“Red left, Blue right, go, go, go!” Hawke said. He took the point and sprinted across the broad white marble piazza toward the residence. He could hear Stoke and his men right behind him. He was about two hundred yards from the covered entrance when he heard Stoke cry aloud in his earpiece, “Shit!”
“Talk to me, Stokely,” Hawke barked into his radio.
“Snipers with noise suppressors. Second floor on our left, bossman. One of the bastards stung me.”
“You okay?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m okay. It was only a bullet, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t like it, man,” Hawke heard Brock say.
“Like what?”
“Taking fire from high ground. Sucks, big time. Anybody besides me a graduate of the War College?”
“Take them out then, Harry, that’s your job description,” Stoke said.
“Aw, shit, man,” Brock said. “These assholes are killing us down here. I got a guy spilling his guts out on my spit-shined boots.”
“Don’t say fuck, Harry,” Stoke said, firing as fast as he could. “Boss don’t like it. Told you that in Afghanistan.”
“Yeah? Fuck him. Somebody up there just blew half my fucking ear off.”
“So? Shut up and shoot back, man, God and country.”
“I don’t need no Negro inspirational messages right now, awright? Especially from you.”
“Yeah? I don’t need no closet homos afraid of a few little bullets, awright?”
“You know what you can do? You can go-”
“Don’t say that F-word again, Harry. Boss kick your skinny white ass.”
The sudden thump-thump of Harry’s heavy machine gun rent the air. Huge chunks of cement, calved off, raining down on the marble. Harry was finally cooperating in earnest.
Red Team was now spitting lead, and the air suddenly filled with tracer rounds as their fire chewed up the walls and obliterated the windows above. Hawke spotted guards emerging from the domed entrance, scattering, but running straight toward them. He wanted a gunfight and it looked like he was going to get one. He saw at least two of his men drop, obviously mortally wounded. Others were getting clipped, but kept on fighting, spraying fire at the dispersing enemy fighters.
Hawke dropped to one knee, put his eye to his scope, and started carefully picking off the enemy one at a time, their running figures bright red in his lens. Bullets whistled overhead, adding to his excitement quota. Times like this he always remembered Churchill’s immortal quote, “Nothing in life is quite so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.”
Stokely blew by him, a huge presence, firing on the run, shouting something unprintable. He was followed by Brock, whose sole redeeming feature was that he was an indestructible killing machine.
Brock had been designated the squad’s heavy machine gunner. He was laden down with the big M-60 machine gun and was laying down a base of fire of 7.62 rounds. It was devastatingly effective and instantly gave Red Team an increasing advantage over the enemy.
Hawke continued to score hits, all the while calmly talking business with Stony Stollenwork.
“Navy Blue, this is Big Red One. We’re taking heavy fire outside the residence. I’ve got casualties. At least two KIAs and some wounded. Over.”
“You need backup?”
“Negative. We can handle it. Any luck over there?”
“Affirmative. Big time. We found the lab, checked it out. Huge. Langley’s geeks were right. Looks like bioengineering, all right. A fucking bug factory. I’ve got one team setting charges right now. You hear any large explosions, it’s courtesy of the U.S. Navy. That bio-terror lab will be smoking debris in less than two minutes.”
“Good work, Stony. And your location?”
“Still looking for the machine. Doing a house-to-house in the main village, taking sporadic sniper fire from warehouse windows. Of course, we may have seen the goddamn machine and not recognized it. This is messed up, Commander. It could look like a goddamn stuffed polar bear for all we know. Over.”
“Stony, it won’t be furry. It will be metallic.”
“Yeah, yeah-detonating now-keep your head down, Big Red. Navy Blue, over.”
A massive explosion rocked the citadel and instantly Hawke saw a plume of fire, debris, and black smoke climbing into the night sky. The bug factory, at least, was history.
O nce the last man was past him, Hawke got to his feet and followed, providing his team with covering fire from their rear. Night vision helped a lot. Some dark figure would suddenly step out of a doorway and aim in his direction. Guy was dead before he finished pulling the trigger. Hawke kept expecting them to confront him using a woman as a human shield and wondering what he’d do. Hell, he knew exactly what he would do. These people used pregnant mothers wearing bomb vests to climb on buses loaded with schoolchildren.
The snipers had been nullified and the number of enemy combatants on the piazza was dwindling rapidly. These were obviously combat-hardened soldiers, unlike the three stooges at the gate. This, he knew, would be Darius Saffari’s Imperial Guard, men with orders to fight until the last man.
It was now up to Hawke to make sure they followed those orders to the letter.
He saw that Stokely and Brock had made it to the great archway that marked the palace entrance. He saw Stoke shoot the flat of his hand into the air and bring the squad to a halt outside. A moment later Hawke arrived at his friend’s side.
“Good work,” Hawke said, glancing at Brock. “Stoke, you and I go inside first for a quick recon. Harry, if you hear us taking fire, don’t hesitate to come to our aid, okay? Otherwise, wait for my signal.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two men ducked inside, weapons at the ready. They found themselves in a massive circular room with a domed ceiling that appeared to be made of gold. Some kind of reception area, Hawke guessed. Across the room was another arched doorway that seemed to open onto a long passageway, brightly illuminated. He flipped his NVGs up onto his helmet.
Waiting at the end of this corridor, Hawke hoped, was the man he’d come halfway around the world to kill.
F ifteen minutes earlier, Darius Saffari had been seated next to his huge canopied bed where his beloved Aphrodite lay. She was naked, the black silken sheets covering very little of her extraordinary body. Her golden hair fanned across the pillows, she was speaking provocatively to him and cupping one of her breasts in her hand, proffering it to his lips.
“This one is for you, master. Only for you. If you tire of it, I have another in reserve. See? Right here.”
Now she was cupping both breasts in her hands, kneading them while looking up at him from beneath long black lashes.
“No woman on earth has the right to be as beautiful as you are, my love.”
“Yours for the taking.”
“Roll over onto your stomach. I want to-”
Gunfire.
What?
How could it be? There’d been no alarm sirens wailing, no call from the radar station saying aircraft had penetrated the perimeter. Ever since the death of Osama bin Laden, Darius had been terrified of the throbbing beat of approaching helicopters bearing U.S. Navy SEALs. He’d installed more antiaircraft emplacements around the perimeter and doubled the guards. And now there was someone inside his compound shooting?
It wasn’t possible.
Yet the sound of automatic fire seemed to be getting rapidly closer to his residence.
“Darling! Quick! You must hide!” Aphrodite said.
“Hide? Where? They’ve come to kill me. They won’t leave until they’ve found me.”
“But what will you do?”
“The danger of cornering a rat, darling, is that he must bite you to get out. A long time ago I began preparations for this inevitable moment. There is a chance I won’t see another sunrise. I may escape. But if I’m to go out, at least I shall go out in a blinding blaze of glory.”
The long corridor was brightly lit with recessed LEDs, and utterly empty. As they made their way forward,
