Текст книги "The Kill Switch"
Автор книги: James Rollins
Соавторы: Grant Blackwood
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
40
March 22, 12:18 A.M.
Groot Karas Mountains, Namibia
Kane let out a deep snarl, leaped to his feet, and took off across the Cathedral floor, heading in Christopher’s direction. For the shepherd to break his last command to stay could only mean one thing.
An immediate and real danger.
Tucker stared down the length of the dark Cathedral.
At the other end, a star glowed, marking Christopher’s headlamp.
Between here and there lay a gulf of darkness. Kane vanished into it. Tucker lifted his rifle’s scope and used its night-vision capabilities to pierce the blackness. Out there, he watched a figure dashing between the stalagmites. Kane rushed at full sprint toward the shape. The jittering flight of the other was difficult to track through the forest of tall rock.
Then the shape cleared a stalagmite, her face perfectly caught by the scope for the briefest instant—then gone as she dodged away, doing her best to stay in cover, knowing he was armed.
Anya.
Free.
How?
He caught another brief glimpse, watched her lift an arm, the flash of gunmetal in her hand, a revolver, the Smith & Wesson he had given to Bukolov.
Then gone again.
New movement to the left.
Kane.
Then he vanished, too.
Next came the gunfire.
Three shots in the dark, each muzzle flash an incendiary burst through his scope—followed by a strangled yelp that tore his heart out.
He watched a small shape skid across the floor, back into the glow of his headlamp, and come to a stop.
Kane.
Anya lunged out of the darkness, vaulted over the body, and came running straight at him, firing. Her first shot went wide. He shot back. Rock blasted behind her, his aim thrown off by the sight of Kane on the ground.
Undeterred, she fired again.
He felt a hammer blow on his hip that sent him spinning, pitching backward over the sandbags. He lost the rifle. He rolled, tried to rise to his knees, and reached for the weapon.
“Stop!” Anya shouted.
She was standing at the sandbag wall. The revolver was pointed at Tucker’s head, only three feet away. He ignored her and lunged for his rifle. She pulled the trigger. He heard the click. Nothing else. He had counted out her five shots, the limit of that Smith & Wesson model he had given Bukolov.
Not the usual six-shooter, Anya.
He grabbed the rifle, swinging it up—but too slowly, thinking he had the upper hand. He turned in time to see the revolver flying at his face, catching him across the bridge of the nose, momentarily blinding him with a flash of pain.
She threw herself over the sandbags and bowled into him.
They went down, her on top.
Tucker saw a glint of a black blade—one of the old Boer bayonets he had spotted when he first descended into the cave. She drove it in a sideswipe for his throat. Both as defense and offense, he head-butted her, his forehead striking her nose. The plunging bayonet struck the stone behind his head instead of his throat.
He rolled her, straddling her. He clamped her wrist and twisted until she screamed.
The bayonet dropped.
He snatched it and held the point to her throat.
She stared up, showing no fear.
Not of death, certainly not of him.
From their long journey together, she knew he couldn’t kill in cold blood—no matter how much he wanted to.
A flick of her gaze was the only warning.
A shadow hurdled the sandbags behind him. The heavy weight struck his back, catching him by surprise and slamming him down atop Anya.
The shape tumbled off his shoulders and gained his four legs, wobbly, panting, dazed. Kane’s lips curled in fury, his eyes fixed to his target. Even barely moving, his partner had come to his rescue, never giving up.
Tucker stared down at Anya.
Blood bubbled up around the bayonet plunged through her throat. When Kane had struck, with the sharp point poised under her chin, their combined weight had driven the blade home.
Her mouth opened and closed, her eyes stared in disbelief and pain.
“Tucker!” Christopher shouted again, sounding like he was running toward him.
“I’m okay! Go back with Bukolov!”
Tucker climbed off Anya, watching the pool of blood spread.
She no longer breathed; her eyes stared glassily upward.
Dead.
12:36 A.M.
