Payne took a deep breath, then unhooked the black strap on the G36, which was slung over the dead man’s shoulder. Weighing a little less than eight pounds, the Heckler amp; Koch assault rifle utilized NATO-standard 5.56mm cartridges and thirty-round magazines. To his delight, Payne found three extra thirty-round clips in Collins’s pocket. He quickly stashed them in his cargo pants and prepared to make his move. Before he did, he eyed the fire selector just above the rifle’s trigger. Made for the German military, it was labelled with three letters: S, E and F.
‘S’ stood for Sicherheit or security.
‘E’ stood for Einzelfeuer or single fire.
‘F’ stood for Feuerstoss or continuous fire.
Payne grinned and cranked the selector to ‘F’. With his experience and 120 rounds to work with, he knew the ‘F’ represented something more vulgar than automatic fire.
With this weapon in his hands, the enemy was fucked.
40
Payne knew enough about the Partnach Gorge to view it as a promising escape route. The trail was downhill, narrow and approximately half a mile long. Protected by limestone cliffs and a raging river, he couldn’t be outflanked or outmanoeuvred. And if the goons tried to set up a barricade, Payne and Richter had enough firepower to blast their way through it.
In Payne’s mind, the only drawback was the large number of hikers they were bound to encounter in the gorge. Families on vacation, tourists who didn’t speak English, maybe even children on a field trip. Payne had a great deal of experience with urban warfare and trusted his shot selection. He knew the odds of him hitting an innocent bystander were pretty damn slim; he was that accurate when it came to shooting. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be the only one firing. If the ambush at the intersection was any indication, the enemy didn’t give a damn about collateral damage. Either that, or they had something against the French.
Payne studied the intersection, then turned his attention towards Richter. He was crouched behind the same large boulder as before, his rifle in his hands, the same confused look on his face. Thus far, he had proven himself to be an asset. He was strong, courageous and just dumb enough not to question orders. Over the years, Payne had worked with a lot of men like Richter – the self-described ‘grunts’ (General, Replaceable, UNTrained) who filled the infantry – and he knew they were the backbone of the military. So much so, that he went out of his way to show them respect, whether that was buying them beer or buying them more beer.
‘You ever been to Oktoberfest?’ Payne asked Richter.
‘No, sir,’ he whispered back.
‘Well, if we make it through this, you’re going next week. My treat.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, sir. I drink beer for breakfast.’
Payne wasn’t surprised. ‘What about the gorge? Ever been through the gorge?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Me, neither. But that’s where we’re headed. It’s how we’re getting to town.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Payne stared at the intersection. He knew there was a gunman (Krueger) positioned near the entrance to the gorge. He was the assassin who had shot Collins twice. First in the head, then in the chest. The other two goons were on the opposite side of the trail, nestled in a thicket of trees. So far they had been less than accurate with their shooting, despite being armed with two Remington 750s and a G36. To reach the path to the gorge, Payne and Richter would have to spray shots in both directions to minimize return fire while they made their escape. Since Payne was most concerned with the assassin they were running towards, he chose that target for himself. He assigned the other gunmen to Richter, explaining only a few shots would be necessary to buy them some time. After that, the goal was to enter the gorge as quickly as possible.
Richter nodded in understanding and prepared to follow.
Payne counted down from three, and both of them burst from their hiding spots when he reached zero. For the next several seconds, shots flew in every direction. Payne shooting at Krueger, and Krueger shooting wildly while ducking for cover; Richter and the goons exchanging multiple shots, yet nothing getting hit except a few trees and one of the wooden signs at the intersection. By the time Payne and Richter reached the path that led to the gorge, there was a better chance they were going to get hit with flying splinters than by a bullet. Which was what Payne had been hoping for. He hadn’t been expecting to take out any targets with suppression fire – although that would have been a nice bonus. He was merely trying to get into the gorge unscathed. Once inside, his objective would change. He would become a hunter. Until then, his main goal was survival.
