Deadly Intent Page 12

  “Pete, we’ve got a Hellfire inbound. You need to stay down,” Hunt shouted across to him as he opened up with his CQBR at another running figure.

  Ever since breaching the compound, all had gone well. That was until they’d been forced to shoot a guard who’d appeared unexpectedly. His death was quiet enough, but the result of his finger squeezing the trigger on his M4 which rattled off a burst, brought it all undone.

  Hunt and Traynor were still probably thirty meters from their target at the time. Now there was no chance that they would make it, due to the swarming militia.

  Hammer blows on the truck they sheltered behind sounded like a fierce hailstorm, only instead of ice, it was bullets. Muzzle flashes appeared all around, and there was soon no refuge from incoming fire.

  Then the Hellfire hit and the whole world seemed to explode.

  The force of the explosion forced both men flat against the ground. Their ears rang, and their heads spun. The heat from the fireball washed over them, and the air was forced from their lungs.

  For a moment Traynor thought that he was about to die and the heat was the earth opening to let him into Hell. Then the noise rolled away across the darkened landscape.

  “Pete?”

  The voice sounded far away.

  “Pete, you OK?”

  “Yeah,” he moaned.

  “Stay down. I’m ordering another strike.”

  “Copy.”

  Traynor gathered himself and poked his head around the corner of the truck. Buildings burned and he saw a flaming figure stagger about and then fall. His stomach lurched as the sickly-sweet smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils.

  “White Shark, this is Scimitar, over,” Hunt said into his mic.

  “Read you, Scimitar.”

  “I’m going to light up another target for you, over.”

  “Copy.”

  A militiaman appeared around the front of the truck, and Traynor’s 416 ripped a burst into his guts. The man doubled over and collapsed. Another man, much bigger than the last, stepped into his place with a Colt M4 in his hands. He depressed the trigger and dirt and debris flew into the air about the former DEA agent. The whack-whack-whack of bullets burying into the earth sounded loud in his ears.

  “Shit!” Traynor cursed and fired his weapon. The burst missed and to his horror, the militiaman sighted along his weapon.

  The CQBR in Hunt’s hands sent a single shot into the man’s face, dropping him cold.

  “Thanks, Bord,” he said loud enough to be heard over the intense firing.

  As he dropped the magazine out of his 416 and replaced it with a fresh one, he heard a voice shout, “They’re still behind the truck! Kill them, now!”

  Traynor took a look and saw a man standing there barking orders. In his right hand, he waved a gun around and pointed it at the truck where they were sheltered. “Who the fuck is that, Hunt?” he shouted.

  Hunt fired at a militiaman and caught a glimpse of the man. He dropped back down and said, “Fuck knows. Obviously, he thinks he’s in charge.”

  Hunt said into his mic, “Scimitar to Eagle One, read me, Pop?”

  “Copy, Chief.”

  “Can you see the son of a bitch directing traffic on this side of the compound? Over.”

  “Roger, I got him.”

  “Frag his ass.”

  The man was in mid-shout when his voice was cut off. Pop-Eye came over the net. “Tango down.”

  Then a shout. “They got the colonel!”

  A few moments later a voice came over the net. “Scimitar, this is White Shark. Second Hellfire is inbound.”

  Hunt called across to Traynor. “Get your head down, Pete. The second package is on its way.”

  Seconds later, the night lit up once more.

  Arenas covered Jimmy with his body as the second Hellfire exploded. Beside him, Rucker let loose a burst which cut down a militiaman in a flail of arms and legs. The bullet strikes were quite audible and came across as a quick thunk-thunk-thunk.

  “Get the kid up, Carlos!” he shouted. “We’ve gotta move.”

  “Come on, Jimmy.”

  “I can’t!” he almost screamed.

  “You have to.”

  Without waiting, Arenas hauled the boy to his feet and started to drag/carry him towards the compound’s fence, with Rucker on their six. Every now and then he could hear the CQBR cough.

