The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3)

by Chris Kuzneski

‘Chief,’ McNutt shouted from the roof of the vehicle. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but there’s a convoy of Vikings coming this way.’

  ‘What?’ Cobb blurted.

  Even Ali seemed surprised. ‘Vikings? What are Vikings?’

  ‘Three BvS 10s – tracked troop transports. Bastards can go over anything and don’t have to stop a tread to turn. Looks like a fifty-cal mounted on the lead Viking, but hard to tell at this distance.’ McNutt started to climb down the rear ladder. ‘We’ve been spotted.’

  Cobb swore under his breath as he tossed his gear onto the back seat. Then he ran to help Ali, who had suddenly found the motivation to put the spare tire on the Land Cruiser.

  None of this made any sense to them.

  They were parked in the middle of the desert.

  With nothing but sand and rock for miles.

  Why in the world were they being attacked?

  14

  Cobb and Ali worked frantically to tighten the new wheel on the Land Cruiser while McNutt readied his weapon. The Barrett M82 semi-automatic rifle had been fitted with a Leopold Mark 4 scope – a combination that could do serious damage at close range. The gun was still effective at nearly two thousand yards, but the convoy from the mine was still fifteen miles away.

  At the moment, distance wasn’t McNutt’s main concern.

  Speed was.

  The Land Cruiser had been great on the paved road, but the asphalt was far behind them. The bouncing and jostling over uneven sand and stone would make for a slow retreat. The trip back toward civilization would take them an hour; maybe more.

  ‘What are our chances?’ Cobb asked the sniper.

  McNutt loaded the weapon as he considered their situation. ‘If we make the road, they have no chance of catching us. But we haven’t started moving yet, and they’re already on the way. There’s no point in me shooting until they’re within a mile or two of our position, but by the time they’re within range we won’t be able to outrun them.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘Tell Ali to hurry the fuck up.’

  From that point on, Cobb took over the operation himself. Once the last lug nut was fastened on the new wheel, he lowered the vehicle off the jack. The instant the tire touched the ground, McNutt climbed the ladder again. ‘I’ll ride topside. Try to find higher ground when you can. If I slap the roof two times, stop immediately.’

  Ali tossed the tools into the back of the Toyota and climbed inside. This time there was no mention of his need to pray. The guide sensed the danger they were in.

  Cobb climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

  Then he drove the truck as fast as the terrain would allow.

  They had gone no more than two miles and were just cresting a rise when the roof boomed twice from McNutt’s loud slaps. Cobb stomped on the brakes and threw the gear into park before he ran to the back of the SUV and leaped to the third rung on the ladder.

  McNutt was already lying prone and lining up his rifle.

  Cobb turned and saw the dust plume from the vehicles in pursuit, but they were so far away that he could barely see them. ‘Why did we stop?’

  ‘We aren’t going to make it,’ McNutt said coolly.

  Cobb cursed under his breath. ‘Any good news?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m on your team.’

  To calculate his shot, McNutt needed to consider many things: the distance to his targets, their speed, and the difference in their altitudes. He instinctively processed variables such as the dry weather, the direction and velocity of the wind, and even the gravitational pull of the earth. Based on his experience, he knew the transports were almost in range, but not quite.

  Unfortunately, none of that really mattered.

  McNutt didn’t have the artillery to finish the job.

  The Vikings were so heavily armored that even if McNutt managed to find his mark, the chance of a round from the Barrett penetrating the thick metal plates was minimal. To kill the men inside he would need something with a little more kick, like … a rocket launcher.

  Regrettably, he kept those under his bed in Florida.

  McNutt adjusted his scope one click at a time before speaking again. ‘They’re not military. Color schemes on the vehicles are all wrong for PLA. I’m guessing private contractors who play by their own rules. I bet it’s like the Wild West out here.’

  Cobb squinted his eyes, but he saw nothing but specks at the bottom of the billowing plume of dust rising into the sky. ‘What else?’

