Veil of Civility: A Black Shuck Thriller (Declan McIver Series) (63 page)

With their vehicles well hidden along an old railroad bed, now a hiking trail, that ran through the woods behind the school, everything had gone as planned. They had arrived in Victoria with plenty of time to spare and would be firmly entrenched by the time the faculty began to arrive shortly after dawn. First, they would take each of the teachers and administrators as they arrived, forcing them to conduct business as usual while unloading the school buses that were scheduled to begin arriving at exactly 8:15 a.m. None of the few parents who dropped their children off at the front doors would think anything was out of place as Anzor Kasparov greeted them and ushered the children into the building. He had been doing that same thing as the facility's custodian for years.

Headlights washed over the trees momentarily and Baktayev turned around, focusing as his men each sank to one knee. Three car doors closed quickly but quietly as they watched, Kalashnikov rifles held across their chests and at the ready. Dressed in jungle fatigues and military boots, the men blended into the dense green forest at the edges of the school's property. Even their heads were covered in camouflage dew rags, with the exception of the few, including Baktayev, who had chosen instead to wear their black Islamic
taqiyahs
. After all, this was a mission of God and they were his soldiers.

Slowly, Baktayev wrapped the shoulder strap of his AK-47 around his hand and brought the rifle up into position as three men approached, each of them obviously armed. Waiting until the men were in the midst of his squad, he stood suddenly and barked an order in his native tongue, his men following his lead and standing with him.

Triumphant growls sounded as the three newcomers dropped their guns and held their hands up high in the air. Baktayev smiled as he looked at the blood on their clothes. "It is done, then?"

The nearest of the three men smiled and nodded. "It is done."

The three men had left separately from the rest of the group in a smaller vehicle and had been dispatched to the home of the town's school resource officer who would be the quickest link the school would have to the local police. Now the man, and his family as well, were in no condition to respond to anything. They were dead. With the officer not expected at his post until the start of the school day, it would be hours before anyone noticed he was missing and by then it would be too late.

Baktayev waved a hand motioning his men forward. Slowly they cleared the trees and moved out into the overgrown field a hundred yards from the back of the school's gymnasium. Keeping low and moving fast, they reached the building and lined up against the high brick wall. Though Baktayev thought they had little to fear from any of the townspeople, he wanted precision and stealth from his men. This was the most critical phase of their plan. If they were spotted here by anyone with enough sense to pick up a telephone then all of their planning, all of their preparation, would be for nothing. They would be forced to flee and the glorious death each of them had been praying well into the night for would be a fleeting dream.

Taking position ahead of his men at the corner of the building, he leaned over and looked down the row of them. He motioned to Anzor Kasparov to join him at the lead. Kasparov was the man with the keys and their ticket inside the building. "Are you ready?" Baktayev said, as the man arrived at his position. Kasparov jangled the keys in one of his pockets and smiled, resting his rifle on his shoulder. Baktayev turned back to the corner of the building and readied his rifle. He waved his hand and rounded the corner, staying low and creeping up the side of the building towards a courtyard twenty yards ahead of them. He held up his hand in a stop command as he reached the corner of the courtyard and looked out into the enclosed breezeway that connected the school's gymnasium with the rest of the building. In the center of the breezeway was a door, their planned entry point. Kasparov would have two minutes to make his way to the front of the building and disarm the building's security system as the rest of them fanned out around the building. Having cleared the courtyard of any surprises, Baktayev moved back behind the building and pressed his back against the wall.

"When you hear the door open, General," Kasparov said, "wait thirty seconds and then move into the courtyard. I will prop the door open with a rock, as the teachers do in the warmer months, before I go in."

The night seemed to grow quiet around them as if nature itself was waiting breathlessly for their victory. Baktayev tightened his grip on his rifle as he nodded his understanding. Kasparov withdrew a bulging set of keys from his pocket, picking through them quickly until he found the correct one. He pumped his fist in a victorious gesture and turned the corner into courtyard.

A loud crack echoed across the school yard and Kasparov's head exploded, covering Baktayev and the two men closest to him in rufescent gore. Baktayev furiously blinked the blood away as the remaining four and a half feet of Anzor Kasparov collapsed onto the ground, the keys in his dead hand jangling as they fell loose. Slowly registering what was happening, Baktayev dropped to his knees and then to his stomach as a deafening clatter filled the air around him.

"Surprise, old son," Declan said, as the brass was ejected from the side of his AR-15 and he watched the body of the man he'd been aiming for fall to the ground. Had it been Baktayev in the lead? He couldn't tell in the low light. He flicked the selector switch on the side of the converted rifle to automatic and pulled the trigger again. With the amount of men he was facing he needed to do as much damage as he could, and fast. The weapon bucked in his grip and methodically he inched the barrel to the right, moving down the line of Chechens against the brick wall of the school sixty yards in front of him. Several men close to the front of the line were thrown against the wall as the bullets impacted, their bodies falling onto one another. Declan knew the accuracy of the weapon at this range wasn't great, especially in the dark, and within a few seconds of pulling the trigger, the rifle was empty.

Okan Osman stood from behind the downed tree where he'd taken cover and aimed his shotgun. Even as he pulled the trigger rapidly and the rifled slugs exploded from the barrel, it was clear that the weapon wasn't accurate enough to have much effect from where he and Declan stood in the tree line at the edge of the property.

