Hunter

by Chris Allen

  Out in the driveway on the far side of the house, in a brazen display of adolescent testosterone, the sound of the Wolf's Mercedes skidding to a halt on the loose gravel was followed by a series of high-pitched revs, no doubt designed to announce his arrival and unnerve his hosts.

  "Let's use the noise," said Morgan rapidly as the revving happened. "Go!"

  Under the momentary cover of the V8's high-pitched squeal, Morgan and Sutherland burst into the guards' area from opposite directions.

  Without time to determine whether the door was unlocked or not, Sutherland put his foot to it and kicked it open. One of the guards, sitting with his back to the door, eyes glued to the TV, stumbled from his chair as he twisted to see what was happening behind him. Sutherland headed straight for him.

  At the same time, the guard to the left lunged for the large-caliber revolver in the holster on his chair. He was fast and got the gun out quickly, bringing it up to aim at Sutherland, but Morgan was right there. The guard hadn't seen him come in from the other door.

  There was no time for barking orders to drop the gun. At this range, if Morgan delayed a second, Sutherland would be dead. With thousands of hours of precision training and experience behind the move, Morgan's MP5 came up, and with a single cough from the suppressor, he put a 9mm round directly into the guy's temple. He fell to the floor, dead. Sutherland didn't see it. He didn't have to. He knew Morgan had his back.

  Meanwhile, in the scramble to reach for a gun, the guy now missing his favorite TV show had fallen from his chair. On all fours, he was about to scream the alarm when Sutherland's size ten boot caught him under the chest and lifted him off the ground. Winded, he fell into the fetal position, gasping for air that wouldn't make it to his lungs until his diaphragm regrouped. That was going to take some time. As he continued to struggle, Sutherland wrenched his arms behind his back, fixed plasti-cuffs to his wrists and ankles and, as the lungs began working once again, applied a liberal amount of duct tape to the guy's face.

  Turning to look for the third guard, Morgan heard a toilet flush in the narrow passage that linked the room where they were to the back corridors that led to the house. Christ! Why do I always end up with the blokes coming out of the fucking toilet?, he wondered, remembering Malta. At least this guy flushed. Morgan was outside the toilet door in two strides. The moment it opened he launched. The confined space made it difficult to maneuver but Morgan was fast. With the HK ready if he needed it, he retracted the top half of his body and, as soon as the door to the cubicle opened, he fired an explosive helmet-enhanced head butt straight down upon the bridge of the guard's nose. Blood instantly flowed and the guy threw both hands up to protect his face from a second attack, stumbling backward onto the toilet in the meantime. Morgan flipped the HK around on its sling and set to work with the plasti-cuffs and duct tape.

  Two restrained and silent. One dead. It all took less than thirty seconds.

  "You OK?" said Morgan.

  "Yeah, bud," Sutherland replied.

  "Pity about this guy, though," Morgan said, gesturing to the body at his feet. "No choice."

  In silence, Sutherland and Morgan finished tying the two survivors to separate chairs, facing them away from each other, then Sutherland walked over and gave the former paratrooper a grave but very grateful pat on the back.

  "Hey, bud, you saved my life," he said. "Don't ruin the moment by regretting it."

  "Piss off, Dave."

  Chapter 95

  Drago studied the Wolf carefully, imagining that his son was dragging the dog in on the end of a leash after having kicked the shit out of him, rather than ushering him in on his own two feet looking so smug.

  But there was something different about the Wolf this time.

  Drago noted his gaze, unflinching and uncompromising from the moment he'd entered the sanctum of Drago's private office. The dog moved in with the confidence and cunning of a predator. There was no respect shown. No fear of any kind. Despite himself, Drago felt the sudden shift in their dynamic and the realization unsettled him. But was this change sudden? Had he not been fearful of the Wolf's growing influence over the Zmajevi, his Zmajevi, for some time? Drago knew most men better than they knew themselves, and this one, he knew, had come here tonight to kill. Or be killed.

  Moving in silence up the central stairs of the villa, Morgan and Sutherland headed toward the lights on the top floor.

