by Vince Flynn
Unfortunately, Rapp knew what that meant. It was too soon for Nash or Sickles to have been able to call off the dogs, so it was more likely that someone in a command position with half a brain had showed up and was now getting the men ready for an organized assault. Rapp holstered his gun and dragged the two oxygen tanks into the lobby. He stopped about six feet short of the front door, laid the tanks on their sides, and then drew his gun. Lest they think no one was guarding the front door, he slid along the wall until he had an angle to shoot from. He squeezed off two shots and then two more and ducked back into the lobby. He was pretty certain the first two shots had hit one man, but the second two had bounced harmlessly off a clear Plexiglas riot shield. Rapp went back to his position in the hallway with the foreboding feeling that this might be one situation he wasn’t going to be able to get out of.
Chapter 18
Gould popped the hatch and had to will himself onto the flat roof. Somewhere out there, he feared, a sniper was still lurking. He rolled onto his side, the M-4 cradled protectively in both hands, and then crawled his way to the parapet of the roof. There was a twofoot stone parapet that provided sufficient cover. He carefully brought his head above the lip and scanned the buildings across the street. With no shooters in sight, he got up on his right knee and brought the butt of the rifle up to his right shoulder. Gould swung the muzzle over the edge of the roof, sweeping it from left to right with both eyes open, the big square EOTech aperture bringing his targets clearly into view.
The spotter in civilian clothes was standing behind one of the police trucks with his cell phone held to his left ear.
“There you are, you little prick,” the assassin said with a smile creasing his lips. Gould placed the red dot right over the cell phone, let loose an even exhalation, and then casually squeezed the trigger. The rifle jumped a quarter inch, but Gould never lost sight of the target. The heavy bullet shattered the cell phone and then exploded through 13 0 Vince FLy nn the man’s head, spraying blood, bone, and brain matter in a mini mushroom cloud onto the men and street just past him.
Three police officers were left standing in shock, gaping at the man who had just been urging them into action, and then three seconds after that they were all lying on the street dead. Gould worked his targets methodically, keeping the rifle in single-shot mode. It took the police approximately ten seconds to realize there was a new threat on the roof, but it had cost them dearly. Seven officers had been dispatched. Gould was about to swing his rifle around so he could go to work on the cops at the other end of the street when the air around him exploded with the sharp snaps of bullets. He dropped flat behind the lip as bullets began to thump into the stone like a jackhammer. It took a second to sink in, but Gould realized that his position had been discovered and that the men at the other end of street had something more to bring to the fight than the relatively light M-4 rifle. Since everything they had was provided by the Americans it was likely that it was the heavier-caliber M249 Squad Automatic Weapon or SAW. The machine gun fired the heavier 5.56x45mm NATO round and was effective out to one thousand yards. Gould guessed that they were firing from no farther than one hundred yards.
The machine gun continued to rake the edge of the roof, raining down shards of stone on Gould. For the moment all Gould could do was take cover beneath the edge of the roof and try to move to a different position. On his own, this was pure suicide. Gould began to wonder why he was sticking around. He had done his job and warned Rapp. True, the act had not been entirely selfless, as it had gotten him out his own hot corner, but now he was in an even less desirable situation.
He glanced across the roof, wondering what lay on the other side. He couldn’t tell if there was a small gap between the two buildings or if they shared a wall. Worst case, he’d have to jump a gap. He could then scurry across that roof and find access to the street. The police would be so focused on this gunfight that he was sure to go unnoticed. Gould made up his mind. He’d done enough, and martyrdom really didn’t The LasT Man 131 suit him, so it was time to bolt before another hundred cops showed up and brought this building down around them.
It was time to save his own ass, so without further internal debate Gould rolled onto his stomach began to crawl toward the far side. Halfway across one of Rapp’s men popped out of the hatch and asked, “Where you going?”
Gould ignored the question and said, “They’re raking the parapet with machine-gun fire.”
