Gitmo getaway, p.19
Gitmo Getaway, page 19
"You're Montez's men?"
"What of it?"
Nolan could see the effect of the coke coursing through his bloodstream. He was alternating between hatred and venom for the Anglos who'd bested his men, and an irrational fear he couldn't understand.
"Answer the question, or I can shoot you and another of your men."
His shoulders slumped. "Yeah, we work for Señor Montez. I am Angel."
"That's better. We're looking for some men, Angel. Afghans. Where did they go?"
He saw the flicker of recognition in the man's eyes. It was a tiny microsecond, but the telltale reaction was hard to miss.
"I know of no Afghans. We're all Colombians here, maybe a few gringos."
"Is that right?" He still held the Makarov in one hand. He inspected it closely and stared at the man, "I'll ask one more time. The Afghans, where did they go?"
"Señor, I swear, I know nothing of any Afghans."
In a single, fluid motion, he aimed and cocked the automatic, and pulled the trigger. The bullet entered Angel's left kneecap, and he rolled on the wet ground, howling in shock and agony. There was no choice. They were running out of time, and every second that passed meant they were further away.
"Please, no more! I will tell you. They were here."
"Yeah, I guessed that much. Where did they go?"
"I don't know. Please, I cannot tell you."
Nolan put the barrel against his right knee. "Right now you'll walk again, although you'll have a limp. If I pull the trigger, it'll be a wheelchair for the rest of your life. Last chance, amigo."
The man's face was a mixture of sweat and rainwater, his swarthy skin pale with agony and fear. "All right! They were going to a ship. It is waiting offshore in international waters."
"I get it. This ship, where's it headed?"
He shook his head, and his terror became a living entity, taking over his entire being. "I do not know!"
He was weeping now, tears pouring down his face. It was clear he'd given as much as he had. Nolan looked across to the wharf.
Maybe we can still make it.
"Will, start up one of the SUVs. We're heading toward the wharf. Those people we saw were our targets. Ryder, take care of the Colombians, and follow in one of the other vehicles. Let's go!"
He ran to the nearest F150, the one with the M-60 mounted on the bed. As he jumped into the driver's seat, Will leapt on the back and slung the body of the gunner over the side. The rest of them piled in, Eva in the passenger seat, and he stamped down on the gas. As they roared away, they heard the sound of shots coming from where they'd just left. Eva looked back, but the darkness hid the scene.
"What was that?"
He knew what had happened. He'd told Ryder to take care of the Colombians. He should have spelled it out.
"John-Wesley."
"He killed them?"
He felt like he'd aged ten years. Shooting down unarmed prisoners was obscene. Yet he bore some responsibility. He knew Ryder, knew his propensity for extreme violence.
"I didn't make it clear. I guess he jumped the gun."
She nodded thoughtfully. She'd seen his insane, homicidal rages, fueled by a perverted belief in a warped interpretation of the bible.
"He is evil, Ryder."
"Aren't we all guilty of evil, to some extent?"
"Maybe."
They reached the side of the wharf, and he stamped on the brake. A man stepped out of the nearby warehouse, failing to recognize them through the driving rain.
"Angel? Did you deal with those intruders?"
He cupped his hands and shouted, "Si!"
The man nodded to himself. Then he turned away and looked back, suddenly unsure. Brad put two holes in his chest, and he dropped to the ground. Three men ran out of the buildings after they heard the shooting, then four more charged out to join them. They dived out of the trucks and came up firing. These men weren't cokeheads, and bullets zipped around them as the Colombians put up a furious rate of fire.
Nolan crouched behind a wheel and fired short bursts to keep them back. They were well armed, and there was no shortage of ammo. The SUVs were riddled with bullets as the hostiles fired clip after clip, trying to subdue them with weight of lead. The Seals were forced to take careful, aimed single shots to conserve their dwindling supplies of ammunition, and it did little to deter the Colombians.