  They'd watched the Wolf's arrival from the shadows below the entrance foyer and Morgan recognized Drago's son from his time stuck in the stairwell in Albania watching the heir-apparent interrogating Lorenc Gjoka. Unlike that night, this time Morgan had backup.

  When the Wolf and junior Obrenovic moved upstairs with barely a word exchanged, the Intrepid agents followed behind, albeit one floor below. Now, as they came closer to the top floor, they could hear the deep mumble of voices from a room at the top of the stairs.

  *

  "You've been a busy boy, Wolf," Drago said from behind his Alexander Roux desk. "You're lucky to have made it back here at all, from what I hear. Lucky you're not rotting in an American cell getting fucked by some big black gangster."

  Both Drago and son broke into unrestrained laughter at the Wolf's expense. But the Wolf didn't bite. He remained silent, positioned so that he could access them both when the moment arrived; the squirming sycophantic son to his left and the fat fuck father to his right. Ignoring Drago's laughter, he turned his attention to the son.

  "You should be very careful, little Obrenovic, and learn to show some respect," the Wolf began. "One day, Daddy won't be around to wipe your ass."

  The laughter stopped immediately and the rage that rippled beneath the surface of junior Obrenovic's skin was enough to bring a broad smile to the face of the Wolf; he knew the little shit wouldn't dare take him on — not even in front of his father. At the desk, Drago had also fallen silent, watching carefully, considering his options. Junior's eyes flashed between his father and the Wolf, looking for a green light. A hand ran through his thick black hair and scratched at his goatee, anything to keep his hands from his gun.

  "You see," the Wolf continued calmly, noting the son's inaction, "you could never be .vsefa of the Zma-jevi. You're paralyzed by indecision. You are someone who needs to be told what to do. Without your papa, you are nothing."

  "You are the one who should be careful, Petrovic," said Drago. "You forget, once again, where you are standing, who you are talking to. That is my son. You speak to him as you would to me."

  "That's exactly what I'm here to discuss, Obren-ovic," he replied, deliberately dropping the traditional deference of sefa. He noted immediately how much it rattled the old fool. "But, I'm afraid you will not be very happy with the outcome."

  The Wolf instantly produced two automatics, one in each hand and each pointing directly at an Obren-ovic - senior and junior. Drago Obrenovic rose from his desk with both hands on the edge of his desk to steady him, the anger and effort purging from him like steam from a locomotive. Junior Obrenovic stood dumbfounded, shaking. The black eye of the Wolf's gun was pointing straight at his face. In any other circumstances he would have shot the man dead, but with less than 10 feet between them, he knew he couldn't outgun him.

  "I'm taking over as sefa, Obrenovic," the Wolf began, directing his attention at Drago. "Effective immediately. That means you and this piece of shit have to go."

  The threat was too much for the son. He was watching as his father stood silent, frozen in shock - or supplication. The junior Obrenovic saw his only chance of becoming sefa barreling away from him at breakneck speed. This wasn't right. He was so close. He knew his father was in decline and he had positioned himself as the rightful successor. He was poised, but now this.

  Something snapped in him and he reached toward the waistband of his trousers.

  *

  The Intrepid agents were at that moment moving silently but swiftly toward the partially opened door leading into Drago's private office, his war room, at the top of
the stairs. With weapons braced in their shoulders, creeping stealthily forward, one foot after the other, Morgan and Sutherland faced the door.

  "OK, this is it," Morgan whispered. "I'll go left, you go right. Whatever we do, we have to try to take Drago and the Wolf alive."

  "Ready, bud."

  *

  On the other side of the door, the standoff between the Wolf and Drago and son had reached detonation point. Each one of them knew before the meeting had even commenced that there would be bloodshed. Just how long it would take to move from greeting to killing was unknown, although it was clear now that the fuse had been lit.

  "Wolf!" Drago bellowed furiously. "You dare to come in here and threaten me! I will shoot you down, cut your body to ribbons and serve you to my guests for fucking dinner, you piece of—"

  Junior Obrenovic could no longer contain himself. A gun appeared in his hand, it was up and pointing at the Wolf, his finger was on the trigger.

