"Hey, Sledge!" one of the men called out to someone Liam couldn't see. "How much longer are we going to be sitting here? I haven't seen my girl in two days!"
"Tough," a voice said. A tall, muscular man walked into view. He was dressed like the others, only he had a shaved head and a profile like a rock face. "Die Baas said we stay here until he tells us otherwise. Is that clear?"
"But Sledge—"
"Berg," Sledge growled. "Shut up and make a security sweep. Take Carel with you."
The speaker rose, grabbed his rifle and motioned to another man sitting at the table. "You heard Sledge," he said sharply. "Let's go." The second man got up, grabbed his rifle and followed Berg. The two turned right at the next shelf row and disappeared.
Liam slowly pulled his head back and looked at the other two members of his team. "Problems."
Tanner listed to Liam's description of the extra security at the warehouse. "Can you continue the mission?" he asked.
"We can get into the offices," Liam replied, "but getting out is going to be a bitch."
"Okay, so get in," Tanner said. "And after we're done here, we'll move to your location and see if we can arrange a distraction for you to get out."
"Don't be too long," Liam said. "These guys may be Neanderthals, but they're well-armed Neanderthals and used to violence."
"Copy that, Black. We'll be there shortly. White out."
"Maybe we should we abort this mission?" Naomi asked, looking concerned. “That sounded kind of sketchy.”
Tanner frowned, but before he could answer, there was an explosion in the distance, to the southwest. A few seconds later, another distant explosion occurred, this one to the southeast. As that sound faded, a third boom, from the east and somewhat closer than the others.
"What the hell?" Naomi looked around, head on a swivel.
"Thunder?" Dante asked, also glancing about.
Naomi’s expression now belied true concern. "No, those explosions weren't natural. I think someone just set off some bombs."
Across the street, both guards left their posts at the gatehouse, surveying their surroundings in an attempt to locate the source of the explosions. A delivery truck appeared on the street from the right, slowing as if it was going to turn into the office park. One of the security guards, one hand on his holster, the other hand up in the universal signal to stop, stepped into the truck's path.
The vehicle slowed to a stop. The cab doors opened and two men dressed in black leapt out. As the guards tried to draw their pistols, the newcomers raised their own pistols and fired several times, the attached sound suppressors making the shots almost inaudible to the three in the car. The two guards crumpled to the ground at almost the same time.
Dante’s hand reflexively unsnapped the catch on his pistol’s holster. "Something's going down."
As one of the intruders dragged the guards' bodies out of the way, the driver ran back to the truck and climbed in. The truck rolled forward to the guardhouse, where the second man entered the gatehouse. The pole barrier was raised and the truck rolled through into the business park.
"A robbery?" Naomi asked.
Tanner stared through the binoculars as the truck came to a stop in front of the building housing SeaStar’s offices. The truck's rear door rolled up and half-a-dozen figures in black, each carrying an AK-47 assault rifle, leapt out. A guard stepped out of the building and was cut down by a sustained burst of gunfire.
Tanner dropped the binoculars and started the SUV. "It isn't a robbery," he said, putting the car into drive.
"It's a hit!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Berg Van Gelder and Carel Hoek had been NFFA members for several years. Both were uneducated, and prone to violence against non-whites or whites who didn't believe in white superiority. Both had served time in prison, though only for a fraction of the crimes they had actually committed.
Van Gelder was the taller of the two, forty pounds overweight, with a buzz-cut and a face that was best characterized as "piggish" (though no one would say so within his earshot.) Hoek was thin, with close-cut blond hair, and slightly less ugly than Van Gelder.
They were more than halfway through their "security sweep," which entailed nothing more than walking around the warehouse's interior perimeter, and checking to make sure all the exit doors were locked. Flashlights lit their way, because Die Baas — Aswegen — was a cheap bastard, preferring to save on his electrical bill by not lighting the warehouse unless there was cargo coming in or out.
"I wonder what has Die Baas so worried," Hoek muttered. "Does he think those kaffir Somalis are going to come down here and take this warehouse?"
"I don't know," Van Gelder growled. "But he's paying us to make sure no one breaks in here and steals anything."
"I don't like this, Berg.”
"You don't have to like it. You just have to do it."
For a couple of minutes, the only sounds were their footsteps. They reached the northeast corner, but as they turned, they heard a small ringing, like a coin falling onto the concrete floor ahead of them. "What the hell?" Hoek muttered.
They moved forward slowly, flashlights probing the ground ahead. After a few seconds, the beams picked up something glittering on the floor. They stepped close and Van Gelder bent down and picked it up. He stared at it in the beam of light.
"It's a Krugerrand!" he said, flipping the gold coin over.
"How in the hell did it get here?" Hoek asked.
"I don't know. I—"
Neither man saw their killers come out of the darkness. A figure in black came up from behind each man, placed a hand across their mouths, jerked their heads straight up to expose the neck, and cut each man's throat with a knife before driving the blade into each man's kidney. The dying men struggled, blood gushing from their deep wounds. Their killers dropped them to the floor and watched them die without saying a word.
Yasir Ilshu stepped out of the darkness and nodded to his men. He reached down, picked up the Krugerrand, and put it into his pocket.
Without a word, the ICA group moved past the dead guards, their blood glistening in the flashlight's illumination.
The 4X4 was already traveling at thirty miles an hour by the time it hit the intersection. By the time it shot past the guardhouse, it was doing forty. Both Dante and Naomi had their pistols, H&K SOCOMs, out and ready. Tanner jammed the shifter into second gear as he turned the wheel. The vehicle began skidding, the rear of the car whipping around in a bootlegger's turn. The vehicle came to a stop ten feet away from the truck.
"White to Black," Tanner said into his radio. "We have a Condition Omega here!"
"Do we withdraw?" Liam asked.
"No, find a way to get to that computer! We can handle it here!"
All three came out of the Pajero with pistols raised. Two figures in black came charging out of the building, their AK-47s raised to fire, but the OUTCAST operators were quicker, firing several times before either assailant could shoot. Both thugs went down as several .45 slugs slammed into them.
"Expect trouble, Black," Tanner continued. "I don't think this is a random attack."
"Copy," Liam returned. "We'll figure out a way."
Dante quickly checked the truck's cab, while Tanner scoped out the back of the truck and found nothing. Naomi knelt next to the downed guard and checked for a pulse. After several seconds, she shook her head. "He's gone."