The Hunted e-2

by Tom Clancy

  A round struck the driver and blood splattered over Brent’s visor as he hollered for everyone to bail out.

  The SUV had slowed to about twenty miles per hour when he hit the concrete, dropped, rolled, and came up with his rifle.

  Lakota was beside him, as was Juma, who took a hard fall but assured them he was okay. The militiaman with the Javelin launcher jogged off, found a position to his liking, then lifted his weapon to the sky. He shouted something drowned out by the din of motors, and then the entire highway turned pure white as the missile streaked away.

  Brent craned his head to follow the Javelin’s trajectory. The bird homed in on the chopper, but this time the Cheetah’s pilot launched electronic countermeasures — white-hot chaff that bloomed like a cloud of metallic confetti. The missile punched into the chaff and streaked on by, losing its lock on the chopper and then flying skyward for a second or two more before heaving into a thundering explosion.

  “Come on, let’s go!” Brent cried, waving them down the road as the chopper banked at a steep angle, then turned its guns northward and opened fire a few blocks down from the tower.

  More flashes came from behind the skyscrapers, and the thought of Juma’s men being mowed down by the Euros made Brent’s skin crawl.

  He and the others were only a quarter kilometer from the ample cover of the high-rises, and they ran hard and fast but dropped Juma quickly. The fat man could not keep up, and Lakota went back to urge him on while Brent and the Javelin guy hit the wall of the nearest skyscraper, the Goldcrest Executive Tower, which stood just beside the Almas.

  Shifting furtively and almost not wanting to do so, Brent reached the corner of the building and stole a glance.

  The BTR was sitting there like a pit bull on all fours, big guns lowered and pointed directly at him. Two dismounts hunkered down on either side of the vehicle, while the driver sat forward, his hatch open.

  Yes, the long way around was through the Silver Tower tunnel, but at least they wouldn’t have to face Haussler’s buddies.

  Brent checked the WAN uplink and dreamed of having Colonel Grey call in an air strike, something, anything, to ward off these wolves.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Remus,” called Voeckler. “Euros just got orders to provide air cover and escort to any vehicles leaving the tower area, including the Russian BTRs. You believe that?”

  “She’s got the Euros and Russians working for her. And no, I don’t believe it,” Brent answered.

  Voeckler’s camera switched on, and Brent saw that the man had taken up a position behind some kind of maintenance section with large machinery.

  “Where are you?” Brent asked.

  “I’m moving closer to the vault. We’re thinking if I can cut the main power, we can lock her inside.”

  “Providing they’re already in.”

  “It’s worth a shot, sir.”

  “Do it.”

  Juma and Lakota came up behind them. Juma paused a moment to take both a radio call and a cell phone call from his men. When he was finished he looked up gravely. “I’ve already lost nearly half my army. I’m sorry, Brent. But I must call for a retreat — unless you can get us some help.”

  Brent took a long breath and closed his eyes.

  And there, of course, was Villanueva, with his Corvette burning behind them.

  The punk shook his head. “You know, you didn’t have to do any of this. No one cares. You didn’t make anything right by joining the Army. You thought you could get rid of me. But I keep coming back. You wanna race?”

  “NO!”

  “Now you feel bad that you got Juma into a fight you can’t win.”

  “I did.”

  “What do you want, Brent?”

  “I want her.”

  “No, I mean what do you want in your life?”

  “To get rid of you. .”

  Villanueva smirked. “Joining the Army didn’t fix that. And you think getting her will solve all your problems?”

  “I never said that.”

  “No, but you’ve been thinking it. Deep down. You’ve been telling yourself that if you get her, then maybe you’re done. You’ll just retire. Maybe teach. But you’ve done enough. Paid your bill. And I’ll go away.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And what if that doesn’t happen? Then what?”

  “I don’t know. .”

