Reckoning (38 page)

THIRTY-SIX
 

Gage leaped across a blackened tree trunk that appeared abruptly in his path, hit the ground, and moved sharply left at the sound of his boots on the dry grass, instinct directing him.

Shadows. Wind.

White moonlight streaked over him through the splintered trees.

Reacting instantly to the light he crossed back to the right, ran low through the night for 20 seconds, covering 100 yards in a tight half-circle to gain an angle of attack toward the rear of the cabin.

He stayed deep inside the trees to avoid target identification by a perimeter guard, scanning tactics as he moved.

... Superiority of numbers only endures as long as there is order... Create chaos!... The simplest means for a small force to disorganize a large force is by sniper attack... Kill twice at a shooting nest before moving to the next... Move fast to create combination of chaos, terror, and attrition... Destroy their order to keep them from forcing a way into the cabin!

He selected his initial sniper nest, instantly angled toward it. He moved close to a narrow but deep ditch that allowed a close, parallel retreat from the back of the cabin. The ditch led east to a small knoll; a secondary sniper nest. He would choose a third, and a fourth, each nest selected for the availability of a covered retreat and quick repositioning for continued fire.

Attrition! Win by attrition!

Moving fast, shadows flying over him, Gage spun left again, thorns raking his face. He ignored the pain and the blood and fell silently onto his chest as he neared the tree line, sliding forward.

Crawling the final few yards with snakish slowness, he eased into the tall grass beneath the last tree at the edge of the glade, instantly bringing the MP5 up for single-action target acquisition.

Empty.

Alarmed, Gage focused on the cabin, saw frantic movement through the windows.

Inside!

They were already inside the cabin!

He groaned, saw a figure stalking toward the back of the cabin. It was crouched, moving through the shadows. Hissing a silent curse, Gage was instantly on his feet and running forward. He switched to fully auto as he crossed the clearing, quickly and quietly.

The front of the cabin was bathed in the white phosphorous fire that had consumed the LTD. He used the long shadow cast by the cabin for cover, closed on the silent figure.

He caught the scent of gasoline, realized that the tank of the LTD had already blown. A quick glance of the entire glade revealed no cars, no intruder vehicles.

They had entered on foot.

An ambush.

Sandman hadn't seen them until the last moment because of the thick woodbine. Not even the infrared night visor could read through a forest. And Chavez had probably not seen them at all as he had not taken a visor out with him earlier in the day.

It took Gage 30 strides to reach the cabin, and he made no sound with the final steps, boots landing on the balls of his feet with a leaping, silent run. Somewhere in the closing distance, he couldn't be sure of the precise moment, he recognized the shape. Even before it spun and Gage caught a glimpse of the disfigured face and the patched eye, he knew who it was.

From a combat crouch Chavez whirled and leveled the M-14 at him.

Gage raised the MP5 in the air, his left hand empty and high and continued to close the gap. Chavez dropped the guard and turned back quickly toward the cabin, gazing carefully in a
window.

Chavez looked over at him, calm and calculating, held up a fist, two fingers raised. Then he drew his hand across his chest in a quick gesture.

Symbol: Explosive door entry. Cross over once we get inside.

Gage nodded, fell to the side of the back door, crouching, sweating in the cold, struggling to bring his strained breathing silently under control.

Then he almost shouted in rage, leaping up from the crouch as Sarah screamed.

Kertzman surged forward, shouting.

But the giant grabbed him, slamming him against the wall. Milburn raised his Beretta, holding a cold aim.

Kertzman glared sideways. In the kitchen, the blond-haired man was using a silver roll of duct tape to attach the bore of a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun to the neck of Sarah
Halder. The roll went around her neck and both barrels once, twice, three times, locking the bore tight against her spine.

"Schnell!" the blond hissed to the others.

The Japanese stepped forward, moving with the disciplined calm of a man accustomed to violence and the heightened emotions of violent conflict. In seconds he had used the silver tape to attach the German's hand to the sawed-off handle of the weapon. He cocked both barrels.

"We are ready," said the German coldly.

Despite a lightheaded weakness that caused a soft focus at the edges, Kertzman concentrated on Sarah Halder. She had closed her eyes, set her mouth in a grim line. He knew that she was wrestling courageously to control a sheer terror, and she was succeeding. He nodded, admiring.

Then, face rigid, he looked down, studying his wounded arm. It was not a fatal injury. It was almost impossible to die from a slashed wrist, or even two slashed wrists, for that matter.

Usually a wrist injury, even if it was a deep cut that caused actual arterial bleeding, would simply bleed a person's blood pressure down to a point where blood did not exit the body any longer. But the body would retain enough fluid and glucose in vital organs to maintain life. It was an instinctive biological defense mechanism. Shock would come, yes, but not death. Kertzman wanted to forestall even the shock so he quickly undid his belt, wrapping it around his forearm slightly above the elbow.

He blinked sweat out of his eyes.

He worked quickly, heard Sarah yell out in pain as the German jerked her to the door.

"Now we go outside!" the man hissed into her ear, leaning forward.

Sarah's eyes were still shut and her lip and nose were still bleeding.

Headlights flashed past the front windows.

Kertzman glanced outside, saw a four-door rolling to a stop. Quickly, a man got out, walked through the glare of the headlights, around to the front of the cabin and came inside. Kertzman immediately recognized the walk, the silhouette, and the identity, had even expected it. His emotions had already passed through anger to hatred to a smoldering cold control before the man entered the front door.

Jeremiah Radford, point man for the NSA investigating team, stood in the doorway a moment, surveying. He looked past the
frowning and strangely stoic Milburn, locking on Kertzman. He laughed.

