The Faberge Heist

by David Leadbeater

  Dahl headed for the staircase. “Safe is less than two minutes away.”

  Drake looked at Alicia. “Make some fucking noise.”

  Alicia grinned. She removed her silencer and held a finger down on her weapon’s trigger, spraying the whole front façade and breaking every window. Not only were the gunshots loud but the sound of shattering glass would be heard for about half a mile.

  They all had to work seamlessly now.

  Dahl led the way up. Cartel guards were coming down the staircase. Dahl and Luther picked them off, firing through the staircase balustrade, their guns poking through the finely wrought spindles.

  Dead men collapsed down the stairs, falling freely. Dahl stepped over them. Drake and Karin followed the Swede and Luther up front.

  But they were on their own.

  The rest of the team had stayed below, leaving those on the stairs and rushing into another room, out of sight.

  “Here they come,” Kenzie cried out through the comms.

  “How many?” Drake asked.

  “A fuckload!”

  Assuming she meant more than one and less than a hundred, Drake pounded up the bare wood stairs. There were shouts from below, cursing and challenges as cartel soldiers saw them and gave chase. Shots rang out at the same time, following the team all the way up to the next floor. Drake managed one quick glance down.

  The huge lobby was rapidly being filled by Mexicans carrying an assortment of weapons. They seemed unsure at the moment, as if lacking leadership. Some stood whilst others took pot shots, but none ran at the stairs. Drake counted thirty men as someone shouted.

  “They’re about to give chase,” he said.

  “Do we have enough time?” Dahl asked Karin.

  “No. Make us some more.”

  She raced ahead with Luther. Dahl stopped and spun, dropping to one knee and resting the MP5 over his right shoulder. “You with me, Drake?”

  “Always, mate.”

  Dahl glanced at him with suspicion. “Always?”

  “Always in battle.”

  “That’s okay then.”

  They laid down the lead as cartel guards steamed up the winding staircase. Wooden spindles, banisters and newel posts shattered and splintered as bullets slammed through. Guards twisted, yelled and died, slithering back down the risers and tripping their colleagues. Others dived headlong, trying to hide amid the wood and dead bodies.

  The lobby was full now, dozens of men were down there. Many fired back up, destroying the top of the staircase and pulverizing the plaster wall to the right of Drake and Dahl with bullets.

  “Who is that? Who attacks my house?” The voice was loud, guttural and manic.

  Drake saw an opportunity to give Karin more time. “Who the hell are you?”

  There were many gasps, but then his question was answered. “I am Ruiz. I own this fucking country.”

  “That’s not quite true,” Dahl called back. “At least not until we leave.”

  Ruiz cursed him. “English? What are the fucking English doing here?”

  “We just came to party, Roo,” Drake drawled.

  “You got foxes in the henhouse, Roo.” Dahl grinned. “Stealing your eggs.”

  Ruiz’s stentorian cry filled the lobby. “Stop those motherfuckers!”

  Drake turned to Dahl. “Did he just call us mothercluckers?”

  They opened fire, taking down several more men. But far more were surging up. Drake knew they now faced the bulk of Ruiz’s force.

  Perfect.

  They turned and ran. Drake keyed the comms. “We’re coming in hot, ready or not.”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Fuck, we don’t have thirty seconds.”

  But Dahl was turning his body on the run, looking backward and plucking a grenade from his belt. He hurled it underhand so that it bounced at the top of the stairs, then bumped its way down, riser by riser.

  Right into the upcoming men.

  The explosion boomed out seconds later. Cartel guards flew against the hard wall or over the edge of the staircase, falling among those still below. Pandemonium reigned. Drake fired several more rounds of ammo to back up the grenade and then continued the run.

  Together, they burst into the room where the safe was situated.

  Karin was on her knees. Luther to the right, covering their door and another that stood at his back. Two men lay dead near his feet.

  “Where are we?” Dahl cried.

  “Almost . . . there . . .”

  The sounds of pursuit came down the hallway behind them.

  “This is too fucking close,” Drake said.

