by Greg Iles
The instant before Hauer fired, a blast of flame erupted from the
Vulcan's spinning barrels. Tracer rounds arced out toward the rim of
the bowl. The turret began to rotate ...
He felt his shot disintegrating. His shoulder twitched, his stomach
heaved in sudden confusion. All around he heard the desperate rattle of
guns firing at the moving turret, all to no avail. The dazzling beam
marched from position to position, silencing one gun after another. He
felt a sudden surge of hope. The gunner was ignoring the Armscor! He
thinks we're out of the fight! Because we're not moving, he thinks his
bunker guns stopped us! Hauer searched swiftly for a shot. With the
turret rotating, hitting the tiny gun port was out of the question.
Instead he picked a spot a few centimeters to the left of the Vulcan's
barrel-the spot he estimated the gunner would be sitting behind.
He fired.
Nothing happened. His bullet struck the very millimeter of glass he had
aimed for, but the transparent armor was simply too strong. How many
perfect shots would it take to drill through the polycarbonate?
Like an automaton Hauer worked the bolt-action rifle, tracking his
moving target.
Fire! Eject shell, close bolt, fire! The transparent wall shuddered as
Hauer's slugs relentlessly hammered the same single square of armor. Six
shots ... seven ... eight ... Fire!
Eject shell, close bolt, fire! He jerked out the empty magazine and
loaded his spare.
Around him the battle raged on. The Vulcan whined, the bunker guns
chattered, the hull of the armored car rattled like a tin can in a
hailstorm. He smelled the burning phosphorus of tracer rounds as they
streaked across the field in brilliant, lethal arcs. Suddenly, with a
strange shiver, Hauer sensed the Vulcan's tracer beam stagger somewhere
off to his right. He jerked his eye away from the scope and scanned the
dark field. Christ! The gunner had spotted his muzzle flashes!
His mouth went dry as the Vulcan's angle of fire lowered toward him.
Every fiber of his being screamed, "Run!" He shut his eyes against the
fear, then forced himself to open them again and put his right eye back
to the scope. Somewhere out there, he thought fiercely, is the man who
is trying to kill me. He could feel the Vulcan's slugs hitting the
ground, thousands in each burst, like the first shuddering waves of an
earthquake. The roar seemed to swallow up,the very air.
And the light ... it was mesmerizing, like some lunatic laser beam.
The tracer beam slowed as it neared the Armscor. Smuts wanted to be
sure he did not miss. In that moment of hesitation Hauer steadied his
twitching muscles, fixed his eye upon the tiny square of armored glass
he had spent his first magazine against, and opened fire.
Pieter Smuts found his mark first. In the first two seconds of contact,
the Vulcan slammed two hundred shells into the Armscor's tail, shearing
off a quarter-ton of hardened si armor.
The vehicle shuddered like a great wounded beast; black smoke poured
into the air. Suddenly the Armscor's turbocharged V-8 diesel roared to
life. In a last frantic bid for survival Captain Barnard floored the
accelerator. The armored car bolted forward like a wild bronco, leaping
out of the Vulcan's line of fire and leaving Hauer exposed on the
ground.
Stunned, kneeling alone on the dark plain, Hauer raised his rifle and
pressed his eye to the scope. Dirt showered over him as the Vulcan's
bullets thundered after the Armscor just meters away. There is nothing
here, said a voice in his brain, nothing but you and the man behind that
gun ...
He fired.
His bullet starred the glass.
He fired again.
The tracer beam jinked away from, the Armscor and moved back toward him.
Too late Smuts had realized where the real danger lay.
With the Vulcan gun thundering down upon him, Dieter Hauer actually
closed his eyes as he fired his last shot. The tracer beam stuttered,
flashed again ... winked out.
The spell was broken. Hauer scrambled to his feet and dashed after the
Armscor. Gadi Abrams dragged him back through the hatch.
"You crazy German bastard!"
The Armscor was filling rapidly with oily black smoke.
"Everybody shoot!" Hauer shouted. "Clear a path through the mines!
Detonate everything in our path!"
One Claymore exploded harmlessly nearby, but no more.
The Armscor had reached the section of ground where Burton's Colombians
had been slaughtered the night before. The mines here had been spent,
no replacements laid. The Annscor roared forward and reached Horn House
in twenty seconds flat.
Captain Barnard pulled the vehicle across the main entrance like a
barricade. Instantly two South African CT troops thrust shotguns
through the ports and blasted the hinges off the teakwood door. When
Hauer shoved open the side hatch, he was staring straight into the
marble reception hall where Major Karami's assassins lay dead.
"Move out!" he shouted.
"Wait!" General Steyn was up in the driver's compartment, leaning over
Captain Barnard. Hauer remembered the young man had taken some glass in
the face when the windshield shattered, but as he peered over the
general's beefy shoulder he realized that Captain Barnard was suffering
from a mortal wound.
"Where is it, son?" General Steyn asked softly.
"My chest ... sir."
