Romanov oil field
Atar, Mauritania
Alexandra stood beside a couple of idling Jeeps, surrounded by a half-dozen soldiers. With a proud smile on her face, she watched as her father’s helicopter quickly descended from the night sky, covered by two circling Mauritanian Army gunships.
The instant that the helicopter’s wheels touched down, Romanov jumped out, followed closely by two of his personal bodyguards, carrying between them the crown jewels in a secure box. Walking over, he warmly embraced his daughter and together they climbed into the closest vehicle while a second helicopter circled the refinery and came into land.
Nika, Jen, and Mrs. March were helped out of the second helicopter by some of Chang’s men, just as Romanov’s Jeep pulled away, leaving them alone on the helipad. The poisonous look in Nika’s eyes aimed at her departing sister was not lost on Jen, who reached over and pulled her mother closer to her, keeping her safe by her side. Nika swore up a storm, and then ordered Jen and her mother to get into the last vehicle. Jen looked up into the night sky and saw another helicopter come out of the dark, bank around, and then start to descend to the helipad. Jen tightly held her mother’s hand, and said a silent prayer that this would be their last night as Dmitry Romanov’s hostages.
“There! Down there!” Mitchell yelled into his headset, pointing at the ground. “Get us down as fast as you can. It’s Jen and her mother, damn it, and they’re leaving in that bloody Jeep,” said Mitchell, as the vehicle drove away from the helipad. Flinging off his headset, he knew that they were mere seconds too late to help them. If he could have, Mitchell would have jumped from the helicopter. He had to follow the Jeep quickly, before he lost sight of it inside the maze of roads and buildings of the city-sized refinery.
Yuri rapidly brought the helicopter down beside the other one on the helipad, and then switched off the engines. In a flash, Mitchell flew from the chopper, hunching over as he ran out from under the rotor blades, his eyes scanning for Jen’s vehicle. He spotted an idling truck sitting unguarded alongside a nearby shed. He sprinted over and jumped in the driver’s seat. With a squeal from the tires, he sped off after Jen, as her SUV disappeared from view around a massive storage building. As per the plan, Yuri and Sam would stay with the chopper until needed.
A warm wind buffeted Cardinal as he climbed the outside of a hundred-meter-tall metal communications tower. Below, Nate and Fahimah stood alongside their Jeep, keeping a wary eye out into the desert. After a couple of minutes, Cardinal crawled out onto a broad metal platform and slid the Russian-built Dragunov SVD sniper rifle off his back. Quickly making the necessary adjustments for distance and wind to his scope, he crawled forward, until he had a commanding view of the massive refinery. He swept his telescopic sight back and forth, and soon acquired the helipad. He saw a truck leaving in a hurry, with Mitchell behind the wheel. Cardinal knew his job for now was to watch, report, and, if required, to keep the opposition away from Mitchell.
When they pulled up outside the hangar where they had been two days earlier, Jen was surprised to see people running about, preparing something. Several soldiers were busy clearing the way for a large yellow Caterpillar truck, crawling along with a sea container cradled in its powerful metal arms. A thin man in coveralls walked slowly beside the container; a smoldering cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. When the vehicle was one hundred meters from the hangar entrance, the man turned and waved for the container to be carefully placed on the ground.
Nika Romanov, still fuming, jumped from her Jeep and yelled at the closest mercenaries. “Get over here and escort these women inside the building. I want them placed inside a locked and guarded room until I come for them.”
The women climbed out of the vehicle. Under guard, they walked into the brightly lit hangar. Quietly, they followed their guards to a conference room at the far end of the hangar. The instant they were inside, the door was closed and locked from the outside.
Mrs. March was shaking. She grabbed Jen’s hand so tight that it hurt.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” said Jen, wrapping her arms around her mother to calm her.
Mrs. March seemed to be unable to find the words. She just stood there, staring at the locked door, as if expecting the angel of death to walk in at any second.
“Don’t worry. It’s all going to turn out all right,” said Jen, as she led Mrs. March over to a couch, where they sat down together.
“Jen, I’m scared. I heard that awful woman talking with some of the guards earlier. They have what they want. We’re now expendable to them,” said Mrs. March, as tears filled her tired eyes.
“Mom, it’s not hopeless. Trust me.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I’ve kept something from you,” said Jen. “We’re not alone, Mom. Ryan is here.”
At that, her mother sat straight up. Hope flooded into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, he’s coming for us. We just need to keep calm and stay alive as long as we can,” Jen said, wondering where Mitchell could be.