  Suddenly a figure appeared ahead of them. He wore a torn suit and the orange firelight illuminated the side of his face enough to show something wet. He held a handgun in his right fist, and when he spoke, his voice was laced with rage. “Hold it right fucking there, boyo.”

  “What the hell?” Rucker snapped.

  O’Brien shifted his aim and shot him in the chest. Rucker grunted and fell to the ground. Jimmy screamed as the weapon snapped back into line with Arenas. The Irishman said, “Give me the boy.”

  Arenas shuffled Jimmy around behind him. “I can’t do that.”

  “Last chance, Mex. Give me the boy.”

  In a soft voice, Arenas said into his mic. “Eagle-One, copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “Need your help.”

  O’Brien snarled, “What did you fucking say?”

  Arenas stared at him. “I said, goodbye.”

  The shot whistled out of the night and smashed into the Irishman’s head. The side opposite to the entry wound exploded outwards, and he fell to the ground.

  “Tango down.”

  The words filled Arenas’ head. “Thanks, Eagle-One.”

  Rucker moaned and rolled onto his knees. “That hurt.”

  “Are you OK?” Arenas asked.

  “Yeah, just got my vest.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Rucker said into his mic, “Pop-Eye, we’re coming to you.”

  “Roger, come away.”

  “Scimitar, this is Eagle-One. Copy?”

  The transmission was met with silence, and Pop-Eye tried again. “Scimitar, Copy?”

  There was movement in the brush to his right, and the SEAL rolled onto his side and brought up his M17. A voice sounded, “Friendly.”

  Pop-Eye put the weapon away as Rucker, Arenas, and Jimmy emerged from the leafy-green screen. “You fellers seen the chief?” he asked as they settled down beside him.

  “Not a lick,” Rucker said.

  “I can’t raise him on the comms.”

  Rucker nodded. “Scimitar, copy?”

  Silence.

  “Scimitar, copy?”

  Silence.

  “Scimitar, copy?”

  The brush moved, and Hunt and Traynor appeared. “Will you guys shut the fuck up?” the chief growled.

  “It would help if you answered the radio,” Rucker told him.

  “That last Hellfire was a little too close. Screwed something up and our comms are jacked up. You get the boy?”

  “We have him,” Arenas said.

  Traynor looked at Jimmy. “How are you doing, kid?”

  “OK, I guess.”

  He seemed shaken but unhurt. Traynor said, “When we get back, don’t tell your mother about this.”

  Jimmy smiled.

  “What’s funny?” Hunt asked.

  “My mom would kick his ass if she knew about this.”

  “How about we get you on that chopper then before she does.”

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  DEA Safehouse

  The front door of the safehouse was blown in amid a shower of razor-sharp splinters and orange flames. The sound of it made all within the house wince as the blast jarred their senses.

  The DEA men tried to meet the incursion head-on, but the trained mercenaries were too good. The three agents died in the passageway in a hail of blazing gunfire. The mercenaries started to file through the shattered opening, dressed in tactical gear, and armed with Colt M4A1s. These weapons were a modified version of the M4. Where the M4 had a safe/semi-auto/3-round burst selector, the A
1 had a safe/semi-automatic/fully automatic one.

  Thurston leaned around the corner of the living room and blew through half a clip on the M17 before she took cover again. Her bullets brought down two men. One took two shots in his tactical vest, and though still alive, he was out of the fight for the near future. The second man took a round to his vest, and as he fell, another blasted through his face.

  Across the hall in another room, Ferrero leaned out to fire his sidearm. He was forced back by a sustained burst of gunfire ripping into walls and raining debris down onto the floor tiles.

  Ferrero tried again and snapped off a couple of shots.

  Behind Thurston, Swift was busy downloading files onto a thumb drive. It was easier to do it that way than to drag the computer with them. “Are you finished yet?” she shouted over her shoulder.

  “Almost.”

