Barracuda

by Richard Turner

  “I’m just a humble businessman. Herr August is the man responsible for everything, him and Beck.”

  Muller’s phone rang. Mitchell almost leaped for joy when he saw that it was from O’Reilly.

  “Hello, General, please tell me you have good news,” said Mitchell.

  “Ryan, there’s a team of Chilean Special Forces operators on their way to meet you,” explained O’Reilly. “They should be at your location in a few hours’ time.”

  “What are their orders, sir?”

  “To free Nate and Yuri and secure the treasure.”

  Mitchell felt as if a heavy load had been lifted off his back. “Thanks, sir, this is great news.”

  “Ryan, I wish they could get there faster, but there is a major anti-terrorist exercise going on in the capital involving most of the military’s Special Forces. Having said that, fifteen minutes ago, General Rivero met with Chile’s defense minister, and he personally approved the mission. Rivero is sending what he could spare without drawing the attention of the chief of police, whom he suspects is one of August’s cronies.”

  “I’m sure whatever they can send will be enough to get the job done.”

  “I bet that you’re already crawling the walls.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Ryan, I hate to get off the line, but I need to make a couple more important calls,” said O’Reilly. “Give me a call when the cavalry arrives.”

  “Will do, General,” replied Mitchell, ending the conversation.

  “What is going on?” queried Muller.

  “The army is on its way. In a few short hours you and your compatriots will have to answer for your crimes,” said Mitchell.

  Muller’s face blanched. “Herr August will blame me this disaster. Please, you have to let me call my wife. She’ll smooth things over with him for me.”

  “Later, maybe,” said Mitchell. He stood, walked over to Muller, and placed the gag back over the man’s mouth. He wanted silence in which to think.

  Outside of the old barn, the sun began to creep lower on the horizon, turning the snow-covered mountains pink. Mitchell was starting to believe that help would never arrive. It had been hours since he last spoke with General O’Reilly. Surely the Chilean Army could drive up from the capital by now, thought Mitchell. From the capital to where he was hiding could not have been more than two hundred kilometers. A three-hour drive at most.

  The sound of several cars approaching the abandoned farm caught Mitchell’s ear. He ran over to the closed wooden doors and peered outside. A second later, his stomach dropped when he saw three police cars stop, and ten well-armed officers get out. They began to fan out around the barn.

  An overweight police sergeant brought a megaphone to his lips. “Señor Mitchell, we know you are in there. Send out Señor Muller, and then come out with your hands up, and you will be treated fairly. If you do not, I can assure you that you will not leave here alive.”

  Mitchell struggled to understand how they had found him. He found his answer in the cell phone in his hand. He instantly knew that they had tracked him using the GPS chip in Muller’s phone. In a fit of rage, he threw the phone to the ground and jammed his right heel into it, destroying it. He had no intention of handing Muller over to the crooked cops. If he did, he knew the police could claim that he resisted arrest and was killed in the subsequent shoot-out.

  “Señor, you have thirty seconds to comply,” said the sergeant.

  Mitchell cupped his hands to his mouth. He yelled, “If you try to come in here, Muller dies!”

  “We get paid either way,” replied the Sergeant.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Mitchell to himself. Neither of them was supposed to be found alive. He darted over to Muller and pulled down his gag. “I guess your brother-in-law doesn’t want you speaking to anyone.”

  Muller was speechless.

  Mitchell hauled him to his feet and dragged him over to the SUV. “Come on, get in. I have no intention of letting these cops kill us.” He undid Muller’s restraints and pushed him into the passenger’s side seat. Mitchell dove over the hood of the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. He started the car and jammed his foot on the brake and the gas. The rear wheels spun on the floor, sending a plume of dirt and dust up into the air.

  “Hang on,” said Mitchell to Muller He took his foot off the brake and changed gears. Like a bull charging at a matador’s red cape, the SUV smashed through the flimsy wooden barn doors, sending them flying. Mitchell flipped on the vehicle’s high beams, blinding anyone standing in their path.

  Shots rang out. Several bullets struck the vehicle, but none was even close to Mitchell or Muller.

  With his foot firmly planted on the accelerator, Mitchell sped through the cordon of policemen. One of the police cruisers had been parked, blocking the path leading from the barn to the main road. Mitchell did not care; he kept his foot on the gas and smashed the front end of his stolen Mercedes into the rear of the police vehicle, knocking it out of the way. He spun the driver’s wheel around in his hands. A second later, the SUV’s tires gripped the asphalt road. With a loud squeal, the SUV sped away from the ambush.

  “Are you all right?” Mitchell asked Muller.

  The man’s eyes were as wide as saucers. All could do was nod his head.

  Mitchell glanced up at his rearview mirror and saw red flashing lights. The police were coming. The road was slick and wound back and forth, making driving fast a dangerous proposition. Mitchell, however, had no intention of slowing down. He thought about making a call for help when he realized that he had foolishly destroyed their only means of communication.

  The road was barely wide enough for one vehicle, and there was no guardrail. Mitchell prayed that there was no one coming from the opposite direction. If a car slid off the road, the drop to the bottom was several hundred meters. Muller cried out when Mitchell took a corner so fast that the rear wheels slipped off the road for a second before swinging back onto the pavement.