"You're really in it this time, Kertzman," Radford said jovially. "Washington is going to give your dead body a medal when this is over. You'll be a hero." He laughed again.

The Nigerian spoke. "This is no moment for humor."

"Oh, I think it is." Radford smiled, taking out a Smith and Wesson .45.

Groaning against the pain, Kertzman ignored him and tightened the tourniquet around his arm. He glanced cautiously down, saw no weapons close. He hadn't worn a backup.

"You're done this time, Kertzman," said Radford. "It's the end of the road. But don't worry. Do you want to know what the cover story is going to be?"

Kertzman's slag face was impassive. He blinked sweat.

Radford laughed.
“I’ll tell you anyway, great white hunter." He walked closer. "You tracked Gage to this mountain. Then you called me for some backup because you didn't want to involve the locals. Security problems, all that stuff. You know how it is. They'll love that. Probably give you two medals. Anyway," he continued, "we came in real quiet, planning to just do some surveillance. But we stumbled into a trap. You and I got captured by the super-soldier. We found out that Gage had already killed the woman, her father, and the fat boy. Surprise! Gage was behind it all! Can you believe it?" He winked. "I can't."

Kertzman's voice was dry, cracked. "It'll never work, Radford."

"Sure it will," Radford said. "Gage kills them all. Then you and I find him, get captured, go for our guns. There's a big shootout. You, unfortunately, get killed. Gage gets killed. Your dead body is mourned by nobody. I get promoted." He smiled. "It's beautiful. Who's going to know? It's the perfect plan. Gage takes the fall for everybody."

Kertzman lowered his head, face tight with pain, and jerked the belt tight at the right elbow. Then he tied it off and, exhaling with the agony of his wound, stepped toward the kitchen.

The tall man beside the back door leveled a black semiautomatic-tic pistol at him. And Radford stepped closer, raising the .45.

"Be cool, Kertzman," the NSA man said. "All good things come to those who wait
... or something like that."

Milburn, the ex-Delta soldier and Gage's former supervisor, stepped out the back door, gazing into the darkness with a night-visor. Kertzman saw him shake his head.

"Your people have messed up, Stern," Milburn said to the tall man.

Kertzman notched it: Stern.

"You have the
night visor!" said Stern. "Search for him! He is there!"

Milburn laughed with contempt. "A
night visor doesn't mean anything against somebody like Gage, Stern. He knows how to beat it. You won't see him until he blows your brains out." He paused. "What was all that about how your people are the ultimate soldiers? The perfect predators? I'd like to hear that one again."

"Do as I say!" said Stern. "Find him!
”

Milburn removed the
night visor, stared solidly and scornfully at the tall man. "Your people were supposed to trap Gage
inside
, Stern! They didn't! Now he's on the loose and I guarantee you he's going to do some real serious damage.
Real
serious." He looked around the room, cold, adding, "Some of you are going to die."

"We have other contingency plans," said Stern, recovering. "We are not fools, Milburn." Then he looked at the German. "Carl
! Bring her!"

"Leave her alone!" Kertzman shouted.

"Relax, Kertzman," Radford said, thumbing back the hammer. "What you say doesn't count anymore.” A pause. “Not that it ever did."

The German moved towards the back door with Sarah
Halder, followed by Milburn, the Japanese, and Stern.

Kertzman's mind raced for something to stall them.

"Gage is out there," he said lamely.

Stern hesitated, turning to face Kertzman with aristocratic British calm. Kertzman thought that he seemed like a man
professionally trained to handle catastrophes.

"Yes, Mr. Kertzman, he is," Stern replied. "And if he does any-thing precipitous, his beloved will die." Then he smiled evenly, opened the door.

Helpless, Kertzman watched as the German went outside first, moving Sarah in front of him as a shield. The Japanese followed, with Stern and Milburn in the rear.

Clumsily, suddenly faint, Kertzman fell against the wall, slamming his good hand heavily against the fireplace mantle. He breathed deeply, trying to get equilibrium. And he glanced around once more.

Barto and Sandman were unmoving. Malachi Halder stirred, as if in pain. And through a red haze Kertzman heard Radford speaking again.

"Don't make it worse, Kertzman," he continued. "It's over. It's
been
over
."

Kertzman focused on him, mumbling, "You sold out, Radford. Sold out your country. That's why they picked you
... for the job. So you could sell us out ..."

Radford
smiled, "For God and country, Kertzman? My God, you really are a simpleton," He leaning forward. "There's no such thing as countries anymore, Kertzman! Do you actually think that governments care about political objectives?" He shook his head. "That's the dark ages, man. This is the new world! Now there's only money. Lots and lots of money. And it can do anything. And it doesn't matter whose hand it comes from. It doesn't matter if he's Republican or Democrat or a Communist or a Chinese drug runner. If you've got the weight, you can call the shot." He stared a moment, suddenly more serious. "Any shot at all."

Kertzman's face was stone.

Radford continued, “You're a dinosaur, man. It's probably good that you die before you see the truth. It would drive you insane. They say there's a merciful god. He probably wants to kill you before you see what's really going on." He laughed. "Yeah, that's it – a merciful god who's gonna do you in. You believe in right and wrong, honor, God, country, all that. And look where it's got you." A pause. "Well, let me tell you something, partner. There's no such thing as right and wrong. There's just decisions. And none of 'em are wrong. You do whatever it takes to get to the top. You steal, you push 'em into the street, you sell 'em out. Only the strongest survive. That's the rule of the jungle, pal. And this
is
the jungle."

Radford continued to talk but Kertzman was no longer
listening. Something had caught his attention, something subliminal. He waited, hoping to place it.