The Hunted e-2

by Tom Clancy

  Before Brent could look up to see what hell was happening, Daugherty was hailing him. “Ghost Lead, two Badgers have pushed through and are setting up a barricade on the other side of the bridge. They’re cutting you off, sir!”

  “Ghost Lead, it’s Schleck. Riggs and I are down in the tunnel. We found Schoolie, sir.”

  “I can see that,” Brent answered, checking their camera broadcasts in his HUD.

  “She was here, all right. They’ve set up some cameras, so we’re being watched right now. Voeckler called me, and he’s already on his way. He’ll jam the cameras and clear the path, sir.”

  “Roger that, get him on it. In the meantime, I need some fire on those Badgers blocking my way. Daugherty? Copeland? Talk to me.”

  * * *

  The boy was at Chopra’s side, holding his hand now, as the medic tried to bring the old man back to consciousness. Chopra lay on his back, still unmoving, his chest barely rising and falling.

  Unable to stand the frustration any longer, the Snow Maiden grabbed the boy’s wrist and dragged him up and away, moving toward the scanner. “If you’re a living key, then open the gate.”

  She slapped the boy’s palm on the reader.

  “Identity not recognized,” came the computer’s voice.

  She glowered at him. “Were you lying?”

  The boy repositioned his palm on the reader. “No,” he said. “But I told you, I don’t have access to the vault, only to the computers inside. Chopra’s the only one who can get us in there. I told you that!”

  With a pair of keystrokes on the touchpad, the Snow Maiden reset the reader. “Try it one more time.”

  He did. Nothing.

  She cursed, then shifted away from him back toward the medic. “Lift him up. I need his hand on that scanner right now!”

  “Not good to move him!”

  “Lift him up!”

  Chen Yi rushed over to the soldier monitoring the surveillance cameras, then came back to the Snow Maiden. “They’ve jammed the cameras. They’re coming.”

  They propped the unconscious Chopra up and dragged him to the scanner, and the Snow Maiden worked his palm.

  But then Chopra began to wake up. He lifted his head and glanced over at the Snow Maiden, and in that moment, as the computer sensed his consciousness, the gate began to slide open on heavy rollers.

  Not three seconds later, he fainted again.

  “You can’t get into the vault,” said Hussein. “Unless he wakes up.”

  “Come on, you old bastard,” she muttered to him in Russian. “Just one more door.”

  * * *

  “Sir, if you draw any closer, they’ll hit you with the microwave. Don’t do it, sir,” said Daugherty.

  “Roger that,” answered Brent, and then he regarded Lakota. “We’re getting out.” He tapped Juma on the shoulder. “Tell your driver to stay here for now. Radio the rest of your troops. Tell them to fall back on the Almas Tower. The Euros landed north to divert your people away. Pretty simple diversion, so let’s bring ’em all back here.”

  “I agree, Brent,” said Juma.

  Brent and Lakota hopped out of the SUV and crossed to the tailgate, where several hard cases containing more Javelin missiles had been stored. The militiaman who’d taken down the chopper was wide-eyed and breathless, still overjoyed by his excellent shot and ready to fire again. Brent and Lakota would oblige him.

  “Captain, I’ve got some news for you,” began Copeland.

  “Not now,” snapped Brent. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “I think you need to see this,” insisted Copeland.

  Before Brent could refocus his attention on his HUD, twin flashes of light came from across the canal, from somewhere along the main highway south of the bridge.

  And then he saw them: two missiles arcing high in the sky and suddenly dropping straight down toward the pair of Badgers on the other side of the bridge.

  Lakota was swearing in surprise as the missiles struck a one-two punch to the armored vehicles, both of which lifted off the ground and blew apart, as though they’d been detonated from within.

  “Cavalry’s arrived,” she said, now dumbfounded.

  Secondary explosions lifted more debris in the air as the popcorn popping of ammo cooking off rose through the echoing booms.