  Behind them, the police kept their distance. It could only mean one thing: they had called for reinforcements. Mitchell swore loudly. He had driven this road the day before, and knew that there was not a way off it for at least twenty kilometers. Things looked grim. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his pistol. He laid it down on the seat beside him. He was not going to give in without a fight.

  Suddenly, a bright, blinding light filled his windshield. Mitchell instantly jammed his foot down on the brake. The SUV’s tires screamed in protest as the Mercedes came to a sliding halt, less than a meter from a ten-ton truck. Mitchell brought his right arm up, trying to block out the light. His door flew open. Before Mitchell could reach for his pistol, a M4 carbine was thrust against his head.

  “Don’t move,” warned a man in Spanish.

  Mitchell did as he was told. On the other side of the vehicle, Muller was dragged out of his seat.

  “Mister Mitchell?” asked the man, this time in English.

  “Yes,” replied Mitchell.

  “Lower your hands, leave the pistol where it is, and step out of the vehicle,” said the man.

  Mitchell bit his lip. They were trapped between a rock and a hard place and there was nothing he could do about it. He slowly got out of the SUV and turned to see who his captors were. He was overjoyed to see that he was looking into the face of a young Chilean Army lieutenant.

  “Mister Mitchell, my name is Lieutenant Juan O’Higgins. My men and I have been dispatched by General Rivero to assist you in rescuing your comrades and to take possession of The Eagle’s Nest Hotel until relieved.”

  Behind them, the three police cars came to a screeching halt.

  “Trouble,” said Mitchell to O’Higgins.

  O’Higgins grinned. “Not to worry.” He turned to his sergeant. “Disarm these criminals and cuff them all together.”

  The police may have acted tough when they thought they were facing only one man; however, when a squad of commandos rushed th
eir vehicles, they quickly surrendered. The soldiers took their radios, car keys, boots, and, as ordered, cuffed them together and left them on the side of the road. The sergeant went from car to car, disabling their engines.

  “What do you want us to do with Señor Muller?” O’Higgins asked Mitchell.

  “After all he’s been through, I suspect that he’ll sing like a canary,” replied Mitchell. He knows everything about the Nazi hierarchy in your country.”

  “Place Muller in the back of the second truck under guard,” said O’Higgins to his sergeant.

  “Lieutenant, how many men do you have with you?” asked Mitchell.

  “I regret to say less than a platoon,” said O’Higgins. “I was only able to scrape together two squads of men along with a machine gun detachment.”

  It was far less than Mitchell had hoped for. Still, it would have to do. He placed a hand on O’Higgins’ shoulder. “Well, Lieutenant, they are the finest two squads of soldiers I have ever seen.”

  “Mister Mitchell, I was dispatched without getting much in the way of a mission brief. How many men do they have at the hotel?”

  “For starters, you can call me Ryan, and I’ll brief you on the way to the hotel.”

  Within seconds, O’Higgins’ men got their two trucks turned about and were soon making their way to The Eagle’s Nest. In the dark, the crooked cops sat dejectedly on the side of the cold road. Their future was bleak, indeed.

  Less than fifty kilometers away, three darkened helicopters soared through a mountain pass. In the cockpits, the pilots flew wearing NVGs. In the back of each helicopter sat eight men. Unlike the pilots, they were not wearing any night-vision gear. They knew their target would be lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Drakos’ handpicked man, Calisto Karras, sat in the back of the lead helicopter, reviewing the plan in his mind. He had been dispatched to Argentina on short notice. An ex-soldier, Karras had been in the vehicle with Drakos when it was destroyed. He, however, was not driven by ideology; Karras was in it for the money. He glanced down at his watch. They were minutes out from the hotel. He would have preferred more time for rehearsals, but fate had decided otherwise. They would go into battle with what little practice they had, attacking an old mining complex that had stood in for the hotel, across the border in Argentina.

  With his silenced Uzi submachine gun in his hands, Karras looked out the window of the helicopter as it banked over and flew low to the ground, speeding through a mountain valley. He anticipated the Germans putting up a fight. However, surprise and numbers would work in his favor. Karras expected to be in possession of the treasure within ten minutes after landing. A small convoy of trucks was waiting on the Argentinean side of the border. After he gave the signal for success, they would be at the hotel within one hour. Under the cover of darkness, the treasure would be moved out of the country. Many of the more precious pieces would be lifted out on the helicopters. A day from now, twenty million dollars would be in his account in the Cayman Islands, and he could live out the rest of his life in luxury.

  50

  The Eagle’s Nest

  The second the truck stopped, Mitchell jumped from the cab and looked towards the cable car. It was sitting just inside the building at the bottom of the mountain. He stepped to one side as O’Higgins’ men rushed the shack, taking the tram operator by surprise. He had his sidearm and his radio confiscated before he could send a warning. Mitchell had to fight the urge to take charge. He was not used to being a spectator while others risked their lives. This time, however, he had to. It was O’Higgins’ show until they reached the hotel. The young officer looked like he knew his business. O’Higgins had agreed to let Mitchell rescue his friends once they were inside, while the commandos secured the chalet.

