One Minute to Midnight (Black Ops: Automatik) (19 page)

One of the security men shouted, “Grenade!” and they stopped firing to scramble.

Ben rose above the wall in time to see the explosion and flying chunks of concrete. But the men remained below the barriers. Only a glimpse of one of them flashed in a gap. He shot at the shape but wasn’t sure if he’d hit him. Harper and Art opened fire as well and kept the men pinned.

Another goddamn delay. Frustration clenched Ben’s jaw. The tow truck would clear the on-ramp in a minute. And God knew how many train cars were loaded and on the move by now. Ben vaulted the wall and moved in a wide arc to flank the men while they were still occupied by Harper and Art’s barrage.

He couldn’t see enough of them to target but could tell the men were working on something rather than just huddling away from the raining bullets. He hustled to cover at the corner of a house and warned the others over the com, “Bad news coming.”

“Shit.” Art spoke between bursts from his weapon. “I see it. They’re manning a SAW.”

Harper blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re not that heavy.”

Ben stole a glance from his cover. One of the men braced the light machine gun on the barrier and another held its belt of ammo. “Be ready to take them out.”

Harper called back, “With what artillery?”

The security man behind the SAW pulled the trigger and sprayed lead toward Harper’s hiding place.

Ben readied himself. “Here it comes.”

The SAW choked, interrupting the flow of bullets. The front of the barrel exploded and the bolt torqued, twisting the weapon out of the man’s hand. He fell backward, and the other men stood, shocked. Harper and Art didn’t miss a beat. They snapped off precise rounds that took out the two standing men. Ben rushed the position and fired at the remaining security man as he was trying to recover a rifle on the ground.

The immediate threat was neutralized, but the tow truck continued less than a block away. Harper and Ben approached it, and Art hung back to maintain cover for them. The driver had a spiteful look on his face as he went through his gears to drag the screeching truck.

Harper kept his weapon down but took a grenade from his vest and held it up for the driver to see. The man’s eyes widened. Harper made a big show of pulling the pin, then underhanded the grenade so it skipped along the pavement and rolled beneath the tow truck. The driver leaped out and ran, dropping the large revolver he’d had hidden.

A second later, the explosive went off with a loud pop. The tow truck barely moved, but the underside was gutted and immediately started leaking fluids. Several parts of the drive train hung down, shattered and immobile. The on-ramp remained blocked.

Behind Ben, somewhere in town, a high-powered rifle fired a single shot. It wasn’t Mary.

He nearly shouted into his mic. “Report. Anyone have eyes on that shooter?”

“Negative,” Tak answered.

Sant came back, “No visual, but he’s on a rooftop somewhere to the south.”

“What was his target?” Ben assumed the worst.

Raker drawled, “Looks like it might’ve been the hotel.”

Ben could barely breathe. “That’s Mary.” Cold fear rushed along his arms. He checked the tracker on his phone. The blip indicating Lucas moved steadily toward the hotel. Did that kid have a sniper rifle? Ben’s chill disappeared into hot anger. He ran and barked orders to the others, “Get to the train yard. We’ll be there.”

The communicator was no good at this range. He had to eliminate any threat coming her way. He had to get to her.

Chapter Nineteen

A son of a bitch was shooting at her with a hunting rifle. The bullet crashed into the face of the hotel, two meters low and to her left. She could tell from the sound of the shot that the weapon had a long barrel and a wood stock. The hired security goons would’ve brought something more tactical. Mary bet that one of the local crooked cops had gone home to pick up his personal piece. But it didn’t matter if that rifle had only taken out deer up to this point; the gun had no ethic and didn’t care who it was aimed at.

The muzzle flash had faded by the time the bullet had reached up to her. The limp streetlights only illuminated parts of the rooftops in town below her. Plenty of hiding places. And whoever was down there was savvy enough to wait and watch for her own telltale blast to target. But he wasn’t good enough to get her on the first shot. And now that she knew he was down there, she wouldn’t let him get away.

