by Matt James
Before he stepped outside, Jack glanced over his shoulder. The guy was floundering in his own blood.
“Sorry, buddy,” Jack said, dejected, “but you dug your own grave by signing up with this lot.”
Shouldering his carbine, he took one long breath and calmed his pole-vaulting nerves. The sun was still out, but it was significantly lower than it had been when he had first entered the Death Block. He’d been underground for a few hours, at least. He confirmed as much when he checked his watch. When he did, he also paused to look at his bracelet. The one on his left wrist stood for “strength.”
He would need the strength of Samson to finish what he had set out to accomplish. Jack hated every minute of what he was doing. But his mind went to the pair of kids that had helped him to his feet inside the kitchen’s central loading area. If he decided to quit and walk away, their lives would be in peril. Plus, he was too far into his counterstrike to just stop. Someone was bound to find the men he had just killed, and when they did, the hostages were toast.
“Come on, Jack.” He lifted the weapon higher. “Get your ass moving.”
Looking down the sights of his carbine, Jack quickly descended the steps of the Death Block. Out in the open, he made himself a smaller target and knelt, focusing on the alleyway to his left. There was a dead-end to his right—the Black Wall.
Seeing nothing, Jack stood and was buffeted by a crisp breeze. It stung his eyes, making them water. Blinking the liquid away, he pushed aside the dropping temperature on his damp skin and moved on. He was currently at the grounds between the Death Block and Block 10, the medical experimentation ward, which had been headed up by the infamous Josef Mengele.
Mengele was known as the Fuhrer’s “Angel of Death,” and may have been a worse human being than Himmler, or even Hitler himself. Most historians agreed that the things Mengele had done here were some of the worst war crimes ever recorded. But the worst thing of all was that Mengele had lived into his sixties down in South America. At least Hitler and Himmler had died when they did.
As Jack did before, he stopped and covertly peeked out into the crisscrossing “street.” From here, the enclosed loading area containing the hostages was around to his right. Next, he needed to make a left at the second intersection. Then, all he’d have to do was continue straight until bullets flew. But that wasn’t the way he’d go now. If he wanted to battle the rooftop mercenaries head-on, and speedily die, it was the perfect plan.
Jack went straight and hopped the curb. The earth between the pair of inmate infirmaries dipped toward the middle. The channel was designed to help with runoff during heavy downpours. The lawn, including the grass in the drainage ditch, was neatly manicured and covered in a light layer of snow. At the moment, the dusting had stopped. Jack hoped it stayed that way.
He was wet and freezing.
“Stop bitching, Jack,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “Better to be cold than Ernst.”
The next crossroad was up ahead, and he nearly charged over it without first pausing to see if the coast was clear. He wasn’t as attentive as he should’ve been. There were too many unknowns, and as hard as he tried to ignore it, he was cold. His hands trembled. Still, Jack didn’t care whether he was out of practice or not. He should’ve been able to control himself better.
“You’re better than this.”
Stopping in between two identical infirmaries, Jack knelt in the chilled, snow-covered grass, backseating the rising anger he felt towards it. He took in the scene and spotted one of Emma’s men off to his right. The guy was still three buildings away, and his back was to Jack position. He wanted nothing more than to shoot the mercenary, here and now, but he needed to proceed with caution. Jack couldn’t see if this one had a friend nearby.
Plus, the concussive report of his rifle would give him away. He wasn’t down in the Cellar anymore. Everything he did from here on out needed to be accomplished quietly. That would be easier said than done, considering there was nowhere to hide while on the main paths. Jack needed to traverse the distance between himself and the gunman, three buildings worth, about two hundred feet, and pray the guy didn’t turn around.
“Here we go,” he said, stepping out.
He walked, slightly hunched, keeping his sights trained on the mercenary’s back as he glided along. Special Forces soldiers were taught to step lightly and to do so quickly.
After each brick building, he stepped off the road and rechecked his surroundings. His target had yet to move an inch, which was good, but it also unnerved Jack. It meant that his target could move at any time.
