Black rode in the open cargo cabin with Collins. Ruiz, the crew chief, shouted over the roar of the engine, rotor blades, and wind rushing into the open cargo doors. “Schmidt has the van! Starboard side, any second!”
Black turned to Collins. “Target coming up on the starboard side!” Collins nodded. Black pointed to Collins, then to his own eyes. Collins nodded again, shrugged out of his shoulder harness, and moved toward the open cargo door. Always the daredevil, he leaned out, his one-handed grip on a loading strap the only thing keeping him from pitching out into space. Collins pulled himself back inside, wriggled into his shoulder harness, and gave Black a thumbs-up. Target acquired.
On the ground, in the wake of the Black Hawk, the two Humvees carrying the rest of Black’s team were in swift pursuit, but not close enough yet to have the fleeing vehicle in sight. The first Humvee carried Team One, Graham, Popavich, and Williams, while Team Two, Everett, Becker, and Rossi, followed close in the second vehicle.
Black looked at Ruiz and cupped his palms over his ears. Ruiz grabbed a set of headphones, plugged the jack into the helicopter’s communications system, and handed them over to Black.
“Schmidt, this is Black. What do you think?” he asked the pilot.
Schmidt’s voice came lazily through the headphones. “We don’t have much time before he hits the main road. If we’re gonna take him, it’s got to be before he gets to the next turnoff. We’re gettin’ pretty close to civilian territory.”
“What do you recommend?”
“I can get out in front of him, but I can’t set down on the road. Not enough room for the rotors without hittin’ a tree or two.” Schmidt hesitated. “You can fast-rope down or I can try to hold it low and steady long enough for you to take him out from the air.”
“Get out front,” said Black. “Collins and I will disable the van.”
“Roger that. There’s a bend just up the road. I’ll put us in the treetops right around it. As soon as he makes the turn you’re gonna have to hit him fast.”
Moments later, the Black Hawk hovered just above the treetops, its port side facing the road where the fleeing BoDex vehicle would come around the bend. Black and Collins lay on the cabin floor, sighting along their weapons, ready to stop the poor unsuspecting fool in the van.
Jonathan Nichols could see the big helicopter in his side mirror as it swung off after following him down the road. He couldn’t believe his luck. Just when he thought those mercenaries in the Black Hawk had him cold, he must have given them the slip. Just a little farther and he would be out of reach. The tables had turned. He would be the one to blow the whistle and lay the blame where it rightfully belonged.
Nichols spun the steering wheel as he tapped the brakes, executing the sharp bend in the road. He came out of the turn, the vehicle skidding as he almost lost control, before getting it lined back up on the narrow dirt road.
He pounded the wheel. “I showed them they can’t push Jonathan Nichols around! Screw you, Attwood, you sonofabitch! Screw you—”
Nichols stared wide-eyed at the sight filling the windshield of the van.
“Here he comes!” Black yelled. “Disable the vehicle only!” Black and Collins poured a murderous stream of bullets into the front of the speeding vehicle. Spent shell casings sailed out of the open cabin door and fell onto the road below like smoking raindrops.
The barrage of bullets jarred Jonathan Nichols from his fear-induced stupor at seeing the helicopter stretched across his path like some mechanical Angel of Death. The nonstop hail of bullets shredded the radiator before tearing into the engine. Warning lights lit up all across the dashboard. Smoking craters erupted from the hood. The vehicle slowed as the engine died. Nichols struggled in a futile attempt to keep the dying van from swerving off the road.
Smoke poured from the van’s engine compartment as it veered away to the left. Black held his fire. Collins, however, slapped a fresh magazine in his MP5N and began to stitch a line of slugs along the side of the vehicle, whooping like a kid on Christmas morning as the driver’s side windows exploded into a shower of shattered fragments.
“Knock it off, Collins! I said the vehicle only!” Black bellowed, shoving the barrel of Collins’s weapon away.
“Must have been an air pocket,” Collins finally said, but his eyes said, Don’t ever put your hands on me again.
