“Collins here. In position.”
“Graham here. In position, but I think I’ve got company. No visual yet, but I’m sure I heard someone else out here.”
“I can check it out,” Collins offered a little too quickly.
“Maintain your position, Collins,” Black ordered. “Graham, do you need assistance?”
“No. I’ll just wait and let this guy come to me.”
“Copy that,” Black said. “Schmidt, you there?”
“I read you five by five,” the Black Hawk pilot replied. “Maintaining position in holding area.”
“Proceed to the drop zone and insert Rossi and Williams,” Black said, “then drop back to the holding area and await further instructions.”
“Roger. Proceeding to drop zone now.”
So far, everything was going according to plan. As soon as Rossi and Williams were on the ground at the rear of the building, Black would tighten the noose. Foster, his team, and the civilians would be corralled like helpless cattle waiting to be slaughtered.
Collins was antsy waiting for the action to begin. He decided to ignore Black’s order to maintain position. Graham was too inept to take care of whoever was tracking him. After all, the man had been ambushed and tossed into a Dumpster. It would be a while before the helicopter arrived. He’d be back before Black had a chance to miss him.
Collins backtracked to a spot where he could cross the narrow dirt road without being spotted by Black and Popavich, then darted across the road and ducked into the woods on the same side as Graham. He crept toward Graham, examining every piece of landscape for someone who shouldn’t be there.
Vincenzo’s dilemma about whether or not to follow the man who had disappeared into the woods resolved itself when Vincenzo spied him coming back out of the woods, then crossing the road in a hurried crouch and reentering the woods in front of him. He took off after him, knowing he needed to get to the intruder before the intruder got to Cummings.
Kurt Cummings’s target, in black fatigues, stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding greenery. The man crouched behind a large pine near the edge of the parking lot, watching the resort. It was a short distance but Cummings needed to make sure there was nothing to step on that would broadcast his arrival.
Cummings got ready to move when he felt the muzzle of a weapon press hard against the back of his neck. He froze, his finger flexing against the trigger of his assault rifle.
“I would love nothing better than to put you down right here,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Lower your rifle and don’t make a sound.” Cummings did as he was told. A hand reached around and relieved him of his weapon. “That’s a good boy. Hands on your head.” Cummings felt the same hand yank his sidearm from its holster.
“Graham!” the man softly called. Graham, Cummings’s target, snapped around, weapon up.
“Collins! What the—”
“Shut up, you goddamn idiot!” Collins hissed. “Get over here!”
Graham moved quickly. “I didn’t hear...I mean, I didn’t know he was here! How did...”
“How did he get so close to you? Because you’re a moron, that’s how. Which is exactly how you got thrown into a Dumpster. You think you can bind and gag this guy without screwing it up?” Collins spat. “I’ve got to get back to my own position before Black goes all ape shit on my ass.”
“Yeah, of course I can.” Graham secured Cummings’s hands behind his back with plastic handcuffs, then ordered him to sit against a nearby tree. Next, he pulled a bandana from his pocket and tied it around Cummings’s mouth. While Collins covered him, Graham secured Cummings’s ankles with a second set of plastic handcuffs. Graham glared at Collins. “Done to your satisfaction?”
“You better hope so. Toss his weapons far enough away that he can’t get to them.” Graham threw Cummings’s M4A1 rifle, SIG handgun, and knife into the middle of a dense thicket.
“Call Black and tell him you caught one of these jokers on your own. I was never here.” Collins turned to leave, but not before giving Graham one last pitiful look. He ducked into the foliage and was gone.
Graham checked Cummings’s bindings one last time before returning to his post. He decided to observe the resort a little longer before reporting in to Black.
Sal Vincenzo stumbled upon the scene just in time to see two black-clad men training weapons on Kurt Cummings, who sat against a tree, hands secured behind his back, ankles tied together. The two bad guys had a heated conversation, then one threw Cummings’s weapons into the bushes. The man Vincenzo had been tracking now disappeared into the woods. Vincenzo hoped the man was heading back to his original position across the road. That would even up the odds.
