The sooner Colonel Chan made headway with Kaplan, the better for them all. Gaining information about Zero was the prime objective here. Yet it was not working as smoothly as Chan had anticipated. Too much could go wrong. The less than successful operation in America had proved the point. The expected strike against Zero Command had not happened. Zhou had never been fully convinced of its viability. The idea itself, to cripple the ground-based contact with Zero, had been neat. It would have severed Zero from earth and given China that extra fillip once they had Kaplan in their hands. Such an idea had merit—if it worked—but that one had not.
Zhou pushed the negative thoughts to the back of his mind. He was here to do what he was ordered. Nothing more. The clever thinking was left to the likes of Colonel Chan and Dr. Melier. They created the plans. Zhou preferred his skills in another field. And that was why he was here, in the snow and wind, searching for the sentries who had disappeared or were huddled together in some sheltered spot. That would have suited Zhou. If he found them shirking their duties, he would be able to vent his anger for having made him come out into this damned storm. The frustration he was feeling over this entire affair would boil to the surface if he was provoked, and a reluctant sentry would find himself shriveling beneath the incandescent rage of Yang Zhou.
He had been moving on, treading carefully across the snow, aware that he might stumble over a rough piece of ground he was unable to see.
When the toe of one boot nudged something that yielded soft at his touch, Zhou paused. Stepping back, he made out a bulky shape under the snow and before he did anything else he knew what he was going to find. He traced the outline with his boot, followed it until he realized his assumption had been correct. Zhou bent and used his hand to scoop away the piled snow.
It was a body.
He found the head, cleared the snow and recognized the face of one of his men. There was a bullet hole in the forehead, a ragged and bloody hole in the back of the skull.
Zhou had the feeling the other sentries would also be found dead. If they were still able to operate, some alarm would surely have been raised.
His com set alerted him.
“Zhou? This is Deng.”
“I have found one of the sentries,” Zhou reported. “He has been shot. He is dead.”
“Major Chosan has put everyone on alert.”
“Be prepared in case there is an attempted breach.”
“But—”
“I believe it is the Americans. Searching for Kaplan.”
Yang Zhou spotted movement on the fringe of the trees. It was a tall figure clad in a thick coat and wielding an SMG. He reacted quickly, snapping up the pistol and firing. He knew he had not made a hit as the slug impacted against a branch, tearing at the wood and throwing up a spurt of settled snow. He adjusted his aim and fired again, a fraction too slowly as the man pulled to the side then stepped from full cover.
Zhou saw the subgun move and settle. The man had moved so quickly he had caught Zhou off guard.
Aware of his open position, Zhou turned away, his movements hampered by the clinging, deep snow. He didn’t hear the chatter of the weapon but did see the spear of flame from the muzzle. He felt solid blows to his middle. Oddly no pain. Just the tearing sensation as the slugs buried themselves deep in his body.
Zhou stumbled to his knees. He dropped the pistol and the com set. Through the swirl of driven snow, he could see the figure moving in his direction.
In the final moments of his life Yang Zhou recognized his killer as a gweilo, a foreign devil, and it was that more than anything that made him sad. To be killed by one of the enemy he was here to defeat...
Zhou fell face-first into the deep snow, already spotted with his lifeblood, and realized he would never know if Colonel Xia Chan’s grand plan would be a success.
* * *
THE SLUG HAD chunked against the tree, throwing up shards of wood and snow that brushed McCarter’s face as he sidestepped and returned fire from his borrowed subgun. He saw the slugs strike the Chinese in his chest. The man stumbled and went down. Despite the wind causing noise McCarter had a bad feeling the sound would be heard by others, and when he saw a door open ahead of him he didn’t need to second guess himself.
He keyed his com set and threw out the warning to Encizo and Hawkins.
