The Plantation

the power of the initial blast, littered the manicured yard. Clouds of smoke lingered in the air, making it tough to breathe or even see.

“Damn,” he muttered as he removed his mask and cloak. “This can’t be good.”

Holmes, Jackson, and Webster saw Greene’s approach and rushed to his side. Before they even said a word, Greene tried to assess the severity of the situation but was unable to do so because of their wide range of emotions. Holmes had the cold glare of a terrorist. Blank face, intense eyes, neither a frown nor a smile on his lips. He had seen this type of shit before and wasn’t fazed by it. Jackson, though not as polished as Holmes, was still under control. His eyes showed some concern, like a sick man waiting for test results in a hospital, but he did his best to mask it with a broad grin. This was his first combat, and overall, he was holding up well.

Then there was Webster. He was the complete opposite of the other two men. In fact, if he had been a horse, Elmer’s would’ve been negotiating for his glue rights. His face was pale and sweaty. His body trembled. And his eyes were as big as pancakes. If not for the tragic possibilities of the situation, Greene would’ve laughed at him.

Hell, he was tempted to do it anyway.

“Why are you here?” Webster asked. “Who’s watching the boat of prisoners?”

“Don’t worry about it. The passengers are chained and surrounded by water. They aren’t going anywhere.” Greene turned toward Holmes. He knew this was the man who would give him the facts he was looking for. “What happened?”

“Your friend blew up the cabin and managed to escape in the process.”

“Jones escaped? How is that possible? Where was Hakeem when this happened?” The three men looked at each other but didn’t respond. “Shit, where’s Hakeem now?”

Holmes shrugged. “We don’t know, but we’re assuming he’s dead. He’s been missing for quite some time, and Theo saw one of the prisoners with his set of keys. We figure that-”

“Prisoners?” Greene blurted. “Are we talking plural?”

Holmes nodded. “It seems your other friend, Payne, unlocked the cabin door before Jones blew it up. At least that’s what we’ve pieced together. Theo watched the escape from the house and thinks Jones made the bomb from his anklet.”

All eyes turned to Webster, who just stared at the flames in the distance.

Holmes shook his head at Webster’s high level of anxiety. “I’m still trying to figure out why they blew up the cabin. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, why blow it up if you have a set of keys to get out quietly? Wouldn’t the explosion just draw attention to your escape?”

Greene considered the question. “Maybe that’s what they wanted. Maybe they blew the cabin up for attention. You know, draw us to this part of the Plantation for some reason.” He paused as he fleshed out the theory in his mind. “What were the other blasts I heard?”

“Actually,” Jackson answered, “you may be on to something there. Three charges were set off in the trees for just that purpose. Your friends lured thirteen of my guards to a spot in the woods, then waited for their arrival. When they showed up . . .” He finished his statement by running his thumb across the base of his throat in a slashing motion.

“They killed all thirteen?” Greene asked. “How the hell did they do that?”

Webster groaned, and Jackson cleared his throat. Neither of them wanted to tell Greene about the carnage they had witnessed. But Holmes didn’t mind talking. In fact, he wanted Greene to know what kind of trouble he’d brought to the island. “It seems our escapees aren’t your average, everyday army grunts. These are two very talented men, special forces plus.”

Greene furrowed his brow. “Special forces plus? What does that mean?”

“It means that they’re the best. They’re capable of doing anything they want.”

“Anything?” said a doubtful Greene. He’d fought Jones a few hours before, and his opponent barely put up a fight. He certainly didn’t think of him as a killer. “Come on, they’re just men! Two injured men! How tough can they be?”

“You don’t understand. I’ve known about the MANIACs for a very long time. These guys aren’t human. They’re machines. Military supermen.”

“Get real!” Greene laughed. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little bit?”

Holmes’s face finally showed some emotion-not much, just a slight flare-up in his eyes. “Exaggerating? They slipped out of bondage, located Terrell’s armory, stole a shitload of weapons, killed thirteen guards in the woods and two with a booby trap, then mysteriously disappeared into the night. Now you tell me, do these guys sound normal to you?”

Greene took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit it, but from Holmes’s description it did seem like Payne and Jones were pretty talented. Hell, he’d underestimated them at Sam’s Tattoos and they had escaped. Maybe these guys

were

something to worry about.

“So, they’re still out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Holmes answered. “They’re still on the loose, doing God knows what.”

“And what about Payne’s girlfriend? Where’s she? She’s our insurance policy, you know.”

Holmes turned toward Jackson. “Didn’t you have her in your possession?”

“She’s in the guest bedroom. I left her tied to the bed.”

“Jesus!” Greene growled. “You left her in the house this entire time by herself, and you didn’t say anything! She’s what they want!”

The thought of Ariane’s escape made Greene tense with fear. She was his best chance at safety, and he knew it. As long as he had her, he had lots of bargaining power.

“We better get the bitch before they find her. If we lose her, we’re in deep shit.”

Holmes nodded in agreement. “I’ll come with you, Levon. I think we should bring the young blonde out of the house as well. The less spread out we are, the better.”

WITH

a hollow reed in his mouth and a bag on his shoulder, Payne took a breath of fresh air and slipped into the warm water of the gulf. He wouldn’t have to swim far, but the distance he’d travel would be done underwater in complete darkness, so the reed would guarantee a supply of oxygen if he needed it.

Using his hands as his only guide, Payne swam blindly through the intricate web of wooden poles that supported the western dock, making his way toward the heavily guarded boat. After circumnavigating the bow, he breathed through his reed and continued forward, hugging the underbelly of the ship as he successfully wove through a series of ropes before he emerged along the edge of the stern.

The toughest part was over. He was where he needed to be.

WHILE peering through the scope of his Heckler amp; Koch PSG1 semiautomatic sniper rifle, Jones swung his gun from side to side, searching for targets. He found several. It was a good thing that his weapon offered a deadly combination of precision and speed, or he wouldn’t have a chance against so many men. And if he failed to complete his mission, Payne would probably die.

Thankfully, he had plenty of experience dealing with pressure.

The first blast echoed in the night as the bullet struck the guard. His skull exploded in a mixture of blood, brain, and bone. Before the victim’s partners could react, Jones lined up his second target and repeated his performance.

Another shot. Another corpse. Blood everywhere.

Shot three eliminated one more guard. Shot four did the same.

And for some reason, the guards weren’t hiding. They just stood there, scanning the trees for the source of the gunfire, hoping to see the discharge in the distant night. Jones couldn’t believe his luck and their stupidity, but he was going to take advantage of both while they lasted.

“Adios.”

Guard five, killed.

“Sayonara.”

Guard six, dead.

If he’d had the chance, Jones would’ve continued shooting all night, but a few of the guards finally wised up