Targets of Opportunity Page 12

  As they came to the portal they were prepared to see armed soldiers. They moved to their right, where, suddenly, someone stepped out of the shadows.

  It was Hea, the girl Sandor had met at the kiosk near the Arch of Triumph that afternoon.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “You’re late.”

  Sandor nodded. “Where are the guards?”

  “They patrol back and forth on this level,” she said as she guided them back onto the ramp. “They’ll be here in a few seconds.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I’m part of the international hospitality crew,” she answered with a nervous smile.

  Sandor nodded. “How far is Hwang’s box?”

  “Three to the right,” she told them, then said, “Shhh.”

  They could hear the guards coming.

  With no silencer on his weapon Sandor knew he could not fire the gun, not unless it became absolutely necessary. A single gunshot would bring scores of Korean soldiers on the run and the mission would be over, not to mention the lives of his entire team. He watched the attractive young girl, her face taut with both fear and resolve as she said in a hushed tone, “Just follow me.”

  Sandor and Raabe exchanged a quick look but she was already stepping into the corridor, so they moved right behind her into the open, where they were promptly met by two approaching soldiers. Bergenn and Zimmermann remained around the corner, on the ramp, their AK-47s in hand.

  Hea began speaking quickly, in Korean, and Sandor assumed she was telling them that she had found these tourists wandering around looking for their seats. Sandor responded with a smile and held up his ticket. The problem was that Hea was standing between them, making it difficult for him to initiate the first move. The girl must have sensed this, because she stepped to her left as if allowing the two uniformed guards to have a better look at the tickets. But these two were not looking at the tickets, they were staring directly into the eyes of the two Americans.

  When they barked something, Hea turned to Sandor and said, “They want you to step back, against that wall.”

  Sandor nodded, still smiling, then turned slightly, as if about to move toward the wall. As he did, he shot a quick glance at Craig. Raabe responded, leveling a rapid kick aimed at the neck of the shorter soldier on the left, while Sandor spun back and lunged at the man to their right.

  This time the Koreans seemed ready for the assault. The first made a deft move, Raabe’s karate kick glancing off the top of his head, the other man averting a direct hit by Sandor, then reacting with a sweeping maneuver that just missed knocking Sandor off his feet.

  Sandor knew that time was against them. These men had weapons they would not be afraid to use and radios that, once engaged, would be equally fatal. He regained his balance and drove forward with the crown of his head, crashing into the Korean’s chin, knocking him backward as Sandor hit him again, this time with the heel of his hand. He followed with three short chops into the man’s throat, snapping his windpipe, leaving him to clutch desperately at his neck as he gasped his last breath.

  Raabe, after missing with his kick, was left in a more vulnerable position than Sandor, and the soldier had time to level his automatic weapon at Craig’s chest. But Hea had come from behind and dug two fingers deep into the man’s right eye, jerking his head to the side as he reached up and let out a shriek, giving Craig time to hit him several times in the solar plexus, knocking the air out of him, the weapon falling back on its sling and slapping across his chest as he stumbled backward on top of the girl.

  By now Bergenn and Zimmermann had reached the scene. The first soldier was dead and Sandor was holding down the second man’s arms as Raabe put his knee into the man’s chest and then, using both hands and a forceful twist, broke his neck.

  No one spoke as Hea, Raabe, and Sandor got to their feet and retrieved the weapons and radios from the two dead Koreans. Sandor looked to the girl.

  “Any of these other suites vacant?”

  She nodded and pointed to a door down the hallway.

  “Let’s get rid of these two,” he told his men. “And the other guy on the ramp. Fast.”

  Hea let them into the unoccupied luxury box, where they deposited the three corpses, then shut the door and headed for their destination, two doors away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ST. BARTHÉLEMY, F.W.I.

  CARDONA WAS STILL holding Fort Oscar’s graveyard shift supervisor tight in his grasp. Together they moved toward the door that led to the basement level. Adina’s men were not about to risk a ride on the elevator, too many things could go wrong there. When the elderly Frenchman hesitated at the head of the stairwell, Cardona shoved him forward. The muscular Venezuelan was not as tall as his hostage, but he was much younger and much stronger. And he was carrying a gun.

  “Move,” he ordered.

  Adina’s men had removed their gas masks, the ventilation system having already cleared the air of most of the nauseating smell. This gave them better visibility, which would be crucial as they descended to the main nerve center downstairs.

  They realized that the staff stationed on the lower level was already aware of this invasion. Even before the grenades went off, security cameras and silent alarms would have alerted them to the incursion. As soon as Cardona, Renaldo, and their four men entered the inner sanctum on the main floor, everyone would have been on alert. The ensuing explosions and gunfire, even through these thick, reinforced walls, would have been heard throughout this part of the compound. With a welcoming committee gathering for them below, Adina’s men were not going to take any chances.

  They also assumed that calls for help had been transmitted. They were successful in temporarily jamming cell phone signals from the fortress, but this was an international communications center, and there was no way to block their satellite capabilities. They only hoped that the help the fort staff sought would not arrive in time.