He knelt and called Kane over to his side. The shepherd limped over with a soft whine and pressed himself against Tucker’s chest. He ran his hands along Kane’s belly but felt no blood. As he worked his fingers over the vest, the dog let out a wincing yelp.
“You’re okay, buddy.”
As gently as he could, he pried the flattened .38-caliber round from the Kevlar and tossed it away. He followed it with a hug.
Tucker then took inventory of his own damage. Anya had clipped him with her last shot, tearing the flesh of his upper thigh. Blood soaked his pant leg, and the pain was coming on, but it was manageable for now. A few inches to the center and the high-powered .44 round would have shattered his hip, crippling him.
Such was the changeable nature of war, where life, death, disfigurement were measured by inches and seconds. He considered his own past. How many friends had he lost to the capriciousness of fate? Take a half step to your left and you get cut in half by an AK-47. A tossed grenade bounces to the right, and you live another day, but if it bounces to the left, your legs are blown off.
He felt an icy shudder run up his spine. His eyesight swirled. In some detached part of his mind, he thought: classic symptoms of PTSD.
He clung to that notion.
You know this enemy.
Tucker took a half-dozen calming breaths.
You’re alive. Kane’s alive. Get it together and do what you came here for.
Abruptly, Kane’s ears perked up, accompanied by a low growl meant only for his ears.
Rustling rose from the tunnel.
He motioned for Kane to stay.
Clicking off his headlamp, he grabbed his rifle, rose to his knees, and found a break in the sandbags to peer through. Using his night-vision scope, he spied a Spetsnaz soldier edging toward the mouth of the tunnel, cautious, likely hearing the gunplay from a moment ago.
Tucker waited until he reached the tunnel’s end and shot him in the head. He followed it with a continuous barrage of fire into the tunnel to keep the others at bay. While doing this, he crossed forward, high-stepping the sandbags, knowing what he needed from the dead soldier.
He reached the corpse, clicking on his headlamp, and pulled the dead man’s torso to the side.
Enemy fire blasted out of the tunnel, but he kept away from the direct line of sight. He quickly stripped off the man’s portable radio. That’s all he intended to grab, but he got greedy and yanked a couple of grenades off the man’s tactical harness. He shoved the pilfered pair into his pocket—then he grabbed a third, pulled the pin, and threw it down the tunnel.
And ran.
He vaulted over the first wall of sandbags, stopping only long enough to yank the hidden flare’s ignition loop, setting it sputtering to life. As he rolled over the second barrier, he dropped flat.
The grenade exploded, the flash bright in the darkness, the noise deafening.
Tucker gained his knees, stared back as smoke poured out, along with a sift of fine sand. The tunnel hadn’t collapsed, but it would certainly discourage any more soldiers from coming through for a time.
Gathering Kane to his side, he fled across the Cathedral, his wounded leg on fire. By the time he reached the twin tunnels, his sock on that side was damp with blood. Exhausted, he reached the twin tunnels and sank to his rear with Kane.
Calling over his shoulder down the tunnel, he shouted. “Christopher!”
The young man appeared a moment later and knelt beside Tucker. “You are hurt.”
“And Anya is dead. I’ll take that deal. By the way, how did she get loose?”
“When Bukolov returned, I had to help him out of the hole. She came at us then. Caught us by surprise. She knocked me down and attacked Bukolov with an old bayonet she must have picked up. She tried to cut away the doctor’s specimen collection kit and steal it. But he fought and the bag ripped open, scattering bulbs and sample dishes across the floor. She did succeed in grabbing Bukolov’s gun. By the time I got to my rifle and fired at her, she was already running and gone.”
“But how did she get loose to begin with?”
“Among her ropes, I found the ripped remains of her cast.”
Tucker nodded slowly. During his fight with her, he hadn’t noticed her cast was missing. While tying her up, he had bound her good wrist to her cast. He should’ve known better, but he never imagined her to be that tough and stoic. It had to be extremely painful to get the cast off, yet she showed not the slightest wince or bead of sweat.
