showing heat using the visible red spectrum rather than black-and-white. It was certainly more nuanced and had a greater degree of accuracy.
He’d once taken his thermal scope back to the woods of West Virginia. His hometown had a yearly possum hunt in the local woods. Sometimes there’d be seventy dead possum at the end of the day. He hated the hunt. What had been a sport had been turned into a tournament. But he’d fixed them … for that year, anyway. The night before the hunt, using his thermal imager, he’d tracked down every single possum and had relocated them to an abandoned farm. One hundred and forty-three possum. The night of the big hunt there wasn’t a single thermal image larger than a squirrel in any of the trees. There were more possum lying dead on the side of the road than there were in the forest. For the first time in the history of the hunt, not a single possum was killed. Eventually he let it be known that it was him and that pissed people off even more. But he didn’t care.
Holmes began moving toward the front, leading with his MP5. He checked the corner, then knelt. Ruiz knelt as well, keeping the boss in his peripheral vision while he swept the rear and side.
“Clear front,” Holmes whispered into his MBITR.
Ruiz couldn’t hear the response, but when Holmes turned and moved toward the back, he imagined Laws had it clear on the other side as well.
They made their way around the corner. Although it was dark, he could make out Laws and Yaya coming from the other corner. Both groups moved with care. Although there were no windows, they were approaching the area with open bay doors. Thermal imaging and infrared had its limits. If the steel was thick enough, a platoon of beegees could go undetected. Then there was also the fear of the chimera. They’d only encountered one on the ship, but they’d been well aware that the other crates in the hold had held hundreds of them … just as these crates probably did. They’d know soon enough. Part of the sensitive site exploitation would be to inventory the chimera and investigate their size, weight, and makeup. If there really was a threat to the United States, the information they’d provide could be critical to the defense of the country.
The wooden crates weren’t arranged in any order. Some were stacked three high, reaching a height of twelve feet, while others were unstacked. It was as if a giant kid had just tossed his letter blocks on the floor. But before they could investigate the crates, they had to clear the building.
Holmes moved in fast. Ruiz kept on his six. The interior of the warehouse was shrouded in darkness. Holmes and Ruiz checked their infrareds, but it was nothing but grays and blacks. They switched to night vision and the darkness was illuminated in an eerie green. They scanned the room. They could just see the opposite wall through the darkness. The center of the room was filled with more haphazardly stacked crates.
“Moving left,” Holmes whispered into the MBITR.
They moved forward, hugging the outside wall as best they could. Here and there were smaller boxes, tables, and chairs. There was a spot where three couches were side by side. On the center one rested an old engine, rusted beyond recognition.
Ruiz continually scanned the room, his ears attuned for even the slightest sound. Not that he was trigger happy, but the longer they stayed in the room without being able to really see it, the more puckered his ass got. In fact, his skin began to crawl as he imagined a dozen fighters hidden behind the crates in the center of the room, just waiting to open fire on them.
They reached the corner and turned.
Ruiz remained in place, facing the center of the room as Holmes continued down the short side of the building. Moments ticked by as the SEAL team leader moved to the corner. When he arrived, he announced it into his MBITR, then gave Ruiz a hand signal.
Ruiz’s chest tightened. If it was going to happen, it would happen here. He began creeping to the center of the room. He opened his eyes as wide as he could. He switched back and forth from night vision to IR, just to make sure that there were no heat signatures. When he judged that he was three meters away, he stopped and went to one knee.
Laws did the same to his right. Holmes was on his left. Which meant that Yaya was opposite him. They paused for a moment. Then both Laws and Holmes gave another hand signal. Ruiz closed his eyes tightly, but a moment later, even through his closed lids, he saw the surface of the sun simultaneously to hearing a tremendous bang. He opened his eyes and followed the flashbang grenade to the boxes, which were shoved together in a solid mass. Not even one beegee could have fit inside there.
“Turning on lights,” Holmes said as he switched off the night-vision/IR scope and turned on the light attachment affixed to his MP5.
Everyone else did the same. Four spears of light stabbed through the darkness. The room was empty.
Not that Ruiz was trying to find things to worry about, but there should have been someone there. Where were the guards they’d seen on the imagery? Why wasn’t anyone there guarding the chimera? Unless …
He moved to one of the crates and rapped against it. He was rewarded with a hollow thud.
“Boss, these are empty.”
Yaya rapped on several as well. “These, too.”
“What the fuck?” Laws looked around. “Think it’s a trap?”
Holmes knitted his brows. “Walker would have let us know.”
“Hoover as well,” Yaya added.
“Still…” Laws gestured toward the empty crates.
“Come on, SEALs,” Holmes said decisively. “On me.”
The other three formed on their leader and they moved quickly out the rear bay. When they reached the door, he stopped and kneeled. Yaya did the same beside him. Ruiz and Laws stood with their weapons ready. They listened to the night. Animal screams answered them from the jungle. Then they heard another sound. Scratching.
They immediately looked at the jumble of crates before them. Maybe they weren’t
“Spread,” Holmes ordered.
The SEALs separated. They each went into a crouch, their heads on a swivel, weapons pointed toward the crates.
Something was worrying Ruiz as he crept forward. An image of the crate and the crazy Chinese captain flashed through his mind. Hadn’t his blood been the catalyst for the chimera? If so, where was the blood this time? There wasn’t anyone else here and he found it unbelievable that Walker would have let someone approach the crates while the rest of the team was in the building. He glanced toward Walker’s hide site. He heard the sound again, but it wasn’t coming from the boxes. It was coming from beneath them. He was about to shout a warning when the floor dropped out from under him.
52
CIRCUS WAREHOUSE. NIGHT.
Walker saw them move out of the warehouse, then disappear. No, not disappear. They fell through the ground. He started to climb down from his perch, but thought better of it. An image of Holmes’s angry face shot through his good intention. He remained where he was but stared through his scope, hoping to see something to shoot.
Hoover growled from beneath as if she knew something was wrong.
“Easy, girl. Let’s see what’s going on.”
Suddenly the sounds of a firefight rent the night. He heard the distinct rapid-fire burps of the MP5, the angry barks of the shotgun, and the dull stutters of AK-47s.
What the hell was going on?
The sound of vehicles came from the front of the warehouse. Three five-ton trucks lumbered around the building. The firefight continued, but at a lesser rate. He saw Yaya crawl out of the hole and stagger to one of the boxes. He’d lost his shotgun. He pulled his 9mm from his thigh holster and in one move fired at the two men coming after him.
The trucks made the turn and rammed into the crates. Wood exploded into splinters. Crates tumbled. Yaya disappeared beneath an avalanche of broken and splintered wood. The trucks skidded to a halt. Men in uniforms
