The Camel Club

Simpson said from the backseat, “So what is this Murder Mountain place?”

Stone glanced at her with a bemused expression and then looked out the windshield. “Take the next right, Alex, and then pull off the road.”

“Road!” Alex said in frustration. “What road? I haven’t seen a real road for about twenty miles. My suspension’s shot.”

They were in the midst of the mountains now, and the only thing that looked back at them from out of the darkness was thick forest.

Stone glanced back at Simpson. “As I said before, Murder Mountain was a training facility for special operatives of the CIA.”

“I know that’s what you said. What I want to know is, why do you call it Murder Mountain?”

“Well, the short answer to that is they weren’t being trained to be nice to people.”

Simpson snorted. “So you’re saying a U.S. government agency was training murderers? Is that what you’re saying?”

Stone pointed up ahead. “Pull the car over there, Alex. We’re going to have to walk now.”

Alex obeyed this instruction, unclipped his magnetized flashlight from the doorpost of the Crown Vic, went around to the trunk and started passing out equipment. This included guns and night-vision gear.

Reuben and Stone both handled their weapons expertly.

“Nam, three tours and then DIA,” Reuben said in response to a curious look from Alex. “I know my way around a pistol.”

“Good,” Alex said. He looked at Stone, who was checking his weapon.

“You all right with that, Oliver?”

“I’m fine,” Stone said quietly. Actually, he was terrified to have a gun in his hand after all these years.

“In case we get split up for any reason, everybody got a cell phone?” Alex asked.

“The signal probably won’t work well up here,” Reuben commented.

“And once we get inside the building, there won’t be any transmission possible,” Stone said. “The building was constructed with copper and lead shielding.”

“Great,” Alex said. “Okay, Oliver, lead the way.”

They headed into the woods.

“Does anyone have a problem with caves?” Stone asked as he halted the group at an entrance into the side of the mountain.

“I have a real problem with getting lost and dying in one,” Alex said.

“That won’t happen, but it does get a little snug in places.”

“How snug?” Reuben asked anxiously. “I’m not exactly a little guy.”

“You’ll be fine,” Stone reassured his friend.

Alex stared into the pitch-black hole. “Is this the entrance to the building?”

“It’s not one of the official entrances, but they’d be watching the official entrances, wouldn’t they?” Stone replied. “Okay, stay close to me.” He shone his light ahead and stepped inside.

Simpson was the last to enter, and she clearly wasn’t very happy about this turn of events. She glanced around behind her, shivered and followed the others inside.

It took them some time to navigate the curving passageways. In two spots they had to clear debris that had fallen down and blocked the way, and in several other locations they had to crawl through. Above them the ceiling creaked and groaned, prompting them to hurry along faster.

They reached a shaft that had rough foot- and handholds carved into the rock. Stone went first. When he reached the top, he shone his light on a wall of black rock. However, when he tapped it, the wall was hollow. He felt along the wall, then carefully pushed on it until the section started giving way. Alex clambered up and helped him, and soon the wall had been pushed back.

They all scrambled through the opening.

The wall they had pushed out was wooden, but painted on the back side to look like rock. The other side of the wall, the one inside the building, had a shelf attached to it. Stone popped the wall back into place.

Stone whispered, “Now, I think it would be wise for everyone to have their guns ready. We don’t know how close we might be to someone.”

As they walked along, they looked around at the immensity of the place. And it was as though they had stepped back in time forty years. There were even ashtrays built into the stainless-steel walls.

A few moments later loud noises echoed from somewhere, causing all except Stone to point their weapons in all directions.

“It’s only birds that have gotten in,” he explained. “That happened in the old days too.”

With those words Stone felt himself freeze. The old days. It sounded so innocuous, as though he were returning to his cherished alma mater for a reunion. This place had been his home for twelve months. A year of his life devoted 24/7 to learning the most precise and intricate ways to kill people. As a young man Oliver Stone had excelled in these surroundings and at that task. A Special Forces soldier, the transition to the CIA team had not been that difficult. He had traded one weapon for another, and his enemies became civilians who didn’t even know they were under attack. As a young man his successes in the field had made him a legend in the special ops world. As an older man he found it all too horrible to contemplate. He couldn’t believe that two such different men could inhabit the same body.

As they walked along, memories kept flooding back to Stone. Every new sighting, every fresh smell or distant sound, brought with it a recollection of past horrors. The others would all be looking to him to lead them, perhaps to save them. And yet he had never been trained to save anyone. The sweat broke over Stone’s forehead. He had brought three people he cared much about to die here. On Murder Mountain.

Reinke and Peters had driven to Murder Mountain after they’d heard Sharia’s claim that it had kidnapped Brennan, and then Acting President Hamilton’s televised demand. They left their car in a clearing and sprinted toward the woods. Passing through a narrow cleft in the trees, they reached another open area. Here a mass of fallen rock lay along with overgrown bushes. Picking their way around this barrier, a door was revealed when Peters drew aside a curtain of kudzu. Murder Mountain had been built right into the rock.

Peters lifted a small metal cover on the door, revealing a button and loudspeaker.

“It’s me and Tyler,” he said, talking into the loudspeaker. “Things are out of control. Hurry!”

Reinke put the metal sheet back down and stepped back. As the massive door clicked open, three figures leaped from behind a pile of fallen rock. Tyler Reinke and Warren Peters dropped to the ground, their throats garroted. Captain Jack walked out from behind the rock and stood over them. He nodded approvingly. Reinke and Peters hadn’t even been able to make a sound to warn their colleague inside.

A number of other men joined them and Captain Jack led them all into the building.

CHAPTER

65

CAPTAIN JACK BROUGHT WITH him eleven North Koreans with well-earned reputations as killers of considerable skill and ruthlessness. It had been relatively easy to get them into the United States posing as South Koreans as part of a technology fact-finding program. Asians coming into the country didn’t inspire near the scrutiny that Middle Easterners did.

However, despite his men’s murderous abilities, Captain Jack was also well aware of Tom Hemingway’s prowess, and he wisely chose to split up his crew keeping two men with him. Captain Jack had seen firsthand what Mr. Hemingway could do in a fight. Eight members of a Yemeni death squad had the misfortune of running into Hemingway while Captain Jack observed from a safe distance. It had been a slaughter. All eight Yemeni, each tough, hardened and armed, were dead within five minutes. Hemingway never even pulled his gun. He did it all with his hands and feet, moving with a speed, precision and power that Captain Jack — with all his world travels — had never before encountered.

By now Hemingway would realize that something was wrong, and he would be coming for them. Separating his men would allow Captain Jack to wear Hemingway down, to outflank and finally surround him. There would be