Hell's Choir (NICHOLAS SHARP THRILLER SERIES Book 3)

by Mark Mannock

  On the other side of the cavern, Jumaa chuckled.

  I gaped back at the vice president.

  “I had decided not to give them any chance of a public execution and to make my stand here,” he said.

  “Not to worry,” I responded, rubbing my nose. “We’ve got to move, sir—we have to get you out of here.”

  “No, I’m not going.”

  His words stunned me. Across the room, Jumaa looked just as shocked.

  “Say again, sir?”

  “I’m not coming, Sharp, at least not yet. Sit down for a minute and I’ll tell you why.”

  I didn’t have time for this, but I didn’t have a choice either.

  “Just to remind you, sir, there is a camp full of terrorists out there waiting to murder all of us with less than an hour until dawn and no guaranteed exit strategy.”

  “I know that, Sharp—Nicholas—and I appreciate the risks you must have taken to get to this point. But I need you to see the bigger picture.”

  The bigger picture. If there were two expressions I learned to hate through the years, they were the bigger picture and the greater good. I’d seen leaders use them too many times to justify no end of moral bankruptcy.

  “Yes, sir, please explain… quickly.”

  Chapter 16

  “I’ve had the advantage, if you could call it that, of being here twenty-four hours longer than you, Sharp. Despite these damn cowards’ best intentions, I’ve had a chance to observe what’s going on,” said Blake.

  He spoke with confidence and certainty, ignoring his injuries. I suspected he’d spent time in the same cavern with the fire and implements of torture that we’d escaped from. That can’t have been good.

  “Last night, I noticed a group of around twenty women and children being taken from one cave and walked into the compound at the northern end of the camp. At first, I thought they were the families of the terrorists. Then I realized that they were being moved under armed supervision. It made little sense.”

  I looked at Jumaa, sure that his mind was working overtime.

  “Why did they shift them out of the cave at night and not during the day?” I asked.

  “It seemed strange to me too,” replied Blake. “Later in the evening, they changed guards. The new man that came on duty must have smoked too much bangu. The weed made him chatty. I had nothing to lose by asking him a few questions. He figured I was a dead man walking, anyway. Who would I tell?”

  I nodded. Jumaa stood transfixed by the vice president’s words.

  “It appears the women and children are captives of the Shararaa. They won’t let them out during the day on the off chance an aircraft or drone may fly overhead and spot them. Their only freedom is a little exercise at night.”

  “How long have the prisoners been here, Mr. Vice President?” inquired Jumaa.

  “I got the impression they have been captive for some time.”

  “Did you get any intel on why they are here?” I asked.

  “Yes, the guard had loose lips. He also seemed proud of their group’s sadistic MO. It would appear that the Shararaa are holding these families while their husbands are blackmailed into committing crimes for their cause.”

  Blake observed our reactions, before continuing. “It gets worse. Not only is it morally incomprehensible that they hold these innocents as hostages, it also appears that the men of these families have undergone training in weapons and suicide bombs. It all made sense to me when Riek told us earlier that he has people moving into position to cause harm to leaders around the world. As he said, his trigger to them is the video of my murder. That is why I will not let him make that video. I will go down fighting first.”

  Jumaa interrupted, his voice low and quavering. “Nicholas, there is a possibility my family is with that group. They may be here.”

  I explained the issue to the vice president, including Jumaa’s role in the entire affair.

  “Good. Now that you three are here, there is a chance to help these people, however remote,” said Blake.

  I nodded. I knew where this was going and I didn’t like it, but then again, I saw no other option.

  The vice president sat upright and looked me square in the eye. “Nicholas, in all good conscience, I couldn’t escape without attempting to save those families, not to mention the lives lost if Atha Riek’s plan came to fruition.”

  Blake paused; just like the terrorist leader, he knew how to work a room.

  “Could you leave them behind, Nicholas?”

  I stared at the ground for an eternity. Finally, I raised my head, fixing my gaze on Jumaa. My Sudanese friend’s eyes were wide open, his lower lip trembling.

