“Nothing to worry about, Staff Sergeant. Just some fireworks over at the Belmonte rally.”
Standing ramrod straight, the young man gave a terse shake of his head. “Sir, there have been some developments.”
Continuing to use the reflection for another moment, Clega slowly turned. The smile slid from his face as he lowered his hands to his side.
“Developments?”
“Yes, sir. Just a moment ago, a request came in for a plane to make an emergency landing.”
Feeling a tiny flash of recognition in the back of his mind, Clega asked, “Reason being?”
“Reported mechanical problem.”
The same exact reason the LATAM flight he was now holding hostage had touched down earlier in the day.
Maybe the Americans weren’t being quite as passive as he suspected.
“When do they arrive?”
“They just went by,” the sergeant said.
Clega’s eyes narrowed. “They just went by?”
“Yes, sir. Without stopping.”
Feeling tiny pricks in his chest, Clega glanced back through the window. He saw the fireworks exploding, coupling it with the plane that requested entry and flew right past.
“Diversions,” he muttered, turning back to his aide. “They’re making a move on us. This is all just misdirection.”
If the young man was surprised, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he merely stood and stared, as if he’d been waiting on Clega to come to that same conclusion.
“Developments,” Clega said. “Plural.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not wanting to know the answer, Clega asked, “What else has happened?”
“We haven’t received word from any of our forest patrols in the last ten minutes.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
If the team of abductors had brought in help, I had to assume I would have already seen them. They would have been roaming the surrounding woods like rabid dogs, moving in packs, firing at anything that moved. Or they would have been scouring the top of the warehouse, using night vision and heavy machine guns, and anything else available to keep me from getting within a mile of the place.
At the very least, they would have mowed me down at the first sign of shooting. Teams of thugs should have been standing inside the fence, smirking as I cut through the metal links, just waiting for me to look up so they could finish me off.
None of that happened.
Which meant those men didn’t exist.
I had known the possibility was always there. The way passengers were rerouted off the airplane and siphoned away into the corner warehouse showed there was definitely some inside collusion, but it still wasn’t the sort of thing they could take right out into the open.
Not with so many international hostages onboard, many of them from a media-driven first world country.
That meant they had to at least abide by some level of decorum, keeping their head down and being careful not to raise too much commotion.
They had likely thought the dozen men they started with was plenty, the presumed handful they brought in as help more than sufficient.
Yet again, arrogance being a decent plan’s undoing.
I had killed three men before getting away from the warehouse earlier in the day. Five more now littered the area behind me. Three were up on the roof, at least two of them dead, the third at bear minimum wounded.
That left seven, maybe eight, including the leader.
The Glock 19 I had in either hand was equipped with a fifteen round magazine. Having fired just two from both, I had twenty-six bullets at the ready. Thirty more in total were stowed in the nylon bag, the item now light the bolt cutters splayed out in the dirt by the fence.
Fifty-six rounds to go after eight men.
I didn’t need to be a math whiz to do the numbers on that, knowing that if I couldn’t finish things off with that ratio, I had no business being where I was anyway.
Seated with my back braced against the outer wall, I nudged myself forward a few inches. Checking either side and the roof in a quick three-point sequence, I returned the nylon bag to my shoulders.
With the adrenaline and heightened state my body was in, I barely even registered the weight, the slim bag sliding down between my shoulder blades.
Already, I had a pretty decent schematic of the warehouse in my head. My best bet for getting inside was going to be the open end where the bus had pulled through earlier in the day. Designed for the purpose of loading and unloading quickly, the entire southern exposure was left open.
While there might be regular sized doorways on the other walls, they would be locked tight or, even worse, guarded by armed men or explosives.
Getting through them would be an unnecessary risk.
There would be no way to seal off the far end. My opponent would know that, and they would do what they needed to to protect it.
Which meant it was time for my final act of subterfuge.
Stowing the gun in my right hand, I fished the sat phone from my pocket. Without worrying about who might see the light, I flipped it open and hit redial.
“Ela, tell Manny to go in thirty.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
My first move was getting my ass away from that spot at the base of the warehouse. If I hadn’t managed to finish off the guard above, or if any additional guards had come looking for him, I would be an easy target with no hope of cover.
Unacceptable.
Stowing the phone, I took up a Glock in either hand and sprinted hard to the west. Having entered on the north side, I had to travel the same distance to get around to the front regardless which direction I went.
But at least moving to the west allowed me to stay along the fence line, out of sight for as long as possible.
Charging hard for twenty yards, I stopped for an instant at the corner. Dropping to a knee, I peered out around the base, seeing nothing.
Shifting my focus up to the roof line above, I looked for the outline of anybody on patrol, hoping to catch the telltale feature of a gun barrel extended over the edge.