  * * *

  Chopra lifted his head enough to see the computer screens in front of Hussein. The maps were complex, commissioned and produced by geologists working for the family, while others showed the locations of the hidden oil reserves. Two were aboveground, while a third was submerged within the Strait itself and carefully disguised.

  The boy was giving her everything. Had Chopra placed too much faith in the goodness of the world? Probably. But did he have any other choice? Some would argue that he did. Admittedly, he’d listened to his heart. He knew no other way.

  “Hussein,” he gasped. “What’s that smell?”

  “Shut up, old man!” cried the Snow Maiden, standing over the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll go to sleep soon.”

  “Upload’s complete,” Hussein said, handing something to the Snow Maiden.

  “Let’s go,” she snapped. “We wait up top until they finish loading.”

  “No, I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’m staying with him.”

  The Snow Maiden drew back her shoulders, and for a moment, Chopra thought she would shoot the poor boy.

  “I told you to come with me.”

  “No!”

  She raised her pistol, thought it over, muttered something under her breath, then took off, running.

  “Hussein, come here,” said Chopra.

  The boy limped over and took Chopra’s hand. “I’m sorry for what I did.” His voice was muffled by his helmet, so Chopra had to prick up his ears.

  “You’re hurt?”

  “Only a bruise. She shot my armor.”

  “Listen to me. I want to tell you about the dreams your father had for this country, for our country. We don’t have much time, and I want to share them with you.”

  Hussein began to weep. “I should have listened to you.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “She has all the gold. The oil.”

  “But she hasn’t escaped yet. I know they’re coming for her. So it’s not too late.”

  “Okay.”

  Chopra took a deep breath that hurt. “Your father drove me out to the desert one afternoon. We walked one hour away from the car, and then he lifted his hands to the sky and said, ‘Manoj, when I close my eyes I don’t see the sand anymore. I see an empire.’”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Almas Tower

  Business District, Dubai

  “Ghost Lead, this is Daugherty. I’ve taken my squad along the south side of the tower, moving toward the Silver one, but take a look at this…”

  The image appeared in Brent’s HUD, and Daugherty zoomed in. Through the somewhat grainy green of night vision came a flash that lit up a group of combatants hunkered down near a small bridge facing one of the Almas Tower’s garages. The combatants, about ten or twelve, were dressed all in dark colors and wearing balaclavas. Daugherty panned to show that they were trading fire with one of the Russian BTR crews and two Spetsnaz troopers.

  “Can’t ID them yet,” Daugherty continued, “but they’re laying down some nice fire on the Russians.”

  “Haussler’s got somebody on his tail. His enemies are our friends,” said Brent.

  “And that’s not all of them, sir. Two other squads just showed up. Got about thirty or forty of them now.”

  “Do what you can to make contact. Let’s see who they are. Offer to hire them. You know the drill.”

  “Roger that. Money talks, sir. Just be careful when you come around.”

  “Brent, did you call for help?” asked Juma.

  “No,” said Brent. “But they came anyway, come on.”

  Lakota took point this time, leading
them around the other side of the building. When they reached the corner, she checked the area, then gave the signal. They darted across the street, reached the next building, and traversed the shadows beside it, and then Brent leapfrogged past her to the next corner. From there he spied the Silver Tower.

  “Ghost Lead, are you there, over?”

  “Wait,” Brent called as a window opened in his HUD. “I’m here, buddy, what do you got?”

  Schleck had tucked himself into a narrow maintenance hallway running adjacent to one of the vault tunnels.

  “I’m hidden here,” he whispered into his microphone — even though they probably couldn’t hear him. “Voeckler’s right behind me.”

  Forklifts weighed down heavily with gold bricks hummed on by, one after another. Brent counted four in all, and he couldn’t believe how many bricks they were hauling out of there. Just seeing gold piled up that way was surreal; the pallets might as well be props from a movie set.

  “This is the third trip already,” said Schleck. “If you guys don’t get down here soon, they’ll get away with all of it. They’re making very good progress, up and down the elevator and back again.”

