"His name is Reese, he may have been here last night or earlier this morning," Collins stated.
Elvis hunched his shoulders, then popped a toothpick into his sneering mouth.
"Man, you know how many people come in here a day?" he asked, eyeing the other three men on either side of Collins.
The major looked around the empty club and smiled as the Moody Blues' haunting melody was still playing to an empty house. "It must be a bitch with all these people here to notice one man."
The Elvis wannabe just smiled and looked at the floor, not saying anything.
"You mind if we have a look around?" Everett asked.
"Not without a warrant, my friend," Elvis said, looking up, the smile now gone.
"Ah, we paid the cover," Everett said, smiling, "can't we take an itsy-bitsy look around, pretty please?" He held his right index finger and thumb about an inch apart.
"Fuck off, cop."
The four soldiers exchanged amused looks. The man saw this and became a little unsettled. Collins brushed by him before Elvis knew what was happening and walked farther into the club.
"Hey, fuckhead," the man started to protest, then felt a hand slip quickly under his jacket and deftly remove the gun from the hidden holster. "Hey! I have a permit for that!"
Everett effortlessly punched the release button and ejected the ammunition clip, then pulled the slide back and allowed the chambered round to fall to the floor.
"I'm sure you do, I just don't feel comfortable with Elvis and firearms, call it silly," Carl said.
Collins was walking toward the stage, looking around at the cheap decor of the club. He fingered some dust off the platform of the stage, then suddenly the darkened room filled with the bright flashes and sharp reports of gunfire. Collins threw himself to the floor, crawling around the base of the stage. He pulled his sidearm and was pointing it to where he thought the shots had come from. The noise was deafening in the empty lounge. Two more loud explosions rang out, and this time he saw the muzzle flash. It came from the same curtain the woman had disappeared into earlier. Collins rolled but knew the shots hadn't been aimed at him.
"Anyone hit?" he shouted to his men, with his gun pointed and his eyes still on the curtain.
"We're alright, but Elvis took one in the head," Everett called out.
"Shit! The curtain, there's gotta be a door. That's where the shots came from."
"You lead, we'll cover," Everett shouted, coming to a knee with his own weapon already drawn and aimed at the shoddy curtain.
Mendenhall was already duckwalking toward the major, using the booths for cover. Everett and O'Connell stood as one and ran toward the side of the curtain with guns held up in the air. Everett nodded and Collins ran for the curtain, coming to his knees. At that moment three quick shots rang out and echoed from what seemed like considerable distance. The two men looked at each other and Collins pointed his finger at the door, then pointed down.
Everett mouthed the word basement to O'Connell.
The music on the jukebox went suddenly silent. They looked over at the black army sergeant; he was just dropping the cord he had yanked from the wall. He stood there with his gun pointed toward the curtain in an area in the center between the two officers.
Other distant shots sounded, echoing until they faded away, erupted again and then stopped.
Farbeaux was furious. The fool he had sent up the stairs from the basement to check on their visitors had obviously panicked and opened fire. He didn't like admitting it, but he had become used to the professional way the company's Black Teams operated, not like these goons the club had on staff. Now he calmly waited for the man to reappear so he could shoot the incompetent fool. He quickly turned to the other two who were standing by the card table and put two rounds into them, just as the closest one turned and fired. The round missed the Frenchman by two feet, but caught the unfortunate Reese in the head.
"My apologies, Mr. Reese, I'm afraid circumstances have prevented me from keeping my promise," he said as he quickly turned for the door that led to the alley behind the club.
As the door opened, he saw several things at once. First was an older man who was coming toward him while reaching for something behind him, probably a weapon. The second was, Farbeaux assumed, the old man's younger companion, who was turned and looking at three men in black who were approaching from the lot. They had already drawn their weapons and opened up, making the younger man hit the asphalt and roll under a car. Then they turned their weapons toward the old man himself. That man had turned at the sound of gunfire behind him, then suddenly flailed his arms and fell as Farbeaux opened fire with his silenced weapon, making the old man's assailants all dive for cover. Farbeaux made his way for the fallen man and saw he had been hit in the upper chest. He grimaced and fired twice more toward the three men in black as he used his own cover fire to sprint from the rear lot.
Gianelli had regained his composure and started firing toward the men who had taken cover behind the parked cars. They returned fire and broke for the alley toward the running man Gianelli had seen exit the club, then the marine noticed that Gunny was down.
Let's go," Collins said.
He burst through the curtain first, followed by the taller Everett. They were at the top of a stairwell that descended into what had to be a basement. The paint on the walls was peeling and the stairwell looked as if it was seldom used. Collins, Everett, and O'Connell started down. Mendenhall placed himself at the top of the stairs with his nine-millimeter pointed outward into the club.
One minute later, a very long one minute of creaking wooden stairs, Collins stepped onto a concrete floor. The only door was five feet in front of him. He knew he was a sitting duck to anyone who wanted to plug a couple of rounds into the door from the other side, but he felt the urgency of what was happening. He glanced back at Everett. They both started forward and placed themselves on either side of the door. The major motioned with his finger, pointing upward for Everett to go high, then used the same finger pointing down, indicating he would go low. It was a classic police maneuver he had learned in terrorist training at Fort Bragg. The lieutenant would kick the door in, then Collins would dive and quickly roll, bringing his gun to bear on anything in front of him. Then Everett would come in high, and in theory the odds of both of them getting hit were low, and that was why policemen and military people used it all over the world.