Nolan winced as a bullet sliced into his lower leg, gouging out a channel of flesh a half inch deep. His blood started to well and drip onto the ground. It was not time to slap on a dressing. He fired back twice, and the second shot took a man in the chest and sent him spinning to the ground. Will and Brad were shoulder to shoulder, one man took a shot, ducked down, and when the enemy put up their heads to return fire, the other man popped him with a snap shot.
A bullet hit Brad and hurled him to the ground, his shoulder bleeding badly. The shooter took careful aim to finish off the downed man. Nolan hit him with three rounds; one to the chest and two headshots almost decapitated him. Another Colombian went down, and the last two men turned and ran back into the warehouse.
"Get after them," he shouted, "Don't give them time to call for reinforcements."
They catapulted to their feet and raced across the open ground, through the door. The noise of the storm inside the warehouse was deafening, drumming on the roof like a devil's chorus of insane drummers. The huge space was dimly lit, with stacks of bales lined up. The air had a weird chemical odor, a mix of kerosene and other solvents. They exchanged glances.
"I guess DEA would like to see this," Nolan said to Evers, "Your friend Jackson could rack up some Brownie points."
"Yeah, I'll tell him. Christ, there must be half a billion dollars in here, street value."
He ducked as a shot cracked out and whistled past his head. The shooters were crouched down behind the bales. A burst of automatic fire made them dive to the floor.
"I'll take them from the flank," Will whispered, "Keep me covered."
He snaked away across the floor. Nolan and Rose fired repeatedly, and Vega joined in. Evers took aim with his AK-47 and fired a single shot, then ran out of ammunition. Brad tossed him a clip and kept firing. Eva suddenly darted across the warehouse drawing several shots, shooting back with her tiny Tokarev. It was too much for one of the macho Colombians. He leaned out to line up a shot, and Nolan punched two rounds right through the center of his chest. He went down with scream of agony, to lie on the floor, pumping blood into the dust.
"Eva, get under cover!" he shouted.
She didn't reply, but he saw her crawl behind a wooden crate. He was working out the next move when the last Colombian shouted.
"I have your man. You want to live; you toss your guns away and leave. I'll give you thirty seconds, then he dies."
Will! How did the other guy get the drop on him?
He saw movement, and Bryce climbed to his feet, with the Colombian hiding behind him. He waved to them.
"I'm okay. Don't worry about me."
Eva took the opportunity to slide back to his position.
"I'm sorry, Nolan. It was my fault. That guy was about to kill me. He saw his friend go down and went to take the shot. I saw Will break cover to save my life."
"We'll handle it. Where's Ryder?"
"I haven't seen him, not since we entered the warehouse."
"Shit. We need every man to bring down this character."
"Can't we just do as he says?" she asked, "It would save Will's life."
"Negative. The moment we leave, he'll kill him." He turned to Brad. "How's the shoulder?"
"No sweat. What do you want me to do?"
"Try and distract the bastard. As soon as he exposes enough of his body, I'll take him."
"If either of them moves, you could hit Will. It could be dangerous."
"It's called war. You ready? Do anything, stand up, wave to him, give him the finger; I don't care. Just get his eyes on you. I'll do the rest."
"Roger that."
The man shouted again, "Thirty seconds, time's up! Toss your guns and get out now, or he dies."
Nolan nodded to Brad. "Do it."
It all happened in slow motion. Brad Rose eased to his feet and called across to the Colombian. Nolan started to slide across to one side where there may be a chance at a shot. Will moved suddenly, trying to break free. The shooter had his weapon pointed at Brad. He shifted his aim to Will's head and shouted a curse in Spanish. Nolan stood to take the shot, regardless of risk. The hostile sneered and shifted his aim again. This time he had the drop on Nolan, who couldn't shoot without hitting Will.
Ryder came up behind him, a dark wraith. Death from the shadows, a ghostly figure that one moment wasn't there, the next was plunging his knife into the Colombian's neck, but his finger was already tightening on the trigger.
