Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  Still no reply from Reynolds.

  Eagan started to straighten up but stopped. He wanted to keep the fear of God in this low-down piece of shit, Accondras.

  “Tom, listen to me,” Eagan said, letting his voice deepen and sound harsher with each new word. “We’re going back there now, and if you’re fucking lying to me, you’re gonna wish you never were fucking born. Understand?”

  Accondras replied with a sob and whimper.

  Zerbe came in.

  “What’s up?”

  Eagan went to the doorway and spoke in a low voice.

  “You remember him wearing a backpack when you grabbed him?”

  Zerbe’s lower lip jutted out and he looked contemplative. Blowing out a long breath, he shook his head. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “There’s something in it we need.”

  Zerbe’s eyes widened. “Shit. You mean …?”

  Eagan checked his phone again for the reply to his text. Still nothing.

  He dialed the number again.

  It rang numerous times but no one answered.

  “You calling Reynolds?” Cummins asked.

  “Yeah, and he’s not answering.”

  Cummins blinked twice and his upper lip twitched.

  “Oh, Christ, we gotta get that thing back. We got to. You think something’s wrong?”

  “What could go wrong?” Zerbe asked. “We had all those fuckers handcuffed, didn’t we?”

  Eagan keyed his radio and called Wells and Kunish. They both answered.

  “Get up here,” Eagan said. “We gotta shove off. Immediately.”

  “Go find Nasim,” Eagan said to Cummins. “Meet me by the vehicle.”

  He watched as about thirty yards away two shadowy forms beginning to make their way up the acclivity of uneven stone steps toward him. Eagan suddenly regretted having taken Accondras so far up the structure to do the interrogation, but he hadn’t wanted everyone to be privy to the conversation.

  Or of the methods employed to obtain the information. That was one mistake he wasn’t going to make again.

  There would be no witnesses this time. Not like Iraq.

  And pretty soon, he thought, there won’t be any witnesses to that fiasco either.

  Better late than never, he told himself.

  When Wells and Kunish got there Eagan swung his arm toward Accondras.

  “Pick him up and carry him back down to the vehicle,” Eagan said. “We gotta go back to the other area.”

  The backpack, he thought as he strode over to the stone staircase. The fucking backpack.

  Then he heard it … The faint buzzing sound.

  An airplane?

  No, he thought. A motorcycle.

  Wolf downshifted and counter-steered to the left to compensate for the centrifugal force as he executed the right turn onto the gravel. He had no eye-protection, so the wind was forcing him to squint. It apparently it hadn’t bothered José, but he wasn’t around to provide any advice on how to deal with it, so Wolf kept the speed down a bit. He was more concerned about the noise. There was no way he wanted to ride into an ambush, and he had no idea where Eagan and company had ventured.

  Flying blind and wearing a dead man’s blouse, he thought. Not exactly a formula for success.

  After he’d watched McNamara and Reno take off, Wolf had gathered as much fortification as he could, stripping Reynolds of his BDU blouse and pistol-belt. He’d had two extra magazines for his Glock, and Wolf dropped the used one and took a fresh one off one of the dead Vipers. At least he assumed they were from that same outfit. They all had the serpent’s head tattoo on their right hands. After loading his pants pockets as well as those of the blouse with all the extra mags he could carry for the Glock, he grabbed one of the AK-47’s and stripped the magazines out of the other two rifles. Each banana-clip would give him thirty, so that meant ninety rounds, minus the ones the Viper had fired killing Herc and wounding Mac and Reno. And he had nine mags for the pistols, which roughly gave him about 135 rounds, or so left. Wolf didn’t take the time to make an ammo count. He didn’t know how many more adversaries he’d be facing, and if he got down to a low-ammo alert, he had no back-up en route anyway.

  No, it was just him against them, however many that turned out to be.

