Barracuda

by Richard Turner

  “I’m going to put an end to this fight,” said Jackson firmly.

  “What do you want me to do?” Yuri asked.

  “Stay here and shoot anyone you don’t know who tries to get on or off that elevator.”

  “I can do that.”

  Jackson stood and looked about. He smiled when he saw a forklift sitting idle. Resting on its long metal arms were several crates stacked up one on top of another. He jogged over and lifted off the cover of the top box. Packed inside were dozens of gold bars, each stamped with a Nazi swastika. He suddenly had an idea. Jackson sat down on the driver’s seat, started the engine and lifted up the metal arms until the boxes were almost too high to see over. He rested his Uzi on his lap, shifted into drive, and turned the wheel around in his hands. With his foot firmly placed on the accelerator, Jackson drove the forklift past Yuri, steering the machine towards the unsuspecting German guards.

  “You have to hurry, sir,” said Beck to August, as he held the trapdoor open for his master.

  August stopped for a moment to look back at the fortune he was leaving behind. Men were replaceable; there always were men willing to die for the cause. The treasure, however, was irreplaceable. It would take a small fortune in bribe money to the President to ensure that he got it all back. It was a small price to pay to guarantee the future of the Reich.

  “Sir, please, we have to go,” said Beck, this time more firmly.

  August stepped inside the narrow tunnel dug through the rock. He shivered; it was dimly lit and cold. Beck walked past him and said, “Follow me.”

  Neither man saw Jackson speeding towards the men they had just left behind to die.

  When he was less than twenty meters from the makeshift barricade the German guards were using, Jackson reached down and picked up his Uzi.

  A man spotted the charging forklift and turned to fire. Jackson saw the guard and pulled back on the trigger of his weapon. He did not expect to hit the man; he just wanted to force him to keep his head down. A second later, Jackson rammed the German forklift into the man who had been firing. He was sent flying backward, with several broken bones.

  Before the other Germans could react, Jackson slammed his foot down on the brakes. His forklift came to a screeching halt alongside the guards. They were so close that Jackson did not need to aim. He emptied what was left of his submachine gun’s magazine into the shocked men. They all fell under the deadly barrage.

  Smoke trailed from the barrel of Jackson’s Uzi. He tossed his empty weapon aside and jumped down from the forklift. He felt nothing for the men he had just killed. Some of them had tortured him; as far as he was concerned, they got what they deserved.

  He bent down to pick up one of the Germans’ discarded weapons and spotted the robot farther down the cavern. His instincts told him that Mitchell was somewhere among the crates, trapped. He stepped back and jumped back into the driver’s seat of the forklift.

  Mitchell crept forward until he could see the robot sitting there, with its twin machine guns moving back and forth as if it were alive, looking for something to engage. He doubted that a hand grenade would disable it. They needed an anti-tank weapon, but O’Higgins’ men did not have any with them.

  A soldier rashly stepped out from behind cover and fired his weapon at the vehicle, trying to disable it. The bullets harmlessly bounced off the robots armor plating. The man died, cut down before he could get back behind the crates.

  Ryan growled with frustration. A man had just died for no reason. “Tell your men to stay behind cover,” Mitchell yelled to the young officer.

  O’Higgins passed on the order.

  Mitchell wracked his brain for a way to deal with the robot. Suddenly, the sound of a small engine picking up speed reached his ears. He tilted his head and listened more carefully. What was it? Some sort of small vehicle…an ATV? Or maybe…a forklift? Unfortunately, from where he was, he could not get visual confirmation.

  “Come to Poppa,” said Jackson, as he lined up his forklift with the robot. It was less than one hundred meters away. Like a medieval knight, he charged straight for his opponent.

  The robot’s sensors detected the threat coming towards it, swung its twin machine guns around, and opened fire. A steady stream of lead flew at the boxes filled with gold bars. Wood chips flew everywhere as the bullets easily perforated the boxes, but the gold remained solid, secure.