  ‘They have more than Vikings. That’s why I stopped you. They have one … no, make that two Light Strike Vehicles.’

  Cobb was familiar with the LSVs. They were dune-buggy-type vehicles that could be outfitted with anything from M60 machine guns to anti-tank missiles. Agile and light, they were the perfect fast-attack vehicles for the local terrain.

  ‘They’re hanging back at the end of the convoy,’ McNutt said, his eye still in the scope. ‘Trying to stay hidden until the last minute. We’ll never outrun those things, and we won’t find a better rise. I’ll take the LSVs when they make their move. Then we’ll haul ass away from the bigger Vikings.’

  ‘Okay. What do you need from me?’

  ‘Just lie down and keep me company.’

  Cobb didn’t move.

  ‘Your weight, chief. It balances out the truck, gives me a level position.’

  ‘Right,’ Cobb replied as he stretched out next to the sniper.

  McNutt chuckled. ‘Relax, chief. You’re not exactly my type.’

  ‘Yeah, like you have a type.’

  ‘Fair point.’

  As McNutt regained his focus, Cobb started thinking about the men approaching them and wondered if there was any way that they might be aware of his mission, but he rejected that idea quickly. No one knew he and McNutt were here or what they were doing. Only members of his team knew about this rekky – and Garcia had vetted Maggie before they left.

  No, these men are only upset that we’re trespassing near the mine.

  Still, that’s a lot of hardware just to scare someone off.

  Cobb turned his attention back to the silent sniper. The jokes had stopped, and McNutt had steadied himself in anticipation.

  ‘Still with us?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ was his only response. A full minute later, McNutt started mumbling to himself. ‘Still pretty far off. But we have height, and the wind is minimal … It’s dry … Air density … forty-eight angular units. Make that forty-nine. Harrison was almost twenty-five hundred meters out. Two kills from there. That’s badass. This’ll be close.’

  Just then Cobb heard a distant boom. He was about to ask McNutt about it, but the sniper mumbled an answer before he could.

  ‘Yeah, they started shooting already. Morons. Still two miles out. That fifty-cal can’t reach us for another few minutes.’

  Then he lapsed into silence again.

  ‘Chief,’ McNutt suddenly whispered, ‘I’m going to shoot now, and it’s going to be loud. You might want to cover your ears.’

  Cobb covered his ears with the palms of his hands.

  A moment later, McNutt pulled the trigger.

  The Barrett boomed, echoing across the sandy expanse.

  Cobb grabbed McNutt’s telescope and checked the lead vehicle for damage, but he couldn’t see anything. He guessed the trucks were still too far out of range.

  McNutt nudged the barrel of the rifle left – away from the target, and up a few inches.

  Cobb watched, fascinated. He had the utmost respect for McNutt’s skills. The trucks were still roughly two miles away, and the sniper was raising the barrel of his rifle like an English longbowman, aiming high and hoping for the arc of an arrow to impale his opponent.

  The weapon boomed again, startling Cobb.

  Given the distance, he really hadn’t thought McNutt would take that shot.

  Cobb studied the lead Viking through the telescope. A second later, it ground to a halt.
He didn’t see any damage, and he knew the armored plating would hold up against a single .50 BMG round at this distance. He was no sniper, but he knew the round would have lost most of its velocity by the time it reached the truck – if it had reached that far at all.

  Still, the caravan had stopped.

  He scanned the truck and then lowered his gaze down to the vehicle’s base. The tread had split, and the track had slid right off its wheels.

  Holy shit, Cobb thought. That’s incredible.

  Just then the Barrett boomed again.

  The second Viking had been forced to stop because of its proximity to the first in the convoy. Now its tread was shattered, too; just like that of the lead transport.

  Cobb was about to compliment the Marine when something blurred past his field of vision through the telescope. He pulled his face back and saw both LSVs tearing around the sand in front of the disabled Vikings.

  McNutt didn’t flinch at the new development.