  The whole thing seemed so unbelievable, as if he’d dropped into some sort of alternate universe or time-distortion along with Eagan and Nasim and whatever the hell it was they were chasing. Whatever it was, Accondras knew something about it. He’d wished now that he’d known all this in advance. He would have gotten the information out of Accondras even if he had to beat him within an inch of his life. Somehow it was tied to what had happened to him back in Iraq.

  But how?

  The motorcycle’s headlight shone over a six-inch barrier fashioned from dirt and gravel and some slim tree branches.

  Another tope, he thought as he closed his fingers over the front brake and straightened his legs, lifting himself from the seat.

  The motorcycle went over the speedbump with a slight bounce.

  Wolf’s eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and three immense shapes materialized before him, perhaps fifty or so yards away, looking like black hills set against a blue velvet sky. Each one had a peculiar, squared-off top.

  Mayan pyramids.

  As the cooling breeze blew over him, briny and distinct, he knew he was getting close to the sea.

  It can’t be much farther, he thought, and steered the motorcycle off to the side of the road to figure his next move.

  In the space between a crumbling section of wall and the largest pyramid a pair of headlights suddenly materialized. Wolf immediately cut off the motorcycles headlight and killed the engine.

  It had to be them and they were coming this way.

  He debated his options as he unslung the AK-47 from his shoulder.

  Can’t let them get past me, he thought.

  He snapped the selection lever to the single round position and nestled the solid butt of the Kalashnikov against his shoulder.

  If he took out the radiator and the tires, he’d have them trapped in the area with no means of motorized escape and not much cover. It would then just be a matter of hit and run, until he either got them all, or they got him. There was no doubt they had him outnumbered, but by how many he could only guess.

  Three men had gotten into the van with Eagan back at the other site. That meant it was at least four to one.

  No odds like bad odds he thought as he sighted in low center on the area between the headlights.

  Inside his head, Mac’s voice came back to him: You’re a Ranger, dammit. Now go do what you need to do.

  Radiator first, then the tires, he thought.

  He squeezed off the first round and the sharp crack extinguished his hearing. Lowering his aim, he continued to fire at what he hoped would be the tires.

  The van zigzagged to an abrupt stop and the driver’s and front passenger side doors flipped open.

  Figuring they’d seen his muzzle flashes, Wolf sprinted toward the first of the three pyramids.

  Got to take the high ground, he thought.

  He was wearing the black BDUs and figured it would help obscure his movements.

  Something zipped by his head splitting the air as only a bullet could.

  Wolf dived forward and flattened out, rolling with the rifle held in front of his body.

  A pattern of gouges tore the earth next to him.

  Night vision, he thought. They’ve got night vision.

  The ground declined a bit and Wolf scrambled toward the stone base of the pyramid.

  His hearing was still fuzzy but seemed to be gradually returning. He reached an outcropping of stacked flagstones and ducked behind it. There were enough gaps between the stones that he was able to see twin patterns of muzzle flashes coming from the area next to the van. Extending the barrel through the opening, Wolf sighted in on the muzzle flashes closet to the headlights.

  He squeezed
off a three-round burst, unable to tell if he’d hit his intended target. Shifting to the side, he wondered who each assailant was, and if they all had night vision capabilities.

  Assume the worst, he thought. Hope for the best.

  More rounds skittered over the rocks and he made another quick peek through the slot-like opening. Only one set of muzzle flashes this time.

  That was a good sign.

  But he couldn’t afford to get pinned down in this location. Glancing upward, he saw the ancient formation sloped upward at a gradual angle. He moved back, snaking behind a prominent ridge of protruding rocks. The ragged wall was almost ladder-like, and Wolf scurried upward as best he could, occasionally having to flatten out and edge upward to the next section with movements reminiscent of intimacy. The rough surface scraped and ripped at his skin and when he finally got to the top his whole chest burned with the freshness of the abrasions. A line of once decorative crenulations, like the crest of a storybook castle, provided a modicum of cover. Wolf flattened out next to one of them and jammed the end of the rifle through the narrow breadth. More muzzle flashes.

  Sparks ignited around the section that he’d just left.

