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Yeager climbed the slope to the top of the ravine without pausing to rest. He ignored the burning in his calves. At the lip, he gave in to the oxygen-deprived muscles and paused for a breather. He located a rock the size of an orange cut in half. It had a jagged edge and fit his hand like a wedge. Good for head-bashing.
He felt the press of time working against him. Already, the deep black of night had begun to diminish. The stars dimmed. He could make out individual leaves and branches from feet away instead of inches. The sun was, at most, an hour from rising, and he still had no plan aside from a series of objectives: kill people, break things, find Charlie, go home.
The objectives were tactically unsound, as Pettigrew had pointed out. Rambo might accomplish them, but then, Rambo had contracted for sequels, and bullets tattooed all around him, magically missing his overly developed physique every time. Yeager couldn’t count on these guys shooting like storm troopers.
Fight smart, dummy. Hurry carefully.
When he had his breathing under control, Yeager oozed over the ground in stealth mode. He reached the edge of the clearing near the small cabin and paused to listen. Morning birds were waking, tuning up for the day ahead. The temperature had dropped overnight to the point where Yeager wished for a jacket. He shut out the cold and dampness soaking his belly and controlled the urge to shiver.
Something shuffled in the brush to his left. Yeager isolated the sound, identifying it as a pig or other animal rooting around for breakfast. An armadillo maybe, if Hawaii had such a thing. They damn sure had mosquitoes. Several spots on his neck burned to be scratched.
He snaked over the open ground to the back of the small cabin, also known as building five. When he put his ear against the boards, he picked up the faint buzz of snoring from a single individual. Yeager crept to the corner of the building and peeked around it. The roving guard was just disappearing to the front of building two, facing away from Yeager on his clockwise rounding of the long barracks. The man appeared wary and alert.
The only ambush available was the near side of building two, close to the back corner. When the guard’s circuit took him around the building, he would be blind to that side until he cleared the corner. The man kept wide of the building but not wide enough. With a lightning-strike attack, he could disable the guard without raising the alarm. He had once chance only to get it right.
Yeager was tempted to cross the distance to the second building immediately. The guard would take thirty seconds to a minute to make it around the building and reappear. In that time, Yeager could slip into position and be ready when the guard turned the corner. The posted soldier was on the opposite side of the building, and the takedown of the rover would happen as far away from that man’s position as possible. If Yeager was quick and quiet enough, the other guard would not be aware of any trouble until it was too late.
Problem: there was no cover near the long building. Yeager would be exposed during the crossing and while waiting for the man’s patrol to bring him into range. The sentry would be facing Yeager when he rounded the corner. Yeager would need to flatten himself against the side of the barracks then slam the guard in the head with his rock the instant he appeared. No finesse, no hand-to-hand bullshit. Bang once in the head. Repeat as necessary. Pray he could keep it quiet.
Caution made him hesitate. Hesitation led to a decision to wait for the next rotation. Waiting caused him to reconsider his options.
Option one: kill the rover and take his weapons then retreat. Strike and move in true guerrilla fashion with no concerns about making noise. Run like a scalded cat and go over the rim and out of sight in seconds. He could sneak back later, hit again, and run again, whittling away at the enemy and sending them all to Buddha hell or to whatever afterlife they believed in.
Option two: drop the first guy then press his luck to eliminate guard number two. Option two would be risky—of that there was no doubt. The second man’s post was virtually unassailable without a long stalk across open ground from his rear, followed by a kill from an awkward position, striking around the base of a large tree.
But if he could succeed at option two, it opened a narrow window of time to free the hostages and get them out of harm’s way. With two silent kills, maybe he could get the barracks door open without a fuss. He’d have to keep the hostages quiet. Charlie was tough and capable. She would put a choke hold on the vegans from California if they started bleating.
He liked option two a lot. Maybe too much. Every second his wife remained a captive was another drip of acid on his conscience. Impatience drove him hard, and he wanted to end this quickly, but even he recognized that the house-of-cards plan he’d built wouldn’t stand a strong look, let alone a gust of wind.