Or, he’s some weird gun-toting scarecrow.
As he approached the last building, Jack groped his chest for Karl’s knife. It wasn’t there. He had left it in the throat of one of Emma’s men. Not the smartest decision, as it were.
Jack figured that all the guys would be outfitted similarly since their endgame was all one and the same. Everyone involved with Emma was supposed to join her and her exploratory team below the Death Block once the treasure had been located. Not only would their packs be stocked similarly, but Jack guessed their weapons would be mostly identical. So far, everyone except for Emma carried an HK416. It made sense that they’d also have a knife sheathed on their chests as Karl had.
Let’s hope.
Jack looped his carbine over his shoulder, but stopped and grinned. He didn’t need the gunman’s blade. He had another one. From around his back, Jack pulled free the smaller, German trench knife that he’d pilfered from the underground weapons cache. At this point, the blade was his most trusted ally. It wasn’t exactly Karl’s tactical variation, but it’d do the job just fine.
Knife at the ready, Jack crept up behind his target, and froze when the guard casually turned around and leveled his rifle at Jack’s gut.
Had Jack been found out? No, the mercenary was just as surprised as Jack was. Before he could pull the trigger, Jack pushed the barrel aside and launched his attack, jabbing the blade tip at the gunman’s neck. Impressively, the German didn’t try and shoot Jack.
He blocked the strike with the frame of his weapon. Both men struggled against the other. Just as Jack ripped the carbine from his opponent’s grasp, he lost his knife in the same manner.
The guard opened his mouth to call for help but didn’t get the chance to do so. Jack thrust his right palm into the trooper’s chin. The blow caused him to bite his tongue.
Never one to shy away from fighting dirty, Jack kicked the mercenary in the groin as hard as he could. The shot pitched him forward and Jack added a quick rising elbow strike to his face. As the gunman tilted backward, he grabbed Jack’s vest and pulled him along. He balled his fist and tried to punch Jack but was surprised when Jack grabbed him and pulled him in close.
As he’d done multiple times with Karl, Jack used his own head as a device of pain. He slammed his forehead into the bridge of the shooter’s nose, crushing it. But this time, Jack also felt the effect.
He shook his head and blinked his eyes. I gotta stop doing that.
Jack didn’t get as clean of an impact as he’d done with Karl. He saw spots his time. The other guy fared worse, though.
Nearly out on his feet, Jack kicked him in the left knee twice, weakening his base. Then, he grasped both of the assassin’s shoulder straps and yanked him around to the left. Building up some momentum, Jack stopped three-quarters of the way around, stuck out his foot and tripped his adversary.
He sent the black-clad man face first into the side of the brick infirmary. He slumped to the ground but didn’t stay down. No, you don’t! Jack stomped on the back of the German’s head. The impact drove his skull back into the building and he went down for good.
Breathing hard, Jack checked to see if anyone had witnessed their tussle. He breathed easier when he found the area clear. Jack quickly collected both of their belongings and dragged the unconscious killer around the side of the building, dumping him behind some nearby shrubs.
Before he started up
his mission again, he dug into the guy’s pack and found another two sticks of plastic explosives and two bottles of water. Dazed from a lack of real rest, and the latest, and hopefully last, headbutt, Jack procured a bottle, opened the cap, and splashed some of it on his face. The liquid rapidly reacted to the outside temperature and its sting instantaneously jolted Jack out of his delirium. He gulped down the rest of it and stood.
Leaning against the infirmary, Jack huffed and puffed.
“No!”
A voice cried out from somewhere up ahead. It was all Jack needed to pick up his gear and get moving. There were still more of Emma’s men out there, and he needed to remove their presence from the camp.
15
This time around, Jack could inspect the grounds surrounding the kitchen square from afar. The last time he was here, he’d been laying on his side, fighting off a splitting headache. From what he could tell, there was only one way in and out. A simple double-door wooden gate was all that was in his way from freeing the hostages.
