Renegade (2013) (34 page)

The next shot caught another man and dropped him in his tracks, temporarily drowning out the rapid chatter of the machine pistols. Swiveling, racking the slide again, Pike tried to pick up the third man, but the tango was in motion, plunging through the CS gas, disappearing into the white smoke.

Pike locked on the stairwell and started up.

Someone on the radio yelled, “I spotted the tangos! Visual confirmed on Yaqub on the southeast corner, third floor. Could not get the shot. There are at least four other men inside that room.”

“Close in,” Heath said calmly. “Keep it tight. Let’s shut them down.”

Pike fed extra shells into the shotgun as he ran up the stairwell. By the time he reached the first landing, eyes sweeping the stairs, the shotgun was fully loaded again.

At the second-floor landing, two tangos took up positions behind the railing and unlimbered their weapons. Bullets stitched the wall behind Pike. He didn’t break stride, twisting to bring the shotgun to bear and squeezing off three rounds.

One of the rounds missed the two men, going high and wide, but the next two were on target. Buckshot chewed through the flimsy railing and tore into the two tangos. One of the men fell backward and sat down against the wall, unmoving.

The other straightened and tried to run but only succeeded in falling over the railing, dropping immediately to the first floor and passing close enough to Pike that he could have reached out and touched the tango.

He fed more rounds into the shotgun, pushing himself forward and up, feeling the weight of his gear trying to hold him back. His
calves and thighs burned from the effort of sprinting up the stairs. He turned at the next landing, kept moving. Below, more gunshots sounded, letting him know the second team through the apartment building door had engaged the enemy as well.

Pike reached the third-floor landing, oriented himself in a heartbeat, and headed for the corner apartment.

HEARING THE GUNSHOTS
ringing in the streets below, Yaqub took his eyes from the binoculars and glanced down. American military vehicles flooded the streets, taking down the Afghan National Police standing guard over the operation. A few of the policemen engaged the Americans, but most quickly surrendered. Those who decided to resist the Americans did not last much longer, and they did not fare well.

Aware of the possibility of snipers lurking in the surrounding buildings, Yaqub pulled back from the window and drew his pistol. He looked at the man sitting at the laptop computer.

“Where are the planes?”

“They are beginning their final descent.”

“Good. Then we may still have our victory. Ready the weapons.” Yaqub stood to one side of the window, moved the curtain, and peered through. Holding the binoculars to his face, he studied the approaching planes.

The aircraft were Boeing C-17 Globemaster IIIs, each capable of transporting nearly eighty tons of cargo. From what Yaqub had learned, most of the deliveries were vehicles and heavy equipment to reoutfit the American effort. The attack today would not only deliver
a message written in blood but also destroy millions of dollars of American investment.

According to the figures on the laptop computer and the Afghan air controller who was working with them, the three C-17s were a little more than eleven kilometers out and closing quickly.

The Igla missile launcher system was good for five kilometers. The apartment building was a little over three kilometers from the airfield. There was precious little room for error.

Gunshots sounded out in the hallway, growing closer. Yaqub steeled himself and looked at four of the men at the back of the room. “Go. Kill whoever is coming toward us.”

The men readied their weapons, opened the door, and charged into the hallway.

Yaqub waved to Wali, who stepped to the window with one of the Igla launchers on his shoulder. Yaqub spoke over the cell phone connected to the other four fire teams. “Select your targets. You will fire on my signal.” Excitement burned through him as he watched the computer screen and saw the distance to the airfield rapidly shrink.

Wali shifted slightly as he held the launcher. “I have target lock ping.”

Watching through the binoculars, Yaqub studied the approaching planes. Their silver color reflecting the sunlight made them almost invisible in the blue sky.

Only two of the other teams declared that they had target lock as well. The remaining two were unable to secure the necessary ping to assure a hit. Knowing the Americans were closing in, that the men might not hold for long in the hallway, Yaqub realized he could wait no longer.

He glanced at the laptop, hoping the distance had shrunk to the acceptable five-kilometer mark. It hadn’t. The planes were still nine
kilometers out, but maybe that was close enough. He was out of time. “Fire!”

Wali triggered the launcher, and the missile filled the room with noise and flame and hot wind. Arcing through the air, the missile sailed over the surrounding buildings and shot toward its target.

From other buildings, two more missiles cleaved through the sky as well. Two more missiles leaped from the highway nearer the airport.