The man nodded, looked over at the parapet and asked, “Which direction is it coming from?”
Gould pointed to their left.
“All right, you get back over there near the middle and when I give you the signal, stick your rifle over the parapet. Don’t bother firing any shots until I’ve taken care of the machine gun. Go.” Maslick watched the man crawl away and then scrambled over to the corner on all fours. Once in position, he checked his weapon and visualized what he was about to do. He then whistled and signaled for the man to make his move. Maslick watched as the black barrel went over the parapet. A split second later the position was hammered with incoming fire. Maslick shouldered his weapon and popped over the parapet. Below him, no more than fifty yards away, six green police pickups were blocking the intersection. Men were huddled behind each, but in the bed of one of the vehicles, a man was crouched down with an M249 in his hands and the bipod resting on the roof of the cab. Maslick brought the man into the center of his sights just as the machine gun ran out of ammunition. The police officer had turned to reach for another canvas ammunition drum, when Maslick shot him in the head.
The fact that Maslick had just killed someone who was more than likely on his side was irrelevant to the former Delta Force operator. The only thing on his mind, as he began shooting one man after another, was his friend Mick Reavers.
Chapter 19
The ebb in the relative number of shots fired at the front entrance was bringing on a bit of an adrenaline hangover for Rapp. This wasn’t the first time he’d experienced the physiological problem. It had happened many times before. It started with a dry throat and sour stomach. For most people it eventually led to a headache, sometimes one that was debilitating, but Rapp got only the dryness and the upset stomach. His hands used to get a little shaky and his vision would blur at the far edges, but he’d mastered those two crucial problems. Either through willpower or through repetition, his body was no longer as shocked by these near-death experiences.
Rapp’s left ear was ringing from all of the shots that had been fired. Whenever possible, he operated with a suppressor. He did so for multiple reasons that included stealth, increased accuracy and the fact that he didn’t want to be deaf by the time he was fifty. Because of the loud reports from all of the gunshots, he almost missed the beeping tone in his right ear that was coming out of his Bose Bluetooth earpiece.
Reaching into his pocket to look at the caller ID seemed like too much effort, so he tapped the button on top of the device and said, “Rapp.”
“It’s Mike. I just spoke to Scott. We haven’t been able to get anyone at the Afghan Police to cooperate, but I’m on my way with some boys from JSOC.”
“I hope by chopper.”
“Yeah… We’ve got two Black Hawks and two Little Birds.” “ETA?”
There was a long pause, and then, “They’re firing up the birds right now. We hope to be airborne in the next sixty seconds. Pilot told me we should be on station two minutes after that. You’re not far.”
Rapp pushed back from the wall and took a deep breath. He didn’t like the silence and suddenly felt the need to see what was going on out on the street. As he moved slowly across the lobby he asked, “Have you guys discussed your ROEs?” Rapp knew this was going to catch Nash off guard. ROEs, or rules of engagement, within the military, and especially Special Operations, were very specific. They outlined who could be engaged and how, and Rapp very much doubted the brass was going to let their shooters come in and open fire on the Afghan Police no matter how fucked up the situation
was.
“No, we haven’t.”
“Let me save you guys the headache of trying to sort this mess out. We have police at both ends of the street. My guess is when you guys show up they’re going to think you’re here to help them. Hopefully they’ll stop shooting. Put the Black Hawks over them and hit ’em with the rotor wash and then bring the Little Birds in to pick us up on the roof. I don’t think they’ll shoot at you, but I can’t make any promises.”
“I’ll pass it along. Anything else?”
“Yeah. If I don’t make it out of here, there’s something you need to know. Does the name Louie Gould ring a bell?”
There was a moment of silence followed by, “The man who killed your wife?”
“That’s him. Somebody hired him a few weeks ago to fulfill a con The LasT Man 135 tract in Kabul. He says he didn’t know it was me until this morning. He was set up in an office building across the street and was supposed to shoot me when I showed up to see the vet.”
