The Plantation paj-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  Hell, he had to do something to even the odds.

  Unfortunately, the blaze was making his mission impossible. The smoke grew thicker and blacker every second, limiting his vision to a scant few feet. And the heat was so intense that Jones felt like he was standing in the core of an active volcano, one that was getting angrier by the minute. But still he searched, heroically digging through scraps of plastic and wood, hunting for the guard until he could take no more, until the hair on his arms literally started to sear like ants under a magnifying glass.

  At that point he decided to flee the firestorm before he fried in its wake.

  Covering his eyes with both hands, Jones ran from the burning cabin, shielding his head from the flames as he burst through the smoldering doorway. The nighttime air brought him instant relief, but he wasn’t able to enjoy it. Jones realized that the Posse would be there any moment to investigate, and when they arrived he needed to be long gone. Using the orange glow of the cabin as his torch, he probed the area for cover, but his plans to flee were quickly altered. Before he found a hiding place, Jones noticed the guard sprawled on the nearby sod, a weapon sitting on the ground next to him.

  No time to waste.

  He rushed to the man’s side and grabbed his TEC-DC9 pistol. Then, in a moment of greed, he frisked him, looking for anything that could help, and as he did he made a startling discovery.

  The injured man was Payne.

  CHAPTER 44

  BECAUSE

  of the black fatigues and face paint that Payne had found in the first cabin, he looked like a Posse member in the darkness. It wasn’t until Jones stared at Payne’s face in the light of the fire that he recognized his best friend.

  “Is there a reason you tried to blow me up?” Payne asked. He staggered to his feet, shaken from the powerful blast but injury free.

  “I thought you were a guard,” Jones argued.

  “If you don’t want to hang out anymore, that’s fine! But you don’t have to blow me up.”

  Payne shook his head in mock anger, then jogged away from the cabin. He knew the Posse would be arriving shortly, and he didn’t want to be there when they did. Once they were far enough away from the scene, he turned back toward Jones and unlocked his handcuffs.

  “What was that stuff anyway? It had some serious kick.”

  “Some kind of high-tech chemical explosive. Some African guy with bad teeth strapped the sucker to my leg to prevent my escape.”

  “Hakeem did that?” The thought of Ndjai in the Devil’s Box made him laugh. “Locking a soldier in a wooden cabin with a firebomb? Pretty good thinking on his part, huh?”

  “That was more than just a firebomb. That was a first-rate piece of hardware. I’m not sure what we’ve stumbled onto, but the Posse isn’t hurting for cash. Not with that kind of technology lying around.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Let me show you what I found.”

  Payne led Jones to the first cabin that he had explored. Instead of containing prisoners like he thought it would, it was filled with military accoutrements: rifles, pistols, ammunition, explosives, detonators, camouflage paint,

  etc.

  All labeled and packed in crates for shipping.

  “Whoa!” Jones glanced at the gear, smiling. There was enough equipment to start a war. “This is some kind of collection.”

  Payne corrected him. “This is more than a collection. This is a business.”

  “They deal arms? Where’d they get this stuff?”

  “Where do you think?” Payne pointed to one of the invoices on the wall. The initials

  T.M.

  were highlighted at the top. “Does that ring any bells?”

  Jones glanced at the sheet. “Terrell Murray? Mr. Fishing Hole?”

  “You got it.” Payne strolled through the stacks of weapons, looking to add to his personal stock. He needed as much firepower as possible if he was going to rescue Ariane and the others.

  “What are you saying? The Posse sells Terrell all of his weapons?”

  Payne shook his head. “From the looks of Murray’s office, he’s too established to be buying from a new group like the Posse. So I’m guessing it’s the other way around. The Posse gets their guns from Terrell.”

  Jones furrowed his brow while glancing through the crates. “But why would they need to buy all of this stuff? I mean, this is like an armory.”