As they ran down the winding path towards the entrance, Payne spun and unleashed a quick burst of automatic fire, hoping to slow down the goons a little while longer. Blessed with speed and strength, Payne was a rarity among men, an athlete who ran with grace and agility in spite of his size. In a downhill sprint, he knew the odds were pretty good that no one was going to catch him on rough terrain, especially if they were burdened with equipment.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about Richter, whose stride was hindered by his lack of coordination. If Payne was a thoroughbred, Richter was a plough horse. He was strong and dependable, yet not blessed with speed. Instead of running, Richter lumbered – his feet hitting the ground like heavy hooves, the sound echoing in the canyon. Payne realized that Richter needed as large a head start as possible, so he stopped on the path and fired a few more shots up the hill to buy him time. Then he turned and ran towards the gorge.
The entrance was marked by a wooden hut that had been there for years. Inside, an elderly man sat on a tiny stool, waiting to charge an admission fee. Hard of hearing and barely able to see, he didn’t notice Richter as he rumbled past and ducked into the first tunnel. Nor did he hear the automatic fire from Payne’s rifle or see him sprinting past a few seconds later. In fact, the first time he snapped out of his daze was when a screaming tourist jumped through the hut’s window and hid behind the counter. More confused than scared, the old man looked down at the woman, who was cowering on the floor, and said, ‘That will be two euros.’
Krueger and his goons ran past next. Although they were a few seconds behind, they were quite familiar with the gorge and knew there was plenty of time to catch up. The stone path curved constantly, weaving in and out of dark tunnels that had been carved into the limestone walls. The Partnach River, which flowed so close to the trail that hikers could touch the rapids, and the sheer height of the cliffs would prevent Kaiser’s men from straying. Like everybody else, they’d be forced to stay on the narrow path, a path that tended to clog up at certain junctures. All Krueger had to do was stay close and wait for his opportunity to strike.
Huber jogged beside the trailer as Jones navigated the ATV through the twists and turns that led to the cableway. Once the path straightened out and started to climb the gentle slope of Mount Eckbauer, Huber jumped on back and positioned himself on one of the crates. From there, he watched the woods behind them with his rifle in his hands.
Built in 1956, the Eckbauerbahn stretched 7,020 feet and handled as many as 300 people per hour in each direction. Travelling along an inch-thick steel cable that was supported by twenty-seven towers, the open-air gondolas offered a great view of the valley without the hike. During the descent, a scenic trip that took approximately fourteen minutes, passengers dropped 1,640 feet from the top of the summit to the station below, zipping along at a speed of 8.3 feet per second.
‘We’re almost there,’ Jones called over his shoulder. ‘I’ll pull in right next to the station. When we stop, I’ll need you to talk to the operator.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Huber replied.
The closer they got, the more people they passed along the way. Most of the hikers stopped and stared at the ATV, trying to figure out if these men were responsible for the gunshots they had heard, and whether or not they were dangerous. But Jones managed to ignore them. Used to far worse scrutiny when he had been deployed
overseas – particularly in the turbulent streets of Baghdad – Jones kept driving without so much as a sideways glance. That didn’t mean he didn’t see the hikers, because he saw everything around him. It simply meant he didn’t care. As long as they didn’t pull out a camera and take his picture, they could stare all day.
The Eckbauerbahn station was housed in a white two-storey building that resembled a rural church. Nestled beside several pine trees that towered above it, the simple structure was topped with a steep green roof matching the colour of the surrounding grass. Bisecting the lawn was a curved path that curled towards the left side of the building. Jones followed it and parked the trailer next to a short flight of steps that led into the lobby.
Huber hustled inside and came out four minutes later. When he returned, he wasn’t alone. Following him was a large pack of Austrian bodybuilders, who had just ridden the cableway up from Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Dressed in sleeveless shirts and tight shorts, they had overheard Huber’s description of the medical emergency and had offered to help.