  With a loud, warlike scream, Jackson held on tight to the forklift’s wheel. A second later, he rammed the robot head-on. The speed and mass of the forklift were more than a match for the stationary machine. With a loud smash of crumpling metal, the automaton was sent flying backward. It came to a sudden halt when hit the cavern wall. The turret flew off and landed a few meters away, sliding across the smooth floor. The soulless killer was no more.

  Mitchell cautiously stepped out from behind cover. He smiled when he saw Jackson sitting behind the wheel of a forklift.

  “Anyone order a pizza?” said Jackson. “No, I’m serious, did anyone? I’m starving, and the food here sucks.”

  Yuri gritted his teeth and tried sitting up. Pain shot through his body reminding him of the abuse it had taken at the hands of his interrogators. He heard but could not see Jackson dealing with the robot on the other side of the crates. For the first time in ages, he wanted a cigarette so bad that he could taste it in his mouth. He looked over at the dead mercenaries and wondered if any of them had a packet of cigarettes on them. Yuri knew that it was ridiculous, but he had to have a smoke. With his weapon cradled in his arms, he limped towards the nearest corpse.

  The sound of men running towards him made Yuri freeze. He got down on the ground beside a dead body, brought his Uzi up and took aim.

  Karras had had enough. No one told him that the Chilean Army was going to try and seize the treasure, as well. His plan was in ruins. Karras knew that he would be lucky to make it out of the chalet alive. A couple of seconds later, he and the man with him emerged out of the maze of boxes near the elevator. He could see the men he had left behind laying on the floor in a bloody heap.

  Unexpectedly, one of the corpses moved. Karras and his mercenary colleague never knew what hit them. Both men were brought down by Yuri, firing his weapon at their legs.

  53

  The Cable Car

  “What took you so long?” Mitchell asked Jackson.

  “I stopped for a coffee and a donut,” replied Jackson. “You know, I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t kidding, you know. I’m starving.”

  “There’s plenty of food upstairs.” Mitchell turned his head and looked back at the carnage Jackson had wrought on the German guards. “Nate, you didn’t happen to see Beck and August, did you?”

  Jackson shook his head.

  O’Higgins walked over. “Mister Mitchell, I am going to have my men spread out and search this cavern for any survivors.”

  Jackson said, “Tell your men to hold their fire if they see a beat-up-looking man with a black ponytail. He’s with us.”

  Mitchell turned to scan the cavern again, and spotted a small opening in the far wall. He began to jog toward the door, and as the sinking feeling inside of him grew, he picked up his pace. At the entrance, he poked his head inside and discovered a tunnel with a set of stairs carved into the rock. “Son of a bitch, they got away.”

  “Perhaps not,” Jackson said as he dragged a man towards Mitchell.

  Mitchell saw that the man’s right arm and both of his legs had been broken. “Do you speak English?” he asked the injured man.

  “Yes,” he replied meekly.

  “Where does that tunnel lead to?”

  The guard looked away.

  “Answer the man,” said Jackson, squeezing the German’s broken arm.

  The man grimaced in pain. Jackson made a motion to squeeze his arm again. “The tunnel comes out upstairs. It leads to the cable car.”

  Mitchell looked at Jackson. “Nate, you’re too injured to help. Go and get Yuri. Tell Lieutenant O’Higgi
ns that I’ve gone after Beck and August.”

  Before Jackson could open his mouth, Mitchell ran into the tunnel and vanished from sight. Shaking his head, Jackson dropped the injured man to the floor and turned around. It was then that he saw Yuri guarding two men, both of whom looked like they had been shot. He headed over to join his friend.

  The cable car was coming up from the valley, far too slowly for Beck’s liking. It had been sent down by the last soldiers who had come up to the hotel, to await the arrival of an ambulance they had called for. At Beck’s feet were the two Chilean soldiers who had been left to guard the entrance to the hotel. He had surprised the men, when he stepped out from a secret door on the side of the chalet, and shot them both in the head.