  More pieces of the Badgers rocketed back up through the smoke trails left by the missiles, and Brent waved a fist in the air and turned toward the origin of the fire.

  It seemed Grey had somehow cut through the jamming and had called in the reinforcements — or Juma had yet another surprise up his warlord’s sleeve.

  “Thank you, whoever you are.” Brent zoomed in and saw a convoy of six armored vehicles, BTR-12 Cockroaches, along with a man standing in the turret-top cupola of a T-100 Ogre tank rumbling in the lead.

  Brent’s jaw went slack.

  “Ghost Lead, are you there?” called Copeland. “They just took out the Badgers, but they’re heading our way.”

  Brent turned toward Lakota, and she said the name before he could:

  “Haussler.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Almas Tower

  Business District, Dubai

  Brent zoomed in once more on the convoy trundling toward the tower. There were no more epithets to express his feelings; he’d exhausted them all.

  Haussler’s group was the same force Juma’s men had reported moving up from the south. The German and his cronies had encountered some resistance, but not from Juma’s people. That Haussler did not wear a combat suit or other radiation protection suggested his plans were brief: capture the Snow Maiden and go home.

  Gee, that plan sounded strangely familiar.

  “They’re Russians,” Brent finally said, glancing toward Juma. “Why didn’t your guys recognize them?”

  “There were no reports of armor. They must have picked up the vehicles farther north.”

  “If he’s trying to keep low-key, he’s failing miserably,” said Lakota. “He should’ve picked up some local armor or just something less conspicuous.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t care, and neither do the Russians. They’re trying to capture a rogue, one of their own, and we already know that. They don’t have anything to hide right now, do they?”

  Lakota shrugged. “I bet Grey saw them coming, but she couldn’t tip us off.”

  “That’s about all she could do without turning this into an even bigger fiasco,” said Brent.

  “We have to wait now,” Juma warned. “After they pass, we can go. If they spot us, we will be sitting dogs.”

  “Ducks,” said Lakota.

  The warlord frowned at her. “That’s what I said.”

  * * *

  Chen Yi tugged at the Snow Maiden’s shoulder as she leaned over and watched the medic trying to revive Chopra.

  “The Americans are in the tunnels,” said the special forces captain. “Three so far. They just jammed the cameras.”

  She wrenched around and grabbed him by the neck. “Tell your men to kill them!” Then she shoved him back and away.

  He glowered at her for a moment, glanced down at his sidearm, then put a hand to his earpiece, his expression shifting. “You need to suit up.” He lifted his head at Chopra and Hussein. “My men will help them, too…”

  “We open the vault first!” she cried.

  He muttered something in Chinese and rushed off.

  Chopra stirred, his eyes fluttering open. She yelled at the medic, ordering him to lift Chopra and carry him to the final access panel built into the wall beside the main vault door.

  Gunfire began booming in the distance.

  “They’re coming,” gasped Hussein.

  * * *

  Chopra saw the boy ascending to the throne like an angel, wings spread as he turned to face the crowds and then, finally, inevitably, as perfect and correct as the moment could be, he took a seat on the golden chair and smiled, all of the hope in his heart spreading out in waves across the millions who’d
gathered, their faces stretching into the farthest reaches of the desert, their voices a steady hum, like an electrical current coursing through the universe.

  And his father was there, too, standing beside the bike he’d given Chopra. “Your life has been remarkable, and I am very proud of you.”

  His mother and sisters were there, beckoning, even as an evil woman growled in his ear, “Wake up, old man. One more door. Come on. This is it!”

  Computer voices.

  His hand on something.

  A light in his eye.

  A prick to his finger.

  And then the comforting thump of his heartbeat and the words I am still here echoing. Abruptly, the heavy clunking of the vault door jarred him as the ground began to shake.

  He told himself he was submitting to her, if only to keep the boy alive. “Hussein?” he called. “Hussein?”