Despite the thousands of Arnold Schwarzenegger jokes that floated through Jones’s mind, he kept his tongue in check and politely accepted their offer. With arms the size of legs, the steroid club of Austria carried Kaiser in first, then came out for the cargo. The brute strength these men possessed was nothing short of amazing. Even the crate filled with gold was handled by a single guy, who tossed it around like he had picked up a lunchbox.
Meanwhile, Huber climbed in the first gondola and started his journey down the mountain. He needed to reach the bottom before anyone else, so he could talk to the operator in the valley. After that, Kaiser was strapped into gondola number two and was accompanied by the doctor. The next four gondolas were filled with cargo, one crate in each, before Jones hopped in lucky number seven and was launched out of the station. Unless something strange happened, he knew they would complete their journey in fourteen minutes, which would give them plenty of time to reach the chopper before Payne exited the gorge.
If he exited the gorge.
41
Payne had been in more firefights than Richter, Krueger and the goons combined, but there were certain things that experience couldn’t overcome, such as the inner workings of the human eye. After spending the past several minutes running and shooting in the bright sun, Payne found himself temporarily blind when he sprinted past the iron gate and into the first tunnel.
Carved into the limestone cliff, the narrow corridor lacked artificial lights of any kind. Other than a few beams of sunlight that leaked through a small gap cut into the rock, the passageway was completely dark. Payne skidded to a halt about ten feet inside, just before he slammed into a young couple who were walking hand-in-hand towards the exit. Unwilling to let go of each other’s grasp, they had to turn their bodies sideways and lean against the handrail that had been installed in the jagged wall; otherwise, Payne wouldn’t have had enough room to pass. The tunnel was that narrow.
Forced to temporarily rely on his other senses, Payne focused on the sounds that echoed in the darkness: the trickling of water; the giggling of children; the patter of footsteps. In a matter of seconds, he knew the tranquillity of the gorge would be replaced by the cacophony of war – the screaming, the crying, the gun fire – and it would be up to him to restore calm. Thankfully, he had the expertise to finish the job quickly.
Just before he reached the gap in the rock, the tunnel turned to the right and stretched for more than a hundred feet through the limestone mountain. Along the way, large arches had been cut into the left-hand wall offering intimate views of the Partnach River as it raged through the gorge. People of all ages crowded against the waist-high steel fence, which prevented them from falling into the water even as it splashed their feet and filled their ears with thunder.
With enough light to see, Payne sprinted across the uneven stone floor and caught a glimpse of Richter, who was nearly fifty feet ahead. For the time being, the presence of two large men with assault rifles running through the shadows hadn’t made a large impression on the tourists, who were too enamoured with the rapids to care about anything else. But Payne knew everything would change when a weapon was fired. Chaos would reign in the blink of an eye.
Hoping to keep the peace for as long as possible, Payne studied the terrain without slowing down. If he had been given advanced surveillance of the tunnel, he would have positioned himself near the first turn and waited for his enemy to be blinded by a lack of light. As soon as they stopped in the darkness, he would have mowed them down with automatic fire, ending the drama in less than five seconds. Unfortunately, it was too late to go back now, not with his opponents so close behind. If they happened to beat Payne to that first turn, he would be the one stranded in the middle of a tunnel, not them. And all the tourists who were watching the rapids would get caught up in the crossfire.
To Payne, going back was too big of a risk.
Especially since he had other options.
For as long as Payne could remember, he preferred being the chaser instead of the chased. Obviously, there were advantages to being in front during a foot pursuit, and if he had been stuck in the lead position, he would have made the most of it. But based on experience, he knew he was much more effective when attacking from behind. Not only did it match his aggressive personality, but it allowed him to use his stealth, which was an important part of his skill set. With that in mind, he looked for ways to let the enemy pass him in the gorge.
