The twelve-power magnification of the image-stabilization binoculars clearly, and in great detail, showed Marcus his four-man team being forced out of their SUV at gunpoint. "Ground One, Ground One," Marcus shouted into his head-set, "what the fuck are you doing?"
"What's happening?" Gavin said over the same channel.
Marcus didn't know what to say so he didn't say any-thing.
A few seconds later, Gavin shouted in his ear, "Air One, give me a SITREP now." Gavin using military shorthand for a situation report, the What the fuck is happening? kind of report.
On the ground, Greene and the Mexican cop were lining up the members of Marcus's team, now stripped of their weapons, and forcing three of them to undress. The fourth man was writhing on the ground and clutching his leg with both hands. A crowd of civilians was gathering around the spectacle. Some of them were clapping.
Marcus keyed his microphone. "It appears...the two tar-gets got the drop on Ground One. They've been...captured."
"Captured!" Gavin screamed.
But Marcus wasn't listening. He scanned the market with the binos until he found the second Suburban riding the perimeter. Keying his microphone again, he said, "Ground Two, go directly to the center of the market to assist Ground One. Both targets are there and have four operators at gun-point at that location. Take a right seventy-five meters to your front. Go, go, go." He saw the second Suburban accel-erate.
"Air One, what do you mean they have them at gun-point?" Gavin said, his voice only slightly more under con-trol.
Fuck it, Marcus thought. Gavin was the one who'd picked the men for this mission. If he wanted to know what was happening, Marcus would tell it to him straight. "Just what I said. Two cops with pistols got the drop on four spec-war operators and captured their dumb asses. Now they're disarmed. Three of them are on their knees without their pants, and the fourth is wounded."
Ground Two was barreling across the market on one of the two wide lanes that divided the market into quarters. But Greene and the Mexican cop were piling into the Suburban. The motherfuckers were going to steal the god-damned truck.
* * * *
Scott slammed the driver's door and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The back tires squealed and the Suburban took off like a scalded cat. The vehicle had obviously come with the biggest engine Chevrolet made, and even then the response felt like it had been tweaked up another couple of notches.
Benny was in the very back, the cargo compartment, with the M-4s and pistols they had taken from the contrac-tors. "Holy shit," she said.
Scott was moving fast with both hands on the wheel, one steering, the other laying on the horn as he shot down the narrow lane toward the outer edge of the market. People were jumping out of his way. There was too much happening in front of him to risk a look in the rearview mirror. "What?" he said.
"It's like an armory back here."
* * * *
Marcus banged once on the pilot's helmet to get his at-tention, then pointed through the windshield at the fleeing Suburban. "Follow that vehicle and do not let it out of your fucking sight."
The pilot nodded and pushed the Black Hawk into a di-ve.
"Marcus," Gavin said over the open channel, disregard-ing protocol for the first time Marcus could remember and using a name instead of a call sign. "If you don't give me a SITREP right now, the next time I see you I'm going to put a bullet in your head. Copy?"
Keying the mic, Marcus said, "The targets have escaped in Ground One's vehicle. Ground Two and I are both pursu-ing."
Nothing from the peanut gallery. Good, Marcus thought. I need to concentrate.
The pilot leveled the Black Hawk at 300 feet. Marcus didn't need his binoculars anymore. Ground One's Suburban hit the end of the lane and banged a hard left. From there it was a straight shot to a major roadway. Ground Two was a couple hundred yards behind but not closing the gap. The DEA agent was hauling ass.
* * * *
"Got one behind us," Benny yelled from the back of the Suburban.
Scott checked the rearview and saw an identical black Chevy Suburban chasing them down the street that ran along the side of the market. Ahead was a cross street and a red light. Scott knew that stopping meant dying, so he jammed the accelerator to the floor and said a quick prayer.
And drove directly into the path of an onrushing eight-een-wheeler.
The huge rig came barreling at them from the right side, the grill already ten feet tall and growing taller by the second as the driver locked up his wheels and the truck skidded to-ward them.
Benny screamed. Scott closed his eyes.
But God must have heard Scott's prayer. Or it was blind luck. Maybe just the quick reflexes of the Mexican truck driver as he fought the steering wheel to keep his rig under some semblance of control. Because the two grossly mismatched vehicles passed each other with only the lightest of touches, the tip of the big truck's front bumper barely kissing the back of the Suburban. The tractor-trailer plowed ahead without a ripple as the driver let off his brakes to keep the rig from jackknifing. But the Suburban wasn't so lucky. The force of the impact knocked Scott and Benny into a tailspin, and when Scott opened his eyes the world was flying sideways.
The spin was too hard and too fast for counter-steering, so Scott held on to the wheel and didn't fight it. Three-quarters through the spin the Suburban's momentum slowed, so Scott helped it the rest of the way around by turning into the spin and punching the gas. The heavy SUV kept spinning and when it got all the way around, Scott straightened the steering wheel and kept the gas pedal mashed against the floorboard.
* * * *
"Jesus Christ, did you see that?" Buck said in Marcus's headphone. Buck was driving the second Suburban, desig-nated Ground Two, and was chasing the hijacked Suburban, Ground One, whose crew was still scrambling to get their pants back on at the Zaragoza Mercado.
"I saw it," Marcus said.
"Motherfucker can drive," Buck said. "I'll give him that."
"He got lucky," Marcus replied. "Now catch his ass and take him the fuck out."
"Air One, give me a SITREP," Gavin barked in Mar-cus's ear. Marcus ignored him.