The van rolled into the forest, coming to a gentle stop against a large evergreen. The force was so slight Nichols wasn’t even aware he had stopped. He was hunched over the steering wheel with his arms covering his head.
He looked up cautiously and heard the roar of the helicopter somewhere above the trees. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror. His face was covered in bloody cuts from the whirlwind of shattered glass. His shoulder rammed against the jammed door. It finally opened, and Nichols tumbled from the van.
“Fast-rope now!” Black said. “We don’t put him down, got it?”
“Got it.” As Collins went for the ropes, Black still held him by the front of his fatigues. “I said I got it!” Collins shoved Black’s hand away.
Collins tossed a secured coil of black rope out the door, then took hold of the line and dropped from view. Black peered over the edge of the cabin floor. As soon as Collins was safely down, Black grabbed the rope and stepped out into space, his boots hitting the ground seconds later. Collins was running for the smoking vehicle.
Collins jammed his weapon inside the open driver’s door. Empty. He surveyed the area. Nothing.
Black ran up. “Status?”
“He’s not here,” Collins replied. “No blood inside either.”
“Keep your eyes open. I’ll check the back.”
Collins nodded. Black ran to the rear of the vehicle and grabbed the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. “You got keys up there?”
Collins checked the ignition. “No keys!”
Black raised his submachine gun and fired a short burst at the handle. The mangled door handle fell to the ground. He reached forward and grabbed the edge of the door. It swung open and slammed loudly against the side of the vehicle. “Sonofabitch!” The rear of the vehicle was empty.
Nichols heard the rattle of an automatic weapon and immediately fell to the ground. He lay face down, arms covering his head, terrified. He finally lifted his head and looked furtively around, surprised when he realized his body had not been riddled by a hail of bullets. He rose cautiously to his knees. He didn’t see anyone, but heard noises, shouts, getting louder. They would be on him in seconds if he didn’t get up and run.
“All teams, we’re on the ground in pursuit!” Black called over his radio. “Team One, continue to our location. Team Two, start backtracking. Our target may have dumped his packages along the road before we stopped him.”
“Team One, roger. We’re almost there,” Graham answered from the lead Humvee.
“Team Two, roger that. We’re turning around now,” Rossi radioed from the second Humvee as Becker, behind the wheel, jammed on the brakes, reversed the vehicle’s direction, and headed back along the road.
Black continued to choreograph his assets, now calling the hovering UH-60. “Schmidt! See if you can spot anything from the air!”
The Black Hawk slid forward over the thick canopy of trees above Black and Collins.
“Collins!” Black called. “Right flank, I’ve got the left. We move that way.” He indicated the direction with a wave of his hand.
It only took a few moments before Perry’s voice came over Black’s radio. “Got movement, your eleven o’clock, fifty yards, one target.”
“Move ahead of him,” said Black. “Push him back this way.”
Black and Collins could not see the Black Hawk but they could hear it getting louder, along with intermittent gunfire. A few shots in front of Nichols had seemingly turned him around.
“Team One, onsite,” Graham called.
“Roger,” Black replied. “Spread out and hold your position around the wreck.
Schmidt is pushing him back this way. If he gets by us, it’s up to you.”
“Team One, roger,” Graham said.
“Team One, you are to take him and hold him only. Do you understand? No deadly force.”
“Team One, understood.”
Jonathan Nichols had no escape plan, but he did his best to distance himself from the wrecked BoDex van. That was before the damn helicopter was once again blocking his way. He tried to move under it, and keep going, but someone in the Black Hawk fired at him, the bullets tearing through the forest canopy and sending up a wall of small geysers of dirt and pine needles. When he tried moving to the right or the left, a hail of bullets blocked his path. Finally, in desperation, he headed back in the direction he had come. A few more volleys of bullets at his heels kept him heading in that direction. He was being shepherded back toward his pursuers.
He bent down and picked up a large tree branch. If it’s a fight they want, I’ll give it to them.
Black could just make out Collins slinking through the woods. Suddenly, he saw him freeze, then drop.
