“I thought these bastards were a KGB myth,” Casper said. “I never saw them coming.”
The four men standing guard wore earpieces and had been wearing night vision goggles. Their leader came forward from the parked SUVs, where he had turned on the headbeams.
“Why didn’t they just kill us?” Showers asked.
“I’m guessing that’s their plan,” said Storm, “but first they want to make certain that the gold is here. We’re still the Russians’ best chance at finding it.”
Their leader issued a command in Russian, and three of the soldiers disappeared through the cave entrance, leaving the leader and two men behind to watch their captives. As they waited, the leader stepped over to Oscar’s body and began digging through the backpack that the geologist had been carrying before he was killed. The soldier removed a small device, putting it in his pocket.
“A tracking device,” Casper said. “That Russian prick was helping them.”
Because of the dark makeup on their faces, it was impossible to see any facial expressions. Only their eyes showed through. They said nothing, and that made them appear even more fierce.
The three soldiers had positioned themselves across from Showers, Storm, and Casper. While two of them watched with their guns pointed at the trio, the third stepped forward to frisk them. He started with Storm and did it quickly, expertly removing his extra clips of ammo. Satisfied, he moved to Showers, beginning with her ankles, moving his hands up her legs, but he hesitated when he reached her waist because her right arm was in a sling. As he began to check her, Showers screamed in pain.
“I’m wearing a sling!” she yelled. “How can I shoot anyone?”
He stepped back, surprised at her outburst.
The leader said something in Russian, and the soldier moved on to Casper. They’d already stripped him of his beloved shotgun, but he was still wearing his Ka-Bar knife on his waist.
Storm looked at Showers, and she moved her right arm slightly, pulling the sling away from her abdomen. Without moving her chin, she looked down, signaling him.
In that instance, Storm understood.
“You Commie bastards are supposed to be invincible,” Casper said loudly, “but you look like a bunch of candy-asses to me.”
“Oh my God!” Showers screamed hysterically. “I don’t want to die!” As the soldiers watched, she threw her good left arm around Storm’s neck and cried, “Kiss me one last time, darling!”
The Vympel leader yelled, “Nyet!” But Showers clung desperately to Storm.
With her now blocking the soldiers’ view, Storm reached between the sling and her waist, where he felt the familiar metal grip of his Glock. Somehow she had managed to slip the gun back into its hiding place before she’d been captured.
“Now,” he whispered.
Showers spun to his left as Storm pulled the handgun and began firing. His first target was the leader. Afraid that the Russian might be wearing a protective vest, Storm fired directly at his face. His first shot found its mark. Leaping to his right, Storm fired at the surprised soldier guarding him, who reacted by raising his submachine gun. Storm’s shots whizzed by the Russian’s head as the soldier pulled the trigger, popping off two rounds as he’d been trained to do, rather than firing a full, ineffective burst in a panic. One round nicked Storm in his thigh. Its sister sailed past his chest, striking a rock. Before the soldier could squeeze off another pair, Storm fired his Glock, killing him.
While Storm was busy firing at two of the soldiers, Casper attacked the Russian sent to frisk him. Although Casper was wounded, he released a crippling left hook into the soldier’s jaw while simultaneously slipping the Ka-Bar knife free with his right hand. Assuming the Russian was wearing an armored vest under his mountain man attire, Casper curved the blade so that it would puncture his attacker’s side.
He thrust his knife with such force that its hilt pushed into the wound. Casper pulled it upward and then sideways and down, ending the man’s life.
“Nice shooting, deadeye,” Casper called to Storm.
They had successfully killed the leader and two soldiers outside the cave, but there were still three inside it searching for the gold. Storm checked his leg. It was a flesh wound, but the gunshots that Casper had taken earlier, during their exchange with the Jihad Group, were much more serious.
Bending down, Casper retrieved his shotgun from the Russian who’d taken it from him earlier. “I’m bleeding out,” Casper said. “You two get going. I’ll keep the other three pinned in the cave as long as I can.”
“No,” Showers said. “We’re not leaving you behind.”
“It’s my choice,” Casper replied. He looked at Storm. “I thought you’d betrayed us in Tangiers. I blamed you for what happened.”
“I thought you were the traitor,” Storm replied.
Casper chuckled. “And it was neither of us. Dilya was working for the Viper all along, and Oscar was a mole for the Russians. They’re the ones who sabotaged Tangiers.”
He let out a painful groan and reached for his side.
“You don’t have to be a hero,” Showers said. “We can get you down the mountain.”
“To where?” he replied. “I’ll be dead by the time we hit the main road. Besides, I want to die a hero and I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Storm said.
“You saved my life when you shot that bastard on the roof of the slaughterhouse.”
“Then we’re squared,” Storm said.
“Not yet, deadeye. Not until after you leave and those rats come peeking out of their hole. I never loved anything as much as this shotgun so there’s something fitting about me holding it when I die and go to hell. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
torm drove the SUV down the mountain at daredevil speed, dodging rocks, trees, and drop-offs that seemed to jump before the vehicle’s beams.
They had gone less than a half mile over the rocky terrain when headlights appeared behind them.
“Casper?” Showers asked, but she already knew the answer. “Hurry,” she said.
“I’m not Sunday driving,” he replied. “But if I go any faster, I’ll rip out this car’s bottom.”
The SUV’s undercarriage banged against a rock, nearly knocking both of them from their seats. Mercifully, they reached a gravel road a mile later. The SUV chasing them was close enough now that Showers could see the outline of the driver and a passenger.
“Casper must have killed one of them,” she said.
Her sentence was punctuated by a bullet sailing through the rear window of the SUV. Shards of glass flew by her face. The Russian in the SUV’s passenger seat was leaning out his window firing his machine gun at them.
Storm handed his Glock to her and she started to fire, just as Storm swerved to avoid plunging off the narrow road. Her first shot hit their own SUV’s back side window and the second the interior of its roof.
“Shoot them, not us,” Storm said. “We’re the good guys.”
“They’re less a threat than your driving,” she replied.
The gunman chasing them fired another burst of rounds, peppering the rear of the SUV.
Showers spun around in the front passenger seat, so that her back was now pressed against the dash, and lifted her left hand so she could fire through the busted rear window. She emptied the rest of the magazine, causing the attacking vehicle to pull back.
“I must’ve hit one of them,” she declared. “Give me a new clip.”
“I don’t have any. They took them? Remember? Getting frisked?”
“Time to get creative,” she said, climbing between the bucket seats into the SUV’s rear compartment.