Some of those AK-47s have got to be here, Sauvage thought as the Sherpa rolled to a stop two blocks from the eastern edge of the project. How many? Five or six at least. But perhaps as many as ten or fifteen were taken out of Les Bosquets, and then smuggled through the woods.
Mfune’s voice came over the headset. “Convoy jammers in position.”
The jammers were state-of-the-art Argos designed to interrupt all cellular and walkie-talkie traffic within five hundred yards. With three of the Argos in place, the housing project was a dead zone, which is how Sauvage wanted it.
“Turn them on,” the major said. “Shift all comm to C.”
“Yes, sir.”
The headset went dead. The major ducked down into the Sherpa, looked at the gunner sergeant, and said, “You’ll mobilize here as part of the perimeter.”
“Here, sir?” the sergeant said.
Sauvage nodded. “You’re to stop and search anyone seen fleeing that project. If they have weapons of any kind, arrest and restrain them.”
The sergeant pursed his lips and got out, shutting the door behind him.
“Change to C frequency, Corporal Perry,” Sauvage said.
The driver looked uneasy. “Protocol says B under these—”
“Perry, are you being insubordinate?”
“No sir!”
“Then do as I say,” Sauvage snapped. “Intelligence indicates that AB-16 may be monitoring police and military frequencies.”
He knew nothing of the sort, but it worked. His driver typed in the new frequency on the Sherpa’s in-dash computer.
“Well done, Corporal,” Sauvage said. “Going topside.”
The major crawled up through the port again and got his boots solidly in the stirrups below before triggering his mic.
“Captain Mfune?”
“Roger.”
“Put two-man teams on every corner two blocks back from the target,” he ordered. “You stay mobile on that perimeter. Catch the cats as they run.”
“You’re playing rat tonight?”
“Affirmative,” Sauvage said.
There was a pause, and then, “Good luck, Major.”
“Roger that,” he replied. “Corporal Perry?”
“Major?”
“You’re recon-trained?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you know what a rat patrol is?”
“Seek out the enemy and draw fire, sir.”
“Are you a brave man, Corporal Perry?”
“I’m a recon soldier, sir.”
“Then do your duty. Advance east. Cruise the perimeter of the project.”
“Done, sir.”
The Sherpa rolled toward La Forêt. Sauvage put both hands on the machine gun, swept away in the heightened awareness he longed and lived for.
He felt the way he used to in Afghanistan, when the sky was moonless and armies were moving. He sensed the tension that built before la pagaille, waiting for the first shot, the first flare, the first rocket streaking across the sky.
It was where he belonged.
I’m coming home, he thought ecstatically. Coming home right—
A gunshot ripped the night. Someone was shooting in the project.
“You hear that, Corporal Perry?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Bear right along the perimeter. Take the first entrance in, road or path.”
The Sherpa swung right onto a narrow two-lane road. The streetlamps were dead. A block away, two cars had been turned sideways, bumper to bumper, spanning the street, and set afire. Two other cars were burning and blocking the road a hundred yards beyond, up against the Bondy Forest.
Between the two barriers, a mob of young men guarded the main entrance into the project. Most held knives or machetes, clubs, Molotov cocktails, or stones. Sheets had been hung in the trees. There was Arabic writing on them that Sauvage read easily.
We fight for the Prophet’s warhorse!
Even better, Sauvage thought.
Then he barked, “Straight at them, Corporal Perry! Show them how the Sherpa works at ramming speed!”
Chapter 105
WITH A LURCH that threw the major against the back of the turret, Perry buried the accelerator. The armored car hurtled at the burning barrier.
“Brace for impact!” his driver shouted.
Sauvage leaned into the crash as the Sherpa’s massive steel bumper blew through the two cars, sending them spinning out of the way.
Perry screeched the armored vehicle to a halt thirty yards from the mob, which had begun to break up and scatter. But ten or more men stood their ground, screaming at Sauvage. They hurled stones and then a Molotov cocktail that burst into flames in front of the Sherpa.
Provocation if there ever was, the major thought. He flipped the safety lever on the machine gun and almost pulled the trigger. But he held his fire and said, “Straight ahead, Perry. Get them running.”
Perry steered around the fire and accelerated toward the lingering rioters, who turned and fled into the housing project.
“Follow them,” Sauvage said.
His eyes went everywhere, from the youth in the headlights to the dimly lit grounds and the glowing windows of the nearest high-rise, where residents were looking out fearfully.
C’mon, the major thought. Let’s do this.
But they passed the first building without incident.
“Left,” Sauvage commanded.
The Sherpa rolled into a bare dirt common area between the first and second apartment towers.
C’mon, the major thought. I’m giving it to you on a plate. Do it or I’m going to lose my faith in—
The shot came from six or seven stories up in the second tower, and smacked off the hood of the Sherpa.
Defective bullets in lots slated for disposal have a way of not shooting where you aim them, the major thought in amusement. Especially when they’re shot from guns with faulty sights.
The 7.5mm cartridges in La Nana, on the other hand, were top grade, and its sights sharply calibrated. He aimed the muzzle of the maid where he thought the shot had come from and mashed the trigger.
