Search and Destroy (6 page)

Two hundred yards…

“There’s a cop talking to the driver.”

One hundred yards…

Fifty…

Matthew calculated the odds. If the target, that tricky bitch, wasn’t in the RV then he’d be in a deep pile with Topcat. Killing a cop was not a thing that any operator would consider lightly. He drummed his fingers against the barrel of his Heckler & Koch MP5K sub-machine gun. Then fate decided for him. The woman sat up and looked out of the rear window. The ambient light inside the vehicle framed her face perfectly.

“Got her. She’s inside the RV. Move up quickly and quietly.”

John gently braked as Matthew tapped his shoulder twice. Matthew clambered off the bike and darted towards the driver’s side window.

The cop turned and walked back toward his cruiser, with what looked like documents in his hand.

Matthew dropped to one knee, brought up the stubby weapon to his shoulder and squeezed off a short burst. The cylindrical sound suppressor fitted to the barrel reduced the gun’s retort to an angry rattle. The cop went down in an untidy heap.

Inside the RV, the driver yelled something unintelligible. A yell of distress or warning? The driver was just an indistinct shape from Matthew’s vantage point, no way of telling age or appearance. No matter; a quick burst from the MP5K would take care of him.

Matthew scuttled along the side of the RV, his back barely touching the amber and tan aluminium skin of the bus. He measured two steps then sprang out smartly, level with the driver’s door. Seventeen 9mm rounds from his MP5K ripped through the door like it didn’t exist. But where seconds earlier a human silhouette had been framed, now there was only shattered glass and bullet holes.

Matthew moved cautiously to the front of the vehicle, weapon held high and ready. He tapped his radio control button and hissed, “John, move up.”

As Officer Ryback slumped to the ground, six things happened within the space of as many heartbeats.

Beat one: Clay shouted a warning to Danny. Basic and guttural.

Beat two: Danny pushed Andrea flat to the floor and yelled for her to stay down.

Beat three: Clay snatched up his bulky Colt Python revolver from under his seat. As he leaned down, bullets ripped through the door over his head.

Beat four: a gunman stepped in front of the RV’s windscreen, weapon raised.

Beat five: Danny grabbed a steak knife and launched himself out of the side passenger door.

Beat six: Clay put two bullets through the windscreen into the gunman’s face.

* * *

Matthew squeezed the trigger of his MP5K as the pair of lethal .357 rounds ripped through his face and exited through the rear of his skull. A stream of hot lead stitched countless holes in the windscreen and roof of the RV. Clay Gunn ducked instinctively as fragments of glass exploded around him. As the gunman fell away from view, he turned to check on Danny and Andrea, his ears ringing from the gunfire. The woman was curled tight into the foetal position, her hands clamped over her ears.

Danny was gone.

* * *

John had lost sight of Matthew for no more than ten seconds. Yet in a combat situation he knew that ten seconds could last a lifetime. There was an intense burst of fire then silence. With his own MP5K trained on the Winnebago he crept forward at an oblique angle. Within a few feet he saw Matthew’s prostrate form spread-eagled on the blacktop. His boots reflected the red and blue lights that still pulsated from the stationary police cruiser. Wisps of steam drifted into the air from the bloody ruin where his face had been. Fury erupted in John’s mind. Matthew had been a good man, a good leader; he didn’t deserve to die like this. With a roar he pulled back on the trigger and sprayed the Winnebago from back to front several times. He could hear the 9mm rounds rip through the near side skin of the vehicle and apart from the occasional ricochet, exit through the other side. The thirty-round magazine was depleted in seconds and he ejected the empty and slapped in a fresh one with a practised hand. As he moved cautiously to the front of the RV, he scanned the windows for any signs of life and more importantly, danger.

A descending blur caught his eye as something primeval flew at him from above.

* * *

As he heard his brother loose off two shots, Danny Gunn flung himself bodily out of the RV, pivoted without pause and climbed up the utility ladder bolted to the rear corner of the vehicle. Crawling on hands and knees, he traversed the roof like a cat, freezing as the second gunman sprayed the RV with bullets.