  Mitchell followed O’Higgins as he ran over to join his men inside the building. “How many men will this carry?” O’Higgins asked the terrified operator.

  “Eight,” replied the man.

  “Damn, that’s not enough. It will take three lifts to get us all up there,” said O’Higgins.

  “You’re certain you can’t do it in two?” suggested Mitchell.

  Both men looked over that the tram operator. He quickly shook his head.

  “Fine. I’ll take Señor Mitchell and a squad with me,” said O’Higgins to his sergeant. “You can bring up the remainder.”

  The sergeant saluted and got right to work divvying up the men.

  Mitchell thought he heard something. He stepped outside of the building and looked up at the night sky. A couple of seconds later, he recognized the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. He searched the sky, expecting to see the chopper’s running lights. Instead, he saw nothing. The sound grew louder by the second. Dread formed a knot in Mitchell’s belly.

  He dashed back inside. “Lieutenant, are you sure that you are the only Chilean military unit assigned to secure the hotel?”

  “Positive. Why?” asked O’Higgins.

  “Because we’re not alone,” said Mitchell, pointing up at the night sky just as three black shapes flew right over the top of the building. They increased power and rapidly climbed up into the air, heading straight for The Eagle’s Nest.

  August sat down in his favorite leather chair in the observation lounge and closed his eyes. He had not heard from Muller in almost twenty-four hours. It was apparent that he had not gone home or August’s sister would have called him by now. While he waited, August had lost a full day that could have been used for moving the treasure to its new location. He had come to the inescapable conclusion that Mitchell had somehow eluded Beck’s men and taken Muller hostage. Why Mitchell had not called to ask for a prisoner exchange was lost on him. He would have tried it, but he doubted that Mitchell was gullible enough to believe that he would act in good faith.

  Beck walked into the room and stopped in front of August’s chair. He waited for August to open his eyes.

  “Yes, Herr Beck, what is it?” said August, his voice showing his displeasure with his subordinate.

  “Sir, I don’t think the two prisoners are going to tell me something I don’t already know,” replied Beck. “I want your permission to kill them now and be done with it.”

  August slowly opened his eyes. “What about their bodies? What would you do with them?”

  “Leave them here to rot. I doubt anyone knows that they are here.”

  August shook his head. “No, they must die in a climbing accident. If you are so hell bent on killing them, bring them up and toss them over the side of a cliff while it is still dark out.”

  Beck smiled. “Yes, sir.” He was about to turn and leave the room when he heard a helicopter’s engine. In a flash, his combat-honed instincts kicked in. He drew his pistol from its holster and dove at August. He wrapped his arms around his boss and together they rolled from the chair just as all hell broke lose.

  The skylight windows exploded inwards, showering the floor with thousands of shards of glass. Cold air forced down by the hovering helicopter’s rapidly beating rotors instantly filled the room.

  Beck jumped up, grabbed August by the arm and ran for the nearest exit, dodging the hail of bullets fired at them from above. The instant they were under cover, Beck pushed August down the corridor. “Run, take shelter in the cavern!” he yelled.

  August hesitated for a second, stunned by what had just happened. Unlike Beck, he had never served in the military and was slow to realize that a full-scale, military-style assault was underway.

  “Run, damn you!” hollered Beck.

  August turned and ran.

  Beck threw himself against the wall and brought up his pistol to fire. A second later, men in dark camouflage uniforms rappeled from the helicopter through the holes blasted in the glass and into the lounge. Beck took aim and fired off two quick shots at the closest assailant. His body tumbled to the ground. Beck tried for another shot, only to be fired upon by three of the attackers.

  Beck jumped back and ran for
the stairs. He brought up his radio to his mouth. “All stations, we are under attack. Activate the automatic defense systems, immediately!” Beck took the stairs two at a time. He had no idea who was attacking them. All he cared about was stopping them. Beck knew he had to make sure that no one got into the cavern, or everything he believed in would be lost.

  “Did you see that?” said O’Higgins as he looked up towards the chalet.

  “I sure did,” replied Mitchell. “Come on, Lieutenant, we have no time to lose. Get your men aboard the tram.”

  Packed in tight, the first team began the ride up to the hotel.

  “Turn off all the lights,” ordered Mitchell. “No point in advertising that we’re coming.”

  The interior of the car turned dark. Mitchell could see three helicopters maneuvering into position around the lodge. One was hovering over the roof. Another had disappeared behind the hotel while the last one slowly descended to the front entrance. Even from where he was, Mitchell could see men scrambling out from the helicopters.

  “Who are they?” O’Higgins asked Mitchell.

  “I think the competition has arrived,” he replied.

  “Pardon?”

  “More Nazis, Mister O’Higgins. The hotel is swarming with Nazis.”

  “Won’t they see us coming?” asked a young corporal.

  Mitchell shook his head. “Between the noise of the helicopters and the gunfire, I doubt they’ll know that we’re coming until it’s too late to stop us.”

  “I pray you are right,” O’Higgins said, crossing himself.