With her back against the stalagmite and her hands hidden behind her, she must have slowly—using the fingers of her other hand and the rock’s hard surface—broken through the plaster and worked the cast free. Afterward, she was able to tug her hands through the loose rope. From there, it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to act.
“I’m sorry,” Christopher said.
“Nothing to be sorry about. She was scary good. But I need a few things: two of the five-second chemical detonators and the first-aid kit.”
As Christopher disappeared into the tunnel, Tucker put on the stolen headset and keyed the radio. “General Kharzin, come in. Are you there?”
There were a few seconds of silence, then a harsh voice answered. “This is Kharzin. I assume I am talking to Tucker Wayne?”
“That’s right. I want to negotiate. We can all leave here with what we want.”
“Which is what?”
“Against my advice, Bukolov wants to make a deal. A trade. Some of the LUCA samples for our lives.”
“He has it then?” Kharzin asked. “He’s found the source?”
“Almost,” he lied. “He’s in the tunnel digging as we speak. He sounds confident of success.”
“Give me a few minutes to consider your offer.”
That was a lie, too.
Tucker needed to teach the Russian a lesson before they could really talk.
Christopher reappeared, carrying the items Tucker had requested. “Thanks. Follow me.”
He regained his feet and hobbled up the tiered steps to the right and dropped into the old Boer foxhole. He moved fifty yards along it. Christopher followed, carrying the supplies.
Once settled, Tucker pointed across the Cathedral to the small red glow, “Do you see the burning flare over there?”
“Barely, but yes.”
“Put your rifle scope on the shaft entrance beyond it and tell me if you see anything.”
With Christopher guarding, Tucker slit open his pant leg around the wound, then ripped open a QuikClot package from the first-aid kit and pressed it to the bullet gouge. He clenched his teeth against the burn and wrapped a pressure bandage around his thigh and knotted it in place.
He then took out the remaining half block of C-4 from his pocket. He divided what was left into two equal pieces. He returned one to his pocket, then shaped the other into a deadly pancake and carefully inserted a chemical detonator in its center. He passed the bomb over to Christopher.
“This half we’ll use to blow the artillery shells.”
“Hold on . . .” Christopher whispered. “I see movement. Two men, I think.”
“Good. I’ll take over. Take the C-4 back to the cavern and wait for me.”
As he left, Tucker lifted his rifle and peered through the scope. A pair of Spetsnaz soldiers crouched at the entrance of the blasted shaft. They were in full body armor, weapons ready. Beyond them, another soldier crept out . . . and another. The last one carried an RPG launcher. An arm waved, preparing for a sweep of the cavern.
As if on cue, Kharzin’s voice came over Tucker’s headset. “Mr. Wayne, I have given your proposal some thought.”
“And?”
“What assurances do I have that you will keep your word?”
“Hmm . . . good question.” Tucker adjusted his aim on the flaming flare, then lifted the crosshairs to where he had hidden the Rover’s gas can. “This is my answer.”
He squeezed the trigger. As the round struck the can, gasoline jetted from the bullet’s holes, ran down to the flaming flare—and ignited. With a whoosh, flames engulfed the back of the Cathedral. The soldiers began screaming. Orange backlit shadows danced on the walls. After a few seconds, the screaming stopped.
Tucker spoke into his headset. “You heard?”
“Yes, I heard.”
Kharzin had to learn this lesson. It was the Russian way. From his prior employment with Bogdan Fedoseev, Tucker knew how the general would respond to the inherent weakness expressed by Tucker’s offer. As expected, he would try to gain the upper hand by force, to test how weak his opponent actually was.
Now he knew.
“General, I’ve had twelve hours to turn this place into a death trap for you and your men. If you want to keep sending your boys in, I’ll be happy to keep killing them. But I don’t think you came with a limitless supply.”
“You set me up.”
Tucker heard a note of respect buried in the outrage.
“Do we have a deal?”
Kharzin hesitated, then sighed. “We have a deal. What are your terms?”
