The Savannah Project (Jake Pendleton series)

by Chuck Barrett

  Farid Nasiri walked up and stood next to O’Rourke. O’Rourke waved his gun and said, “But you’re right about one thing. This is only about money now. And he has a lot of it—which is going to be mine soon.”

  Jake felt the rage building inside him. “You better be looking over your shoulder. You shot Beth. I left her in Savannah, struggling for her life.”

  “An unfortunate accident, I assure you.” O’Rourke alternated pointing his gun at Jake and then Kaplan. “I was aiming for your smart-ass friend here.”

  “You asshole, that unfortunate accident will cost you your life—”

  “Except that I’m holding the gun on you,” O’Rourke panned the gun back and forth. He looked at Kaplan. “What is your name anyway?”

  “Kaplan.”

  “And why are you here, Mr. Kaplan?”

  “To keep Jake company. Why else? He gets lonely when he travels alone.”

  “Shut up. I’m growing tired of your humor.”

  “Who are these Americans?” Nasiri asked. “Kill them and let’s get on with our business.” Nasiri spat at Kaplan’s feet.

  Kaplan stared at the overweight man. The Persian stepped back.

  “Not yet. They’re no threat to us now. They’re not armed and we are. Mr. Pendleton doesn’t understand how brilliant I am. This has taken many years of careful planning. I’m sure you were briefed that I served as Quartermaster General for the IRA for quite a few years.”

  Jake’s reply was an icy stare.

  O’Rourke smiled. “I acquired weapons for the IRA all over the countryside. I even had three stockpiles in Britain. It was safer than trying to transport them. It made strikes against the British on British soil so much easier—”

  Kaplan said, “Why weren’t all the weapons caches surrendered or even reported?”

  “As you Americans like to put it, backup. I…we needed a backup plan in case the cease-fires and the peace agreements fell through. If the IRA surrendered all their weapons and the agreements were broken, we would be defenseless and subject to a slaughter.”

  “You’re talking out of both sides of your mouth,” Jake argued. “You said the IRA needed a backup plan but you are a British spy, spying on the same people you are now talking about protecting. You truly have no allegiance, do you?”

  “I never wanted to be in the IRA. In my late teens, I wanted peace. I thought the Troubles were nothing more than the senseless slaughtering of our people by our own people, a wasteful civil war, as it were. Peer pressure forced me to try to join the IRA. My first mission backfired and I was arrested.

  “That’s when I was approached by an SIS handler. While I was in prison, he convinced me that the way to peace was for the IRA to be crippled internally. That the piecemeal army would fold up and just die out. So I went along and infiltrated the IRA. Later, I actually started getting sympathetic to the IRA cause and even sabotaged some of my handler’s plans.”

  Kaplan was silent and his stance looked casual, but Jake could tell by his eyes he was looking for an opportunity. Jake nodded to encourage him to keep talking. Come on, come on, Isabella, his mind screamed. You show up before he blows my brains out, I’ll be your friend for life.

  "Finally, my last assignment was to infiltrate Sinn Fein. The British government hates Mairéad Brady and views Sinn Fein as just a puppet of the IRA. They want her out of the picture. She is viewed as nothing more than a terrorist herself, running a terrorist organization," said O’Rourke.

  “Once inside, I was supposed to leak information back to my handler that would permanently discredit Sinn Fein and remove Brady from authority or, better yet, find something that would send her to prison. But, sadly, there is nothing.”

  Jake interrupted, “That’s a nice history lesson but that doesn’t explain all this. Why keep all this?”

  “I already told you, you’re American, you won’t understand. I am a man with no place to go. The IRA, what’s left of them, wanted me dead because I was a spy for the British and they hold me responsible for the deaths of my fellow IRA members. Sinn Fein wants me dead for the same reason. The only difference is the IRA wants this stockpile location so they have access to arms again.”

  “What do you mean, access to arms again? There are several other weapons storage facilities, your ‘unofficial’ ones.”

  O’Rourke glanced at the file cabinets. The top drawer still open. “I see you’ve done some reading since you got here, so you probably also realize that the other sites are miniscule compared to this one. Sinn Fein wants this stockpile destroyed so they can disavow its existence and the IRA will have lived up to their full disarmament. And, of course, I won’t be around to say otherwise. The British government wants me dead because I can publicly implicate them in the sanctioning of the murders of several Brits.”

  O’Rourke stopped, and then took a few deep breaths.

  “First and foremost, Mr. Pendleton, I’m an Irish Catholic. I have arranged a deal with the Provisional IRA for protection in exchange for the evidence I have accumulated against Sinn Fein and the British government. That is to include the factual documentation, which I have in my possession, that, despite both parties’ denials, Sinn Fein and the Ulster Defense Association were negotiating behind the scenes on deals that included the deaths of certain, shall we say, notorious figures from each side of the table.

  “Besides, the UDA didn’t give up any weapons, only made the false claim to disarm after the IRA disarmed. So now the IRA has disarmed but not UDA … Something doesn’t seem quite right now, does it, Mr. Pendleton?”