The truck sped around the corner of the hangar. Right away, Mitchell slammed on the brakes. His truck came to a screeching halt. In front of him was at least a company of Mauritanian soldiers milling about, with their backs to him, looking over at an old-looking sea container. He threw the truck into reverse, and backed out of sight. Whatever’s inside the container is important enough to guard, thought Mitchell. He was curious, but tonight only one goal mattered to him. All else would have to wait.
Markov pulled the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground, crushing it with his heel. With a snap of his fingers, several soldiers ran over, climbed up onto the container, and took up heavy metal chains, lifted from below by their comrades. Quickly securing the chains into reinforced metal eyelets in the four corners of the container, they hurriedly moved back to the center, and secured the chains together onto a large metal hook. Then, they waited, looking up into the night sky.
The sound of a large helicopter approaching out of the dark made Mitchell stop and glance up into the sky as a huge, Russian-made, MI-26 heavy-lift chopper came into sight. It slowed down and then descended toward the sea container. The sound from the helicopter’s powerful engines was deafening. One of Chang’s men stood directly in front of the container, using a pair of bright-yellow paddles to guide in the helicopter. Configured to take a sling load, the helicopter hovered for a moment as the soldiers attached the chains from the sea container onto a massive steel hook hanging underneath the chopper. With its cargo ready to lift, the MI-26 increased its power. The powerful engines strained at first, and then slowly pulled the container up into the dark night sky.
After parking his truck beside the hangar, Mitchell grabbed his AK, climbed out, and crept back along the side of the tall building. Cautiously, he peered around the corner of the hangar. The sea container was gone, and the soldiers had begun to drift off to other assignments. He was reassured when he saw Jen’s Jeep still parked out front; it could only mean that she was somewhere nearby. When he saw that the front entrance was crawling with soldiers, Mitchell looked back the way he had come and saw a door about fifty meters farther down the side of the hangar. Deciding that this was his way in, Mitchell jogged over to the door, turned the handle, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it open. He stepped inside and looked down a brightly lit corridor with numerous offices on either side of the long hallway. He knew that he had to start somewhere. Mitchell slung his AK over his shoulder and then nonchalantly walked over to the first office, opened the door, and peered inside. It was dark and empty. Mitchell closed the door and moved to the next office.
Nika sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time, as she charged her way up to her father’s makeshift office overlooking the spacious hangar floor. With hate in her eyes, she pulled open the door and stormed inside. To her disgust, she saw her father and sister standing there, holding champagne flutes in their hands.
“Ah, Nika, I am so happy that you are her
e. Now we can all celebrate together,” said Romanov, as he reached down and grabbed another glass.
“Why did you both leave the helipad without me?” snarled Nika, baring her teeth like a wild animal.
A puzzled look crossed Romanov’s face. “Your sister wanted me to see the bombs before they were taken away, that is all,” Romanov said, taken aback by Nika’s outburst of anger.
“My sister,” Nika said. “How nice that she wanted to show off her work to you.”
Alexandra’s dark eyes narrowed. “Easy, my dear sister. Father wanted everything moved up a day. I just wanted him to see that his plan is still on track to succeed,” said Alexandra, her voice dripping with venom.
Romanov moved between his daughters. They had always vied for his attention, but tonight seemed almost too much, even for him. A tension unlike any he had ever seen before from his daughters filled the room.
“Now, my dear daughters,” said Romanov as he raised his flute, “let us toast to our continued success.”
Like a pair of alpha wolves warily eyeing one another, they toasted and drank their champagne.
“Just so you are both aware, I have arranged for us all to leave within the hour,” said Alexandra.
“That is excellent news,” Romanov said. “The sooner we are on our way, the better.”
“What about the American women?” asked Nika. “What do we do about them?”
“Miss March has brought me luck, perhaps that luck will continue. Her mother, however, is now redundant,” replied Romanov. “Kill her and then see to it personally that her body is incinerated. Erase her from the face of the earth.”
An evil smile broke out on Nika’s face. “With pleasure,” said Nika.
Romanov patted the case containing the jewels. Looking over at Nika he said, “Once you have done away with the woman, I want you to ensure that the jewels and Miss March are loaded onto my helicopter.”
Nika smiled at her father, ordered two of Chang’s men to pick up the box, and then, singing happily to herself, she spun about and went to dispose of Jen’s mother. She had hoped to kill both women today, but resigned herself to the fact that she would have to wait to kill Jen later.