“Heads up, mates. I just announced our presence. No more hiding in the shadows. Time to show our hand. It’s a go!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hawkins, still crouched at the main door, was relieved when he heard McCarter’s order. He was tired of waiting and slowly turning into a snowman. He pushed to his feet and shook the layered snow off of him and the subgun. He slipped one of the flash-bang grenades from his pack and snagged the pin. He reached the front door, worked the handle and felt the door give. Hawkins pushed the door partway open, let go the canister and lobbed it through the gap. As it landed inside, he heard a raised voice shout a warning. The words were in Chinese.
Instinctively Hawkins pulled to the side. Autofire sounded and slugs ripped through the door, filling the air with wood splinters.
“Son of a...”
The grenade detonated, Hawkins protected from the intense glare of the explosion and the harsh crack of sound by the door and his hunched position. The second the effect fell away, Hawkins leaned in and pushed the door wide.
He saw a doubled-over, armed figure in the wide hallway, only feet away. The man’s weapon stuttered loudly as Hawkins appeared, the stream of slugs bypassing him and thudding into the wall. The Phoenix Force warrior returned fire, his subgun issuing a burst that hammered into the target’s chest and dropped him instantly.
Somewhere in another part of the house, Hawkins heard another flash-bang detonate. He heard glass shatter, followed by a third detonation coming from another direction.
Autofire reached his ears.
It was an indication his partners were making their own insertions.
Ahead of him Hawkins spotted moving figures erupting from a door, subguns turned in his direction. One started to fire and Hawkins went flat on the floor, angling his weapon up at the yelling figures. His finger stroked the trigger, the subgun adding its sound to the increasing noise as autoweapons began to fire throughout the house.
The pair of shooters was caught in Hawkins’s intense fire, bodies punctured by the 9 mm blast. They fell back, punctures in their clothing blossoming red.
On his feet, Hawkins moved along the corridor, the muzzle of his subgun tracking. He paused long enough to pick up one of the abandoned subguns and sling it over his shoulder by the strap.
* * *
ENCIZO HEARD THE thump of sound as the first flash-bang activated. It was his signal to go. He raised a booted foot and kicked open the door in front of him, tossing in his own grenade and then pulling back to cover his ears. The second the detonation faded Encizo swung around and went in through the door. He saw a man down on the floor, crawling aimlessly, shaking his head. Encizo hit him with a short burst that snapped the guy’s head to the side, a bloody geyser erupting from the skull’s exit wound.
The Cuban crossed the room and checked the corridor beyond. It spread to the left and right.
A subgun opened up, ripping chunks from the wall. Encizo turned and triggered a burst in the direction of the muzzle flash. He picked up the shooter’s cry. The guy slumped to his knees, still hanging on to his weapon. A second sweep from Encizo’s subgun slammed the guy back against the wall, leaving a bloody imprint from the shots.
A scream of sound came from behind Encizo. He half turned and saw a heavyset figure barreling at him, massive fists swinging. The guy smashed bodily into Encizo, the impact taking the Phoenix Force warrior off his feet. Locked together, the pair slammed to the floor.
Encizo felt the subgun jar from his grip and skitter acr
oss the timbered floor. He didn’t have time to worry about it. His immediate concern was fending off the attack of the powerful figure clinging to him, and attempting to loosen the arm that had snaked around his neck. Initially it was all he could do to pull his chin down low to prevent the encircling limb from shutting off his air.
Encizo hunched his powerful body and raised himself off the floor, planting his hands flat and using his considerable strength to try to dislodge his opponent.
The Chinese resisted as Encizo attempted to rise, but the Cuban pushed hard and gained his knees. For a moment his attacker held his advantage, though his feet had cleared the floor.
Encizo felt his opponent lean forward to press his hand against the adjacent wall. His move gave Encizo enough momentum to push full-up off the floor, still with the man clinging limpet-like to his back.
