Payne stared at his hands. They’d be torn to shreds in a fast descent. And if he took the drop slowly, his palms would survive intact, but he’d be an easy target for several seconds as he dangled from the chopper. ‘What’s the solution?’
Jones grabbed two salamis and handed one to Payne. ‘We use these.’
Payne stared at the cured meat. It was nine inches long and sealed in a rough casing. For the life of him, he had no idea what his friend meant. ‘Excuse me?’
Jones reached into his cargo pants and pulled out his knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade popped open, and he plunged the sharp tip into the top of the salami. As Payne watched, Jones cut the meat vertically, making a nine-inch incision that went halfway into the salami. When he was done, he held it up so Payne could understand what he had in mind.
‘We wrap the salami around the rope like a bun round a hot dog. This casing is hard and coarse. Our hands should be fine as the meat gets torn to shreds.’
‘And if the casing doesn’t hold?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged as he traded salamis with Payne and went to work on the other one. ‘We hope the branches break our fall.’
Payne stared at him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I’d rather fall fast than dangle slow. Too many unknowns.’
Payne searched the basket for alternatives. ‘What about the tablecloth? We can cut it in strips and wrap it around our hands.’
Jones shook his head. ‘Our fingers would get filleted. Cut right to the bone.’
Payne grimaced. He had seen that happen to one of his men, and his hands had never fully recovered. ‘You realize, this is crazy.’
Jones laughed at the danger. ‘That’s what makes it fun.’
29
The United States Special Operations Command (SOCOM) is headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. It oversees the various special operations units of the US Armed Forces and the US Intelligence Community. The concept of a unified command sprouted from the disastrous rescue attempt of hostages at the American embassy in Iran in 1980. The ensuing investigation noted a lack of inter-service cooperation and the breakdown of a clear chain of command as factors in the mission’s failure.
Seven years later SOCOM was officially activated. The main goal of SOCOM is to coordinate the efforts of the different branches of the armed forces whenever joint missions are conducted. Each branch has a Special Operations Command capable of running its own missions, but when different Special Operations Forces (Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Rangers, etc.) need to work together on a mission, SOCOM takes control of the operation – for example, Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
In addition, SOCOM conducts several missions of its own, which are run by the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC). These Special Mission Units (SMU) perform highly classified activities, such as personnel recovery, counter-guerrilla sabotage, unconventional warfare, psychological operations and counter terrorism. So far, only three SMUs have been publicly disclosed: the Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment (Delta Force), the Navy’s Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU), and the Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron (AFSOC). One of the SMUs that is still classified is the MANIACs.
Comprised of the top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force and Coast Guard, the MANIACs are a military all-star team, assembled from a small list of candidates who passed the most stringent selection process and training in the world. One of the most important skills the soldiers learned was the art of improvisation. Without it, they wouldn’t last long behind enemy lines, where weapons and equipment were scarce. To survive, they were forced to make do with whatever they could find, whether that was picking a lock with a paperclip or making an explosive out of household chemicals. Not only did this skill require ingenuity, it also required guts. Otherwise, new ideas would never be tested in the field.
During his time in the MANIACs, Payne had used a grapefruit as a silencer, stalled a car with a tube sock and killed a man with a stapler, but he had never used salami for anything except sandwiches. Of course, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. It simply meant that one of them had to be a guinea pig. Normally that burden would fall on Payne, who preferred to lead by example. But in this situation, Jones insisted on going first.
‘My idea, my glory,’ Jones shouted over the wind and the roar of the rotor. ‘Plus, your ass is so fat you might snap the rope.’
Payne watched closely as Jones clamped the salami round the rope and stepped onto the skid tube, which was attached to the chopper’s wheels. ‘See you soon.’
Jones took a deep breath, then leaned back on the skid more than a hundred feet above the ground. As he did, he focused on his grip. If this didn’t work, he knew his hands would never be the same, and neither would his life. Jones was brave, not stupid. He realized if his idea failed, there was a damn good chance he was going to die – either from the fall or from the gunmen down below who would pounce upon him like cheetahs on an injured gazelle.
And yet Jones remained unfazed.
Compared to the things he had faced in the MANIACs, this was less dangerous than bungee jumping. Sure, something could go wrong, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin his fun. With a smile on his face, Jones launched himself backward and yelled, ‘Geronimo!’
A second later, he was falling towards the forest.
As expected, the salami ripped to shreds as Jones clutched the casing on his way to the forest floor. In his wake, tiny chunks of meat clung to the rope like used pieces of dental floss. Of course, Jones didn’t notice anything above him as he zipped past the trees since he was far more concerned with his landing. Clamping the rope with his legs and boots, Jones eased to a stop just before he reached the end of the rope, which dangled ten feet above the ground.
Wasting no time, Jones released his grip and dropped to the slope. He minimized his impact by tumbling once, then scampered behind the nearest tree where he pulled his gun and secured the area for his partner’s arrival. Unfortunately, Payne’s trip didn’t go quite as smoothly. Whether it was the remnants of Jones’s salami on the rope, Payne’s extra weight, or a combination of the two, Payne struggled to control his pace on his descent. He used his legs and boots, just like he had been taught, but the pre-greased line minimized friction. Whereas Jones was able to stop before he reached the end of the rope, Payne didn’t have that luxury.
