Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  They put their rebreather’s in their mouths and sank below the surface.

  Then there was nothing but darkness and the quiet sounds water always makes when a body is completely submerged. The gun felt heavy, cold, and comfortable in his grip. Mack estimated they had about thirty yards to go and kept track of the steps. Once he reached the spot, he didn’t hesitate. He stood, water dripping from his body, took aim and then pulled the trigger. The silent bullet whizzed and thumped into the guard on the right.

  Merc fired almost simultaneously and his guard fell. Mankel would know their presence soon, and their best bet was to get their asses up and over the wall lickety-split.

  Chapter 29

  Hoyt and Jared lifted the rappelling guns to their shoulders and fired. A loud crack whipped through the night air and purple smoke drifted upward.

  “Go.”

  Hunter and Ranger grabbed the ropes and pulled. “Secure.”

  Mack ascended, climbing barehanded, the rope burning his palms, but he didn’t feel it. He still couldn’t feel anything other than the burning need to exact revenge.

  Jack Mankel’s death was so close, he could practically see the blood spilling out of his body, feel the warm stickiness on his fingers. Mack wasn’t leaving here today until that bastard was a corpse.

  As Mack crested the wall, thick smoke wafted into his nostrils. He breathed in deep, savoring the smell of their concealment. “Clear.”

  Mack jumped to the ground seven feet below and waited on his men to follow. Once he saw the first couple pop over the edge of the wall, Mack started moving forward, clearing a path.

  He caught a slight movement to the left and turned to look around. Thud. The sound of a body hitting the ground, followed by a grunt. And then silence.

  Mack kept moving, alert for any hint of a noise. It wouldn’t be just one guard patrolling the yard.

  To say Jack Mankel was a paranoid bastard would be the understatement of the century. He had guards for his guards. And it was only a matter of seconds before they swarmed out of the compound.

  “Mine,” Hunter said, and shot off a round. Another body hit the ground.

  The team moved through thick smoke, completely relying on their hearing to guide them.

  Mack sensed the presence of his men flanking him, spreading out to cover more ground as they pushed forward like an unstoppable force.

  The large front door came into view: thick wood with black metal hinges. “Merc, it’s yours.”

  The towering form of Merc stepped in front of him and kicked in the door, which splintered open with a loud bang. Gunfire erupted. Mack dove to the left, behind the cover of the wall.

  The smoke had started to clear, but there was still enough of it to lower visibility. Mack was used to such conditions; the guards inside the compound would not be. He had to use every advantage available to them. “Moving.”

  Staying low, he fired off two rounds into the doorway. The first one hit a guy dead center in the chest. The second one hit a guard on the right shoulder, sending him sprawling backward, but it didn’t knock him to the ground.

  “Got it,” Merc said. He sprinted forward, pulling his knife free as he ran. The injured guard was dead within seconds. Merc wiped the blood off his blade before he sheathed the knife once more. “Clear.”

  They breached the doorway, weapons braced and heads down, ready for anything. The entryway was small; the walls made of concrete cinder blocks, as ugly as a pig’s ass. Knowing that this place robbed Mankel of his preference for over-the-top luxuries gave Mack a small surge of satisfaction. The bastard had always pampered himself, but this place—this place was straight-up, basic training austere.

  “Bet Mankel loves it here,” Mack grunted out.

  Ranger heaved a laugh, knocked his rifle to his shoulder, and sidestepped into an open doorway on the left. “We’ve got them on the run.” He reemerged from the room he’d just cleared moments later, clutching a medieval battle ax. “Might not be Mankel’s taste, but I’m all kinds of digging this joint.”

  “Shit, I’ve always wanted one of those,” Riser muttered.

  “Let’s go.” There was a narrow stairway built against the right wall, and a path beside it just wide enough for them to file down it two at a time.

  The air filled with the sound of footsteps pounding the halls overhead, rushing up from the back of the house. “Here they come.”

  Mack barely had time to prepare before another round of gunfire broke out. The lights went out, and the hall went completely dark except for the sunlight filtering in from the open doorway behind them.

