‘A picnic,’ Baptiste said.
‘A picnic? Why did you pack a fucking picnic?’
Baptiste shrugged. ‘Petr gets hungry.’
Jones slammed the hatch in frustration. ‘My friend is going to die unless you have a rope. Do you have one or not?’
‘Next compartment back.’
Jones flung it open and grabbed a large coil of black rope. Made with sure-grip synthetic fibres, the low-stretch rope was perfect for rappelling. One end was already equipped with a sturdy metal clasp that could be attached to the chopper’s floor. ‘How long is this?’
‘About a hundred feet.’
Jones pulled out the coil, which weighed over fifty pounds, and tossed it onto the back seat. Then he searched the compartment for additional equipment, anything that could help them get to the ground in one piece. ‘What about gloves? Or belts? Or harnesses?’
Baptiste shook his head. ‘This isn’t a rescue chopper.’
Payne arrived in time to hear the comment. ‘Well, it is today.’
Jones pointed to the hook in the centre of the floor, which Payne could reach while standing outside the chopper. ‘Attach the clasp. I’m almost ready.’
Payne did as he was told, then hopped into the back. As he did, he could hear Jones rummaging through the hatch on the other side. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘A snack,’ Jones shouted.
Payne cupped his ear and leaned in closer. ‘A what?’
Grinning from ear to ear, Jones hopped into the chopper. He held his gun in one hand and the picnic basket in the other. Payne stared at him like he was crazy.
Jones grinned even wider. ‘Don’t worry. I have an idea.’
‘What kind of idea?’
‘I’ll tell you when it’s time to jump.’
Krueger cursed when he heard the gun fire. Obviously something had gone wrong with his plan because his men had been told to avoid interaction at all costs. Their job had been simple. Spy on Kaiser, figure out what he was doing, then report back to Krueger so he could coordinate their attack. His men weren’t supposed to confront Kaiser or do anything that might attract attention. This was supposed to be a surveillance mission. Nothing else.
From his position at the bottom of the mountain, Krueger called his men on the radio. ‘What happened?’ he growled in German.
One of his men responded. ‘We were spotted by a guard with an assault rifle. We managed to take him out quietly.’
‘Did you say quietly? There was nothing quiet about it! I could hear it down here!’
‘Blame the guard, not us. We used a blade. He used a gun. He got off a few rounds when he fell to the ground.’
Krueger took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘Did anyone get hit?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What are we up against?’
‘Too early to tell, sir. But so far we’re winning.’
Krueger shook his head. His men were so short-sighted. ‘Winning?’
‘Yes, sir. They’re down one man, and we’re up one gun. This G36 is a serious weapon.’
‘Maybe so, but we lost the best weapon of all – the element of surprise.’
His goon grunted. He couldn’t care less. ‘What do you want us to do?’
‘Find Kaiser and send me his coordinates. I’m on my way.’
*
The bunker was positioned near the base of a cliff and surrounded by ancient beech trees that were a lot taller than their rope was long. Hoping to survive their descent, Payne and Jones searched for a clearing near the site, somewhere they could land safely when they rappelled out of the chopper. The best they could find was a grove of fir trees, approximately a quarter of a mile from the bunker. Not only were the evergreens significantly shorter than the beeches, but they hoped the fallen pine needles underneath the trees would cushion their fall. Due to the slope of the mountain, they realized they would have to hit the ground and roll, or risk breaking a leg.
Fighting strong gusts of wind, Baptiste held the chopper in place just over the tops of the trees. To make sure the weld would hold his weight, Payne yanked on the hook with all his strength before Jones tossed the coil of rope over the side. Both of them watched it unravel until the far end disappeared into the thick blanket of branches.
‘Did it hit bottom?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged. ‘Can’t tell for sure, but I think it’s close.’
Payne nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time they had jumped blindly from a chopper. Then again, a picnic basket was something new. ‘Do you mind telling me what that’s for?’
Jones plucked a grape from its stem and popped it in his mouth. ‘Here’s what we’re facing: no gloves, no belts, no harnesses. Rough wind, blind drop, unknown enemy. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to lose as little skin as possible.’
Payne stared at his hands. They’d be torn to shreds in a fast descent. And if he took the drop slowly, his palms would survive intact, but he’d be an easy target for several seconds as he dangled from the chopper. ‘What’s the solution?’
Jones grabbed two salamis and handed one to Payne. ‘We use these.’
Payne stared at the cured meat. It was nine inches long and sealed in a rough casing. For the life of him, he had no idea what his friend meant. ‘Excuse me?’
Jones reached into his cargo pants and pulled out his knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade popped open, and he plunged the sharp tip into the top of the salami. As Payne watched, Jones cut the meat vertically, making a nine-inch incision that went halfway into the salami. When he was done, he held it up so Payne could understand what he had in mind.
‘We wrap the salami around the rope like a bun round a hot dog. This casing is hard and coarse. Our hands should be fine as the meat gets torn to shreds.’
‘And if the casing doesn’t hold?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged as he traded salamis with Payne and went to work on the other one. ‘We hope the branches break our fall.’