The machine gun rattled and shook, spitting death at the upper floors of the second building. Spent casings flipped all around Sauvage as the bullets gouged the walls and shattered windows in the general area where he thought the sniper had his perch. In Sauvage’s mind, casualties were irrelevant.
There was a deep silence after the six-second machine gun burst, and then from both buildings he heard screams and wails of fear, grief, and agony that all melded into one quivering howl about the injustice of combat.
Well, thought Sauvage, don’t harbor fucking Islamic terrorists and this kind of shit won’t happen.
“Drive on, Corporal.”
“Major? Are you—”
“Take an S pattern through the remaining buildings, Perry!” he roared. “We have to know which ones need to be swept floor to floor.”
“Yes, sir!” Perry cried, and drove on.
Gunfire sounded in the distance. Sauvage’s radio headset crackled.
“We’re getting fire from the north,” Captain Mfune said.
“Engage,” the major said, hearing more shots within seconds.
As they rolled on, Sauvage watched the upper floors of the building he’d just shot at, and saw no one at any window, shattered or whole. That worked in his favor. No witnesses meant that his version of events would be the one accepted.
They rounded the far end of the second building and passed between it and the third, with no shots fired and no one watching out the windows. Even without cell phones, word of his coming had spread. Bullets had a way of transcending all forms of communication.
All remained quiet as the Sherpa drove slowly between the third and fourth buildings and then along the fourth apartment tower’s far side, which bordered a swampy area.
But when the Sherpa crossed the lane that divided the housing project in two, there was a burst of gunfire from t
he second building on Sauvage’s right. He saw the muzzle flash clearly as the defective bullets, shot from beyond the Sterling’s optimum distance, skipped harmlessly off the pavement.
“Hard right, then left, Corporal,” Sauvage said, already locking on the crosshairs of La Nana’s sights.
Perry complied without comment. The Sherpa tacked twice toward the second sniper, who was on the sixth floor, four windows in.
The major was about to shoot when he noticed a woman in a robe and head scarf standing at the window of an apartment on the third floor. She was holding up a cell phone as if photographing or videoing his actions.
Sauvage took careful aim and shot her first.
Chapter 106
FOR EIGHT FULL seconds, until the ammunition was spent, Sauvage raked machine gun fire above, below, and on either side of that sixth floor window where the sniper had been.
“Move, Perry! Evasive,” the major barked. “I’m reloading.”
The Sherpa picked up speed. It wove back and forth while Sauvage fed a new chain of ammunition into La Nana.
Raindrops hit the machine gun’s superheated barrel and hissed as Perry took a right around the near high-rise. The major was already locked and loaded when the corporal took another right that put them in a long U-shaped space, with buildings to either side and a third at the far end.
Many of the rioters had regrouped in the common area. As Perry closed the gap between them, Molotov cocktails flew through the air and exploded. Then one of the rioters fired an AK-47 that damn near killed Sauvage. He heard the sound barrier break when the bullet blew past his ear.
The mob turned and fled as one.
“Full pursuit, Corporal!” the major ordered.
Perry sped after the rioters. Sauvage triggered his microphone and said, “Captain Mfune, I have armed AB-16 sympathizers heading your way.”
He heard nothing in return, but his focus was on that gang of thirty or forty rioters running in the Sherpa’s headlights toward the apartment building that formed the bottom of the U. They did what he thought they’d do: split into two groups. The majority went left, back toward the entrance. But about twelve of them broke to the right, including the one carrying the AK-47.
“Cut the small group off!” the major shouted.
Perry swung the Sherpa hard right, accelerated, and got out in front of the escaping rioters before skidding to a stop in the narrow gap between the buildings. Two of the rioters turned on a dime and took off the other way.
Seeing Sauvage training La Nana on them, the ten others, including the rifleman, dropped their weapons and threw up their hands.
The major noted the fear and loathing in their faces, and then pulled the trigger, mowing them all down in a single three-second burst.
“Major Sauvage!” Perry screamed. “Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!”
Sauvage ignored him, wriggling out of the turret and jumping off the roof. With his back to the corporal, the major walked ten steps toward the bodies.
“Jesus, Major,” Perry choked out the open window. “They gave up.”
Crouching, Sauvage picked up the AK-47 amid the twitching corpses, pivoted, and aimed at his young driver.
“Sorry it had to be you, Perry,” he said. “But this story needs a saint.”
Terror registered on the young corporal’s face before Sauvage put two rounds through the driver’s forehead and six more around him through the open window.
The major reached into his pocket to tug out a handkerchief to wipe the Sterling down. He caught motion back at the open end of the common area.
He looked closer and saw Jack Morgan running back toward the entrance to the project, his arm in a sling. Even at this distance, the major could tell from his body language that Morgan had seen him turn the gun on his own man and maybe more.
Sauvage threw the Sterling to his shoulder, found Morgan in his sights, and fired just before he made the corner.
Chapter 107
BULLETS SMASHED OFF the wall five feet from me and sent me into an all-out sprint to get away.