  “And you’re just going to sell all these weapons to Al Qaeda so they can kill innocent men, women and children all over the world?”

  “Quite frankly, I don’t care what Nasiri does with all this. I say good riddance. I’ll be a rich man living a life in seclusion.”

  From behind O’Rourke came the sweetest words Jake had ever heard. “Not if I have anything to say about it, O’Rourke. Now, drop the gun.”

  CHAPTER 72

  He heard the voices in front of him but stayed concealed in the darkness of the tunnel while he assessed his next move. He watched from behind as the woman held the gun on O’Rourke. He heard the man’s voice but didn’t have a clear view of him.

  Collins had followed the woman through the tunnel, crouching because of the low overhead clearance. The tunnel had continued for about a quarter of a mile before emptying into the large chamber room filled with crates. The room was very large, lit only by five or six dozen low-wattage bare bulbs hanging from the stone ceiling.

  His vantage point wasn’t clear. Somewhere in the maze of crates, he knew O’Rourke stood, with the woman’s gun aimed at him. But who had O’Rourke been talking to before she arrived, and where was that person standing? Who else was in the chamber with them?

  Just as he was about to make his move, he heard a voice shout from across the room, “Drop the gun, lass.”

  He saw the woman flinch at the sound of the voice. She turned her gun slightly.

  Pop.

  She grabbed her left leg as the bullet pierced slightly above the kneecap. She fell to a squatting position, still keeping her gun trained on O’Rourke.

  A dark figure of a man dove over a short stack of crates, followed by three more shots from a different gun. He heard footsteps running away from the fracas.

  The voice in the back of the room said, “Next one’s in the head, my dear.”

  The woman’s gun clattered onto the stone floor.

  He heard the man’s voice say, “That’s nice, very good.” “Are ye all right, Laurence?” the same voice asked.

  Before O’Rourke could answer, the woman asked, “Who are you?”

  “The name’s Sean O’Rourke. I’m Laurence’s brother and the new Chief of Staff for the Provisional IRA.”

  * * * Jake moved toward Hunt.

  “Stop right there!” yelled Sean O’Rourke. “Not another move.” “She’s been shot. I’m unarmed, let me help her.” Jak
e said. “Okay but no tricks or you’re both dead.”

  Jake knelt down beside Hunt. “How bad is it? Do you need to use the tourniquet?”

  “It hurts like a son of a bitch but I don’t think it’s too bad.”

  “I’m just getting my field first aid kit, okay?” Jake reached down and opened the pocket on his cargo pants.

  “Do it slow. I want to see your every move.”

  Jake opened the kit and pulled out a wad of padding and a Velcro strap. He placed the padding on the wound and wrapped the strap around her leg and tightened it enough to hold the wadding in place.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t see the other man.”

  Jake’s hands were covered in her blood so he wiped them on his pants legs and then he helped Hunt to her feet. “Actually, the distraction helped Kaplan get away.”

  The bullet had just grazed the outside of her left lower thigh. The injury looked worse than it was, even though the wound bled profusely. He held her up with his left arm while she stood on her right foot, clutching her left leg with her hand.

  O’Rourke trained his gun on Hunt and Jake. He motioned to the Persian. “Mr. Kaplan got away. You need to find him. Find him and kill him. I’ll take care of these two.”

  Nasiri smiled, his eyes glinting wickedly, and then he darted out of sight with his gun cocked and ready.

  O’Rourke turned to his brother. “Well, Sean, I really didn’t expect to see you here this soon,” he said. “I expected you to wait a few days, but I’m happy you decided to come when you did.”

  Sean replied, “You said you wanted me to see if anyone was following you when you left the Demon’s Lair. No one did that I could tell. But I saw a car sitting nearby with someone in it. It had been there too long so I went to check it out, and found a dead man with his neck snapped.

  “And, brother, I’ve only owned the Demon’s Lair for a few months and I really don’t enjoy finding dead people outside my bar. It’s not good for business, you know. So, I figured it was probably related to you and decided I better drive over and check up on you.”

  Jake caught movement to the left, and saw another man come around a stack of Kalashnikov AK-47s and into view.

  Ian Collins.

  Collins looked Jake in the eyes and said, “I ought to kill you here and now.”

  The O’Rourke brothers had both jumped and turned their guns toward Collins when he suddenly rounded the corner of the boxes.

  “Stop right there. Who are you?” Sean yelled.

  “Shamrock.” The voice was cold, expressionless.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Sean said. “I withdrew the contract. You received my message, correct?”

  “I received your message but you have it all wrong. The Provos weren’t paying me to kill Laurence, they hired another assassin for that. I was only to find this location and relay it to my Provo contact, which I presume is you. Consider that contract fulfilled,” said Collins. “I expect the remainder of your payment as soon as we get out of this hell hole.”

