Hawke nodded and put the binoculars on the front seat. “Let’s do it.”
They told Luis to stay with the Jeep, and after tooling up with as many weapons as they could carry, they hiked straight down the old goat track and made their way toward Chastain’s mansion. Hawke knew they would be outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise, plus he was willing to bet that aside from Chastain, the enemy would have zero Special Forces experience, and that gave them an edge.
Closer to the property now, they waited in the jungle while they made another surveillance of the enemy, counting guns and looking for any surprises. The only thing out of the ordinary was a large cage partially covered in vines which was situated a couple of hundred yards from the main house. It looked like it had some kind of viewing platform above it.
“What the hell is that?” Lea said, passing Hawke the binoculars.
He checked it out. “Looks like panthers to me… two of them.”
“Why the hell are they in that cage?” Lexi asked.
“I dread to think,” Scarlet said. “But I doubt Chastain keeps them for petting.”
“We can worry about that later,” the Englishman said. “Let’s do this.”
They fanned out and broke into two units. One led by Scarlet went to the south of the camp while Hawke’s team dropped below the ridge line and approached from the north. Reaper kicked things off when he threw a grenade and took out several men hanging around one of the chalets, and then Scarlet followed suit by destroying one of the Jeeps with another grenade.
The reaction was furious, but panicked, and soon Chastain’s men had split into two groups. One moved into the hills to the south of the property in pursuit of Scarlet while the other skirted the carnage of the burning chalets and moved toward Hawke’s unit.
“Forward!” Hawke shouted.
Their guns blazed as they advanced toward the enemy, and Reaper felt a burst of morale as he watched the CGF men back at the mansion crumble and scatter. They were showing their weakness in the face of SBS, SAS and Foreign Legion training but there was no time for pride or premature celebrations.
Hawke had seen a group of men sprinting behind the Kiowas toward the NSV and that meant trouble for everyone. It was at the far western end of the training quad but it had a range of around one mile, which meant they were well in its sights. Not only that, but the sub-unit who had gone into the jungle south of the house had now regrouped and was starting to advance toward them from the west, creating a classic pincer movement. With the NSV on their right flank they would easily drive them into the loving arms of Chastain’s team back in the cover of the mansion ahead of them.
Hawke’s team doubled back and dipped below the ridge to the north of the training ground before coming in behind the sub-unit. Across the flattened grassy quad they watched a two-man crew open fire at Scarlet and the others, its vicious muzzle flashing white and orange as it spat out over a dozen rounds per second.
Hawke grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin out with his teeth and tossed it into the NSV nest and watched as the men reacted to it with savage, animal panic. They fumbled over each other for it, and then gave up and decided to flee, but it was too late. The explosion blasted them and the NSV to pieces and scattered the debris and body parts in a wide area around the nest.
“We need to get back to the others,” Hawke said. “Chastain must have ordered an evacuation — the Kiowas are firing up.”
“Not so fast, Joe…” Reaper raised his hand and pointed through a gap in the trees. Hawke looked through the gaps in between the trunks and saw the mansion. Standing in front of it was a smirking Ross Chastain and a huddle of men scanning the jungle with guns in their hands.
“Something’s happening,” Reaper said.
Hawke waved a mosquito away and stared at the men. “I don’t believe it.”
“What’s going on?” Lea said, taking the field glasses.
“He’s alive!” Hawke said.
Kruger gave an order and a moment later some men in jungle camos dragged Ryan out of the property and threw him down in the dirt.
“I don’t believe it,” Lea said. “I really thought he was dead. When I saw Kruger on the CCTV I thought maybe there was a chance, but even then…”
“Not me,” Hawke said. “I knew he was alive.”
The sight of Ryan Bale had lifted his spirits. What he had told the others about never giving up on him was true, but what he hadn’t told them was how close he had come to deciding he was dead and letting him go.
And then Chastain called out into the trees. “All right, assholes… listen up! I don’t know who the hell you are or what you want, but this guy’s going to get it in the neck right now if y’all don’t make like in the movies, and come out with your hands up. Any funny business and he’s dead before your next breath.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hawke clenched his jaw with rage and frustration, and knew he had no choice but to submit to Chastain’s demands. Ryan was as good as dead if he defied him. Now, the former Delta was pushing his gun into the young man’s temple.
“Drop your weapons everyone,” Hawke said.
Hawke lowered his gun and stepped out of the jungle. He raised his hands above his head and walked slowly toward Chastain and the others. The rest of the team followed him. Across the other side of the training area he saw Scarlet drop her gun and follow his lead.
Chastain was close enough to see face to face now. Hawke studied the creases on his face, the blinking eyes and the lizard-like lick-of-the-lips and didn’t like what he saw..
“Easy there, tiger,” Chastain said, pulling a holstered Colt out from his side with surprising swiftness and raising it to the center of Hawke’s face. “Hands up nice and high.” His narrow eyes crawled over Reaper’s tattoos. “That goes for you to, Foreign Legion. I don’t know who the hell you are, but you certainly ain’t like the kind of people who usually wind up here. Mr Corzo! Go and get their guns.”
Carlos Corzo glanced at Chastain, flicked his cigarette into the air and walked over to the tree line where Hawke and the others had dropped their weapons. He returned a moment later and dumped them in a heap in front of Ross Chastain’s boots.
“What have we here then?” He pushed the guns around with the steel toecap of his boot and nodded with appreciation. “A professional outfit.”
Hawke knew he had done the right thing given the cards he had to play with at the time, but he was already regretting it. Then Chastain hit him hard in the face with the butt of the Colt and knocked him off his balance. He gasped in surprise and fell to the ground.
“No one comes on to my property and screws with me, you British asshole.”
Hawke’s head swam as he nearly lost consciousness. The pain of the pistol-whipping burned through his jaw and head, and his mouth filled with blood. He felt something moving around on his tongue, and realized Chastain had knocked one of his teeth out. He spat it at him in anger, and it left a bloody trail on his white shirt as it tumbled into the gravel at his feet.
Chastain raised his pistol to hit him again, but something made him stop. He gave an order and two of the men pulled Hawke to his feet and dragged him over to the others. “Who are you?”
“I’m the local health inspector,” Hawke said. “Here to look for cockroaches.”
“I said, what’s your name, asshole?”
Hawke looked at Ryan. “Are you all right, mate?”
“I’m fine…”
“I want your name!” Chastain barked.
“I know his name,” Kruger said. He stepped off the veranda and calmly placed a cigarette on his lip. Taking all the time in the world, he took a box of matches from his pocket and lit the cigarette. Blowing blue smoke into the muggy air he waved the match out and tossed it on the dirt. “It’s Hawke — Joe Hawke. He and the rest of these bastards run an outfit called ECHO. They tried to kill me in the middle of the Atlantic. Very nasty bunch of bastards.” He dragged on the cigarette and then turned to Lea, placing his fingers under her chin and raising her face up to his. “I was so very sad to read about Dickie Eden’s misfortune.”