To my relief, I saw nothing, the trio of men appearing to be the extent of the rooftop watch.
Further proof that additional arms likely wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.
From a crouched position, I buried the toe of my shoe into the dirt and gravel along the base of the building. Using it as leverage, I exploded forward, hurtling myself along the darkened path.
Clutched in either hand were the Glocks, their elongated noses passing above my shoulders with each pump of my arms. The drawstring bag bounced against my back, the metal clips inside pelting my spine and kidneys.
Sweat streamed over my brow and smooth cheeks, burning my eyes.
In the distance, I could still hear the last few bits of Farkus’s fireworks display. The drone of an airplane could faintly be heard filling the short spells in between.
My gaze I kept aimed at the front corner of the building. Each second I counted in my head, willing myself forward, knowing the last bit of assistance I was going to be getting was growing ever closer.
Stride by stride I went, ready to slide myself to a stop and watch it happen, waiting for the opportune moment to slip inside the warehouse.
A moment that I would never realize.
A moment that came and went while I was still tucked up along the side of the warehouse, sprinting forward with everything I had.
Chapter Seventy-Five
The man standing at the front of the room was a near copy of the two that Hawk had dispatched earlier in the day. And equally similar to every other person that had passed through the door in the time since.
Smaller, with a wiry build, and clear Latin features.
If forced to guess earlier, Grey Rembert would have pegged them as former soldiers. Men that had been trained up by some government in the region and then turned their skills over to the highest bidder.
Which would make sense, considering t
hat they were now in the act of taking hostages, an incident that would certainly have international repercussions if performed by an actual head of state.
In its stead, there was no way of knowing who these men worked for or what the motivation behind their actions might have been.
All Rembert knew was that there was clear malevolence in all of it.
And that with each passing moment, the likelihood of survival for every person in the room dwindled.
Unlike earlier in the day, when the guards had operated in pairs, this time there was only a single man before them. Not to be caught unawares the way Cruz had been before, his weapon was raised into a loose firing position.
Every word he spat out was laced with agitation, as if he might begin firing at any moment.
The first few commands he had issued had taken some time to sink in. In the wake of hearing him scratching at the door outside, many had recoiled back into fear.
Seeing him standing with a rifle at the ready had only solidified that stance.
Not until he stepped forward and began kicking at those closest did the demands he was issuing sink in.
The people were to get on their feet. They were to form back into a line. They were to be ready to move as soon as he said so.
Where they were going, nobody knew. The looks of terror on the faces around Rembert suggested that speculation was quite rampant. He himself was doing the same, locked behind a swollen mask of a broken jaw.
Doing as told, not needing to see any more blood for one day, the group inside moved as instructed. Through much grunting and forcing air in and out through his nose, Rembert managed to make it to his feet.
Once he was up, he helped the girl beside him upright as well, both of them standing near the rear of the pack.
A stance they maintained even as the thunderous sounds of booming began in the near distance. Sounds that echoed through the small space, like bombs exploding nearby.
Sounds that were interspliced a moment later by a plane buzzing close overhead.
And again a moment later by another form of explosion, this one sounding much closer still.
Chapter Seventy-Six
The length of the warehouse was about eighty yards, which meant either I was much slower than I thought, or Manny had jumped the gun on me.
Twenty yards still separated me from the corner as the signal went up, a fiery explosion much larger and more intense than I would have imagined. Thinking that it would be a small fire, maybe a crash of a loading truck, it sounded like Manny had opted to go with a combination of the two.
In short order, the sounds of squealing tires found their way to me. After that was the clear impact of metal crashing into a solid structure, shearing away in an angry wail.
And finally, there was the angry blast of detonation, heat finding its way even to me, tucked along the back of the warehouse.
Optimally, I would have liked to have had a look at the front of the warehouse first. To have reacquainted myself with the design. Seen what I was working with free of the tight confines of being crammed into the bus earlier.
But we all had known from the moment we left the safehouse that this was a long way from optimal. Everything about it was done on the fly, trying to coordinate a handful of different aspects, working with people on different continents.
All things considered, the fact that it had gone so well for so long was a miracle.
No point in sitting around and bitching about things now.
As I covered the last few strides to the corner, I cast aside the full-throttle sprint. Instead, I extended the Glocks at shoulder height before me, slowing my pace just enough to take the corner tight.
Underfoot, the ground changed from dirt to concrete, my first solid footing in more than an hour.
To my right, whatever Manny had put together was visible a few hundred yards away, the acrid scents of smoke and fuel distinct in the air.
Giving nothing more than a quick glance in that direction, I kept my focus on the front end of the building. I slowed to a walk, both guns extended.