  A mercenary stepped over the body of a fallen DEA man and fired another long burst at the hidden team members.

  Thurston fired three more shots at the man before she was forced to drop out her empty magazine. “Changing!” she shouted. Ferrero leaned out and fired shots of his own.

  The general slapped home a fresh magazine and was about to lean back out when something thudded onto the floor near her feet. She looked down and froze. Coming to a slow stop was an M67 fragmentation grenade.

  “Shit! Grenade!” Thurston shouted at the top of her voice and dived for cover. The explosive device went off with a roar, sending steel slivers scything through the air.

  Part of the ceiling and some of the wall came down with the blast. The concussion from the explosion knocked the air from Thurston’s lungs, and it took a while for her to recover. Quicker back on his feet was Ferrero, shielded from most of the blast by the wall. He leaned around and through the dust and crap he saw the outline of an advancing killer. He aimed high up with the M17. Three shots rocked the passage, and the man shouted out in pain. While the intruders recovered, Ferrero moved across the passage to where Thurston was slowly coming to her feet.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’ll live,” she moaned. “That was fucking close.”

  “Swift, are you done?”

  The computer tech dragged himself erect, drew his M17 and blew the shit out of the equipment he’d been using. “I am now.”

  “Right, get out,” Thurston snapped.

  “Where are we going?” Swift asked.

  “Anywhere but here. Move.”

  Ferrero led the way out the rear entrance. He crashed through the door, and as expected, there were two shooters there. Raising his sidearm, he pumped two shots into the first man. One into the vest and the second into the stunned man’s head.

  He pivoted and lined up on the second killer and squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  “Shit!”

  Behind him, Swift emerged and took in the situation before him. He brought his gun up and with a crazed howl, fired six wild shots. Four missed. Two managed to find a home in the killer’s arm and throat.

  “Over the fence,” Thurston urged them, and they ran towards the brick wall. They scrambled over it just as a fusillade of gunfire peppered it, sending chips flying through the air.

  “Go! Go!” Thurston shouted.

  The three of them ran along the alley and disappeared into the darkness. Behind them, their pursuers vaulted the wall and halted. Their leader, a big man with a shaved head, took out a cell phone and punched in a number. When it was answered, he could hear the gunfire on the other end.

  “It’s me,” Hall said. “They got away. We’ll keep looking for them.”

  Then he hung up.

  He stared at the team members that remained. “Split up. Find them.”

  Chapter 11

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  “Reaper, we’re taking heavy fire!” Axe shouted in his ear.

  “Copy, Axe. Fall back.”

  “Roger.”

  Axe, Teller, and Spencer drew back into the warehouse. Axe was the last in, a thin trickle of blood running from his brow. Kane pointed at it and asked, “You OK?”

  He gave him one of his weird grins as he slapped home a fresh magazine and said, “You should see the other dude.”

  Cara’s voice came over the comms. “Reaper, we’ve found a way out the back. It seems to be clear.”

  “Copy. We’re on our way.”

  He turned to Teller and said, “Give me your 416 and some spare mags. Then get to the back. They’ve found a way out.”

  Teller passed them over and hurried away. Behind Kane and Axe, Spencer was still firing through the doorway. Bullets peppered the warehouse, making it sound like a severe storm had descended overhead.

  “Axe, get going. If we get separated, try to make contact with Bravo. The safehouse was attacked, and they had to vacate.”

  “Copy. Don’t hang around too long.”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  That left Spencer and Kane to watch their six. He reached the CIA man’s side and said, “What have you got?”

  “We’ve been able to thin them out some, but not a whole lot,” he said. “There’s still probably at least ten of the bastards out there.”

  Kane took a look around the edge of the doorway and caught a glimpse of muzzle flashes from behind one of the SUVs. There were others spread out in a broad perimeter. He rattled off two bursts and saw the rounds impact the second of the vehicles. It brought forth a rise in the attacker's rate of fire and made him duck back.

  Then Spencer shouted, “Get back! RPG!”

