“Tell me about the cloaks you saw too,” Eagle said over Trigger’s earpiece.
“Well, sir, like I told Carpenter, shortly after Elvis and the woman went in the fountain entrance, the cloaks started streaming out of it. They headed southwest into the trees on the other side of the parking lot.”
“We’ve seen the cloaks make for those trees before,” Eagle said, his voice grating like metal scraped on concrete. “Why was this different?”
“This wasn’t just a small pack of them. This looked like all of them. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. And they were moving fast. They were in a damn hurry.”
“No sign of them since?”
“None, sir. I’ve got eyes now on the sniper and the big one, exiting the craft. The one with the hand cannons is leading three bald men as prisoners,” Trigger described each occupant of the strange stealth craft, as they exited and took to the field. He looked on through the scope of his rifle as the short sniper and the big guy moved directly toward him, but neither seemed on guard yet. They were just hustling to get out of the open. “I have a shot on the sniper and the big one.”
“Negative. I repeat, do not fire. We want all of them, and we want them inside the facility. What about the blonde woman?”
“Not yet, I — wait a minute. I’ve got her on the ground behind Hand Cannons. Transport is dusting off and they are all making for my position. I need to bug out soon.” Trigger was frustrated that he couldn’t just snipe the targets now. If he took out the sniper first, they’d all be sitting ducks. Still, if Eagle was paying the bills, then Trigger would do as he was told.
“Pack up and head out, Trigger. They’re probably heading for the amphitheater entrance anyway. Remember, we want them all inside the facility — and the blonde bitch is mine. Acknowledge.” Eagle’s voice sounded plenty angry over the radio. Trigger wasted no time replying.
“Acknowledged. The blonde is all yours. Making for the fountain entrance. Trigger out.”
He climbed down out of his tree as quickly as he could, without disturbing the branches and leaves. Even without a scope, the sniper might have really good eyes. No point taking a chance.
Trigger hit the ground and started moving west. He crossed a small field, and seconds later was hidden from the incoming targets, the giant mosque blocking their line of sight. He made his way across the boulevard and rendezvoused with four more mercs at the fountain entrance — all the while keeping an eye on the woods, in case the spooky cloaks came back. But Trigger figured them for gone. The way they had left made it seem like they were bailing for good. But the rest of Trigger’s team had eyes on the only other entrance. So there was no way the Greek had escaped. He was inside still. So were Elvis and the woman. Now the rest of the team would be inside soon too, with the three bald men.
The plan seemed as safe and secure as it could be. Almost too secure. Dull, even. They would wait until the enemy team entered the facility, then Trigger and his men would enter from the fountain, while a second group followed their targets into the amphitheater entrance. Finally, Eagle and the rest would enter through the secret vehicle entrance in the woods northwest of the nearby American Cemetery. Trigger still found it crazy that a huge US military cemetery was smack dab in the middle of North Africa, but it made sense. Some 2800 white crosses lined the 27-acre field, all American casualties from World War II. There was a tunnel that ran underground from the cemetery to the loading dock in the bottom of the subterranean Manifold facility.
All three entrances covered. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Trigger and the rest of the mercenary forces working for Eagle would come in like the waves of the ocean in a fierce storm, smashing and crashing, devastating everything in their path. The Greek and the enemy group Beak had referred to as Chess Team would have no escape. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel — with a howitzer.
SEVENTEEN
When King crashed into Alexander, it felt like hitting a brick wall. He’d let the AK go flying to the floor, and he lost the Sig on impact with Alexander’s bulky chest. But the collision was still satisfying, as both he and Alexander slammed into the wall of machinery.
“King, wai—” Alexander started, but King had scrambled up to his knees and rammed his fist into Alexander’s nose. King felt cartilage crunch under his fist, and Alexander howled, as a burst of bright red blood arced away from his face.
King was pulling his fist back for a second pistoning shot at the same spot, when Alexander let out a roar like a lion and flung his arm out wildly. The strength in the sweep of Alexander’s arm took King by surprise. The man was flailing, but King still found himself airborne, sailing across the room.
King’s body hit the polished stone floor of the room and slid, as if he were on the bright yellow Slip n’ Slide he had as a kid. He came to rest with his arm outstretched and his Sig in view across the floor. He lunged for the gun. Alexander would be much too tough an opponent for him. Thoughts of what might happen to his head if Alexander landed a clean punch helped to speed him across the slippery floor.
“Jack, you don’t under — oh no you don’t,” Alexander’s booming voice grew louder as the man rushed King like a freight train. King dove to the slick floor, counting on his slide to take him the rest of the way to the weapon.
His fingers reached out and grasped the grip of the Sig, just as Alexander slammed into him. They both slid toward the open doors King had rushed through. Asya was nowhere in sight. King had just a split second to wonder where his backup went, before his arm was coming up with the gun as his body continued to slide. Alexander’s meaty hand was on his wrist, forcing his arm back.
King bent his wrist as far as it would go and started pulling the trigger, hoping he would either hit some part of Alexander’s flesh or at least make the man back down.
Instead, the sound of the shots booming in the echoing rock cavern filled the large man with fury, and suddenly, through Alexander’s roar of anger, King found himself lifted and shoved hard against the wall of the cavern. The collision with the unyielding stone took his breath away, but his anger at this man for endangering his parents was making King see red. He pulled the trigger of the Sig as he swung his dangling leg up and connected with Alexander’s crotch. The big man flinched, but then pulled King’s body, which he was completely suspending in the air now, away from the wall a few inches, before slamming King backward yet again.
King felt ribs break and his whole body started tingling, as his ears roared with adrenaline. The Sig was lost and Alexander’s eyes were filled with fury as he smashed King against the wall a third time, then moved his grip, so he was holding King aloft by his neck.
Alexander began to speak again, but King could only hear the man as if he were a long way away.
“…what I’m trying to explain to you…”
King’s arm was down by his side and brushed the pocket of his jeans. He felt the small hard lump on his hip, and his fingers dipped into the pocket. The jeans felt tight with the object in his pocket, and his fingers had a hard time reaching around the thing. Finally, the tip of his middle finger hooked on something and he tugged.
“We can end this right now!” Alexander was shouting.
King feebly moved his left fist up as if to punch at Alexander’s face. He kept his speed slow and his accuracy way off. It was the perfect feint. Alexander turned toward the arm and brought his own up to block the strike.