As well as the rooftop gunmen, he thought, leaning out from behind the building across from the kitchen.
Jack took a few minutes to watch the guards. Two were stationed at the northern end of the horizontal rectangle. Two more were at the southern end. There was also one man posted on each side—six in total. Emma’s warning about them was factual and not just an intimidation tactic.
There wasn’t a direct route up to the roof from what Jack could see. He was going to have to do a little more recon first. He waited for the two guards closest to him to turn. It didn’t happen right away. When one moved off, the other one didn’t, and vice versa. Five minutes of waiting went by before Jack finally got his chance. Luckily, the dipping temperature was making the men increasingly uncomfortable and it was becoming more and more difficult to stand still. And Jack agreed. For just a moment, both men turned their backs to the front of the entrance—to where he was.
Stepping lightly, Jack sprinted across the street. He reflexively ducked under the bar of the gallows even though it was much too high to hit. He flattened himself against the front façade. The roof hung over the base of the building enough to conceal his presence from anyone above him. With nothing to use as a ladder, Jack sidestepped to his right and headed toward the southwest corner of the kitchens.
He quickly checked that the coast was clear and slunk around the corner, continuing along the western face. Up ahead, there was a stout offshoot structure built into the northwest corner of the kitchens. It stood seven feet high and had a garbage can situated next to it.
Bingo!
Jack hurried forward and slid atop the four-way concrete waste bin. Its thick plastic cover creaked and gave beneath his weight but held enough for him to get to his knees. He immediately spotted two guards. One of them was at his two o’clock and another at his ten o’clock. Luckily, the setting sun was at his back. If they looked his way, the low rays would conceal him to a degree. Still, he needed to move fast.
The entirety of the long northern section of roofing was dotted with smokestacks, twelve in all. Jack quickly scrambled up and shinnied behind the first of them. They were just thick enough to conceal him.
Now came the hard part. Jack knew that as soon as he opened fire, all six of the shooters would turn their attention, and their weapons, on him.
I need to better the odds.
From his coverage, he should be able to take out three—maybe four—of the six gunmen with relative ease. They were sitting ducks, entirely out in the open. The biggest problem he’d have was with the two on his side of the kitchen. There was ample cover between him and them. Still, two against one, in any situation, was better than six versus one.
Now!
Jack spun to his left and shouldered his HK416. The world around him slowed down. With steady aim, he aimed high and gently squeezed the trigger of his rifle twice. Both rounds bypassed the top of the shooter’s Kevlar vest and entered his body through the base of his larynx.
Jack shifted his aim left, and he pumped bullets into shooter number two. One found flesh. Two impacted the off-balance man’s vest with the force of a wrecking ball and knocked him down.
Troopers three and four were much farther away. Instead of aiming high, Jack pumped volleys of high caliber projectiles into their unprotected legs. Both gunmen stumbled and fell forward, down into the sea of hostages.
With no time to celebrate, he spun back into cover and waited as the smokestack was pummeled with return fire from the two men on the same rooftop as him. In the chaos of everything, the two mercenaries that fell forward into the pool of hostages had their weapons torn away as soon as they hit. Jack didn’t see who relieved the shooters of their arms, but he hoped it was the captured museum security team.
Emma did say there were zero causalities during their takeover.
Jack took a second look and was happy to see that the pair were dressed in identical police-style uniforms. They looked comfortable with the weapons too.
Jack grinned and waved his hand.
They spotted him and waved back.
He swiftly made his move to the subsequent smokestack. Then, the next. Bullets flew as the guards pinned down the two remaining shooters. Jack switched to his Glock, keeping his left hand empty, not that he liked shooting a pistol one-handed. It wasn’t as easy as the movies made it out to be. He ducked behind the fifth smokestack after a pair of projectiles whizzed by his right ear.
