by Matt Lynn
“Just keep still,” hissed Jack. “They might not realise we’re here.”
Alex put his back to the wall. It was damp, and droplets of water dripping from the roof of the tunnel was seeping through his shirt. A silence. Then the sound of footsteps advancing towards them. A flashlight shone across the wall, narrowly missing both men, then illuminating a path straight down the middle of the tunnel.
One man, wondered Alex. No, two.
He glanced across at Jack. There was no way forward and no way back. They would have to make a fight of it, and just hope that luck was with them. “On the count of three,” he whispered, his voice so low it was barely audible.
Jack grinned. It doesn’t matter how desperate the odds, noted Alex. The sod is always looking forward to a scrap.
The American had already raised his M-16 to his chest. Alex wasn’t convinced they should use their rifles down here. The bullets would ricochet off the thick stone walls, and might as easily kill them as their enemies. He’d be tempted to rely on the handguns. Maybe even knives. But Jack always met every battle with maximum aggression. And so long as they didn’t kill themselves, the automatic, rapid fire from the M-16 stood a good chance of butchering their assailants before they knew what was happening to them.
Jack slammed his finger on the trigger. The men walking towards them had turned a corner, and were now in full view. Alex trained his M-16 straight towards them. The bullets slammed across the tight space, ripping into both men with the force of a tornado. They reacted instantly. They were both trained soldiers, Alex could tell that in a single glance, and they knew how to handle themselves in a fire fight. They didn’t flinch, and they didn’t attempt to run away, even though they were both almost certainly dead men. Their only hope now was to lay down some return fire. Both men dropped to their knees, slamming their AK-47s into position, and slotting their fingers into the triggers. But fate had already caught up with them and was going about its grisly business. Bullets were colliding into them from two rifles only yards away. One men keeled over as a bullet slotted through his eyeball and drilled into his brain. The second rocked backwards as three bullets punctured his chest. His gun flew upwards, round still spitting from its barrel. Within seconds, both of them were reduced a bloody, lifeless mess on the floor.
Alex ducked. Bullets were still ricocheting everywhere, and a pair of rounds only narrowly missed his boots.
“Run, pal,” growled Jack. “The amount of noise we are making we are going to bring a whole fucking army down on our heads. And I don’t rate our chances of getting lucky a second time.”
Alex moved swiftly in the American’s wake. He had taken the second tunnel, and was holding his flashlight ahead of him, moving fast along the slimy, jagged ground. It wasn’t running exactly – more a fast walk – but in these conditions it counted as a sprint. They covered a hundred yards, then another hundred.
And then they saw something.
A light.
It was just the glimmer of a torch, and it was swiftly hidden. Whoever was out there was well concealed, and planned to stay that way reckoned Alex. But the light had given them away. They were there, he was certain of that, and he knew how to find them. “Show yourself,” he barked.
His voice echoed off the walls, bouncing back, and only fading after it had been repeated a dozen time.
“I said, bloody show yourself.”
It was louder this time, and the echo lasted longer. But still there was no response.
He pulled his handgun from the holster, released the safety catch, and fired a single shot towards where the light had come from. The chances of hitting anyone from this distance in the darkness were remote. But it would be very, very scary for whoever was on the receiving end.
“We’re giving you one more chance.”
He fired again. Then again.
The torch came on.
“Who are you?”
Alex recognised the voice. Bilado. The man was cowering inside a small cave cut into the interior of the mountain.
Steadying the gun in his hand, Alex started to walk towards him.
Chapter Twelve
The man was cowering against the wall like a rat. A sadly diminished figure from the swaggering bully who ruled the mine like a medieval warlord, reflected Alex as he strode towards him. Like most thugs, put him up against a wall with a gun to his head, take away his army of hired muscle, and strip him of his advisers and flunkies, and he was just a small, frightened man.
Jack grabbed Bilado’s right arm, and twisted it behind his back. He pushed him down onto his knees. “Do you want to kill him or shall I?” he said, looking up at Alex.