  “Where will we go?” Beck asked August.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m going home,” responded August dryly.

  “Won’t the police come looking for you?”

  August gave an indifferent shrug. “My lawyer can deal with them. I’m tired and I need to get some sleep. I want you to disappear for a few months. Take a nice long holiday in Brazil. Preferably in a place no one would think to look for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Beck. He had a feeling in his gut that August would ensure that he never returned from his ‘vacation’.

  The cable car slowed and came to a halt. Three paramedics carrying a stretcher board and several bags rushed out. They saw Beck and August standing there. Beck had hidden his pistol behind his back. He stepped to one side and pointed at the lobby. The medics stopped in their tracks when they saw the dead soldiers lying in the snow.

  “You can’t help them. However, there are wounded men inside the hotel,” said August in Spanish.

  The paramedics moved around the bodies and ran inside the hotel.

  Beck and August calmly walked into the tram. Beck pressed the button to take them down. He was about to close the door when he saw a man burst from the secret opening on the side of the hotel. His eyes widened when he saw who it was. Beck rushed to close the door.

  Mitchell brought up his pistol and opened fire. He knew he would be lucky to hit anything while he ran, but he had to try to stop the car from leaving. He saw bullets strike the glass on the tram, shattering a couple of the windows. In moments, he was only a couple of meters from the door.

  The tram began to move.

  Without stopping, Mitchell put his head down, dove forward, and hit the door with his shoulder, sending it flying open. Beck, struck by the door, staggered back. Mitchell landed inside on his feet. He brought up his pistol to fire, only to be hit from the side by August with a portable fire extinguisher.

  Mitchell saw lights flash before his eyes, and he stepped back. Suddenly, Beck reached over and grabbed hold of Mitchell’s outstretched hand. He twisted it over. Pain shot up Mitchell’s arm, forcing him to drop his pistol.

  August scrambled for the gun.

  Mitchell knew that he had to even the odds quickly or he did not stand a chance. He stepped back and slammed the back of his head into Beck’s face, breaking the man’s nose. Mitchell felt Beck’s hold on his hand weaken. He reached over with his free hand and smashed his balled-up fist onto Beck’s hand, forcing him to let him go. In one fluid motion, he reached back, grabbed Beck by the arm and flung him straight at August. The two men collided and fell to the floor of the tram.

  August hit his head, loosening his grip on the pistol in his hand.

  Mitchell kicked it aside.

  Before Beck could recover, Mitchell shot his right knee into Beck’s ribs, knocking the wind from him. The mercenary moaned in agony. He struggled to get up on his knees. Mitchell was not going to give his foe the chance to recover. He brought his knee as hard as he could into the side of Beck’s head. Blood and spittle flew against the white-painted walls of the tram.

  August got up to his feet, and swung at Mitchell. It was a feeble attempt that easily missed.

  “Time for you to get off,” said Mitchell to August as he grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket and pulled him off-balance. With a heave, Mitchell sent August running towards the open door of the cable car. A second later, he flew out into thin air. With a terrified cry on his lips, August plummeted to his death.

  Mitchell turned to face Beck just as the mercenary was getting back up onto his feet. Both men spotted the pistol on the floor of the tram at the same time, and they dove for it. Mitchell grabbed it first.

  Beck, however, was far from finished. He reached over and grabbed Mitchell’s hands. He yanked as hard as he could, trying to get Mitchell to let go of the pistol. They rolled back and forth on the floor, fighting for control of the pistol, the cable car bouncing and swaying with their violent movements.

  Although battered, Mitchell could tell that there was plenty of fight left in his opponent. He wanted to end the struggle before he tired. Mitchell waited until Beck rolled over on top of him. With a practiced move, Mitchell brought up his right leg into Beck’s stomach and flipped him off him. Beck landed with a thud against the wall.

