Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (64 page)

“I think you’re wrong,
sir
. I think that’s exactly what it is. What kind of training mission is Chardoff going on?”

“A night recon operation. They’re preparing for Mauritania.”

“Where are they going tonight?”

“They were given permission to go into Algeria. The landscape is the similar. They’ll be coordinating with a couple of SEAL teams from the
Enterprise.
It’s just training.”

She turned and sprinted to the next ladder up. “Maybe,” she said. “Chardoff shouldn’t mind

an observer then.”

“Who?” Reeves asked running behind her.

“Me.”

NORTH WIND

2355

THE HELO WAS landing when Spurs ran out onto the flight deck to join Reeves and Chardoff. She had stopped briefly in her stateroom to put on her green fatigues, jungle boots, field jacket and fatigue hat. Even in May, the North of Africa could be a very chilly place at night.

The group of sixteen Recon Marines were boarding the twin rotor, CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter, via the back loading ramp. They wore black fatigues and carried heavy packs and assault rifles but no helmets, only their soft covers.

“I’m going with you,” she yelled over the rotor noise.

Chardoff eyed her like a starving polar bear.

“I told you, no!” Commander Reeves yelled back, holding his cap.

“Let her,” Chardoff said. “She might learn something.”

Spurs followed the last man of the squad onto the roaring chopper, not waiting for Reeves
' reply.

She found a seat near the tail of the helo and sat down amongst the astonished Marines.

Chardoff leaped on and the helo lifted from the ship quickly, the hydraulic powered ramp raising as they flew. Once the ramp was closed, the roaring of the two big engines above them quieted some but not much.

She looked out the small window behind her and saw Reeves wave. She did not wave back.

Spurs knew right away that the pilot was a
hot dog
. As it lifted, the chopper banked hard left and nearly tipped Spurs off of her bench seat.

Chardoff hung onto the opposite side of the helo and sat down slowly. He looked as if he was waiting to catch her if she fell across. It would be a convenient way to get her neck broken.

She looked around the chopper at the staring warriors. They passed camouflage sticks around, dabbing the green and black grease-paint sticks on their faces as they watched her.

“Lock and load,” Chardoff ordered.

The Marines took ammo magazines out of their pouches, inspected them briefly and shoved them into the ports on the underside of their weapons. She glanced at the magazine of the man sitting next to her. The cartridges inside had crimped ends. They were blanks. Then she saw that clamped onto all the M-16s flash suppressors—the ends of the weapons’ muzzles—were red metal objects. She remembered from boot camp that the things were called
gas blockers,
devices used to assist an automatic weapon to cycle the next round into the chamber when firing blanks. They were only necessary when using blank rounds to allow enough backpressure for the weapon to operate properly. Not unusual to not be using live ammo since it was a training exercise, however.

Realizing the dangerous situation she had put herself in, she hoped that not all of Chardoff’s men were in on whatever scheme he was up to. She doubted that more than a couple of them could be in with him. Otherwise, he’d probably have killed her as soon as they’d left the ship. And, after all, these were supposed to be dedicated and loyal Re-con Marines—the
best of the best.
He probably wouldn’t try anything while she was with the entire group. Later while they were in the field would be a different story.

Spurs’ visual inspection of the Marines ended with Chardoff. He stared back at her smiling big.
He’s thinking he has me right where he wants me.
She wanted to prove him wrong.

She lowered her eyes slowly from him, down across the floor of the helo and finally to the bulge in the side pocket of her field jacket where her right hand was. She shoved the Beretta against the fabric inside her pocket as far as she could, making the barrel more than obvious.

She brought her eyes back up slowly to his, then grinned back. He looked down to the bulge in her coat and his face cleared of any sign of amusement. His eyes narrowed then shifted back to hers.

For the next few minutes the ride was tense. Chardoff looked to Sergeant Krebs, the man that had been helping him “exterminate” earlier. She saw that his left forearm was wrapped with a camouflaged bandage. She nodded defiantly, realizing that was where she had shot him. He nodded back one of those yeah-you’re-safe-now-but-I’ll-get-you-later sort of nods.

The helo came over a clearing in the midst of rolling, rocky hills, tall brown grass and sparse trees and sat down abruptly.

Chardoff stood and pointed to the floor at the front of the helo near where the aviation-helmeted crew chief stood.

“Leave your gear,” he said. “Flak jackets, too. Rifles only.

“The men obeyed without question, throwing their cumbersome packs and protective jackets forward in a pile.