Vincenzo decided to make his move. He swung around, keeping Cummings and the tree between himself and the man in black. He crawled until he was right behind the tree, then whispered, “Kurt. It’s Sal.” Cummings never moved. He stared straight ahead at the man who was now keeping an eye on the resort. He angled his bound hands and gave Vincenzo a thumbs-up.
“Okay. Give me a sign if this guy turns around.” Another thumbs-up from Cummings. “Sit still,” Vincenzo said. He pressed his knife blade against the plastic handcuffs. They were tougher than they looked. He sawed at them with short deliberate strokes. The blade finally went through and the plastic handcuffs fell to the ground.
Cummings removed his gag, then reached for Vincenzo’s knife and hacked at the plastic handcuffs binding his ankles. Vincenzo pushed himself back behind the tree and waited. Cummings took his eyes off Graham for a fraction of a second to concentrate on his knife work, but that was all it took for things to fall apart.
“Freeze!” Graham bellowed, just as the knife cut through the plastic handcuffs securing his ankles. Cummings looked up to see the man’s submachine gun aimed squarely at his head. “Drop the knife!” Cummings tossed it to the side. “Now lace your fingers together and put your hands on your head!”
“You, behind the tree! Get out here now!” Vincenzo didn’t move. Maybe Graham was bluffing, guessing there was someone else. “I said, get out here now or I’ll blow your buddy away!”
“Okay, okay! Just take it easy, man!” Vincenzo shouted. “I’m coming out!”
“Weapons first!” Graham said. Vincenzo tossed his assault rifle to the ground, followed by his handgun. He came out from behind the tree, his fingers laced, hands on his head.
“Just take it easy, pal, okay?” Vincenzo said. “No one has to get hurt.”
“You take it easy, pal,” Graham shot back. “Keep your hands up.”
Vincenzo kept moving forward very slowly, and easing away from Cummings at the same time. He wanted to spread the guard’s attention over as wide an area as possible. Maybe he could get to his weapons or maybe Cummings could get to the knife.
Cummings watched Vincenzo, reading him perfectly. Resting his hand on the ground, Cummings eased it ever so slowly toward the knife. It was out of his reach. When the time came he would have to lunge.
“Stop right there!” Graham said to Vincenzo. He paid no attention to Cummings.
“Hey, no problem, Graham. That’s your name, right? Graham?” Vincenzo said. He continued to increase his distance from Cummings.
“How do you know my name?” Graham asked. Sal Vincenzo shifted from foot to foot, moving farther away from Cummings with each miniscule step. Cummings could almost touch the knife.
“I heard your buddy say it just before he took off. The guy seems like a dick, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’m not asking you.”
“Looked to me like he was throwing it in your face that he’s the best and you’re, well...” Vincenzo eased his hands off his head and held them out.
“Hands on your head!” Graham jabbed the MP5N at Vincenzo.
“Okay, okay. See? Hands back on my head.”
Vincenzo had moved close enough for Graham to see his name stenciled on his fatigues. “Vincenzo?” Graham said. “That’s your name?”
“Vincenzo, huh?” Graham said again.
“Yep. Mrs. Vincenzo’s baby boy, right here in front of you,” Vincenzo replied, unsure where this was going. Hurry up, Kurt!
“You don’t remember me?” Graham asked.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Vincenzo said. “Should I?”
Graham raised his weapon and settled it tightly against his shoulder, the muzzle aimed between Vincenzo’s eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Should you?” he asked. “How about I give you a hint?” Graham shouted, “Thrown anybody in a Dumpster lately, you prick bastard?”
Damn! Time’s up, Kurt! “Relax, pal! It was all a misunderstanding.” Vincenzo held his hands up in surrender. “You got me! You win!”
At that moment, their small arena exploded into a blur of action. Cummings lunged for the knife and came up throwing, Graham dropped to the ground, a shot was fired, and Vincenzo dove for his weapons.
When Vincenzo scrambled to his knees, Graham was prone on the ground, his MP5N aimed at Vincenzo.