“How the hell…”
“Exactly… do you want to tell me how the fuck somebody knew two weeks ago that I would be in Kabul talking to this vet when I didn’t even know I’d fucking be here?”
“I have no idea, but no more of this bullshit about not making it. We’ll be there in minutes, and after I pull your ass out of the fire again, we’ll figure out what in the hell is going on.”
“I’ll tell you what in the hell is going on. Somebody set my ass up. Rick was the first domino and they knew how we would react. We’re being played.” Rapp carefully moved along the wall until he was just a few feet from the blown-out entrance.
“Is Gould still with you?”
“Yeah, he’s on the roof.” The only police that Rapp could see were taking cover behind their vehicles. “Did Scott tell you we lost Reavers?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
Rapp flexed his knees and then stuck his head out so he could see down the length of the front of the building. He ducked back just as a flurry of shots rang out. What he saw scared him more than the shots. “Mike,” Rapp yelled as he hustled across the lobby, “they’re getting ready to rush the building with riot shields. You guys better haul ass or there’s going to be no one left to save.”
“We’re getting in the birds right now. Hold on for a few more minutes.”
Rapp didn’t bother to answer. He moved in behind his piece of Formica and switched his pistol to his right hand. He counted the seconds in his head, figured it would take the cops another eight seconds to shuffle down the sidewalk in their tight formation. He extended his arm, sighted the Glock in on one of the tanks, and then decided it would be better to pull the gun in close and cradle the grip with his left hand. The first shield came into view, the man behind it clasping the shield with his left arm and holding a pistol in his right hand. Three men followed, all with shields, two protecting their flanks and the fourth holding his shield above their heads. When they reached the front door, Rapp slid his head back behind the Formica, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The 9mm round punctured the first tank and the explosion was instantaneous.
Rapp attempted to pull the gun back behind his relative cover, but there wasn’t enough time. The energy from the shock wave hit him like a massive hammer. It slammed into the countertop and shot Rapp across the hall and into the far wall. Rapp bounced off the wall and slid to the floor with the countertop and a good portion of the wall falling on top of him. His hearing was completely gone. He tried to open his eyes but felt himself slipping away, falling into a deep hole and then everything went black.
Chapter 20
Coleman joined Maslick and Gould on the roof just as things were settling down. The sun was starting to slide out from the cloud-filled sky and the wind was picking up a bit. Coleman ran across the roof in a low crouch as sporadic bullets zipped overhead. He did a quick ammunition check with the other two and then handed each of them a thirty-round magazine, leaving himself two. Coleman then surveyed the situation at both ends of the block. It appeared Maslick and Gould had taken the fight out of the police.
Coleman had seen it many times before. Put a group of Special Operators in an all-out gunfight with a force superior in size and they would balance the scales quicker than you could imagine. The simple fact was that at these distances they hit what they were shooting at. It was demoralizing for the opposing force as they watched one friend after another get shot in the head. The ones who managed to stay alive got the message real quick that it was a good idea to keep their heads down. And when you decided to keep your head down you ceased to become an effective fighter for the simple reason that you couldn’t hit a target if you weren’t willing to expose yourself and aim your weapon properly.
Having been in combat many times, Coleman knew how to recognize the ebb and flow of a battle. The frantic adrenaline rush of the initial engagement was almost always followed by a lull as each side took stock of its losses and either retrenched or prepared for another assault. The dynamics of this battle dictated who would do what. They were in no position to launch an assault, so it would be the other side that would have to make the next move.
Coleman moved to the roof’s edge a few feet away and dropped to one knee. “Any movement on the roofs across the street?”
Gould glanced across the street. He’d been worried about the same thing. Crossways from them was a three-story building that was the high ground on the block. Gould pointed his rifle at the building and said, “If they put a few decent shooters up there they could make our lives miserable.”