“Let me check Doctor Bukolov’s progress. I’ll get back to you in ten minutes. Cross me again, General, and things will really start to get ugly. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“One last thing. Is Felice Nilsson with you?”
“And if she is?”
“She’s part of the bargain. I want her.”
“Why?”
“Take a guess.”
“Well, as it happens, she’s not with us. She had another assignment. And speaking of personnel, I want Anya returned untouched.”
Tucker heard more than mere professional concern for a colleague in the Russian’s voice. This was a personal matter for the general.
He knew better than to tell the truth.
“That can be arranged,” he said.
“Then we have a deal.”
“Stay by your radio, General.”
Tucker signed off and hopped back down, one painful step at a time.
Though the back of the Cathedral still burned, he dared not leave his rear unguarded. He pressed his forehead to Kane’s. “Sorry, buddy, but I need to ask even more from you.”
Kane wagged his tail.
He pointed to the flames. “HOLD. WATCH.”
The shepherd dropped to his belly and stared across the cavern, ready to watch for any further intrusions.
Ever his guardian.
12:55 A.M.
As Tucker limped back into the cave, Bukolov and Christopher joined him, both clearly wanting to know what the plan was from here.
“Have you secured your samples, Doc?”
“Yes, they’re packed away. What now?”
“I told Kharzin we’re willing to make a deal. We’d trade half of the LUCA samples for our lives.” Bukolov opened his mouth to protest, but Tucker held up a hand. “I’m stalling for time. There are only two ways out of here. One we can’t climb out since I pulled that rope. And the other is crawling with Spetsnaz. So we’re going to have to make a third.”
“How?” Christopher asked.
“Do you remember the first spot we dug—on the ravine wall outside?”
Both men nodded.
Tucker pointed across the cavern. “It’s right on the other side of that wall. I estimate it’s only three or four feet thick . . . mostly soft sandstone.”
Bukolov looked there in dismay. “It would take us hours to dig—”
Tucker pulled the square of C-4 from his pocket. “But only seconds to blast through.”
“Would that work?” Christopher said. “Truly?”
“It’s our only shot.”
So they all set to work. Tucker unfolded and handed Christopher one of the shovels and instructed him to dig a hole four feet off the ground, as deep as he could make it.
As he labored, Tucker prepared the new charge and handed the C-4 patty to Bukolov. “Gently, Doctor. It’s live. Just go stand by Christopher.”
He then collected the first bomb he’d prepared earlier and planted it down the hole among the artillery shells.
With everything in motion, Tucker limped back over to the Cathedral and joined Kane. He put on his headset and keyed the radio. “General, are you there?”
After a few long seconds, he responded. “I am here.”
“Bukolov has the samples.”
“Good news.”
“How many vehicles do you have?”
“Two.”
“We’re going to want one of them.”
“I understand, considering the fate of your original vehicle.” He heard the residual anger in the man’s voice.
So at least his ruse with the Rover had worked.
Tucker asked, “Are both vehicles at the entrance to the cave?”
He pictured the SUV from earlier, parked in the canyon by the back door. As far as the Russian knew, that was the only entrance.
“Yes.”
“Okay. We have wounded in here. Give me a few more minutes to get ourselves together, then I’ll signal you to come in. You may bring two of your men as guards. So we’re all on equal footing. I don’t want any surprises. We’ll make the trade in here, then you and all your men will get in one vehicle and drive off. Agreed?”
“Agreed. And you’ll have Anya ready to travel.”
“Yes. Stand by.”
Tucker left Kane on guard and returned to the cavern. Bukolov was leaning against the wall, cradling the C-4 patty in his hands. “I am not enjoying this, Tucker.”
“Hang in there. Christopher, how’s it coming?”
Christopher stopped digging. “See for yourself. To be honest, I don’t think we need that explosive. The sandstone is crumbling almost faster than I can chop at it.”
Tucker examined the hole. It was already more than two feet deep.
