Rossi pitched over the railing, hitting the ground three feet below. He lay in the gravel, arms and legs splayed. The resort’s front door slammed shut.
Black slid to the ground. His hands covered his face. It can’t be! I can’t have lost another man! Becker, Everett, Graham, Williams, Popavich, and now Rossi. This was impossible!
Black yelled into his radio. “Collins! Come in!” Long seconds passed with no response. What if Collins is dead too? I could be all alone out here.
“Collins here.” Thank God he was still alive! “Collins! Get back to the Humvee right now!” Black ordered. He struggled to push his fear away.
“I haven’t caught up with the hairbags and army pukes yet,” Collins replied. “I think I’m getting close.”
“No! You get here now! You understand me? Right now!” Black screamed. “Rossi is dead. It’s just you and me out here.”
Collins was stunned. “Okay, okay! I’m on my way right now.” Something in Black’s voice made him add, “And don’t get trigger happy.” Collins ran in the direction of Black and the Humvee.
Robinson dropped behind the trunk of a large tree. He had to decide whether to follow the man he had been tailing or continue in hope of finding Cummings and Vincenzo.
“Screw this,” he said, continuing in the trail of footprints. He was going to help his teammates.
“Jennifer! Get the medical pack from the bedroom!” Sara knelt next to Foster and pressed hard on the wound in his thigh, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Jack sat against the check-in counter tenderly massaging a knot on his head. When Rossi lunged at him with the knife, Jack had stumbled backward, lost his footing, and banged his head against the solid wood counter before hitting the floor.
Eric Mitchell and Dave Serrafino charged down the stairs. “What the hell happened?”
“He’s losing blood!” Sara yelled. Mitchell dropped to his knees and cut open the left leg of Foster’s fatigues.
“Jennifer! Take care of Jack,” Sara ordered. She didn’t want Jennifer around all this blood and madness. “He may have a concussion.” Jennifer struggled to help Jack to his feet, leading him into the bedroom.
“How’s it look, Eric?” Serrafino asked.
“Get the door secured!” Foster shouted weakly. Serrafino slammed the front door shut, engaging the lock. “Serrafino, cover the rear. Mitchell, you gotta watch the front.”
Serrafino looked to Mitchell. “Go,” Mitchell said. “We’re okay.” Serrafino took off.
Mitchell and Sara worked as a team to stop Foster from bleeding out. “Touch and go, Sean, but we got lucky.” Mitchell dressed his wound. “The slug didn’t hit anything vital.” It was then that Mitchell saw the SIG on the floor, Foster’s bloody hand resting on it. It wasn’t Foster’s handgun. He carried a Beretta M9. “What’s with that?” Mitchell asked.
Foster looked down at the SIG like it was the first time he was seeing it, then slid the handgun to Mitchell, who tucked the weapon into his web belt. “When Jack hit the intruder, the gun went off, then it went flying. I guess that’s what happened here,” Foster said, tapping his bandage.
“I thought I heard more than one shot,” Mitchell said.
“The gun ended up next to me,” Foster replied. “I didn’t have any choice. The intruder was going after Jack with his combat knife.” He hesitated. “I shot him twice. I had to.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Staggered out the door,” Foster answered.
Foster was suddenly aware of Sara kneeling next to Mitchell. “Thanks for helping me, Sara. I give you my word we’ll get you and Jack out of this. And Jennifer too.”
“I know you will,” Sara said. “I better check on that big ox of a husband of mine.”
Foster wondered what Robinson was up to, and what happened to Cummings and Vincenzo. He sure could use the rest of his team right now.
Bernie Robinson followed the trail of human and Centurion footprints, stopping when he heard muffled noises ahead. He crouched behind cover and slipped a monocular from one of his pockets.
Robinson observed Cummings, arm in a makeshift sling, standing before a group of Centurions. The Centurions squatted in silence. Cummings blew on a whistle, then spoke to the creatures who grunted in response.
Robinson heard three short whistles from a different direction. The noise was different from the one coming from Cummings. Robinson decided to take a chance and replied with two short whistles. No response.