Option three: the nuclear option. Kill both guards, take their weapons, and shoot every terrorist asshole brave enough to come out their door.
Kamikaze this, motherfuckers. He sighed. No. Not smart. Use your brain, Yeager.
The guard walked around the corner. He carried a matte-black AK with a folding stock—a commando’s weapon—at port arms, not strapped over his shoulder—a sidearm in a holster, and additional magazines in a harness around his torso. The guard’s eyes scanned left to right and back again.
If the guy standing post was equally alert, Yeager might have mere seconds before the alarm was raised and the camp swarmed with soldiers.
Lord grant me sloppy enemies.
The guard disappeared around the front, and Yeager moved. He soft-footed across the open ground, his skin prickling at the exposure. He flattened his back against the side of barracks near the back corner and drew deep, steadying breaths. Somewhere behind him, separated by inches of wood, was his wife. He could feel it in his chest. Yeager tamped down the urge to rip the board siding loose.
He gripped the rock, mentally rehearsing the series of moves. An overhand blow. The soldiers wore berets instead of helmets, leaving the skull unprotected. If he cracked the guy’s noggin with one shot, the guard would drop like a sack of dirty socks.
Seconds ticked by. A faint shuffle of footsteps placed the sentry on the far side of the building, coming closer. The cover of darkness was retreating by the second.
Yeager realized he could see outlines of the camp buildings, and beyond them, the trees had gained definition. If everything went to hell, he would be exposed to enemy fire for longer than would be good for him.
Gravel crunched. The guard was at the back of the building. Yeager cocked his arm, like a big-league pitcher.
The sentry turned the corner. He stepped well wide of the structure—a full two steps away. His gaze was focused outward, away from the building. Lucky break.
Yeager struck, whipping the rock overhead. Whether through a sixth sense or unnaturally fast reactions, the guard twisted away an instant before Yeager hit the top of his head. The rock slashed across the man’s face—a glancing blow. The soldier reeled back, grunting, dazed but not down.
The man screeched in surprise and pain. Loudly.
Option two, gone at first contact.
Yeager rushed in and slammed the rock down overhand. The man threw up a blocking arm. The rock thunked atop the guard’s head, slowed by his block.
Hard, but not nearly hard enough. Drop him! Drop him fast!
Yeager’s nerves screamed at him to move. He felt trapped in honey. He was too slow, too slow. The noise hadn’t been great so far. There was a chance to keep this contained to the two guards, if he could knock this guy out before—
“Jio ming! Jio ming!”
Yeager spun and snapped a left elbow into the man’s throat. His right arm followed, slamming the sharp leading edge of his stone into the side of the man’s skull. A dull crack reverberated up his arm, and the guard dropped.
Running footsteps pounded the dirt. The other guard was coming.
The sentry had dropped his weapon in the dirt at Yeager’s feet. Yeager dropped to a knee, grabbed the AK, and targeted the place where he expected the man to appear. His thumb struggled to find the selector switch for a gut-twisting second that stretched forever. He found it and moved it to a middle position without looking, hoping he was off Safe and the weapon would fire when he pulled the trigger. AKs were all pretty much alike, but it had been a long time since he’d handled one.
Yeager registered the scuffing sound when a second guard skidded to a halt before rounding the corner. Smart play. Lord, please. I asked for sloppy enemies, not pros. It seemed wrong somehow to pray for the guy making a mistake that would get him killed, but...
“Jianguo?” the man called out.
Yeager didn’t know whether that was a name or What the fuck? in Korean. What he did know was that every second was a second too long to sit around and wait. He groaned, hoping his decoy of pain sounded enough like his buddy to fool the guard.
Guard two lost his patience. He appeared, having circled wide out from the corner.
Thank you, God. Blasphemy or not, Yeager shifted aim and fired. The AK bucked in his hands, rattling out a satisfying torrent of full auto. The remaining guard flew back, slammed in the chest by at least four solid hits.
Shouts echoed from the other barracks. Options one and two were gone, and Charlie would yell at him for trying the kill-them-all option, even if she had to chase him to hell to do it. It was time to go. Di di mao, as Pettigrew would say.