  Mack fired off a round. He dove left, and then came up firing.

  Bullets whizzed past his ears, clanged into the walls, and ricocheted off the concrete. The smell of gunfire burned his nostrils. Talk came slow and steady in his ears. Damn, he loved this.

  He fired off another round and then called out the order to halt. Straight-up silence permeated the space.

  “Merc.”

  There was a click, and the blue glow from an LED flashlight filled the room. About nine bodies were splayed around him, arms and legs spread, blood seeping onto the floor. “Grab their weapons. That was only round one.” It was easy work for his team.

  They armed themselves with more guns and a couple of extra grenades, and Mack snatched a radio from one of the men’s belts. It wouldn’t hurt in the least to be on the inside loop of Mankel’s communication.

  They’d taken out all the men on the ground floor, which left only the men up the staircase before they took the basement. Mack smiled. “Time for a little hide-and-seek.”

  Merc clicked off his light and the team silently ascended the staircase, avoiding a dead body on the left. There were two doors opposite each other, and that was it. The compound was small by Mankel’s standards. His movements just visible in the dim glow from the doorway, Mack signaled for his team to split. They were dividing to conquer.

  The landing was wide enough for them to break off left and right.

  Mack crept down the hall, watching Riser and Ethan’s backs, the dim light fading as they approached the door on the left. They looked back; Mack nodded. Riser kicked in the door and they moved in, weapons raised.

  Mack was distantly aware of the sound of gunfire in the other room, but all his attention was focused on the cavernous, nearly empty bedroom before him. He was so close to Mankel he could taste the victory. Two years of just missing the bastard responsible for Shane’s capture and death ate at him, gnawing on his soul like a starved dog with a bone.

  Now he was minutes from feeding his need for revenge.

  Pop. Mack charged back, searing pain ripping through his left shoulder. He rolled. Motherfucker. On the ground, he could see his assailant’s feet beneath the bed.

  Mack fired a round, savoring the sound of the bullets sinking into the other man’s foot. Screams filled the air as he hit the ground, and Mack took him out with a single bullet to the head. “Clear.”

  Riser fired off another round, and the guy seeking cover behind the dresser on the right fell to the ground.

  “Colonel, you’re hit.” Riser rushed across the room and pressed his hand against Mack’s wound.

  Mack hissed as fresh blood seeped into his armpit. “It didn’t hurt until you jabbed a finger into it.”

  “You’ll live.” Riser said through a grin.

  Mack pulled away from Riser’s probing eyes and moved back out to the hallway. “I’m good. Let’s move.”

  His men circled up, backs to one another, keeping an eye out for the enemy. The other half of the team joined them with a nod.

  “The entrance to the basement is supposed to be on the south corner,” Mack said.

  He and his men crossed the hallway, pounded down the staircase, and lined up next to a big-ass metal door with a ten-digit keypad for a lock. Lights flickered overhead and then went out, casting them in complete darkness. “He’s fucking with us.”

  Ethan crouched in front of
the keypad, working his magic. The guy was like a freaking computer whisperer. “You surprised, Colonel?”

  Mack ratcheted his rifle, loading another round. “Not in the least. We’ve got him rattled. I hope he’s pissing his pants.”

  A small beep sounded from above and the door clicked open, squeaky hinges and all. “After you.” Ethan grabbed his rifle he’d propped against the wall.

  Icy anticipation replaced the blood in Mack’s veins. Mankel was down there. He could feel it in his bones. There was no trickle of light from an open door or a cracked window down here. Just straight-up sinister blackness. “I’ve got the lead,” Mack said. “Night vision goggles on.” He snapped his own goggles in place, and the stairway came into view through a grainy green image. A long, empty hallway stretched out at the base of the stairs, and then opened into a larger room that looked like it held tables and lab equipment.

  Mack took the first step down into the hell that Jack Mankel had created.

  The only sound was their breathing as they silently descended the steep set of stairs.

