Zack looked at Four, who’s face was whitening with the loss of blood.
Four said, “Fuck that shit. I’ll swim if you tell me to swim.”
Zack looked back to Two. Brad shook his head emphatically. Milo started to protest, but Hightower raised his hand. “You cut that macho man bullshit right now. Nobody is impressed.” Then he transmitted to the team. “Okay, we head to the water anyhow, make ’em chase us, then we disappear. We’ll double back over ground we’ve already covered. If we’re lucky, then they’ll think we went for a swim. We’re going to need to use a little subterfuge.”
To a man they nodded as one. They understood the stakes. They knew no one would be coming for them. They knew they were on their own. They had only themselves to rely on.
And the Gray Man.
Zack reached to the satellite phone on his chest rig and punched the number six on the keypad. He noticed his bloody arm again, wondered how much longer he’d be operational if he could not stop the bleeding. He pushed the concern from his mind as Gentry answered.
Sierra One asked, “Yo, brother, things as fucked-up on your end as they are over here?”
“Oryx and I are clear. It sounded like you guys were engaged pretty heavily.”
“Still are.”
“You got a plan, Charlie?” Gentry’s sarcasm was directed at plan Bravo, which hadn’t turned out so well.
“You know it.”
“I doubt it.”
A pause from the other side. “I’m workin’ on it. Where are you?”
“We’re fifteen klicks northwest. I’ve switched out the wheels I left town with. Nobody followed us.”
“Well, shit, kid, sounds like you’re sitting pretty compared to us. We’re hemmed in, two casualties, ammo short. The army has backed off, hoping this Hip flying overhead can frag us so they don’t have to expose themselves again. I guess they either don’t think we have their president, or else they don’t care.”
“A Hip? I didn’t know the GOS flew Mi-17s.”
“It’s definitely a Hip.”
“Who are the casualties?” Court asked.
“Milo took a round in his leg. We’ve controlled the blood loss, but he ain’t walkin’ out of here on his own power.”
“And the other?”
“Yours truly.”
“You operational?”
“Hell yeah, I’m fraggin’ skinnies like there’s no tomorrow. Just caught a little ding to the forearm of my non- shooting hand, although on a day like today, all hands are shooting.”
“Shit. One casualty here, too.”
“Who?”
“Who the fuck do you think, Zack? You sent me in alone, remember?”
“I know that, dickhead. I didn’t know if you were talking about Oryx.”
“Oryx is fine.”
“You get a boo-boo?”
“Something like that.”
“Where are you hit?”
“Upper back, with an arrow.”
“Uhhh, repeat last?”
“I got shot with a damn arrow. Haven’t taken it out yet. I’m working up to it.”
“So there’s an arrow sticking out of your back? For real?”
“Affirm.”
“What the hell? Ain’t nobody shooting arrows around here.”
“Well, I didn’t fucking back into it, Zack! I never saw the shooter. Beats taking a 7.62 from one of those PKMs the army’s blasting back there.”
“An arrow. I’ll be damned.”
“Look, Zack. I can get to you guys. I’m pulling into my hide right now. I can zip-tie Oryx to a support beam and haul ass back to you. I’ve got my Glock and a mag left, maybe I can—”
“Negative. You stay put and protect the package for now. I don’t need you charging in like Custer and losing the president in the process. We’ll keep trying to wiggle out of this shit on our own.”
“Understood.”
“How you gonna get that arrow out?”
“I’m going to ask the president to help me.”
Zack whistled. “He may be disinclined to cooperate.”
“Yeah. I’ll have to persuade him.”
“Well, good luck with that. But while you’re over there playing cowboys and Indians, the grown-ups are shooting real guns in my neck of the woods. So get your principal secure and your shit straightened out and check back with me.”
“Roger that.”
Zack disconnected the call. Just as he looked back up, gunfire from a heavy machine gun hit the north side of the building, scattering plaster and concrete through the dusty air of the room like thick smoke. All three men dropped to their chests and returned fire into the wall. Zack shouted into his mike, “Come on, Dan! Clear my fuckin’ sky already!” But his words were drowned out by the incredible noise.
THIRTY-EIGHT
By eight a.m., Whiskey Sierra was completely pinned down from the west and from above. Spencer had scooted back into the room with the other men. He’d taken a three-round burst from an AK-47 into his big chest plate and was bleeding from several shrapnel injuries to his neck and face.
Dan was still up on the roof. He’d found some concealment from the chopper and was trying to get an opportunity to bring it down, but he would need to expose himself to do so, and the Hip was circling too damn close to try it. The other four team members were flat on the ground of the first floor. The machine gun on the back of the jeep Brad had almost rear-ended earlier had found a crew, and it had been pulverizing the portion of the mall where Whiskey Sierra was hiding. Zack and his team could not even get their heads up to return fire, so withering was the enemy’s attack.
“Dan, can you make it to the side of the roof to get a shot on this machine gun?”
“No fucking way, boss. The Hip is hovering right in front of my position. I stick my head out, and I’m going to lose it. I can’t even engage it till it moves away.” The noise of the helicopter came through the headsets with Sierra Three’s transmission.
“Roger that.”
Brad shouted over the noise from the incoming fire, “They are going to flank us here in a second!”
“Yeah,” agreed Zack. It was his job, as the team leader, to think of a way out of this seemingly impossible predicament.
He looked at the hallway. Other than the windows and front door, it was the only exit to the room. “Spence, think the GOS has taken that next room yet?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. Lots of access from the street.”
Hightower nodded. “Okay. All elements, here’s what we’re going to do, break. This ain’t pretty, but it’s all I got. Brad, on my command, you are going to throw all your smoke as far as you can out the window towards the west, try to get it on the road between us and the machine gun. Dan, stay down, but throw your smoke from the roof in the same direction, as far as you fucking can.”
“Roger, boss.”
“Spencer, throw your smoke out the window to the east, into the market between the malls. How copy?”
“Good copy.”