  “I hear you, Schleck. Just sit tight, man. You’re doing a great job.”

  “Sir, this is Remus,” called Voeckler. “Still no uplink with the satellite but I’ve just reestablished contact with the Florida.”

  Another data window opened in Brent’s HUD. Commander Andreas stood on the submarine’s bridge, rubbing his chin in thought. “Captain Brent, are you there? I’m afraid I’ve only got audio contact on my end. Video is breaking up.”

  “I’m here, sir, and sir? I could use a favor.”

  “Better make it a quick one. We’re being called out of the strait.”

  “All right, here’s what I have in mind…”

  * * *

  The Snow Maiden marched forward with Chen Yi to her right, another of his special forces sergeants to her left. They moved directly toward Haussler, who was approaching with a trio of his own troops, their weapons leveled on her.

  “Stop right there,” she told him. “Take off your helmet.”

  “Why, Viktoria, what is this? Don’t you trust me?”

  She shook her head.

  He grinned.

  And Lucifer himself had taught Haussler how to smile.

  As he removed his helmet, she did the same, and Chen Yi looked at her. The gas canisters that had been ignited by the Americans were still billowing, but they were at the far end of the tunnel. The air was still clean, but not for much longer.

  She moved toward Haussler, reached him, grabbed him by the back of the head, and kissed him deeply while reaching around and grabbing his ass. She shoved her tongue down his throat, and the German responded in kind, groaning softly.

  Then, as quickly, she ripped herself away. “You get the rest later. For now, you come with me in my trucks. I want all your men. There will be a ship waiting for us at Mina Jebel Ali, far south side of the port. Order your drivers to head back to the airport.” She checked her watch. “In about ten minutes a Chinese cargo plane will touch down. You have them drive right onto the plane. I’ll make sure it’s all arranged.”

  Haussler chuckled under his breath. “Viktoria, it sounds like you have been planning this all along.”

  “You always plan two escape routes,” she said with a smirk. “What I didn’t plan on was you.”

  At that moment, she whirled, and knowing exactly where to aim, she put a bullet in Chen Yi’s neck and another in the sergeant’s. Both men dropped, gasping.

  Haussler’s men confiscated their weapons.

  She spun back to face the German. “Tell your men to kill the rest of them when they’re finished loading.”

  “So you prove your loyalty.”

  “And you prove yours. It’s me and you. No one else, okay?” She raised a brow.

  He grabbed her once more and kissed her again, his breath quickening.

  She pulled away. “Let’s go.”

  Without warning the concrete floor began to rumble, and what sounded like a violent earthquake began to rip through the tunnel. A crack splintered up the wall ahead, growing into multiple veins and arteries, and then chunks of rock began falling away even as Haussler cried out to his men and all of them sprinted on wobbly legs.

  A pair of thunderclaps struck, followed by another pair, and then she realized what was happening.

  * * *

  Brent, Lakota, Juma, and the Javelin guy, who had since abandoned his weapon, had reached the entrance to the Silver Tower’s parking garage — all of ten seconds before the first pair of Tomahawk missiles struck the Goldcrest tower, blasting off huge sections that came raining down in a horrific storm of glass, concrete, insulation, and support struts.

  The men in the BTR below never saw it coming.

  And as they vanished beneath the massive pile of debris, a second pair of Tomahawks struck the Lake Terrace Tower rising just north of the Almas. The missiles hammered into the skyscraper about two-thirds of the way up and exploded with such force that a portion of the remaining third simply fell away.

  And all the while Voeckler was talking to the crew aboard Florida as he watched via the team’s exterior sticky cams. Because they were all tied into the same tactical network for situational awareness, Voeckler had been able to stream his video of the targets back to the sub’s control room. With Park and Noboru’s help, he’d passed along four critical points on the buildings that would result in the desired effects.

