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.
Stunned by Kaiser’s decision to run, the goon wasn’t prepared to hit a moving target. Barely taking the time to aim, he fired again. This time he missed by several inches.
It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
The sound of the second blast fuelled Kaiser’s panic. In the military, he had been a supply sergeant, not a member of the infantry, so he wasn’t used to firefights. Outside of a shooting range, he hadn’t fired a gun in nearly a decade, and the last time someone had taken a shot at him was in an urban environment, not in the middle of the woods. Back then, he had escaped in his Mercedes. Out here, he had to do it on foot.
Halfway to the bunker, Kaiser realized his mistake - and it had been a big one. With a gunman trying to kill him, he wouldn’t have time to use the ladder. Instead, he would be forced to leap through the narrow hole while running at top speed. Making matters worse, he wasn’t sure what was going to greet him at the bottom of the bunker. His men had been working on a pulley system when the first shots had been fired, so there was a very good chance he was going to land on some kind of equipment, whether that was a toolbox or part of the winch.
Then again, that sounded better than the alternative.
Because if he stopped to use the ladder, he was fucked.
31
When it came to maths, Kaiser was a genius. It was one of the reasons he was great at his job. Whereas m
ost of his rivals used calculators to determine their prices, Kaiser was able to do complex equations in his head. In a fraction of a second, he was able to crunch several numbers - the street value of his goods, the cost of shipping, the risk involved and about twenty other variables - and work out the true worth of a deal. His speed and accuracy were so renowned, his customers rarely haggled for a better price because they knew Kaiser couldn’t be fooled.
Unfortunately, the maths skills that had made Kaiser so much money over the years weren’t very effective when he was running for his life and screaming in pain. If they had been, he would have known that the diameter of the hole was far too narrow to leap through while sprinting at top speed. And yet when Kaiser left his feet, he thought his body would slip cleanly through the gap, and he would land safely inside the bunker.
But he was wrong. And it wasn’t even close.
Making matters worse, the goon pulled his trigger about the same time Kaiser went airborne. This led to a series of traumatic events that ravaged Kaiser’s body in several different ways. In a span of about two seconds, the gunman’s bullet hit Kaiser in the centre of his back, just before he slammed stomach-first into the far side of the hole. From the force of the impact, his torso lurched forward and he smashed his already damaged face into the hard ground, knocking out some teeth in the process.
Unconscious from the blow, Kaiser slumped backwards through the hole and crashed awkwardly onto the equipment that littered the bunker’s floor. When he landed, his left leg was pinned underneath him at a severe angle, so much so that he ruptured his patellar tendon and tore every major ligament in his left knee with a sickening snap.
The sound was so loud it echoed through the chamber.
Although the goon couldn’t see the fall or hear the snap from his position in the trees, he knew Kaiser had been seriously injured during the chain of events. No one - not even a soldier half of Kaiser’s age - could have survived everything that he had gone through without suffering several devastating injuries. In fact, the goon was so confident that Kaiser was unconscious and defenceless at the bottom of the hole that he rushed forward to finish the job.
And as he did, the goon smiled in triumph.
Payne heard the rifle blasts and zeroed in on the sound. As far as he could tell, the weapon had been fired somewhere near the bunker.
Wasting no time, Payne hustled through the foliage, trying to make as little noise as possible. Despite his size, Payne was able to move with great stealth, an ability often compared to the Apache warriors of the Old West, who were able to stalk their enemies without being heard. Genetically speaking, Payne knew his relatives had come from Central Europe, not the American south-west, yet he took it as a great compliment since the Apache were considered one of the fiercest tribes in Native American history.
When he reached the edge of the clearing near the cul-de-sac, Payne spotted a man wearing green and brown camouflage. He was holding a rifle in his hand and moving slowly towards the entrance to the bunker. From his current position, Payne couldn’t see the man’s face. Then again, even if he could, he realized he didn’t know what most of Kaiser’s men looked like. Sure, he had spotted them in the woods when he had first arrived at the site, but that had been at long distance. Truth be told, he couldn’t have identified any of them in a police line-up.
Obviously, that was a major problem when looking for targets.
Not wanting to kill a friendly, Payne decided to creep closer.
The goon stopped a few feet short of the hole and carefully peeked over the edge. Until that moment, he didn’t know what he would see. Perhaps a crevasse or a natural spring. Maybe even a grave. He certainly hadn’t been expecting a bunker. The instant he saw the concrete floor, he knew he had made an important discovery, something he had to report at once.
From his jacket pocket, the goon pulled a two-way radio and called Krueger, who was still making his way up the slope.
‘Come in,’ the goon whispered in German.
A few seconds passed before Krueger replied. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I found something big.’
‘What is it?’
‘Some kind of building.’