  * * *

  The armored transport drivers working with Haussler’s Spetsnaz team maneuvered all four BTRs into blocking positions of the tower’s four parking-garage entrances. They placed the tank on the main road facing north, toward Juma’s oncoming forces, and the main gun had already boomed twice, those rounds targeting Juma’s forces, as best Brent could tell without the satellite uplink.

  Strangely enough, the BTRs had anti-aircraft guns, but not one of them was shooting at the European choppers, and that fact gave Brent pause.

  Why would the Russians not target the Euros… unless they were now working together? And if they were, who had arranged that temporary alliance — even after Haussler had taken out those Badgers?

  The Russians did have the European economy under their thumb, so perhaps this was blackmail or coercion of sorts. Whatever the case, the fact remained that Brent had to get past both of those forces to reach his target.

  He, Lakota, and Juma crossed the bridge over the canal, but as they turned onto one of the side roads to reach the main highway, incoming fire ripped up the road in front of them. Ah, the BTRs weren’t targeting the choppers; no, they were targeting them.

  Juma’s driver floored it as the Javelin missile guy considered firing his rocket while still hanging out the back of the SUV. Lakota hollered at the maniac: The back blast would kill them all — but he kept trying to swing out and shift the weapon so the blast would be directed outside.

  “Hold fire for now, you fool!” shouted Brent.

  He wasn’t sure the man understood English, but Brent’s tone and expression were hopefully enough.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Schleck,” called the sniper.

  Brent immediately saw Schleck’s point of view; it appeared he was pinned down, stealing glimpses around a corner. Ahead lay a long, dark tunnel. As Schleck leaned forward, gunfire sparked along the wall, driving him back.

  “I see it, Schleck. Start gassing them out, but you move in slow. Buy us some time. They’re sealing off the main tower entrances.”

  “Get around them and go in through the Silver Tower,” said Schleck. “We’ll flush them toward that exit. Grid test shows they’ve restored power to the vault security system down here.”

  “Okay, that’s the plan, buddy. Flush them toward the Silver Tower. You hang in there. We’re on our way.”

  “Brent, it’s me,” said Voeckler, his camera image appearing now in Brent’s HUD. He was behind Riggs. Gunfire boomed in the background. “I’m jamming these local cameras, but I just busted through the encryption being used by the Euros outside. They want to engage the Russian troops, but they’ve just been ordered to hold fire.”

  “Surprise, surprise. Keep listening. You hear anything I need to know about, you call me a-sap. And while you’re at it, see if you can break through and get a message back home. Try every satellite you can find.”

  “Roger that, sir. I already have been trying. And sir, those Russians coming in here… they wouldn’t be the same guys that killed my brother, would they?”

  Brent took a deep breath and lied.

  * * *

  The Snow Maiden finished donning her helmet, then made sure Hussein’s fit properly. They’d known they’d face resistance and assumed chemical weapons would be used against them, tear gas and other less-than-lethal agents at the very least. Their suits were expertly fashioned copies of the Joint Strike Force advanced MOPP gear prototype number six and not unlike the ones being used by the Americans trying to stop them.

  “Where’s Chopra’s suit?” asked the boy, his voice coming through the helmet’s speaker via the open team channel.

  “Forget it,” she answered, grabbing the kid by the arm as the forklifts rolled into the vault behind her.

  Light shone across long metal tables piled high with gold bricks that had been carefully stacked on reinforced wooden pallets. She felt as though she’d entered an ancient Egyptian tomb sans the art and statues, replaced by hedgerows of gold within which you could get lost. The brilliance of all those bricks collected in one place and stretching out for dozens of meters was quite breathtaking, even for someone as stoic as the Snow Maiden.

  Chen’s men couldn’t help themselves either, taking just a moment to marvel over the bricks and shout a few words of excitement to each other before sliding their forklifts into position to lift and haul away the pallets. Once loaded, the two lifts began whirring out of the vault.