  There was an eruption of gunfire.

  Chapter 96

  Alex Morgan kicked the door in. Dave Sutherland followed. They burst into the room with ferocious, determined intensity, not knowing what to expect on the other side.

  MP5s high, standing shoulder to shoulder, Morgan covered left and Sutherland right. In a moment, Morgan took in the scene that confronted them.

  First there was the prize, Dragoslav Obrenovic. He was directly in front of Morgan, captured in the sights of Morgan's gun, standing at a huge ornamented desk, dumbstruck by the unexpected appearance of the Intrepid agents. Behind Drago was his portrait, a monstrosity that took up most of the wall space behind the desk. The vile display of arrogance by the mass murderer, war criminal and fugitive was grotesque in the extreme. Shadowed beneath his former glory, the old man was dead still, eyes wide open, long hair wild, hands clasped to the edge of the desk.

  On the right-hand edge of Morgan's vision was Vukasin Petrovic, the Wolf. Sutherland had him covered but still he remained defiant with a gun in each hand, one pointing straight at Drago, the other at the floor.

  Wrapped around them all were dozens of digital screens interspersed with the most bizarre collection of oil paintings depicting sexually explicit nudes. There were no windows and the place stank. At the epicentre, in a crumpled mess at the Intrepid agents' feet, was the body of junior Obrenovic, bleeding from a catastrophic head wound. There was blood everywhere. The body was twitching. That would stop soon.

  The Wolf's expression mirrored Drago's: shock and incredulity. His eyes flickered as he considered his options. He went for it. The left-hand gun moved upward from the floor in an arc toward Sutherland. At the same time, he began firing blindly in the general direction of Drago.

  The priority of Intrepid was to bring these two in to face the ICTY to answer for their crimes against humanity. That objective was paramount in the minds of both agents. Dave Sutherland responded faultlessly. The ex-Navy SEAL countered the Wolf's action in less than a heartbeat. He threw himself in a roll to the right behind a heavy chair. The MP5 was thrust to his side on the sling and from a holster on his left thigh he drew an X26 ECD Taser. The weapon appeared above the chair, clasped tight in both hands and before the Wolf had the chance to react to the moving target, Sutherland fired.

  With a sudden crack, the Taser shot two bullet-shaped electrodes, which trailed wires that connected the electrodes to the weapon. Both hit the Wolf perfectly, one in the torso and the other in the chest. He dropped to his knees, contorting in uncontrollable spasms, fists clenched, elbows bent, face locked in a jaw-breaking grimace, as 50 000 volts seized his body.

  In the midst of the spasms, Sutherland went for him, holding the trigger down to maintain the charge, ensuring the bastard enjoyed the full experience.

  When he reached him, Sutherland released the trigger, punching the Wolf hard in the face, dropping him to the floor. Compliant, the Wolf received the plasti-cuffs treatment, followed by duct tape.

  A simultaneous confrontation was happening across the room.

  As the Wolf's rounds shattered the lamps and ornaments that adorned Drago's desk, Morgan leapt across the room and hurled himself through the gunfire to take Drago down. The Wolf's rounds ricocheted but not one of them found their target.

  As Sutherland brought the Wolf under control, Morgan was sliding across the desktop only to see Drago suddenly descend from view.

  Crashing through the piles of debris that littered the mile-wide desk, Alex Morgan arrived on the other side to discover an open trapdoor and a set of narrow steps that disappeared into a void. He flipped his NVG down on his helmet and threw himself down the stairs.

  Chapter 97

  A dozen wooden steps confronted Morgan as he rushed down into the darkness.

  Through the NVG the space was alive but it didn't discount the threat. Drago may have been old but he was still dangerous. As Morgan's foot was about to hit the last step, a burst of rounds from a machine-pistol came from the left and ripped through the air directly in front of his face, crashing into the wood panels at the base of the stairs and sending splintered shards in every direction. Morgan spun toward the shooting and dropped. He brought the SIG around and fired two rounds high into the ceiling to get Drago's head down. Morgan didn't want to kill him - Davenport was expecting he'd be brought in alive.