  Nevertheless, for their plan to work everything had to happen at the same time. Karin gave them the thumbs up. Luther turned and ran for the far door. Karin rose to her feet as Drake and Dahl reached her.

  “All good?”

  “I hope so.”

  Drake glanced at the enormous iron safe. It stood to their left, away from the wall, about five feet high and three feet wide. It was old, it was protected by a tumbler lock, and it was sturdy. The front door was covered in ornate patterns.

  “No time,” Dahl said, still running.

  Drake pushed Karin ahead of him, then turned as the door they’d entered by was strafed by bullets. Three seconds later men charged into the safe room.

  Drake and Dahl were on their knees by the far door, firing.

  Bullets riddled their enemies, striking legs and chests and heads, but many more pressed in behind them. Drake waited as long as he could. Dahl waited two seconds later. They fired to draw their enemy inside, backed away and watched the surge of men start to give chase. Dozens were pouring into the safe room; the bulk of Ruiz’s men.

  Drake flung himself to the floor.

  Dahl cried, “Now!”

  Karin depressed a button. The explosive charge she’d placed around the safe and the floor area detonated with a devastating crack of thunder. The men in the room never knew what hit them. Fire filled the room, debris discharged so fast it broke human bone and pierced bodies.

  The entire floor caved in.

  The huge safe fell through to the floor below, along with dozens of men. Some were still entering the safe room, some were already dead, but many were alive as they fell with the shattered floor, impacting hard twenty feet below. Shards of timber and chunks of plaster fell with them.

  The rest of the Strike Force team were waiting below to finish off any survivors.

  Gunfire rang out. Drake and Dahl rose and ran to the edge of the devastated floor. They peered down as Luther watched ahead in case anyone tried to enter through the demolished door.

  The safe had landed hard, its sides bowed, its front melted, its tumbler burned away by the intensely hot explosive flare Karin had used to destroy it. The flare had been localized, and facing away so as not to harm the safe’s contents. The fall had been judged short enough to shake the contents but not damage them. They couldn’t hope for much more considering the circumstances. Drake saw many bodies down there, twisted and broken, their firearms still clutched in their fingers or lying beside them.

  When it’s kill or be killed, perhaps tortured too, you don’t fuck about.

  Dahl stepped forward. “We doing this, or what?”

  They unhooked ropes from the sides of their backpacks, looped it around exposed timbers and let it unfurl to the floor below. Drake radioed in that they were on their way down. Hayden told them to wait a few seconds as they dealt with some survivors.

  “What’s the situation?” Luther asked.

  “There are dozens in the lobby. We still have a fight on our hands.”

  “Ruiz?”

  “Yeah, cockroaches don’t die easily.”

  Dahl jumped onto a rope and let himself down. Drake followed suit. Soon they stood among the debris and the dead men. To his right, Kenzie, Kinimaka and Mai were emptying the safe of the Fabergé eggs and stuffing them into spare packs. The door that led to the lobby had collapsed, giving them a lit
tle respite.

  “We good?” Dahl looked around.

  “Yeah, we’re ready,” Mai said.

  “Back to the wine cellar,” Kinimaka said, not without some relish in his voice.

  Drake looked to Hayden and Karin. “Is there a route past them . . . or . . .”

  “No, mate,” Dahl smiled, “We’re going through them. You know it makes sense.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Karin’s blueprints, taken from the borrowed CIA satellite, proved invaluable. Life-saving. They packed the eggs away and left the room via a rear door, moving deeper into the house. Another large area was navigated and then a cinema room where a big-screen projector stood among pool tables. The heavy sound of pursuit followed them. Ruiz couldn’t seem to stop yelling.

  “That is one angry man,” Mai said at one point.

  “Yeah, anyone would think we destroyed half his home,” Hayden said.

  Dahl rolled another grenade in their wake. “I enjoy hearing him scream.”

  The explosion rocked the house, taking down another wall and hindering Ruiz’s men. Karin led the way, guarded by Luther and Kinimaka, to the very rear of the house. She was about to reach out and open the back door, but Dahl and Drake destroyed it with bullets.

