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  Grabbing the chain, Rebecca pulled up as hard as she could, but only gained a few inches. For such a skinny kid, Davidson was dead weight. The private tried to climb but made excruciatingly slow progress as the fight shifted in their direction. She might be hidden in the murky heights, but dangling in midair, Davidson wasn’t so lucky.

  Then Rebecca found the pulley mechanism that Brandt had used. Quickly she ran the chain through the winch, and then pulled harder than she ever thought she could. Her own shoulder felt like it would pop out, but she hauled Davidson up an entire foot. Securing the slack around a girder, Rebecca heaved again. The private seemed encouraged and started making progress on his own as Brandt’s team renewed their aggressive fight.

  Within seconds, they had closed the gap. She grabbed him by the vest and hauled him up onto the beam. Davidson was safe!

  Then the hangar bloomed in flame.

  Their nice, dark hiding place shone as bright as the day.

  CHAPTER 5

  ══════════════════

  Belgium Airstrip

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, Brandt thought as he emptied the last clip of his automatic rifle. His maneuver to bring them equal to their foes by raising the hangar’s temperature to a human’s, had instead made Davidson and Monroe prime targets. He didn’t have time to wonder what the hell the doctor was doing up there in the first place as he pulled out his service pistol and took aim through the thick, billowing flames.

  The enemy’s focus turned to firing into the brightly lit rafters. The private had Monroe on the move, but no one could outrun automatic weapon fire for long. Even though he couldn’t see his target, Brandt squeezed off seven rounds, stopping at least one assailant from firing upward. The sergeant wasn’t arrogant enough to think he had killed him. Winged the bastard, maybe. Startled him, for sure.

  But you never assumed that you’d neutralized the enemy until you saw gray matter on the floor, and even then you still put another bullet into their hearts. There were no do-overs in combat.

  Complicating matters even more, the smoke that was supposed to flush out the enemy now made it impossible to see his own team. Friendly fire was not only possible but probable in a situation like this. Carefully, Brandt made his way to the southwest wall then continued parallel to it, minimizing his profile. He really wasn’t in the mood to take a stray bullet.

  “Lopez? Svengurd?”

  Checking his radio, Brandt cursed as static answered. They were still being jammed. Another peppering of fire upward. Brandt used another five bullets to close him down. Lopez or Svengurd must have done the same to the third assailant because the hangar was suddenly devoid of gunfire. Only the roar of the oil-fueled fire filled the empty space.

  Brandt continued his northern progress, using the only real advantage he had—the knowledge of the labyrinth-like pattern of the fire. And now that the fuckers couldn’t track his team, Brandt felt he had truly evened the odds.

  Before he could figure out how to turn this into an advantage, a gunman stumbled into view as he backed from a burst of flame. Three bullets later, he was down. Brandt kicked the gun from the assailant’s hand. Blood trickled from the man’s lips. Another shot to the forehead.

  For just a moment, the sergeant hesitated. He only had thirty-one bullets left. Another twelve in the small caliber handgun tucked into his boot. Given that he had just spent over three hundred rounds in the last five minutes, forty-three bullets wasn’t going to get him very far. Still, he put another one in the bastard’s chest. He had to be sure.

  Brandt patted the man down. Sure enough, he found a PDA showing the blurry infrared feed of the hangar. He pocketed the device for the techies back home when he realized that the PDA was heavier than it should have been. Dropping it like the hissing snake, Brandt threw himself backward, but the explosion still knocked him onto his ass.

  The damn thing must have been equipped with a fingerprint-sensitive dead-man’s switch, loaded with just enough C-4 to blow a hole the size of a watermelon in the man’s chest. Which would have been Brandt’s heart if he hadn’t caught a clue. These bastards were not only well armed, but extremely well financed. Maybe so, but the fuckers were also whittled from nine to three, maybe even down to two.

  Turns out money couldn’t buy everything.

  * * *

  Rebecca half-dragged, half-carried Davidson toward the hole blasted into the roof by the missile attack. Was it a bad sign that she missed the RPGs? Because right now they were in danger of dying from either smoke inhalation, blood loss from their injuries, or taking a ricochet to the back.