  “Not

  like

  an armory. It

  is

  an armory. If my guess is correct, the Posse doesn’t own these weapons. They’re probably just holding them for Terrell as a favor. Remember what Levon said? Nothing goes on in New Orleans without Murray’s involvement.”

  Jones pulled a Steyr AUG assault rifle from a crate. “Boy, this looks familiar, huh?” It was identical to the one that Greene had supposedly purchased from Murray. “So this is where Levon got his stuff? That son of a bitch! I can’t believe he played us like that! I can’t wait until I see him again. I really can’t.”

  “Well, you’ll have to wait a while. The first thing we have to do is find Ariane. Once I know she’s all right, we can get as much revenge as we want.”

  Jones nodded, thinking mainly of Greene. “Who do you have in mind?”

  Payne walked toward the cabin door. “There are too many on my list to name.”

  CHAPTER 45

  OCTAVIAN

  Holmes roared through the trees on his ATV while two truckloads of guards followed closely behind. Out of all the men on the Plantation, Holmes was the best equipped to handle military situations, since he was a professional soldier. He had worked for nearly two decades as a mercenary, renting out his services to a variety of causes, but this was the first time his skills would be used to protect something of his own.

  The Plantation was a part of him. He would not let it be destroyed. Not if he could help it.

  Holmes stopped his vehicle near the burning cabin and watched his men attack the blaze. There was little hope of saving the structure since fire equipment was very scarce on the island, but they needed to prevent the flames from spreading. The other cabins were nearby and susceptible to damage.

  As Holmes watched their effort, he sensed a presence sneaking up behind him. He turned quickly, raising his gun as he did, but his effort was unnecessary. It was Jackson and Webster, checking out the damage.

  “Any ideas?” Holmes asked calmly.

  Webster nodded, slightly nervous. “It was the new guys. I was in my office and saw one enter the door with a key. Moments later it blew up.”

  Holmes frowned. “Which of you lost your keys?”

  Both men showed Holmes their personal sets, proving they weren’t to blame.

  “Fine. Where’s Hakeem? He’s the other possibility.”

  Webster shrugged. “I tried paging him on the radio, but he didn’t answer the call. I tried all of you the moment I saw the guy enter the cabin, but there was nothing else I could do from my office. I swear, I did my best.”

  “Theo, don’t worry about it.” Holmes’s voice possessed a scary type of calm. His presence was almost stoic. “You aren’t here to do the dirty work. You’re here to handle our finances. We’ll handle the rest.”

  Holmes moved closer to the blaze, still examining it. There was something about the flames that interested him. The way they moved. The way they danced. He had seen it before. “Theo? You saw the explosion, right? Tell me, what did it look like?”

  “It was a big, mushroom-type blast. A big flash of light burst from inside. Flames spread quickly across the door and roof. An unbelievable amount of thick, black smoke.”

  Holmes grinned at the description. Things finally made sense. “Well, if my guess is correct, we don’t have to worry about escapees. The blast you described sounds like one of the anklets was detonated.”

  Webster disagreed. “Actually, I saw both of them survive. One of them went in, but two of them came out.”

  Holmes’s grin grew wider. That
meant the prisoners had discovered a way to remove the anklet without getting killed. The thought of two worthy adversaries piqued his interest. He’d take great pleasure in hunting them down. “What do you know about these men?”

  Jackson answered. “Levon said they were ex-soldiers. They called themselves the Crazy Men or something weird like that. If you talk to him, I’m sure he can tell you more. He babysat the bastards for two days.”

  “Crazy Men?” Holmes had never heard of a group that went by that name, and he considered himself an expert on the military. “Could it have been something else? Perhaps the MANIACs?”

  “Yeah, that was it. Have you heard of them?”

  “Yeah,” Holmes muttered as the smile on his face disappeared. “I’ve seen their work. They’re clean. Real clean. Some of the guys I worked with called them the Hyenas.”

  “Hyenas? Why’s that?”

