‘Weapons ready,’ Sullivan ordered. Making sure Rios and the others could see what he was doing, Chase carefully unshouldered his Kalashnikov. They did the same. He nodded to the mercenary leader to confirm this. ‘Okay. Tell them to go in five.’
Sullivan moved back a little, using his boot to hold the canvas in position as he readied his AK. Castille took up a firing stance as Chase held his hand out, all five fingers extended. He waited until he was sure the other three men had seen it, then brought in his thumb. Four. Forefinger, three…
With the countdown established, there was no need to keep displaying it. All six men knew exactly how long they had to wait. Chase gripped his gun in both hands, feeling a rush of adrenalin. Ambushing the lone sentry was one thing, but any mistakes here and people would die.
Two, one—
Sullivan yanked back the flap, hissing a warning in Vietnamese for both guards to freeze as Chase ducked through and jammed the muzzle of his AK-47 against the closest man’s neck. Castille was right behind him. Simultaneously, the tent’s entrance was thrown open and Rios and Hoyt rushed in. The Spaniard pointed his gun at the startled second guard beside it — but Hoyt had already flipped his rifle around and smashed its butt against the man’s skull. He tumbled to the floor. ‘Don’t you fuckin’ move, Charlie,’ Hoyt growled, planting a foot down hard on his back and bringing his AK back round to push it against his head.
‘Enough of that,’ snapped Sullivan as he entered the tent. He issued an order in the guards’ language. Chase’s prisoner scowled, but raised his hands behind his head before kneeling. ‘Are we still clear outside?’
Lomax peered in through the entrance. ‘Yeah, we’re good.’
‘All right. Keep watch.’ The American nodded and returned to his position outside. ‘Secure these two.’
The weapons pointed at them deterred the guards from offering any resistance as they were bound and gagged. Once they were secure, Chase checked the hooded figures. The nearest was a woman; her clothes were dirty, but with no sign of blood. The other captives were in much the same state. A couple of the men had visible bruises, but they were days old, received when they were taken hostage rather than from subsequent beatings.
‘Okay, we’re here to rescue you,’ Sullivan announced quietly. ‘We’re going to untie you. Don’t make any noise, okay? If you understand me, nod your head.’ All but two of the prisoners responded. ‘Free the ones who nodded so they can tell their friends that we’re getting them out of here,’ he told his team, before signalling to Chase and Hoyt. ‘Okay, you two get Natalia. Be careful — we still don’t want to risk a firefight.’
‘Don’t marry her,’ added Castille with a smile. Chase flicked him a cheery two fingers before ducking out of the back of the tent.
The rain hit him again like a fire hose. Behind him, Hoyt muttered an obscenity. ‘Which way?’
‘Round here.’ Chase dropped low and made his way through the undergrowth around the edge of the camp. As he approached the cabin he spotted the second sentry’s light amongst the trees, but it was some way distant. There was no movement in any of the smaller tents. ‘All right, here we go.’
He emerged from the bushes by the cabin, Hoyt following. The slatted blind behind the single window was still closed; no way to tell if the Russians had gone back inside. He readied his rifle and climbed the steps. ‘Okay, on three…’
Another silent countdown — then he turned the handle and darted inside.
Natalia was still unconscious on the table. But she was not alone.
The red-bearded man, wearing a white lab coat, was taking a blood sample from her arm. He looked round, annoyed at being interrupted — then his expression flashed to fear as he saw the two armed intruders. He whirled, rushing for a walkie-talkie beside the computer—
Chase shoved open the sliding door and thrust the Kalashnikov at him. ‘Freeze!’
Hoyt took aim at the Russian’s head. ‘You heard him. Don’t move.’ The man hesitantly retreated.
‘Watch him,’ said Chase, entering the inner chamber to check on Natalia. The syringe that had been inserted into her arm was slowly filling with dark blood. Even asleep, the young woman’s expression was one of discomfort. He rounded on the Russian again, frowning. ‘What’ve you done to her?’
Hoyt stepped closer, hefting his weapon threateningly. ‘Answer him, Ivan. Or don’t you speak English?’
The man blinked. ‘Vy Amerikanskya?’ he said, before following it with a rapid-fire protest in Russian. Chase had no idea what he was saying, but the man’s fear was mixed with anger — or outrage.
Hoyt’s response was to shove him hard against the wall. ‘Just stay there and shut the fuck up,’ he said, holding his AK with one hand while he started to open the drawers and cabinets with the other. ‘She okay, Chase?’
‘No fucking clue, I don’t know what they’ve been doing.’ The bruises on her arms stood out clearly under the harsh overhead lights. He turned angrily to the — doctor? Scientist? ‘What’s in those drips? Will it hurt her if I take them out?’ The man regarded him uncomprehendingly, so he took hold of one of the plastic intravenous lines as if to pull it out. The Russian’s expression changed, but not to the worry Chase would have expected of a doctor faced with a threat to his patient; more a dismay that he was about to lose something important. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’
He peeled away the tape holding the needle in place, then pulled out the IV feed. A small bead of blood swelled at the centre of the exposed bruise. The scientist objected; Hoyt thumped him in the stomach with his rifle butt, the Russian collapsing to the floor. Chase removed the other lines, then carefully extracted the little syringe from Natalia’s arm and tossed it away. ‘Natalia?’ he said, leaning closer. ‘Can you hear me?’ Her eyelids twitched slightly, but she was a long way from being conscious. ‘Bollocks. We’ll have to carry— What’re you doing?’
Hoyt had shrugged off his backpack, sliding the laptop inside before resuming his search of the drawers and stuffing handfuls of what Chase guessed were research notes in with the computer. ‘Finding out what they’re working on.’
‘That’s not why we’re here. Help me get her up.’
‘In a minute. She ain’t going anywhere.’
‘She won’t be if you don’t give me a fucking hand,’ Chase complained, but the American was still rifling through the cabin’s contents. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, before turning back to the young woman. He gently patted her cheek, but there was no response.
She was still connected to the medical monitors. Chase glanced at them, hoping they would show some change in her condition.
Hoyt was reflected in one of the screens. His gun swung towards the Russian, who was trying to push himself back upright—
The Kalashnikov’s thudding bark was almost deafening in the small space as it unleashed a three-round burst. The scientist’s white coat erupted with splashes of deep red as the bullets tore through his chest.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Chase yelled, his ears ringing. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
‘He was coming at me,’ Hoyt replied.
‘No he wasn’t — he was just sitting there, you fucking psycho! Now the whole fucking camp knows we’re here—’
The smoking AK swung round on a new target: Chase. ‘Drop your gun,’ the American ordered coldly. ‘Do it, or I’ll put you down too.’ Chase reluctantly let his rifle clatter to the metal floor. ‘Okay, you’re gonna be my pack mule. Pick her up. Now!’
The Englishman lifted Natalia off the table. She moaned faintly, but was still limp. ‘You bastard,’ he growled as Hoyt closed his backpack and reshouldered it. ‘You knew they were doing this to her, didn’t you?’