The Camel Club

The machine-gun bullets ripped through the door to the firing range; Reuben and Stone threw themselves to the floor.

The door burst open and a second man flew inside, still firing.

Stone managed to kick a leg out and trip the man, sending him sprawling and his machine gun flying out of his hands.

Reuben pounced on the much smaller man.

“Got ’im, Oliver,” Reuben cried out. Reuben wrapped his huge arms around the man and squeezed. “Not so tough without your gun.” Then Reuben cried out in pain as the man smashed his heel on top of Reuben’s foot. Reuben’s grip loosened a bit, which was the only opening the man needed. Two blows slammed into Reuben’s chin, then two more thunderous strikes knifed into his gut, and Reuben was on his knees gasping for air and spitting up blood. The man’s hand raised, the blade in it held in a killing position. It descended toward the back of Reuben’s neck.

The bullet hit him flush in the brain, and he dropped to his knees and then toppled to the floor.

Stone thrust the pistol back in his belt and ran over to his friend.

“Reuben?” he said shakily. “Reuben!”

“Damn, Oliver,” Reuben said slowly through his busted mouth. He rose on trembling legs. The two men looked at each other.

“What the hell are we doing here, Oliver?” Reuben said, wiping the blood away. “We’re way out of our league.”

Stone looked down at his trembling hands and felt the pain in his leg where he’d tripped the man. He’d killed two men tonight after not having killed anyone for nearly thirty years. Despite his brief feelings of his old training coming back, this was not like riding a bicycle. It was less about physical training and youthful strength and more about a mind-set that said it was okay to kill another human being by any means possible and for any reason. Stone had once been such a man. He no longer was. And yet he was trapped in a building that would very likely be his and his friends’ crypt if he didn’t continue to summon his old homicidal instincts.

“I’m sorry for bringing you here, Reuben. I’m very sorry.” Stone’s voice cracked as he said this.

Reuben put a big hand around his friend. “Hell, Oliver, if we gotta die, I’d rather go with you than anybody else I know. But we have to get back. I mean what would Caleb and Milton do without us?”

Alex and Simpson were in a large, dark room that smelled distinctly foul. They had not heard the shots from the firing range because it was insulated for sound. Using his night-vision goggles Alex was able to see that there was a narrow elevated passageway leading across the room that was reachable by a set of metal steps.

He whispered to Simpson, “I’ll go first, to make sure it’s okay. But cover me close,” he added.

“Why do you get to play hero?” she asked.

“Who says I’m playing hero? If I get in trouble, you better damn sure come bail me out, even if it means getting your ass shot up. Now, listen, when you go across that passageway, you stay right in the middle, okay? Do not step on the sides.”

“Why, what’ll happen?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to find out. Oliver just told me to stay smack in the middle, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Alex made his way cautiously up the stairs and then walked across the catwalk staying right in the middle and keeping low. He reached the other side, saw the door to the other room and called back softly.

“Okay, it’s clear, come on.”

Simpson hurried after him. As soon as she reached him, the entry door to the room opened and closed. Alex and Simpson instantly crouched low.

Alex studied the situation and then tapped Simpson on the shoulder and motioned to the exit door behind them and then indicated he was staying behind. As Simpson started off, Alex crouched on the edge of the catwalk, his pistol pointed straight ahead. He glanced back at Simpson and nodded. She opened the door and eased through. However, she made a slight noise, and this caused the other person in the room to hurry up the steps and onto the catwalk. Alex stepped forward and, unfortunately, to the side of the passageway. He heard a click, and the floor under him disappeared. He plummeted downward and landed in knee-deep, sludgy water. He heard another splash farther down the tank. The other guy had apparently fallen in too. It was now so black in here that Alex couldn’t even see himself, and his night-vision goggles had fallen off into the muck. Alex prayed his adversary didn’t have night-vision equipment, or he was dead.

A shot was fired, and the bullet clanged off the side of the tank far too close to Alex’s head. He crouched down, returned fire and then moved. He tried not to breathe in the stench of the shit he’d fallen into. The wound in his arm was hurting, his bruised ribs were aching like hell and his neck was on fire. Other than that, he was in great shape.

Alex had another problem besides these physical injuries. Because he was in knee-deep sludge, it was impossible to move without revealing his position. So Alex didn’t move. The problem was neither did the other man. This was turning into a battle of the first one to move dies. And now it occurred to Alex: This was the “patience” room that Stone had mentioned. After some minutes of standing still Alex realized he needed another strategy. He slowly reached out until his fingers touched the metal sides of the tank. Then he drew out his flashlight.

Alex suddenly jerked his torso to the side, and the knife sailed by him, clanged against the sides of the tank and fell into the water with a small splash. Alex didn’t fire his weapon, though, which was undoubtedly his opponent’s hope.

He hefted the flashlight in his hand, reached up and placed it carefully against the metal side of the tank. Its magnetized side instantly clamped securely there. Next Alex ducked down, and, stretching his arm as far as it would go, he placed his index finger on the flashlight’s power button. He readied his pistol, said a heartfelt prayer, pushed the button and whipped his hand back. The light blazed on, and a second later two shots hit it directly. Another instant and Alex’s own gun rang, and he let out a sigh of relief as he heard the body hit the water. Then someone was scrambling past overhead. How was that possible? There was no floor anymore. Then someone else raced by.

Alex jumped as high as he could, trying to reach a handhold to pull himself out. Twice he missed and fell into the water. The third time he was on target, pulled himself up and managed to jerk himself along the handrail to the next door and through it.

CHAPTER

66

STONE AND REUBEN LOOKED around what appeared to be a replica of famed Hogan’s Alley in Quantico, which the FBI used to train its agents for real-life scenarios. The Secret Service had a similar setup at their Beltsville training facility. This room had mock buildings, a phone booth, sidewalks and an intersection complete with traffic light. An old black sedan with rotted tires was parked on the street. It was as though they had suddenly stepped back in time.

Standing on the street were a number of mannequins — a couple of men, three women and some children. The paint on their faces had faded, and they were very grimy, but they still looked remarkably lifelike. Reuben noted that there were bullet holes in the heads of all of them.

Stone led Reuben behind one of the buildings. There were wooden staircases here leading up to landings at each of the cutout windows.

“This is where we’d do our sniper work,” Stone explained.

“Who were you training to kill?”

“You don’t want to know that,” Stone tersely answered before putting a finger up to his lips. Footsteps were heading their way. Stone pointed upward, toward one of the windows. They made their way quietly up and cautiously peered out.

Three North Koreans had entered the space. They moved as one well-trained unit, each taking turns covering the others as they searched the area.