Faisal manned the phone that connected them to the Afghan air controller. He looked up at Yaqub. “Our contact says that the Americans have seen the missiles.”

“It does not matter. They cannot escape.” Yaqub watched through the binoculars, feeling his excitement growing. His father was doubtless dead by now, but he would have accounted for several of their enemies as well. Both of them had claimed a significant victory today.

A detonation flashed in the sky, well short of the airfield.

“The Americans have intercepted one of the missiles,” Faisal said.

A second detonation followed on the heels of Faisal’s words.

“They have taken out a second missile.”

Yaqub remained focused on the airfield, telling himself that his efforts would be rewarded, that his father had not died in vain.

Only a short time later, despite efforts at evasion, one of the C-17s became a roiling ball of orange-and-black flame. Another airplane lost a wing and began an erratic descent.

The destroyed C-17 hit the ground in a haze of black smoke spreading out from the debris that rained down on the countryside on the approach path to the airfield. The second plane managed to land on the tarmac but quickly skidded out of control and flipped over. Yaqub waited for the aircraft to explode, but he was disappointed. Still, one of the planes had been demolished, and the other had to have suffered tremendous damage.

It is enough to impress those who need to be impressed.

Yaqub grinned, feeling that God was with him. He lowered the binoculars. “Come. Now we must leave so that we can amass our army. Many will come to follow us now.” He sprinted to the next room.

In the adjoining room, a section of the flooring had been cut away, leaving a rough rectangular hole down into the apartment under it. In that apartment, a hole had also been cut, creating access to the first floor. A third hole had been cut to the underground utility tunnel.

Yaqub clambered over the side, hung from his fingertips for a moment, and dropped to the floor, then made for the second hole. By the time the Americans figured out his escape route, he would be long gone.

At the third-floor hallway, Pike spotted the men waiting ahead. He threw himself into the narrow cover of a doorway as he waved his team back. “Take cover!”

Bullets tore along the hallway, gouging holes in the wall and chewing up the floor.

Splinters ripped from the doorframe where Pike took up a position. A bullet glanced off the body armor covering his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. He grabbed a grenade from his ammo rack, pulled the pin, and yelled, “Fire in the hole!” He counted off two seconds and flipped the grenade down the hallway, hunkering back into the doorway with the shotgun raised vertically, waiting.

The explosion filled the hallway, and all the sound went away for a moment.

Pike whirled around the doorframe and leveled the shotgun. At the end of the hallway, four dead tangos lay sprawled across the floor. Pike sprinted toward the apartment door, fired a round into the lock, and kicked the entrance open, quickly dodging to the side.

When there was no return fire, Pike looked into the room. Smoke from the grenade poured in after him.

No one was there. Only a laptop and an Igla missile launcher remained.

“Heath,” Pike called into the radio as he strode into the smoke-filled room.

“Go, Pike.”

“I found the room Yaqub was supposed to be in. He’s gone.” Pike walked to the window and peered outside.

“He can’t be gone.”

“Have you got eyes on the building?” Pike knew it was a stupid question, but he couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

“Yes. Yaqub has to be there.”

“He’s not.” Pike spotted the adjoining room and found the hole cut into the floor. “He’s escaped.”

“How?”

Pike slung the shotgun over his shoulder and let himself down to the apartment below. “Cut the floor out of the room.”

“Then he’s still in the building.”

Pike dropped through to the first floor and peered down into the utility tunnel. “Negative. He made his way into the sewer under the building. I’m taking my team after him.”

“Roger that. Watch your six. I’ve got teams coming, and I’ll see if we can get blueprints on the access tunnels.”

Pike dropped into the utility tunnel and ripped away his gas mask because it interfered with his vision in the darkness. The stench of the sewer gagged him for a moment, and he breathed through his mouth to lessen the odor.

Stone-and-mortar walls stood rough and uneven, obviously older construction, not quite six feet tall. Pike had to crouch to move along the tunnel. He took his Maglite from his combat harness and turned
on the bright beam, trying to figure out which way Yaqub and his people had gone.

Wet footprints stood out on one of the ledges on either side of the sewer.

“East, Heath. Yaqub’s headed east. I’m in pursuit.” Pike took off running with his head ducked down, but his helmet still scraped along the low stone ceiling.