“You’re right. Over time, the moisture from this chamber must have weakened the stone, softening it. Keep going—but gently. I don’t want to punch through quite yet. Doc, are you packed and ready to go?”
“I’m ready, but what am I going to do with this?” He raised the C-4 in his palms.
“It’s okay to lay the C-4 patty down at your feet, just don’t step on.”
“I will step gingerly from here.”
“Tucker, I am almost through!” Christopher called.
Tucker returned to his side and used a chisel to punch a hole through the wall. He pressed his ear to the opening and listened for half a minute. Satisfied no one was in this canyon, he widened the hole and peered out. Kharzin had all his men in the other gorge, guarding what he believed was the only entrance.
“Okay, everyone keep your voices low from here. We don’t want to turn any heads in this direction.” He turned to Christopher. “Go ahead and widen the hole as quietly as you can, just large enough for both of you to climb through. Then I want you to take the packs and Kane and hightail it away from here; stay hidden and keep moving east. Kane can help you. I’ll catch up and find you once I’m finished here.”
“What are you going to do?” Bukolov said.
“I’m going to keep Kharzin looking at me, while you all make your escape. After that, I’m going to drop your C-4 patty down with the one I already planted among those artillery shells and run like hell. When those babies blow, this whole cavern will collapse in on itself.”
Christopher whispered, “I’m finished.”
“Then it’s time for you all to vacate the premises.”
Tucker helped gather their packs and drop them through the opening and out into the chilly night. He also gathered up Bukolov’s abandoned bomb and repositioned it close to the hole in the floor.
With everything ready, he used the video feed on his phone to check on Kane, staring at the screen. All looked quiet out in the Cathedral, so he touched his mike and summoned his partner back to his side.
He gave Kane a warm greeting, then passed his phone to Christopher. “No matter what happens to me, keep hiking to last night’s campsite and wait for your brothers. Once you’re safely back over the border, hit number one on the speed-dial and ask for Harper. Tell her what’s happened and she’ll take it from there.”
“I will.”
“And take care of Kane.”
“Tucker—”
“Promise me.”
“I promise. He’ll be like another brother to me.”
“I couldn’t ask for anything better.”
Christopher extended his hand, shook Tucker’s, then clambered through the hole and dropped low outside.
“Now you, Doctor,” Tucker said.
Without warning, Bukolov wrapped Tucker in a bear hug. “I will see you out there, yes?”
“As soon as possible.”
As Bukolov climbed out, Tucker knelt beside Kane. “You’ve done enough here, buddy,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m going to do this last part by myself.”
Kane cocked his head and stared into Tucker’s eyes. A soft whine flowed to him; he plainly sensed what was to come.
Tucker stood again and whispered, “Christopher, are you there?”
“I’m here.”
He lifted Kane in his arms, gave him a final long squeeze, then guided him through the hole and into Christopher’s waiting hands.
“I have him, Tucker. Good luck.”
“You, too.”
He waited for three minutes, making sure no shouts of alarm were raised as the others fled. He took an extra moment to cover the hole with a scrap of khaki tent canvas, securing the upper corners with duct tape. He didn’t want the moonlight shining through the new window, giving away the ruse when he entertained guests in a few minutes.
He then crossed back to the Cathedral and tugged back on the radio headset. He kept his headlamp off, standing in the pitch darkness.
“General Kharzin.”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“You can come in.”
“We are on our way.”
1:58 A.M.
Keeping watch, Tucker raised his rifle and peered through the night-vision scope. After two minutes, the greenish haze of lights bloomed on the far side. Moments later, three men appeared. From their body posture, he could register the horror of finding the charred remains of their comrades. The trio stepped over the sandbags, only to discover Anya’s body. They knelt there even longer, clearly calling for someone to collect her. Then they started across the Cathedral floor.
When they reached the halfway point, Tucker shouted, “Stop there.”
The men halted.
Into his headset, Tucker said, “General, you’re—”
The pain in the other’s voice cut him off. “You told me Anya was still alive!”