  Heat-seeking missiles just did not seem like such a big deal anymore.

  “Let me up,” Davidson complained, but she ignored him, again.

  Besides his shoulder, the private had taken a bullet to his abdomen and another to his right calf. Not that she was much better. At this point, Rebecca didn’t know what was shrapnel, wood fragments, or bullet wounds. And at this point she didn’t care. She could see open sky through a thick veil of black clogging smoke.

  Oxygen. Sweet, sweet oxygen.

  Her nose, mouth, and lungs were filled with the oily, syrup-thick smoke. The only benefit to the choke-inducing soot was the fact it shrouded them in darkness again. Their position was well hidden, but toxic. The private’s body shook with a raspy cough to prove her point.

  They had to get out of here, like now.

  Rebecca made her way to the blown-out roof. The rafters extended to the edge of their escape hatch, but the metal had a ragged edge. Beyond the danger of getting the private over the sharp ledge, the opening was a good three feet above her head. Rebecca tested the catwalk to make sure it wasn’t damaged in the blast. It could support her weight, but both of theirs?

  A moister-than-normal cough brought her attention back to the injured private. She rubbed his back as he wretched out blackened sputum. What else could she do? Rebecca was the wrong kind of doctor to help with smoke inhalation.

  Feeling helpless, she kept murmuring that he was going to be okay as Davidson gagged and gagged some more. He finally coughed up blackish blood, then leaned against the beam.

  “Monroe, get out of here. You’ve got a smart gene to find.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said as she checked the wrap on his calf. It had soaked through yet again.

  He grabbed her arm with more strength than she thought he had left. “I mean it. Get your ass out of here.”

  “And leave my guardian angel behind? Never.”

  Davidson held her gaze. His eyes were suddenly so much older than his scant decades. “It’s too high. You’ll never be able to get me up there, and every second you waste—” The private descended into another coughing fit.

  As much as she fought against it, the kid was right. She just didn’t have the strength to push him up onto the roof. At least not unassisted.

  Then she knew exactly what she needed. Her trusty pulley. Unfortunately they had left the mechanism all the way across the hangar.

  Pulling her shirt over her nose, she turned to Davidson. “Don’t wander off.” The private just gave her that look. “I’ll be right back.”

  With that, Rebecca headed back into the nearly opaque hangar.

  * * *

  Picking up the pace, Brandt made for the northwest corner. The maze of flame should force their attackers there. Or at least that’s what he hoped.

  A smattering of gunfire came from behind. Swinging around, Brandt raised his weapon, his finger to the trigger, but he hesitated, not wanting to nail Lopez or Svengurd if they were retreating in his direction. It took another second for the sergeant to register the pattern of shots being exchanged.

  The pursuer was firing at an insane rate. Lopez. The pursued gunman tried to keep up, but who could? Brandt aimed at the spot the fleeing enemy should appear. A leg came into view, but the sergeant waited. With so few bullets, he had to make every shot count. Abruptly, Lopez stopped firing.

  Shit, was the cor
poral out of ammo as well? Whether completely empty or just re-loading, there was nothing to push the man into Brandt’s sights. The leg paused as the assailant’s muscles contracted, ready to change direction and rush forward.

  Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty.

  Brandt counted down his ammo. He’d clipped the guy in the hip, but not enough to stop him from retreating to safety. Using four rounds for cover, he charged forward. Just a few scant yards ahead, the maze branched. They couldn’t lose this slim advantage.

  As Brandt turned into the narrow pathway between the wall and the raging fire, he found their adversary trapped between himself and a newly reloaded Lopez. Their quarry tried to dart down the side path, but Svengurd stepped from the smoky corridor, blocking the prick’s escape. They had the slippery bastard dead to rights. For the first time, Brandt considered they might actually capture one.

  And find out what the fuck was going on.

  “Lower your weapon.” He leveled his weapon. “Now!” The man coolly pulled on a ski mask. “Damn it, hands down!”