“Yeah… keep your eye on it.”
Gould looked behind them. There were multiple elevated rooftop positions within five hundred yards. “If they get behind us we’re done for.”
Coleman checked his watch. “We’ll be out of here before they figure that out.”
Off in the distance he heard the dull thumping of rotor blades. Coleman looked to the east, toward the airport. At first he couldn’t find a sign of the helicopters, as they were flying so low, and then he saw the shimmer of movement as they skimmed the rooftops almost two miles out.
“Scott!”
Coleman turned his head and looked at Maslick, who was pointing over the edge of the building.
“We’ve got trouble.”
Coleman looked down and saw the men with the clear bulletproof shields forming up along the edge of the building. He looked to his right and saw the same thing. He grabbed Gould and said, “Get over there and help him.”
A bullet slammed into the top of the stone parapet, just a few inches from Gould’s face. He almost immediately realized from the trajectory that it had to have come from above. Lunging forward from his knees, he shoved Coleman to the ground as a barrage of bullets hit their position. Gould rolled off Coleman and said, “I’ll deal with the men across the street.” He handed Coleman one of the canisters from his vest. “It’s only a flash-bang but it might help.”
Coleman grabbed it from him. “I’ll try to draw their fire in a second.” On all fours he stayed near the edge and began crawling to the far corner. He looked back at Gould, counted down with his fingers, and rose onto one knee. He was surprised to see four gun barrels pointed in his general direction from an elevated position. He was expecting just one or two. Coleman’s right index finger began rapidly squeezing off rounds. His aim was far from exact, as he was trying to draw the attention of these men so Gould get a few good shots.
Gould came up a second later and quickly moved his aperture into position. He placed the red dot on the closest man’s head and fired. At the exact same instant he saw a muzzle flash from the man he was trying to kill. Before Gould had a chance to seek out a second target, he was knocked on his ass. He knew immediately it was his left shoulder. He looked over and saw the near-perfect circle of blood slowly growing. His shoulder was screaming with pain, but Gould knew the injury was not fatal. At least it wasn’t if he got medical care in the not-so-distant future. His best hope for that was if he
got off his ass and back in the fight. With a grunt and more effort than he should have needed he got back on his knees and took aim at the men across the street. Gould’s left hand was still functional, so his aim was as steady as ever, although he knew that might not last. Only two heads were visible. Gould lined up the first one, took the shot, and saw the man go down. He was moving the rifle into position for the second shot when there was a large explosion beneath him. The building shook for a second and then all was quiet.
“Dammit,” Coleman yelled. “Cover me.” He tore off across the roof for the hatch.
Gould shouldered his weapon and began firing on the rooftop position across the street. More barrels suddenly appeared and he had to seek cover beneath the stone parapet. When he looked back the blondhaired guy was gone. Gould lay on his back for a moment trying to survey the damage to his shoulder, and then he suddenly became aware of the growing noise of helicopter rotors slicing through the air.
Coleman found his way down the ladder as quickly as you’d expect from a guy who had spent a good portion of his life on ships. By the time he reached the staircase he had Reavers’s M-4 up and ready to engage. He flew down the stairs and into a cloud of floating debris in the first-floor hallway. He didn’t care how many men there were, he was going to rush them head-on. Moving down the hallway at a steady pace, he saw the pile of debris near where he had last seen Rapp. Coleman’s heart sank as he stepped on the pile and swung his weapon to the left to engage the men who would be coming through the front door.
He was shocked to find not a person standing. On the sidewalk just outside the front entrance there was a tangle of bodies. Coleman saw some movement and almost fired. One of the cops was trying to roll onto his side. Coleman’s conscience got the better of him and he took his finger off the trigger. Two sounds suddenly filled the relative silence. The first was a low moan, which seemed to be fading, and the second one was the roar of U.S. Special Operations helicopters, which was definitely growing in volume.