Carefully the general probed the young man's torso.
"I thought he was wearing a vest," Hauer said quietly.
General Steyn pulled a bloodstained hand from beneath Barnard's right
arm. "There's a splinter of polycarbonate sticking out of him," he
whispered. "Right where the vest stops at the underarm. God only knows
how deep it went in." He turned back to Captain Barnard. "Can you
move, lad?"
The young man tried to smile, then coughed in agony. "It feels like the
damned thing is buried in my heart. Like a sword ... swear to God. Go
on."
General Steyn's neck flushed red. "Nonsense, lad, you're coming with
us."
"Don't move me, sir," Captain Barnard gurgled. "Please don't."
General Steyn looked ready to twist off the head of the man who had
caused this pain. Setting his mouth in a grim line, he drew a .45
caliber pistol from Captain Barnard's belt and placed it carefully in
the young man's hand. "If it gets too bad," he said tersely, "you know
what to do." The general swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll be
back for you, Barnard. You have my solemn word. Stand fast."
General Steyn turned and squeezed his broad shoulders back through the
door of the driver's compartment. His bluff face was swollen with
emotion. He looked hard into Hauer's eyes. "If it's a war they want,"
he said, his voice trembling, "then it's a bloody war they'll get." He
-drew his own pistol and jerked back the slide.
"Into the house, lads!"
Pieter Smuts staggered away from the Vulcan and wiped the blood out of
his eyes with his shirtsleeve. A dozen slivers of armored
glass had
been driven into his face by Hauer's slugs. He crouched beside Hess's
wheelchair.
"They've breached the outer walls, sir. I don't know who's inside that
armored car, but they must be friends of the Jew."
Hess grimaced. "Who could it be but Captain Hauer?" he wheezed.
"I told you never to underestimate an old German soldier. Hauer
obviously outsmarted Major Graaff! Damn the man! A German! A German
attacking me!"
"We can still stop them, sir."
"How?"
"If I order our bunker gunners to cease firing, the Libyans will advance
and kill anyone left alive outside the shields."
"True," Hess said thoughtfully. "But then the Libyans will be inside
the house."
"But not inside the shields. Not near you-not near the weapons."
Hess hesitated, realizing that the order would mean certain death for
Ilse, Linah, and all of the servants. "Do it," he said finally.
Smuts pressed a button on his console and issued the order.
Outside, the rattle of the bunker guns stuttered, then died.
In the eerie silence, Major Ilyas Karami ordered three quarters of his
remaining commando force down the slope.
The rest he held back to transport the howitzer. The battle was not yet
over, and he did not intend to lose it through overconfidence.
The prize was too great.
Alan Burton rolled back over the lip of the Wash and slid down the muddy
wall into darkness. Juan Diaz lay halfburied in the mud-and-bramble
shelter Burton had built at the bottom of the ravine.
Diaz's wounds had developed an unpleasant odor, and his eyes were pale
yellow slits. Burton leaned close to his ear.
"I've got our return tickets, lad. Can you make it?"
"si, " Diaz whispered.
"There's a big jet up there, an airliner, but it's too heavily guarded.
There is also a lovely little Lear that looks like a bloody Turkish
brothel on the inside. That's our bird."
Grunting in pain, the little Cuban heaved himself to his knees, pushing
away Burton's helping hand. "Let's go, English," he rasped, forcing a
grin. "Not enough senoritas on this beach."
It took the two men ten minutes to climb out of the Wash and cover the
eighty meters to the Libyan Learjet. Burton had to carry Diaz the last
third of the way. Instead of putting the Cuban on board the jet,
however, Burton trudged to the edge of the asphalt runway and dropped
him there. Diaz yelped as the pain of his wounds hit him.
"Sorry, sport," Burton panted. "But this is the safest spot for the
time being."
"What?" Diaz exclaimed, finally guessing Burton's intent.
"But the plane is right there!"
"Sorry, lad. I told you if I got half a chance I'd have another go at
the house. When those rug-peddlers started shooting, they gave me just
that. From my point of view, sport, unless I do the job I was sent here
to do, that jet isn't an escape route for me. It's just a taxi back to
purgatory.
Diaz muttered a stream of Cuban profanity.
"Come along now, Juan boy, Crawl into that brush over there.
Wouldn't want those blighters over there to catch you out here alone."
Burton pointed up the runway to where Major Karami and his men struggled
in the dusk. "Cut your balls off with a bloody scimitar, they would."
When Diaz had settled himself in the tall grass, Burton said, "I know
you can reach that jet on your own, sport. I wouldn't want you to leave
without me. You wouldn't do that, would you?"
The Cuban pulled a wry face. "Yesterday I would have," he admitted.
"But last night you saved my life, English.
Cubano don't forget that, eh? You go play hero. Diaz be here when you
get back."
Burton took a last look the Lear-his solitary means of escape-then he
tossed Diaz his wristwatch and gave him a roguish grin. "If I'm not
back in forty minutes, sport, it's bon voyage to you with my best
wishes."