  “They liked to ravage their victims. I mean, rip ’em to fucking shreds from very close range. Then they’d leave the scene in packs, laughing, like their job was the easiest thing in the world.” Holmes shivered at the thought, an equal mixture of fear and excitement surging through him. After all these years, he would finally get to see how good he was. “They’re the best-prepared soldiers in the world.”

  “Come on, how tough can they be?” Jackson asked naively. “We’ve got dozens of armed men, and we’re fighting against these guys in a confined space, right?”

  Holmes nodded gravely. The stories he had heard about the MANIACs bordered on legend. “True, but if these guys are who you claim, we might be outnumbered.”

  AFTER stealing gear from the armory, Payne and Jones hustled into the nearby trees to establish their attack strategy. Unfortunately, their planning would be difficult since they still lacked one major piece of information: Ariane’s current location.

  Payne updated his friend on everything he’d learned about the guards and the landscape. Then he filled him in on what he didn’t know. “I searched a few of the cabins before I reached you. All of them were empty.”

  “Empty? Then where is everybody? Bennie said there were twenty to twenty-five captives.”

  “I didn’t check all the cabins, but none of them are being guarded. Therefore, either the prisoners are being kept elsewhere, or they’ve been moved off the island.”

  “Or,” Jones added, “there are several people in one cabin. In the old days, slaves used to sleep ten to a room, and I have a feeling the Posse isn’t trying to make their guests comfortable.”

  Payne nodded in agreement. “So tell me, what should we do?”

  Jones smiled at the question. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  For as long as they’d known each other, this was how their partnership worked. Payne would name a place, and Jones would lead him there. It didn’t matter if it was a top-secret mission into Cuba or a beer-filled trip to a Steelers game, Jones was the navigator. He was the planner. A strategy prodigy. It was his specialty. He was the best there was.

  Payne, on the other hand, was the finisher. The closer. The military’s equivalent of a baseball relief pitcher. He would come in when everything was on the line and finish the job. In truth, it was rarely pretty. Most of the time his work was bloody, even borderline savage. But things always worked out in the end. Always.

  Give him a quest, and he’d make it a conquest. Guaranteed.

  Together, they were an unstoppable duo.

  Let the games begin.

  CHAPTER 46

  THERE

  was no reason for the duo to wage battle in the open fields where a lucky shot could take them out. No, it was better to do their dirty work in the dark underbrush of the island, where they could control the game. The woods would be their playground. Search and kill, jungle style.

  Without speaking, Payne and Jones communicated their ideas through hand signals. It wasn’t traditional sign language, but for them it was just as effective. They knew exactly what the other meant without saying a word, and that was critical. During night runs, sound was the biggest enemy.

  On the other hand, sound could also be quite useful, the ultimate ally. By making a noise on purpose, a soldier could divert his enemy’s attention. The crash of a thrown rock could confuse a tracker. A snapping twig or a well-placed scream could quickly draw attention away from an endangered colleague. And occasionally, it could be used as a lure, a way to bring several people into an area at one time. It was a difficult thing to accomplish, but when done right, it was very effective.

  Cows to the slaughterhouse, as Payne liked to say.

  Eventually, this was the technique that Jones settled on. In order to make it work, they placed some charges near a small clearing that they found in the middle of a thick grove. A boulder, partially buried on a nearby plateau, would be used as the duo’s nest. The goal was to draw as many men as possible into the open area below the large stone before Payne and Jones used their elevated position to commence target practice.

  After climbing the bluff, Jones settled into position next to Payne. Normally, they would’ve spread far apart, attempting to surround their victims in hopes of cutting off their escape routes, but in this case it was completely unnecessary. This assault would be child’s play, a complete blood-bath. Two experienced soldiers facing a team of untrained men was as lopsided as a battle could get. Besides, the landscape didn’t allow them to fan out over a wide range. The terrain dictated that both of them sit in the crow’s nest from the get-go.

  When Payne was ready, he glanced at Jones and nodded. It was time to begin.