  “I know very well what the contract was for. When I took office, I didn’t need the contract. I already knew about this place. The contract was useless, so I cancelled it. It remains cancelled. There will be no more money. I cancelled the other contract also.”

  “With everything I’ve gone through, you’ll pay the money or you’ll die in this chamber.” Collins smiled.

  “I’m sure we can come to some kind of accord,” Sean said.

  “We’ll talk after I get what I came for,” Collins said.

  “And what is that?” Sean asked.

  “First, I want him.” Jake saw Collins pointing a gun at him, then he heard Hunt scream.

  It felt like a sledgehammer struck him twice in the chest, in rapid succession. He felt himself tumbling between two sets of wooden crates.

  Jake landed on top of Hunt.

  CHAPTER 73

  “ Second, I want your brother.” Collins fired several shots into the crates before ducking behind a stack of Browning rifle crates.

  The O’Rourke brothers retreated behind some crates marked Barrett .50 CAL.

  “Son of a bitch.” Jake grabbed his chest. He was wearing his armored vest. He would be sore but he would be okay.

  Jake saw Hunt crawling out to her gun, dragging her left leg behind. As she reached the Sig P226 and lifted it, he yelled.

  Collins fired two rounds into her already injured left leg. She screamed in pain. Her gun bounced and landed at Jake’s feet.

  Jake picked up the gun and leapt out from between the walls of crates, rolling across the floor. As he rolled into the clearing, he fired twice.

  The first bullet struck Collins in the right side, almost the same spot where he had stabbed Jake. How fitting, Jake thought in a split second.

  His second shot missed and ricocheted off the stone wall. Collins darted out of sight as if the bullet hadn’t fazed him.

  Behind him on the other side of a wall of crates, he heard voices arguing. The O’Rourke brothers were fighting over who would get the cache of weapons stored in the Friar’s Chamber.

  He heard someone yell, “Freeze.” It was Sterling’s voice.

  Jake jumped at the sound of more gunfire.

  Then Laurence O’Rourke yelled, “Sean … no! You son of a bitch.”

  Sterling answered, “It’s a superficial wound, he’ll live. Now drop your weapon and lie down on the floor beside your brother with your hands where I can see them. The next shot will be to kill.”

  Jake yelled, “Sterling watch out. There’s another one over here.”

  It was too late. Collins stepped into Jake’s view and fired a shot toward O’Rourke and Sterling. Sterling fell to the stone floor with a bullet hole in his side.

  When he saw Collins, Jake fired off two more shots. The first bullet hit the top of a crate, wood splinters flew in the air. Collins turned his eyes toward Jake as Jake squeezed off another round.

  The bullet struck Collins on the right side of the head. Blood spattered onto the crate of AK-47 rifles. He went down and didn’t move.

  Jake pointed the Sig P226 in the general direction of the O’Rourke brothers and fired as he ran toward Hunt. Grasping her right arm, he pulled her out of the line of fire while emptying his clip in the direction of the O’Rourkes.

  Jake ejected the empty clip, inserted a fresh one, put a round in the chamber, and leaned down to check on Hunt. She was bleeding and in pain. “Hunt, are you alright?”

  “My leg’s hurt bad, Jake.”

  “Use your tourniquet. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Jake, remember. Collins and O’Rourke alive. Bentley’s orders.”

  “We’re way past a capture mission now. This is survival. Kill or be killed.” Jake ran out of sight and ducked behind a crate.

  Jake heard running and shuffling sounds and knew the O’Rourke brothers weren’t going to let him walk out of there alive. He had to neutralize them both. It was him or them.

  The hunt was on.

  He crouched behind the crates and moved quickly to the left near the tunnel where Hunt and Collins had entered. Collins’ bloody body lay still on the stone floor.

  He couldn’t tell if Collins was alive or dead. He looked dead. His face was pale, his white forelock covered in blood.

  Jake heard a wooden crate being pried open. He knew he had to move quickly or the O’Rourkes’ two-to-one advantage would escalate rapidly in their favor.

  He crawled on hands and knees toward the sound, his pistol tucked in his holster.

  He came upon Sterling, a puddle of blood growing underneath him. Sterling’s eyes were closed. He felt for a pulse and found one— weak, but he was alive. He had to move him to a safe location.

  * * * Kaplan had dived over the boxes and run about a hundred feet through the maze of crates. He was unarmed, his gun still on the crate where O’Rourke made him place it. He heard gunfire as he ran and hoped—no, prayed that Jake hadn’t been shot.

  He h
ad been in tighter spots in the Army but that was many years ago. He was surprised by the rush of adrenaline and anger. He remembered it well.

  It drove him.

  He found a smaller stack of crates and climbed on top. Climbing higher as he jumped from stack to stack. Jump, then lie low and listen. On the third stack, he heard someone shuffling along the stone floor. His vantage point put him around fifteen feet above the floor. High enough to see well, but low enough to be easily seen if someone looked up.

  He waited until the steps passed by him, held his breath, and peeked over the edge of the crate to get a glimpse of who it was.