Will pulled free and jerked aside, as a shot cracked out and sliced through the skin of his ear, tearing a slice from the lobe. The man was already dying, but Ryder swung his blade down repeatedly, gouging flesh from his victim's throat. It was as if he was dissecting the man for some crazy science experiment.
Nolan raced across the warehouse and dragged him off.
"He's done, John-Wesley. Leave him."
Ryder was panting, his eyes glazed with excitement and religious fervor.
"I will rid evil beasts out of the land, neither shall the sword go through your land," he raved, his voice hoarse and clogged with passion. He kept trying to return to the lifeless corpse that lay bleeding on the dusty floor, but Nolan stopped him.
"John-Wesley, leave it! We need to get out of here."
He led him gently away, and the man was still mumbling biblical verses. He left him with Evers and Eva, returning to Will who was twisting around, trying to stop blood dripping from his ear.
He helped him tie a strip of cloth around the wound, and they rejoined the others. Ryder had calmed, and Evers was on his satphone. He ended the call and grinned.
"I described everything to Jerry. He's getting a squad of his people here to check it all out. He said to say thanks. He'll move up at least a notch in the pecking order at DEA."
"He deserved a break, helping us with that plane. As long as no one misses it."
He shook his head. "Jerry said they'd forgotten it was even there. Anyone asks; it went for scrap."
"Ain't it the truth?"
He smiled. "What do we do now? I guess the fugitives have long gone."
"No question. But we need to know where they went, and more important, what they're up to."
"There're offices upstairs. There may be something there to help us."
"Lead the way."
There was only one office and a rest room with a coffee maker and an icebox stocked with food. He went down the stairs and told them the good news. While he and Evers rifled the office next door for documents, Eva went through the cupboards and icebox, and prepared hot coffee, sandwiches, and doughnuts for them.
They drew a blank in the office. There were only documents and invoices relating to the maintenance of the building. Unsurprisingly, Montez was too smart to allow anything incriminating to be left lying around. He could replace his product, but anything tying it to him would result in arrest and imprisonment, which was less easy to evade.
Nolan made himself comfortable in a battered armchair, and Eva handed him a mug of hot coffee. He immediately felt better, and then a plate of junk food appeared, better still. She sat next to him.
"It looks to me as if your operation is finished. They've gone, and we've no way of tracking them, not now."
"Maybe. We can assume they're headed for New York City, so we'll have to find a way to get there."
"What if the target is Washington? Or Boston, or any other major city?"
"No. It all points to New York. That's where we'll find them."
"How will you get there? The Colombian government will still have a warrant for your arrest and extradition."
"I guess they will." He called the CIA man over.
"Evers, how are we fixed for travel inside the US?"
"You mean legitimately?"
"Yes."
"As far as I know, the Colombian warrant still holds. No one wants to take the chance of offending them; so technically, you could be arrested and sent back. It may not happen, but it's a hell of a risk. You're sure to show up on their lists when you go through check in. I assume we're talking about flying?"
"Yeah. Listen, I need to borrow your satphone. There's one man who should be able to fix this."
Moments later, he was punching in the cell number for Rear Admiral Drew Jacks. The voice that answered his phone was unfamiliar.
"Admiral Jacks' residence."
"Who is this?"
A pause. "Lieutenant Rogers, Sir. Whom am I speaking to?"
"A friend. Put the Admiral on the phone."
"I can't do that, I'm sorry."
"You can't? Isn't he at home?"
"Yes, Sir, he's here."
"So give him the phone."
"I can't do that."
"Why not? For Christ's sake, Lieutenant, this is an emergency."
The voice was cold and formal. "Rear Admiral Drew Jacks is under house arrest, pending court martial."
"Jacks! That's impossible."
"It happens to be true. Sorry, but I can't help you."
He disconnected the call, and Nolan heard the empty buzz on the line. They were all staring at him.
"It's Jacks. He's been arrested."
"Shit! What for?"
He shook his head. "I don't know, but it means we have to go without him."