  BOOM!!! An explosion shook the earth, and a flash of light brightened the nearby sky. Everyone near the burning cabin flinched and turned their heads toward the trees. The prisoners were apparently in the woods. Holmes gave orders to pursue them.

  Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!! Payne and Jones squeezed off a few rounds for additional attention, plus they wanted to make sure that their weapons were functional. The last time they’d used Terrell Murray’s guns they were very disappointed with the results.

  BOOM!!! A second charge exploded. Payne and Jones tried to lure the guards to a specific spot in the woods. They couldn’t afford to have any strays sneaking up behind them. It would ruin their plans and cost them their lives. No, they needed everyone to appear in the open area below the boulder, right where the guards would be most vulnerable.

  BOOM!!! The last of the small charges was detonated. Neither Payne nor Jones wanted the woods to be too bright when the guards arrived. They wanted a soft glow, just enough light to see their targets, but not enough light to give away their own location. Candlelight to kill by.

  “Do you hear that?” Payne whispered as he screwed the silencer onto his MP5K. His weapon was capable of spitting out nine hundred rounds a minute, and now that its silencer was in place, it would make less noise than an iPod.

  Jones smiled. He heard several footsteps approaching through the grove. “Here come the first contestants on

  The Price Is Life

  .”

  Nodding, Payne focused on the area below, but he wouldn’t fire his submachine gun until the small pocket of space was completely filled with guards. He needed to make sure he could get everyone at once.

  One by one, the black men emerged from the trees. Two, then five, then ten. Thirteen in total. Unlucky thirteen. They glanced around, looking for the source of the commotion, but found nothing. They stood there, confused, unable to choose their next move, for none of them had the experience or the authority to take control.

  “Like cows to the slaughterhouse,” Jones mumbled, stealing Payne’s line.

  Payne nodded again, his face devoid of emotion. “Moooooo!”

  Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! The guns hissed, spraying in silence.

  Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Their venom flew, striking its mark.

  There wasn’t any time for the guards to react or fire back. Hell, they never even knew what hit them. One minute they were standing, searching for
the escaped prisoners. The next they were sprawled on the ground, marinating in each other’s blood.

  There were no screams, no tears, and no pleas of mercy. Death had been silent and swift.

  ANTICIPATING an easy victory, Jackson and Webster followed the guards at a leisurely pace. Thirteen men against two. With odds like that, they figured it would be a massacre, an absolute slaughter. And it was-just not in their favor. When they arrived at the scene, they found nothing but bodies. All of them black. All of them dead. Victims of gunfire. Head shots. Heart shots. Limbs tattered. Pistols still hol stered. Rifles unfired. The smell of war lingered in the air. Crimson poured from gaping wounds, flooding the forest’s floor. Death was everywhere.

  And Webster couldn’t handle it.

  When he realized what had happened, he dropped to his knees and vomited. It was the first time that he’d seen a corpse outside of a funeral home, so the sight of the baker’s dozen was too much for him to handle. He was the brains, not the brawn. He took no part in the actual torture and disposal of the bodies. All of that was outside of his realm.

  “They killed them! They killed them all!” He staggered to his feet, wanting to confront Jackson, but was unwilling to walk among the gory remains of his fallen comrades. “Octavian was right! These guys are the best! Look what they did to your guards! Just look!!”

  “Be quiet!” Jackson whispered sternly. “They might still be around.”

  The thought hadn’t crossed Webster’s mind. The killers could be in the trees, watching him at that very moment. He gagged as more vomit rose from his belly.

  Jackson rolled his eyes in disgust. He didn’t have time to babysit. He needed to focus all of his attention on the battle site. He needed to look for clues while the trail was still warm. “Don’t worry. I might not have their training, but I can be a warrior if I have to be.”

  As Jackson finished speaking, his radio squawked, causing him to flinch in fear.

  The incoming voice said, “This is Octavian. What’s going on out there?”