  Meanwhile, she and the boy walked thirty meters to the back, where several computers had been positioned in a corner desk area whose walls were covered by old-fashioned paper maps, mostly terrain maps of various parts of the Middle East. She called in two of Chen’s men with batteries and a power converter to jump-start one of the computers. They finished their job within a minute, and the computer began to boot up.

  She shoved the boy forward, then yanked a data key from her pocket. “Show me what I want and copy it here.”

  The boy took a seat, pillowed his hands across the back of his helmeted head, then kicked his feet up onto the desk. “All right, bitch, it’s time you listen to me…”

  Before she could react, a voice crackled over the team radio. “Hello, Viktoria, are you there? I know you’re busy making a little withdrawal, but I think you and I need to talk.”

  The Snow Maiden closed her eyes and willed herself to burst into flames. Nothing happened. She looked up.

  The kid raised his brows.

  Haussler called again: “Viktoria, I’ve just killed two of your Chinese friends. Don’t make me kill any more. I’ve got this building sealed off. You can’t get out.”

  “Watch me,” she growled.

  He laughed under his breath. “I know why you’re here and what you’re doing. Do you think Izotov can pay me more than what’s in that vault?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then let me help you.”

  “You’re lying. You’ll turn me back over to them.”

  “Come on, Viktoria. You know me. We’re both opportunists. Let’s you and I seize the day. I’m the only one who can get you out of here. Not this pathetic team they gave you. I have the firepower. And afterward, we can sip champagne — just like the old days.”

  “We never did that.”

  “We should have.”

  She stood there, wanting to call Patti. The Green Brigade was supposed to take care of Haussler. They’d obviously failed, and now she was forced to deal with him. He’d killed two of her men and gained access to their communications, which put them at another disadvantage. She had a decision to make.

  The boy looked at her. “Are you going to talk to him or me?”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, you shut up! You’re going to deal with me. I want a suit for Chopra! If you don’t get me a suit right now, I’ll smash these computers!”

  She removed her pistol and shot him in the leg—

  Before he even had time to take another breath and utter another word.

  Bang. A bullet had struck the armor plating in his suit and ricocheted off, but the impact would give him a terrible bruise.

  He wailed and ne
arly fell out of the chair.

  She turned her scorching gaze on him. “Get on that computer and get me what I want! I will kill you!”

  He scrambled forward and began typing on the wireless key panel. He slid off a glove for fingerprint authentication, received it, issued a voice command, was identified, then, finally, gained access.

  * * *

  “Oh, no,” Riggs was saying as she whirled to find six fully suited Spetsnaz troops standing behind her. She faced forward, where two Chinese troops were doing likewise.

  Schleck was screaming, as was Voeckler.

  And Brent watched it all happen in his HUD as Juma’s driver raced toward the Silver Tower.

  The woman Brent remembered as looking so ravishing the night they had gone to the Tour de France party did the only thing she could do.

  She opened fire on the Chinese guys, then spun back and fired on the Russians.

  She didn’t last long. Of the dozens of rounds fired at her, only a few needed to find the seams in her armor. She shouted, “I’m sorry, Ghost Lead. I tried my best.”

  And then her avatar flashed red and the camera image from her helmet showed the wall. She lay there, unmoving.

  The voices came: We’ve lost Riggs! We’ve lost Riggs! The reports swirled in Brent’s head and never took hold, all of them unreal for just a moment and then finally, inevitably, they registered as a cold shock to the system.

  Suddenly, Riggs’s helmet camera swiveled to an image of another man, now wearing a helmet of his own; it was Haussler. He was staying a while after all. He muttered something in Russian to a man behind him, then dropped Riggs’s head with a thump. The camera shook.

  With a finger gesture, Brent closed the window, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself, his gloved hands balling repeatedly into fists.

  That opportunity lasted all of two seconds before the whomping of a Cheetah sounded from behind them, and before Brent could scream his warning, a rocket detonated not three meters behind the SUV, causing the driver to lose control, smash into the retaining wall, rebound, then hit the opposite wall, even as cannon fire stitched a line through the top of the SUV.