“Who are you working for?” growled Bilado.
“None of your business,” snapped Alex.
“If the name of a man’s assassin isn’t his business I’d like to know what is?”
Alex ignored him. “I’ll do it,” he said, looking across at Jack.
Jack nodded.
Alex steadied his hand. Jack was holding Bilado down on his knees, while Alex lined up a shot that would puncture the man’s heart.
“We’re from the British and American governments,” said Jack.
Alex glared across at the American. “This is a waste of time.”
“Like the guy said, a man has the right to know why’s he’s dying.”
Alex paused.
If he wanted to tell him, that was his business.
“This mine is too valuable to be left in amateur, criminal hands. With you out of the way, it’s going to be sold to Lowell’s, the mining conglomerate. And it’s going to be run properly.”
Jack looked across at Alex. “Now he knows,” he said softly. “So drop him.”
“You’re fools,” spat Bilado.
“We may well be,” said Jack. “But it doesn’t make any difference to our work today.”
“I was already preparing to sell the mine to Lowell’s,” said Bilado. “I’m not an idiot. I knew I couldn’t keep something like this all to myself.”
“We don’t need to listen to this,” snapped Jack.
Sweat was trickling down the side of Bilado’s face.
“The Russians were planning to steal it from me. They’ve been working with my accountant, Francisco Stiffredi. And they’ve been plotting with the man you’ve been working with, Paul Richmond. I’ve suspected it for days….and now I know.”
“Bloody nonsense,” said Alex. “Richmond bought us here.”
Bilado looked up at him, his eyes sly. “Then why did you see Richmond having secret discussions with the Russians? Answer me that.”
Alex hesitated.
There was no good answer he could think of.
But it didn’t matter now. Get the man killed, get the job finished, and get out of here.
That was all that mattered now.
“I’ll drop him now,” he said glancing up at Jack.
“No, not yet,” said Jack.
“For Christ’s sake man.”
“I said not yet,” barked Jack.
“Why not?”
“Because that was precisely the plan,” barked a voice. “To get this fool out of the way, and sell the mine to the Russians. You were just here to do the dirty work.”
Alex looked around.
“But it looks as if I will have to finish the job myself.”
Richmond was standing behind him. With Francisco and the Russian businessman at his side. All three men were holding M-16’s. And they were pointing them straight at Alex.
“So let’s this finish them all off right now, bury them here, and then we can get this deal done,” said Richmond coldly.
Chapter Thirteen
Jack flung himself forward, firing with brutal precision on his M-16. A volley of fire cut through the air, met by an instantaneous barrage of bullets from the opposition. Alex froze as a wave of molten lead flew passed him, and for that fraction of a second he assumed he was already dead.
But, crazy though it
might seem, Jack had made the right call he realised.
They were dead men anyway.
Right from the start, then just been pawns in a far large game of chess that Richmond was playing. They were here to assassinate Bilado, but only so he could organise the sale of the mine to the Russians, and no doubt profit from it richly himself. That was why there had been so much plotting in the corridors back in the villa. And once the deal was done, he’d dispose of them without a second thought. They’d know too much too be allowed to live.
There’s one promise I’ve always made to myself. If I’m going to die, I’m going to die fighting.
He sprung into action.
Jack had had already dropped flat onto the ground, spraying bullets from his rifle. One man had already been hit, screaming as a hole the size of a coin was punched in his shoulder. Alex jumped forward colliding hard with Richmond, and pushing him to the ground. The Australian was a stocky hard man, with legs like tree trunks, but he was caught by surprise. The gun was knocked from his hands as he tumbled backwards. The side of his head caught on the rock, and he stifled a grunt as he absorbed the pain, then kicked back with his legs, hitting Alex hard in the chest. There was a brute strength to the blow that winded Alex, sending him jerking upwards. Bullets were flying around his head, missing him only narrowly, before clattering into the walls behind them. Alex steadied himself, then looked around.