She’d watched Ben’s action at the tow truck. Her bullets weren’t enough to stop it from range, but he and Harper and Art had taken care of the problem nicely. A vengeful satisfaction had washed over her when she’d seen the SAW explode in the hands of the hired security.

But the battlefield pleasure had been short-lived. The counter-sniper had played his hand, and she’d had to shift her view from Ben’s sector to the closer rooftops. After that, Ben was gone. She had no idea where he or his team had disappeared to. The action in town quieted. Only two police cars still patrolled.

The sniper below was impatient. He’d tried his shot before he had a positive target. He would leap at bait. One round remained in this magazine. She targeted the hood of one of the police cruisers and let the bullet fly.

Without waiting to see the damage she’d done, she picked up her Barrett and hurried to her left, near the center of the hotel face. Below, the yellow flash of the counter-sniper’s rifle winked. He was on the roof of a building five blocks north of the hotel. A facade protected him, and the nearest streetlamp didn’t reach far enough to reveal his shape. His bullet smacked the hotel where Mary had last fired from. Still low, but closer to her position.

Mary slapped a fresh magazine in her Barrett, threw the bolt forward and set up to fire. Her scope reached out to where the sniper was, but there was no definitive target in the darkness that would guarantee a hit. If she had com with the team below, she could ask for a flare to illuminate the area. But silence persisted in her earpiece. Ben and the others must’ve been making their way to the train yard by now.

If she couldn’t send up a flare, she might be able to make one. Up the block from the man’s rooftop was a transformer on a power pole. She’d have to be quick, and re-aiming for a follow-up shot after the heavy recoil of the .50 was always a challenge.

She practiced the move. Targeting the transformer, then swinging the crosshairs down to where she thought the counter-sniper was set up. The transition was too bumpy and she tried to keep the pressure from fueling her frustration. No margin for error. She ran through the motions again, smoothing them out a little. If she didn’t get him with her first try, he’d know she was on the move and would disappear until she gave her position away again while trying to protect her team on the ground. The man below had time on his side. But she had a solid-gold trigger finger.

Deep breath. Exhale halfway and hold. She shot the transformer, and a bloom of yellow sparks erupted. Sliding her view to the target rooftop revealed the counter-sniper in the glittering light. He was swiveling his head from her area to the transformer and back to her. The man put his eye to his own scope, and she fired. Her bullet chipped through the top of the facade he hid behind and struck him in the chest. The rifle spun from his hands.

Threat dispatched.

But the battle was far from over. Four security men swarmed the police car she’d tagged and set up a perimeter for the officers who were out on the street with pistols drawn. The one remaining patrol car had picked up speed and was heading right toward the hotel.

Time to move out. But without clear communication from Ben and the team, she had no idea if they still needed her support from above. And she had no idea what kind of ground fighting she was jumping into.

* * *

Ben’s lungs blazed and his muscles ached. He had to run faster. He’d seen the exploding transformer and heard Mary’s shots. There had been no final response from the enemy sniper, and he knew she’d eliminated that problem. But it wasn’t Lucas with the high-powered rifle. His tracker was at the edge of the hotel and getting closer to her.

Ben’s com was still too far away to reach her. To warn her.

A block parallel to him, a police car hurried south toward the hotel.

“Sant, Raker, can you intercept that roller?” He barely had the breath to speak.

“Affirmative,” Sant answered.

Ben had to slow at an intersection, then sprinted through when he saw it was clear. “Leave it operational. I need the wheels.”

“You got it,” Raker twanged. “Engaging now.”

Gunfire crackled two blocks away from Ben. Shouting. More shots. Silence.

Ben rounded a corner to see the car idling with its doors open and the back windows shot out. The two officers lay facedown on the sidewalk, handcuffed, faces red with anger. Their weapons had been stripped and were in the hands of Sant and Raker, who covered the men and the area from the safety of a half-walled patio.

