"I seen it once or twice. I think we better just ease along from here on out. From the way you
fellas
are armed, I don't want to take no chances on the folks we're
dealin
' with."
"Probably a good idea," Stone told him.
W
offord
knew then why he had been brought to the lab. He was a peace offering, but a virtually worthless one. He knew nothing that he could tell the drug makers that would be of value to them. He had heard of the existence of their lab, but that was about all. He wondered what the Colombians would do with him.
"We do not need him, or want him," Blanco said.
"What?"
Feliz
appeared astounded.
Blanco looked at him with surprise. "Surely you do not think we have no contacts in the D.E.A.? You are not that much of a fool. We get regular information from them, as you must."
"Sure, but—"
"So anything that this man could tell us would merely confirm what we already know. If, indeed, he knows as much as we do. Our source is very highly placed."
Wofford
felt a chill. He knew that he would not be hearing this if the Colombian planned for him to leave the room alive.
"Besides," Blanco went on, "we have our own plans, which do not include dealing with you. We are going to enter the business of distribution ourselves. Cut out the middleman, as they say in this country."
"Now just a minute,"
Feliz
bristled. "You can't do that. We've already got the network, the contacts. You don't know anything about that end of the business."
"What you say is true, but we will learn. And we feel that we can easily move in, now that your own organization has been damaged by infighting. We did not know who the instigator of the fighting was, nor did we care. All we know is that it has benefited us."
Feliz
snarled, "Bullshit! You can't even begin to take over something like that, not as long as I'm in charge!"
"Ah," Blanco said. "You do have a point. But not much of one. You see, you have been kind enough to put yourself into our hands. I do not believe that you will ever find your way out."
All eyes were on
Feliz
now. His lips were clamped shut, and his blood pressure was rising visibly. Beside him, Ramón Flores was virtually quaking in his shoes. He had not been able to think of an excuse to avoid the trip, and he was now very afraid that he would never see Miami again.
Wofford
knew that he would never have another chance. No one was watching him. He was out of it, his hands tied, and they did not think he would be a problem. He hoped that they were wrong.
The big man nearest
Wofford
, Jaime del Rio, was wearing a .45 automatic in a holster on his belt. Even with his hands tied in front of him, he could grab the pistol and work the trigger. He had to try.
Wofford
moved swiftly, bouncing del Rio with his hip and grasping the handle of the .45 in the same movement. As the Colombian was pushed aside, the gun came out of the holster into
Wofford's
hands. He could hardly feel it, but the ropes had not entirely cut off his circulation. He got his finger on the trigger and fired.
His target was the guard at the door, and the bullet sheared off the top of the man's skull.
Blood and gray matter splattered the wall, and
Wofford
moved for the door as the man fell.
Then he was out into the hall. Turning, he fired a shot back into the room, hoping to slow the pursuit. The bullet struck Gomez in the center of the chest, throwing him against the wall. He left a dark red stain as he slid to the floor.
Wofford
didn't wait. He was off and running.
E
nrique
Feliz
had survived on the streets for years, and in the seconds following
Wofford's
move the old instincts came back to him.
While the others stared in stunned silence at the dead guard and at the body of Gomez,
Feliz
flung himself at the guard's Uzi.
He came up with it in his hands and began firing.
The gun dealt out death, stitching a row of bloody buttons across the chest of del Rio, punching out three new navels for Blanco, and unfortunately taking out Ramón Flores in the process. Flores had never been one to involve himself in the action and had no idea of the right moves. Now he had paid.
Feliz
didn't give a damn. All he cared about at the moment was himself, and his own safety. The other two Cubans had hit the floor as soon as the firing began. "Get up and find a gun,"
Feliz
ordered them. "Let's get our asses out of here."
There was a pistol on the guard, but Blanco and Gomez had not been carrying. "Never mind,"
Feliz
snapped. "We'll go with what we got."
They entered the hallway.
"Which way?" the one who had picked up the guard's pistol asked.
Feliz
pointed to the right. "That way."
They started running in the direction opposite the one in which
Wofford
had gone.
Then the building began to explode.
"H
ot damn!" Hog Wiley yelled. "Ride '
em
, cowboy!" He swooped down over the drug lab in the Cobra G-Model helicopter that Carol had arranged for him to get through their contacts at Fort Bragg. The Vulcan machine gun mounted on its nose fired 20mm cannon shells, and Hog was strafing the lab.
Chunks of concrete flew in the air.
Gouts of flame spouted over the lab.
Hog laughed and pressed the firing button.
Alerted by the
whumping
of the chopper's blades, Tim
Congrady
had guided his airboat in the correct direction.
Hog, knowing what he was looking for, had located the lab from the air, and by the time he had begun firing on it, Stone and
Loughlin
were out of the boat and on the way in.
