Cardinal scanned the mining camp through his sniper scope and guessed that there were about fifteen mercenaries still in the fight. Most of Romanov’s men were all either dead, or cowering from the fight. Not expecting a protracted fight, Cardinal had carried what he thought was enough ammunition, but with the firefight gaining in its intensity, he was beginning to run low. At least he still had his M4.
“Hey there, how’s it going?” asked Sam, startling Cardinal.
Peering over his shoulder, Cardinal saw Sam’s head sticking up from below. “We’re doing ok, I guess, but I’m starting to run low on 50. cal ammo,” replied Cardinal. “Do you have Miss March with you?”
“Yeah, she’s safe and sound down below. Have you seen any sign of Jackson or Mitchell?” asked Sam.
“None, Nate disappeared into the tunnel a good ten minutes ago.”
The sound of an anti-tank rocket slamming against the side of the tower made both Sam and Cardinal duck.
“Ok then, I guess we’re gonna hold up here until the cavalry arrives,” Sam said, trying to sound optimistic. “I’m gonna send an update to Fahimah and find a good firing port to help you from.”
“All right, but keep your head down,” replied Cardinal as he looked over at Sam. Neither said a word. For a moment they locked eyes, both knowing they would die for the other. With a quick wink, Sam dropped down the stairs and out of sight. Turning his head back so he could see through his weapon’s telescopic sight, Cardinal saw three men making a dash towards the tunnel entrance. Seeing weapons in their hands, he swung his sniper rifle over, took aim, and cut down one of the men before the others dove for cover behind some old rust-covered 45-gallon drums.
44
Mitchell hunched over the steering bar of the ATV. Rocks scattered everywhere under the vehicles’ tires as it tore around the narrow corner of the tunnel. He looked down the long dark tunnel, but saw no sign of the other vehicle and its deadly cargo. Gunning the accelerator all the way, the ATV leapt forward like a prized stallion racing down the track. Mitchell slung his rifle on his back and drew Jackson’s pistol, knowing that he could not be that far behind Teplov. The thought of Romanov’s thug made Mitchell’s blood boil. The sooner he dealt with him, the better.
The long eight-wheeled ATV came to a gradual halt at the end of the tunnel. Teplov jumped off and looked back down the tunnel; only cold unforgiving darkness seemed to stretch into the distance. The cool, damp air made him suddenly shiver. Shaking his head, he turned back towards the bomb. Teplov ordered the guards with him to unhitch the trailer and get the ATV turned about so they could leave as soon as Markov had finished his final inspection of the bomb.
Alexandra slipped her cold hands into her jacket pockets and walked over beside Teplov, a sour look on her narrow face. “It looks like we will have to remotely detonate the bombs well ahead of schedule,” she said bitterly. “Father won’t be happy, but it can’t be helped.”
Teplov looked down at Alexandra. “Don’t worry,” he said with the hint of a smile. “Once the bombs go off, the West’s ability to mine oil in the North Sea will be obliterated, Russia will soon once more belong to your family, and you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams. It will be as your father planned, just a few hours early, that’s all.”
A light flickered down the passage.
Teplov had not expected anyone else to be coming down the tunnel. Gently, he moved Alexandra behind him, using his body to cover hers. Reaching down, he grabbed his Motorola and called the other bomb team.
Silence answered him.
The sound of an approaching ATV’s engine echoed down the long, narrow tunnel.
“Perhaps it’s the other team? Or one of Chang’s men coming to report?” asked Alexandra.
“Maybe,” replied Teplov, unsure. “You two come here,” he said to the guards.
Stopping what they were doing, the two men walked over beside Teplov.
“I’ll help Markov. You two see what the other crew wants,” said Teplov, edging back behind the mercenaries. His gut told him that something wasn’t right. Taking Alexandra by the arm, Teplov walked behind the bomb, trying to put as much distance as he could between them and the approaching ATV.
Mitchell saw the light from the larger ATV illuminating the far end of the passageway. He could see several men standing there, silhouetted in the light. Leaning over the handle bar for support, Mitchell brought up his pistol and took aim.
Teplov was about to chalk it all up to his nerves, when a shot rang out. Instantly, one of the two guards’ head snapped back, a chunk of his head missing, his lifeless body falling backwards onto the ground. Before the other man could react, two bullets pierced his chest. Grabbing at the bloody holes, the man dropped onto his knees and tumbled over onto the cold, rocky ground.
Teplov pushed Alexandra back and drew his pistol, making it ready.
The blonde-haired Markov turned in horror as a vehicle sped towards him, out of the dark, as if it were coming out of the grave to seek vengeance upon him for his many sins.
Slamming on the brakes, Mitchell turned the vehicle’s handlebar all the way to the right. The ATV came to a sliding halt right beside the dead bodies of Chang’s men. Jumping off the ATV, Mitchell strode straight towards a petrified Markov, his pistol aimed straight out in front of him.
Markov, seeing the look of anger in Mitchell’s eyes, instantly dropped onto his knees, threw up his hands in the air, and pleaded not to be shot.
“Disarm this, now,” growled Mitchell, jamming his pistol hard into Markov’s face.
Trembling, Markov got to his feet, meekly nodded, and turned towards the bomb.
Seeing only two dead guards, Mitchell instantly began to wonder where Teplov and Alexandra had disappeared to. A gnawing in Mitchell’s stomach told him to be wary. They had to be close. A sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him turn on his heels. Standing there was Teplov, with his pistol aimed at Mitchell; behind him was Alexandra.
“Drop it,” said Teplov to Mitchell.
“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I drop this pistol,” replied Mitchell.
“Markov, is the bomb prepared?” asked Teplov, looking past Mitchell at the bomb specialist.
Markov stopped what he was doing and nervously fumbled for a cigarette. Lighting it, he spoke. “Yes everything is in working order. I was about to—”
The sound of Teplov’s pistol firing inside the narrow tunnel was deafening.
Blood and gore sprayed all over the bomb casing as Markov slid to the ground, a hole blasted straight through his temple.
Mitchell fired.
Teplov felt the bullet pass by his head as he ducked back behind the bomb, leaving Alexandra standing there, a perplexed look on her face. Ruthless to a fault, she had never expected to be abandoned and left to the mercy of others.
Mitchell ducked. Ignoring Alexandra, he fired off a couple of quick shots under the bomb trailer, hoping to kill or at least wound Teplov, who he knew was hiding somewhere in the dark.
Within seconds, it grew deathly quiet inside the tunnel. The only sounds Mitchell heard were his own breathing and the rocks crunching under his feet as he slowly edged his way towards the end of the trailer. His heart started beating fast in his chest as he turned the corner of the trailer. Raising his pistol to fire, he froze and swore loudly. There no one was there.
Mitchell was about to move down the other side of the trailer, when the hair on the back of his neck shot up. Stepping back, Mitchell barely had time to register the dull flash of metal as a shovel blade reached out from the dark, hitting his already-bloodied hand. Blinding pain shot up his arm as his pistol was knocked from his hand and tumbled away under the bomb trailer. Mitchell cursed. He was certain that his right wrist was broken. Reaching over with his left hand, he grabbed the shovel’s wooden handle and pulled as hard as he could. Teplov stumbled forward off balance with his hands still firmly gripped around the shovel. Letting go of the shovel, Mitchell balled up his left hand and sent it straight into Teplov’s face. Lesser men would have dropped from such a blow, but Teplov, fueled by hate, simply dropped the shovel to the ground, stepped back, shook his head, and arrogantly spat out the shards of several shattered teeth from his bloody mouth.