it out of the holster. A pair of red aim dots, like annoying flies, buzzed Martinez's face and her head snapped violently back, horribly staining the clapboards behind her. A fury welled up within Winter, but no target immediately presented itself.
Beside him, Sean made a small involuntary squeak as she inhaled sharply.
Winter's mind closed out the anger as it shifted into survival mode. Martinez didn't exist now. Instead, what lay before his eyes, on its side now was a used target that belonged to someone who intended to make him one, too. He existed and unless he kept it that way, Sean would cease to exist with him. There were at least two assassins armed with laser aiming devices attached to silenced weapons.
A shadowy figure carrying a machine gun sprang up onto the porch, Winter raised the SIG and let his instincts aim for him. Winter fired three. 40-caliber rounds. The reports were deafening. The man's head jerked back and he was dead.
Grabbing Sean's hand, Winter led her along the side of the house at a run, passing the kitchen door. “Stay with me,” he ordered. “You'll die here unless you do exactly what I say.”
“I know that!” she snapped back.
Bullets slammed into the wall like fists as the pair ran down the porch in the darkness, but they were moving too fast for another assailant to get a clear shot.
They vaulted over the railing and hit the sand, stumbled, regained their footing, and sprinted for the tree line. The rain was unexpectedly cold. Their clothes were soaked in moments. For a split second, Winter thought about the alarm and the weapons he was leaving behind, knowing that doubling back was not an option.
“How many?” Sean asked.
“Three I know of.”
“Who are they?” She stumbled but remained on her feet. “Just tell them Dylan is gone.”
“We make the radar station, we should be okay.” Winter was thinking about the weapons, radios, a boat, and six shooters to lay down covering fire that were just beyond the tree line.
“Think the sailors heard you shooting?” she asked, her breathing labored from fear and exertion.
“No.” Winter knew that the sailors couldn't possibly hear the reports.
They ran the trail full out, breaking out on the other side of the trees. The buildings were dark-no exterior lights, not so much as a glow in any window.
Thinking he should load in a fresh magazine, Winter reached back and felt his now-empty magazine holder. The two magazines had probably fallen out when he'd jumped off the porch and landed soundlessly into the sand. All he had was the eight remaining. 40-caliber rounds. Without help from the sailors, and more firepower, they were screwed. The handgun was no match for MP5s in capable hands, but he didn't plan to face them toe to toe. He had to pray for the ability to surprise the remaining men, whom he knew he couldn't evade for long.
Winter opened the door to the barracks and they went inside.
“Maybe we should just get on a boat,” Sean suggested. “I saw boats from the helicopter, right?”
“I need a gun,” Winter told her. “We'd be sitting ducks out in the open.”
“Damn it, Massey, you have a gun!”
“A bigger gun with more than eight bullets. They might have someone covering the boat, or they may have already disabled it. There might be three of them or ten. Greg said there is an ordnance room here. That means M16s. First I need light to find it.” A small amber light illuminated the hand lantern holder. Winter pressed the rubber nipple and it came on, casting a brilliant stain against the wall.
They passed by doors to the sleeping quarters. An OFF-LIMITS sign hung on the bathroom door. Winter heard water running and edged the door open. “Anybody in here?” he called. There was no answer. He stepped inside while Sean held the door open. He played the flashlight over a woman's naked body, prone on the tiles. The water streaming away from her was clear-all the blood that was going to leak out of the two wounds he could see had long since gone down the drain.
“That woman from the beach is in there-dead.”
“The others?”
He didn't reply. Winter knew that if they had killed an unarmed woman taking a shower, they had killed the others. Inside the rec room the floor was littered with hollow brass shell casings. He didn't use the flashlight. He didn't want the killers to see the glow and know exactly where they were. He could make out the shapes of corpses near the overturned card table, like sleeping seals. The air was lousy with the smell of cordite and spilled blood.
“Dear lord,” Sean gasped.
Once inside the windowless ordnance room, he turned on the flashlight. His heart sank as he looked at the solid steel doors of the weapons locker. A half dozen M16s and six Beretta M9s were inside the heavy steel mesh, along with stacks of loaded magazines. Opening the doors required a combination. He opened a standing cabinet, which was filled with coats and specialized items the sailors might need in an emergency. He jerked down a pair of raincoats. “This will fit you” he said.
“I'm already wet,” she said.
He handed her a ballistic vest. “Put this vest on first-under the coat.”
Winter cut the flashlight off before they left the room. In the rec room, his ears picked up the chirp of a wet rubber sole against floor tile-someone was coming up the hallway.
He nudged Sean to a steel-frame window on the bay side and swung it open. He whispered, “When I fire, you go out this window. Don't wait. If I'm not right behind you, find a place to hide. Help should be here soon.” Since he had no idea if the sailors had sent out an alarm, he had no reason to believe help would come soon enough to make any difference to them.
He moved to a table and set the lamp on its surface, holding it at arm's length with his left hand while he aimed his gun at the door. When the rec room door swung in, Winter braced, but sensing a feint, remained still. After the door swung back into place, it opened again and a figure entered. If their luck held, this man, too, would be wearing night-vision lenses: a double-edged sword. While it allowed him to see in darkness like an owl, it also made him sensitive to bright light.
When Winter triggered the flashlight, the figure against the door was illuminated like a performer on a stage. The man raised his left arm to shield his blinded eyes and fired a burst at the light. Winter fired as he ran for the window, where Sean was scrambling through ahead of him. The. 40-caliber bullets knocked the killer backward through the door. Due to the armor, Winter doubted he had done more than slow the man down.
They ran up the side of the barracks toward the radio shack and the switchback beyond it. Winter had only four shots left and at least two other assailants to split them between. As they rounded the radio shack, a lightning bolt streaked overhead and Winter saw a silhouette among the weeds to the left of the path. A man was waiting there on the switchback in case they managed to get past the one who'd come inside-a man who'd soon be on their heels. Winter thrust Sean through the radio shack's doorway, just as the crouching man opened up with his MP5. The bullets struck the bunker like hammer blows.
Sean fell over something and yelped.
Winter couldn't close the door without exposing himself to the man's corrected fire. When lightning flared across the sky again, Winter saw that Sean had tripped over a uniformed corpse. They had seconds before someone came in after them. There was no way out-only the way they'd come in.
Winter knew that if he allowed himself to think this over, he was dead. He grabbed Sean by her arm, almost tripping over an overturned chair.
“What are we going to do?” she demanded.
“Hide,” Winter said.
“Great plan,” she muttered. “They'll never find us in here.”
“Was that sarcasm?” he quipped as he looked around.
“Absolutely,” she replied, squeezing his hand.
He put Sean inside a narrow steel cabinet and closed its door. He doubted both killers would enter: One would come in, or both would take this opportunity to make an escape. The assailants had to know their time was running out. Why risk their lives for second-tier targets when the Navy might be coming to the island anytime?
Rain rattled on the awning as he prepared to greet the killer. Something thrown in from outside rolled across the floor. He didn't have to see it to know it was a grenade. Winter closed his eyes, pressed his hands over his ears, and opened his mouth. If it was a CS grenade they could survive the gas. If it was a fragmentary grenade, he would