Jen sat straight up. She could hear footsteps coming down the hallway. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Jen watched as the door opened and two armed men entered the room. A moment later, Nika stepped inside, a look of sadistic pleasure in her eyes.
Jen’s stomach knotted. They had run out of time.
Mrs. March looked into Nika’s eyes and felt a chill run down her spine. The woman seemed devoid of any feelings.
“Stand up,” said Nika.
A man stepped forward and pointed his AK at the women.
Jen stood. She took her mother by the hand.
“Now, Miss March, you will accompany my men to my father. As for your mother, I promise that I’ll make sure it will be quick and painless,” said Nika, as cold as ice.
“No!” screamed Jen as she threw her arms around her mother, holding on to her as tightly as she could.
Nika pulled a pistol from her belt and aimed it right at Mrs. March’s head. “Let go of your mother, or I will shoot her right in front of you.”
“It’s all right, dear,” said Mrs. March, trying to console her daughter. “Please do as the woman says.”
Tears streamed down Jen’s face. “No, Mother, I can’t! I won’t,” said Jen.
Nika pulled back the hammer of the pistol with her thumb. “Now,” she said.
Mrs. March reached over, kissed her daughter on the forehead and then let go of her.
Looking deep into Jen’s tear-filled eyes, Mrs. March said, “Stay alive.”
Jen lost her voice; she nodded as a guard moved over, grabbed her roughly by the arms, and forced her outside of the room.
Mrs. March stood there with a defiant look on her face. She could hear her daughter crying as she was led away. Turning her head, she looked over at Nika. She had never hated a person so much in her life. The vile woman standing before her deserved to die. She mustered up her courage, raised her head and looked straight ahead. There was no way in hell she was going to give Nika the satisfaction of seeing fear in her eyes. As they stepped out into the hallway, Mrs. March saw two more guards standing there, carrying a large case between them. With her head held high, she fell into line behind Nika.
Before they had gone five feet, another mercenary came around a corner and walked straight at the group.
The guards carrying the case saw the man approaching but paid no attention to him, until it was too late. In a flash, the man smashed his rifle’s butt straight into Nika’s face, shattering her nose with a loud crack. Blood streamed down her face. She cried and staggered back in pain. Nika raised her hands to protect her face. In a fluid move, her assailant savagely shot the butt of the rifle into her head, sending her tumbling onto the floor.
Corrine did not know what was happening and recoiled in horror.
“Down!” yelled the man as he brought his AK to his shoulder.
Corrine threw herself to the floor and covered her head with her hands.
Before the men carrying the case could drop it and pull their slung weapons off their shoulders, the man opened fire, cutting them down. The attacker spun on his heels, dropped his empty AK and drew a pistol from his shoulder holster, looking for more targets.
Corrine’s heart was racing inside her chest. The sound of the gunfire rang as loud as thunder in her ears. She tried to scream but found she had no voice.
The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air.
A hand reached down and touched her shoulder.
Shaking all over, Corrine looked up straight into the blue-gray eyes of Ryan Mitchell. A tidal wave of relief flooded over her.
“Come on, we have to get moving,” said Mitchell, as he helped Jen’s mother up onto her unsteady feet.
Corrine stood and looked down at the bodies lying on the floor. She saw Nika lying in a spreading puddle of blood. Corrine did not feel anything for the woman. In fact, she hoped that the revolting woman was dead.
“How did you find us?” asked Corrine as she looked at Mitchell’s dirty mercenary uniform and disheveled appearance.
“Dumb luck; I was trying doors farther down the hallway when I heard voices.”
“The jewels,” said Corrine as she looked down at the container lying on the carpeted floor. Dropping to one knee, she quickly threw the box open and grabbed the first thing she could. With the consort’s crown in her hands, she stood and looked over at Mitchell. “We may need this,” she said. “They took Jen.”
“I came as quick as I could. I’m sorry that I’m late.”
“We need to find her,” said Corrine. “She’s being taken to a man called Romanov.”
“Trust me, Corrine, I want her back too, but we have to be careful. I have no doubt that people must have heard the gunfire,” said Mitchell.
Corrine nodded and stepped behind Mitchell.
“They didn’t take her this way. So let’s try this direction,” Mitchell said, as he headed down the hallway, his reloaded AK at the ready.
With the crown in her hands, Corrine said a silent prayer for Jen. They had something she wanted, and now she had something that they so desperately wanted.