Black heard another short burst of gunfire from the helicopter, the thunder of its twin engines getting louder as it moved toward him. He looked back to Collins. The man rose slowly, sighting straight ahead along his submachine gun. What was he doing? Did he see Nichols?
“Collins,” Black whispered over the team net. “Whaddaya got?” No response. Now he saw Nichols, his back against a tree, holding a tree branch.
“Collins,” he whispered again. “I see the target. I am moving in to intercept him.” Once again, no response. Black wormed his way through the foliage, still keeping an eye on Collins.
A burst of gunfire. Black dropped to his knee as a stream of bullets from Collins’s weapon tore into the tree trunk directly above Nichols’s head. An explosion of tree bark and wood chips rained down on the terrified man.
“Stop!” Nichols screamed. “Don’t shoot!”
Collins sauntered toward Jonathan Nichols, the butt of his weapon against his shoulder, the barrel pointing in the air, laughing aloud. Collins’s laugh sent a shiver through Black, who rushed to reach Nichols before Collins did. As Collins approached Nichols, he slung his MP5N over his shoulder, casually slipped his SIG Sauer P226 out of its holster, and jacked a round in the Sig’s chamber.
“Please don’t kill me.” Nichols had curled into a fetal position on the ground.
“You pitiful piece of shit,” Collins snarled. “I should waste you right here for all the trouble you caused us.” He kicked Nichols to get his attention, then aimed his pistol at Nichols’s head.
“No! Please, don’t!”
“Collins!” Black trotted up. “Stand down!”
Collins and Black locked eyes. Finally, Collins lowered his pistol and eased it back in its holster. “Just having a little fun.” He looked down at Nichols. “Well, well. I do believe the little prick has pissed his pants. Just when I thought I was losing my touch.”
Black knelt and put his hand on Nichols’s shoulder. “It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. We just want to know where the Centurions are.”
“I…saved them,” Nichols said. “They’re safe now.”
Black rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I know, but now we have to get them to make sure they stay safe. Where are they?”
“I saved them,” Nichols said again. “They’re safe now.”
“Need a hand?” Collins asked. “I seem to have made a connection with this guy, you know?” He laughed again.
Black grabbed Collins by the front of his fatigues. “This guy is messed up now because of you, Collins! We’ll be lucky to get anything out of him!” He shoved Collins back roughly. Collins’s hand hovered over his holster. Black’s hand moved to his own holster. “You sure you want to do that?”
Collins eventually turned and silently walked back toward the wrecked BoDex van and the Humvee parked nearby. Black watched as Collins approached Graham, Popavich, and Williams, heard him say something, then there were high-fives and laughter all around. Black had butted heads with Collins in the past but today they had come closer than ever to having it out. He knew it was only a matter of time.
Black turned back to Nichols, who sat on the ground, his back against a tree. His white shirt was streaked with dirt and blood, his tie was askew, and he had soiled himself. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had headed up the Centurion project. One look told Black it was no use.
Black called the monitoring center. He gave the coordinates of their position and ordered Valdez to dispatch a BoDex crew to retrieve the wrecked van. He also requested a medical technician, explaining that Nichols was in shock.
He contacted Team Two for a status report. Everett, Becker, and Rossi believed they found the spot where Nichols released the five Centurions into the woods. Black directed the UH-60 to move to Team Two’s position and coordinate the search. He saw the Black Hawk moving above him, Ruiz waving from the open cabin door. The helicopter soon disappeared, the sound of its rotor blades fading away.
Soon Brad Peters arrived accompanied by a number of BoDex personnel. During the entire time Black was waiting for them, Nichols sat in the same spot, rocked back and forth, and mumbled unintelligibly. Peters and his crew hauled the wrecked van back to the facility where it was dumped next to the Pruitts’ Jeep in the aircraft hangar. Jonathan Nichols was delivered to the infirmary where Dr. Julia Talbot took custody.