  The whole world seemed to explode in a bright orange glow. The air rushed from Kane’s lungs as he was flung violently backward. When he landed, his head smacked against the hard floor. Bright lights flashed before his eyes and darkness seemed to consume him. In the distance, he could hear more gunfire which slowly diminished and then ceased.

  Kane moaned. He opened his eyes, and the roof above him swam in circles. He closed them again and waited to see if it would clear. But before he could open them again, everything went quiet as he passed out.

  The explosion rocked the night. Cara and Axe whirled around to see the flaming cloud rise into the sky.

  “Christ!” Cara swore and pressed her transmit button. “Reaper One, come in.”

  There was silence over the comms.

  “Reaper One, come in.”

  She waited for what seemed an extraordinary amount of time before she said, “Spencer, come in.”

  He too was silent.

  “Spencer, this is Reaper Two. Come in.”

  “This is fucked, Cara,” Axe growled. “Let’s go back.”

  He started to move when she grabbed his arm. “No.”

  “What?”

  “I said no. That’s an order.”

  “It’s bullshit, Cara,” he hissed. “That’s what it is. I ain’t leaving Reaper or Spencer back there.”

  “Axe, damn it. If he was still there then it’s a good possibility he’s dead,” it pained her to say. “If he isn’t, then they’ll have him, and we’ll find him. They were ready for this. It was a trap. Bravo got hit too. We all need to regroup.”

  He knew she was right. “Shit. Where to?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll work it out. Lead out. We need to get the girls to safety.”

  When Kane came to, he was laying on the pavement outside the burning warehouse. The first noise he heard was familiar and disconcerting. It said, “We meet again, gringo.”

  Kane moaned as the figure swam before his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, and the face came into view. “Son of a bitch.”

  Another figure appeared next to the cartel boss. An American. From the pictures he’d seen, it was easy to make him out as Collins.

  Before Kane knew it, Spencer was hovering over him and helping him to his feet. The CIA man had a cut above his right eye with still-tacky blood halfway down that side of his face.

  “I’m not sure if you bein
g alive is such a good thing, Reaper,” he said.

  “I guess we’ll find out. The others?”

  Spencer shrugged.

  Kane faced Montoya and saw the smug look on his face. He said, “It is a shame that my plan failed to net all of your people. But I have you, and the others I’m certain will not be a problem to my future plans.”

  “What plans are they?” Kane asked casually.

  A wicked smile touched the Mexican’s lips. “You do not need to know.”

  “I see you got yourself some new help. Last feller kind of went to pieces on you. Are these guys any better?”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Spencer hissed.

  Kane knew exactly what he was doing. Get Montoya mad enough, and he might flip out and shoot him. Better than the alternative prospect.

  “If you’re going to kill me, Mex, just get it over and done with. I ain’t got the time or the inclination to swap sentences with a murdering son of a bitch like you.”

  Montoya smiled again. “Amigo. Be assured that I am not going to kill you. What I have intended for you is much worse. I am sending you both to Las Puertas del Infierno.”

  “Christ almighty,” Spencer breathed.

  Kane raised his eyebrows and said, “No shit? You’re sending us to The Gates of Hell? What the fuck is that? A volcano by the sea or some bullshit?”

  “Looking at your friend, amigo, I see that he knows exactly what I mean.”

  Kane glanced at Spencer whose expression had worsened.

  “You see, my Americano friend, The Gates of Hell refers to a prison on the Isla del volcán. It is off the coast of Peru. This is where they send all of the presos malos. Bad prisoners. If you live out the week when you arrive, it will be something, yes? Especially since you are gringos.”

  Surprisingly, Kane felt relieved. While there was life, there was a chance, albeit a slim one.

  Montoya barked, “Get them into the trucks.”

  Collins stepped forward. “So, you’re the one they call Reaper?”

  “I’ve been called that.”

  “Were you the one in Juarez?”

  “Yeah. You were there?”