As Payne approached the last archway on the left, he noticed an absence of tourists near the steel fence. A rock formation, which jutted out from the side of the mountain and partially blocked the view of the water below, gave him the opportunity he was looking for. Wasting no time, Payne hopped over the fence and slid back along the tiny ridge that lined the outside of the wall until he couldn’t be seen from the corridor. After that, all he had to do was wait.
First, he heard Krueger rumble past the archway without slowing down. Then the lead goon did the same, his footsteps echoing as he ran. Realizing there was only one goon left, Payne moved into position to strike. As soon as the straggler passed, Payne sprang from his hiding place and landed on the goon’s back like a cheetah bringing down a gazelle. In the tunnel, the only noises made – the sound of air being forced from the goon’s lungs and the crack of his neck as Payne twisted it viciously to the side – were drowned out by the roaring water.
Just like that, the goon was dead.
Worried about detection, Payne glanced in both directions and searched for any signs of trouble. To the north, Krueger and the other goon were still running at top speed. To the south, tourists continued to gawk at the gorge, completely unaware that death had just visited the shadows of the tunnel. Hoping to prevent their panic, Payne lifted the body and carried it over to the archway where he had launched his attack. He was thirty feet downstream from the closest hikers, who would find the corpse if he left it in the tunnel. If he dumped it, the authorities might not find it for days. To Payne, it wasn’t a tough decision. With a mighty heave, he launched the body over the fence and watched it get sucked under the rapids.
After that, Payne turned and started chasing his next victim.
Over the next hundred feet, the corridor system changed dramatically. Instead of dark tunnels with periodic archways that offered views of the river, the entire left-hand wall had been carved away, leaving behind an open trail with a limestone roof hanging overhead. Sunlight from above reflected off the water below, filling the trail with natural light. Every nook and cranny seemed to glow, as if the rocks themselves were luminescent.
To keep tourists from falling into the water, two steel cables were threaded through sturdy posts that had been anchored into the limestone. The cables ran along the river’s edge, curling gradually with the bend in the path as the water weaved its way towards the valley. Because of his size, Payne had to slow down when the trail narrowed or the roof dipped. Otherwise, he would have split his skull open on the
jagged rocks above.
Despite this hindrance, Payne quickly made up ground.
Darting and ducking, bobbing and weaving, Payne closed the gap to less than twenty feet, yet the goon didn’t know he was behind him. Earlier, tourists had literally been in the dark when it came to the chase, but thanks to an abundance of light along the path, tourists now did everything possible to get out of their way – including straddling the steel cables while holding on for their lives. A Spaniard misjudged his leap as Krueger rushed towards him, and he fell waist-deep into the river. During a terrifying eight seconds, both his flip-flops were ripped off his feet by the surging water, which was nature’s way of saying people shouldn’t wear flip-flops during a hike. Thankfully, his life was spared by Payne, who grabbed the man’s arms and yanked him out of the water a moment before he was swept down river.
‘Gracias,’ the Spaniard said, trembling.
Payne patted him on the back. ‘De nada.’
Then he started running again.
Realizing it was just a matter of time before a tourist was hurt or killed, Payne decided to increase his aggression. Instead of chasing the goon down, Payne would lure him to a section of the trail that could be exploited. If done correctly, Payne knew he could take him out with a single shot without putting anyone else at risk.
Actually, make that two shots.
The first would get him to stop. The second would end his life.
42
Heidi smiled when she thought about her initial conversation with Payne. He was charming, funny and flirtatious – not to mention ruggedly handsome. If they had met in a coffee shop or in a bookstore, she would have been willing to chat with him all day. And when they chatted, she would have been open and honest about her life because that’s the kind of woman she was. On the other hand, if she had met him at a poker table, she would have lied her ass off from the moment they met because that was how the game was played. Afterwards, she would have returned to her truthful ways, but during the give and take of competition, she would have used every trick in the book to ensure her success.
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