One moment, Jones was scouting the area for enemy troops. The next, Payne was tumbling past him like a boulder rolling down the mountain – a grunting and groaning boulder. When he finally came to a stop, Jones rushed to his side, worried his friend was dead.
‘Are you okay?’ Jones demanded.
Sprawled on his back and covered in pine needles, Payne blinked a few times before his head was clear. Once he regained his focus, he brought his hands near his face and stared at his fingers. ‘I’ll be damned. The salami worked.’
Jones breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Told you so.’
Payne sat up and nodded. ‘Landing was a little rough, but …’
‘Mine was worse,’ Jones lied. ‘Tumbled right into a tree.’
‘Really? Are you all right?’
Jones groaned for effect. ‘I think I’ll make it. But I’ll feel a lot better once we know what we’re up against.’
Payne wobbled slightly as he stood. ‘Communications?’
Jones shook his head. ‘No signal on my cell phone.’
Payne rubbed his eyes, then looked up at the surrounding trees. The forest was so thick he could barely see sunlight. ‘Which way to the bunker?’
Jones pointed diagonally up the slope. ‘That way.’
‘How far?’
Jones stared at Payne, slightly concerned. Normally his sense of distance and direction were impeccable. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’ll be fine once we’re moving. I need to clear some cobwebs.’
Jones tried to examine
Payne’s eyes. ‘Cobwebs? Or a concussion?’
Payne pushed him away and pulled out his Sig Sauer. He had played some of his best football games at the Naval Academy with fuzzy vision and bells ringing in his ears. He wasn’t about to stop for some cobwebs. ‘Come on! We’re wasting time. Let’s get moving.’
Jones relented. ‘Fine! But I’m in charge until you can recite the alphabet backwards.’
‘Hell, I couldn’t do that before I jumped.’
Even though Kaiser cared about the welfare of his men, he wasn’t about to grab a rifle and charge towards the gun fire. He was paying them for protection, not the other way around.
‘What’s your status?’ Kaiser asked from the relative safety of the cul-de-sac. He had been tempted to hide inside the bunker until the mountain was secure, but his two-way radio was ineffective down there, and he wanted to call the shots. ‘Schneider, can you hear me?’
Silence filled the line, as it had for the past few minutes.
Kaiser cursed to himself. Based on Schneider’s last transmission and the gun fire that followed, they had to assume he was dead. If so, what had happened? And more importantly, who had killed him?
Kaiser had plenty of enemies, but how had they found him in the woods above Garmisch-Partenkirchen? Had one of his men betrayed him? Or had the leak come from somewhere else? For the time being, it didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about was getting off the mountain. Preferably with the gold in tow, but not if it meant his life.
Because in Kaiser’s world, he had more to worry about than gunmen.
He also had to evade the police.
30
Gun fire came in sporadic bursts, a mixture of shotgun blasts and automatic fire from somewhere near the bunker. Leading the charge, Jones used the noise as a beacon, zeroing in on the firefight without stopping to check his GPS or studying the symbols that Kaiser’s men had marked on the trees. Of course, Jones didn’t have much of a choice while running at top speed. The sun could barely be seen because of the denseness of the trees – which was how the neighbouring Black Forest had received its name – so Jones relied on his ears just as much as his eyes.
Despite his height and muscular frame, Payne kept pace with the wiry Jones, who darted under branches and leapt over logs like a deer escaping a forest fire. One of the things that had made Payne a star on the football field was his rare combination of speed and strength. Not only was he faster than most people, he was also much stronger. Mix in his toughness, athleticism and discipline, and a world-class athlete had emerged. If not for his sense of duty, Payne would have made millions as a pro football player. Instead, he had honed his skills in the military and become one of the best soldiers the world had ever seen.
Although Payne and Jones were retired from the MANIACs, the top brass at the Pentagon still spoke their names with reverence and contacted them for their expertise.
Over the next few minutes, they would display their skills.
A wave of gun fire forced them to scramble for cover. Jones slid to a stop behind a fallen tree while Payne ducked behind a nearby boulder. Both men struggled to breathe, the thin air and steep slope wreaking havoc on their lungs. The bunker was less than a hundred yards away, but it wasn’t visible from their position. With no communications, they didn’t know if Kaiser was alive or dead – or what they were facing. Three men? Five men? Maybe even ten?
To survive, surveillance would be essential.
Payne scanned the surrounding trees, searching for colours and shapes that didn’t belong. Nothing seemed out of place. ‘Where did those shots come from?’
‘Somewhere up ahead. Couldn’t tell where.’
Payne rubbed some dirt on his face and clothes, trying to blend in. ‘What’s our move?’
‘Get Kaiser. Go home.’
‘Easier said than done.’
Jones nodded as he studied the terrain. Without communications, they had to worry about enemy bullets and friendly fire. Especially from the sniper positioned in the bird’s nest above the bunker. If he had a ‘loose trigger’ – i.e. he lacked shot discipline – there was a damn good chance he would shoot every unidentified target that moved. And since most snipers were proficient up to a mile away, Payne and Jones were well within his kill zone.