“Thanks for the ride.” Ben saluted his teammates.

“Cheers.” Sant nodded back.

Raker asked, “You want us?”

Ben slid into the passenger seat and across to the driver’s, closing the doors as he went. “Stay on mission.”

Tires screamed. He stood on the gas and sped toward the hotel, driving with one hand and checking his phone with the other. Lucas had made it inside.

“Mary. Mary.” He still wasn’t close enough but had to keep trying. “Hostiles in your area.”

He plowed through a barricade of sawhorses. Three blocks from the hotel. Too damn far. His heart pounded faster than the engine roared.

“Mary!”

The car bounced over the sidewalk as he took a corner too tight.

A faint voice answered, “...don’t have eyes on you.”

He leaned forward, urging the car faster. “I’m in the patrol car. You have hostiles coming at you.”

She came in clearer. “I read. I read. I see you.”

“What’s your twenty?” The hotel loomed a block away.

“Rooftop,” she whispered. Was Lucas already up there with her?

Ben sped over the hotel parking lot. He swerved to avoid a row of cars and straightened out in time to bust over the curb and smash through the front windows of the hotel. The impact jarred him. The car slid sideways on the cubes of safety glass and sideswiped a huge planter. He threw the car into neutral and ran to the stairs.

Rushing could kill him. He’d already announced himself at the front of the hotel, so surprise was out of the question. He cracked the entrance to the stairs a sliver and peered into the bright white. With the first landing and set of steps clear, he swept inside.

Mary murmured into his ear, “I detected movement in the stairwell and backed out.”

He remained silent, motionless, though his pulse pounded. Two flights up, maybe three, a boot shifted on metal stair. The butt of an assault rifle scraped against the painted concrete wall and the hair on the back of Ben’s neck stood up. He eased forward and looked up the center of the rectangular spiral created by the railing.

His voice barely reached the mic. “Three men. Third floor.”

“Copy,” she whispered back. “I’m clear back if you want to engage.”

He steadied himself, sighted along his assault rifle and fired up at the men. One was struck in the leg and yelled out. The other two immediately started pouring lead in Ben’s direction. He sped up the stairs on inspired legs to the first landing and hugged the wall. Bullets popped through the metal railing and pinged off the steps where he’d been.

During a pause in the firing, he glanced up again. Lucas and Chul remained on their feet, weapons pointed down. Frank wrapped a field dressing around his shin. Ben fired up at them and sprinted to the second-floor landing. They fired down in an erratic spray. Above them, the tied-up security guard screamed through his gag.

Ben popped the empty mag from his rifle and knew they’d hear it. Another barrage rained down the center of the stairwell while he reloaded. He stomped on a step as if he was rushing them, and they leaned over to fire in that direction. Ben snapped off three quick rounds. Two hit Chul in the chest, and the third dug into the wall above him. The man slumped forward on the railing, dead.

Frank dragged himself forward and fired a handgun as fast as he could pull the trigger. Ben was forced back. A cold sweat along his arms told him how close he’d been to getting shot. He edged along the landing for a different view above. Lucas gripped a submachine gun across his chest and stared into the high distance, instead of where Ben was.

“Lucas!” Ben shouted up to the guy who looked like he wanted to be far away from the battle. “You know what’s coming. You know you can’t fight it.”

Frank hissed, “Don’t listen to him.”

“Chul’s dead,” Ben barked. “Frank’s next. You didn’t sign up for this, Lucas.”

“Fuck you!” Frank screeched.

“I already shot you, deckhand.” Ben yelled back. “You don’t get to say shit to me.”

Frank’s answer was another magazine full of bullets in Ben’s direction. But the reload was slow, and Frank’s injured leg limited his mobility. Ben countered quickly with a single shot into Frank’s center mass.

The man grimaced and wheezed but still managed to finish loading his pistol and fall back away from Ben’s field of view. His gurgling voice commanded Lucas, “Get that fucker. Kill that fucker.”