  As Cardona made his way down the stairs, he kept the French supervisor in front of him. Renaldo and two of his men were right behind them. The remaining pair from the assault team was still wiring explosives to the computer banks against the wall, all the while keeping an eye on the men and women huddled in the far corner of the room.

  “Now,” Cardona said slowly to the Frenchman, “when we walk through the door down there, you will be our human shield. Do you understand?”

  The terrified man nodded.

  “You call to them, tell them to put aside all of their weapons or everyone upstairs will be executed. Comprende?”

  The Frenchman nodded again.

  “Good. Now move slowly.”

  With the computer supervisor in the lead, the group had nearly reached the bottom of the staircase. Cardona roughly pulled him to a halt. “Now. Tell them now.”

  The frightened man steadied himself, then called out in French, “Please, these men are dangerous. You must lay down your weapons or more people will be killed.”

  There was a tense silence, then a voice from below asked, “How many are there?”

  Cardona understood enough French to understand the question. He swiftly clamped his hand across the man’s mouth, then pressed the barrel of the submachine gun into the side of his neck. “You tell them there are too many of us for them to fight,” he whispered directly in his ear. “Tell them they have ten seconds to lay down their weapons or we will begin killing hostages on the main level.”

  When Cardona pulled his hand away, the tall Frenchman did as he was told.

  There followed another eerie silence, broken by the clatter of guns being dropped to the hard, tiled floor below.

  Renaldo shouted out in French, “Move your weapons to the landing, where we can see them, then back away.”

  They watched as two pistols and two automatic weapons slid into view.

  Cardona leaned toward his man again. “How many guards down there?”

  “Only two at
this hour.”

  Cardona yanked on the man’s hair, pulling his head back at an awkward angle. “Don’t lie to me, I’ll kill you right here.”

  “No, I’m telling the truth,” the man wheezed, his throat tight from the tear gas, fear, and the pressure his tormentor was applying. “Two men.”

  Cardona nodded to Renaldo, who shouted out, “Now all of you step back, and stand together. Anyone we find not standing with the group will be immediately shot.”

  They listened as the people shuffled about. When it became quiet again, they resumed their descent.

  ————

  Lieutenant Vauchon, the ranking army officer present in the Fort Oscar barracks, decided it was time for action. There were four French military and three local policemen on hand. They could not simply stand by while people were being murdered on their watch. “We need to move,” he told the others.

  They were all standing in the rear corner of the barracks. Whatever they decided to do, each man had grabbed his sidearm. As they spoke, they kept their voices low and an eye on the door, mindful of the possibility there could be a sudden attack.

  “They said they would be gone in ten minutes,” the ranking gendarme replied. “Let’s give it a little time.”

  “A little time?” Vauchon asked him. “There could be a slaughter under way.” He was glaring at the captain of the gendarmes now. “You want us to sit here and wait it out? Is that your plan?”

  “We can’t be rash,” the policeman protested.

  “We are seven. How many of them can be out there?” Vauchon spoke in a hushed but firm tone.

  The police captain looked to the door, then back at the younger man. “Even if we outnumber them, how do you propose we get out of here without being cut to ribbons? We don’t know how many are stationed out there, and they’re certainly prepared for an attack.”

  Vauchon acknowledged the problem with a nod. “If only we had grenades, or something to make some noise, to cover a rush down the steps.” He looked around their drab quarters, the barest of sleeping accommodations with no windows and the latrine outside and down the hall.

  “Well we don’t,” the captain said, feeling a momentary sense of relief. “I say that we remain here, in a defensive posture. If they come, we’ll be ready. If they leave…”

  “If they leave after they’ve murdered the people below, you mean? The people we are here to protect, you mean?”

  The others were silent as these two faced off, their fates and the fates of those inside the fort riding on the decision they would make.

  “No,” Vauchon said firmly. “We’ll rush them. We can draw straws to determine the order of the charge, then we go.”

  The police captain shook his head. “No. No. My men and I are with the local force. You are with the army. Our duties and responsibilities are different.”

  Vauchon sneered at him. “We are not discussing duties here, captain, we are talking about saving the lives of innocent people who are apparently being executed while we stand here engaged in this debate.”

  “I am sorry, lieutenant, but our suicides will not solve the problem.”

  Vauchon turned away in disgust and faced his men. “We go as four, then.” He paused, looking each of them square in the eyes. “I’ll take the lead,” he said.

  ————

  Cardona and Renaldo entered the telecommunications center in the basement of Fort Oscar, the tall Frenchman ahead of them. One of their men trailed behind, covering the rear flank. The other remained in the stairwell, as backup.

  They found themselves facing an array of modern technological paraphernalia that was incongruously secreted in the bowels of this old fortress. The room was rigged with large screens on three walls and banks of computer systems that were connected to international satellites and fiber optic lines and wireless hookups, making this one of the most sensitive monitoring facilities in the Western Hemisphere. Everything from air traffic to naval movements were tracked here, both civilian and military, as were climatic and seismographic changes. The entire operation was classified as top secret and existed on a strict need-to-know basis within a multinational intelligence initiative begun by the United States and France.