Yeager paused long enough to tear the harness off the dead guard at his feet. The door to the small cabin slammed back, and the ugly giant Yeager had seen on the trail appeared. He wore no clothes but carried an AK of his own. He shouted at Yeager and ripped loose a burst, firing from the hip. The rounds zinged past Yeager’s nose. Yeager triggered off a shot one-handed, pointing his weapon blindly while running away. He didn’t look to see if he’d hit the big bastard but just kept running.
He ducked into the trees and cut left then zigged back right. Bullets chipped leaves from the surrounding vegetation. Yeager pounded through the jungle, a halfback dodging and weaving through the defensive line of low branches, exposed roots, and entangling vines. After twenty seconds of all-out, panting effort, he crossed a clearing and pivoted around the base of a solid tree trunk. Gun up, he aimed back the way he had come.
Brush crackled, and the naked monster with the AK appeared at the far edge of the clearing. Yeager targeted the ugly bastard, centering his weapon’s iron sights between the man’s brown nipples. Motion must have given him away, for the big man’s eyes widened, and he dove away. Yeager held his fire.
When the man didn’t reappear, Yeager sprinted away again. He made the top of the slope leading to the valley below and hit it at full-tilt boogie. Scrambling at a reckless pace, Yeager jumped from boulder to boulder, scrape-slid on his butt in the loose gravel, and windmilled his arms down the chute. It was a miracle he avoided tumbling ass over elbows all the way to the bottom.
Yeager found Pettigrew placing stones on a mound of banana-tree leaves, below which, he assumed, lay the body of Lu Kim. The gnarled man looked up from his task when Yeager appeared.
“I heard the shooting,” Pettigrew said. “What happened?”
Yeager held up his hand with the AK and the wadded ammo harness, too winded to speak.
“Hostages?”
Sweat spattered the ground when Yeager shook his head. He gasped for breath. “Killed... two guards.”
“Now what?”
Yeager waved his free hand. “Come with me.”
They slipped along the faint trail to the base of the chute Yeager had narrowly avoided falling down. Bushes grew in the gaps between tumbled boulders. Tangles of rambling vines choked the brush, making it a natural hiding place. Yeager hunkered down tight between two coffin-sized stones, hidden by the brush from any observer following the path he had taken off the ridge.
“What are we doing?” Pettigrew asked.
“Shhh.”
“What are we doing?” Pettigrew repeated in a whisper.
Equally quiet, Yeager said, “Ambush.” He added, “I want to nail me a couple more if possible. Back ’em off for sure.”
“Good.” Pettigrew nodded. “I need a gun too.”
#
HONOLULU, OAHU
Sunday, 9 May
0640 Local
At first light, Victor tried Yeager’s cell. Voicemail. He called Charlie’s cell. Voicemail. He tried the main line of the tour company that operated the Fair Breezes. “Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line.”
The Coast Guard said, “No, sir, we don’t have any distress calls from the Fair Breezes.”
The local news stations: “Your call is very blah-blah-blah.”
“Out to sea,” Alex said. “They’re probably out of range of a cell tower.”
“The ship has Wi-Fi. It says so on their website. Right here.”
“Wi-Fi is not a cell signal—”
“I know, but damn. Got Wi-Fi, you should have a cell tower, right?”
“Try emailing them. They emailed us from the ship the other day, true?”
Victor sent an email.
No response. He drank a bottle of water. Hit refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
“Mi hermano,” Alex said with a touch to his shoulder. “They’re on their honeymoon. They’re probably still in bed. Why don’t you go work out or something? Lift some pianos. Speaking as your doctor, this would help you relax.”
“Speaking of relaxing...” Victor turned in his seat and slipped his hands over her hips. “You wanna play doct—”
“No!” Alex laughed and spun away. “Stop that. I told you I need to go to the hospital. They probably need some help for all the injuries.”
“Wait. I know who to call.” Victor scrolled through his contacts—and scrolled again when he reached the end. “Damn. I just have to find his number.”