Munoz took a moment to analyze the situation. The opening was about fifteen feet away from the front of the barn, leaving him with the impression that it was the farm’s original root cellar. The subterranean space probably started at the hole and extended to the front of the barn. It gave him a slightly clearer concept of his engagement zone.
A few more hand signals revealed his updated plan. Munoz lowered to the floor and slithered to the left of the opening, making sure he stayed below any possible sightlines into the cellar. He stayed on hard ground the entire time, confirming his suspicion about the room below. When he descended the stairs, the threat axis would be limited to a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc. Not exactly a narrow field, but it could be worse. He also had to worry about someone hiding under the stairs.
A double nod set everything in motion. Daly lobbed a flash-bang grenade into the cellar while Munoz scrambled across the dirt floor toward the top of the stairs. When the flash-bang grenade immediately sailed back out of the wood-framed opening, headed back toward Daly, Munoz rolled off his back into a prone position at the top of the stairs and triggered his rifle-mounted flashlight.
The powerful light exposed a man with a submachine gun at the bottom of the stairs, who instinctively raised a hand to block the light. The first bullet from Munoz’s rifle passed through the man’s palm, striking him in the face. Two more bullets hit him in the neck and upper chest, knocking him backward. Munoz rolled away, narrowly missing a long fusillade of bullets splintering the wood floor where he had just lain.
“Hostile down. One hostile remaining,” said Munoz.
With one shooter left and the angle of hostile fire established, Daly edged past the inert grenade he had thrown as a decoy and tossed a live flash-bang into the darkness below. Munoz added a second. When the first grenade detonated, Munoz lifted himself into a crouch at the top of the stairs, feeling a quick tap on his shoulder that indicated Daly was in position for the assault. The second blast jarred them into action.
Munoz and Daly rushed down the stairs in staggered formation, hopping to the right when they were clear of the ceiling. They triggered their lights and sought cover behind the closest support beams, searching for the last target through the thick cloud of freshly disturbed dust. A burst of gunfire erupted, the bullets smacking into the thick support beam in front of Munoz and peppering the staircase.
A bullet grazed his left leg and tugged at the right shoulder of his ballistic vest. Daly crouched behind his beam, pressing his hand into his thigh. When the bullets stopped flying, Munoz raised his rifle and scanned in the direction of the gunfire, fully aware he might take a bullet to the face. The rifle light was a bullet magnet, but it was the only way to penetrate the darkness and dust scattered by the flash-bang grenades.
He immediately located Berg secured to a chair toward the back of the cellar. A form shifted behind the CIA officer’s naked body, the last hostile using his hostage as a shield to reload. Berg’s face was bloodied and bruised. Multiple lacerations crisscrossed his chest and thighs. Mercifully, his manhood appeared undamaged. Berg squinted, confirming that he was still alive.
“Hostile is using Berg as shield,” he said into the radio.
The former SEAL glanced in his direction, and Munoz gave him a quick hand signal. Daly nodded, then straightened up, pointing his rifle toward Berg. The CIA officer responded to the focused LED lights, turning his head.
“Withdraw your men immediately, or I’ll kill him!” yelled the man hiding behind Berg.
Munoz and Daly remained silent, focused on their rifle sights.
“Backup is a few minutes out! You don’t have time to think this over,” said the man. “I already got what I needed out of him. You withdraw now, and Mr. Berg gets dropped off at the nearest ER. You have my word.”
No response. Munoz took most of the pressure off his rifle’s two-stage trigger. He could see an inch of the guy’s head behind Berg’s, which wasn’t enough.
“Are you fucking crazy? You’re going to get yourselves and Berg killed. That’s not your mission!” the guy yelled. “If my backup gets here before you stand down, there’s no deal.”
A long pause ensued before their target raised his head a few inches above Berg’s right shoulder. Two small holes appeared in the top of his forehead and Munoz rushed forward. He passed Berg, pausing to fire two bullets into the hostile’s inert body.
“Hostile down,” he said. “Berg is alive, but needs immediate medical attention. We’ll need a vehicle on-site for extraction. Possible hostile backup en route.”
“Juliet one copies, en route for pickup,” said Jackson. “Great work, gentlemen.”
“Echo team staying put,” said Graves. “I need to divert local law enforcement responding to reports of gunfire. They don’t have an address, but they’ll be crawling all over the area shortly.”
“Oscar One, set up sniper position facing Hunter Mill Road. Oscar Two, clear the house. I don’t want any surprises.”
By the time he finished issuing the final orders, Daly had freed Berg from the chair.
“I want pictures of these guys, Scott. Grab their phones too. I’ll take care of Berg,” said Munoz. “Pass that along to Oscar Two.”
He found Berg’s clothes in a pile next to the chair, taking the time to dress him in his pants, stuffing his phone and wallet into a cargo pocket.
“We need to warn Audra Bauer,” croaked Berg.
“Who’s Audra Bauer?” said Munoz.
“CIA. She’s in danger.”
“We’ll work on that once we get out of here.”
“Call her now,” Berg insisted.
“I need to move you ASAP,” said Munoz, lifting him off the chair. “How far away is Bauer?”
“CIA. Langley.”
“She’s in the safest place she can be right now,” said Munoz. “You ready to move?”
Berg nodded, grunting in pain as Munoz and Daly helped him out of the barn. Berg started to protest when they reached the barn’s side door, Foley’s body blocking their way.
“We need to keep moving,” said Munoz.
Daly pulled her out of the way and lifted her lifeless body onto his shoulders.
“Leave her,” said Munoz. “We don’t have the time.”
“No,” growled Berg, not a hint of compromise in his voice.
Munoz relented, not sure how they were going to deal with a dead body. Berg represented enough of a challenge. Fortunately, one of their vehicles was essentially windowless.
“Echo team, we’re going to need to make a transfer in the church parking lot,” said Munoz.
“Copy that,” said Graves.
“And as soon as you get the cops off our back, I need you to find us some private lodging and a doctor willing to make a house call. Berg is in bad shape.”
“What’s Alpha Three’s status?” said Jackson.
“KIA.”
Munoz had a strong feeling she wouldn’t be the last. Something was way off with all of this.
PART THREE:
BLACK MAGIC
Chapter 37
Jackson couldn’t hear what the doctor was saying through the closed French doors, but the young physician treating Karl Berg had behaved justifiably nervous upon first meeting his patient. Berg’s wounds, while superficial, were extensive. Dozens of shallow cuts, evenly spaced and methodically applied to the front of his torso and legs, could not be explained away by a simple accident, or a complicated one. It was obvious that the wounds were intentionally inflicted, and Jackson would be skeptical too about the purpose of the private medical care he’d been summoned to provide.