“Let’s call it even.”
“It’ll never be even. Never. She was my daughter.”
Shocked by this revelation, Tucker felt a sickening twist in his gut. He remembered Anya talking about her father. He could still hear the buried pain in her words: My father was in the Russian Army. He was a . . . a hard man.
Tucker now wondered how much of that pain was feigned. He could only imagine what it was like to grow up with a father like Kharzin, to be used and groomed to be little more than a finely honed tool. He remembered that it had been Anya who had first suggested to Bukolov that she pretend to be the doctor’s daughter. Perhaps that ruse had its roots here. To keep things easy, Anya simply shifted the lie about one father to another.
“I’m going to kill you,” Kharzin said.
“I’m sorry for your loss, General. I truly am. And you certainly can come after me, but for now, do you want revenge or your LUCA samples?”
Kharzin didn’t respond for a full ten seconds. His voice was tight with grief and fury. “We will settle this personal matter later then. But I promise you it will be settled. There will be an accounting.”
“I look forward to it,” Tucker said. “For now, come forward. Let’s be done with this.”
Kharzin and his two companions started walking, proceeding slowly, suspiciously. When they were thirty feet away, Tucker saw movement across the Cathedral.
“Halt,” he yelled. “What is going on back there?”
One of the men glanced over to the commotion. “They are only collecting the bodies of my men . . . and my daughter. I will not leave them behind.”
“Then keep coming,” he said and added a lie. “But be warned, I have other guns fixed on them if they try anything.”
He took off his headset and began backing down the tunnel.
“Keep coming, General,” he called out.
Tucker continued his retreat back to the waterfall cavern and didn’t stop until he was a few steps from the hole.
Kharzin and his men entered the cave cautiously, searching thoroughly. The tallest man waved the other two to stand guard and continued forward alone.
This had to be General Kharzin. He was a bull of a man, stony-faced, much like his photos, but in person, he appeared younger than Tucker had expected.
Tucker raised the rifle level to the man’s chest. “Nice to finally meet you, General.”
Kharzin would not look at him, keeping his face averted, hard and angry. He simply thrust out his palm, even refusing to speak to the man who had killed his daughter. Perhaps not trusting himself to.
“Again, I am sorry for your loss,” Tucker said.
The arm remained up, demanding. “Show me the LUCA.”
Immediately, alarm bells went off in Tucker’s head as the man spoke. The voice was wrong. He stared harder at the man’s shadowy features. Though there was a resemblance to the photos he’d seen of Kharzin back in Istanbul, the man standing before him wasn’t the general.
“Get on your knees!” Tucker shouted, shouldering his rifle. “Now!”
All three men knelt down.
Tucker put his headset back on. “General, this was a bad gamble.”
“Did you really think I would risk handing myself over to you? And now none of this matters. Even in death, my beautiful girl did her job. She brought me what I wanted. I knew she would never fail me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You should have searched Anya after you killed her.”
Tucker’s belly turned to ice.
Kharzin said, “I’m kneeling beside my beautiful daughter right now. It appears Doctor Bukolov is missing one of his samples. Major Lipov, are you there?”
“I am here, General,” the man said, speaking into his headset.
“Kill him!”
Lipov’s arm shot behind his back.
Tucker shifted his rifle and fired, striking the man in the heart.
The two men on the slope yanked their guns up, but he was already moving as soon as he squeezed the trigger. The others opened fire, but he leaped sideways and slammed his heel down on the C-4 patty planted there—igniting its chemical fuse.
Five seconds . . .
With rounds ricocheting off the rock at his heels, he kicked the primed explosive down the neighboring hole and kept going.
Four . . .
Firing from the hip, he sprinted across the cavern for the canvas-covered hole.
Three . . .
He didn’t slow and dove headfirst at the covering.
Two . . .
Ripping through the canvas, he sailed out the hole, landed hard on his palms, and rolled.
One . . .
He pushed himself to his knees, then his feet—and started running down the canyon.