Romanov looked down at his watch. He was growing more and more impatient by the second. Nika should have been back by now. His helicopter stood by waiting to take them all to his yacht, anchored off the coast. To Romanov time was precious; every moment that went by was lost forever. Having moved the timetable up by a day, Romanov knew that one slip-up now could irrevocably derail Alexandra’s carefully-worked-out plans.
He could wait no longer. Romanov ordered that Alexandra, with some of Chang’s mercenaries, would leave immediately and depart via one of Romanov’s commercial transport jets from the capital. They would head directly to Iceland in order to make sure the site was secure for the bombs’ imminent arrival. He looked down on th
e hangar floor from his office. Romanov’s temper flared when he saw one of Chang’s men dragging Jen with him, as he walked to an armored Humvee parked outside of the building. Nika was still nowhere in sight. What on earth could be keeping Nika? She should have dealt with the older American woman and been back by now. Those who knew him knew that patience was not one of Romanov’s stronger qualities.
He turned to face Teplov. “Find Nika and tell her that if she isn’t at the helipad in ten minutes, I’m going to leave without her.”
Teplov nodded. He called for a couple of Romanov’s close protection detail to accompany him.
Mitchell turned the corner, with his assault rifle tight against his shoulder. He was relieved that there was not a soul in sight. With Corrine close behind, Mitchell worked his way forward, always ready should someone suddenly step out of the many offices on either side of the hallway.
“Ryan, we’re moving too slow,” pleaded Corrine. “We’re going to lose Jen if we don’t hurry.”
Mitchell felt the same way, but one inattentive moment could cost them their lives. “We’ll get her back,” said Mitchell, trying to reassure Corrine.
They moved down the corridor as fast as Mitchell dared. They soon came to a door at the far end of the hallway. Mitchell was about to reach for it, when it opened. An unsuspecting guard stood there, holding the door; his eyes widened at seeing Mitchell standing there, with an AK aimed squarely at his chest. The guard froze in his tracks, barely an arm’s length away, with his hand hovering over his holstered pistol. From behind him, another man almost ran into the guard’s back.
“Move out of the way, you damned fool,” said the man behind the stationary guard.
Adrenaline shot through Mitchell’s veins; he had heard that voice before.
The guard in front of Mitchell saw the momentary hesitation in Mitchell’s eyes when he heard Teplov’s voice. With lightning-fast reflexes, he reached for his pistol holster, hoping to get the drop on Mitchell. He was quick, but not fast enough.
Mitchell fired a short burst into the guard’s chest. His body flew straight back onto a stunned Teplov, sending both men tumbling to the floor.
The sound of the AK firing inside the narrow corridor was deafening. Corrine screamed and brought her hands up to cover her ears as she moved tighter behind Mitchell for protection.
Barely a second later, another guard appeared at the open door, with a drawn pistol in his hand.
Mitchell had anticipated the move and fired once, hitting the guard square in the forehead. His head snapped back, a crimson mist spraying the wall behind him.
Mitchell looked over the sights of his AK for any more targets. The coast was clear. He turned and then grabbed Corrine by the hand. “We can’t get out that way,” said Mitchell as he started to run down the hallway the way they had come, dragging Corrine with him.
Teplov struggled to pull his weapon from his holster to get a shot off at Mitchell, but the dead man was just too heavy for him, pinning him to the floor. Cursing aloud, Teplov started yelling at the top of his lungs for help.
As they turned a corner, Mitchell slid to a halt. Corrine, close behind, almost tripped over him. A couple of Mauritanian soldiers were standing at the end of the corridor, idly chatting away with their weapons hanging loosely by their sides. When they saw Mitchell and Corrine, they fumbled for their AKs. Mitchell did not bother to aim. Flipping the selector switch to automatic with his thumb, he fired a burst into the soldiers, killing them both in a bloody swath.
Mitchell swore as more soldiers suddenly appeared at the far end of the corridor. Their escape route was blocked.
Mitchell pulled Corrine back around the corner for protection. Keying his throat-mic hidden under his shirt, Mitchell spoke. “Sam…Nate…this is Ryan, over.”
Both instantly responded.
“I’ve lost Jen, but I’ve got her mother,” reported Mitchell. “However, I’ve got a bigger problem than that now. This place is full of soldiers. I’m not going to be able to get back to the helipad. At least, not the way I got in.”
“We can come and get you,” said Jackson, knowing his friend would never abandon him.
“No way, there are beaucoup bad guys between me and you. Stay where you are, I’ll figure out a way to come to you,” replied Mitchell.
