CHAPTER 36
Darkness had settled over the prison compound.
Logan and Cole had been led back to their cell after Cole’s bloody victory, and now they waited for the next evolution of their prison stay. Neither of them had been asked any more questions, which worried Logan more than a beating or the threat of torture.
“I’m a bit concerned that our hosts haven’t been down here to chat with us,” Logan said. “You know what that means?”
“Unfortunately, I do,” Cole responded, looking solemnly at Logan. “They don’t really care what we know or don’t know, and that makes us expendable.”
“Or at least worthy of another round in the world’s worst version of Medieval Times,” Logan said. “I think I’m the next contestant on The Price Is Most Definitely Fucking Wrong.”
“Maybe they’ll have a bonus wheel for yours, although in this place, they’d probably nail you to it before they spin,” Cole said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Logan said. “We always said in the Marine Corps, ‘Hope is not a course of action,’ but I really hope your signal was picked up or we’re going to have to start figuring out what plan B is.”
“What’s plan A again?” Cole asked.
“Survive,” Logan said seriously, and then added with a grin, “Do you need me to write it down?”
“Thanks. I think I got it,” Cole said wryly.
The sound of a door slamming echoed through the corridor, followed by the deliberate footfall of several pairs of boots.
“Showtime,” Logan said, and looked at Cole. “If something happens to me, hold out for as long as you can, and if you get out of here, make sure you let John and Mike know I went out on my shield.” Logan paused for a moment and looked at the ground, his voice changing to a hushed tone of regret. “Most importantly, you tell my wife that the last two years have been the clearest, most rewarding years of my life. Make sure she knows how much I love her.” He looked up at Cole and said, “You got that?”
The footsteps were halfway to their cell.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Logan,” Cole said, a sense of foreboding sending chills down the nape of his neck and forearms. “I’ve seen you in action. They haven’t.”
“I know, but they’ve seen you in action, which means they’ll be better prepared,” Logan said.
Four Sudanese guards appeared outside the iron bars. Three of them held AK-47s at an angle across their chests; the fourth was unarmed.
Or not, Logan suddenly thought, realizing these guards had grown complacent, even in the light of the daily violence and chaos. And it hit him like a slap to the face—they didn’t fear the prisoners. Fools. In this place, all the guards should be armed.
He’d learned a long time ago to stop questioning the often insane and irresponsible decisions he’d witnessed in foreign countries. There was no point in trying to rationalize why things were done differently in Third World nations. Logan chalked it up to a lack of training and experience. Either way, it was to his and Cole’s advantage.
The cellblock had suddenly grown quiet, a hushed anticipation overwhelming in its silence. The other prisoners’ excitement was palpable, an electricity created by the prospect of more violent entertainment.
“Back!” the unarmed lead guard barked as he inserted a key into the lock and swung the cell’s door inward.
They obeyed, moving against the back wall and placing their hands above them in submission.
“Out!” the guard yelled as the four guards moved apart, motioning for Logan and Cole to step into the gap.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Logan thought, the engine of his mind accelerating from idle to autobahn. Why wait for primetime when we can act now?
With his hands still raised, Logan stepped in front of Cole and said, “Remember the cemetery?”
“Uh-huh,” Cole said cautiously.
“Good. Same thing, except two less.”
“Got it,” Cole said, emotionless as he stepped behind Logan in the dank passageway.
Logan and Cole now stood between the guards as inmates lined up at their cell bars to watch the six-man procession bound for the arena.
Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.
Logan sprang into action, grabbed the head of the guard directly in front of him—the one with the keys—and slammed it into the iron bars with a rewarding crunch. The man went limp, and Logan released him to focus on the second guard, the one holding an AK-47.
Shouts erupted up and down the cellblock, the sudden violence sending the inmates into a frenzy like a blood-hungry school of sharks.
The guard just ahead of Logan managed to turn halfway in the confined quarters, but the barrel of his weapon caught between the bars of the cell across from theirs. As the first guard’s body slumped to the concrete floor, Logan stepped around the unfortunate man’s now-still form. The second guard’s panicked eyes darted back and forth from his useless weapon to Logan’s determined face. Tough luck, idiot, Logan thought, and brought both arms down in a hammer fist on the guard’s forearms.
“Aggghhh!” the guard screamed in pain, dropping the rifle to the floor.
Just as quickly as he’d brought them down, Logan lifted his two arms, stepped forward to gain leverage, and slammed his fists into the side of the guard’s head, flinging him face first into the bars of the cell.
Logan was rewarded with a second crunch as the guard’s nose exploded in a shower of red, blood splattering onto the floor and dripping down the bars.
Logan bent, retrieved the AK-47, and slammed the stock of the rifle into the back of the second guard’s head. He fell on top of the first guard. Logan whirled, the AK-47 raised and the safety off, searching for more targets. It was unnecessary, as he’d expected.
Cole had not been as shocked by the lackadaisical attitude of the guards. They’re accustomed to ruling by fear here. They’re not used to resistance.
When Logan acted, Cole spun to face his first threat so quickly that he’d completely taken him by surprise. He reached out, grabbled the AK-47 still gripped in the man’s hands, and jerked the barrel of the weapon up and over in a semicircle, pulling the guard off balance and tangling his arms.