“Freeze or I’ll kill you!” Graham shouted. Vincenzo reluctantly let his SIG fall to the ground. He saw the knife sticking in the earth to the right of Graham. How could Kurt have missed? He was incredibly accurate with a knife. He looked toward Cummings, and then he had his answer. Kurt Cummings lay on the ground, rolling side to side, writhing in pain. His right hand pressed against a slowly spreading blotch of red on his left shoulder.
“You sonofabitch! You shot him!” Vincenzo roared.
“Stop right there or you’re next,” Graham said, his voice shaky. Vincenzo moved toward Cummings. “I said stop!” Graham repeated.
Vincenzo stopped. “I’m going to take care of my friend. You got a problem with that?”
“Don’t try anything or you’re next.”
“You and me, we’re not done,” Vincenzo swore.
“Kurt, let me take a look.” Vincenzo gently pulled Cummings’s hand away. He propped the young man up against the tree and removed his fatigue top. “Looks like a clean through and through, buddy. Not too much bleeding. I think you got lucky here, Kurt.”
“Not feeling too lucky, Sal,” Cummings said between clenched teeth. “Hurts like a bastard.”
“Just think of the great stories you’ll tell when people ask about your scar.” Vincenzo cleaned and dressed Cummings’s wound using items from his med kit.
As Vincenzo leaned over him, Cummings noticed a red cord hanging from Sal’s breast pocket. He brushed it with his fingertips. “What’s that?”
Vincenzo removed the red whistle and lanyard that Tony Bascombe had given him. “Remember when we found the trainers? One of the live ones insisted on giving it to me. Not sure why he wanted me to have it, and he was in no condition for me to question him.” Vincenzo looped the lanyard over his head. “There you go,” Vincenzo said. “Good as new.”
A bunch of plastic handcuffs landed on Cummings’s lap. “Put them on,” Graham ordered.
“You really think he’s in any shape to do anything?” Vincenzo asked.
“Don’t really care,” Graham said. “Cuff him, then lay face down on the ground and I’ll put yours on.” Graham flashed a grin. “Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as being thrown in a Dumpster.”
Vincenzo bolted upright. “Maybe I’m done listening to you, asshole.”
Graham pointed his weapon at Cummings. “Oh, are you now? I think I’ll shoot him if you don’t listen.”
“When this is over, I’m gonna find you and kill you.”
Graham shouldered his weapon and sighted over the top of it, locking on Vincenzo’s head. “What makes you think you’re even gonna get outta here alive—”
Graham screamed in terror as the Centurions exploded from the foliage. He jammed the trigger of his MP5N down, emptying the weapon’s entire magazine in seconds, and still they rushed at him.
Vincenzo dropped to his knees and tried to drag Cummings’s dead weight to safety. The scene before him was something out of a nightmare filled with slashing claws and razor-sharp teeth.
Collins heard the faint beat of the UH-60 rotor blades just as he settled back into his assigned position on the left flank. Damn, I’m good, he thought. I snuck over to Graham’s position, bagged one of the enemy, and snuck back before the helicopter even arrived, and all undetected by Black. I should be running the show. Strange that he hadn’t heard Graham call Black over the team net to inform him of the capture. That moron really couldn’t be trusted. Collins decided then and there that Graham would be the first to go when he took over the unit. Graham, Graham, The Garbage Man.
Collins’s self-praise was interrupted by the sound of a single gunshot followed by a long burst of automatic fire from Graham’s position. What was that dumb sonofabitch up to now?
Black was sitting in the Humvee when he heard a single gunshot. “Hold your fire!” he yelled into his mike. Moments later, the air was ripped by the sound of an MP5N on full auto letting loose. “Everyone, hold your fire!” he yelled. “Who the hell is firing?” He ordered every member of his team to report in.
“Collins here, negative.”
“This is Rossi. It wasn’t me or Williams. We’re still airborne.”
“Graham? Do you read me?” Black said. “Graham? Come in!”
“This is Collins. I can check it out.”
“Negative! Maintain your position,” Black ordered. Damn you, Collins! Always looking for any excuse to lead a charge!