Payne stared at him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I’d rather fall fast than dangle slow. Too many unknowns.’
Payne searched the basket for alternatives. ‘What about the tablecloth? We can cut it in strips and wrap it around our hands.’
Jones shook his head. ‘Our fingers would get filleted. Cut right to the bone.’
Payne grimaced. He had seen that happen to one of his men, and his hands had never fully recovered. ‘You realize, this is crazy.’
Jones laughed at the danger. ‘That’s what makes it fun.’
29
The United States Special Operations Command (SOCOM) is headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. It oversees the various special operations units of the US Armed Forces and the US Intelligence Community. The concept of a unified command sprouted from the disastrous rescue attempt of hostages at the American embassy in Iran in 1980. The ensuing investigation noted a lack of inter-service cooperation and the breakdown of a clear chain of command as factors in the mission’s failure.
Seven years later SOCOM was officially activated. The main goal of SOCOM is to coordinate the efforts of the different branches of the armed forces whenever joint missions are conducted. Each branch has a Special Operations Command capable of running its own missions, but when different Special Operations Forces (Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Rangers, etc.) need to work together on a mission, SOCOM takes control of the operation – for example, Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
In addition, SOCOM conducts several missions of its own, which are run by the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC). These Special Mission Units (SMU) perform highly classified activities, such as personnel recovery, counter-guerrilla sabotage, unconventional warfare, psychological operations and counter terrorism. So far, only three SMUs have been publicly disclosed: the Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment (Delta Force), the Navy’s Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU), and the Air Fo
rce’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron (AFSOC). One of the SMUs that is still classified is the MANIACs.
Comprised of the top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force and Coast Guard, the MANIACs are a military all-star team, assembled from a small list of candidates who passed the most stringent selection process and training in the world. One of the most important skills the soldiers learned was the art of improvisation. Without it, they wouldn’t last long behind enemy lines, where weapons and equipment were scarce. To survive, they were forced to make do with whatever they could find, whether that was picking a lock with a paperclip or making an explosive out of household chemicals. Not only did this skill require ingenuity, it also required guts. Otherwise, new ideas would never be tested in the field.
During his time in the MANIACs, Payne had used a grapefruit as a silencer, stalled a car with a tube sock and killed a man with a stapler, but he had never used salami for anything except sandwiches. Of course, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. It simply meant that one of them had to be a guinea pig. Normally that burden would fall on Payne, who preferred to lead by example. But in this situation, Jones insisted on going first.
‘My idea, my glory,’ Jones shouted over the wind and the roar of the rotor. ‘Plus, your ass is so fat you might snap the rope.’
Payne watched closely as Jones clamped the salami round the rope and stepped onto the skid tube, which was attached to the chopper’s wheels. ‘See you soon.’
Jones took a deep breath, then leaned back on the skid more than a hundred feet above the ground. As he did, he focused on his grip. If this didn’t work, he knew his hands would never be the same, and neither would his life. Jones was brave, not stupid. He realized if his idea failed, there was a damn good chance he was going to die – either from the fall or from the gunmen down below who would pounce upon him like cheetahs on an injured gazelle.
And yet Jones remained unfazed.
Compared to the things he had faced in the MANIACs, this was less dangerous than bungee jumping. Sure, something could go wrong, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin his fun. With a smile on his face, Jones launched himself backward and yelled, ‘Geronimo!’
A second later, he was falling towards the forest.
As expected, the salami ripped to shreds as Jones clutched the casing on his way to the forest floor. In his wake, tiny chunks of meat clung to the rope like used pieces of dental floss. Of course, Jones didn’t notice anything above him as he zipped past the trees since he was far more concerned with his landing. Clamping the rope with his legs and boots, Jones eased to a stop just before he reached the end of the rope, which dangled ten feet above the ground.
Wasting no time, Jones released his grip and dropped to the slope. He minimized his impact by tumbling once, then scampered behind the nearest tree where he pulled his gun and secured the area for his partner’s arrival. Unfortunately, Payne’s trip didn’t go quite as smoothly. Whether it was the remnants of Jones’s salami on the rope, Payne’s extra weight, or a combination of the two, Payne struggled to control his pace on his descent. He used his legs and boots, just like he had been taught, but the pre-greased line minimized friction. Whereas Jones was able to stop before he reached the end of the rope, Payne didn’t have that luxury.
One moment, Jones was scouting the area for enemy troops. The next, Payne was tumbling past him like a boulder rolling down the mountain – a grunting and groaning boulder. When he finally came to a stop, Jones rushed to his side, worried his friend was dead.
‘Are you okay?’ Jones demanded.
Sprawled on his back and covered in pine needles, Payne blinked a few times before his head was clear. Once he regained his focus, he brought his hands near his face and stared at his fingers. ‘I’ll be damned. The salami worked.’
Jones breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Told you so.’
Payne sat up and nodded. ‘Landing was a little rough, but …’
‘Mine was worse,’ Jones lied. ‘Tumbled right into a tree.’
‘Really? Are you all right?’