The guard released the weapon as he was knocked over, his hands touching the floor of the corridor. As he tried to regain his balance, he looked up—just in time to see the butt of the rifle come crashing down onto his face, driving him into unconsciousness.
The second guard was quicker than the first.
As Cole turned toward him, he came face-to-face with the muzzle of the AK-47, now pointed directly at his head. Damn, wasn’t fast enough for both, he thought as he watched the guard pull the trigger, wondering if he’d feel the bullet before his life ended.
Click.
Cole’s heart skipped a beat as he realized he was still alive, just as he met the second guard’s eyes, now full of fear. Rookie forgot to chamber a round.
Cole didn’t wait to give him a second chance. He slammed the barrel of his AK-47 against the other man’s rifle, knocking it aside. The guard tried to recover, but Cole swiveled his arms and the butt of the weapon, striking the man on the jaw with the wooden stock.
He heard a crack as the bones shattered, sending a shock impulse to the guard’s brain that shut him down immediately. His eyes rolled upward into his head, but Cole hit him again in the temple as he fell to ensure he stayed down.
“Nice play,” Cole said as he kicked the second AK-47 away and bent over to retrieve two extra magazines from each guard. He looked back at Logan, who was doing the same.
“It just sort of came to me,” Logan said, and looked down the corridor from end to end. “I figured we had a better chance against only four guards, rather than having the odds stacked against us outside in the yard.”
“Good call,” Cole said.
“Thanks, but that was the easy part,” Logan said, and grabbed a large, round key ring—he noted nine worn keys and a single, shiny
new one—from the belt loop of the unconscious guard who’d ordered them out. “Now we have to figure out how the hell to get out of here. They’ll send reinforcements in the next few minutes when we don’t show up outside.”
“We only have one option,” Cole said, nodding behind him. “If we go through the tunnel, we’ll run right into them—so we go the other way.”
“Right behind you,” Logan said.
They sprinted to the end of the corridor, past screaming inmates pounding on the bars for help, until they reached a solid-metal door with a heavy handle and a single keyhole above it.
“Here goes nothing,” Logan said and inserted the same key he’d seen the guard use on their cell door. He turned the key.
Click. The lock released, and he lifted the handle, pulling the door open to reveal a dark stairwell.
Logan and Cole raced up the steps. They heard shouting from below, but as they climbed, it grew dimmer. Maybe they haven’t discovered we’re missing. So far, so good.
They reached the top of the stairs and faced another door, which Logan suspected led to the control room—or whatever passed for one in this place. Once again, Logan tried the keys from the unarmed guard he’d subdued. The first two didn’t work, but the third one resulted in another audible click.
“Third time’s a charm,” Logan said, and pulled the handle. The door swung toward them, and they stepped quickly through . . .
. . . To find themselves in another empty corridor. Dark gray painted walls ran the length of the hallway. Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling. The corridor ended in a newer, smoother, stainless steel door.
“Bingo,” Cole said as he and Logan moved into the corridor.
When they reached the door, Logan inserted the only key on the ring that looked new enough to match the lock. A tiny beep sounded, and the door automatically popped open a few inches inward.
The sound of voices speaking in Arabic trickled through the narrow opening. Logan looked through the slit in the doorway, trying to get a feel for the inside layout.
The control room was formed by two large areas divided by a large glass door. Banks of servers lined the back wall of the room, while individual workstations were installed along the glass. Two guards sat at separate terminals in the area immediately inside the door, but from his vantage point, Logan couldn’t quite see into the other room.
Logan turned to Cole and said, “Two large spaces divided by a glass partition. I’ve got two guards approximately fifteen feet away on this side at workstations near the window. I can’t see much else. Let’s try to take them quietly. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Good. Guns up,” Logan said, and pushed the doorway fully open.
Logan entered the room first, his AK-47 trained on the back of the head of the man closest to him. He felt more than heard Cole enter behind him, and he crept quietly across the smooth-tiled floor. Please don’t turn around. Just a little more luck . . .
The second man—Cole’s target—suddenly turned in their direction, and Cole saw he was on the phone. The man’s eyes went wide the moment he spotted them, and Cole tilted his head and raised the weapon slightly, as if to say, Don’t make me do it. Unfortunately, the young guard didn’t get the message—he reached toward his console, dropping the handset. You idiot, Cole thought, and quickly pulled the AK’s trigger.
Boom! Boom!
The AK exploded in his hands—he’d set the fire selector to semiauto for precision—and two 7.62mm bullets struck the guard in the head, showering the inside of the window with blood, brain matter, and skull fragments.
Logan’s target panicked at the shots, and he reached for a pistol resting on the desk in front of him. Logan shot him once in the back of the head, and the dead guard’s face slammed forward onto his keyboard, blood trickling down the monitor in front of him and in between the keys.
“We’ve only got seconds. What’s next?” Cole asked quickly.
Logan saw that the second area was clear of guards, and he stepped over to the window to assess the situation.
