right?’
Alex hesitated, then snatched the paper from him. ‘Okay, but back home, the drinks are on you… for a week.’
Kolchek smiled. ‘Sure, drinks’ll be on me, buddy.’
Alex cast a glance at the sky: the lighter shades of gray had turned leaden now, and a cold, sharp breeze bit at his ears and nose. It was time.
‘Muscle up, people — it’s showtime. Bruda, stay at the tree line until we’re on the street, then keep one hundred feet behind us. Kolchek, Johnson and Stozer: on my mark. . Go!’
Alex started forward with Kolchek and Stozer at each shoulder, and Johnson close behind, in a simple, arrow-tip formation. Bruda crabbed along the tree line, keeping them in sight. He had the big gun set for semi- automatic and had pinned several of the double magazines to his belt for fast loading. The shotgun shells would come out fast and hard — each drum contained thirty-two twelve-gauge rounds. He would control his fire, but could get off a hundred rounds in under a minute. The thing kicked like hell, and would knock a normal man flat if he tried to open it up too quickly. But for a man like Bruda, who weighed in at about two-forty pounds, that wasn’t a problem.
The HAWCs went down the street low and fast, their skeletal, black Colt ACRs held out in front of them. As they neared the corner, Alex paused, his gaze roving along the line of dark windows, over the rooftops, then down the darkening street. There was no doubt about it now.
The town was deserted.
CHAPTER 10
‘Fuck a duck!’
Hammerson’s screen flared red as the emergency alert banner passed across it. They had just leapt from DEFCON 5 — Normal Readiness, to DEFCON 2 — War Readiness, in the space of an instant.
A one-megaton fusion device had detonated in Dubna. The seismic activity indicated that the blast had occurred on or below ground — a low-altitude earth-buster, and the fusion meant a lot of heat and power, but little fallout — a giant super-heated hammer blow to the Russian landscape. Hammerson could almost feel the earth shift under his feet.
An accident at the physics research lab? With that class of hi-tech, precision blast, it was more likely someone was cleaning house. And there was only one leader in the world who’d nuke his own soil — Vladimir Volkov.
Hammerson’s heart pounded in his chest. Another thing he knew about Volkov: he would love to have a captured American Special Forces team as his scapegoat. Blame would shift from Russia to the United States.
‘Secure line.’ He waited. ‘Dark Bird One, this is Overlord.’
The pilot of the chopper stationed at the Georgian border answered immediately.
‘Acknowledged.’
‘Immediate Valkeryn retrieval.’
‘Acknowledged.’
He hung up the phone.
The mission was terminated, accomplished or not. He had been ordered to obtain the power cell. That brief did not include starting World War III.
CHAPTER 11
The four HAWCs moved along the line of parked vehicles in Surkhaiki Street. Fifty feet farther down the road was number fifteen, their destination. Like most of the houses, it was a modern weatherboard on wooden stilts. Out the front there were three wooden steps, with a small shrub on either side shielding the area underneath from prying eyes — a good hiding place. Again, Alex scanned the line of roofs and black windows. Several were open a crack. He held up his thermal scope: cold as Jack Frost’s tomb.
They’d maintain radio silence until they had something to report. Alex pointed to Kolchek, then to the steps. The man took off, staying low.
Kolchek knelt beside the steps and reached underneath. Almost immediately, he pulled free something wrapped in a dirty towel. The package looked monumentally heavy. He gave Alex the thumbs-up.
Kolchek slung his gun over his shoulder, needing both arms to carry the package. As he turned, he grinned — but only for a moment.
His head kicked back.
Kolchek fell heavily, the leaden canister bouncing off his chest. Immediately, Bruda’s booming gun shattered the silence, erupting like a thousand thunderstorms all around them.
Bronson frowned at the clipped instructions from the incoming chopper. They’d been pulled. He’d given coordinates that would set it down right on the main street — he doubted the average Chechen would come out to investigate a military chopper coming down in the center of their town. It would still take them an hour to arrive; he’d give Hunter a little bit longer to finish the job.
Khamid sat nervously, his eyes darting back and forth.
Khamid looked at him with a sort of weary gratitude, then suddenly jerked upright. His eyes widened. Bronson reached instinctively for his gun.
With his other hand, he snatched at the loop of razor wire that swung over his head and pulled tight. Even with his Kevlar glove, it bit deep into his fingers. A massive booted heel stomped down on his gun hand, breaking bones and pinning it to the dirt.
Khamid cowered in fear. There would be no help from the little man, but Bronson didn’t expect any. He grunted with pain as the garrote sliced through to the bone of his knuckles. The force being exerted was enormous.
A deep voice whispered in his ear: ‘Hurts, da, little man?’
Sweat and blood spat into the air as the first of his fingers fell away. The pain was nauseating, and he could feel himself sinking under it. With his last conscious breath, he croaked at the scientist, who was scrabbling backward, shaking his head as though denying what he was seeing.
‘Run. .’
Khamid staggered to his feet and fled. Bronson’s assailant laughed as the HAWC felt his now fingerless hand fall by his side.
The wire at his throat didn’t hurt at all.
From down the street, every window, every corner and rooftop seemed to contain a black-clad figure. The zip-zip of flying bullets sounded like a swarm of insects.
Johnson was across the road, firing up at the snipers, and Stozer had her back to the car beside Alex.
‘Spetsnaz?’
‘Have to be. They were there, concealed, but didn’t show up on the thermal scope; must have been hiding