  They think I’m still down there, he thought.

  He centered on the new target and squeezed off more rounds.

  The flashes ceased.

  Still using the prominence of the decorative parapet, Wolf scrambled up to the next level. He was just shy of the square box-like section at the peak.

  A flicker of movement caught his eye.

  Two figures were running down the road heading back in the direction they’d come. One of them was waddling along like a trundling hippopotamus. The other one’s upper body glinted white in the moonlight.

  Zerbe, Wolf thought, and crouched by a separation to zero in on him.

  He hesitated and realized that he didn’t want to give away this new position. Instead of firing, he took time to scan the area. While it was moonlit, he still didn’t have enough visual acuity to determine if he’d neutralized the two threats at the van. He watched and waited, all the while wondering if the others were circling around to flank him.

  Staying in one spot is suicide, he thought, and slowly rolled back and began to work his way down the rear portion of the pyramid. A clear dirt path ran along the back of the formation and he ran to the next one.

  Most of his hearing had returned, accompanied by a persistent buzzing that was slightly offsetting. He knew it wouldn’t last much longer.

  After getting to the center area of the second pyramid, he saw two consecutive sets of crudely fashioned stairs leading upward. The first one, the longest, led to a shelf-like platform that surrounded the tapering triangular shape. The second set of stairs led to the squared-off crown. It was too inviting not to try, and the uppermost position would ensure the high ground once again. Wolf moved up the steps as fast as he could manage. Memories of running up the mountain all those weeks in Arizona flashed in his memory. His conditioning was seeing him through. Even though his legs were starting to burn like fire, he had no doubt he’d make it to the apex.

  The sound of a muffled voice floated in the air and disappeared.

  As far as he could tell, it had been close.

  Had his adversaries gotten the same idea about the high ground?

  Quickening his pace, he saw that he was almost to the top of the first set of stairs.

  His lungs were on fire now, too.

  Movement in the shadows to his left.

  A muzzle flash.

  Rounds ricocheted off the steps, inches in front of him.

  Wolf brought his rifle up as his thumb flicked the selection lever to full auto.

  The resulting spray caught a man in black BDU’s directly and he did a convulsive dance before curling forward and tumbling down the slanted incline. Wolf couldn’t tell who it was, and the bolt of his Kalashnikov locked back.

  Wolf hit the magazine release button and the metal curvature hit the steps by his feet. He reached for a replacement mag and slammed it home.

  Peripherally, he caught a hint of motion on the flattened portion to his right and whirled, training the muzzle on the movement and jerking back the trigger.

  Another figure danced in the moonlight, twisting and grabbing and then falling onto the flat shelf. Wolf ran to the now prone figure and fired off more rounds. The body jerked slightly with the impact and Wolf kicked a semi-automatic pistol away from the fallen man’s hand. Peering around, he saw no one else, then kicked the body over.

  Nasim’s dead eyes stared up at him.

  No answers from him, Wolf thought.

  A blast of splintered rock slapped the left side of his face like red-hot sleet. He closed his eyes and staggered back, starting to lose his grip on the rifle. A massive shadow loomed before him holding a Glock, his face distorted by protruding four-inch tubes in front of his eyes.

  It was Eagan. With night vision goggles.

  Wolf tried to swing the rifle barrel around, but the big man deftly kicked it sending the skittering down the sloping rocks. He stepped back and pointed the Glock directly at Wolf’s face and smiled.

  His lips formed some kind of words that Wolf could not discern.

  Too far out of range for me to kick, Wolf thought, and readied himself for the round to go tearing through his skull. For an instant he wondered if he’d feel the pain, or if it would be over too quickly.

  A second of cognizance most likely, he told himself.

  A whirlwind of dust stirred accompanied by a blinding beam of light swept over them. Wolf’s torn skin felt the rhythmic syncopation of rotor blades slicing the air as an orange and white helicopter hovered close to them training a spotlight downward. Eagan’s mouth opened in a silent scream and he reached up to tear off the night vision goggles. Wolf sprang toward him, reaching out to snare the Glock. He managed to get one hand on the bigger man’s wrist, and the other on the slide of the weapon.