Spotlights from the four guard shacks in the corners of the courtyard illuminated the battle ring, revealing preparations for the evening’s main event. It appeared relatively calm in the immediate wake of the two shots they’d just fired, although dozens of prisoners who’d been escorted outside now looked up toward the control room. Logan saw a half dozen prison guards, as well as the Chinese man he’d seen earlier, milling around the ring. The gigantic killer stood next to the canvas slaughterhouse, looking angry and impatient. Sorry, buddy. No time to play.
“We can’t leave through the yard. There’s too many—” was all Logan had a chance to say. A spotlight from the guard shack across the prison courtyard swiveled toward them and silhouetted them in its beam.
Simultaneously, the door to the second room burst open, and guards in black uniforms poured in, looking for the source of the gunfire.
As the Americans were spotted, shots rang out, and two guards unleashed a fusillade of bullets their way. The glass partition to the room shattered, computers exploded, and glass blew across the inside of the room.
Logan and Cole returned fire with tactical precision before crouching behind two desks in the middle of the room.
“Goddamnit!” Logan shouted above the din. “We’re trapped.”
“I noticed!” Cole screamed, as the other guards opened fire on their illuminated position. He leaned around the corner, spotted a guard in the open, and fired. The guard’s AK-47 went silent, which was as much as he could hope for, given the situation.
Logan knew there had to be a way out, but he couldn’t see it. All options led to the same result—death.
Suddenly, the room darkened once again, the spotlight gone. What the hell?
Logan glanced outside just as the other three spotlights went dark. Screams echoed from outside, and he instantly put the pieces together. A smile appeared on his face.
“What the hell is going on?” Cole asked.
Logan answered by leaning back—still covered by the desk—and shooting out all the lights he could see in their area, as well as the ones he could safely target in the next. He and Cole were shrouded in darkness once more.
“On three, change magazines, empty one in their direction, and then follow me,” Logan said as he reloaded and Cole emptied the remaining rounds in his AK-47. “Trust me,” Logan said. “The cavalry’s here.”
“Roger,” Cole said, and inserted a fresh magazine.
In a seamless motion, Logan raised himself high enough to see over the workstation at the window and unloaded an entire magazine at point-blank range into the still-intact glass.
Cole opened fire toward the guards, sending the disorganized men diving for cover.
“I’m almost out!” Cole shouted, turning just in time to see Logan dive through the shattered window of the third-story control room.
Oh Christ! He’s fucking crazy! Cole’s mind screamed. Then he realized he’d better follow unless he wanted to be torn apart by gunfire as soon as the guards regained their courage.
If I don’t die, I’m going to kill him, he thought, and scrambled to his feet, sprinting toward the window. He launched himself over the workstation and sailed through the opening into the now-dark courtyard as bullets struck the desks behind him.
CHAPTER 37
Tuti Island, Khartoum
Yin Liu walked through the camp. He’d been with Gang’s team since the young officer had been selected to lead the elite unit. As Gang’s second in command, his relationship with his commanding officer was complicated and personal.
A thirty-year veteran of the Ministry of State Security, he’d spent his career conducting operations in Europe and the Mediterranean. It was how he’d met Gang’s father and how he’d come to the attention of the MSS for this highly selective assignment. Lau Han had saved him from an ambush in a cobblestone walkway in Malta’s shopping district. The entire affair had been orchestrated by the CI
A and was intended to draw Liu out of the shadows. Han had killed one of the CIA operatives, allowing Liu to defend himself in a fair fight, unfortunately for the second American.
Malta had changed everything. Liu owed Lau Han his life, and he’d pledged his loyalty to him. They became close friends, as well as an excellent tandem covert team. When Han had asked Liu to be his son’s second in command, it had been a formality. Beijing had already organized it, and Liu had enthusiastically jumped at the chance to help pay back a debt and protect his friend’s son.
Now that the American device had been activated, they were relocating the camp off the island and moving to a cluster of isolated, ancient ruins an hour east of Khartoum. Gang had told the Sudanese they were going to an abandoned textile factory, but he’d decided to keep their true destination secret. The risks were too high at this juncture. Gang had departed for the prison an hour ago, ordering Liu to be ready to move by midnight when he returned.
He was ahead of schedule, awaiting Gang’s return. The trucks were lined up and ready to go. The American equipment that was central to their mission was safely packed away.
He listened to the background noises in the quiet blackness of the Sudanese night, the soft sounds of the rushing Nile a contrast to the violent struggle in which they were engaged.
Convincing the Sudanese and Chinese that the Americans had attacked the Chinese oil site, guaranteeing them the contract to the world’s largest undeveloped oil field, had been a success.
Liu was also the only other member of Gang’s team that knew about the operation unfolding on American soil. Now that they’d achieved their first tactical success, the plan was moving forward once again—Sudan today, the US tomorrow, depending on how Las Vegas ended. As that classy American singer Sinatra once sang, “The best is yet to come.”
But not for the superpowers destroying the world, Liu thought. Your best is over.
One generator still powered the floodlights they’d erected around the camp, also charging their personal smartphones and providing his men the opportunity to check email from their families in China on untraceable accounts.
Oath of Honor Page 22