As the man stalked forward, Danny launched himself over the edge. The serrated blade of the steak knife sliced down the side of the man’s face and glanced off his collarbone before burying itself to the hilt in his neck. Both men slammed into the ground with a bone-jarring impact. Ignoring the gouts of dark crimson that flowed from the wound, the gunman rolled to his left and forced the muzzle of his sub-machine gun ever closer to Danny’s chest. They struggled, both men striving for the advantage. A burst of automatic fire ripped through the air so close to Danny that it singed his skin through his shirt.

His opponent pulled the trigger in several short bursts but Danny blasted him in the head with an elbow and used the momentum to scoot around onto his back. He clamped his left hand around the stock of the weapon and used his right to rip the knife free from the man’s throat. Danny plunged the knife repeatedly back into the unprotected neck until the gunman’s body went limp. An ugly, vicious death, but that was all a soldier could expect.

Danny stood upright, kicking the slack body away as Clay emerged from the front of the RV, his huge revolver held before him, ready to split the night if required.

“These boys are packing some real heat. Top-notch stuff.”

Clay nodded, his eyes flicking to the man at Danny’s feet, who looked like he’d been savaged by a wild animal.

“This is bad. We’re caught up in the murder of a cop; we’ve just killed two men; and don’t forget the bodies on the overlook. This shitstorm is going to take our lawyers years to sort out.”

Danny Gunn rolled his shoulders and wiped his face with the back of his hand. The dead man’s blood was smeared across his features like war paint. He snatched up the man’s discarded gun, inspecting it in the moonlight. The MP5K was a very fine weapon: the firearm of choice for many military forces, armed police units and independent operators. Originally German-built, the
Maschinenpistole
5 was now produced across the world and had many variants. The model he held was the MP5K; the “K” designated the short (
kurz
) barrel. He examined the three-burst selector switch, the choice of the more precise and better-trained soldier. When the MP5K was switched to full auto, the standard thirty-round magazine could be emptied in two seconds. Devastating but short-lived.

He walked to the front of the RV, dropped to one knee beside the first dead gunman and began to methodically search the corpse’s chest webbing. When he was finished the haul consisted of two spare magazines for the MP5K, a short-range radio cum walkie-talkie, a heavy satellite phone, a black SOG-issue knife, two Hershey bars and an angular Glock 37 pistol with a full clip. No wallet, no identification. Danny slung the MP5K across his back and stuck the Glock in his waistband.

He raised his head to see that Andrea had appeared from the RV and was surveying the carnage, half hidden by Clay’s bulk. It didn’t take a genius to realise that these were the same men who’d murdered her brother and his partner. Although she appeared momentarily horrified by the two dead bodies she was also clearly elated. “See how you fuckers like it!”

Clay looked down at her and gave her a perfunctory nod. “Ay-men to that.” He walked over to the body and scooped up the Hershey bars and the knife. “What do you wanna do with the comms stuff?”

Danny straightened up, the cartilage in his knees popping loudly, holding the dead man’s walkie-talkie and satellite phone. “Radio should warn us if there are more coming.” He hooked it onto his belt then examined the satellite phone. “This thing’s off. Shouldn’t be able to get a fix on us from it. Keep it in case we need to make an emergency call out of cell-phone reception. Then dump it.” He pocketed the sat-phone and looked straight up into the night sky. Countless pinpricks of light, too many to count, dotted the firmament above. He stood immobile for long seconds, puffed breath out of his cheeks then turned to Clay and Andrea. “These guys won’t be alone. If there’s a kill squad on your tail there will be at least four to six men assigned. We’d better get to high ground because the rest of the team won’t be far away.”

Clay patted Andrea on the shoulder, pushing her gently towards Danny. “Stay by him.”

* * *

Clay walked over to the body of Officer Ryback. A pool of dark sticky liquid had formed around his head. Clay bowed his head for a moment in silent tribute. He wondered about Ryback’s family. Did he have a wife sitting at home, blissfully unaware of her husband’s demise? Children, maybe? He knew only too well the grief that the news would bring.

He picked up his licence and registration from the blacktop, where the officer had dropped them. Then he stalked over to the squad car and slid into the driver’s seat. Reaching for the microphone mounted on the dashboard, he keyed the mike and found his voice, “Officer down, repeat officer down. I’m reporting the death of Officer Ryback. We’re out on the 375. Twenty miles south of Rachel.”