Richmond wasn’t following up the assault the way he’d expected.
He’d rolled down the side of the rock where he’d fallen, escaping the bullets still flying from Jack’s rifle.
“Hold it,” Alex barked.
Jack stopped firing. Alex flashed his torch through the tunnel. One man was lying wounded on the ground, blood seeping from his shoulder. The Russian businessmen had been shot through the head, killed on impact.
But Richmond and the other man had already vanished.
“Bloody move,” shouted Alex, grabbing hold of Bilado and hurtling along the tunnel.
With Jack following up behind them, they started to run. The going was rough, and they had no idea what kind of carnage they might find when they finally emerged from the side of the mountain. But they had no choice but to get out of here as fast as possible.
Twice Bilado stumbled and fell, and had to be hauled back to his feet, but the three men kept moving relentlessly forward. As they approached the entrance, Alex could see light. And he could hear the gunfire.
The battle was still going on. And there was no way of knowing who had the upper hand. Hell, decided Alex. If we have to fight our way out of here we will.
“The helicopter,” muttered Bilado. “I have the door keys if you can fly the thing.”
“We can fly it alright, if we can get there.”
Alex paused at the entrance to the tunnel. He bombed a mag into his M-16 and checked that Jack had done the same. The tunnel came out just behind the barracks, the same place they had come in. Off to the centre of the compound, there was a fierce battle raging. Bykov’s men were hunkered down behind a dozen sandbags, laying down savage volleys of fire into their opposition, but from the bodies behind them it looked as if they had taken almost two dozen casualties so far and their numbers were dwindling all the time. Each time one of their men went down, their position became harder and harder to hold.
Right now, they were losing. Bravely, admittedly reflected Alex. But losing all the same.
The Sikorski was two hundred yards away, in front of the barracks. It had taken a few scratches in the cross-fire raging around it but it was a tough, all-purpose chopper, and it had been fitted with armour-plating. It looked ready to fly.
We just have to get to it, decided Alex grimly. Preferably in one piece.
“We’ll make a dash for it,” said Alex, looking back at Jack and Bilado.
Jack nodded just once.
The three men started to run. One group of men was holding the approach to the barracks, while another were fending off an assault from the mountains. Bullets and shrapnel were peppering the ground all around them, and the noise of the battle was deafening. But Alex put his head down and charged like a bull. They were closing on the chopper fast. A hundred yards, then fifty. Alex could feel his lungs bursting as he raced forward: he’d always been a good runner, and he was well aware that the ability to flee was as essential a part of a good soldier’s caperbiliites as the ability to shoot straight, but he reckoned he hadn’t run as fast as this since he’d legged it from the local sweet shop in Winchester as a kid. His breath was short, and the blood pumping furiously through his veins as he felt the dust kicked from the bullets colliding with the ground fly into his face.
The chopper loomed up ahead of him.
“The keys,” he yelled towards Bilado.
The doors to the Sikorski were controlled by an electronic fob. Helicopters were parked on secure airfields and didn’t come with the same security you’d find on a high-value car. Once you were in, you’d could start them with the flick of a switch.
But you had to get on board first.
Bilado had reached into his pocket, slamming the simple electronic device into Alex’s hand.
Suddenly, a rattle of gunfire opened directly opposite them.
“Duck,” yelled Alex.
The three men dropped to the ground.
They were sheltered by the chopper, but right on the other side of it Richmond plus another man had emerged, both armed with M-16s.
And that was the side with the door.
“I’ll cover you,” yelled Jack.
He stood up, running around the side of the Sikorski, and laying down a barrage of fire from his rifle that forced Richmond and the man alongside him to take cover.
Alex jumped to his feet. He slammed the fob up to the door, cursing at the brief delay before the electronic lock opened. It was less than a second in reality, but with the munitions swirling around him it felt like an hour. As the door opened he jumped on board, hauling Bilado behind him.