‘The sniper worries me,’ Jones admitted. ‘He doesn’t know we’re back in play.’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’
Jones peeked over the fallen tree and stared at the rocky crag above the cul-de-sac. It could only be accessed from above. ‘Either we get a radio, or we go for the nest.’
Payne considered their options. ‘What about both?’
‘Both?’
‘I go for Kaiser, you go for the nest.’
Jones glanced at him. ‘You want to split up?’
‘Don’t worry, we can still be friends.’
‘I meant, do you think that’s wise?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
Jones explained his position. ‘If we reach Kaiser, we can use his radio to talk to the sniper. Why risk a trip up the cliff?’
‘Why? Because I want you in the nest, not some asshole I don’t trust. I know what you can do with a rifle.’
‘Oh, why didn’t you say so? What did you have in mind?’
Payne grinned. ‘I’ll lure them out, and you pick them off.’
With a sniper watching over him and calling out potential threats, Kaiser was more confident than he should have been – especially in the rugged environment near the bunker. Telescopic sights were quite effective on long-distance shots, but they couldn’t see through trees. And since branches and leaves blocked out the sun, there were plenty of places for gunmen to hide.
‘How’s it look?’ Kaiser asked as he moved towards the front of the cul-de-sac and crouched behind a grey boulder that was covered with green moss. ‘Anything?’
‘Looks clear,’ the sniper answered.
Kaiser leaned against the rock in thought. One of his men was presumed dead; the others were in the woods searching for the enemy. Unfortunately, he didn’t know who the enemy was or what they were after, but he had to assume they were gunning for him. As far as he knew, his own men didn’t even know what they had discovered in the bunker, so the odds were pretty good the gunmen weren’t after the gold or the van Gogh crate. They were there for him.
Kaiser had heard the initial shots. They had been fired ten minutes earlier and had continued in intermittent bursts. First to the north, then to the east, and then to the west. According to his men, the enemy had scattered like roaches, which effectively forced Kaiser’s hand. If the enemy had gone one way or the other, Kaiser would have used the off-road utility vehicle to escape. But since he didn’t know where they were, Kaiser knew he couldn’t risk it.
He had to stay put until a route was clear.
Armed with a Remington 750, one of Krueger’s goons spotted Kaiser behind the boulder. Every once in a while, Kaiser would peek above the rock like a prairie dog looking for hawks, and when he did, the goon tried to line up the perfect shot before his target disappeared.
This went on for nearly three minutes.
Up, then down. Up, then down. Up, then down.
Each time, the goon was close to pulling the trigger when Kaiser lowered his head to safety. Eventually, the goon became so frustrated by his futility he vowed not to blink or breathe until Kaiser popped back up. And the instant he did, the goon was going to fire.
As Payne moved into position in the woods, Jones sprinted to the right of the cul-de-sac then veered back towards the cliff that overlooked the bunker. To reach the bird’s nest without ropes and harnesses, he had to climb the hill from the side while avoiding possible gun fire.
To Jones, it sounded like fun.
With gun in hand, he charged up the steep slope, careful not to trip on the roots that jutted from the trail like fossilized snakes. Arms pumping and knees churning, Jones slipped more than once when his footing gave way, but he never fell.
Each time he quickly regained his balance and continued his journey forward until he reached the top.
Breathing deeply, Jones eyed the treacherous path in front of him. Partially hidden by the foliage, it was more than eighty feet above the sharp rocks below. Roughly halfway across the cliff, which cut horizontally across the rock face, there was an access point for the bird’s nest. To reach it, he would have to lower himself onto a narrow ridge by holding on to the trunk of a tree. If his hand slipped or his foot missed, there was a very good chance he would fall to his death, but Jones ignored the possibility. Instead, he focused on what would happen if he didn’t take the risk: Payne would be exposed in the field as he tried to rescue Kaiser.
With that in mind, Jones continued his journey forward.
For the fourth time in the past five minutes, Kaiser peeked his head above the boulder.
This time he was greeted by a rifle blast.
When Krueger’s goon pulled the trigger on his Remington 750, the firing pin struck the primer in the .243 Winchester cartridge. The impact produced a tiny spark that ignited the gunpowder in the sealed chamber. A split second later, the gases from the burning powder forced the projectile down the 22-inch barrel and sent it screaming towards its intended target at a velocity of over 3,000 feet per second.
Frequently used for large game like wild hogs and black bears, the bullet struck the boulder a few inches from Kaiser’s head and ricocheted wildly. Unfortunately, the force of the impact was so great it shattered the top of the rock. The resulting shards erupted in Kaiser’s face, tearing through the soft flesh of his left cheek and causing significant damage to his eye.
Dazed from the blow and howling in pain, Kaiser made a foolish blunder. Instead of dropping to the ground where he would have been protected by the boulder and the sniper, he tried to retreat to the bunker, a distance of nearly thirty feet, with his hand against his face, blood poured through the gaps between his fingers as he sprinted towards the entrance.
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