“Roger that. Watch yourself, Pike. I don’t want to lose any more people.”

Pike saved his breath for running. Twenty yards farther on, he spotted what looked like a pile of debris on the opposite ledge. His light gleamed off the wire strung across the tunnel.

Holding his team back around a curve in the tunnel, Pike aimed his shotgun at the pile of debris and pulled the trigger. The IED exploded immediately, either from contact with the buckshot or because of the trip wire.

With the sound of the detonation rolling over him, Pike resumed the chase, more watchful now and cursing the need to be. At an intersection, the wet footprints were fading but still visible.

They stopped at the bottom of metal steps that led up to a manhole cover that was just sliding into place.

“Heath.”

“Go, Pike.”

“I’m on top of them.” Pike halted, readied the shotgun, and climbed the three steps, hunkering down under the manhole cover with his left hand splayed against it. “Do you have my twenty?”

“Roger, Pike. Reading your GPS. We’re headed that way.”

Pike braced himself and shoved the manhole cover up and over. The thing weighed more than fifty pounds, but he cleared it with one shove. Above, a tango pointed an AK-47 down into the tunnel. Pike fired his shotgun and blew the man backward, racked the slide, and
climbed out of the manhole. He swept the street for more targets but found his immediate surroundings empty of civilians.

Fifty feet away, a black SUV rolled out of an alley and accelerated down the street.

“He’s got wheels, Heath. Black SUV heading west.” Desperately, Pike gazed around for some means to continue the pursuit.

“He’s headed back into the city. If he reaches the city, we’re going to have a hard time finding him again.”

“I’m working on it. What about a Predator strike?” Pike ran along the street, chasing the SUV and looking for a vehicle he could use.

“Even if I could call one in that quick, they can’t effectively target a moving vehicle. I’m coming, Pike.”

“Roger that.” Pike ran along a row of abandoned cars. Evidently the owners had taken cover in nearby buildings when the hostilities broke out.

None of the cars had keys in them.

Pike was considering hot-wiring one of them, but none of them looked capable of catching the SUV. Then, between a panel truck and a dented sedan, he spotted a motorcycle.

It was a Japanese make, set up for trail riding, and it was simple to hot-wire. Pike slung the shotgun, then righted the motorcycle, threw his leg over, and took out his knife. He bared the ignition wires and touched them together. Sparks flew and the engine caught. Feeling the familiar vibration of a motorcycle beneath him, Pike smiled.

He pulled in the clutch, kicked the gearshift into first, and twisted the throttle, easing off the clutch and picking up speed instantly. “I got wheels, Heath. I’m in pursuit.” He focused on the dirt cloud following the SUV nearly a quarter mile ahead of him.

“We’re almost there.”

Pike became part of the motorcycle, feeling that return to who
he had always been, fierce and reckless and free. He realized then that no matter what he gave himself to, no matter what unwanted responsibilities he took on, there would always be a part of him that was unbridled and wild. He couldn’t stop being who he had been, but he was more than that now.

The motor roared as he opened the motorcycle up. He raced through the rooster tail of dust the SUV left. In the vibrating mirrors, he just caught sight of a Humvee turning onto the street.

Reaching over his shoulder with his left hand, the motorcycle redlining as he pushed it to the limit, Pike unlimbered the shotgun and laid it on the handlebars. He stayed bent low over the motorcycle, eating dust but knowing that the debris was working for him too, helping him stay hidden.

One of the tangos in the back spotted Pike when he was fifty yards out. He turned and yelled for the driver. Yaqub sat in the passenger seat up front. A look of disbelief tightened the tango leader’s face.

By the time the driver started taking evasive action, Pike could almost have reached out and touched the SUV’s rear bumper. One of the tangos leaned out the window with his assault rifle.

Pike blasted the man. Shifting the shotgun to the SUV’s rear tire, Pike fired again.

The tire shredded immediately, ripping to pieces, and the SUV sagged, dropping to run on the rim. A shower of sparks mixed with the dust as the vehicle wove from side to side. Pike kept zipping forward, faster on the motorcycle than the SUV. Beside the driver’s door, he leveled the shotgun and fired again.

The window disappeared in a bloody rush, and the SUV floated out of control. Pike shot the front tire out as well and the vehicle swung violently to the left, narrowly missing him. In the next instant, the SUV turned sideways and flipped over and over, finally coming to a rest right-side up.