladder, and gave it a nudge. It moved, but only a little.
Snow. Gotta be thirty pounds of snow and ice on top of this thing.
I reset my feet on the ladder and put my shoulder into the hatch. It went up slowly until it was upright enough for the snow to slough off, and then fell open easily. I climbed out and moved to the side of the rooftop facing the warehouse. There was a t
hree-foot brick façade at the edge, providing a small amount of cover and concealment. Not great, but better than nothing. In my experience, brickworks were like ceramic armor plates. They can stop a bullet or two, but hit them too many times, and they crumble.
After dropping my assault pack, I took a sandbag from one of the pockets, placed it on the edge of the façade, and rested the foregrip of my rifle on it. Took a knee. Flipped up my NVGs. Sat on my heel. Turned on the FLIR scope. Peered through and picked a target. Let out a deep breath. Touched the throat mic.
“All stations, Echo. I’m in position, good visual on target. Sighting in.”
“Copy,” Gabe said. “Take the guard on the east side. I’ll take north. Hawk, you got south.”
“Roger that,” Great Hawk said. “Target acquired, standing by.”
“Echo?”
“Wait one.”
I used a rangefinder to gauge the distance and made a few adjustments to the scope. The wind was high, but steady, coming from a consistent direction. This was not going to be an easy shot. I gauged the wind’s speed as best I could and made another scope adjustment.
“Target acquired. Ready when you are.”
“Copy. On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”
There was a brief delay between recoil and impact. The bullet hit high on the man’s back, close to his neck. From the way he collapsed, I guessed I must have severed his spine. A quick scan showed me Gabe’s target missing the top half of his head and Great Hawk’s lying on his side, not moving. I heard the Hawk’s shot faintly, but Gabe’s not at all. My own echoed flatly off the walls of nearby buildings before being suffocated by the relentless wind. Between the windstorm and the suppressors we were using, I doubted anyone more than fifty yards away heard a thing.
“I have all targets down,” Gabe said. “Echo?”
“Confirm all targets down,” I said.
Great Hawk acknowledged the same. I turned my scope toward Gabe and saw him crouch-walking toward a stairway entrance on his rooftop.
“All stations, proceed to the target area. Delta, get the breaching charges ready.”
“Roger that, Alpha,” Cole said. “En route.”
I climbed down from the roof and found Great Hawk waiting for me on the first floor. When he saw me, he turned and went back outside. I followed him out the door, sweeping the street with my carbine as I exited the building.
“So much for plan A,” I said.
The Hawk was as stone-faced as ever. “That is why we have a plan B. Are you ready?”
“Yeah. We need to move fast, though. No telling how many SRTs are left.”
“There will be at least one.”
I walked to the corner of the building and looked across the street with my FLIR scope. Nothing. Turned back to Great Hawk.
“Yeah, that’s what worries me. Let’s just hope we can take him down without a fight.”
The Hawk’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Speak for yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Maru
Old Industrial District, Outskirts of Bricktown
Maru was running out of time.
He had planned the first kills to happen immediately after all stations check-in, which occurred every ten minutes. According to his watch, that was six minutes and thirty-eight seconds ago. Killing the guards at the east entrance had been easy enough, as had taking down the rovers on the upper-level catwalk, but there were still three men on the rooftop and another eight on the ground floor. Half of them were asleep, the other half barely awake and praying for time to move faster so they could have a turn on the cots. Maru planned to use that to his advantage.
He needed to dispatch the remaining guards quietly. If he could do that, the sleeping men would be no trouble. The rooftop guards were another matter. Maru had a ruse he intended to employ, but it was risky. Then again, killing Locke and Horton had been risky as well. But it had worked out well, and the rest of his men had no trouble believing the two lieutenants had been called back to the Red Barrel. Locke and Horton had been Heinrich’s go-to guys for interrogations and were frequently pulled from other assignments. After spinning his story, Maru had settled in to wait. He knew the best time to spring an attack was early in the morning when the marauders’ tired minds would be screaming for sleep. His chances of success would be best then, provided the feds did not show up first.
Forget the feds. Focus on what’s in front of you.
Maru spotted one of the four remaining sentries and began making his way toward him. He stuck close to the wall and stayed in the deep shadows. Slowed his footsteps. Made sure not to kick anything. Slipped a hand into his pocket and grasped a folding knife. Took it out. Opened the blade. Thumbed the lock to keep it from clicking. Slowly released. Tested the blade was set.