  “Sorry,” the Yorkshireman said. “Couldn’t help it.”

  They ran out into the night, breathing warm air. A breeze was blowing. Out here, spotlights lit up the rear grounds, shining on the enormous grill area, the Olympic size pool, a landscaped rock arrangement and countless palm trees. Clouds scudded across a starry, silvery sky lit by a three-quarter moon.

  Karin indicated the way. Drake glanced backward. There were no signs of pursuit, but he could hear them. At a guess, they’d gained themselves a minute at the most.

  Not long enough to return to the cell area and then go back to the wine cellar where the escape tunnel was situated.

  “I’m thinking we need to engineer another thirty seconds,” he told Dahl.

  The Swede grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

  Together, they rigged a simple trap. They rolled debris in their path, anchored the pins of two grenades to some of the sturdier rubble and buried them underneath it all. When the men waded through it, they’d trigger the bombs.

  Dahl also threw two smoke grenades, obscuring the entire area.

  It had to be enough. They sprinted off in pursuit of their team and caught up just as Karin came to the edge of the house.

  “Forty feet down here—” she pointed along the eastern wall “—is a side door back to the kitchen.”

  The team readied themselves. Four cartel men were stalking along the wall, possibly trying to sneak up on them from the back but they were moving way too slow. Hayden and Luther leapt out, aimed and took them down, backed up by the rest of the team. Then they ran.

  With a landscaped grass incline topped by trees to their right, they hugged the wall of the house and gained the side door. At that point there came a loud whump as their grenades exploded, causing more chaos among Ruiz’s men. Then they were inside again, recognizing the bright white walls of the kitchen.

  Hayden ran for the wine cellar door. Immediately, they heard gunshots echoing from below.

  “Ruiz must have sent men for the One Percenters,” Hayden said. “Hurry.”

  It had been one of their chief concerns. They’d hoped Ruiz would be too incensed to remember the thieves as he chased the eggs, but the gamble hadn’t paid off. Speeding up to full pace, they dashed down the stairs and into the wine cellar, conscious they only had a ninety-second head start and that there were gunmen ahead of them.

  Drake and Dahl spread out among the narrow aisles, wine bottles to both sides. The shelves reached high above them. The entire team took separate aisles as they approached the gunfire.

  Drake peered out first. To the left, he saw the backs of four men, in hiding, peeking out occasionally and sending bullets toward the cell area, where Dallas and Dino crouched, firing back. Two Mexicans were already dead.

  Drake could hear Cara shouting for a gun to defend herself. He was thinking that wouldn’t be a good idea when he saw Dallas throw one to her. The weapon arced from one side of the room to the other. A Mexican tried to shoot it but missed. Drake frowned.

  “Move,” he said.

  They burst from shelter. Bullets tagged the four Mexicans in their backs, from head to base of the spine. They fell forward, dead. Drake shouted at Dallas and Dino.

  “You have ninety seconds. Get down here!”

  Dallas herded Faye and Kushner to the center. Dino helped Jax along, followed by the man’s wife. As Drake and Dahl ran forward, they saw Cara leveling the handgun at Dino.

  “I can’t go to prison.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Drake hissed the words at her. “There’s thirty heavily armed men about sixty seconds away.”

  “And the local army,” Dahl added. “Let’s not forget he’ll have called them.”

  “Shit, I did forget.” Drake turned to Dahl.

  “Hey! I told you to let us go,” Cara cried, stepping forward.

  Drake whirled, grabbed the blonde’s wrist and yanked it hard. She screamed, letting go of the gun. Alicia shouted from behind.

  “Stop with the fucking foreplay will you. We’ve a big chopper to jump on.”

  “My big chopper,” Luther said, but his grin froze when Mai sent him a look that would crush granite.

  Dahl picked up the gun. Drake dragged Cara into the wine cellar and told her to behave. In seconds, everyone was ready.

  “One last sprint up the tunnels,” Drake said. “And we’re clear.”

  “Almost,” Luther said, “if my boys made it.”

  “If?”