  “No, sir, I could not.”

  And with that response, I believed I’d just delivered a death sentence to us all.

  We crept across the landscape in front of Blake’s former prison. Although there was nothing to indicate the terrorists had heard our escape, it would only be a matter of time. Someone would investigate the silence from the torture cave soon, and then the shit would hit the fan.

  Our immediate aim was to make it to the compound undetected, immobilize the guards, and break in. Simple. At least three was better than one. Even in his battered state, Vice President Jefferson Blake hadn’t forgotten his military training. He was now part of the team.

  From a mound twenty feet from the south-west corner of the enclosure, we managed to gain a decent view of the security arrangements. In the moonlight, we saw no movement within the wired area. Then I considered the tents.

  “They may have moved them out here to avoid hearing our supposed torture,” I suggested. “They must be in those tents. The guards wouldn’t protect an empty compound.”

  “Makes sense,” said Jumaa.

  Blake nodded.

  I’d given Jefferson Blake my gun and kept the knife. I daren’t leave the vice president of the United States unarmed. That one of the prime goals of my mission here was to bring Blake back alive weighed in my thoughts, but I didn’t think it weighed that heavily in his own thinking. That spoke to the measure of the man.

  Four guards covered the entrance to the compound and two more on each corner. They looked out, not in.

  “I’ll work my way around to the north east,” I said, “then I’ll try to take those two out and cut my way in. You both stay here.”

  “No,” said Blake. “You’ll have twice the chance with the two of us. I’m coming with you.”

  His offer didn’t surprise me.

  “All right, accepted. Jumaa, you keep an eye on the guards on the gate. If we get in, we’ll try to make it to the tents. If we can, we’ll bring any hostages out the way we went in,” I instructed.

  I worried that at any moment Riek’s men would uncover our absence. Every minute counted. The terrorists hadn’t taken my watch, nor Greatrex’s. They probably figured they would remove them from our corpses later on. Less fuss. I glanced at mine. Whether or not our escape remained undiscovered, I knew that Jack Greatrex would action his part of the operation in less than ten minutes if he’d been able to make his position. If he failed, we would walk to a certain death.

  Jefferson Blake and I made our way round to our proposed point of entry. I indicated the guard closest to him as the man to take, before swapping my knife for his gun. He’d have a greater chance with the knife. After we both got in position five yards away from the guards, I counted down on my hand. On cue, we both advanced.

  I hit trouble within a second. My guard must have heard something crack under my foot. He swiveled round and raised his weapon. I dove to the left. We couldn’t afford the sound of gunfire. Besides, I didn’t want to be shot. Nicholas Sharp: moving target.

  I rolled on my shoulder and sprung back up at him. My opponent reacted quickly, his rifle zeroing in on me while he was still out of arm’s reach. I had nowhere to go. I surged ahead in one last futile attempt to disarm him, knowing the pain coming my way.

  Unexpectedly, the terrorist lurched forwa
rd toward me. I wondered why he hadn’t fired. Then I saw the blade sticking out of the side of his ribs and Jumaa half-hidden behind a bush.

  “Sorry, Nicholas. I’m aware you were a military man, but orders aren’t really my thing. If my family is in there, he pointed at the compound, I want to get them out.”

  I should have known.

  Jefferson Blake encountered no issues with his target. As I looked over, the guard lay prone on the ground. From the amount of blood seeping into the surrounding sand, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Let’s move,” I said.

  We slipped under the wire using the tents in the middle of the compound as cover as we sprinted toward the remaining guards.

  Now we all held guns. Blake passed me the blood-soaked knife, and I sliced an entrance into the first tent. I pushed through the gap with Jumaa breathing down my neck. It was empty.

  It was the same result with the second tent. I glanced at Jumaa. The man’s closed eyes and sagging shoulders spoke of his fading hope. As we came to the third tent, there was a sound, perhaps a whisper. Jumaa got there before me and cut a long strip through the canvas. He dove into the darkness.