What Collins saw after finishing his roll was bizarre to say the least. The topless girl from upstairs was now dead. She was propped up against a man that lay against a far wall with a perfect round hole between her eyes. As she had tried to follow Farbeaux outside, a stray round had ended her flight. A small trickle of blood had run down between her sagging breasts.
"Jesus, Major, what the fuck happened here?" Everett whispered.
Collins said nothing; he just looked at the body of Robert Reese, still seated in the swivel chair in which he had died. One of his white shirtsleeves was rolled up, indicating he had probably been drugged.
"Jesus," said Mendenhall as he stepped around Everett and into the room.
Collins made a shushing gesture with his finger to his lips and looked around at the two men lying by the card table. He could see they had been dispatched at close range. Then Jack saw the notebook lying on the blood-covered floor and quickly realized that it was filled with notes about the Event yesterday, penned in a neat hand that hadn't been hurried to say the least. Jack frowned when he saw notations on Operation Purple Sage. Then question marks after it.
Suddenly, the doorway was filled with a form and Jack raised his pistol.
"Major!" a familiar voice called out, hollowly echoing off the basement walls.
"O'Connell?" Everett called, the handgun now pointing toward the doorway.
"Yes, sir," the marine answered. The others watched as O'Connell, holding up a severely wounded Gianelli, stumbled in through the doorway. Everett and Mendenhall lowered their guns and helped with Gianelli, and Collins
covered their movement.
"What the hell...?" Collins hissed.
"Sir, he told me Gunny's hit bad," O'Connell said as his teeth clenched in the effort to hold the other man upright. "I found him when I went back out the front toward the gunfire."
Collins moved his head, indicating Everett and Mendenhall should get outside and check out what was going on.
"Report, Gianelli. What are we up against?" Collins asked, bending down to come eye to eye with the injured man.
"One... man ran... from the building," Gianelli said, getting his breath, "Then others ambushed him and... us. Some... guys bushwhacked... us from behind. They hit Gunny, but they were gunning for the guy who ran... out of the club."
Collins looked around and saw the video monitors. One of them had a view of the back, and as he was staring at the black-and-white image, he saw Everett break into the sunlight and head off camera, followed quickly by the sergeant.
"Come on, son, let's get the hell out of here," Collins said, helping to lift the young marine.
He supported most of the wounded man's weight as the three made their way outside. When they exited the back door, Mendenhall was on his knees, bending over Gunny, pushing down steadily on his chest. He was trying to stop the life's blood from draining from the old marine. The gunnery sergeant's gun was still wedged between his belt and his tucked-in shirt. Everett knelt beside him.
"Hang in there, Gunny, we'll get you some help."
Gunny took a deep breath as sirens started to sound a distance away.
"Get in there and get Reese, we're not leaving anyone behind," Collins ordered O'Connell.
Mendenhall looked from Collins to the gasping gunnery sergeant. Blood was now bubbling at the corners of the old man's lips. Mendenhall was stunned and quickly swiped a tear of frustration away.
"Grab that videotape out of the recorder on the desk," Collins shouted at the retreating O'Connell. The private didn't turn but just raised his right hand in acknowledgment as he ran for the rear door.
Everett stood. "He wants you, Major," he said, still looking at the gunnery sergeant. Then he reached for the wounded man.
Collins placed Gianelli gently into the arms of Everett. "Get him to the car, Commander."
"Yes, sir," Everett replied.
Collins bent over the still form of Gunnery Sergeant Lyle Campos.
"Sorry, Major," the old man whispered. "Caught me with my drawers down."
"It happens to the best of us, Gunny."
Mendenhall turned away.
The marine shook his head. "No excuse... too damn old to play soldier.
"Major," Gunny said, barely whispering as his eyes started wandering off over the major's right shoulder into the blue sky, "the men that killed me, I think they were shooting at the... the French..."
Collins leaned closer. "Frenchman?"
"Fa... Farbeaux... fit... his description." Campos coughed, blood spilling onto the front of his shirt. His eyes focused for a moment. "Sorry for letting him get away. He fired on the fucks... that... killed me," Campos whispered, then died, his eyes still looking at the cloudless sky.
Jack closed Gunny's eyes. Flashbacks of operations gone bad snapped to the forefront of Jack's memory. After he had just told the senator he would never be a part of hurried planning again, here he was, holding another dead soldier in his arms. He shook his head to clear it.
He heard O'Connell exit the club and Sergeant Mendenhall go to help him with Reese. Collins now stood and looked at the young private who had carried the dead computer tech. Reese's blood was soaking into the marine's yellow Hawaiian shirt and onto the black videocassette he held. Mendenhall had the body in the backseat and Everett was already getting the car started.
"We better boogie, sir, it sounds like the entire Vegas police force is charging this place."
Collins said nothing as he reached down and pulled the gunnery sergeant up and carried him like a child in his arms to the car.