His attacker pressed the side of his face against Encizo’s. He had been unable to encircle the Phoenix Force warrior’s neck so now he reached around with his free hand to clamp it over Encizo’s face, clawing with his thick fingers. Encizo turned and faced away from the wall, then pushed back, using the strength in his legs to drive the Chinese against the wall. The man grunted from the impact but refused to release his grip. Encizo repeated the maneuver, increasing the force each time. Despite his initial refusal to concede, Encizo heard the man’s ribs creak under the relentless thud of his body against the solid wall.
Encizo knew his position was untenable. If another of the Chinese showed up, he was going to be deeper in trouble.
He couldn’t get at his holstered pistol because his opponent had it blocked by his solid body. But the sheathed Tanto knife on Encizo’s left side was clear. He dropped his hand, grasped the handle and yanked it free. He swept the keen blade up and razored it along his attacker’s arm at his neck, feeling the steel slice through cloth before it went into the flesh.
The Chinese expressed a pained sound as the open wound began to spill blood but his grip on Encizo did not slacken.
Encizo reversed the knife and stabbed backward at the bulk of his assailant’s body, feeling the Tanto sink into his opponent’s side. Encizo pushed harder and the knife slid in deeper. This time the Chinese gave a gasp and his grip around Encizo’s neck and face withdrew.
The Phoenix Force commando pulled away, withdrawing the knife and spinning on his toes as he passed it to his right hand. He caught a glimpse of the man’s angry face as the Chinese lunged at him with unexpected speed, big hands spread.
Encizo stepped back and swept the Tanto in a move that caught his attacker unprepared. The blade sliced across the man’s face, side to side, cutting deep and opening a gash that traversed the Chinese’s right cheek, crossed the bridge of his nose and cut across the left cheek. As the soft flesh opened, a wash of bright blood erupted from the wounds and flooded down the man’s face, spilling across his front.
The Chinese gave a shrill squeal. Encizo followed through with a powerful thrust that sank the Tanto blade deep into the man’s neck, just under the left jawline. It went in up to the hilt. Encizo yanked it back and forth, extending the wound, then stepped back, leaving the man clasping both hands to the spurting wound as he fell back against the wall. The flow of blood from severed arteries would result in a bleed-out that would end his attacker’s life within a short time.
Encizo quickly sheathed the bloody knife and snatched up his subgun. He picked up the sound of autofire coming from different directions in the house.
Phoenix Force was on full dispersion. He made a quick check of the subgun as he made his way along the corridor in search of fresh targets...
* * *
MCCARTER DROVE HIS subgun stock at the closest window, shattering the glass, and tossed in his flash-bang. He took a protective stance and as soon as the effect had dissipated he turned and cleared the sill, dropping inside what looked like an office-cum-study. Expensively furnished with a huge desk where a large-monitor Apple iMac computer sat, the screen saver throwing colored bands across the desktop. Across the far side of the room double doors stood slightly ajar. McCarter could hear the rattle of autoweapons coming from deep inside the house. He crossed the room in long strides and yanked the doors open, peering into the wide corridor.
Yards along, he came face-to-face with a Chinese dressed in dark pants and a cream shirt. The guy had a pistol tucked into his belt.
McCarter had no idea who the guy was, but he did see the move for the weapon.
“Not on your best day,” McCarter said and triggered the subgun. The burst chewed into the man’s chest, knocking him off his feet and spinning him against the wall, where he lay kicking in silent agony.
The slam of boots on the wood floor sounded behind McCarter. He turned and saw a pair of shooters coming at him. They were moving fast, bringing the subguns they carried on line.
McCarter leveled his weapon.
He had the advantage because the pair was running as they headed for him and were having to compensate for the movement of their weapons.
McCarter was motionless, his weapon directly aimed at the pair, and when he fired his aim was on target. The Chinese pair caught the full brunt of McCarter’s burst. The 9 mm slugs caught them center mass, piercing flesh and cracking bone as they struck. McCarter held the trigger and let the subgun run dry. The pair went down in a bloody tangle, crashing helplessly to the floor.