  Caroline had to be here. The lab equipment all but confirmed it. If Mankel really was running some kind of next-level experiment, this place was certainly set up for it.

  They stopped at the end of the staircase, his men lining up with their backs pressed to the wall. Mack craned his neck around the corner. The room was two times bigger than he’d originally thought, lined with large, glass-walled cells. Holy shit. These weren’t cages for monkeys and animal testing. These were the size of jail cells.

  His fury ignited, exploding through his body like a hundred pounds of C-4 strapped to his chest. “Y’all seeing what I’m seeing?”

  “We found Mankel’s little lab,” came Merc’s low reply.

  Hollow tubes seeped from the walls like long tendrils of evil. Empty cots hung in each cell, absent sheets or pillows. Faded blood stains covered the floors in large cancerous splotches, evidence of some horrible atrocity committed and then erased.

  “Jesus,” Mack breathed out, shocked horror permeating his words.

  Long, metal tables stretched in uneven rows, scattered with destroyed computers and glass bottles. Torn paper stuck in patches to the top, cemented in place by splatters of dried blood. A rolling cart covered in hacksaws and bone grinders stood next to one cell, turned up on three wheels like someone had shoved it away in a mad rush.

  In a daze, Mack stumbled to the middle cell, fixated on the dog tags hanging from a clear peg next to the entry. Fingers numb with shock, he lifted the metal chain and stared at the name typed in raised font on the flat disks. Subject G.

  “Whose, is it?” Merc asked in a harsh voice from behind Mack.

  Merc crushed the tags in his fist and yanked them from the peg. “I don’t know.” But he intended to find out. “Spread out and look for signs of Caroline.”

  “I’m going to peel Mankel’s nails off his fingers,” Merc said.

  Hunter approached, staring past them into the empty cell. “He has to die. Tonight.”

  “Not until he tells us where she is.” Mack shoved the tags into his pocket and turned his back on the cell, unable to stomach the idea of anyone held prisoner here, let alone an innocent woman.

  From their vantage point, the room appeared empty, as did all the cells. There were eight of them. “Moving. Watch my six.”

  Mack stepped into the room, crouched low with his gun raised, ready for another attack. Sweat popped on his brow, and the hairs down his legs stood on end as if he had stuck his toes in an electric outlet. Fuck. There was some next-level shit going on down here, and Mack got the uneasy sensation they were about to meet up with whatever Mankel’s experiment had created. “Keep your eyes peeled. I’m getting a bad feeling.”

  But they couldn’t turn back, not now. Mankel was down here, and Mack would rather die than let that bastard go again.

  Besides, what else did he have to live for? He existed to exact revenge on the man who had betrayed him. And once he finally achieved his goal, Mack could rest easy.

  He sensed more than saw a movement to his right.

  Mack swung around in time to see—but not intervene—as a soldier circled behind Riser, disarmed him, and then delivered a hard punch to his temple. Riser crumpled instantly, unconscious.

  Mack hissed in a breath. “Attack.”

  Like a lethal swarm of hornets, enemy combatants rose up from behind the tables, all of them in black, all of them moving without the assistance of night vision goggles, and all of them bigger than any man on his team.

  “Hunter, two o’clock.”

  Hunter grunted, throwing a right hook as he spun to meet his silent opponent.

  “Jared, your left.” Jared Crowe brought a knife around with him, but his attacker jumped back as he sliced the air between them. Shit.

  These men moved with a lethal fluidity and speed even faster than Reaper. They acted and reacted a split second before his men, as if they were anticipating the moves. The first trickle of unease ran down his spine.

  “Colonel?” Merc called out, ripping a knife from his opponent’s hand. He slapped a meaty arm around the man’s neck, pulling him up tight against his chest.

  Mack didn’t bother turning; he wouldn’t have time. Letting instinct guide him, he jabbed the butt of his rifle to his left, made contact with something that felt more like a solid wall than a man. He only had a nanosecond to savor the feeling before a fist slammed into his jaw. Mack stumbled right, his left ear blazing with pain and ringing louder than the Big Ben. Shit, he’d never been hit so hard—and he’d been hit plenty. Gathering his wits, he squared off. A rifle would be no good to him in this proximity. Mack dropped it and went for his pistol.