Manny might have gone earlier than I’d asked for, but that didn’t mean it still wouldn’t do the job. Human nature being what it was, there was no way whoever was inside wouldn’t react in some way.
They would stop to stare. They would be momentarily startled. Their senses would momentarily freeze.
Or, in the best possible eventuality I could have hoped for, they would wander out of the front of the building to gawk at what they saw.
The two men were both young and fit, near copies of Gold Tooth and Cruz earlier. Dressed in exactly the same manner, both stood with Kalashnikovs held across their laps, taking a few lazy steps out of the front to get a closer look.
Neither even knew I was there. Never so much as glanced over as I hit them both with a pair of rounds each, striking them center mass.
On contact, both bodies melted to the ground. Slowing just slightly, I took a moment to put a third into their heads, ensuring there would be no chance of them stringing together just enough strength to shoot me in the back later on.
This was not some Hollywood movie. I’d be damned if I was foolish enough to make the same kinds of mistakes.
Two more down. Six to go.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The last of the fireworks still left bright orbs behind President Miguel Salazar’s eyelids each time he blinked his eyes. With his hands clasped behind him, he stood with his nose just inches from the Plexiglas lining his office and watched the last of their smoke fade.
In their wake, the sky seemed a shade paler than the hour would dictate, city lights reflecting off the haze. The lack of amplified booming made the world seem especially quiet.
“Leave it to Belmonte to put on such a gaudy show,” he whispered.
Turning, he saw Isabel was on her feet as well, standing behind her usual seat. In her arms was a stack of papers, her posture making it appear she was ready to be off again.
In the wake of the call with President Underall, there were things to be done. There were press releases to be drafted and various departments to be notified.
In today’s age, nobody was taken at their word. If Salazar wanted the world to believe he was innocent, his administration needed to carry out the actions that would reflect as much.
“Fool doesn’t even realize he’s playing right into our hands.”
Again, Isabel remained silent. She merely watched as he walked forward and gripped the back of his chair.
The first time he had ever thought of his office as a cell was when the thick panels had been screwed down over his windows. Put in place overnight, he had arrived one morning to find his beloved veranda off limits forevermore.
Since then, not a day had passed that he hadn’t sat and stared out with longing.
The feeling he now had was even more pronounced. Since the first call from Underall, he had been unable to leave the space, trying to balance a handful of different people and events, all with the goal of managing something that a week ago wasn’t even a concern.
He was ready for it to be over. He wanted to go home and eat his wife’s bad cooking. Put his feet up and watch television, something completely independent of politics or the world today.
More than anything, he just wanted to show up in the morning and sit out in the sun, drinking his coffee and preparing for the day.
But, like so many things in his life, he knew none of it would come to pass.
Not for a while longer, anyway.
“Think the Americans bought it?”
The right side of Isabel’s face scrunched slightly. Just as fast, it relaxed, returning to normal.
“Possibly, but they won’t just take our word for things.”
Salazar nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to move fast now to make sure everything we told them is true.”
“We will.”
One item at a time, Salazar ran the list through his mind. Right now, Belmonte was still
off preening to the crowds, which meant that aspect could wait.
But there was still plenty else to get moving.
“You’ll take care of-“ he began.
“Of course.”
“And the other-“
“Already done.”
Anybody else, and Salazar would have taken it as a sign of disrespect. At the very least, he would have been supremely annoyed.
Coming from Isabel, he could only offer a thin smile. “Thank you, that will be all. I need to call the general.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
There was no joy in this for me. No moments to be relished of myself strutting along in front of a fiery backdrop. No future sessions in front of the mirror, counting scars or flexing my muscles.
This was not an assertion of manhood. Not a way of measuring myself against others the world over.
If things had played out the way they were supposed to, Rembert and I would probably be sitting down to dinner on the southern end of the continent right about now. We’d both be sore after an interminable day of travel.
He’d be easing away the pain through libations, yelling “Hellfire! Damnation!” to anybody that would listen.
I would smile and continue mapping out our path for the next day.
That’s not how any of this had gone. The day we thought was on tap hadn’t come to pass. The trip we’d put together likely never would.
None of that mattered a damn bit now. Even if we didn’t make it to Patagonia, we were getting our asses back home.
Us, and every other person left inside this warehouse.
The pair of bodies was sprawled on the concrete in front of the open end of the building, their limbs contorted in various positions. Blood leaked steadily from them as I strode past, still feeling the warmth of Manny’s explosion to the south.
I resisted the urge to pick up one of the Kalashnikovs, casting it aside for the same reason I’d left the M-24 behind earlier. Moving into the tighter confines of the place, I wanted something that could be operated quicker and easier.
Hellfire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 4) Page 23