Behind him he heard a whomp, followed by a second, sharper boom.
He kept sprinting as a string of firecrackers—the cache of artillery shells—began detonating.
Head down, legs pumping, he kept going.
Don’t look back! Run!
The pressure wave hit him and sent him flying.
2:39 A.M.
Tucker landed in a heap, blinked hard, and spat out a mouthful of dirt, swearing under his breath. He had survived, gotten the others out safely—but still failed.
Kharzin had a sample of LUCA.
The rumble of engines echoed from the other canyon. The Russians were preparing to leave.
Tucker looked around. Behind him, the cliff face that he just jumped through showed little sign of damage, save for the gout of smoke and dust gushing through his exit hole. But he knew inside, that tiny microcosm of the primordial world was gone, incinerated.
But it was too little, too late.
He pictured Kharzin in one of those SUVs, clutching a buttery-white bulb.
Was there still time to catch him—and, more important, catch him by surprise?
Tucker would never make it out and around to the other canyon, and even if he did, he’d likely just be run over. Instead, he turned and headed back the way he had come, checking his pockets as he ran. He’d lost his rifle, so he would have to improvise. He sprinted, passing through the surge of smoke, and skidded to a stop beside the boulder steps that led up to the plateau. He scrambled like a monkey with his tail on fire. When he reached the top, he paused for a breath, picturing what lay below. He was now standing atop the cavern inside. If the blast there had weakened the structure, he might drop straight through.
Might, maybe, if . . . the hell with it.
He charged across the plateau toward the opposite canyon. As he neared the edge of the cliff, the rumble of the trucks ratcheted to twin roars. Tucker slid to a stop and looked down to see both of Kharzin’s SUVs racing along the canyon floor, their headlights bouncing over the rock walls.
Tucker started running parallel to them, balanced on the cliff’s edge: one eye on his footing, one eye on the SUVs. Somewhere directly ahead of him was the end of the cliff, the section shaped like a pig’s snout. He ignored the voice in his head yelling for him to stop.
Instead, he ran faster and yanked out the two grenades he had stolen from the soldier he had shot. As he reached the cliff’s edge, he dropped to his butt and began sliding down the steep slope of the snout. To his right, out of the corner of his eye, the first SUV raced past him. Skidding along, he pulled the pin with his teeth, but he kept the spoon pressed tightly.
Then he reached the blunted end of the snout and went airborne. The drop was only ten feet, but he was flying. He hit the ground hard and shoulder-rolled, hugging his limbs tightly, clutching the grenades to his belly. As his momentum bled away, he skidded to a stop and rose to his knees. He let the grenade’s spoon pop and hurled it after the lead SUV as it swept past him.
Behind him, an engine roared. Headlights flashed over him. He spun to find the second SUV barreling straight at him. He dove right and rolled out of its way, barely making it. Flipping to his back, he pulled the pin on the second grenade and lifted his arm to throw—
Whomp.
The first grenade exploded, fouling his aim as he let loose with the second. The black chunk of armament bounced harmlessly past the second SUVs back bumper and rolled into the scrub. Escaping damage, the truck sped away, dropping down the ravine that led up here—and was gone.
Whomp.
Bushes blasted away, amid a choke of rock dust.
All that wasted fury . . .
Cursing, Tucker turned to the first SUV. Its right side was on fire, flames licking inside. From the cabin came screaming.
He ran toward the SUV, not knowing if Kharzin was in this vehicle or the one that got away. There was only way to know for sure. He ran to the far side of the burning SUV, where the flames were less intense, and yanked open the passenger door. Heat washed over him, accompanied by a few licks of fire that he dodged.
The driver lay slumped at the wheel, his back burning, his skin blackening and oozing. But his uniform marked him as a major, not a general. Same was true of the passenger. The second man had caught shrapnel in the chest and the side of his face. The man groaned and grabbed Tucker’s wrist. His head turned, revealing a flayed cheek and an eye scorched black. His mouth opened, but only guttural sounds came out.
