But his gut told him that three wasn’t the limit.
He loaded a fresh mag and charged his weapon.
Jack knew the north door opened to a short open deck that led to the machine shop. Another outward-opening door would be waiting for him.
So would the shitbird that just took a potshot at him.
And maybe his friends.
He heard more gunfire far away. Could be his team was still in the fight. Or the tangos were killing the hostages.
Without comms, he couldn’t know.
No time to lose.
Jack knelt low and did the head-bob thing again. Nobody on the short open deck, and the door on the far end of it was shut.
They knew he was coming. All they had to do was kick open that far door and open up on him. He’d be trapped on the deck with the rails pinning him in — unless he decided to leap over the side into the roiling blue abyss.
“Seven breaths,” he told himself. A line from the Hagakure.
He ran like hell.
His heavy boots clanged on the steel grates. He kept his eyes focused on the shut door, waiting for it to open.
It didn’t.
He slammed into the machine shop wall with a thud. They already knew he was coming. No point in dancing around in the freezing dark.
He wished he had a flash-bang. But he didn’t. Just his guts. That had to be good enough. His team was counting on him. So were the hostages.
Jack ran through the room schematic again. Thirty by thirty. Six rooms — stalls, really, only two walls each. Two-by-fours and corrugated steel. Tools and machines in each, he assumed — lathes, welding tanks, whatever.
Which one would the shooter be in?
Jack yanked the door open but stayed out of the doorway. He felt the big-caliber slugs slam into the wall above his head. Glanced up. Saw the jagged steel petals flower a foot above.
That meant the shooter was probably in the northwest corner. A lousy shot — or scared to death.
Or wanting him to think so.
He had to do something to distract the shooter. He reached his MPX around the door frame and fired a short burst, aiming high against the far back wall to avoid hitting a hostage or one of his team if they were close by. He fired another burst, then dashed through the door, diving into the first stall on the left. He slid into a tall mechanic’s tool chest.
A woman screamed on the other side of the room.
A short burst of gunfire rang in the distance.
Damn! Jack glanced up. A blunt-nosed drilling hammer hung from a peg on the far wall. He dashed over and grabbed it.
“This is gonna hurt!” he shouted as he tossed the hammer like a hand grenade. It bounced and skidded across the steel-grated floor, landing near the last stall on the left, where he figured the tango was located. He hoped the bastard would think it was a flash-bang and cover up.
At least, that was the plan.
Before the hammer finished bouncing and skidding, Jack launched out of his stall and rolled into the second one on the other wall, his weapon pointed at the northwest corner.
Sighted in the center of his scope was a bearded fighter and a short-barreled AKS-74U — almost like a machine pistol. Jack wanted to waste him, but he was hiding behind two platform technicians in oil-stained coveralls. Both women. One brunette, the other a stunning blonde. Even from here he could see the blonde’s blue eyes. The bearded man held the two women by their collars in one fist, half choking them. His other hand held the weapon, pointed at their heads.
“Drop your weapon!” Jack shouted.
“I kill them both!”
The red dot on Jack’s gunsight centered for a second on the man’s face. Jack’s finger twitched, but he didn’t pull. The first ROE on any op was to save the hostages if at all possible. Putting a slug in this puke was secondary. It wasn’t worth the risk. The bastard was scared. Maybe Jack could still talk him down.
In that moment of hesitation the terrorist shifted his position and hid again behind the women. Too late, even if Jack wanted to shoot.
“Drop your weapon!” Jack shouted again.
“Fick dich, Kapitalist!”
Jack held up a hand. “Don’t be stupid. Drop your weapon. I’ll guarantee your safety.” Jack didn’t budge. He prayed the psycho would expose himself again.
Instead, the terrorist walked the two women forward out of the stall and toward Jack, keeping them in front of him like a human shield, and worked his way toward the steel exit door on the east wall leading toward the wellhead.
Jack stutter-stepped left and right to keep from being an easy target, but he was out in the open — why didn’t this guy just shoot him? He kept his weapon trained on the killer, hoping for a clear body shot. If the man escaped, he might take out his friends and blow the rig. But if Jack took the wrong shot, he’d kill the hostages.
The bearded terrorist reached the door. His gun hand searched for the knob, but his eyes stayed fixed on Jack. “Don’t even think about it!”
“No, man, we’re cool.”
The door opened slightly and the Green Army fighter backed into it — then suddenly thrust the two women forward and slammed the door behind him.
The women ran toward Jack, shouting and crying.
Jack raced for the exit door, but the two women grabbed him and wrapped their arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you!”
“Get back! Please!”
Jack grabbed them both by the waist and shoved them firmly but gently away from the door for their protection. “Are you hurt?”
Both women shook their heads. “No, no. We’re okay. Thank you!”
Jack heard two gunshots ring out from the other side of the shut door.
“Wait here!”
The women nodded, compliant, stepping back toward the far wall.
Jack raised his weapon high and approached the door.
“Jack! You in there?” It was Ding’s voice on the other side of the door.
Thank God. Jack sighed with relief. “Yeah. It’s me. Jack.” He dropped his weapon to his side.
“All clear?”
“All clear!”
The door swung open. Ding stepped through, a wide grin on his face. Dom was right behind him.
“Where are the others?” Ding asked, as Dom’s smile broke into a horrified grimace.
A pistol shot cracked behind Jack. The bullet’s overpressure brushed the side of his face, but the slug hit Dom in the chest. In the blink of an eye another shot cracked and put a bullet in the wall near Ding.
Jack whipped around, raising his weapon to shoot the brunette with the pistol, but it was the grinning blonde who caught his eye as she thrust the tip of an eight-inch knife blade into his gut.
3
The tip of the heavy black KA-BAR Tanto blade crashed into one of the ceramic-composite body-armor plates on Jack’s vest, dulling the blow. The blade slipped across the plate but didn’t penetrate. The force of the strike pushed him back a few inches, stunning him for a moment.
In a heartbeat, the blond terrorist drew back her arm to launch another knife thrust at Jack’s exposed face, but her neck exploded in a cloud of arterial spray as three muffled shots rang out, spattering hot blood on Jack’s skin. The blonde spun to the ground in a heap like a broken puppet.
Jack’s adrenaline-fueled brain slowed the action down to a crawl even as his reflexes accelerated. His eye caught the brunette falling to the deck at the same time as her comrade, two red stains flowering on her chest, pistol clattering to the steel deck.
Adara dashed over to Jack, the barrel of her MPX still smoking. She ripped the balaclava off her head to get a better view. Her short blond hair was matted with sweat. She touched his chest where the knife had struck. The fabric was torn, exposing the ceramic plate. “You hurt?”