“Graham? Come in!” Still no response. Black turned to Popavich. “Get over to Graham’s position on the right flank and see what the hell is going on! Hurry up! We’re almost ready to launch our offensive!”
“On it.” Popavich grabbed his submachine gun, slid out of the driver’s seat, and ran toward Graham’s location.
Black radioed the UH-60. “Schmidt, what’s your ETA?”
“Two minutes.”
“Hold the men until I give the order. Things may be changing down here.”
“Roger that,” Schmidt replied.
Black sat in the Humvee waiting to hear from Popavich.
Foster ran to the front windows when he heard the gunfire. He lifted the edge of the curtain and peeked outside. With the exception of the Humvee blocking the road, there was still no sign of Black’s force.
“Jack!” Foster called.
“Right here.”
“Go up and check with Serrafino and Robinson. Find out if they’ve seen anything.”
Foster called to Mitchell, guarding the rear of the building from the kitchen. “Mitchell! You see anything?”
“Negative!”
Foster couldn’t tell if the gunfire had come from an MP5N or an M4A1. That made him wonder how Vincenzo and Cummings were doing. They had been out of touch for a while now. If only his team had the use of their damn radios! Jack pounded back down the stairs.
“Robinson said he heard the gunfire but didn’t see anything. Serrafino didn’t see anything, but said it sounded like the gunfire was coming from his side.”
“Keep an eye on the women,” Foster said. “I’ll call you when I need you.”
“Okay,” Jack said.
Come on, Black. What are you waiting for? Make your damn move!
And that is exactly what Black was so desperately trying to do. His streak of perfectly executed undercover ops was in serious jeopardy. Every time he put another part of his plan into action, a different piece fell apart. His team had failed at tracking down the Centurions stolen by Jonathan Nichols, then his ground force was tossed from the resort. That embarrassing debacle was followed by the loss of two of his best men, Becker and Everett, and now he could not get in touch with Graham. Black would have asked, What else could possibly go wrong, but dared not.
He got back on his radio. “Popavich! Where the hell are you?”
“Sti
ll trying to locate Graham.”
“Hurry up!” Black shouted.
Sal Vincenzo sat next to Kurt Cummings, his arm wrapped protectively around his teammate, both their backs against the tree. Graham’s wild gunfire kept them pinned to the ground, unable to escape. They watched in silence as the Centurions flew out of the foliage and fell upon Graham. The stunned man never had a chance. His submachine gun fired until the magazine ran dry. Once the gunfire stopped, Vincenzo and Cummings could hear the growls of the furious Centurions, along with Graham’s agonizing screams as his body was torn apart. It was over in less than a minute.
“Don’t move,” Vincenzo whispered. “No matter what, do not move.” Cummings nodded.
One by one, the Centurions backed away from Graham. Their fur was splattered with Graham’s blood, their claws dripping with his gore. A few of them growled in low rumbles. Were they challenging Vincenzo and Cummings?
Alpha, the biggest and strongest of the Centurions, stared at the two men huddled on the ground. He roared, causing the other creatures to shrink back, then began to move forward. Cummings tensed and pushed away from Vincenzo, desperately believing he could actually escape from the monster.
“Kurt!” Vincenzo’s fingers dug into Cummings’s arm. “Don’t move!” Cummings settled back.
Alpha towered over them. He sniffed the air, turning his massive head side to side, seeming to assess whether the humans were a threat. Raising his fur-covered, muscle-bound arms, his cold eyes settled back on the men. Cummings stared at the long claws glinting in the sunlight and thought, This is how my life ends. He closed his eyes and waited for Alpha’s claws to slice through him.
That was when he heard a whistle blowing softly. He thought it must be his imagination. But then he heard the whistle again. He allowed his eyes to open and saw that Alpha had backed away and now stood still, arms hanging by his side. Sal Vincenzo had the red whistle in his mouth and was blowing softly.
All the Centurions gathered around Vincenzo, their attention fixed on the soft warbling sounds. That was it! The whistles were what the trainers had used to control the Centurions, or at least get their attention to be able to train them. Was Vincenzo somehow communicating with them?
The Devil's Claw Page 18