Jones groaned for effect. ‘I think I’ll make it. But I’ll feel a lot better once we know what we’re up against.’
Payne wobbled slightly as he stood. ‘Communications?’
Jones shook his head. ‘No signal on my cell phone.’
Payne rubbed his eyes, then looked up at the surrounding trees. The forest was so thick he could barely see sunlight. ‘Which way to the bunker?’
Jones pointed diagonally up the slope. ‘That way.’
‘How far?’
Jones stared at Payne, slightly concerned. Normally his sense of distance and direction were impeccable. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’ll be fine once we’re moving. I need to clear some cobwebs.’
Jones tried to examine Payne’s eyes. ‘Cobwebs? Or a concussion?’
Payne pushed him away and pulled out his Sig Sauer. He had played some of his best football games at the Naval Academy with fuzzy vision and bells ringing in his ears. He wasn’t about to stop for some cobwebs. ‘Come on! We’re wasting time. Let’s get moving.’
Jones relented. ‘Fine! But I’m in charge until you can recite the alphabet backwards.’
‘Hell, I couldn’t do that before I jumped.’
Even though Kaiser cared about the welfare of his men, he wasn’t about to grab a rifle and charge towards the gun fire. He was paying them for protection, not the other way around.
‘What’s your status?’ Kaiser asked from the relative safety of the cul-de-sac. He had been tempted to hide inside the bunker until the mountain was secure, but his two-way radio was ineffective down there, and he wanted to call the shots. ‘Schneider, can you hear me?’
Silence filled the line, as it had for the past few minutes.
Kaiser cursed to himself. Based on Schneider’s last transmission and the gun fire that followed, they had to assume he was dead. If so, what had happened? And more importantly, who had killed him?
Kaiser had plenty of enemies, but how had they found him in the woods above Garmisch-Partenkirchen? Had one of his men betrayed him? Or had the leak come from somewhere else? For the time being, it didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about was getting off the mountain. Preferably with the gold in tow, but not if it meant his life.
Because in Kaiser’s world, he had more to worry about than gunmen.
He also had to evade the police.
30
Gun fire came in sporadic bursts, a mixture of shotgun blasts and automatic fire from somewhere near the bunker. Leading the charge, Jones used the noise as a beacon, zeroing in on the firefight without stopping to check his GPS or studying the symbols that Kaiser’s men had marked on the trees. Of course, Jones didn’t have much of a choice while running at top speed. The sun could barely be seen because of the denseness of the trees – which was how the neighbouring Black Forest had received its name – so Jones relied on his ears just as much as his eyes.
Despite his height and muscular frame, Payne kept pace with the wiry Jones, who darted under branches and leapt over logs like a deer escaping a forest fire. One of the things that had made Payne a star on the football field was his rare combination of speed and strength. Not only was he faster than most people, he was also much stronger. Mix in his toughness, athleticism and discipline, and a world-class athlete had emerged. If not for his sense of duty, Payne would have made millions as a pro football player. Instead, he had honed his skills in the military and become one of the best soldiers the world had ever seen.
Although Payne and Jones were retired from the MANIACs, the top brass at the Pentagon still spoke their names with reverence and contacted them for their expertise.
Over the next few minutes, they would display their skills.
A wave of gun fire forced them to scramble for cover. Jones slid to a stop behind a fallen tree while Payne ducked behind a nearby boulder. Both men struggled to breathe, the thin air and steep slope wreaking havoc o
n their lungs. The bunker was less than a hundred yards away, but it wasn’t visible from their position. With no communications, they didn’t know if Kaiser was alive or dead – or what they were facing. Three men? Five men? Maybe even ten?
To survive, surveillance would be essential.
Payne scanned the surrounding trees, searching for colours and shapes that didn’t belong. Nothing seemed out of place. ‘Where did those shots come from?’
‘Somewhere up ahead. Couldn’t tell where.’
Payne rubbed some dirt on his face and clothes, trying to blend in. ‘What’s our move?’
‘Get Kaiser. Go home.’
‘Easier said than done.’
Jones nodded as he studied the terrain. Without communications, they had to worry about enemy bullets and friendly fire. Especially from the sniper positioned in the bird’s nest above the bunker. If he had a ‘loose trigger’ – i.e. he lacked shot discipline – there was a damn good chance he would shoot every unidentified target that moved. And since most snipers were proficient up to a mile away, Payne and Jones were well within his kill zone.
‘The sniper worries me,’ Jones admitted. ‘He doesn’t know we’re back in play.’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’
Jones peeked over the fallen tree and stared at the rocky crag above the cul-de-sac. It could only be accessed from above. ‘Either we get a radio, or we go for the nest.’
Payne considered their options. ‘What about both?’
‘Both?’
‘I go for Kaiser, you go for the nest.’
Jones glanced at him. ‘You want to split up?’
‘Don’t worry, we can still be friends.’
‘I meant, do you think that’s wise?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
Jones explained his position. ‘If we reach Kaiser, we can use his radio to talk to the sniper. Why risk a trip up the cliff?’
The Secret Crown Page 14