Sam spoke. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing. We have to help.”
Mitchell knew his team would want to charge in like the cavalry riding over the hill to save the day, but there were just too few of them and far too many soldiers waiting outside to turn them into mincemeat if they got too close. “Listen up, everyone,” said Mitchell. “I want you to stick to the original plan. I’ll figure a way out of here. If I am not at the helipad in ten minutes, then leave without me, no arguments.” Mitchell ended the discussion.
Mitchell looked over at Corrine, her deep brown eyes full of concern. “Don’t worry, Mrs. March. We can do this,” he said before leading her to a set of stairs that led up to the second floor of the warehouse.
Sam silently stood there, staring at the hangar while she stewed over the last order. Her friend and teammate was trapped inside and she’d been told to do nothing about it. White-hot anger built up inside her small frame. “Screw this,” muttered Sam under her breath. She turned to face Yuri with a determined look in her eyes and said, “Yuri, I’m changing the plan. Get this thing ready to take off.” Sam opened the passenger door and grabbed her AK74. She slapped home a magazine, loaded the weapon, and locked eyes with Yuri; both knew what was going to happen next.
Sam keyed her mic. “Gordon, my love, clear a path for me,” she said as she sprinted away from the helicopter toward a line of heavy construction vehicles parked a couple of hundred meters away.
Cardinal acknowledged Sam, pulled his sniper rifle tight into his shoulder and followed her through his scope as she ran to the parked vehicles. When she was almost there, a soldier stepped out from behind a truck after taking a leak, still fumbling with his fly. He spotted Sam running at him, panicked and tried to pull his slung rifle off his shoulder. Cardinal took up the slack on the trigger and fired one round, striking the man in the side of his head, killing him instantly. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground at Sam’s feet, as she leaped from the ground onto the ladder on the side of a monstrously large yellow two-story service truck.
“What’s happening?” asked Jackson from the base of the tower.
“Looks like Sam’s found herself a truck,” said Cardinal. “But I’m fairly certain that she’s never driven anything like it before in her life.”
Jackson shook his head and said, “What was that?”
Cardinal watched through the rifle’s scope as Sam climbed up into the cab of the enormous truck. “Nate, the truck Sam just stole is larger than our house.”
“Good Lord! Can she drive it?”
“We’ll soon find out,” replied Cardinal.
Mitchell stopped at the top of the stairs, quickly looking left and right down the hall, making sure they were alone. His earpiece buzzed.
Corrine could see a smirk on Mitchell’s face. “What’s that look for?” she asked, not seeing the humor in their predicament.
“My people aren’t the best at following orders,” said Mitchell, knowing that he would have done exactly the same thing had he been in their shoes. “Come on, we need to find an exit.”
The sound of voices and running feet on the stairs below them caught Mitchell’s attention. They weren’t alone anymore.
He opened a pouch on his dirt-encrusted vest, and retrieved a small, old-fashioned, Russian F-1 hand grenade. He swiftly pulled the pin and tossed it over the side of the railing on the stairs. He heard it bounce once or twice on its way down. A second later, the grenade came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. With a loud bang it exploded, sending lethal shards of razor-sharp shrapnel tearing through the bodies of the half-dozen hapless soldiers closest to the blast.
The sound of the explosion echoed through t
he cavernous hangar.
Romanov turned his head toward the sound of the blast. Smoke was already beginning to pour from the open doors at the far end of the building. His face knotted in anger. He didn’t have to be told that their security measures had been compromised once again.
“You have to leave now, sir,” said an authoritative voice from behind him.
Romanov stood fixed in place, staring at the debacle unfolding before him.
“Sir, now,” said the hard-edged voice.
Romanov turned to see Chang standing there, with a futuristic-looking, black plastic FN-2000 assault rifle cradled in his arms.
“I thought I told you to leave earlier,” said Romanov, staring into the eyes of the mercenary team leader. The tough, cold, killer’s eyes stared back.
Chang never replied. He stepped forward, grabbed Romanov by the arm, and pulled him away from the vulnerable glass windows toward the stairs leading down to the waiting Hummer. At the bottom of the stairs, two of Romanov’s men moved to protect their boss. Seconds later, Romanov was inside the armored vehicle and being driven away.