  As one, the team hurried along the length of the wine cellar and then switched right, racing down the aisles between dusty wooden shelves and vintage bottles. Kinimaka couldn’t tear his eyes away from the endless display of bottles and Kenzie, at his back, was almost as entranced. They weren’t even halfway down the aisle when they heard men pounding down the stairs.

  Drake cursed inwardly. It wasn’t enough time. Barely twenty seconds. They’d be picked off in the tunnels or even outside as they tried to board the getaway vehicle. A surge of anger swept through him. If they hadn’t had to stop for the One Percenters. If Cara hadn’t . . .

  “Run!” Dahl shouted at their backs.

  Cartel guards jumped down the steps in their dozens, guns waving and, in some cases, firing at the ceiling. Ruiz was among them, instantly seeing the runners.

  “Kill them all!” Ruiz shrieked.

  It was a desperate moment. They couldn’t stop and risk being pinned down here. The stairs overlooked their position. More Mexicans were approaching the aisles. Hayden, at the front, entered the tunnel, followed by Dallas, Dino and the One Percenters, Kinimaka and Molokai.

  But the rest of the team were still in the aisles. They were sitting ducks.

  Drake turned, still running, firing shots in his wake. Bullets slammed past him, skimming uncomfortably close. Ahead, Kinimaka stopped dead and turned, gun shouldered, weapon on full-auto.

  “God forgive me!” he cried.

  The Hawaiian decimated the wine shelves with bullets. Shelves sagged and shattered. Bottles leapt into the air and sprayed red everywhere. The sound was tremendous. Drake and the others turned and ran hard as Kinimaka laid waste in their wakes.

  Broken shelves full of bottles sagged and surged across the cellar floor, filling it. Wine drenched the cellar. Shelves folded on top of shelves collapsing heavily and loudly. Kenzie looked like she was about to cry at the Hawaiian’s side.

  “Fuck, Mano, I don’t think I can forgive you for this.”

  “That’s okay. I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself.”

  Drake was clear, entering the long tunnel. Kinimaka and Kenzie spun and ran at his back as bullets thudded into the walls behind them. They were in the pitch black now, their way marked only by the swaying flashlights of
their companions. The earthen walls suffocated sound, making it hard to discern how close their pursuers were. Drake knew it wouldn’t take the cartel long to wade through the broken shelving.

  The tunnel stretched ahead. The only sound was their panting and the occasional curse as one of them smacked against a wooden stanchion. It had crossed Drake’s mind to use grenades to block the tunnel behind them, but they couldn’t be entirely sure it wouldn’t bring the whole system down.

  To cast doubt in their pursuers’ minds, he turned and unleashed a salvo of lead, then continued sprinting.

  Hayden came on the comms. “Nearing the exit.”

  Drake saw flashlights starting to merge ahead, throwing a steady glow over what was happening at the entrance. Hayden and Luther emerged first, carefully, in case Ruiz had the foresight to send men around. He hadn’t. Soon, Molokai was out, turning and pulling the One Percenters after him.

  Luther ran to the front of the pack.

  The big man took out his cellphone, which contained a navigation app, and signed in. A second later he looked off to the right.

  “They’re here. Waiting for us.”

  Drake pushed out into the night. “Move, guys, we’re just a few minutes ahead.”

  They ran down the hillsides, slipping and sliding on gravel. The night air caressed their faces, the cool breeze drying their sweat. Drake cast from side to side but saw no movement. They moved as a team; the leaders forging ahead whilst Dino and Dallas guarded their captives; the others ranging to the sides and the rear for cover. Nothing would get by them.

  “How far?” Hayden asked.

  “Four klicks,” Luther said.

  “What’s that in Yorkshire?” Alicia was next to Drake.

  He shook his head at her. “Don’t you remember your training? About two miles.”

  “I remember the instructor,” she said with a roguish grin.

  They reached the bottom of the hill and ran up the next. The terrain was sandy, full of boulders and rocky outcroppings. The only cover was the endless mounds and stony hillocks that stretched for miles. To the far right, Drake could make out Ruiz’s home, marked by lights, smoke and fire.