Now Jack Collins knew why the Event Group had needed someone like him. The people whom the Group was butting heads with were not mere mercenaries; these people were trained and had assets. Henri Farbeaux might not be working for the French government, but one thing was for sure: to have a setup like this in one of the most secure cities in the world, he wasn't working alone, and whoever that employer was, it wanted that saucer as much as the Event Group.
The platform was crowded with personnel as word had spread that a field team was coming in with casualties. As the sleek monorail transport pulled next to the loading area, Collins still held the lifeless body of Gunnery Sergeant Campos.
Everett stood first and handled Private Gianelli with gentle and agile movement. Waiting EMTs started working on the boy as soon as he was laid on the stretcher. Private O'Connell walked alongside talking softly to his friend as they moved him to the elevator.
Others on the platform moved aside as Collins lifted the body of the old marine out into waiting arms. There was a surreal silence at that moment as the major looked into faces of men and women he didn't know. He bent over and with the help of Everett lifted up the lifeless body of Reese. They handed him over to the EMTs, then stood and stepped out of the transport. All the while Collins felt the wetness of the blood of both Reese and Campos soaking through his nylon jacket. He smelled the coppery odor he had smelled a hundred times before this terrible day, in fields and towns around the globe, but never here in the streets of his country.
He looked at Everett, who was now speaking in low tones to a woman whom he recognized as Signalman Willing. Next to her was Sarah McIntire, whose eyes followed the body of the gunnery sergeant as it too was laid on a gurney next to the one in which they had laid Robert Reese. Then both bodies were covered with red sheets and wheeled away.
Sarah looked back at Collins, hesitated a moment, and then, gathering courage, walked toward him. She was dressed in the standard blue jumpsuit, and her hair was under a red baseball cap all the geology team wore. She had books under one arm.
"Are you all right, Major?" she asked, seeing all the blood that covered him.
Collins looked at Sarah, then beyond her for a moment, then met her eyes. "I've been better, Specialist."
She looked back at Lisa, who had finished talking with Everett and was looking at her curiously. Even Carl raised an eyebrow in their direction.
"You weren't hit or anything? I mean, you are absolutely covered in blood."
Collins continued to look at her and then down at his jacket and pants. "No, it's not mine. Why is everyone here?"
Sarah looked around and then back into the army officer's troubled face. "Word spread pretty quickly, and before you think it, we're not morbid, it's just that we all knew Gunny and liked him very much. He was a fixture here for a long time. This is a pretty small and very tight organization. Everyone knows everyone."
Collins looked at her a moment, sadness etching his hard features, then he turned and left.
Sarah watched him leave as she brought her books to her chest and breathed deeply. Everett and Lisa joined her.
"How's the major doing?" Lisa asked.
Sarah just shook her head and then looked at Carl. "Does he have any idea he's just a man, Commander, and not immune to feeling for his men?"
Everett watched the elevator doors slide closed.
"No, Sarah, he knows he's a man, but he's also a soldier that's seen too much shit and wants people under his command to go home at night."
Sarah turned and looked into the blood-smeared transport for a long time before she turned away and followed Carl and Lisa, waiting for the next elevator to take them down into the complex.
Jack had cleaned up and changed into a fresh jumpsuit. He had tossed the civilian clothes he had been wearing into the garbage can next to his desk and stuffed an entire newspaper over them. He wanted rid of the clothing that was still damp with the blood of Gunny Campos. He looked at himself in the mirror and rubbed a hand through his short hair. He was numb inside.
He felt the inevitable guilt he always felt at not being the one who didn't return alive. A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes," he said a little louder than he wanted to.
"Major, it's Niles, you have a minute?"
Jack again ran a hand through his dark hair and walked the few paces to the door as if it were ten city blocks away and opened it.
"What is it, Doctor?"
"Major, you need to come with me; the senator wants you to hear this yourself."
Jack saw that Niles was in a far worse state than he had been this morning.
"You find the crash site?" he asked.
Niles looked around behind him; after seeing no one in the dormitory hallway, he looked back at Jack. "No, not yet, but now I know the reasons behind why it's so important we find it, and that's what the senator wants to explain. He wants me to sit in, even though I have already read the file. It may explain to you the reason why lives were lost over this. Hell, maybe you should have known from the beginning, but as you'll see, Jack, this is a first and there are no rules written for this kind of thing."
"What file?"
"The file containing reports on what really happened that night in Roswell. Major, please, hurry." Compton turned and left. Ten paces from Jack's door, he turned and looked at Collins again. "Hurry, Major."
Five minutes later, Collins was in the director's spacious office with Niles, Alice, and the senator.
"Thank you for coming. I'll make sure to tell you this as fast as I can," the senator said. "Before you go after the Frenchman and his employers using Europa, Jack, I think it's time you know what we may be up against. I didn't tell the Group the whole story of what happened that night in '47, but you need to know now, because it's looking more and more like the worst-case scenario I have always feared is happening. And the extreme violence that occurred against your team this morning tells me the situation has turned for the worse."
Jack looked from the old man to Niles, then took a chair as the senator started speaking.
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Event (event group thrillers) Page 18