Chang stopped in his tracks. The sound of automatic gunfire echoed through the air. More Mauritanian soldiers ran past him to join the battle. With the bombs gone and Romanov safe, this was not his fight anymore. A smile emerged on his narrow face. Whoever it was, he was really messing things up for Romanov. For once, Chang did not mind that at all. Kolikov’s death in the desert and Romanov’s indifference to it had pissed him off. Deep down, Chang was starting to respect their opponent; he was tough and resourceful. It would be a shame to have to kill him.
Teplov took a deep breath to fill his aching lungs as a couple of soldiers hauled the body of the dead guard off him. He struggled to his feet and looked down the corridor at the smoke coming down it like a dense, dark fog. He pulled his pistol out of its holster and fell in line with a squad of Mauritanian soldiers. His mind was fixated on one goal and one goal only—killing Ryan Mitchell.
Sam climbed into the cab of the enormous truck. She quickly assessed the dashboard, and saw that it was configured like any normal pickup truck, only considerably larger. Quickly adjusting the seat so she could reach the gas pedal and the brakes, Sam searched the dash for the starter. She couldn’t believe her luck; someone had left the keys in the ignition. Sam turned the keys over; the powerful diesel engines roared to life. Thick, black clouds of smoke burst from the exhaust as Sam revved the monstrous engine. She dropped it into drive and gently pushed down on the gas. Sam felt the huge vehicle slowly edge forward and then pick up speed by the second. She turned the steering wheel hard over, and aimed the two-story vehicle at the hangar, where she knew Mitchell was trapped, fighting for his life.
Bullets ripped into the roof at the top of the stairs. Pieces of debris rained down on Mitchell and Corrine. Their opponents at the bottom of the stairs had not given up yet. Firing wildly, the Mauritanian soldiers, badgered on by Teplov, were preparing themselves for another rush up the stairs. Mitchell had already used up his three grenades, but that did not seem to stop them at all. The soldiers’ courage was never in doubt; like lions, they clawed their way ever upward. The stairs were soon painted deep red with blood from the dead and dying soldiers littering the narrow staircase.
Mitchell crawled forward until he was near the lip of the stairs. He extended his arms fully, pointed his AK down the flight of stairs and pulled the trigger. With a loud burst of automatic gunfire, Mitchell held the trigger down until the entire thirty-round magazine was empty. He rolled back and pulled out a fresh magazine. It was his last one; they were running out of ammunition and time.
“We appear to be trapped,” said Corrine.
“It only looks that way,” replied Mitchell, trying to sound confident as he looked back at the stairs. He had probably killed a few more soldiers with his last burst, but that only bought them a few more seconds; the Mauritanians seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of men willing to risk their lives. Mitchell suddenly noticed that it was oddly quiet below. He knew that could only mean they were once again clearing the dead and wounded off the stairs. They had less than a minute’s reprieve before the soldiers tried again. With only one full magazine remaining, Mitchell knew he could not hold them back for very much longer.
A welcome voice came over Mitchell’s earpiece. “Where are you guys?” asked Sam.
Mitchell grinned from ear to ear. “We’re on the second floor of the hangar,” he said, as he helped Corrine to stand.
“Which end?” Sam asked.
“Southwest, I think,” Mitchell replied, not entirely sure of their exact location.
“Hang on, I’m on my way,” said Sam. “I’ll be there in thirty seconds or less.”
Mitchell pointed to the far end of the hallway. Corrine nodded and then dashed off, leaving Mitchell standing alone beside the battered staircase. Mitchell fired off a quick burst to keep their attackers pinned for a little while longer, before sprinting after Corrine.
Sam spun the wheel in her hands and saw the hangar. She was aiming for the corner of the building. Sam had no plan other than to use the massive truck as a battering ram; she was going to smash her way inside the hangar. Sam saw a couple of cars parked outside of the hangar. She did not intend to try to drive around them. Instead, relying on the sheer weight and brute power of the truck, Sam braced herself and jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator. The roar from the massive engine of Sam’s stolen truck drowned the sound of crunching metal and breaking glass as she rode up and over the parked cars, reducing them to flattened debris in a matter of seconds. The corner of the building loomed large. Sam gritted her teeth and grabbed on tight to the wheel as the building filled her windshield.
Teplov had had enough. He pushed past the lead Mauritanian soldiers still pulling the bloodied bodies of their dead and dying comrades back down the stairs with them. Teplov grabbed a blood-smeared AK. He checked that it was loaded and then sprinted up the stairs, easily taking them two at a time. All of a sudden, the entire building rocked back and forth, as if an earthquake had hit it. The hangar sounded like it was being torn apart. Teplov reached out and grabbed the railing to stop himself from being thrown back down the slick stairs by the unnatural swaying of the building.
