Hide and Seek (31 page)

Then came the sound of the door opening.

ALIKI WAS SUCKING FOUL
air like a man surfacing from the bottom of the ocean.

“Too many cupcakes, Joker?” Nagano touched his elbow, making the big Samoan turn.

“Hey, Weps?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Roger that, Joker. Shutting up.”

They slowed as they reached the intersection of the target area. Aliki sighted down the street. In the green haze of his NVGs he saw an old eighteen-wheeler and several men around it. One searched beneath the trailer, one stood to the side, one stood on the driver’s side running board peering into the window. He keyed his mike. “Joker, Boss. We are on site.”

“Report.” J. J. sounded nearly as winded as Aliki felt.

“I make five hostiles, all armed, all men. They’re giving the truck a good going over.”

“Any sign of our friend?”

“Negative. What’s your ETA?”

“We’re five minutes out.”

Aliki pressed the earpiece further into his ear to overcome the unending ringing in his brain. “Roger, ten minutes out.”

Weps shook his head and held up five fingers.

J. J. came back immediately. “Negative, Joker. Five, I say again, five minutes. Confirm.”

“Roger that, Boss. Five minutes. Orders?”

“Sit tight until we are in place unless the bottom drops out.”

“Understood. We’ll sit—Standby.” Aliki watched as a man raised the butt of his AK-47 and started pounding the driver’s window. “We have a situation. They’re making entrance.”

“Understood.” A second later. “Go.”

J. J. LENGTHENED HIS
stride. Five minutes wasn’t much time on the clock but in a gun battle it seemed just an hour short of eternity. He pressed on, moving as fast as his boots and gear would let him. The part of his brain not involved in assessing the situation and weighing options chugged out a prayer.

Ten strides later the sound of gunfire echoed down the streets.

FIRST SHE SAW HIS
hand take hold of the curtain. Then she saw his ugly face and smelled his cigarette-laced breath. His eyes widened first at seeing two women behind the curtain. His Asian face split into a yellow-toothed smile, which disappeared when he saw the barrel of the 9mm. He was close enough to see the rifling. He jumped back and fumbled with the AK, a weapon never designed to be wielded in the cramped confines of the tractor trailer.

She felt a half-second of guilt for having the advantage of surprise.

Then she pulled the trigger.

ALIKI HEARD A MUFFLED
pop
, a pop sharp enough to be easily recognized by a man who had fired a dozen different high-powered weapons in his decade and a half of military service. His hearing was too damaged to put a size to the caliber but good enough to know it was a handgun with a kick.

The body of the man who broke the window slipped from the cab and fell to the curb. He made no attempt to get up. If Aliki’s guess was right, the man’s days of getting up were done. “We going, Joker?”

Not Nagano’s voice. Pete’s. He turned. Pete repeated the question. “We going? They need help.” Aliki turned his gaze to Nagano and saw anger.

“Of course. Watch your cross fire.”

Nagano swore then stepped in front of Aliki, leveling his M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper rifle down the street. “Stay to the east of the truck. I’ll take this side.”

PETE WAS MOVING FROM
the alley into the street and making his way forward, his M4 aimed and his finger applying one ounce less of the necessary pressure to pull the trigger. He heard Aliki move up on his right. Pete had a bus load of questions but lacked time. Everything else would need to wait. The men in front of him were all that mattered at the moment.

Two of the men on the sidewalk backpedaled and raised their weapons to fire at the truck cab, clearly intending to punch more holes in it than Bonnie and Clyde’s Ford. His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Nagano aiming his sniper rifle down the sidewalk.

There was a
pop
and one of the men staggered back two steps, his hand raised to his chest. Pete had seen it before. The high velocity of the copper-jacketed round passed though the gunman as if he were made of paper. He looked at his hand, then down the street. His automatic rifle dropped barrel-first to the concrete. He followed it down.

His companion looked confused for a moment as his brain tried to make sense of what he just saw. It took only a second for him to match the effect to the cause. He spun, raising his weapon. The head shot didn’t give the man time to aim. He joined his friend on the walkway.

That made three on the ground; two on their feet. For the moment they had the advantage. Nagano had cover, Pete and Aliki didn’t.

Advance. Weapon ready. Eyes forward. Advance with caution. Advance with purpose. Forward into the teeth of the beast.

When Nagano dropped the hammer on the second man, his pals scooted to the front. Pete saw that. He also saw one had a radio. A dozen other men or more might be on their way. He knew of a mob of armed men not far away. He watched them torch their vehicles.

This had to be done and done quickly.

THE ACRID SMELL OF
spent gunpowder permeated the small space. Amelia made the shot she had to make. The sight of flesh and blood splattering the windows and seats sickened her and had she the time, she would have emptied her stomach. She chose to retreat farther back into the sleeper cab, pressing against Jildiz, shielding her.

Then came a different sound. A shot . . . rifle . . . big rifle. Then another. That was followed by several bursts of familiar automatic fire.

“Down.” Amelia pushed Jildiz down on the mattress and covered her body with her own. She might be hearing the weapon fire of friends. She prayed she was right.

J. J. CAME UP
a block south of his other men. The original plan was for half the unit to approach from the south and the other half from the north. That would have given them advantage over the men at the truck. It was close to impossible to fight soldiers from the front and the back simultaneously. Even the best plans rarely survive the first contact with the enemy. The sound of gunfire was louder and closer.

J. J. signaled his men to slow then surveyed the street. He saw Nagano advancing toward the truck, the M110 shoulder high. In the middle of the street Pete and Aliki approached from the other side. They were exposed with no shelter between them and the gunmen. Every few steps, Pete’s weapon spit out a burst of fire, pinning the enemy at the front of the semi.

It took only a few seconds for J. J. to access the situation.

One of the gunmen popped up, his AK-47 over his head, and squeezed off a burst. It was a blind shot, the man not wanting to make his head a target. The rounds missed Pete and Aliki, but not by much.

“With me,” J. J. ordered, and began a sprint around the block. Long strides. Fast feet. The sound of bootfalls behind him. He keyed his mike. “Coming up on your left.”

There wasn’t a response. He didn’t expect one. His men had their hands full.

The trip around the block felt too long, too far, but only a few minutes passed. J. J. didn’t need to see it. He knew what the team was doing: approaching slowly, keeping the men pinned down.