The other was much more serious. That bullet buried itself deep inside her upper thigh. It did damage going in. It hit bone, she was sure. Her leg was on fire. She felt the back of her leg, no exit wound.
Jake told her to use the integrated tourniquet system imbedded in her Blackhawk clothes. She had never used it before now. Hunt lifted the flap on her cargo pants and flipped over the carbon fiber bar. She pulled the tactical nylon tight, then slowly started turning the twist bar until she noticed cessation of blood flow in her wounds.
She heard more popping sounds of silenced gunfire and secured the twist bar.
She worried about Jake and Kaplan. They were in way over their heads. What happened to Sterling? Where was he? She was sure she had heard his voice.
Jake and Kaplan were along as backup and support for Hunt as well as for identification purposes, but she realized they made a good team. She could tell Jake was a smart man and a quick study, but he wasn’t an operative and had received only cursory training at best. She feared his training might give him a false sense of security and his overconfidence in his abilities might be his undoing.
And now he and Kaplan were in a shootout with an assassin, a known IRA hit man, the Chief of Staff of the Provisional IRA, and the ruthless Persian, Farid Nasiri. Even a seasoned operative in the clandestine service wouldn’t stand much of a chance stacked against those odds. Hunt knew Jake couldn’t last long unless Kaplan’s Special Forces training saved him.
She was still wearing her headset and started calling for Jake. He didn’t answer. She called for Kaplan — no response.
Hunt heard footsteps. The footsteps kept getting closer. She pushed herself backwards across the cold stone floor, dragging her limp left leg. Her energy was draining fast. She pushed until her path was blocked by a wall of crates, each crate marked Makarov Pistols. She had backed herself into a corner with no avenue of escape.
Gregg Kaplan came around the crates, carrying Matthew Sterling over his shoulder. He placed Sterling on the stone floor next to her.
“Where’s Jake?” Kaplan asked.
“I don’t know. He moved me in here then took off. Where’s Nasiri?”
“I’m afraid Al Qaeda will have to look for another arms dealer.”
He stood up, saying, “If you’re okay, I’m going to find Jake — and a gun.”
“I’m okay. Kaplan, find him before they do. Bentley will kill me if something happens to him.”
As Kaplan turned around to run, they heard a muffled pop. Kaplan grabbed his leg and fell to the floor. “Shit,” he yelled.
Blood oozed through his fingers.
Another pop.
Blood flew from his shoulder. He fell back against the crates with a heavy grunt.
“Kaplan, no!’ Hunt screamed.
Pop, pop.
Kaplan’s body bounced as two more shots slammed into his chest. His head dropped as he fell unconscious.
She saw a tall figure walking toward her, pointing his gun directly at her.
Laurence O’Rourke.
Panic filled her body.
She was going to die.
They were going to die.
O’Rourke raised the gun and pointed the silencer at her head.
She closed her eyes.
She heard the pop, pop, and flinched.
CHAPTER 75
Jake watched O’Rourke fall to the stone floor of the Friar’s Chamber. Blood spurted from both sides of his neck. The same wound he’d inflicted on Beth.
How fitting. An eye for an eye.
A flood of guilt washed over Jake as he realized he was so far from Beth.
Jake walked to O’Rourke and stood over him. The Irishman’s throat gurgled as the blood drained from his body. The puddle under his body now flowed all the way to the man’s shoes. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out but blood.
With each remaining breath, O’Rourke sucked in blood, then coughed, spewing blood over his face.
Jake knelt down next to him. “It’s time for you to die, asshole. And I want your killer’s face — my face — to be your last memory on earth. The depths of Hell are waiting for you.”
He watched O’Rourke turn pale, then ashen as all the blood left his body. He’d be damned if he would lift a finger to save O’Rourke. Jake had played this scenario over and over in his mind. Revenge.
He’d wanted it desperately, but now … he felt nothing.
A crimson river ran along the stone floor disappearing beneath a crate of Armalite M-16A2 rifles.
Laurence O’Rourke died with his pistol in his hand. Jake picked it up and tucked it inside his belt.
Jake turned away from him and stood up. He walked over to where Hunt was lying. He found Kaplan and Sterling next to her— the men unconscious.
“Are they alive?” Jake asked.
“I think so. Sterling looks pretty bad though.”
“How’s your leg?”
“Hurts like hell, but I think I’ll live.”
He checked for blood flow and saw very little. “I need to get you to a hospital soon or you might lose that leg.”
“Check on them first. They need your help more than I do right now. Then we’ll get out of here.”
He checked Sterling’s wound. A nasty gunshot to his side. The entry point, not so bad, but the exit wound was a mess.
Kaplan groaned as he regained consciousness. The shoulder wound was superficial, the leg wound more serious.
He grabbed Kaplan’s ITS flap and said, “You want me to do this for you or can you handle this one yourself?”
“I’ll handle it, sailor boy,” he grinned.
Kaplan motioned with his head, “The bad guys, all dead?”
“The O’Rourke brothers are dead. I watched them both die. What about the Persian?”
“Let’s just say Nasiri didn’t have guts enough to fight. What about Collins? Did you see him anywhere?”
“I shot him in the head. I thought he was dead, didn’t you see him over there when you came up?” Jake pointed to where he shot Collins.
“No. Are you sure that’s where you shot him?”
“Shit.” Jake looked around. “He may still be alive.”
“Jake, be careful.” Hunt said.
“Right.” Jake stood up, unholstered his pistol and walked around the stack of crates to where Collins fell.
Ian Collins was gone.
Jake followed the smeared trail of blood. It led to a third smaller tunnel. He retrieved his flashlight from the pouch on his pants leg, then proceeded to follow Collins’ blood trail.
Thirty feet into the tunnel he could hear the sounds of the River Bonet reverberating through the tunnel. That’s all he could hear. Jake kept the beam of the light shining forward until the ambient light near the end of the tunnel lit the rest of the way.
When he reached the end of the tunnel, he noticed several large rocks and stones had been pushed to one side. Blood smeared on the rocks assured Jake that Collins had indeed escaped the secret chamber through this friars’ tunnel.
Dawn had come and gone and the early morning sun was bright. The sky was clear. A cool gentle breeze blew through the river valley. The only sounds were those of the waters of the River Bonet cascading over the rocks in the river bed and the birds chirping in the trees.
The blood stains led down a steep rocky bank to the river, where they stopped. Jake walked upstream and downstream but couldn’t find any trace of Collins.
The one man CIA Director Scott Bentley desperately wanted to capture alive had now disappeared into thin air. Again.
Ian Collins, aka Shamrock, was a man on the run and, for now, a free man.
CHAPTER 76
Two days later, Jake entered Sligo General hospital. He knocked on Kaplan’s door as he walked in. “How’s the leg?”