The ramp dropped slowly and two more helicopters landed behind them and began deplaning groups of black-uniformed men—the SEAL teams from the
Enterprise.
When the ramp was down completely, Chardoff’s men rushed off. Chardoff was last. He hesitated.

“After you,” he yelled out and waved his hand.

“Think I’ll stay,” she said, once again making the Beretta obvious.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “We’ll get a chance to rehash some old business before the night’s over.”

“Look forward to it,” she said.

He trotted down the ramp and followed his men through the tall, brown grass toward a group of trees about three hundred yards out.

Spurs stood as the three-man helo crew watched her.

She yelled to them as the big engines shut down, “Just here to observe.” She walked over to the crew chief and asked, “So what’s the plan now?”

“We wait until 0500—until they’re done playing their games.”

Spurs went back to the tail and watched for a couple minutes until the last of the men had disappeared into the trees. She stepped off of the ramp and ran ninety degrees to the right of them to higher ground. She didn’t know what for sure she was doing or even why, just that something was set to happen tonight, she was sure, and she had to find out what in time to stop it.

At the top of the nearest hill, she fell prone and watched for movement from the trees that the men had run into, now five hundred yards away. The bright moon gave the tiny emerging figures contrast to the lighter rocks and surroundings. They came out ten yards apart, moving steadily toward what appeared to be an abandoned stone barn, over twice the distance away from her. She wondered what was in that building and if it was germane to Chameleon. Looking to the next hill for a new and closer vantage point, she noticed four tarpaulin-covered trucks parked in a line along a small trail below it.

There were more than just the two US Special Forces groups out there tonight. Each of the trucks could hold as many as twenty men. She may find some answers there.

She ran down the back side of the hill she was on and took a wide angle to the trucks, coming up on the trail behind them. She stayed low, running through stickers and thorn bushes along a ditch that ran parallel to the path.

When she came to within a hundred yards, she saw two sentries, both with what appeared to be M16s. One stood at the front of the trucks, one at the rear. Both looked ahead. If her luck held out, she could get very close.

Edging up to within twenty yards of the closest sentry and the back of the last truck, she hid behind a boulder as large as a kitchen stove and considered her plan.

These men were not American military. The closest one had a broad, bushy mustache and smoked a cigarette. That mustache would be well trimmed if he was an American GI and, besides, no American serviceman would ever be allowed to smoke while on guard duty. However, he did wear the same sort of fatigues that the others were wearing.

A look inside the trucks might provide information: what they were carrying, who they were, anything that could piece the puzzle together.

Spurs found a rock that filled her palm and hefted it to the other side of the truck. The two men looked to one another from each end of the row of vehicles and then ran to the other side. Spurs leaped up quickly and sprinted to the back of the first covered truck and vaulted in.

She lay silently while listening to the two sentries scampering around the trucks. It sounded like one or both of them jumped into the back of the vehicle in front of the one she was in. They seemed calmed as one said something to the other in what sounded like an Arabic dialect and then it sounded as if the two men had jumped to the ground.

“Bah, bah,” said one of the Arabs, like a sheep or goat and they both laughed.

The moonlight coming in from the back of the covered truck did little to illuminate the inside. She felt around, finally coming up with an empty cigarette pack and some spent 7.62mm cartridges that looked old, tarnished in the dim light. The rifles she thought that the Arab sentries were carrying fired 5.56mm ammo. These had been in the back of the truck for months, probably years.

It had been a wasted risk and now she had to figure out how to get away. But then she thought about how the two Arabs had checked the truck in front and none of the others. Thank God, they hadn’t looked in the one that she was in. But why didn’t they? Something important was in that second truck.

Spurs peeked out the back and didn’t see either sentry but did hear their voices. She went to the front of the truck bed and parted the tarp slightly. The sentries were standing together, two trucks up.

She would not have a better chance. She returned to the back and lowered herself to the ground from the tailgate, and then ran around the side, opposite the Arab gunmen. Then, reaching from the side, she raised her foot up to the high rear bumper of the truck and lifted and swung herself up and around and stepped over the closed tailgate.

Sitting in front of her was Lieutenant Darren North.

DEADLY GAMES

May 13, 0130

SPURS POINTED HER gun, not recognizing North at first, then aimed at him when she realized that it
was
him. Where had he been? Was he in cahoots with the Arabs? He was sitting against the front of the truck bed on the floor in a patch of moonlight showing from a large tear in the tarp above. She soon realized that he was tied up and badly beaten. She ran to him and knelt by his side. He looked up groggily.

