A few seconds later, the goon was a goner.
Moving with incredible stealth, Payne sprinted across the clearing and grabbed the goon by the neck before he knew someone was behind him. Without hesitation or remorse, Payne twisted the goon’s head so hard and at such an awkward angle that the vertebrae in his neck popped like corn in a microwave. Instantly, he became dead weight in Payne’s arms.
But just to be sure, Payne twisted his head the other way – even harder.
Not wanting to leave the body in plain sight, Payne inched forward and was ready to dump it down the hole when he noticed a battered figure on the concrete floor beneath him. At first glance, he couldn’t tell who was unconscious in the shadows of the bunker, but once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Payne gasped in horror.
The bloodied man was Kaiser.
32
After using a tree to lower himself to the access trail, Jones glanced into the cul-de-sac below and spotted a hulking shadow gliding across the clearing towards an unsuspecting target. Jones had been on enough missions with Payne to recognize his stride and his tactics, and knew the man near the hole would soon be dead.
A broken neck later, Jones was right.
Strangely, during the ten seconds of action, the sniper didn’t take a shot even though he had more than enough time to shoot the man by the bunker. In Jones’s mind, that meant one of three things: Kaiser’s sniper was working with the enemy, he had been killed and replaced, or he was a reluctant shooter. Jones hoped for number three, but prepared for one and two by raising his weapon and picking up his pace along the narrow path.
The bird’s nest was up ahead, and Jones could see the sniper. He was lying on his stomach, perfectly still, just as a sniper should be. Leaves and branches provided adequate cover, especially for an unwary intruder, but to an experienced soldier like Jones, who used to hunt snipers for a living, the shooter stood out like a neon sign.
Looking through his scope, the sniper eyed his target in the crosshairs. Someone as big as Payne would be tough to miss with a DSR-1, a bolt-action sniper rifle that was used by the GSG 9, the elite counter-terrorism unit of the German Federal Police. Loaded with a five-round magazine of .308 Winchester cartridges, the expected accuracy of the DSR-1 was within .20 inches from a distance of a hundred yards.
‘Don’t even think about,’ Jones growled as he aimed at the sniper, who was ten feet away. ‘Let go of your rifle and put your hands behind your head.’
Not wanting to die, the sniper cursed to himself and did as he was told. The instant he released the DSR-1, which was supported by a bipod for maximum stability, the barrel tilted skyward. For the time being, it was no longer a threat to Payne or anyone else.
‘Now slowly turn on your side and look at me.’
Once again, the sniper followed orders. Only this time, his reaction was much different. As soon as he saw Jones, recognition flashed across his face, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Thank God!’
Jones stared at him. ‘For what?’
‘For you,’ he said in perfect English. ‘You’re one of Kaiser’s friends.’
‘You know me?’
The sniper nodded. ‘You flew in yesterday. You and the big guy.’
‘What big guy?’ Jones asked him, still trying to decide with whom the sniper was working.
He tilted his head to the right. ‘The guy down there.’
‘The one you were about to shoot?’
‘What? I wasn’t going to shoot anyone! I swear! I was using my scope to identify him. That’s all! I didn’t even know you guys had returned.’
‘From where?’
‘How should I know? Kaiser never tells us anything! All I know is three of you left this morning. The big guy, the black guy and the fat guy. But I don’t know where you went!’
Jones scowled for effect. ‘Which one am I?’
‘What?’ he said, as his voice squeaked. ‘You’re, um, the …’
‘Never mind.’
‘Can I put my hands down?’
‘Not yet. Why didn’t you shoot the guy near the bunker?’
‘What?’ he asked, confused.
‘You had plenty of time to kill him but didn’t take the shot. I want to know, why?’
‘Why? Because I watched him kill Kaiser. After that, I didn’t know if I should keep fighting or I should run away. Why keep shooting if I won’t get paid?
Jones’s face flushed in anger. ‘Kaiser’s dead?’
He nodded. ‘The guy shot him in the back, and he fell in the hole. That’s what the guy was staring at when your friend killed him.’
Jones glanced below. Payne was no longer there. ‘Where’s your radio?’
‘It’s in my pocket.’
‘Get on your knees, and hand it to me slowly.’
The sniper did as he was told, then waited for further instructions. ‘Now what?’
‘Now you have a decision to make, the most important decision of your life.’ To emphasize how serious he was, Jones took a step closer as he continued to point his gun at the sniper’s face. ‘You fight with us, or you jump from the cliff. Your choice.’
*
Instead of using the ladder, Payne leapt into the bunker and rushed to Kaiser’s side. Lying on the floor, he was unconscious and bleeding heavily from his mouth and face. His eye was dangling from its socket. His left knee was torn to shreds. But he was still breathing.
Experienced in basic field medicine, Payne knew his first order of business was getting his patient away from potential danger, so he carefully dragged Kaiser into the back passageway. From there, he turned on a flashlight and went through his mental checklist for trauma victims. Instructors at the Academy had taught him the ‘A, B, C, D, E’ approach to field medicine. Clear airway. Check breathing. Check circulation. Determine disabilities. And expose all wounds.
Breathing was fine. Pulse was steady. The patient was unconscious, so Payne couldn’t check for movement in his limbs. But he could search Kaiser for bullet holes.
Using a pocket knife, he gently cut Kaiser’s shirt open and was relieved to find top-of-the-line, hard-plated body armour – the kind worn by presidents and mafia dons, not security guards. Of course, in Kaiser’s business, it made sense to have the best. And in this case, it probably saved his life because rifle blasts tend to cut through soft vests like rocks through a window.
Just then, Payne heard a muffled voice coming from the outer room near the bunker entrance. He instantly sprang to his feet and crept to the edge of the passageway where he listened patiently. No footsteps. No movement. No breathing of any kind. Only a muffled voice that sounded suspiciously familiar.
‘Come in. Over.’
Payne peeked around the corner and spotted Kaiser’s radio on the floor, close to where he had fallen. Although he doubted it was a trap, Payne grabbed the radio as fast as he could then dashed back to the passageway before he answered Jones’s call. ‘Where are you?’
Static filled the line.
Payne repeated his question. ‘Where are you? Over.’
Still nothing. Not even a squeak.
Suddenly, Kaiser’s condition made a lot more sense. His radio didn’t work in the bunker, so he had been forced to run things from outside. Which ultimately exposed him to gun fire.
Wasting no time, Payne moved forward until Jones heard his question.
‘I’m in the nest. Where are you?’
‘Tending to our friend,’ Payne said, not wanting to broadcast Kaiser’s name.
‘He’s alive?’
‘Unconscious, but stable.’