  Cardona and Renaldo had a quick look around. The staff, perhaps a dozen men and women in all, were dressed in casual island attire. They were standing, as ordered, against the wall to the left. Two men in uniform stood in front of them. There did not seem to be anyone lurking behind the desks or the large mainframes, but Renaldo said sternly to the gathered group, “If there is anyone else here, you will all be shot.”

  “No one else is here,” one of the soldiers said, taking a step toward him. “What do you want?”

  Renaldo ignored the question. “If you take another step forward, I’ll kill you and then the woman behind you.”

  The soldier slowly moved back.

  “All right,” Cardona called over his shoulder to the man from Renaldo’s team who had been covering their backs, “get this done quickly.”

  The man moved swiftly, removing his backpack, and, as his team members had done upstairs, he began to wire explosives to the mainframes.

  ————

  Lieutenant Vauchon made sure that he and his three men had full magazines in their handguns, a chambered round and two extra magazines apiece. The three policemen watched as the soldiers prepared to make their move.

  “The least you men can do,” the lieutenant said without looking at the police captain, “is man this area at the top of the stairs. And try not to hit any of us in the crossfire.”

  The four soldiers then moved silently across the barracks to the top of the stairs, two on each side. It was only a half flight, just six steps to the door below, just outside which the invaders stood watch over them. The lieutenant gave the signal that he was ready to go. When all three of his men nodded, he drew a deep breath and took off down the short staircase, staying in a crouch, hitting the door with his shoulder and rolling into the corridor.

  Adina’s sentries were alert, but Vauchon had moved too quickly and too quietly. Bursting into the hallway, he knew exactly what he meant to do when he got there. Seeing only two men, he opened fire, hitting the man on his left several times before he was able to return a shot. By then his three men had emerged, taking out the second terrorist with a furious close-range barrage that tore through his neck and head and dropped him, dead before he struck the concrete.

  The first man had slumped against the wall and slid to the floor but he was still breathing. Once they disarmed him the lieutenant kneeled down and asked, “Who are you? What do you want here?”

  The dying man gave no answer.

  Vauchon asked, “How many men are with you?”

  Drawing a painful breath, the man said in a weak voice, “Closer.” When Vauchon leaned toward him, the man spit in his face, then slumped to his side, dead.

  The lieutenant stood up and wiped his cheek with his sleeve as his men watched. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Before they headed off to the communications center, the three policemen joined them with guns in hand, the captain in the lead, offering up a diffident smile. “What the hell,” he said. “You took on the tough part.”

  Lieutenant Vauchon nodded without comment. He and one of his men picked up the Uzis from the dead sentries, then raced off down the hall, pausing at the turn to have a look, then rounding the corner and sprinting to the entrance that led downstairs to the first level.

  “You heard the shooting earlier,” Vauchon reminded them in a quiet but stern tone. “These men are not here to take prisoners or to negotiate. Remember that. Shoot to kill.” Without another word they split up, just as Adina’s men had done earlier, and raced along the corridor and charged down the two staircases.

  ————

  The two terrorists who remained on that first level had heard the gunfire from above and attempted to contact the men who had been left to guard the barracks. When they received no response the
y radioed Cardona and Renaldo to warn them of the problem. They were ordered to hold their positions.

  The two men shared a conspiratorial look. Their explosives were already rigged and they were closer to the main level than the men downstairs. That meant they were closer to a means of escape. They had no way of assessing how the fight up above had gone, but whatever had happened in the barracks, all they had to do was fend off a counterattack and then get the hell out of there.

  When that assault came, just moments later, they were stunned to see seven uniformed men rush into the room.

  ————

  The group of French soldiers and policemen burst into the first-level room at almost the same moment, arriving through the portals on both sides. They quickly assessed the situation, diving for cover as the two terrorists opened fire. The civilian personnel were left exposed in the corner of the room and, as his men took aim, it was obvious to Lieutenant Vauchon that there would be serious casualties if he did not act swiftly.

  “Hold your fire,” he told his men. Then to the two intruders, he hollered, “Throw down your weapons. Do it now.”

  One of Adina’s men, crouched behind a desk to the left, said, “We’ll kill these people first if you make another move against us.”

  Vauchon did not hesitate. He leapt to his feet and made a mad rush toward the sound of the man’s voice. Seeing this, his men stormed across the room behind him.

  The sound of gunfire became deafening in the confines of this tiled facility, the acrid stench of gunplay replacing what remained of the tear gas. As he charged ahead Vauchon was hit with a bullet that ripped into his left shoulder even before he got off his first round, but he continued forward, emptying the first magazine from his Uzi in mere seconds, three of the shots finding their target. The others surrounded and disarmed the second of Adina’s men after a furious barrage that hit the police captain and one of the soldiers, while ricochets and misplaced shots struck three of the staff as they attempted to scatter for safety.