His hands were tied behind his back, his legs tied together and he was gagged. He had a dark bruise over his right eye, a blackened left eye, a swollen bottom lip and a gash on his chin. She quickly took the gag off and he smiled to her. The eyes weren’t nearly as sparkling and charming this time, but they were no less welcome. She kissed him gently on the forehead.

“Are you able to walk?” she asked frowning over his injuries.

“Water,” he said, nodding to a utility belt with two canteens hung on it, “and I’ll race you back to the ship.”

She untied his hands and reached over to the belt, taking care to not make noise.

She took one canteen out and unscrewed the lid and he took it eagerly, gulping the first few ounces.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Tell you later,” he said as they both untied his legs. “We’ve got to get out of here. They were going to kill me when they heard the signal.”

“What signal?” she asked.

He took a final gulp of water just as what sounded like fireworks erupted. But Spurs knew it wasn’t fireworks. More likely an ambush. An ambush of the Marine Recon squad and the SEAL teams who were only armed with blanks.

“That signal,” he said. “Too late.”

NO TIME LEFT

WHEN THE TWO Arab gunmen climbed into the back of the truck, they saw North gagged and tied up as he was supposed to be.

“Time to die, American dog,” one said. The other laughed.

Spurs hoped they wouldn’t notice too soon that the rope across North’s legs had only been laid there and the gag hung loosely from his mouth. She and North had been in too big of a hurry to do a very convincing job. She also hoped that they wouldn’t immediately notice that he sat slightly farther away from the front of the truck bed than before, and that he had a little strawberry blonde as a back cushion.

They didn’t.

North pulled the Beretta out as they approached. Their eyes grew big as he fired two shots into each of their chests and they fell to the floor.

“Let’s go,” he said handing the pistol back to her and picking up one of the M-16s.

They leaped from the back.

“Chopper’s this way,” Spurs said and started across the ditch toward the hill she’d observed from.

“Stay low,” North said and followed.

He caught up as they jogged around the hill and slung the rifle over his arm.

They paused, looking into each other’s eyes, his arms around her shoulders. He grabbed her up and kissed her. She struggled at first. There were more important matters to attend to. But her body gave in. This was something good, something true in her confused world and she took of it. She kissed him back passionately, her backbone melting, she hung in his strong arms.

He released her and smiled that charming smile.

“They snatched me in Bizerte,” he said. “Found out I was CIA, on their trail. Damn glad to see that you made it.”

“CIA?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m kind of a double-double—working inside the Navy for the CIA.”

“What’s going on?”

“They’ve just ambushed our two Special Forces units; the Marine Recon team from the
Atchison
and a couple of SEAL teams from the
Enterprise
. The terrorists are going to get aboard both ships, without anyone thinking twice, dressed like our people. Especially since some of ours are mingled with them.”

“Chardoff.”

“Who else. Once aboard, they’ll knock out all the weapons on the
Enterprise
and firebomb the flight deck. On the
Atchison
, they’ll arm the cruise missiles and fire them at the
Big E
and sink her in the Strait of Gibraltar.”

“Impossible!”

“No. Likely if we don’t stop them. If they sink her in the middle of the strait the way they’re planning, they’ll stop all maritime traffic to and from the west end of the Mediterranean. All ships will have to go through the Arab-controlled Suez Canal until they get the strait cleaned up. That could take a very long time with eight of the
Enterprise’s
nuclear reactors spilling radioactive uranium all over the shipping lane. The danger will be minimal under seawater, but the fear of radiation and possibility of thousands of tons of ordinance blowing up will keep everyone away. The Arab countries, although innocent of any wrongdoing will make a killing, while Western Europe will suffer.
Allah’s Jihad
will become heroes among their Muslim brothers.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll try to hijack one of the choppers and go back to the
Atchison
. On the way, we’ll radio the Fleet Commander on the
Enterprise
and warn him. They’ll knock down the other two choppers full of terrorists before they can say,
Marine Barracks, Lebanon
.”

They resumed their run back to the helicopters and then slowed when they came into view of them, not knowing if the pilots could be trusted. All three aircraft sat quietly. They moved around to the back, watching the three crew chiefs standing outside talking to one another as they smoked and watched the trees for their cargo to return.

North and Spurs quietly stepped up the ramp of the helo Spurs had arrived in.

By the time they were halfway to the cockpit, they realized the terrorists were only a hundred yards behind.

“Get this bird up!” North ordered the pilot, holding his M-16 out.

“What the hell?” the pilot asked, he and his copilot twisting around to see him.

Outside there were gunshots. The three crew chiefs collapsed. Then two carefully aimed shots snapped through the helicopter’s windshield and into the cockpit from the outside. Both pilots slumped.