  “That’s two, we got two,” he told them. “They’re buried good; outstanding work, gentlemen!”

  The south and north parking entrances to the Almas Tower were now successfully blocked, and two of the six BTRs had been taken out of the fight, buried beneath tons of debris. That was no cause for a victory party, but Brent was damned pleased.

  Juma, on the other hand, was outraged.

  “I told you I would help you capture this woman and protect my nation’s gold, but I did not give you permission to destroy our buildings!”

  A half dozen glib remarks came to mind, but Brent softened his tone and said, “I’m sorry, Juma. Better to do everything we can to save the gold, right? The buildings can be repaired. It was the best I could do. Now, can you back us up with a couple of squads? I can’t do it without you. Here come my guys now.”

  Juma didn’t look happy, but he finally nodded and turned away to call his men.

  Brent waved Daugherty, Copeland, Heston, Park, and Noboru into the parking garage. They gathered around him.

  “Destroy the other exits,” he ordered. “If she tries to come out through this tower, I want this to be her only way out.”

  “Have C-4, will travel,” said Heston. “We’re on it, sir.”

  “She’s still got two other exits via Almas,” Lakota pointed out.

  “Yeah, but those mystery troops are keeping the BTR crews busy over there,” said Brent. He faced Daugherty. “You figure out who they are?”

  “I got in close enough to examine one of their dead, pulled his mask, took a picture. But there’s still no uplink to run his ID…”

  “All right, we’ll get to that later. But for now, we’ll take all the free help we can get.”

  “Ghost Lead, you better hurry,” said Schleck. “They’ve cleared the vault area. I think the last of the forklifts is in the elevator now.”

  * * *

  The boy was talking to him and crying, but Chopra could barely sense him through all the cold. There was no fear, only a growing sense of calm like a soft wind blowing in his ears. He reached out, took his father’s hand, and felt the calluses of a man who had toiled all his life. That was what love felt like. His father smiled, and there was pride in that grin.

  Chopra smiled now at Hussein, who had made a promise to continue his father’s dream.

  There was one more breath coming. One more.

  Chopra took it.

  * * *

  When they reach
ed the cargo trucks, the Snow Maiden nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the dead Chinese special forces troops. Haussler’s Spetsnaz had dispatched them with precision. Had there been any doubt? After all, Haussler’s men were Russians.

  The bad news was that they’d lost two of Haussler’s vehicles. They still had the tank and the four remaining BTRs. She hesitated before climbing into the cab of one cargo truck loaded with gold. “You drive the lead truck. I pull up the rear,” she told Haussler. “I’ll tell you where to go.”

  “As always,” he said with a sigh.

  Just then he got a report from one of his troops: A missile had struck the tank. Now it was out of the fight, too. He cursed.

  As did the Snow Maiden. Her original plan had two trucks going to the airport, two going to the ship. The idea was to split the gold so that any opponents would believe that one shipment was a diversion, when in fact both were hot and at least one should be able to escape. She’d never disclosed that to Patti, who, of course, wanted all of the gold, but fifty percent of something was better than nothing.

  But, of course, they’d lost a truck and had overloaded the remaining three. The BTRs had room enough to carry the gold and were much better protected, but she feared that wasting any more time to make a transfer might result in their being trapped.

  Were she an American Special Forces leader, what would she assume? Well, the smart money had the gold inside the better-protected vehicles. So she had to hope that they’d go after the BTRs. That made sense. Thus, they’d send out the armor first. The cargo plane landing at the airport would also raise suspicions.

  “Can you get the choppers outside to cover the BTRs when they leave?” she asked Haussler.

  “Izotov has put me in direct contact with the Enforcers Corps commander,” he answered. “I’ve never seen such an efficient piece of blackmail.”

  “Good. Do it.”

  “I will, but first, I’m putting those Cheetahs on the entrances. Your old friends from the Green Brigade have become a wart on my ass.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for that image.”