Alex raced for the cockpit. He’d flown choppers before – it was part of the Regiment’s basic training – but he was no pilot and he’d never taken this model into the air before. Hell, how hard can it be, he told himself through gritted teeth. There was no time to do anymore than take a cursory glance at the controls. Luckily, Sikorski’s had a fairly standard layout, and it took just a moment to figure it out. With the ignition started, the engine grunted to life, and the rotor blades started to turn, dragging up a cloud of dust from the ground.
“Get Jack,” yelled Alex, straining to make himself heard above the din of the engine and the rattle of gunfire outside.
“Just fly it,” barked Bilado.
“Not without Jack.”
“He’ll be alright. Just get us out of here.”
Alex pulled his handgun, and pointed it straight towards the Columbian. “If anyone’s getting left behind, it’s you. Now do what your bloody told.”
Bilado nodded, and advanced towards the open door.
Like all bullies, he respected brute force reflected Alex.
He lifted the big, heavy machine a couple of inches off the ground. Outside, Jack was bombing a fresh mag into his M-16, before loosening off a couple of rounds. He could hold off Richmond and the other guy, he decided as he released another round of fire from the rifle. But only by staying on the ground while Alex and Bilado made their escape.
Alex glanced from the window. More power, that was what they needed, he told himself. Helicopter blades on full power drag up a swirling cloud of dust through which it is impossible to see anything. Kick up enough dust and it might create enough confusion for Jack to climb on board.
It’s either that, or leave the mad bastard behind to fend for himself.
And whatever his faults, he doesn’t deserve that.
Alex took the Sikorski up to twenty feet on full-power, then dropped it back down again.
Below, Jack hesitated for a second. As he saw the chopper rise into the air, he reckoned
Alex was leaving. The fucker, he spat, checking how many rounds were left in the mag, and wondering how much longer he could hold his position. Richmond and the other guy were twenty yards ahead of him, sheltering behind one of the boulders that tumbled out of the mountainside. With the chopper rising into the air, Jack’s cover was disappearing. So long as he was laying down enough fire, he could hold then off, but the moment his mag was empty, they’d shoot him to piece. He glanced anxiously around. If I run for it now, I might just be able to get across the open ground, and join the rest of the lads holding the barracks. Or maybe I should just make my escape into the mountains. A man could lose himself easily enough in that wilderness.
“Fuck it,” he muttered out loud.
A pair of shots pinged the ground in front of him. Richmond emerged from behind the boulder to take a shot at him, but retreated just as quickly as Jack returned fire. The dust was starting to swirl everywhere, getting worse by the second until Jack had no choice but to cover his face with his hands. A vicious whirlwind was whipping into him, and it required all his strength just to stay upright. Suddenly, he realised what was happening. Squinting to protect his eyes, Jack looked upwards. The chopper was dropping fast out of the sky, forcing him to jump sideways to avoid getting struck on the head. More shots rattled through the air. Richmond again, realised Jack. But he was firing blind. There was so much dust now, it was impossible to see anything even a yard ahead of you. It is going to take a very lucky bullet that has my name on it, he decided.
The chopper was a yard ahead of him, hovering five feet off the ground. Jack flung himself towards the open door. He grabbed hold of the metal and started to lever himself on board.
“You okay?” yelled Alex.
“Never better, pal,” shouted Jack above the racket of the blades.
The chopper started to rise into the sky. As it did so, Jack felt something clinging to his legs. Hands. The hands of a desperate man.
Richmond levered himself upwards, rolling onto the floor of the Sikorski as it soared upwards into the sky, and landing directly on top of Jack. He knocked the gun out of Jack’s hand, then landed a massive blow straight into the side of the man’s jaw. It was the punch of a man who knew his life depended on the force of the blow, and left Jack temporarily unconscious. Standing to his feet, Richmond reached into his chest webbing and drew out an eight-inch hunting knife. He grabbed hold of Bilado by the hair, and thrust the blade straight into the man’s throat.