  The Barrett cracked again, and the lead LSV’s front left tire exploded. The wheel smashed into a rocky dip, launching the rear of the vehicle skyward. The car flipped, bouncing end over end, disintegrating from the force of repeated impacts with the ground. The devastating somersault kicked up a plume of dust, momentarily hiding the other LSV.

  McNutt waited patiently for his target to reappear.

  When it did, he put an end to the pursuit.

  Cobb watched through the telescope as McNutt pulled the trigger. An instant later, blood poured from the driver’s chest as if someone had opened the tap of a faucet. He slumped forward in his restraint harness, the life quickly draining out of him.

  McNutt smiled from nearly two miles away.

  After the first treasure mission in Romania, Cobb had looked up the longest confirmed sniper kills. He knew an Australian had an unconfirmed kill at around 2,500 meters. The shot he had just witnessed was nearly two hundred meters longer. Even more remarkable, McNutt had hit a target that was moving at high speed in a jouncing vehicle.

  Cobb patted him on the back. ‘I might have to call Guinness.’

  McNutt laughed. ‘I might have to drink one.’

  15

  Chen Jie spat on the arid ground and cursed the foreigners who had so effortlessly halted his attack. He cursed his luck further since he had been the one to spot the intruders in the first place. He had been on his security rounds on the roof of the mine’s main building and had seen them and their four-wheel-drive vehicle in a secluded area of the desert.

  He knew what was out there.

  The Loulan ruins and nothing else.

  His bosses were very protective of Chinese culture and history, which is why he went after the foreigners with everything at his disposal. Unfortunately, his effort had failed miserably. Now he had no choice but to report this incident to his superiors in Hong Kong.

  But first he needed to assess the damage.

  Two of his three tracked Vikings had been disabled by their sniper. Both of his light strike vehicles had been halted as well. One was so badly demolished in a rolling, flipping crash that he doubted it would be good for anything but scrap – and the driver had been in more pieces than the vehicle. As it was, his guards still hadn’t found the man’s head.

  Chen glanced down at the second LSV. It was undamaged and had rolled to a distant stop after the driver, Chen’s best friend, Zhang Min, had taken a round from the deadly sniper. Zhang’s body was slumped forward in the restraining harness of the vehicle, as if he were taking a nap. But the dark blood that covered the lower half of his body disproved that notion.

  Chen considered pulling the body upright, so he could see his friend’s face one last time, but he decided against it. He would have to live with the loss regardless, but for the time being he could lie to himself and pretend that the death had been quick and painless. If he raised Zhang’s head, he might see a grimace of eternal pain, and that would be too much to bear.

  He stepped back and shook his head.

  I’ll live with the lie. And I will avenge his death.

  ‘Goodbye, my brother. I will find them. I give you my solemn vow.’

  Chen walked away from the vehicle and back to the still-functioning Viking. The treaded vehicle was packed with those men who had left the immobile transports behind. They would all need a ride back to the mine, and it would be a grim affair for those riding inside. The transport had no air conditioning. While it was chilly outdoors at this time of year, the temperature would soar with so many sweaty bodies crammed inside.

  Chen would ride on the roof next to the gunner’s turret instead.

  He climbed the metal grill that covered the outside of the armored vehicle and stepped onto the flat roof. The gunner stared at him, waiting for further instructions.

  ‘Get us back, and then come out for the wreckage and the dead,’ Chen said.

  The gunner, a young man of twenty-two, turned and relayed the command into the microphone attached to his military-grade helmet. He wasn’t a soldier, though. Owned by the Righteous and Harmonious Fists, the Jiu Quan Mining Company had hired the private security guards from the local population and had trained the men themselves.

  It was much cheaper than paying for mercenaries.

  And they were much more loyal to the cause.

  The orders transmitted, the Viking’s diesel engine growled to life, making the metal roof vibrate with restrained horsepower. With a jolt the vehicle lurched forward in a wide-arcing turn back toward the mine. One of Chen’s men followed them in the still-functional LSV, Zhang’s body carefully relocated to the passenger seat.