  Mitchell rolled over, got up on one knee and pointed his pistol at Beck.

  Beck weakly smiled. He raised his arms slightly. “Okay, Herr Mitchell, you have me. I surrender.”

  Mitchell pulled the trigger. “I don’t care.”

  An incredulous look crept across Beck’s face. He glanced down and saw blood pooling from the hole shot through his heart. A second later, he fell facefirst onto the floor of the carriage.

  Mitchell stood. He looked down at Beck, and then at the weapon in his hand. He dropped it to the floor. He’d had his fill of death for one day. Mitchell only wanted to get back to the hotel to check on his friends. As far as he was concerned, right now, nothing else mattered.

  54

  The Eagle’s Nest

  By the time Mitchell made it back down into the cavern, the paramedics had patched up the two Greek mercenaries gunned down by Yuri, and had begun to work on two lightly wounded Chilean soldiers.

  “You gonna live?” Mitchell asked his two friends, sitting on the ground, guarding the two despondent-looking soldiers of fortune.

  Jackson looked up and shook his head. “Maybe we should ask you the same question. You look like crap.”

  “I look worse than I feel.”

  “Did you catch up with Beck and August?” asked Jackson.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a lot hotter where they are right now,” replied Mitchell.

  “Good riddance to the two of them,” Yuri said.

  “Who are these guys?” Mitchell asked, glancing down at the two captives.

  Yuri’s tired eyes lit up. “Ryan, you’ve got to talk to these two prisoners before they are taken away.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because one of them wants to spill the beans on his boss in exchange for immunity.”

  Mitchell walked over and stood before the two men. “Which one of you wants to make a deal?”

  “I do,” responded a man with bandages on both of his legs and an IV hooked up to his left arm.

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name is Calisto Karras, and before I say another word, I want to speak to someone in authority who can grant me immunity.”

  Mitchell looked over his shoulder and saw O’Higgins talking with his sergeant. He walked over and shook the young man’s hand. “You and your men did well today, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you,” replied the young officer, visibly please by Mitchell’s compliment.

  “Mister O’Higgins, I need your help.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need you to speak with your chain of command ASAP,” said Mitchell. “I think it may be in all of our best interests if you can get a lawyer on the phone who can make a deal with one of the Greek prisoners.”

  Less than fifteen minutes later, the deal was done. Karras would not be held accountable for his actions this day. He would, however, be placed in police
protective custody until the courts decided what to do with the treasure.

  “All right, Mister Karras, I’m all ears,” Mitchell said, taking a seat on a nearby crate.

  Within minutes, Mitchell scrambled to his feet, desperate to call General O’Reilly. Sam and Gordon were in danger. In less than twenty-four hours, the conference was going to end in disaster.

  “Yuri, please tell me that you still have Petrenko’s bank account number memorized,” said Mitchell, his mind whirling in an attempt to determine just how to deal with this newest crisis.

  “Da, I was going to use it when we got home…for recreational purposes only.”

  “That’ll have to wait. I need you on the phone right away. Charter us a fast plane to Lisbon and see if your friends there can supply us with flawless press credentials.”

  Yuri knew better than to ask why. He got up to his feet and hobbled over to the nearest telephone to make a few calls.

  “What are you going to tell the general?” asked Jackson.

  “Exactly what Karras told us,” Mitchell said. “General Davos is a traitor, and is behind this mess and the troubles in the Aegean.”

  “You do realize that we only have the word of a criminal to go on. He could be lying through his teeth.”

  “I know. It’s a slim lead, but it’s plausible. And at the same time, if we don’t do something, there is a real chance that a lot of people are going to die. I gotta tell you, Nate, I have a horrible feeling about this.”

  “Come on, Ryan, let’s make that call back home,” said Jackson, slowly pushing himself to stand.

  Mitchell moved to help his friend.

  Jackson raised a hand. “I don’t think so. You may be younger, but I still could kick your butt in the boxing ring.”