McCarter tossed aside his empty weapon and calmly went to the two men he had just put down. He picked up one of their dropped weapons, checked the load and turned around, heading in the direction of what appeared to be a furious firefight.
* * *
ENCIZO AND HAWKINS had teamed up, exchanging fire with armed occupants of the house. Smoke was still lingering from the flash-bang grenades and the effects were causing slow responses from the opposition. It gave the Phoenix Force team an advantage that they made use of it as they moved from room to room, corridor to corridor. The rattle of autofire responded as the Phoenix pair took on the opposition. As skilled as the Chinese were, they were facing a pair of battle-hardened professionals who exercised their unique fighting prowess without letup. This was a fight to the death, with no quarter asked or given. The Chinese fell back under the heavy autofire, which was added to when McCarter joined his partners. They fought with only one goal in mind—the removal of the enemy force.
Extra magazines for the subguns were liberated from enemies already down and the trio pushed hard, their fire directed at anyone who moved. Shell casings littered the floor. Splinters gleamed white where fired shots hit the timber structure of the house. Snow blew in through shattered windows. The house echoed to the unrelenting sound of autofire.
“We need to find Kaplan,” McCarter said over the harsh rattle of gunfire. “If Chan decides the game is over, he might decide to cut his losses and kill him.”
“Cheerful thought,” Hawkins said.
As the enemy fire slackened, Encizo turned to check out the corridor that angled off from where they were. He spotted an open archway and moved to check it out. It was a wide, open lounge area with a blazing fire in the big hearth. No one seemed to be in the room, but Encizo did spot a woman’s coat lying on the floor next to a leather armchair.
He immediately thought about Jui Kai.
Where was the undercover woman?
* * *
HAWKINS CHECKED FARTHER along the corridor. He spotted a flicker of movement at a door and moved in on it. The door moved again as Hawkins edged closer. He angled his subgun at the door, his gaze fixed on it.
When the door was jerked open, Hawkins was ready as the muzzle of a subgun was pushed into view, a lean-faced Chinese wielding the weapon. The guy missed Hawkins. The Phoenix Force warrior didn’t miss. His subgun only a couple of feet from the guy’s head when Hawkins pulled the trigger, he sent a crushing burst into the skull. Flesh and bone blew apart,
the exiting slugs taking out a flash of blood and fragments of brain.
The Chinese toppled backward into the room, Hawkins following.
He took in the wide window configuration and the glass roof, and picked up on a lounger holding the motionless form of Saul Kaplan. To the side, the man Hawkins recognized as Luc Melier was bent over Kaplan, doing something with a hypodermic needle. On the other side of the lounger a second guy was holding a metal instrument tray. His head snapped around when he saw Hawkins.
“Hey!” Hawkins said, his voice raised.
Melier looked up from his position, the needle still in his hand, his face draining of color as he saw Hawkins.
There was a look in Melier’s eyes that warned Hawkins the doctor was not ready to give up. It proved out when Melier turned back to Kaplan, the hypo in his hand offering threat.
“I will kill him.”
The Texan didn’t hesitate. He centered the subgun and put a burst into Melier’s chest, knocking him back and away from Kaplan.
As Melier went down, the man holding the instrument tray let it drop. He turned around and took a couple of steps, reaching for a pistol resting on a cabinet. His fingers had barely touched it when a subgun clattered just beyond where Hawkins stood. The burst ripped into the guy’s narrow back, knocking him forward into the cabinet, sending it flying as the man dropped, body arching in agony.
Hawkins glanced over his shoulder to see McCarter moving into the room.
“I know,” the Briton said. “You had the situation in hand.”
“Only partly,” Hawkins said. “Thanks, boss.”
At the door Encizo said, “See to Kaplan. I’ll go look for Chan.”
McCarter and Hawkins shouldered their weapons and moved to stand on either side of the lounger. Saul Kaplan stared up at them, his gaze flicking back and forth between the dark-clad, armed pair.
Death Minus Zero Page 24