Blinding dust and debris filled the air.
Mitchell staggered back and forth on his feet. He saw that Corrine was lying on her back, knocked off her feet by the impact. He turned his head toward the far corner of the hangar. Through the smoke, Mitchell could just make out the cab of some outrageously large truck through a jagged hole ripped into the side of the building. Inside the cab, Sam was waving at him to get moving. Mitchell bent down and helped a bruised Corrine up onto her feet. Together, they picked their way over the debris strewn across the floor. Mitchell could see that Sam had wedged her truck into the side of the building. All they had to do was step out and over onto the narrow metal platform running along the outside of the driver’s cab.
“Come on, Mrs. March. It’s time to leave,” said Mitchell as he stepped aside and helped Corrine climb her way through the debris and onto the side of the truck.
Sam opened the door to the cab and helped Mrs. March move in beside her.
Mitchell was about to jump over when the crack of a bullet striking the wall beside his head startled him. Mitchell dropped down to one knee with his AK raised. He looked down the weapon’s sights, and saw two soldiers charging toward him, screaming like demons and firing their weapons from the hip as they ran. Following closely behind them was Teplov. Mitchell took aim at the closest man and pivoted as he fired down the hallway, cutting the men down as if they were wheat under a scythe. The bolt to his AK locked back; he was out of ammunition. He tossed the empty weapon aside, turned and leaped over onto the cab of Sam’s truck. His feet had barely touched metal when Sam threw the vehicle into reverse and jammed her foot down on the gas pedal. Mitchell felt the truck move, and had to quickly grab onto the side railing to prevent himself from
being tossed over the side of the truck as it pulled away from hangar. The sound of tearing metal was deafening, as wreckage pulled from the side of the mangled hangar rained down to the ground. As soon as the truck was free, the wrecked corner of the hangar collapsed like an avalanche where the truck had once been. Mitchell pulled open the cab door, shot Sam a smile of appreciation, and then jumped over her, landing in a heap beside Mrs. March.
“Sam has them both, and they’re on the move,” announced Cardinal into his throat-mic as the truck drove straight back from the building, smashing anything in its path to a pulp.
“It’s too dangerous now to use the chopper,” said Jackson, his mind working out a new escape plan for the team. “Yuri, take off and head back to the old airbase. We’ll RV with you there and make arrangements to get us out of the country ASAP,” he said with a reassuring wink at Fahimah.
Yuri responded. His helicopter, already warmed up, leaped into the air and away from the mayhem.
Jackson spoke. “Cardinal, guide Sam back here to us.”
“Can do,” replied Cardinal, as he dropped a couple of soldiers aiming an RPG at Sam’s truck.
At the end of the demolished second-story hallway, a bloodied Teplov stared at the escaping truck. One of Mitchell’s bullets had gone straight through one of the soldiers, and into his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth in pain, raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. He screamed like an enraged animal as his aimless bullets flew into the night. Hate filled his dark heart. If it took him the rest of his life, Teplov vowed he would have his revenge on Mitchell and his family. He would hunt them all down and see that they died painfully.
Sam acknowledged Cardinal’s directions to their link-up point and, with a loud squeal from the massive tires, she swung the truck around so she could see where she was heading. Being two stories up, Sam could not really see what was directly below the truck until she either smashed into it or drove straight over it. Panicked refinery technicians and workers scrambled out of the way of the enormous vehicle that was plowing its way through the refinery like a maddened bull elephant charging through the wilds.
Out of the dark, a Jeep with three soldiers in it raced out of a side street, chasing after the rampaging truck. Mitchell glanced at the side mirror and saw that one of the men had an RPG in his hands, the grenade already loaded and primed. Mitchell’s blood ran cold; he could see that the RPG gunner was trying to get a clear shot at the cab. Mitchell knew Sam could not see them from her side of the cab, and it was doubtful if Cardinal, perched high up on his tower, could either.
“Sam! Do you have a gun with you?” asked Mitchell as he watched the Jeep race after them. He figured they had ten seconds or less until they were fired upon. There was no way the cab could survive a hit from an RPG; he had to deal with them right away, or they would all be dead.
“Yeah, I’ve got an AK74 beside my seat,” replied Sam, her eyes glued to the road in front of her. “Why do you ask?”