Finally, Robinson was rewarded with three short whistles. He turned in the direction of the sound, raising the muzzle of his assault rifle.
“Sonofabitch!” Robinson hissed, as Sal Vincenzo emerged from a stand of trees. Robinson began to rise, thrilled to see his teammate alive, but Vincenzo motioned for him to stay down.
Vincenzo approached him in a crouch, a finger to his lips. Robinson could still hear Cummings, blowing the whistle and speaking to the Centurions. Vincenzo covered the distance to Robinson quickly, dropping to the ground next to his teammate.
“What the hell—” Robinson began.
“Shhhhh!”
Vincenzo put his mouth close to Robinson’s ear. “Cummings was shot but he’s okay. Somehow, he’s communicating with the Centurions and able to direct their actions.” Robinson kept nodding but he was having trouble believing it. “Before we go to him, sling your rifle on your shoulder and keep your hands away from your handgun and knife.”
“Wait a second,” Robinson argued.
“You have to trust me. Long story short, they recognize us as the good guys by the flags on our shoulders. Cummings called it the sign of a friend. Don’t make any sudden moves or say anything. Leave their orders up to Cummings, okay?” Robinson agreed.
“Remember this, because it could save your life,” warned Vincenzo. “Do not, no matter what happens, point a weapon at them, okay? They react to weapons pointed at them as a threat, and they will attack.”
“I saw some of their handiwork.”
“Let’s go. Hold your hands up away from your body. And don’t do anything I don’t do.”
Vincenzo gave three whistles to alert Cummings, and slowly stood up. Cummings saw him. So did the Centurions. Their eyes bored into Vincenzo and Robinson, their ears twitching like small furry radar dishes, their throats emitting small growls. Some began to stand. Robinson was having second thoughts about proceeding. His hands strayed to his weapons.
“Easy,” Vincenzo cautioned.
Cummings gave three long blasts on the red whistle to gain the Centurions’ attention. When the creatures focused on him, he held up his uninjured hand, palm facing them, and waved them back to the ground. “Stay, stay,” Cummings repeated, then, “Friend, friend,” and pointed to his teammates.
Cummings called out as they approached. “Point to your flag patch and keep saying friend!”
“Friend, friend,” both men repeated as they got closer. They continually pointed to the U.S. flag patch. Robinson and Vincenzo wound their way between the big creatures sitting before Cummings like students in front of a teacher.
“Good to see you,” Cummings said. Robinson just shook his head, afraid to speak or move. “Relax. We have this under control. Vincenzo instructed you on the dos and don’ts?”
“He did,” Robinson responded. “Not sure I’m a believer yet.”
“You will be,” Cummings said. “How’s the rest of the team?”
“Everyone was fine when I left the resort.” Robinson filled Cummings and Vincenzo in on what he’d done since he slipped out of the resort to investigate the gunfire. “Anybody got a plan on what to do with these guys?” He nodded toward the Centurions.
“As a matter of fact,” Cummings said, “we were just talking about that.”
After finalizing their plan, the men wished each other good luck, and Robinson made his way back to the resort.
“Ready?” Vincenzo asked.
“It’s now or never. Let’s see what kind of retention
rate these guys have.”
Cummings blew out a few short whistle blasts to get the Centurions’ attention. He pointed in the direction of the resort and shouted, “Go, go, go!” Cummings and Vincenzo moved out in that direction. One by one, the Centurions fell in behind them. Alpha was the first in line. After all, he was their leader.
“Schmidt! Do you read me?” Black barked into his radio.
“Loud and clear,” Schmidt replied.
“How soon can you get here?”
“We’re fueled. I can be there in ten minutes or less.”
“Are the grenades still aboard?” Black inquired.
“Yep, everything we brought with us is aboard.”
“Then get a move on! Set down where the access road meets the parking lot. You’ll see us with the Humvee.”
“Got it. We’re leaving now,” Schmidt said.