“You’re not going to do that, Lucas.” Ben calmed his tone. “You’re not going to come up against this Navy SEAL and win.”

“Do it!” Frank spat, blood in his lungs. He exposed his arm and hand and pointed his pistol across the landing at Lucas.

Ben double-tapped his trigger. One bullet went through Frank’s wrist, and the other tore the gun from his grip. His scream dwindled quickly. There wasn’t much life in him. But Lucas remained armed and a possible threat.

“You don’t want to take your chances with me, Lucas.” This part of the firefight was over, but the tension still hummed in Ben. He reached out with all his senses for any additional threats. Lucas’s ragged breathing was the only sound. Ben rose two steps closer to the third-floor landing. Lucas flinched when he saw him. The Navy man didn’t aim his weapon at Ben, but gripped it in his fists. Ben kept his barrel pointed at Lucas. “It’s not a fight you can win.”

Lucas slid out of view. “S-stop.”

“You were supposed to be a truck driver. This is your first time doing it, right?” Ben crept closer. “Are you really ready to die for motherfucking gunrunners?”

Mary’s voice graced Ben’s ear, and her words floated down from above. “Don’t fight.”

Ben reached the last landing before Lucas and saw Mary one floor higher. She held a submachine gun down on Lucas. A profound pressure in Ben’s chest unwound with the sight of Mary, uninjured, on her feet and still at war.

She continued to move toward Lucas. “Put down your gun. This isn’t your fight.”

Ben approached, and the two of them converged on the nervous man. “She knows, Lucas. It’s the only way you get out alive. You’re not a fucking merc. You don’t want to be here. This isn’t the truck driving job you signed up for.”

The weapon shook in Lucas’s hands. His watery eyes glanced from Ben to Mary and back. “I...can’t. You...stop.”

Mary was almost tranquil, despite her shining submachine gun. “Dying hurts, Lucas.” She took a deliberate step to the side so he could see Frank and Chul’s bodies. “It isn’t quiet, and there’s no reward.”

His mouth quivered. His hands loosened on his gun.

“Drop it,” Ben commanded. “On the ground.”

Lucas took a shaky breath and released the weapon. The clatter bounced up and down the stairwell. While Ben covered him, Mary approached, stripped the pistol he wore on his hip and kicked the submachine gun into a corner. She searched over him briefly, found no other weapons and stepped back.

“You’re alive,” she announced.

Ben cocked his head toward the bottom of the stairwell. “Get gone. Get as far away from this town as you can.”

Lucas bolted down the stairs without another word.

Ben stepped up to Mary, wanted to wrap his arms around her, wanted to carry them both far away from the chaos and death. But he stayed on alert, and she did as well. The heat in her eyes, though, reflected what he was feeling and he ached to kiss her.

“You good?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“You know it.” The quirk in her smile made him burn even hotter.

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He stepped closer and brushed his shoulder against hers. It was all they could do. She leaned into him for the touch. Then proceeded with him down the stairwell.

“The streets look like a mess.” Her voice rasped. They’d been awake and in the field for quite a while.

“Thanks to you.” He covered a landing. She proceeded down the stairs, waiting until he caught up. “Take care of the counter-sniper?”

“Done.” She clipped a nod.

“Where’s the fifty?” They reached the first-floor landing.

“On the roof.” She tapped a pouch on the small of her back. “But I took the bolt.”

He gripped the door handle and looked to her. She nodded. He creaked the door open. After scanning out for a moment, she tipped her head in the direction she wanted to go. He pushed the door farther. She exited, him trailing just behind her. They both aimed in different directions to cover their path.

The short hallway opened to the elevator bank, then the lobby. The police car still idled, glass like ice on its roof and hood. Cold wind howled in through the broken window. The night was black outside the hotel.

Mary pulled up, wary, and slid to cover behind a brick planter in the lobby. She must’ve sensed trouble. He trusted her instincts and set up behind a pillar next to the front desk, his weapon ready.