  The helicopter swooped upward, hovering about twenty yards away, the spotlight glinting like a midnight sun against the black backdrop of sky.

  Wolf jammed his right hand downward, breaking Eagan’s hold on the pistol. The bigger man shifted his more substantial body weight in the opposite direction, slamming Wolf into the jutting array of stones that formed the rickety wall. He felt the wind burst from his lungs, but he brought his knee up and felt it catch Eagan’s groin. Eagan grunted but lurched forward, pulling Wolf into a bear-hug. Wolf snapped his head forward catching the bridge of Eagan’s nose. They staggered to the right in a drunken dancers’ embrace, then Wolf felt them tipping over the side of the flat shelf. He readied himself for the impact as they fell, hoping his huge adversary wouldn’t land on him.

  In the fleeting seconds before impact both of them rotated and Wolf found himself landing in the uppermost position.

  Eagan’s scream was audible now, and his grip around Wolf’s body loosened. They began a slow rolling motion downward, each rotation bringing a new sensation of pain and their bodies were bludgeoned by the jutting flagstones. It seemed to last forever, and then Wolf felt himself suddenly stop. He lay there momentarily, the pain so ubiquitous that he was afraid to move. After a few shallow breaths he turned his head to the side and saw Eagan continuing to roll down the unforgiving rocks. He reached the bottom and flopped down on his back.

  Summoning all the strength he had left, Wolf managed to push himself more or less erect and came to a sitting position. The helicopter floated about fifty feet away now, its spotlight trained downward on Eagan’s inert form. He wasn’t moving.

  Wolf caught a glimpse of two heads leaning through the open side door of the chopper.

  Zerbe’s white sport coat loomed in the opening. Next to him another man, clad in a brown uniform and looking like a head and pair of arms jutting out of a barrel.

  Recognition flared in Wolf’s memory.

  Lieutenant Cummins.

  Wolf instinctively reached for the Glock in his tactical holster. A
fter securing his fingers around the handle, he twisted it loose, raised it, and aimed at the chopper. He managed to squeeze off one round before the helicopter zoomed upward and away, disappearing into the velvet night.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  American Embassy, Cancun, Mexico

  Wolf sat alone in the sterile room behind a plastic table facing what he was certain was a two-way mirror on the white wall in front of him. The air-conditioning felt good, although his body didn’t. He reviewed the story in his mind once more, trying to recall the exact wording as to how he’d described what had happened to the Mexican authorities. Luckily, he’d been able to locate Mac and Reno in the Cancun hospital and relate what had happened. There was no sketchy recall this time.

  It came back to him like disjointed scenes from a remembered movie.

  Sliding the rest of the way down the pyramid after the helicopter took off, Wolf used the flashlight to guide the control his descent.

  Finding Eagan just barely alive at the bottom, Wolf shone the light over him. The big Viper had been defiant even on the precipice of death.

  “Tell me what this is all about and I’ll get you to a doctor,” Wolf had said.

  The big man’s lips curled back into a feral smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Eagan, listen to me. I’ll go for help, but you’ve got answers and I want them. How’s this connected to Iraq.”

  Eagan coughed, spitting up bubbles of blood that coalesced into a bitter laugh.

  “Fuck you, Wolf.”

  In desperation, Wolf recalled a name that Accondras had mentioned.

  “Who’s Von Dien?”

  Eagan’s head turned to look at him, an expression of surprise twitching his bloodied face.

  “He’s …” He stopped and coughed. It sounded wet. “Your worst nightmare.”

  Before he could say anything more his chest heaved and his body made three convulsive jerking motions, then ceased. Another bubble formed over his gaping mouth growing to an almost grotesquely huge proportion before halting and remaining over his parted lips in an eerie translucence.

  No answers. A Viper to the end.