The Cubans outside the fence had no idea at all about what was going on, but they knew that something bad was happening. They also knew that the men inside the fence were their enemies, so they grabbed their Uzis and started streaming bullets into the compound.
The Colombians inside, attacked from both the ground and the air, began firing randomly in all directions.
Stone was glad to have the Cubans for allies, even if only temporarily, and took advantage of the confusion. He launched a grenade at the gate, blowing it apart, and he and Loughlin charged inside, followed by a bunch of yelling
Marielitos
determined to get inside the building and find their boss.
Hog continued to circle above and fire his gun. Shells exploded all around, throwing Colombians into the air like stuffed dolls, their bodies limp and lifeless.
Stone's Ingram, with its suppressor in place, chugged out subsonic doom as he charged a door.
Blowing off the lock, he kicked it open and stormed inside.
Turning his back to the door, Loughlin stayed outside and kept up a withering blast of bullets to discourage anyone else from trying to enter.
He cut down Cubans and Colombians both. At this point, they were all on the wrong side.
Their bodies jumped and twitched as the bullets smashed into them.
Knowing that by now Stone was inside, Hog set the chopper down on the roof. He didn't want to level the place, not yet. Not while the
sarge
was in it, at least.
Almost before the blades stopped
whuffing
, he stepped out onto the roof, his Ingram in one hand and his .357 in the other.
There was only one guard left up there, and he waited behind a vent until he had a clear shot. Then he stood and blasted.
Hog saw the movement and returned fire.
The Colombian's bullet
chinged
off the tail of the chopper.
It was his last shot. A bullet from Hog's .357 struck him high in the chest and he stumbled backward. His calves hit the edge of the roof railing and he tumbled over, dead before he hit the ground.
Hog walked over to the rail and began to fire at the men swarming inside the fence. For a minute they could not figure out where the fire was coming from, and the Ingram shattered arms, legs, and heads before many of them could find cover.
Their bodies lay sprawled on the ground, hands outstretched, faces pressed to the earth.
W
offord
ran down the hall, turned right again, and then again. He saw two guards outside a white double door. He shot them both, the bullets smashing them aside, and then kicked open the door.
The whole building was shaking for some reason, and
Wofford
saw tubes and beakers falling off tables. He began firing the pistol, breaking glass and sending clouds of smoke into the air.
Then he ran out of bullets.
He stepped into the hall to get one of the guns from the guards. Three other men saw him.
They opened fire.
The bullets tore into his body, propelling him back into the lab, where he crashed into one of the setups. Glass fell and broke all around him as he lay in a deepening pool of blood.
S
tone shot his way into the corridor containing Blanco's office. Seeing the open door, he stepped inside.
The dead men meant nothing to him, but he could see that this was the nerve center of the operation. He didn't know how long he might have, but he took the time to make a thorough search of the desk in the room, pocketing any papers that looked to be of interest.
Then he was back in the hall. Three men with guns turned the corner to his right, and he shot them down, bullets raking them and drops of blood filling the air.
The floor was slick with blood, and Stone almost lost his footing as he went by. He headed for the inner part of the building, wondering where
Wofford
could be. He should have been in the office. Maybe he wasn't there at all.
Stone saw the open doorway to the lab. The technicians had fled, though Hog had by now stopped strafing the building.
He saw the body lying amid the broken glass and the refined cocaine.
And he knew it was
Wofford
.
He charged into the lab and knelt down beside his buddy.
Wofford
was bleeding from numerous wounds. "I'll get you out of here," Stone told him softly. "Sorry I didn't make it sooner."
Wofford
coughed, spitting blood. "Hey,
Sarge
. Hell, I didn't know you were coming." He coughed again. "I should have waited."
Stone put
Wofford's
arm over his shoulders, then stood up, pulling
Wofford
up with him.
Wofford
seemed to have no strength at all. It was as if he were boneless.
"I don't think it'll be worth the trouble to get me out,"
Wofford
said. "I won't be around for the finish."
Stone knew
Wofford
could be right, but that didn't matter. He didn't plan to leave him there. He started out of the lab,
Wofford's
feet dragging.
There was no more opposition inside. Blanco had stationed most of his men outside, and there was still plenty of firing going on there.
Stone stopped at the doorway, where Loughlin was still blasting away.
"Hog's on the roof," the Brit informed him. "We've got them penned down, but there are so many bloody trees that it's hard to get to them all."
"You have the plastic?" Stone asked.
"Sure enough," Loughlin answered.
"I'll take the door. You distribute it where it'll do the most good. No one will bother you."
Loughlin moved past them without a word.
Bullets chipped concrete off the doorway. Stone fired back. "
Feliz
,"
Wofford
said.