Krueger paused. ‘Did you say building?’
The goon nodded. ‘It’s underground, like a cave or something.’
‘You mean a bunker?’
‘Yeah! A bunker. A very old bunker.’
‘How old?’ Krueger demanded.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t gone in yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s a bunker. I’m not going down there without backup. I shot some guy and he fell inside. I have no idea if he’s dead or alive.’
‘Give me the coordinates. I’ll be there soon.’
Payne couldn’t speak German, so he had no idea what had been discussed during the brief radio conversation. However, based on the goon’s reaction when he peered into the bunker, Payne could tell that he hadn’t been there before and wasn’t one of Kaiser’s men.
That meant he needed to die.
From his current distance, Payne figured he had a 99 per cent chance of a killshot with his Sig Sauer. The problem was the noise it would make. Sometimes noise was a good thing. It could lure the enemy to a particular spot where they could be eliminated by an explosive or a well-placed sniper. Originally, that had been the plan he had discussed with Jones. Lure the enemy to the cul-de-sac, and then mow them down.
Unfortunately, a major part of the equation was missing. He needed Kaiser’s radio to coordinate the attack.
Without it, Payne couldn’t risk attracting any attention to the area - especially one where he would be pinned against a cliff with no way to escape. Furthermore, if Kaiser was hiding in the nearby woods, there was a decent chance the advancing troops might spot him during their charge towards the bunker, and if that happened, Payne probably couldn’t save him.
For the time being, the noise wasn’t worth the risk.
Thankfully, Payne knew many ways to kill quietly.
The goon leaned forward, hoping to see the man he had shot in the back, wondering if he was dead or if he would require another blast from the Remington. Just to be safe, he raised the tip of his rifle and pointed it in the hole, looking forward to pulling his trigger one more time.
A few seconds later, the goon was a goner.
Moving with incredible stealth, Payne sprinted across the clearing and grabbed the goon by the neck before he knew someone was behind him. Without hesitation or remorse, Payne twisted the goon’s head so hard and at such an awkward angle that the vertebrae in his neck popped like corn in a microwave. Instantly, he became dead weight in Payne’s arms.
But just to be sure, Payne twisted his head the other way - even harder.
Not wanting to leave the body in plain sight, Payne inched forward and was ready to dump it down the hole when he noticed a battered figure on the concrete floor beneath him. At first glance, he couldn’t tell who was unconscious in the shadows of the bunker, but once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Payne gasped in horror.
The bloodied man was Kaiser.
32
After using a tree to lower himself to the access trail, Jones glanced into the cul-de-sac below and spotted a hulking shadow gliding across the clearing towards an unsuspecting target. Jones had been on enough missions with Payne to recognize his stride and his tactics, and knew the man near the hole would soon be dead.
A broken neck later, Jones was right.
Strangely, during the ten seconds of action, the sniper didn’t take a shot even though he had more than enough time to shoot the man by the bunker. In Jones’s mind, that meant one of three things: Kaiser’s sniper was working with the enemy, he had been killed and replaced, or he was a reluctant shooter. Jones hoped for number three, but prepared for one and two by raising his weapon and picking up his pace along the narrow path.
The bird’s nest was up ahead, and Jones could see the sniper. He was lying on h
is stomach, perfectly still, just as a sniper should be. Leaves and branches provided adequate cover, especially for an unwary intruder, but to an experienced soldier like Jones, who used to hunt snipers for a living, the shooter stood out like a neon sign.
Looking through his scope, the sniper eyed his target in the crosshairs. Someone as big as Payne would be tough to miss with a DSR-1, a bolt-action sniper rifle that was used by the GSG 9, the elite counter-terrorism unit of the German Federal Police. Loaded with a five-round magazine of .308 Winchester cartridges, the expected accuracy of the DSR-1 was within .20 inches from a distance of a hundred yards.
‘Don’t even think about,’ Jones growled as he aimed at the sniper, who was ten feet away. ‘Let go of your rifle and put your hands behind your head.’
Not wanting to die, the sniper cursed to himself and did as he was told. The instant he released the DSR-1, which was supported by a bipod for maximum stability, the barrel tilted skyward. For the time being, it was no longer a threat to Payne or anyone else.
‘Now slowly turn on your side and look at me.’
Once again, the sniper followed orders. Only this time, his reaction was much different. As soon as he saw Jones, recognition flashed across his face, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Thank God!’
Jones stared at him. ‘For what?’
‘For you,’ he said in perfect English. ‘You’re one of Kaiser’s friends.’
‘You know me?’
The sniper nodded. ‘You flew in yesterday. You and the big guy.’
‘What big guy?’ Jones asked him, still trying to decide with whom the sniper was working.
He tilted his head to the right. ‘The guy down there.’
The Secret Crown (2010) Page 15