Even with one eye patched, I’d seen it all, from Sauvage’s Sherpa cutting off the rioters to them dropping their weapons and throwing up their hands. I saw the major open fire. I saw him slaughter ten young men, many of them teenagers, unarmed and in surrender.
It had unfolded so surreally that I had just stood there in shock and disbelief, shoeless and with mud dripping off my pants, watching Sauvage jump down, pick up the gun, and shoot his driver in cold blood.
Nothing had prepared me for that. Nothing could have.
My will to survive kicked in then. I’d started running in my muddy stocking feet, and Sauvage had tried to kill me. Safely behind the building, I kept running, not toward the wetland I’d used to access the housing project but toward the main entrance. As I ran, I dug in my pocket for the cell Louis had given me not fifteen minutes before.
I hit send, then speaker, and dodged out into another common area, this one with children’s jungle gyms and swings in it. I took a quick look right, expecting to find Sauvage flanking me. But there was no one, and I ran on. The phone started to jangle weirdly. It wasn’t working for some reason.
I had to get back to the street. I had to get to protection. I had to tell someone what I’d seen.
Breaking out from behind the building closest to the street, I cut toward a sparse grove of trees that separated me from the entrance. I reached the narrow road that divided the housing project and was forty yards from the exit when Sauvage stepped out from the shadows to my right, his cheek welded to the stock of the assault rifle.
I skidded to a stop, threw up my good hand, and said loudly, “I’m unarmed, Major.”
“Don’t know what you think you saw back there,” Sauvage said quietly. “But I just can’t let you go telling any lies about—”
“I am unarmed, Major!” I bellowed.
“I don’t care.”
Chapter 108
MAJOR SAUVAGE WAS going to love this moment.
I could see it in his expression as his finger began to squeeze the—
“Stand down, Major!” a man shouted through a bullhorn. “Stand down and drop your weapon!”
Multiple headlights flashed on from out on the road, catching us in profile, Sauvage ready and willing to end my life and me just frozen there, wondering if this was the end of everything.
The major began to swing the gun toward the blinding lights, as if he meant to snuff them out along with whoever was demanding his surrender.
“This is General Anton Georges. I order you to drop that gun, Major. Now!”
Sauvage took that like a slap. He glanced at me, but then calmly set down the gun on the pavement. He stepped back, stood there. Engines started. Three sets of headlights came toward us, and stopped.
The lights dimmed, revealing General Georges climbing out of another Sherpa while soldiers on foot came in behind him, their weapons at the ready. Then Louis Langlois limped up out of the shadows behind Sauvage.
I nodded to him that I was okay.
“Pistol on the ground too, Major,” the general said.
“Sir,” Sauvage replied, calmly removing the pistol and setting it down. “This man was inside my perimeter without authorization, abetting the enemy.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said.
General Georges glared at me, and in surprisingly good English said, “You, sir, defied my direct orders.”
I said, “General, you can put me in chains and you’d be right to do it, but I witnessed an atrocity here just a few minutes ago.”
“He witnessed ten armed members of AB-16 confronting me,” Sauvage said. “They killed my driver and were trying to kill me when I opened fire.”
“They had dropped their weapons and surrendered,” I said. “All ten of them. He gunned them down in cold blood, and then took that rifle there from one of the dead guys and used it to shoot his own man, again in cold blood.”
“He’s delusional, Genera
l!” Sauvage cried. “This American fool has no understanding of war, of combat, of la pagaille and what the chaos of battle can do to your perceptions. Either that, or he is an AB-16 sympathizer.”
“General Georges,” I said. “I was honorably discharged with the rank of captain from the United States Marine Corps. I did two full tours in Afghanistan as a combat helicopter pilot. I know an atrocity when I see one.”
Before Sauvage could respond, I kept right on going, poking my finger at the major. “AB-16 is a charade, General, just like I told you. I’m betting AB-16 was his idea from the start. I’m betting he orchestrated the entire—”
“This is a fucking outrage!” Sauvage roared. “I will not have my unblemished reputation destroyed by—”
Two soldiers dragged Captain Mfune onto the scene, his wrists cuffed behind his back. He stared at Sauvage as if he were his only hope now.
“I don’t know what they’re thinking, Major,” Mfune said.
“What have you done, General?” Sauvage demanded. “Captain Mfune is an outstanding, decorated, and battle-tested officer who—”
General Georges held up his hand and said, “Investigateur Hoskins? Juge Fromme?”
Several soldiers stood aside, and the police detective and the magistrate stepped forward. Hoskins held a cell phone up in the air and pressed her thumb against it.
In one of Major Sauvage’s pants pockets, a phone began to buzz and ring.
“Answer it,” Hoskins said. “I’m looking for Chloe.”
Chapter 109
IN MY LIFE I have encountered men and women whose dark stories were written in every line of twisted emotion that squirmed across their faces. But I had never seen a reaction that spoke novels before.
Disbelief. Defeat. Dread. Honor. Conviction. Anger.
All those feelings flickered on Sauvage’s face before he went stoic.
“Why do you have my phone number?” he asked.
“That’s not your cell,” Juge Fromme said. “We checked. It’s a disposable.”
Private Paris Page 27