  Then the bastard did the most incredible thing. He leapt into the fire. They rushed forward to see if he had really, actually jumped into the flames.

  Shouldn’t there have been a scream or something? No one burned alive in silence, but there was nothing but a wall of flame. No smell of burnt flesh. The sergeant’s mind whirled, and that same pit in his stomach formed, just like it had before the PDA blew up.

  “Back away!” he yelled, even before the full threat formed in his mind. “Disperse!”

  The charred air filled with gunfire. Screw counting, Brandt thought, shooting rapidly as two masked men emerged from the crackling flames.

  The fuckers had fire-resistant body armor.

  Which meant they had the protection the entire time. Which meant they had taken their sweet time luring all three of his team together, to more easily dispatch them.

  Lopez and Svengurd tried to hold their ground, but had to fall back. As Brandt’s firing pin hit metal, he had no other option but to run as well. Scrambling low, he pulled the twenty-two-caliber handgun from his boot holster.

  Twelve bullets.

  The sergeant cursed his initial orders. Carrying all those non-lethals had left them vulnerable to this attack. They were prepared to take on a bunch of spear throwing, dart-blowing natives, not a veritable cadre of Special Forces soldiers.

  Firing to keep his attacker at bay ate up another five bullets. If he wasted many more staying alive, he wouldn’t have enough to save his life. As the smoke stung his eyes and choked his throat, he realized his mistake. After the initial skirmish, he had tried to go at these guys head-to-head.

  Fuck that. He needed to go back to his low-tech roots.

  Using the last of his bullets to ensure his route, the sergeant threw the gun away as he dove into the burning husk of a biplane. Brandt found what he needed quickly, then rolled out the other side. Despite the blistering heat, he crouched under the plane. At least one of those bastards was tracking him. Brandt would not underestimate them or their equipment again.

  When his tracker revealed himself, Brandt pretended to be surprised and narrowly missed being shot as a consequence, but he needed the man to feel confident enough to close the distance. Without any return fire from Brandt, the attacker became bolder as he circled the plane.

  Listening only for the man’s footfalls, Brandt bundled his muscles until they shook in anticipation. Another step and the sergeant launched up and threw the small fire ax in his hand. The man’s face was barely able to register shock before the blade sank into his skull. Without a sound, his assailant pitched backward and hit the ground.

  Scrambling over, Brandt grabbed the man’s gun and went to check the gun’s clip, but it wouldn’t budge. The sergeant hit the release again, but nothing. Was it jammed? Could he have somehow taken down the only terrorist with a jammed gun? Then Brandt realized his mistake.

  Shit. It wasn’t jammed. It was locked.

  And it was heavier than it should have been.

  He chucked the thing into the plane before it exploded. Again he got knocked on his ass.

  What had he just said? He wouldn’t underestimate their enemy or their equipment. Yet what had he just done?

  Weaponless again, he turned to find the last gunman staring at him. The man removed his face mask as a smile spread across his face. Circular tattoos wrapped around the assailant’s already dark eyes, forming a knot of some sort.

  “And they said you might be difficult to take down,” the man sneered with a slight accent Brandt couldn’t place.

  Maybe, just maybe, if he could keep the guy talking long enough, Lopez or Svengurd would find them. Of course, with fire licking up to the rafters and the smoke burning his nose hair, that wasn’t very likely.

  Brandt gritted his teeth. “Do you have orders to take me alive?”

  The smile broadened considerably. “No.”

  To prove his point, the assailant raised his weapon as something appeared in front of Brandt. He blinked once. It had to be a subconscious wish brought to life. Somehow a sniper rifle was floating before him. He didn’t question his luck as he grabbed the gun and fired in a single motion. He hit the assailant in the shoulder. This close, Brandt could see the blood splatter. He fired again into the left knee. With a scream, the man dropped to the ground.

  Once certain that the man wasn’t getting up again, Brandt chanced to discover where his luck had come from. Tied to the rifle’s sight was a thick chain. A pulley chain. He followed the metal up to see a figure high in the murky rafters.

