For a brief moment, Cypher hesitated, not sure what to do or say. A second later, he looked over at his assassin. “Tara, please escort Mister Mitchell over to his friends and then bring Atsuko to me.”
“With pleasure,” replied Tara.
Cypher reached into his jacket and dug out a memory stick, placed it into the side of his laptop on a table near the derrick, and then began to type.
“Let’s go,” said Tara to Mitchell, waving her machine pistol in his face.
“Sure, why not,” replied Mitchell, his mind a blur as he tried to figure a way out. Walking as slowly as he dared, he tried to delay the inevitable when out of the corner of his right eye Mitchell saw a dark blur move between a nearby generator and the rock wall. With a cocky grin on his face, he knew that it could only be one person. A plan gelled in his mind. He saw the two guards covering Jackson and Daniel standing there with bored looks on their faces and knew exactly what he had to do. All it would take was split-second timing and a catalyst to set everything in motion. Where that was going to come from, he had no idea; He just needed a distraction. He needed it in the next ten seconds or he, and his friends, would soon be dead.
47
The wailing sound of police sirens grew louder by the second.
Farragut had just parked his truck and was ambling over to the two men standing by the entrance to the cave when he turned his head to see where the noise was coming from. In the distance, he saw two police cruisers racing down the road to his farm, trailing a thick plume of dust behind them. For a second, he wondered why the police would be coming onto his land, and then he remembered the small Asian woman who had told him to call the cops. Farragut wondered where she had gone. She was with him just a minute ago. He shook his head, placed his hands in his pockets and decided to wait until the police arrived before speaking with Jane Tam about his money.
The two men assigned to guard the entrance to the tunnel saw the cruisers racing toward them. Without saying a word, the men stepped away from the entrance, walked over to their car, popped the trunk, and then pulled out a pair of assault rifles modified with a 40mm grenade launder attached under the hand guard. Moving away from their car, the two men adjusted the sights on their weapons and then took aim. Both men had loaded high-explosive grenades. They waited until they judged that the lead police car was about one hundred meters away, then both men pulled back on the triggers of their weapons. Sounding more like a loud pop than an explosion, the grenades simultaneously shot out of their launchers.
In the second police car was Sheriff Jake “Red” Thomas. Called Red his entire life on account of his flaming red hair, Sheriff Thomas was in a foul mood. He recalled the last time he had been called to Farragut’s place; all he could smell was the booze on the man’s breath as he complained about his poor TV reception. If the man was once again wasting his time, Red was going to throw him in a cell for the night or until he sobered up… whichever came last.
Red was about to call back to his office to cancel the extra cars when the car in front of him exploded in a bright red-and-orange fireball. His heart leaped up into his throat. He slammed on his brakes. Red’s cruiser came to a sliding halt. Quickly placing his car in reverse, Red jammed his foot on the gas, and sped backward just as two more grenades flew through the black pall of smoke and struck the ground where he had been only a couple of seconds before. Exploding harmlessly, the grenades sent plumes of dirt and rock flying up into the air.
Red steered his car behind Farragut’s home, spun the wheel around, and then sped down the dirt track until his car’s tires touched the paved road. He parked his vehicle to block the only road in or out of Farragut’s farm, and jumped out of his car and took cover behind it. His heart was still jackhammering inside his chest. A veteran of the Gulf War, Red had seen action but never anything that close. Realizing that he could have been killed, Red reached for his Motorola and radioed back to his office, demanding that more police and the National Guard be dispatched to his location immediately. Peering over the hood of his car, Red looked back to the farm. A black cloud rose into the sky where his friend’s car was still burning. Shaking his head, Red wondered just who those men were and what was going on.
Phillip Farragut stood fixed to the ground, his mouth agape, as he watched the destroyed cruiser burn. There was a man in there, thought Farragut.
He looked at the men responsible for the murder of the police officer and yelled, “Why the hell did you do that?”
With a look of derision on his face, the closest guard walked over and smashed Farragut in the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out cold.
“Because I can, old man,” said the guard as he popped open his grenade launcher and loaded another round. He and his partner protected the only way in or out of the cavern. They would have to keep the authorities away until it was time to leave. Moving behind an armored SUV, the man adjusted the sights on his weapon and prepared himself for the inevitable police counterattack.
The sound of the police car exploding reverberated like a shockwave through the cavern. Everywhere heads turned and looked up as if they could somehow see through the rock dome above their heads.
Tara’s head turn ever so slightly.
Mitchell saw his opening and took it. He kicked out with his left foot, trying to hit Tara’s knee, crippling her; however, she was not any ordinary person. Years of training had left her with a sixth sense to perceive danger before it struck. She turned her leg slightly. Mitchell’s blow sailed past her knee, hitting nothing but air.
Tara spun on her heels and tried to bring her machine pistol around to fire.
Realizing that he had less than a second to react, Mitchell thrust his hands out and grabbed hold of the machine pistol in Tara’s hands. He clamped his hands over hers and squeezed as tight as he could. A loud burst of machine-gun fire tore through the air, striking a generator on the far side of the cavern, disabling it. The lights above Jackson and his son went out. When he saw the momentary look of surprise in her cold eyes, Mitchell launched his head forward, smashing his forehead down on Tara’s. The sound of both skulls hitting sounded like a pair of empty coconut shells smashing together loudly. Both staggered back and forth on wobbly feet from the blow, neither letting go of the machine pistol.
The guards covering Jackson, Atsuko, and Daniel heard the automatic weapons fire. They both made a move to bring up their weapons when the lights around them went out.
For a large man, Jackson was deceiving; incredibly fast on his feet, he could take down a man before he knew what was going on. He grabbed his car keys off the table and held them firm in his hand as he flew from his seat. He reached out and grabbed hold of the nearest guard. Without hesitating, he thrust a key as hard as he could into his neck. Like a fountain, blood erupted from the man’s mortal wound. Before the other guard could even react, Jackson let go of the dying guard, took hold of the man’s weapon, and fired a quick burst into the other guard’s chest, killing him. Spinning about, he grabbed Daniel by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to the ground. Atsuko was already diving for the ground when Jackson flipped over their table, intending to use it to shield Daniel and Atsuko from view. Dropping to one knee, Jackson took deliberate aim at one of the guards covering the North Koreans, dropping him with one well-aimed shot to the head. The sound of Jackson’s firefight echoed through the cavern.
Tara saw, out of the corner of her eye, one of Cypher’s men guarding the North Koreans drop. With a snarl on her lips, she let go of the machine pistol and swept a foot under Mitchell’s feet, sending him tumbling to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Sharply turning on her heels, she sprinted back toward the derrick and Gabriel Cypher. She had to protect him. In her mind, her life meant nothing compared to his.