  The entire mission was a failure, and Chen knew Lim would ask him why.

  His life would depend on his answer.

  It was true that the gunner on the lead Viking had opened fire ridiculously early, and he had berated the man for that. His machine gun wouldn’t have been in range for a few more minutes. But beyond that point, did his men do anything wrong?

  Chen pondered the question for a few minutes but came to the same conclusion each time: there was nothing they should have done differently. They hadn’t known the foreigners would be armed, and there was no way they could have guessed the enemy sniper could shoot targets with deadly accuracy from nearly two miles away. Chen wondered if he was using a next-generation sniper rifle. Though he was far from an expert, he had never heard of such range before.

  Hopefully Lim hadn’t, either.

  Chen pulled out his black satellite phone and dialed Hong Kong.

  Lim picked up on the second ring. ‘Chen, it has been a long time. Something interesting to report, or did you merely miss my voice?’

  Chen breathed a sigh of relief. At least his boss was in a good mood.

  Chen quickly reported the events of the last half-hour, stressing the stunning abilities of the foreign sniper. He finished by requesting permission to pursue the intruders out on the open road, hoping that would restore Lim’s faith in him.

  ‘Are you sure about the distance?’ Lim asked.

  ‘At least one-point-five miles. Probably less than two, but not by much.’

  ‘You know that Brother Feng doesn’t like foreigners. He especially frowns on foreigners who try to loot our great nation. But the sniper you described must be military, which is far worse. Yes, do chase them down. And before they die, find out what they were looking for.’

  Chen smiled at the opportunity to make up for his earlier failure and the chance to claim vengeance for his fallen friend.

  ‘And Chen,’ Lim said, before ending the call, ‘get some video of them before the shooting starts. Just in case they get the best of you again.’

  16

  Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

  John Sylvester was a talented detective; so talented, in fact, that he had been on Seymour Duggan’s payroll for nearly three years, which was pretty much the biggest compliment that someone in his profession could get. Based in Orlando, a tourist city in the middle of Florida, Sylvester’s area
covered the entire length of the Sunshine State.

  Shortly after being hired by Cobb in Wales, Duggan had arranged for Sylvester to track Jean-Marc Papineau upon his arrival at his coastal compound in Florida. The property itself was practically untouchable – the private drive from the gate to the house was covered by surveillance and protected by an electric fence – so Sylvester had focused his efforts elsewhere.

  He had placed cameras in the trees along the main road, allowing him to monitor the turnoff that led through the swampy marsh to the mansion. He had rented a fishing boat to take him a mile down shore from the compound’s small stretch of beach, and he had planted a camera there too. A few of the more pliable locals had informed him that the yacht parked on Papineau’s pier was mostly for show; it had barely left its slip in more than a year. That meant that if his target needed to travel somewhere, he would most likely fly out of the Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International Airport, which was only a few miles away.

  Knowing this, Sylvester set up shop in a nearby diner.

  He watched his camera feeds from there.

  The diner was a little on the grubby side for Sylvester’s taste, but he had seen worse. Despite the grime and the terrible coffee, the diner was perfect for his needs: the food was tasty, the Wi-Fi was free, and the location was perfect. Anyone driving from the compound toward the airport would need to use the road out front, and he would see them coming from far away. This would give him enough time to hop in his sedan and pull out ahead of them. People always suspected a tail when a car pulled out behind them, but they would hardly think twice about a car that was on the road up ahead – even if it ended up tailing them for miles.

  Sylvester knew this from experience.

  He had just finished soaking up his last bit of grits with a homemade biscuit when he noticed movement on his beloved laptop. A nondescript, white Hyundai hatchback had turned off the dirt road and was headed his way.

  ‘Is that you, Frenchie? What, no limo today?’

  He stared at his camera feeds until he was positive it was Papineau. ‘A Korean rental? How disappointing! You could have done so much better and still remained incognito.’