Mitchell reached over and grabbed it. “I need to get rid of some unwanted guests,” replied Mitchell, as he crawled over Corrine, opened the passenger-side door, and then jumped out onto the platform running the length of the cab. Mitchell watched the Jeep speed up. In a matter of seconds, it was almost parallel with the cab, the gunner ready to fire his deadly missile. A soldier in the vehicle looked up and saw Mitchell. He tried pointing him out to the soldier with the RPG but was too late. Mitchell pulled back on the trigger. Bullets sprayed around inside the back of the open Jeep, killing the two men before they knew what was happening. Quickly changing his aim, Mitchell fired off a burst into the driver. A moment later, the Jeep slowed, and then swerved at Sam’s truck. Mitchell watched as the doomed vehicle disappeared underneath the gigantic truck. A second later, Mitchell felt and then heard the massive rear tires riding up and over the doomed vehicle, flattening it and everyone inside of it. He knew that they had dodged a close one. Mitchell opened the door and crawled in beside Corrine. Just ahead of them, like a lighthouse showing them the way to safety, was Cardinal’s sniper tower.
“Come on down, Cardinal,” said Jackson into his throat-mic. “Ryan and Sam will be here shortly, and we can’t afford to dog it here any longer than we have to.”
Cardinal acknowledged the order and made one last sweep of the area with his scope to make sure that the road was clear. He slung his rifle on his back and started to make the climb down the long metal ladder leading to the ground as fast as he could.
Fahimah cursed. A pair of headlights appeared, bouncing over the rough terrain, coming their way. She called Jackson over and pointed at the vehicle driving in their direction.
“Stay behind me and don’t do anything to draw unwanted attention to yourself,” said Jackson to Fahimah as he stepped in front of her.
The Jeep stopped ten meters away. Both men got out, their hands on their holsters. They were dressed in cheap-looking khaki uniforms. The men eyed Jackson and Fahimah standing beside their battered old vehicle.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” asked the older of the two guards in Arabic.
“We’re a little bit lost and stopped to ask for directions,” replied Fahimah, playing for time.
“You’re not allowed to be in here,” said the guard. “There’s been trouble at the refinery tonight. There are foreign saboteurs lose.”
“We haven’t seen any,” replied Fahimah.
“You two, you don’t belong here. You’re going to have to come with us,” said the older guard, as he drew his pistol and pointed it at Jackson and Fahimah.
Jackson raised his hands and stepped forward, blocking their view of Fahimah.
Both guards approached with their weapons aimed at Jackson’s midsection. Jackson could see that they were not professionals; most likely they were underpaid security guards employed by the refinery. It was a deadly pairing—poorly trained amateurs with nervous hands on their guns. Jackson held his arms out in front of him as if he were surrendering. He waited for his chance to strike. The young guard stepped forward with his cuffs in his hands. With a burst of speed that neither man expected, Jackson lunged forward and smashed the two guards’ heads together with a loud thud that reminded Fahimah of two coconut halves hitting together. A second later, both men dropped to the ground, unconscious.
“Help me cuff these men,” said Jackson to Fahimah, as he reached down and threw the guards’ pistols away into the dark.
Cardinal jumped down from the ladder with his rifle clutched in his hands.
Fahimah shook her head in disbelief at Cardinal as he walked past her. “Couldn’t you see they had guns? They could have shot Nate. You could have easily killed those men. Why didn’t you?”
Jackson reached up and touched Fahimah’s arm. “Now’s not the time, Fahimah. Just let it go. It’s a sad fact, but killing becomes easier the more you do it. Cardinal is a true professional; he only kills when he has to. Besides, I had them.”
Fahimah opened her mouth to say something, but decided that she still had a lot to learn. Instead, she bent down to help Jackson cuff the two sleeping guards.
A minute later, the ground shook as Sam’s truck came into view. Jackson moved over beside the road and quickly flagged them down. Parking the massive truck to block the road leading out from the refinery, Mitchell, Sam, and Corrine climbed down and were met by a smiling Jackson. He never doubted his friends could pull it off, but smashing their way in and out of a building with a construction truck, that was a new one.
Fahimah walked over with a satphone in her hands. “Yuri just called in. He’s in position, and there’s no one in sight.”
“Time to go,” said Mitchell.
With Sam and Cardinal leading in the guards’ confiscated Jeep, Nate, Mitchell, Corrine, and Fahimah followed close behind. Behind them, chaos and devastation gripped the refinery. It would take until first light before they could even attempt to assess their losses from the night before. It was time that Mitchell and his team desperately needed
to escape the country.
30