A brief burst of static preceded a local Nevada accent. “Who is this?” A second’s pause then, “Please identify yourself and repeat your last message.”

“My name is Clay Gunn. Officer Ryback has been shot and killed. When you see the video playback from the car camera you will see that I was not responsible. There are two more dead bodies out here as well. You’ll see what happened on the tape.”

“This is dispatch… Is Bobby really dead?” The timbre in the voice turned from impartial controller to a scared young woman in an instant.

“I’m sorry, but he is.” Clay pictured the woman sitting in the radio-control room of a squat brick and breezeblock building that was so typical of rural police stations. She would probably know all the serving officers as well as her own family. A death like this affected everyone in the community. He gritted his teeth as the radio remained silent for long seconds. Then the woman spoke again. The professional air had returned to her voice.

“Please remain in your present location. Officers will be dispatched.”

“Look we can’t stay here. There may be more gunmen. We’re heading into Rachel. I figure that we’ll be safest in town.” A movement by the RV caught his eye. Andrea was standing over the body of the man Clay had killed, peering at the ruined face. He watched as she rested her foot on the corpse’s throat, bringing it down tentatively at first, then harder. Then she raised her foot and stamped down over and over again. She threw back her head and screamed.

* * *

Danny levelled the MP5K as Andrea’s cry cut through the night air. He knew the sound well. Fury and despair; a desperate need for revenge.

A distinctive rumbling pulled his attention away from Andrea. A bright spot of light low to the road. “Andrea, get back in the RV.” She paused only long enough to spit on the corpse, then did as she was told.

The radio on Danny’s belt crackled to life. “We’re one minute out.”

He scowled but keyed the mike in response, trying to keep his accent neutral. “Roger that.” He saw Clay making his way back from the police car and signalled at him:
Incoming.
Danny knew that there would be at least another two men. This type of operative never travelled without adequate backup. They would be equipped to the same standard as the two dead men. He hefted the MP5K against his shoulder. His mouth twitched. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

“How do you want to play this?” asked Clay. He hauled himself into the RV, Danny following.

“A moving target is harder to hit.”

Clay nodded. “So let’s get moving.” He turned the key and shifted the RV into drive. He coaxed the cumbersome vehicle into a wide arc around the dead bodies and the patrol car, then pushed the gas pedal hard against the floor. The windscreen held firm despite the countless rounds Clay and the gunman had put through it.

“Lie down here.” Danny gestured between the rear seats, and Andrea did as she was told, cradling her laptop bag in her arms. He pushed down the cushions from the seats, arranging them to provide a meagre degree of shock absorption. They certainly wouldn’t stop a bullet but they would help to prevent her being tossed around when the going got rough. Her eyes were glassy and they kept flicking to the weapon in his hand. She must be wondering what the hell kind of men they were.

Clay’s gruff baritone echoed down the galley. “We got lights coming up fast.”

* * *

Dust and grit spread in a plume behind the ATV. Mark hung on grimly as Luke powered after the target vehicle. Suddenly the bike slowed—bodies in the road. Luke steered towards the nearest and leant over, foot braced on the blacktop. Mark heard a sharp intake of breath, then a torrent of syllables. Mark’s grasp of Québécois was meagre at best but his companion’s tone was unmistakable. Swearing sounds pretty much the same in any language.

“Both of them?”

“Both.” Another stream of curses.

“We gotta kill these motherfuckers and end this mission now!”

Luke was still swearing in his native tongue but he nodded in agreement. The powerful Kawasaki engine roared like an injured cougar as he opened up to full speed. Soon the RV was back in their line of sight.

Twenty feet behind the Winnebago, Mark aimed his weapon at the rear right tyre. It was big and wide: an easy target. The heavy rubber was no match for the 9mm projectiles and in seconds the rear of the vehicle had dipped awkwardly.

Luke slewed the bike to the left and Mark repeated the routine on the left wheel. Now the whole rear of the Winnebago dropped and bounced as it fought for traction, its tail sending up intermittent showers of sparks.

“Kill the driver!” yelled Luke.