  Morgan chanced a look around the bottom of the stairs. It was clear. He rushed into a narrow dogleg on the stairwell where just three steps remained. A door was open at the bottom step. Beyond the door was the outside world.

  Morgan weighed up his options. He couldn't afford for this to become protracted. There were two aircraft on station overhead ready to pick them up and if it took too long, they could lose the aircraft to a greater priority.

  He launched out of the doorway.

  The NVG took him to the left behind an old water pump. He scanned. Nothing. He moved fast, across to the right to a large tank that once must have serviced the pump and scanned again. Still nothing. Fuck it! Slowly, he moved away, putting himself in Drago's shoes. What did he want to do? He wanted to escape.

  Morgan began to work his way around to the front of the house, toward the driveway. He knew for sure the Wolf's Mercedes was there. Possibly other cars, too.

  As he moved across the wide expanse to the front of the house, working his way through overgrown bushes and clusters of rock, he heard heavy breathing coming from just around the corner. Slowly, quietly, he reholstered the SIG. He took another pace forward and his boot kicked a cluster of rocks on the uneven surface. Another hail of bullets from the machine-pistol crashed into the rocks a few feet ahead of him. Morgan stood his ground.

  "Stay where you are!" Drago yelled, short of breath, coughing a phlegmy, heavy-smoker's cough before spitting a gobful of the muck out. "I'll fucking kill you if you take another step."

  "It's all over, Drago," Morgan replied calmly from the side of the building. "Your son is dead, Petrovic has been captured and you're next." Morgan had eased himself hard up against the wall and, through the NVG turned his view toward the voice. Got ya.

  "Fuck you!" Drago bellowed, still coughing. His body heaved from the effort of unexpected physical exertion. "I'll kill myself before I'll be taken in. Have you thought of that?"

  "Yes," Morgan replied and with that, he stepped out into the open, aimed his X26 ECD Taser and fired. Both electrodes scored direct hits.

  Dragoslav Obrenovic fell to the ground in a contorted, twitching heap.

  Chapter 98

  "You enjoyed that," observed Sutherland.

  "Yes, I did," Morgan replied with a smile. "A little too much, I think."

  They laughed.

  "Righto, Dave," said Morgan. Drago and the Wolf were both sitting nearby gagged, cuffed and strapped to separate fence posts on the edge of the DZ. "Leave these two bastards with me and call in the gear. The sooner those Hercs can get us the fuck out of here the better."

  "Already done, bud. While you were chasing Grandpa over there, I was on the rad
io. The gear will be here any second now."

  They looked skyward.

  "And here we go! You may want to stand back a bit."

  On cue, Morgan spotted two large bundles traveling toward them under parachutes. With the accuracy only the best technology can provide, the bundles thudded to the ground right in the middle of the DZ.

  The Joint Precision Airdrop System - JPADS - was designed for air-dropping specialist equipment or general resupply gear to an exact point on a map via a GPS-based computer guidance system that steered the parachute straight to the target.

  "You think these two are up to it?" Sutherland asked, deliberately trying to rattle their prisoners.

  "They don't have any choice, mate,' Morgan replied.

  Minutes later, Morgan and Sutherland retrieved the gear from the DZ and began getting their prisoners ready. Sutherland had control of the Wolf and Morgan prepped Drago. Meanwhile, two NATO MC-130E Hercules Combat Talon I aircraft were on station high above, flying in a holding pattern, ready to commence the extraction.

  "OK, Drago," said Morgan, fighting hard to control his loathing of the man. The darkness helped. "If you want to be able to breathe on this little trip of ours then you're going to need this tape off your mouth. But if you make one sound I'll tape you mouth shut tighter than it is now and it won't come off until you're in the aircraft. Nod if you understand."

  Drago nodded submissiveley, watching with fear and helplessness as, right beside him, Morgan began to the lay out two large, heavily insulated, illuminous orange jumpsuits. Sutherland was doing the same next to the Wolf.

  Morgan unwound the duct tape and Drago instantly inhaled huge lungfuls of air.