One of Emma’s men stepped out and turned his carbine down at the people below. Jack snapped up his gun and put four rounds into his neck and shoulder area. Seven more impacted the trooper’s chest and abdomen, originating from the guards below. The gunman was sent sprawling to the slanted roof. Jack pressed his back against the sixth smokestack, almost done.
He moved off again—and was tackled to the hard rooftop. His Glock was jerked free, and his rifle was pinned beneath him. It happened so fast that he barely had time to dodge the descending knife blade. He tilted his head to the left and thrust his hands to the right. The force of his retaliation made his attacker lean in close. Jack reached up and grabbed him by the vest strap. He lifted both of his feet underneath him, and with all his might, he flipped the knifeman over his head, bouncing him off the nearest smokestack.
Both men were now unarmed, though Jack’s adversary looked confident in his hand-to-hand combat skills. But, so was Jack. Fists raised, Jack stepped forward and quickly stopped when the other man drew a pistol from around his back. He leveled it at Jack’s chest, but he fired not shot. The mercenary was taken down in a barrage of bullets. Stunned, Jack turned his attention to the guards below. There were four of them now, and each one held a rifle or pistol.
They had saved his life.
Jack gave them a quick salute and collected his gear.
He slid off the roof and was helped to the ground by a group of unarmed bystanders. Each of them repeatedly thanked Jack for rescuing them, but he paid them no real attention. He focused his words on the armed guards who listened intently.
“Call the police and tell them this was organized by Emma and Gunter Schmidt, as well as Piotr Symanski.” The last name made Jack cringe. These were the museum director’s coworkers, after all.
“Piotr?” one of the guards asked.
Jack nodded. “It’s true. He’s a Nazi through and through.”
All four of Piotr’s colleagues looked as if they’d like to have a word with the man. For now, Jack gave them the short version of what had happened and what the group was looking for, leaving out the part that involved them actually finding the treasure. He also left out the discovery of the Knights Templar. Jack couldn’t trust anyone with what he knew. Even though the guards had helped him, it didn’t mean that they were completely exonerated of any wrongdoing. Even if only one other employee were in on it with Piotr, everything Jack was trying to protect would be at risk.
“You two,” he pointed to the men on his left, “come with me. You,” he motioned to the
pair on his right, “watch after the people here and protect them, just in case there are any more of Piotr’s friends around.”
Before Jack and his newest best friends could hurry away, he was tackled from behind. Glancing down, he saw a pair of delicate hands wrap around his waist and squeeze. He looked over his shoulder and saw who it was that had embraced him. It was the girl—the girl he had made an important promise to.
Jack turned and smiled beneath his facemask. He felt his cheeks scrape against the material as they rose.
“See,” he said, “I told you that you’d be okay.”
The young girl smiled back and waved as Jack and the two guards hurried toward the Death Block. He quickly led them inside and then down into the Cellar offices, swiftly bypassing the carnage he had left behind. Jack stepped aside and allowed the duo to apprehend Piotr, who immediately started wailing empty threats at them in English. He began foretelling of a time when the next Fuhrer would rise and demolish everything, rebuilding the world in his image—the Nazi image.
Jack rolled his eyes and stepped away.
“Where are you going?” one of the guards asked.
Jack tipped his head back toward the bunker entrance. “This isn’t over yet.”
He stepped inside and saw something he had missed earlier. On the floor, just inside the hidden room, was another lock. Jack knelt and inspected it, removing Piotr’s key from his pocket. Curious, he slid it inside. It fit perfectly. It gave Jack an idea. If he locked himself inside, no one would be able to follow him. But no one from Emma’s exploratory team would be able to leave either, not without blowing the wall to bits and pieces. That was unlikely to happen, though. Jack knew Emma and the others wouldn’t chance bringing the Death Block down on top of them.
He looked up at one of the guards. “Make sure no one tries to follow me. It isn’t safe.”
“What’s down there?” he asked.
Jack told him, or rather, he told of a possible truth.
Staring the man hard in the eyes, Jack twisted the key, and said, “Death.”