  Blake and I were seconds behind him going in. As we entered the space, we saw around twenty pairs of eyes glowing at us. They were all wide with fear.

  Jumaa spoke with a soft desperation. “Salima, Ibrahim, ita hena? Are you here?”

  A muted cry came from the rear of the tent. A tall woman ran forward, her movements sharp and forceful as she broke through the crowd. The muted cry became a howl of pain, her face crunched in uncontrolled emotion. As I prepared to block her way, she threw her hands in the air, her voice trembling as she cried, “My husband, my husband.”

  Jumaa exploded into her arms. “Ibrahim, is he here?”

  “Safe and well, but scared,” she responded. Another woman passed a small child forward.

  Jumaa crumbled, dragging his wife to her knees. Tears streaked down his cheeks. Both Blake and I stepped back to give the family a brief moment. It turned out brief was all they had.

  Yells erupted from the camp, followed by a burst of automatic gunfire. The terrorists had discovered our escape. If we’d only had another five minutes…

  Chapter 17

  “Jumaa, lead these people out the way we came in, stay down!” I ordered, keeping my voice low but urgent.

  He’d already begun moving.

  I turned to Blake. “Sorry to give orders above my paygrade, sir, but it’s how it’s got to be.”

  “Understood.”

  “If you cover the rear of Jumaa’s group, I’ll try to distract the guards at the gate. With a little luck, they won’t have realized we’re in the compound. In their eyes, we have no reason to be here.”

  Blake looked at me for a second. “Be careful, Sharp.” Then he disappeared into the night.

  I stepped out, working my way around the side of the tent. All the compound sentries headed toward the main camp or gawked in that direction. Jumaa’s people had almost made it across the exposed area when one terrorist glanced over his shoulder and spotted them. The man stood too far away for me to use a knife. I raised my gun, aimed and shot. He let out a warning scream as he crumpled to the ground, but by then it didn’t matter.

  I adjusted the selector switch from semi-automatic to automatic and fired off two bursts. Three guards down, but my firing had alerted the guards by the primary compound gate to my presence. They opened fire. I hit the sand and rolled back behind the tent. Its fabric walls instantly became a mess of shredded canvas, offering little or no cover.

  Peering over my shoulder, I realized my gunfire had allowed the others to escape. Now I just had to keep the terrorist’s attention on me. Staying low, I crawled over to the second tent but didn’t stay there long. As the next rounds tore through the canvas, I got up and sprinted toward the third tent, spraying the guard’s position with fire. Bullets kicked up the surrounding sand, but I made it. I figured the guards would think I’d advance along the northern side.

  I counted to ten. A burst of gunfire splattered the ground in the direction that they thought I would attack from, but I wasn’t there. I doubled back to what remained of the second tent, ran to the far wall and came straight at them. The two seconds it took for the terrorists to realize they had made a mistake was all I needed. They paid with their lives.

  I inhaled three lengthy breaths before sprinting after Jumaa, Blake, and the women and children. They’d reached the sparse scrub by the time I caught up with them.

  “What do you have in mind, Sharp?” asked Jefferson Blake.

  “If we just keep heading into the desert, the terrorists will regroup and round us up at daybreak,” I said. “Everything depends on Jack Greatrex.”

  The words had barely left my mouth when the first explosion lit up the sky. Then a second. Two of the tents that the Shararaa used as sleeping quarters disappeared in flames. The odds were evening up.

  “Run!” I shouted at the group, pointing to the cars. “Jumaa, the vehicles, go!” Our Sudanese friend didn’t need to be told twice.

  The encampment was now awash with frenzied activity. People were screaming orders and others were firing blindly into the night.

  We bolted toward the area where we had first arrived earlier in the day, staying free of the reflected firelight.

  At the halfway point I yelled at Blake, “I’m detouring to find Greatrex, I’ll meet you at the cars.”

  The vice president just raised an arm as he fled. He knew that protecting the families remained his priority.