Black turned to Collins. “Now we’ll end this freak show once and for all.”
Collins used his binoculars to scan the front of the resort and the surrounding property. He stopped his sweep when he saw Rossi’s body.
Schmidt sat in a secluded corner of the BoDex monitoring center. He stood to fold an aerial map he had been marking with a red pen.
“Excuse me.” Schmidt turned to see General Attwood, who looked like he had aged one hundred years since that morning.
“What can I do for you, General?” the helicopter pilot asked.
“I understand you’re getting ready to fly out to Black’s location. I thought I’d hitch a ride to assess the situation firsthand.”
“Well, since I didn’t get an order to that effect from Black himself, I am afraid I can’t help you out.” Schmidt slipped the map into a large pocket on the leg of his black flight suit. He turned to walk out of the room but was halted by the general’s hand clamping down on his shoulder.
“General, like I said, I can’t help you. I take my orders from Black and only Black.”
“Well, Schmidt…it is Schmidt, correct?” The pilot nodded. “The first time I asked, it was a request. Now, it’s a demand.” Attwood paused. “I have been listening in on your team net and you have lost most of your ground force. It is my intention to end this before there are any more casualties. If you have a problem with that, I can have you and your crew detained and get someone else to bring me in.” Schmidt took notice of Jim Keville, the head of BoDex security, and three of his staff, all armed, standing behind Attwood.
“Well, General, I may have been premature in my refusal to bring you along,” Schmidt said. “We can leave right now.”
“And my men will accompany us.”
Schmidt had intended to have Ruiz and Perry overpower Attwood once they were aboard but that plan had now gone out the window.
“Keville will take your weapons.” Schmidt grudgingly passed his SIG, butt first, to Jim Keville.
“After you, Schmidt.” It was damn good to be back in charge, Attwood thought. “I insist.”
Attwood led the group to the waiting UH-60. Keville and his security people relieved Ruiz and Perry of their weapons. Schmidt informed them Attwood and his men were going with them.
“Let’s get aboard and get moving,” Attwood ordered. They all piled into the Black Hawk, Keville’s men now holding Schmidt, Perry, and Ruiz’s weapons. General Attwood tapped Schmidt’s flight helmet from behind with the barrel of one of the SIGs. “No communication with Black, understand?”
“And if he tries to contact us?” Perry said.
“Then answer, but be vague. You are not to mention we’re with you.”
“You’re the boss,” Schmidt said.
Attwood’s eyes drilled into Schmidt. “And don’t you forget that.” He motioned for Ruiz to get him a headset to plug him into the communications system.
The general addressed Keville’s group. “Make sure you’re strapped in tight, just in case these people decide to try anything. It’s a long way down.”
No one realized General Attwood had not been sitting idly by. While Black and his team were running around in circles, the general had quietly put together a plan of his own. Commandeering the UH-60 and confronting Black was simply the next step.
With a shudder, the helicopter rose, pirouetted smoothly, then headed toward the resort at treetop level for what Attwood was sure would be his final clash with Black.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Robinson said. “Hell, I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it.”
Foster leaned back in his chair, his wounded leg propped on an ottoman. He winced as a stab of pain lanced through his injured thigh. “I believe you.”
“You okay, Sean?”
“Yeah, Eric. Never better.” Foster wiped perspiration off his forehead with a cloth napkin.
“I can give you something for the pain—” Mitchell began.
“I’m okay.” Foster spoke to Robinson. “You’re telling me that in a few minutes, Cummings and Vincenzo are going to hit the bad guys from the rear? And the Centurions are going to help them?”
“That’s the message,” Robinson said. “And we can hit them from the front at the same time. Classic squeeze play.”
Foster thought for a moment. On his way in, Robinson reported that the intruder who wounded Foster was now lying in the parking lot. “First things first,” Foster said. “Robinson, grab something we can use as a white flag. Mitchell, you and I will go to see if we can help him or…well, if it’s too late, we’ll let his own people retrieve him or we’ll bring him inside.”