Diaz shook his head and lay back in the scrub grass. Burton unslung his
submachine gun and started back toward Horn House.
Hauer charged out of the Arinscor and into the marble reception hall
with the South Africans on his heels. Gadi brought up the rear.
The young Israeli ran straight to the corpses.
As
recogni them." "
"Look, said General Steyn, pointing to the rectangular black shield
blocking the main elevator. "That must be the way to the gun tower."
"And the bomb," Gadi murmured.
Two CT soldiers aimed their shotguns at the shield.
"Captain!" called a voice from the shadows to their right.
Hauer felt his heart thump. Peering across the great entrance hall, he
spied a figure against the darkness of a corridor to his right. It was
Hans.
"Gadi!" called a hoarse voice.
"Uncle? Where are you?"
Stern stepped into the brighter light of the reception hall.
Hans and Ilse stood in the shadows behind him.
"Jonas!" bellowed General Steyn. "You've got some bloody explaining to
do!"
Gadi started across the floor, but Stern signaled him to hold back.
Hauer watched in puzzlement as Hans slipped out of the corridor and
raced around the edge of the great hall like a runner circling a track.
When he skidded to a stop, Hauer drew back in shock. Hans's hair, face,
and clothing were covered with blood. He looked like he,had dived on a
grenade.
'Hans! What happened? Were you shot?"
"No time to explain!" Only the whites of Hans's eyes showed through the
blood. "We're dead unless we can get through those shields. We've got
a plan, but I can't explain it now. I want you to find two rooms with
windows facing the inner part of the house. There are cameras in some
rooms, not in others. Find a room without a camera. If my plan works,
the shields should come down for a few moments-just long enough for you
to get through. Skirt the wall when you go-there's a camera by that
elevator."
Hans squeezed Hauer's arm hard; then he sprinted back toward Stern.
Hauer looked questioningly@ at Gadi. The young Israeli shrugged and
started toward the hallway on their left. Hauer and the South Africans
followed.
High in the turret, Pieter Smuts watched Major Karami's commandos charge
across the bowl. In a matter of minutes Hauer and his men would be
slaughtered. Smuts smiled. His protective shields probably had claw
marks on them by now.
It was a pity about Linah, of course, but servants were replaceable.
"Pieter!" Hess cried.
When Smuts whirled, he saw his horrified master pointing at one of the
closed-circuit TV monitors. Ilse Apfel filled the screen. Her face and
clothing were smeared with blood, and she held an Uzi submachine gun in
her hands. She screamed silently at the monitor for help. Then she
turned away from the camera and fired a burst from the Uzi.
"That's the elevator camera!" Hess cried. "Open the audio link!"
Instantly the sound of gunfire filled the turret. Ilse turned back
toward the camera and screamed. "In the name of God, help us!
They're going to kill us! Herr Horn, please! My husband is wounded!"
At that moment Hans staggered backward into the camera's field of view
and fired a burst from an Uzi he had seized from a dead Libyan.
He too was covered in blood.
Both the blood and the Uzis had been provided by Major Karami's dead
assassins. Hans and Ilse had rolled in the bloody pools of the
reception hall until they looked like walking casualties.
"For God's sake, Pieter!" Hess pleaded. "Those are Germans down
there!"
Smuts shook his head angrily. "We can't risk it, sir. Hauer and his
men could already be inside the house."
"Can you drop only the elevator shield?"
"No, sir. It's all or none. That's the way they're designed."
"Then drop them all for five seconds!"
Smuts clenched his fists. Like most Germans, his master could be
infuriatingly sentimental. In the same way a man who sent millions to
the ovens could love dogs, Smuts thought. For the first time since he
began serving Hess, the Afrikaner felt mutiny in his heart. "I think
it's a trick, sir! I see no Arabs!"
Ilse whirled back to the camera, her blue eyes wild with terror.
"In the name of God, Herr Horn, save me! Save my baby!
Hess's knuckles went white on the arms of his wheelchair.
"I don't see Hauer anywhere," he said quietly, his eyes scanning the
other monitors.
"Not all the bedrooms have cameras!"
Hess's face contorted with rage. "Those are Germans dying down there,
Pieter! She saved my life last night "But-"
"Do it!"
The Afrikaner slammed his right fist down on the console.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Gadi swung himself through the bedroom window even before the black
shield had fully retracted. Hauer leaped after him and landed on the
cobblestones of a small courtyard. To his right he saw the South
African CT troops helping General Steyn to his feet.
"We've got to find my uncle!" Gadi cried.
General Steyn pointed to a large wooden door across the courtyard and
gave a circular flick of his wrist. The shotgun-armed CT troops blew
the hinges off the door. Silently they sprinted through the opening and
somersaulted into defensive positions, the others close behind them.
Hauer was the last man through. Just before he stepped over the
threshold, he realized that the firing outside the house had stopped.
He puzzled over this for a moment, then forgot it as he followed Gadi