shoulder against it, but it stayed put. With no time for finesse, he took out the pistol and bored out the lock mechanism.
This room had two windows. He pushed the door shut behind him, then ran to them quickly. Dean was saying something in English over the com system; it went dead before Karr could figure out what it was.
The windows were alarmed, but it was a simple wire system, easily defeated with a clip and wire set. He pushed the window open, then paused, checking the Bagel scan carefully. He saw now why he’d missed the sentries — there was a ladder up the side of the roof, hidden by an overhang. They were making for it now.
It was on the opposite side of the building, away from Building Two.
Karr pulled up the cursor and clicked it on Dean’s IR profile, prompting the computer to memorize it. It could now locate him at will.
Assuming they didn’t kill him first, of course.
Building Two had a set of steps that led to a steel door in the basement. Karr ran to them, once more using his.22 to blow out the lock. But this door had a dead bolt or something else securing it: it jammed when he tried to get in.
There came a time in every show when you had to play the luck card. Tommy Karr hated to play it this early, but there was no other choice. He ran up the steps, glancing at the feed from the Bagel — the sentries were coming around the side of Building One. He bashed the nearest window with his gun and then dived inside the building, rolling in the darkness on a surprisingly thick and relatively soft rug.
Like a pig in shit, he thought to himself, jumping up.
44
“What the hell’s going on, Karr? Where are you?” Lia hissed.
“Building Two. Aren’t you watching?”
“I’m still trying to get the feed from the Bagel.”
“Just use the sitrep. Did you get all the weapons loaded?”
“Of course.”
“Did Fashona bitch about the jacks?”
“Is the pope Catholic?”
Specially designed trolleys and hydraulic jacks were used to load the weapons pods onto the wings. While these machines did all the heavy lifting, they had to be positioned just so beneath the hard points; it was not a job for an impatient man, and inevitably left the pilot in a foul mood.
Lia clicked into the map, which showed Karr’s and Dean’s positions. Dean was on Building One, moving toward the side.
Christ, the bastards were going to throw him off.
“We’re coming in,” she said.
“Just hold on,” Karr told her. “Let me find Martin first.”
“They’re going to kill Dean.”
“Relax. They’ll question him before they kill him.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t go postal, honey.”
“Postal? You’re fuckin’ hyperventilating.”
“I’m out of breath. Look, you guys have to stay on schedule or you’ll get nailed by the SA-6. Wait until they take out the van. I’ll get Martin, then I’ll bail out Dean.”
She bounced back to the sit map, which showed the team’s location.
“Karr.”
“You have ten minutes. You can’t sit tight until then?”
She was worried about Dean. She was
Would she have worried so much about Karr?
Damn straight.
Maybe.
“Take out the guns, then get the two guards on the inside of the gate, in case they have shoulder-launched SAMs,” Karr reminded her.
“I know my fucking job.”
“Then do it,” he said. “Gotta go.”
His channel remained open. Lia pressed the mike button for the helicopter’s interphone. “Ray—”
“I heard,” said the pilot. “The SA-6 van blows in seven and a half minutes.”
“God, they’ll be dead before we get there.”
“Probably not.”
“Shit, Ray,
“If you want to get out and push, be my guest. If not, we do it the way Tommy drew it up.”
“If Dean and Karr die in there, I swear to God, I’ll never talk to you again,” she said.
“Yeah, well, they ain’t going to die, so don’t get your hopes up.”
45
Dean moved down the fire escape — like ladder as slowly as he could. Every five seconds of delay would increase Karr’s chances of getting away, which in turn increased his own odds of survival. Finally, the man above him had enough and began stomping at his fingers to make him go faster. Dean jumped the last two rungs and pretended to crumble to the ground, but the Russians were having none of that — the man who’d gone down first put his rifle about two inches from Dean’s face.
Dean had surrendered the.22 and his combat knife, along with his pack and all of his grenades. He still had a small Glock hideaway strapped to his calf and another under his vest. But at the moment there was no way he could get them before being perforated.
The Russian said something, probably telling him to move forward to the front of the building, where there was a vehicle. Dean didn’t have to pretend not to understand; he stood with his hands out, as dumb a look on his face as he could muster — which was pretty dumb.
“I don’t speak Russian,” he said.
The Marine said something that sounded like “pash-lee, pash-lee,” which Dean recognized as Russian for “let’s go.” As he started to move, the Marine behind him decided he wasn’t moving fast enough and slammed his rifle butt into Dean’s kidney. The American fell to the ground, this time not faking it. The Marine went to jab him again, this time with the barrel end. Instinctively Dean grabbed the gun.
He realized this was a big mistake about half a second before it fired.
46
One minute, Stephen Martin was having a glorious wet dream, banging two models on a pristine Aruba beach. The scent of sunscreen mixed with tequila and the heavy odor of women in heat.
The next minute, he was being pulled out of bed by his undershirt, dragged across the cold cement floor.
“Fuck,” he mumbled as he tried to grab whatever had him. “Jesus. Let me wake up.”
He jerked his elbow into something hard, then felt himself spinning backward. His head slammed against the cement.
