“You two stay back and take security,” Adams repeated as the Ford Expedition started. “I don’t know why you talked me into this.”
“Because you like my stunning good looks,” Vanner said, grinning. He was, for once, all suited up, MP-5, balaclava and all. You could see his grin right through the mask.
“Because I’ve done this sort of thing before,” Himes added.
“I’ve got plenty of shooters,” Adams said. “You just do the door, then swing back.”
“Got it,” Himes said, cocking the shotgun.
The Expedition pulled to a stop and he unassed, charging the door. He could hear the assault team stacking up behind him so he pointed the shotgun at the lock and pulled the trigger.
The round was a breaching round, a standard twelve-gauge shotgun shell but with a projectile that was a frangible powdered metal slug that would destroy the lock but not over penetrate or result in dangerous fragments to the shooter. The round worked as advertised, destroying the lock and permitting Himes to open the door with one swift kick.
He rolled to the side, pointed outwards, and cocked the shotgun, ejecting the spent breacher and load a livie, then he took a knee.
There was a sound of brief struggle inside and he turned to the side.
“Never done this before?” he asked the intel specialist.
“Not for real,” Vanner replied. “I…” His eyes flew wide as the doors of the moving van rolled up and a similarly armed and armored group started to pile out.
“FREEZE! POLICE!” the leader of the tac team yelled. “Drop your weapons and get down. NOW!”
“Wait, we’re with—” Vanner said, puzzled by something about the man’s words, just as the first round cracked into his chest.
At the sound of the shouting, Adams turned to the door and saw the tac team running across the parking lot. He also saw them shoot Vanner and Himes, which was all he needed. Fucking cops don’t just shoot people down who have their hands up. Besides, most cops, even in Miami, don’t have accents.
He took a position alongside the door, not that it gave any sort of cover, and began returning fire, taking two of the tac team down with two shots. Suddenly, the three Keldara shooters were by his side and it turned into a general melee.
Adams rolled through the door, taking cover behind some tourist’s Taurus, then popped up, getting two more.
The tac team was taking cover around the cars as well so he took it to them, running to the rear of the Taurus and spotting another. Tango down.
The Keldara had spread out from the room as well and they swept right.
But neither group had noticed one of the shooters huddled alongside a minivan. The man stood up, aimed his AR-15 and fired five rounds at the master chief.
Adams felt the hit, like a punch in his side, and spun sideways, firing one-handed into the tac team member.
The man flew back, a 5.56mm hole in the center of his browridge.
“Master Chief,” Vil said, running over to where Adams was slumped against the Taurus.
“We need to unass,” Adams gasped. He was hit pretty bad but he was still functional. He’d been hit before. Not this bad, but he could still function. “Go to the air field we landed at. Get into the cars and go. Don’t speed.”
“Vanner is hit badly,” Arvidas said. “I think Lieutenant Himes is dead.”
“Fuck,” Adams said. “We got to go.”
“Fuck.”
Nielson rubbed his forehead angrily.
“Did they at least get Sabat?”
“According to the colonel I spoke to they are sure it’s not Sabat at all,” Vil said miserably. “Sabat is reported to have been at an office in Yemen for the last week. And we recovered documents from the room. They are… I guess you would call it a script. And he had a modifier so that his voice was similar.”
“It was a trap,” Nielson said.
“Yes,” Vil replied. “We are at the airbase in the town of Homestead. All of us. We have been given quarters and are… we are told not to leave. The master sergeant is at the hospital here, Sergeant Vanner is in another in Miami.
“Colonel, the man said one other thing. I think that this attack was supposed to get the Kildar.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll let him think about that one,” Nielson said. “In about two minutes.”
“What now?” Mike yelled.
“Open the door.”
Nielson strode in, his face twitching, and stood in front of Mike, arms crossed.
“Open the God-damned plate,” Nielson said.
“If that’s all you’ve got, get the hell out.”
“Open the GOD-DAMNED PLATE YOU WHINY ASSED BITCH! Is that good enough for you?”
“Fuck you,” Mike snarled. “Fuck you, fuck Adams, fuck you all!”
“Just open the plate, Mike,” Nielson said, calmly. “Then I’ll tell you why I’m asking.”
Mike looked at him for a moment, then hit the solenoid, raising the plate.
Nielson spun in place and considered the painting for a long time.
“It’s good.”
“Yeah, it is. Cost enough.”
“The lips are all wrong, though.”
“Yes, they are.”
“The team liaison is dead. Vanner is critical. Adams is shot up.”
Nielson spun in place again, arms still crossed.
“How?” Mike asked hoarsely.
“A trap,” Nielson replied. “One meant to catch you.”
Mike stood up very slowly and walked to the painting. He touched the shoulder of the girl, lightly, then turned.
“Call Chief D’Allaird. You know the Dragon?”
“Yeah, I know the Dragon.”
“Paint it black.”
Chapter Four
“The good news is that if it’s coming in on anything other than a freighter, we’ve got some time.”
Admiral Ryan had to admit that was true. The storm wasn’t a tropical storm or hurricane; those came later in the year. But it was a late winter cold front that had damned near the same effects. The wind howled, the rain poured, lightning flashed and there were small boat advisories all up and down the coast.
“Some good news for a change,” Ryan said, leaning against the wall of the room.
If only that damned SEAL had told them! They would have cross-checked Sabat’s movements and figured out it couldn’t be him. If they’d picked up the data these Keldara characters had, it would have been an obvious ruse.
On the other hand, he’d looked at the data they were given and knew it wasn’t all on their shoulders. Sabat was clearly shown on everyone else’s data as being in Yemen. The Keldara weren’t given the full update. Which had been pointed out to him, in very small words, by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He wasn’t sure why DC thought these guys walked on water, but…
Then there was the third point. The guy posing as Sabat had waltzed straight through every system designed to detect people just like him. And the Keldara had turned him up in less than three hours. Turned him up while their chief was in a meeting and snatched the supposed terrorist, successfully, despite being attacked from behind in a planned assault.
The Keldara hadn’t fucked up, he had. As the Chairman was also good enough to point out. He’d chosen to give them the filtered database. But was he just supposed to hand over everything to these damned people?