They sat in stunned silence. They'd got this far without any military backing. Save for Evers' help, they'd been on their own. Before there was always Admiral Jacks somewhere in the background, ready to weigh in when things got out of hand. Except now, he was out of the picture.
"I'll make more coffee," Eva said, more for something to do. She refilled his mug, and he took a sip, trying to put it all into context. And failing.
"There's something we're missing here. Evers, any chance you could contact your people and find out what's going on?"
He looked miserable. "I didn't like to say anything, but Jerry Jackson passed me a warning when I spoke to him. The word is out, if I contact anyone from law enforcement, that person is to order me to report to our local office and to notify CIA. He said he'd keep quiet about my call but said to watch my back. I can't do anything."
"Great." He turned away bitterly and saw a portable television in the corner of the restroom. He walked over and switched it on.
"What's the deal?" Will chuckled, "You think CNN may tell us what we need to know. If they..."
He stopped. There and then, it all clicked into place. The image of the Statue of Liberty appeared on the screen, with a superimposed image of President Anderson. They listened to the voice of the anchor.
'In other news, President Anderson will open the revamped Statue of Liberty in two days time. The President will sail across the Hudson, around Ellis Island, and land on Liberty Island for the commemoration. Security is expected to be..."
"Oh fuck!" he breathed, "The Statue of Liberty, and the President. A single hit. Dear God."
Evers shook his head. "You can't be sure. It's just a guess."
They looked at him in astonishment.
"Are you sure you work for CIA?" Will asked him, "I mean, you put everything together, and what other conclusion could you come to? Take out Liberty and the President in one blast. Christ, it would set this country back to God knows when."
"It has to be this," Nolan told him, "Nothing else fits the facts. Think about it, Evers. A bunch of Islamist suicide bombers heading for New York City. Their speedboat was due to be loaded on board a waiting cargo vessel. Presumably, they'll offload it when they're a few miles offshore. A fast run up the Hudson, and they could detonate before anyone knows they're there."
"But our security, it'll be enormous. How could they penetrate it?"
"Easy. People won't be expecting it, and it takes time to react. If this boat is really fast, they could do it, reach the President as he steps ashore, and detonate a massive bomb enough to destroy everything within a five hundred meter radius."
He was still shaking his head. "I don't buy it. A bomb that large, it would be, well, the size of a truck."
"That's a negative," Will argued, "We have plenty of modern munitions that could do the job, so you can bet the terrorists have them, too. As for the boat, there are a few modern powerboats fast enough to run in under the noses of the security cordon. They could hit the target almost before anyone realizes what's happening. Seventy, eighty knots, it's not impossible."
"We have to stop them," Nolan said, as much to himself, "The first problem is getting to New York."
"You've forgotten something," Vega added quietly, "This is timed for forty-eight hours from now. We have to get to New York mighty fast, and there's no way we can use air travel. It'll have to be by road. How far is it?"
"Two thousand klicks," Evers said instantly. He looked back at them as they stared at him, "It was a feasibility project I did a while back. Say, thirteen hundred miles. We could drive it in twenty-four hours, no sweat."
"There are three SUVs outside, and I doubt they have any use for them. Forget the vehicle with the M-60; we could take the other two, in case we have a breakdown. We'd better get on the road."
Will went out with Brad to drive back and collect the third SUV, while they checked around the warehouse for anything that may be useful. But apart from the drugs, there were only innocuous documents that were no help at all. They prepared to mount up. They'd taken the weapons and spare ammunition from the guards they'd shot, and Eva put together all the food and drink she could find for the journey.
The plan was to travel almost non-stop, taking turns on the wheel. If all went well, they'd arrive in the city with the day to spare before the attack. If it didn't go well, there'd be time to put things right. Just before they boarded the vehicles, Evers' satphone rang. He listened for a moment and handed it to Nolan.
"It's for you. Admiral Jacks."
He took the phone and listened for a few moments. For the first time, Jacks explained what had happened.
