‘The fuckers aren’t moving,’ he said. ‘They’ve landed somewhere, but I’m not familiar with that area. It’s back up near Jameson.’
King scrutinised the map. The green dot hovered in an area clear of trees. A long black strip cut through the forest all around it.
Another runway.
He studied the surrounding area. He saw a road that cut through pastures and a small grey cluster that looked very similar to a concrete plant.
‘Is that…?’
‘They’re behind their facility,’ Kate said. ‘There’s a runway buried in the forest back there. But it doesn’t look like there’s any way to access it on land. There’s no roads leading in.’
‘There has to be,’ King said. ‘They need to get the anthrax on the plane. That’s why they landed there.’
Paul perked up, registering what King had said. ‘The what?’
‘This isn’t what you think it is,’ King said. ‘They’re not hooligans or petty thieves. A lot of people are in danger.’
‘Did you say anthrax?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fuck me.’ He ran a hand across his sweating scalp. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Can we make it there in time?’ Kitchener said, ignoring Paul.
‘Only option,’ King said, heading for the door. ‘They’ll be loading the plane as we speak. They won’t be expecting us.’
‘Hey…’ Paul said, following them out of the clubhouse.
He began to say something else, but King didn’t hear him.
The blood rushing to his ears cut off all sound.
His heart skipped a beat.
He looked out across the runway to see a pair of vehicles in the distance, kicking up hordes of dust, roaring down the road toward the cluster of buildings. The two Hawkeis, barrelling at full speed. All loaded with men dressed in military-style khakis. The same men who had tied him up the previous evening.
Kate let out a gasp of surprise. ‘How did they…?’
‘Fuck,’ King said. ‘Into the hangar!’
He ducked in through the open rear door of Kitchener’s car and grabbed both the M4 rifles off the back seat. He spun both weapons until they faced the right way, then racked the safety off each gun.
He knew if they were to make it out of the dropzone alive, a monumental firefight would be necessary.
‘I’ll talk to them,’ Paul said. ‘Pretend no-one’s here.’
King looked at him, stunned. ‘No you fucking won’t. They’ll kill you.’
‘It’s all good! I’ve got it.’
King moved to grab Paul, but he was just out of range. By then it was too late. The Hawkeis shot out onto the runway, closing the distance quicker than he had anticipated. Any longer out in the open and he would risk being spotted. Cursing Paul’s idiocy, he retreated to the hangar and ducked inside.
CHAPTER 36
The hangar smelt of fuel and old machinery. It had a cracked concrete floor and barely any decent cover. The space previously occupied by Paul’s plane now lay empty. Wooden shelving ran across the far wall, customised to fit the dimensions of the hangar. A door at the rear of the hangar led through to the concrete structure King had spotted previously. The door had a glass window at head height. He looked through and saw a long low room packed with skydiving gear. A handful of harnesses hung from the roof.
He instructed the two women to press themselves against the closest hangar wall. Then he did the same. He heard the squealing tyres of the Hawkeis pulling up outside and knew he had put himself in one of the most vulnerable positions of his life. All it would take was one man to round the corner and raise the alarm. He gripped the M4 in his hands, sweat running onto the metal.
Heavily outnumbered. A severe lack of cover. Vision still wavering from the effects of the concussion.
He knew he was in a bad spot.
The three of them crouched low, not daring to make a sound. Round the corner doors slammed and footsteps clattered across the tarmac. King kept his barrel aimed at the open entrance to the hangar. He let his pulse quicken and the familiar feeling of pre-imminent combat flooded his system. There was nothing quite like it. The heightened senses and increase of adrenalin proved a potent combination. After ten years of channelling such a feeling it had become second nature. He could control it. The nerves no longer affected him. He simply used them to react faster.
Beside him, Kitchener breathed heavy, her weapon up just like his. She would be experiencing the same rush, yet hers would be a little harder to control. She hadn’t shared the same past as King. Police officer or not, she would not be mentally ready for the situation that was more than likely about to unfold.
His line of sight revealed nothing but a pretty landscape, with the runway ending a hundred feet away. The usual breeze rustling through the air had ceased. There were no natural sounds out here, just the odd groan from the hangar walls. It made the conversation outside clearly audible. He could hear every snippet of dialogue.
From somewhere nearby Paul said, ’Can I help you gentlemen?’
‘Whose car is this?’ a gruff voice demanded.
‘That’s my friend’s. He’s staying with me for a few days.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In one of the caravans out back. He’s asleep.’
‘Wake him up.’
‘I’m sorry, but…’
‘I said wake him up.’
‘Mind telling me who you are? And what’s with all the guns?’
No response.
The silence went on a beat too long. Long enough for King to realise that Paul was in serious danger. These men obviously knew that he was here somewhere. Which meant they knew Paul was simply stalling.
It appeared their patience had grown thin.
The din of rifle fire made the three of them flinch. It ripped across the empty dropzone, carrying with it the undeniable conclusion that Paul had been killed. King tried to count the shots, but they were too rapid. He guessed that two separate guns had been used to execute the man. There was no visual proof to back up such an idea, but there were little other options. Who else could they have been shooting at?
The following chatter confirmed King’s worst fears.
One man said, ‘That was a bit excessive.’
Another said, ‘Fuck him. He was trying to hide them. Lars knows they’re here.’
A third said, ‘Spread out?’
The second man replied, ‘Yeah. Sweep the property. They won’t escape without us seeing. It’s too open around here.’
Then there was movement, scuffling and rustling, heading straight for the hangar. He heard Kitchener inhale sharply behind him. Kate stayed quiet, but she would be terrified. King clutched his M4. He made his hands stop shaking. He calmed his breathing. It was an odd sensation when one knew that combat was inevitable. He could hear a cluster of men moving toward the hangar’s open entrance. He raised his gun.
They would round the corner any moment…
When he saw the first flash of a limb, he didn’t pull the trigger. Sure, he would kill one man, but the others would fall back behind cover, and then every mercenary in their general vicinity would know their location. They would be flushed out and overwhelmed.
So he waited for the first man to step into view, then the second and third followed a moment later, all three of them searching the hangar for signs of life, scanning it from right to left, taking just a fraction of a second too long to notice King crouched on one side.
A fourth man came into his line of fire just as he unloaded the M4’s magazine.
They didn’t stand a chance.
His aim had been locked on, and when he had time to zone in, he rarely faltered. Especially at this proximity. The carbine rifle coughed and spat as thirty bullets unloaded out of the barrel. The four mercenaries started to instinctively raise their weapons, reacting to the sudden noise. Not fast enough. Their torsos shook as they were dotted with lead. They stayed standing for a split second. Kitchener added a few shots of her own, squeezing off the M&P a few times in rapid succession. Unnecessary, but it made sure none of them would get up.