"Down!" Declan yelled, as several of the Chechens rose up and aimed their AK-47s in the direction they'd seen the muzzle flashes coming from. Osman took cover behind the fallen tree again and Declan stepped behind a thick pine, removing the magazine from his rifle and sliding in a new one as the clatter of the Kalashnikovs began. As chunks of wood were torn off the trees around him and bullets whizzed through the leaves, causing bits of greenery to fall to the ground, he flung himself forward onto his stomach for better cover.

"They're leapfrogging!" Osman yelled, as several of the Chechens moved forward while their comrades continued firing. "We've got to move, now!"

"Go! Go! Go!" Declan yelled, as he leveled his rifle from his prone position and pulled the trigger. Rounds burst from the weapon and the Chechens dropped to the ground, taking cover in the uneven terrain of the schoolyard. In his peripheral vision Declan watched as Osman took off running, keeping his head low as he passed behind Declan and back towards the trail they'd entered from. As the weapon again ran empty, Declan knew it was his turn to run and hoped that Osman had made it far enough to provide some cover fire. He jumped to his feet and ran, listening to the foreign yells of the Chechens as they realized they were in the clear. Looking to his left as he dodged through the thick trees, he saw someone stand from behind the row of camouflaged thugs. Even in the dim moonlight, he recognized Ruslan Baktayev as the man ran to the corner of the building and disappeared around the side. Declan turned his attention back to what was in front of him as the sound of machine gun fire started again. He kept his head low, but it quickly became obvious that the Chechens hadn't been able to see him running and were still focusing their fire on the spot where he and Osman had launched their initial assault. He pushed on until he heard gunfire in front of him and saw the muzzle flash ahead in the trees. Realizing the fire was directed towards the Chechens, he made his way towards it and soon joined Osman who was now standing near Altair Nazari as he fired his H&K MP-7 from behind a burned out metal barrel that stood a few yards into the tree line. Declan turned and looked as several of Baktayev's men were hit and fell to the ground. Taking the opportunity provided by Nazari's fire, he reloaded his rifle.

"How many did you count on their way in?" he yelled.

"Nineteen, and it looks like there's twelve left standing!" Osman yelled.

Declan tossed his rifle to Osman who caught it. "I'll trade you," he said. "Baktayev ran. I'm going after him!"

Osman nodded and withdrew the shotgun that was secured to his back by its shoulder strap. "There's only four rounds in it, but there's still fifteen in the strap!" he yelled, as he tossed it to Declan. Declan caught it as Nazari's fire stopped and Osman raised the AR-15 to continue the assault. Declan dropped the olive green satchel he was carrying his extra magazines in at Osman's feet and looked at Nazari who was reloading. "Did you disable their vehicles?"

Nazari nodded.

"Good. Finish as many of these guys off as you can and get outta here! The police can't be far off!"

"Where are you going?" Nazari asked, having not been privy to Declan's conversation with Osman.

Declan pumped a round into the shotgun. "After a coward!"

Gradually Declan made his way from the forest onto the Tobacco Heritage Trail, aiming the shotgun in front of him. The trail was nearly as wide as a two lane road and covered with finely crushed aggregate to make it ideal for bikes or horses, though from the overgrowth it looked scarcely used. He'd seen Ruslan Baktayev flee from the schoolyard and run east away from the building. In order to make it to the vehicles he would have had to double back once he reached the forest, but Declan couldn't imagine him going anywhere else if he wanted to escape the area.

Carefully, he surveyed the two white cargo vans and worn Honda SUV that Baktayev and his men had arrived in and that were now parked in a line along the edge of the trail, about a thousand feet from the nearest road. The engine compartment of each vehicle was open, evidence of Nazari's sabotage, and if Declan had to guess, he was sure that Nazari had either pulled the fuses, removed the distributor caps and disabled the rotors, or blocked the air intake to keep the vehicles from starting. Either way, no one was going anywhere with any of them.

He sank to one knee and listened intently. Sirens had started in the distance and were growing closer, and the occasional burst of gunfire came from the school, but it was clear that the fight was winding down. Having been caught on open ground, Baktayev's crew had been cut to pieces by the surprise attack. Declan focused his attention in front of him, listening for anyone approaching, but he heard nothing. Had Baktayev continued east on foot? Had he hidden another vehicle near the school? A stick snapped in the forest to his left and Declan turned, aiming the shotgun into the darkened trees as he took cover behind one of the vans. Suddenly the commotion increased and continued toward him, leaves crushing and twigs snapping under the weight of the approaching figure. In the darkness, Declan didn't see it until it was nearly on top of him. A slender doe bounded out of the tree line, stopped suddenly and looked at Declan before bolting to the right and continuing across the trail into the forest beyond.

Slowly Declan turned and redirected his attention to the east. The trail ahead of him was still empty, with no sign of the terrorist leader. A dim red light shone suddenly through one of the cargo van's tinted windows and a sputtering sound came from the forest. Declan moved fast to the front of the vehicle and aimed his weapon into the trees east of his location. Through the thick overgrowth he could still see the square red light, brighter now that he wasn't looking through the darkened windows of the cargo van, and the sputtering continued. Realizing what it was, Declan shouldered the shotgun and ran forward along the trail as the sound of a twin cycle engine roared to life and the little red square of light began advancing through the forest.