Black, Collins, and Team One piled into the Humvee and sped off to link up with Team Two. A short time later, Popavich hit the brakes, barreled off the road, and slid to a stop alongside Team Two’s Humvee. The five men spilled out of the vehicle. Everett, Becker, and Rossi were standing around.
“Anything?” Black asked.
“Negative,” Rossi said. “They’re gone.”
“What do you mean, they’re gone?” Black said. “Five of those big bastards don’t just vanish!”
“Yeah, well, trust me,” Everett said. “They’re gone. We didn’t have much of a trail to start with.”
“Sonofabitch.” How could the Centurions be gone without a trace? Black grabbed his radio. “Schmidt. It’s Black. You got anything?”
“Nothing. We swept out quite a ways too.”
“How’s your fuel?”
“Good.”
“Keep looking, then,” Black ordered.
Black looked at the seven men standing around him. “Fan out and take another look for a trail or anything else that might give us a lead.”
Black checked in with Valdez again. “Get Attwood on the line.”
“Attwood here.”
“Peters is on his way back with the wrecked van and Nichols. We cannot find the Centurions.”
“Foster believes he has located the girl,” said Attwood. “She was found by a local and taken to a secluded resort nearby. All communications in that area have been locked down. Foster’s men are continuing to track the two Centurions who escaped earlier in the day.”
“We will sweep our present location one last time, then relocate to the resort and take over for Foster,” Black said.
General Attwood gave control of the radio back to Valdez, who relayed the coordinates of Foster’s location to Black. The general watched as Valdez signed off. All he could do now was wait patiently and hope someone picked up the Centurions’ trail.
Jack MacGregor drove along the dead-end dirt road that connected Nature’s Haven Resort to the main road running between Eagle’s Notch and the Adirondack Northway. Nature’s Haven had been a profitable mountain getaway until it fell upon tough economic times. Unable to sell, the owners simply packed up and left. The property fell into disrepair, and that’s when Jack and Sara MacGregor picked it up at auction.
Jack had been a successful homebuilder in the Saratoga region of upstate New York. He first worked for his father’s remodeling business as a teen, and continued swinging a hammer while attending a local college in pursuit of a business degree. When his
father retired, Jack took over the company.
He married Sara almost twenty-three years ago. Along with being a well-respected trauma nurse at Albany Medical Center, she was a gourmet chef. Fellow employees loved being treated to her delicious creations.
As Sara and Jack MacGregor neared fifty years of age, they decided it was as good a time as any to pursue their lifelong dream of owning and operating a bed and breakfast. Jack could remodel and maintain the facility as well as handle the books, while Sara would dive into her dream job of being a professional chef. Jack sold the family business, Sara left nursing, and the couple headed north to the picturesque Adirondack Mountains. They had no children, their one attempt at pregnancy leaving Sara unable to ever try again.
The hard-working couple had restored plumbing, electric, and heat to parts of the property along with refurbishing the owner’s suite and enough of the dining facilities to be able to live there while remodeling the rest of the establishment. If all went well, Nature’s Haven Resort would be open for business in less than a year.
The road ended in a large clearing that faced the main building. MacGregor pulled up to the entrance and hit his horn a few times. He opened the rear door of the SUV. The young girl was still unconscious. He carefully slid her out and cradled her in his strong arms.
The right section of the double-door entrance to the resort swung open, revealing a slim woman with auburn hair tied in a ponytail. She waved a dish towel in greeting. “Well, it’s about time. I was getting ready to send out a search party—” She stopped, seeing the small body draped across Jack’s arms. “Jack! What happened?”
“Give me a hand, Sara!”
Sara held the heavy door open. “Put her in our bedroom,” she ordered. “I’ll grab the first aid kit!”
Jack moved quickly across the lobby into the owner’s suite. He gently laid the young girl on the king size bed. Sara kneeled at the side of the bed, felt the girl’s pulse, then lifted her eyelids and checked her pupils. Satisfied, she said, “Get me a basin of warm water and some clean towels.” When Jack came back, Sara was gently probing the girl’s limbs, checking for serious injuries. The girl never stirred.
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