Robinson tied a white dishtowel to a broom handle. “Sean, I can go out there with Mitchell. You shouldn’t be up on that leg.”
“This is my responsibility. You watch the front, and Dave, watch the rear.” Foster rose shakily, supporting himself with an ornately carved walking stick leaning by the check-in counter.
Mitchell opened the front door just enough to slip the flag through. No reaction. He walked onto the porch waving the flag. Foster followed. They looked down at the man sprawled in the gravel below. He looked up at them through dead eyes.
“Are you surrendering?” a voice called out. Foster had expected a response, but the voice sent a shiver though him nonetheless. Two men huddled behind the Humvee at the opposite end of the parking lot.
“No!” Foster yelled. “We want to check on your man, to see if we can help him.”
“Go ahead, but don’t try anything.”
“Check him out.” Foster accepted the makeshift flag from Mitchell. The medic knelt beside the body, checked for vitals, then looked up at Foster, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” Foster called. “Your man is dead.” Silence. “It was an accident.” More silence. “Do you want to retrieve his body or would you like us to take him inside?”
“We’ll come and get him.”
“Approach then.”
Foster and Mitchell watched as the two men got into the Humvee and drove slowly up to the front porch. Mitchell had his hands on his automatic rifle, waiting. Foster leaned on the walking stick.
The Humvee stopped. Black got out of the vehicle. He glanced down at Rossi’s body, then looked up at Foster and Mitchell. Collins stood, weapon at the ready.
“I’m sorry about your man,” Foster said.
Black kneeled next to his dead comrade. “I lost a lot of good men today,” Black said. “It wouldn’t have happened if you had followed orders.”
“We’re soldiers, not murderers,” Foster replied.
Black gestured at Rossi’s body. “And yet…”
“I told you, it was an accident,” Foster said. “We can end this before anyone else gets hurt.”
“So I ask again, are you surrendering?”
“All we want to do is leave here with the civilians.”
“Then there’s nothing to talk about,” Black responded. He hefted Rossi over his shoulder, placing the body in the rear of the Humvee, next to Popavich. Collins slipped into the passenger seat, never taking his MP5N off the two m
en on the front porch. Black backed the vehicle across the parking lot, returning to its spot blocking the access road.
General Attwood mouthed, Get ready. As soon as they were clear of the trees, the helicopter dropped, and with a slight jolt, the UH-60 settled to the ground, the spinning rotor blades slowing.
As the veil of dust began to clear, Attwood saw the blue BoDex Humvee parked nearby. Black and Collins stepped out from behind the vehicle and approached the helicopter, stopping abruptly when they saw General Attwood with three of his security personnel. Schmidt opened the pilot’s access door and climbed out. He met Black’s questioning gaze with a shrug.
Ruiz and Perry stood outside the cargo cabin, a fourth BoDex security man standing behind them. Black noticed the BoDex men were armed, and his men were missing their firearms.
“General Attwood,” Black began, trying to sound congenial, “this is a surprise. Why are you here instead of back at BoDex monitoring the situation?”
“I was monitoring the situation, and I heard all I needed to hear. Now it’s my turn to end this before anyone else gets killed.” As the general spoke, his security personnel surrounded Black and Collins.
“General, with all due respect,” Black said, “I think you should get back to BoDex and let us finish our work here.”
“I’ve witnessed quite enough of your work today. As of right now, I am in charge.”
“What a minute, General—” Black began.
“This discussion is over!” Attwood roared. He turned to Jim Keville. “Relieve these men of their weapons.”
In a flash, Collins dropped back a step and swung his submachine gun up, its muzzle trained on Attwood’s chest. “Not gonna happen,” Collins snarled. Keville and his two men pointed their weapons at Collins and Black.
Attwood showed no fear. “You had better lower that weapon. If I have to take it from you, you’ll regret it.”
“Go ahead and try,” said Collins.
Black held his hands up. “General, we can work together. What do you say? Your men out there trust you. Once they realize you’re involved, I’m sure they’ll see things my way and then I can clean this whole mess up.”
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