The sentry had his back turned, idly fiddling with the strap of his rifle. Maru remembered his name was Billings, and he was from Oklahoma. He had a strong accent and was good with horses. These recollections meant nothing to Maru. Perhaps they would later, perhaps he would see Billings’ face along with all the others in the drifting time between awake and asleep, but for the moment, he was an obstacle Maru needed removed.
He stopped for a moment to make sure the ground between him and his target was clear. The man stopped fiddling with his rifle and started humming to himself, weight leaned on one leg, eyes turned upward to the moonlight filtering in through the windows.
Perfect, Maru thought. He gathered his legs beneath him, held his breath, and prepared to lunge.
And then the main entrance exploded.
The noise was deafening. Maru stumbled back with an arm over his face. Two seconds later, several more explosions went off, blinding him and slamming his ears hard enough to disorient him.
Shit. Flash bangs.
Maru used the wall to balance himself and retreated toward the east exit. Before he could get there, another explosion blew that door off its hinges as well. He sank to his knees behind a pile of crates and struggled to regain his senses.
Then the shooting started.
From the middle of the warehouse, there was the chatter of un-suppressed automatic fire from the short carbines the tribe had stolen from the Army a while back. The shooting was wild, panicked, unfocused. Maru heard and felt bullets impacting the concrete behind him and slamming into the stack of crates he hid behind. He went prone, praying none of the strays found him.
In response, he heard the muted clapping of suppressed M-4s, a sound he was all too familiar with. The shots came in short, controlled bursts, and were answered by screams and cursing. Maru stayed down and listened to the sentries die in the first few seconds of the attack. Suppressed fire was coming from two directions, and with each burst, someone cried out in pain. Then came the panicked screaming of the men who had been asleep. In their terror, they snatched up their weapons and, like the others, began firing wildly. Several more bursts of suppressed fire sounded, and the screaming stopped.
Then there was silence.
“Shit,” he heard a gravelly voice say. To his damaged ears, the voice sounded like it was at the bottom of the ocean. “Is that all of them?”
“No,” another voice said, this one making Maru’s stomach coil with dread. “I have a live one.”
The speaker was standing right behind him.
A set of boots appeared in Maru’s vision. A tall, heavily built man aimed a suppressor at his face and motioned for him to rise.
“Take it slow,” the gravelly voice said again. “On your knees, hands on top of your head.”
Maru complied.
“Cross your ankles and sit back.”
He obeyed. Strong hands gripped his wrists, twisted his arms behind his back, and deftly applied a pair of riot cuffs.
“I have him. See to the others.”
“Right.”
The big man walked away. Maru turned to look behind him but stopped when he felt hot metal tap the back of his head.
“Face forwar
d. Do not move. Try anything and I will kill you.”
Maru said nothing and did as he was told. He knelt quietly while men he could not see counted the dead and dragged them to the center of the warehouse floor. The big man came back over, drew a stag-handled bowie knife, and held it in front of Maru’s face. The blade was long, Damascus patterned, and practically hummed with razor sharpness. Maru felt something curl up and freeze inside his stomach.
These are not feds.
“Look at me,” the big man said.
Maru did. In the dim light, he saw a helmet and the shadow of a face beneath. The man reached up and took off the helmet, then went down to one knee. Maru’s face was less than two feet from his captor’s now. He looked into the man’s eyes. They were deep set and bright gray, like the color of polished steel. The man’s face was scarred, made of hard angles and sharp lines, the expression holding no mercy, no pity, nothing but contempt. He knew this man, had seen his face many times, had spent days on end conducting surveillance on him and his family.
Gabriel Garrett, he thought. The lord high Blackthorn. Not quite how I thought we would meet.
The Bowie knife came up again, the tip uncomfortably close to Maru’s left eye.
“I’m going to ask you this once, and then I’m going to start cutting. Where are they?”
The frozen thing in his stomach turned to liquid. Maru took a deep breath to keep from trembling.
“You mean the monsters?”
A nod.
“I’ll show you.”
Garrett got to his feet. “Stand him up.”
Hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and hauled him upright.
“Over there,” Maru said, pointing with his head. “Toward the crane.”
To his right, the other Blackthorns—Maru assumed that was who they were—turned on tactical lights and began shining them around the room. A short man with a hostile face approached Maru and stood in front of him.
“Just so you know,” the short man said. “I had eyes on you the last ten minutes. Watched you kill your own men. Could have put a bullet in your head any time I wanted.”
Surviving The Dead | Book 9 | War Without End Page 23