Just ahead of him, Lyons saw the KGB goon raise his automatic to bear on the tent. Lyons fired on the run. The shot took the mole from behind, entering at the base of the skull and driving, plowing its way through the brain. Bill Frazer, once a KGB mole, dropped to the ground, now dead. His blood and brains mixed in a gory concoction on the battleground.
Lyons stopped and reversed his ground. He headed back toward the tent where Jackson, Mustav and Kelly had been held. Behind the tent, Baker was shouting to make himself heard over the yapping and confusion.
"There's some sort of crack response team inside our camp right now. They're after the hostages and the goddamn Commies."
"As long as we've got the hostages, we're okay," another Klan member yelled.
"Bullshit," Baker said. "As long as we've got the hostages we're at war."
"I say we kill the Commies that conned us," another said.
"Most are dead," Baker said, nodding at the dead men on the ground.
Lyons heard the chopping-air sound of a copter landing. He figured it was about a half-mile off.
"Listen," Baker reasoned, "I've been told if we release the hostages, we'll be disarmed and sent back to L.A. with the athletes. They want the KGB ringleaders, not us. We're small potatoes."
A bullet snapped at Lyons, barely missing. He turned to shoot, but automatic fire from outside the perimeter cut the gunner to shreds.
The rest of Able Team had arrived.
The KKK members continued arguing. The shooting had nearly stopped, save for the odd person acting on a nervous impulse. Lyons stood covering the scene with a Beretta. Anyone made a wrong move, he would personally make them pay.
The argument seemed to be going nowhere. Most believed they had been conned by KGB moles, but a course of action could not be decided upon. They knew a small but powerful team was in the camp, and they knew many athletes had acquired guns and were ready to fight. The death toll would be high, but... could anybody be trusted to set them free? If not, they would fight.
"Jesus," a voice said. Lyons looked to his left. Lightning Sam Jackson was striking. Slowly he moved toward the mob of Klansmen. He tossed his captured handgun to Lyons and walked on with his hands in the air. "People gonna die if you don't quit pissin' around," he said to the Klansmen. Lyons couldn't believe his eyes. In all his years of wars, never... The big boxer strode right into the pack and started playing arbitrator. With his quick tongue he was negotiating for his side, their side, Able Team's side for peace.
Lyons knelt and watched Jackson. He had the boxer's Browning Hi-Power. He placed it between his knees, ready to grab it in an instant. Then, he field stripped the Beretta, his fingers carefully checking each part. He removed grains of sand with his fingernails as he put the parts back together. It wasn't the sort of strip down the gun really needed, but it would have to do.
Lyons kept the reassembled Beretta in his fist, but tucked away the silencer. The time for delicacy had long passed. Dawn was slowly creeping onto the horizon.
"Lyons," a woman whispered.
Babette jogged over to him, keeping low. She was laden with most of his gear. Lyons stood and quickly donned his web belt and two bandoliers. The M-16/M-79 felt reassuring in his hands. The Able Team member's eyes never left the group that now surrounded Sam Jackson. Whatever it was the boxer was selling, the Klansmen seemed to be buying. Lyons listened while trying to locate Pol and Gadgets outside the perimeter.
Suddenly an automatic rifle opened up from just outside the compound, raking the group around Jackson. Lyons swung toward the muzzle flash. Another gun spoke. In the split second that followed, Lyons could hear the bullets impact on a human body. He searched for the source. The second gun carried the slower, more deliberate voice of a Stony Man modified automatic. An unknown had fired into the compound and an Able Team member had instantly answered.
Standing next to the compound, Blancanales shouted. "Enemy forces closing in. Everyone out this way. It's a trap."
The Ingram spoke again. From the same spot, Gadgets let out another word. "Hurry!''
The encampment was thrown into a state of confusion.
Lyons sprinted toward the group sprawled in the sand around the mouth of the tent. Two KKK members were dead, both having taken bullets to the chest.
"Prop up that wire and get out that way," he yelled, pointing in the direction where he had heard Schwarz and Blancanales calling from.
Lyons handed the Browning back to Jackson. Jackson summoned Mustav. "Get your buddies moving this way," he instructed. "Let's go."
Another automatic weapon began emptying into the compound. Answering fire blasted from several places, but it was the authoritative boom of a twelve-gauge that silenced the killer automatic.
"It's your goddamn men firing at us," an angry Klansman shouted as he attacked Lyons. The Able Team member feinted a move to the right then quickly countered with a kick at the man's testicles. He connected and the man went down in a heap of agony.
"Listen, asshole," Lyons said, grabbing the fallen goon by the shirt. "If my men were firing this way with me standing here I'd personally cut their hands off." Lyons pushed the man's head back to the pillow of sand.
The display had been both impressive and convincing. Lyons's quick action and the immediate response from the athletes had given the Klansmen a course to follow. Their only other option was to die in a state of confusion. Both blacks and whites threw themselves on their stomachs and crawled under the wires. Pol stood at the opening, giving instructions to each person who crawled through. Gadgets led the column toward the helicopters.
Babette moved up beside Lyons.
"Search this area quickly, then get out," Lyons said. "I'd never want to have to defend this place. I swear it was set up not to be defended."
Lyons glanced up to the horizon. Dawn was coloring the landscape. The first light of morning silhouetted the dunes to the east.
"We'll be sitting ducks in five, ten minutes. Get four people to help you. Make that search as fast as possible."
An enemy voice shouted in alarm. "They're escaping..."
It was cut off by a single shot.
Lyons ran to the area where everyone was escaping. Baker stood over the body of another dead Klansman. "They got another," he said. "Everyone else's accounted for. Doubt we'll ever make it out though."
"Paratroopers haven't had a chance to get organized," Lyons said. "We'll..."
A sudden burst of fire dug sand beside them. One member of the enemy had come close enough to kill. Lyons pointed the combo weapon at the muzzle flash and sent a stream of tumblers in a four-leaf-clover pattern. The next sound from the desert was that of death. The enemy's vocal cords struggled with the fact that half his chest had been blown away.
Lyons heard a mild groan even closer to home. He looked down at the ex-cop, the KKK man who led the revolt against the KGB moles. Baker had stopped a bullet. He was dying slowly. Lyons moved over to the Klansman. Blood was trickling out the side of his mouth, down his chin. He gazed up at Lyons, a glazed look in his eyes.
"Forgive..." he said, and then death snatched the sentence from his mouth.
Dawn had opened up a small patch of sky, but the dunes surrounding the encampment and the camouflage netting held the dark. Lyons scoured the perimeter, looking for those paratroopers who had managed to make it that far, that fast.
Gadgets Schwarz crawled over the last sand dune between the line of retreat and the helicopters. There was enough light to outline each person scrambling after him over the sand. They would be ideal targets for anyone coming across their flank.
Years of being on constant alert had conditioned the warrior in Gadgets. He knew time had sided with the unknown enemy, but he did not run and hail the copters. Instead, he approached cautiously.