  As I rounded the mess, I expected the canvas armory to be lit in a sea of flame. That had been the plan. Instead, the tent stood intact. I was confused, but that wasn’t the only surprise the big fella had in store. With one flap lifted, I made out two metal barrels pointing out of the darkness. I veered to the right to avoid being caught in the firing line. A second later, one of the four-wheel drives in the center of the camp, well away from where the women and children were headed, exploded into flames.

  The second weapon fired. Two hundred yards away, a group of terrorists huddled in attack formation evaporated. How in God’s name… I didn’t comprehend what Greatrex had in there, but he sure as hell wreaked a truckload of havoc.

  As I surveyed the scene before me, it was clear Greatrex couldn’t last forever in his current situation. His rearward sector remained exposed. It wouldn’t take the terrorists long to regroup enough to outflank him and attack from behind.

  While every fiber of my being urged me to leap forward and engage in the fight, experience told me that would be a mistake. A sniper’s job is to remain detached and focused. Protect the men in the field; that’s core business. I felt a familiar calm as I crouched down and raised my weapon. From my position, I’d cover Greatrex while he kept firing. At least for a few minutes. He’d do a lot of damage in that time.

  I spotted the first terrorist a minute later. He came in low, crouching but not crawling. That was a mistake. I flicked the selector switch on the Kalashnikov back to semi-automatic and took aim. No chance for preparation. A quick intake of breath and a gradual exhale. Squeeze the trigger. One less bad guy.

  Greatrex would have heard the gunfire. I hoped he realized my strategy.

  Two more shadows moved in the dark. They were coming in directly behind the big fella’s location. Smarter than their predecessor, they slithered on their bellies, almost undetectable. Before they could get any closer, Greatrex fired another shot; a second vehicle exploded up in flames. The action seemed to enrage his stalkers. They rose and charged forwards. Another mistake. Two rapid shots and I killed them both.

  A bunch of people were dying before my eyes, but they weren’t good people. I thought briefly about the damage this group of religious extremists had inflicted on so many families. The bloody road I traveled didn’t lead to guilt.

  I figured by this point that about half the terrorists had been taken out. That still left twenty, minimum, without co
unting outliers who guarded the valley. The odds remained stacked against us.

  Greatrex fired two more rounds. He’d have more than one grenade launcher in there, but they took time to load. That made him vulnerable. I saw more figures approaching, not only from the rear but also from the southern side. I didn’t have a clear shot at every one.

  I jumped to my feet and shouted, “Jack, on your three.” If he heard me, he’d know what to do. I then flicked the selector back to automatic and sprayed the scrub behind the ammunition tent. Dropping to the ground the moment I stopped firing, I set about picking off any survivors one by one.

  The big fella must have taken note because a barrel swiveled round ninety degrees. He shot straight through the canvas wall of the armory, wiping out his attackers.

  I ran toward his position. He stepped from the tent sweaty, out of breath and wearing a decidedly self-satisfied grin. “We’ve pushed our luck,” I yelled. “Let’s go.”

  Greatrex raised an eyebrow when he saw me, but he didn’t need any further persuasion. He reached behind, picked up a small canvas bag and sprinted in my direction. I pointed ahead to where Jumaa and Blake had taken the women and children.

  As I caught up with him, I shouted, “What the hell did you have in there?”

  He smiled like a Cheshire cat. “A couple of Chinese QLZ-87 35mm ATLs. Freakin’ effective.”

  Jack loved his guns. As we bolted across the sandy terrain, I craned my head back to the ammo dump, observing Riek’s men swarming around it.

  “I don’t suppose…”

  “Sure did,” replied the big fella.

  Ten seconds later, we felt the explosion shake the ground as the flames from the terrorists’ armory rose thirty feet into the darkness.

  Chapter 18

  We weren’t out of the woods yet, but now we had an opportunity. By the time we reached the vehicles, Jumaa had the camouflage netting off two of the vehicles.

  “Jumaa, get everyone into the Land Rover and the long-based Jeep next to it. It’ll be tight.”