  No one in the room spoke. There were only grunts and thuds and the sound of tables crashing to the ground.

  “Come on, bastard. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Without hesitation, the man leaped forward, and before Mack could even squeeze off a round, he’d taken another heavy punch. What the hell? Another hit; Mack took it on the chin like a good soldier, trying to maintain his grip on the gun.

  His attacker kept renewing his attack. Mack fell back, swinging up a leg and sweeping it around. The man jumped, easily missing the kick. The assassin was too fast. Too strong. Mack couldn’t take him in hand-to-hand combat and come out on top.

  How the hell were these guys fighting in complete blackness without any night-vision goggles? “How can you see me?” Mack ground out, raising his weapon once more.

  The assassin spun in the air and slammed into Mack’s wrist.

  A cracking pain shot up Mack’s arm, but he held on to his gun, unwilling to give up his only chance for surviving this fight.

  The assassin stared directly at Mack, no expression on his face whatsoever.

  It was as if he was empty, not really a man but a machine. The exact same look that had been in Reaper’s eyes. “What are you?”

  Before Mack processed movement, the assassin struck. A searing pain radiated through his side. His pistol clattered to the ground, and he slapped a hand to his stomach, fresh hot blood immediately drenching his fingers. It was as if the knife had appeared out of nowhere. The assassin now hung back, holding the blade like it was an extension of his hand.

  Weakness seeped up his feet to his knees and thighs, bringing with it a cold realization: Mack wasn’t going to win this one. He wasn’t going to get to kill Mankel. He wasn’t going to win.

  Marley . . . Mack’s legs gave out and he went to his knees. He needed to see her. He needed to touch her. He needed to tell her he loved her and that he forgave her.

  The assassin stepped up, raising his arm to deliver the death blow. But there was no smile of victory on his face, no expression at all. Mack squared his shoulders, ready to go out like the soldier he was.

  He was dimly aware of his men fighting around him. Deep grunts and the sound of bodies slamming into metal filled the room. There was a crash and then a high pitched a
larm went off.

  Suddenly the assassin seized, dropped the knife, and fell to the floor convulsing.

  What the fuck?

  He didn’t have time to process before his survival instincts kicked into high drive. He grabbed the assassin’s knife, slammed it into the man’s temple and knocked him out. His body went limp, except for a few twitches.

  Staggering to his feet, Mack saw the rest of his men in much the same condition as he had been—wounded and fighting a losing battle. Everyone except Merc, who had blood dripping from his face and hands but was still holding his own. He was all about letting each man take care of himself, but the assassins they fought weren’t human; they didn’t move like regular men. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there and watch his team get taken out by Mankel’s scientific experiments.

  Mack snuck up behind the assassin attacking Hunter and brought the hilt of the knife down hard on the back of the man’s neck. He crumpled. Hunter gave him a nod, his face bloody, before turning to assist his brother. Mack went to help Jared, but Mankel’s guy saw him coming and kicked out a leg, catching Mack straight in his wounded side. Blinding, white-hot agony stole his breath. He couldn’t even gasp. He doubled over and clutched his side. Jared moved in with an upper cut, and the assassin flew backward and hit the ground, down but not out.

  Trying not to black out, Mack grabbed the nearest table and fought off a wave of dizziness threatening to take him under. Mankel – he had to stay conscious.

  There were more grunts, more thuds. Merc took a punishing blow from his opponent.

  The screeching alarm from earlier sounded again. The assassin shuddered as if in pain. His entire expression shifted from cold killer to savage animal. He threw back his head and roared and shoved the computer off the desk nearest him.

  Merc took an uneasy step back, holding his knife in front of him. The assassin launched with inhuman speed and power, going for Merc’s throat with his bare hands. Merc’s knife clattered to the floor. They went down hard, crashing into a chair and taking it out before they hit the ground. The assassin never let go of Merc’s neck.