  “Davidson!”

  “I think he would have shot the guy himself!” It was a female voice. Monroe. “Meet you outside!” the doctor yelled as the chain snaked its way back up into the rafters.

  Feeling pretty damned good, Brandt turned his attention back to his captive. He put a boot into the fucker’s splintered shoulder. To the guy’s credit, he locked his jaw against the pain.

  “Who sent you?” Brandt asked. His once-powerful opponent fought unsuccessfully against tears, but kept his lips taut. “Were you after Monroe or my team?”

  The way the man’s eyes flickered at the doctor’s name, Brandt already had his answer. Besides, who really would’ve spent this many resources to kill his team? Capture, torture, and interrogate. That was a reasonable course of action, but kill them out of hand? That made no sense.

  “Sarge?” Lopez’s soot-choked throat croaked out.

  “Here,” Brandt replied. “Svengurd?”

  The corporal appeared out of the smoke. “He’s already outside, securing the perimeter.”

  Brandt indicated their captive. “Help me get him up.”

  He made sure to take the bad shoulder as Lopez took the other. As they lifted him, the man’s painful grimace spread into a broad smile.

  That pit in Brandt’s stomach returned, and damn, but the guy was heavier than he should have been.

  * * *

  Rebecca stumbled on the Tarmac as an explosion rocked the hangar. The precarious metal roof crumpled inward. If they hadn’t just climbed down…

  But she didn’t have time to ponder such things as she helped Davidson over to the burnt-out shell of their SUV. She had intended to take him to the far side for some semblance of protection, but neither was going to make it that far. So as soon as they got within three feet of the vehicle, Rebecca let go, and they half-fell, half-sat down on the Tarmac.

  With her back to the Mercedes she had a perfect view of the furnace-like hangar. Licks of fire shot up through the roof as plumes of smoke rose high into the sky. One thing was for sure. Their presence in Belgium was no longer a secret.

  One thing not for sure was whether anyone else had survived. Given how long it had taken for her to make her way back to Davidson, climb up onto the roof herself, pull the private up, then descend to the ground, it had been more than enough time for the others to exit the hangar. She had expected them to greet her and maybe even help her wi
th the kid. Instead, she and Davidson had found an empty Tarmac. Had one of the assailants survived? Had the explosion brought the roof down on Brandt’s head?

  “Do you think anybody survived?”

  “I don’t know, but why don’t you ask them?” Davidson answered.

  Rebecca looked to the north as three figures rounded the corner of the hangar. Relief spread until she realized they were coming at a dead run, and Brandt was yelling something she couldn’t make out. But she had learned from previous experience it never meant anything good.

  Ignoring the pain in her left rib cage and right knee, she rose.

  The sergeant’s voice could barely make it over the roaring flames. “Get Davidson up!”

  Before she could turn to the private, he was already on his feet. It was truly amazing what adrenaline could do for you.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as Brandt drew to a halt.

  He ignored her but spoke to Davidson. “Can you fire?”

  “Are you crazy? Forget his shoulder, he’s taken two bullets to—”

  “I asked, ‘can you fire’?”

  Rebecca looked at the private. His eyes wanted to say yes, but the mere hesitation told them all that he was in no shape for combat.

  Brandt didn’t hesitate, though. Rather, he set up the sniper’s rifle on the hood of the SUV and aimed through the scope.

  Rebecca turned to Lopez. “I don’t understand.”

  The corporal pointed into the distance. “Our ride is getting away.”

  She had to squint to see the vehicle speeding away along a dirt road, a small cloud of dust marking its trail.

  The sound of the rifle firing nearly deafened her.

  “Damn it!” Brandt said as he set up another shot.

  “I mean, how do we even know that’s them?” Rebecca asked, fearful that panic had gone to the sergeant’s head. “What if it’s just some family out for a ride in the country?”

  The sergeant didn’t look away from his scope as he answered. “Well, the RPG launcher sticking out the backseat window was my first clue.”