Son of Cerberus (The Unusual Operations Division Book 2) (16 page)

Instead he was sitting in a damp cave with three dead men and many more live ones, contemplating how they were going to take their village back from the rebels. The few prisoners that Marcus had managed to save went out and saved even more from nearby groups. They had slain another ten men and now stood at twenty strong.

The fact that the men who had been imprisoned knew the area worked to their advantage. Within just a half hour, they had managed to sneak up to and kill quite a few bad guys. Marcus didn’t feel bad for the ones being killed—he had witnessed what these monsters were capable of firsthand.

“You’ve got enough firepower here to take the village,” Marcus said, motioning to the seven AK47s, the truck-mounted machine gun, and various other weapons they had found. “You’re going to need a plan, though. That plan should involve not getting killed.”

“Marcus,” Jahar said happily, patting his new friend on the back. “We will not die. We are all well trained ex-military. The only reason we did not fight back is because we do not house enough weapons in the village. Those are kept at the guardhouses, which were riddled with holes. We are miners and we are paid well for what we do.”

“I understand,” Marcus said, accepting Jahar’s friendship wholeheartedly. “I feel as if I should be helping you fight, though.”

“This is not your fight,” Jahar said happily. “Besides, you have done enough in freeing us from our captors. It is our turn to help you. You will get to your vehicle and go home. We will fight for our village, our country, and our mines. You tell Mister Frederickson if he ever wants his mines back, he had better come himself.”

Marcus was proud of Jahar for sticking up for what he believed in. If it were up to Marcus, they would all pile into as few trucks as they could and hit the road. Unfortunately, the locals were hell bent on taking back what belonged to them. It meant they might die in the process, but after losing so much they undoubtedly cared very little.

After deliberation, they were able to come up with a tentative plan. Between the weapons the natives had and Marcus’s ability to plan the logistics of the counter offensive, he felt pretty sure they would stand a chance. Besides, Marcus really needed to get to a radio and highly doubted he would be the deciding factor in whether or not the locals would win this war.

“I’ll be taking three men with me,” Marcus said aloud. “Those men need to be the best shots out of all of you. We’re going to conduct a maneuver called the
flank
on the men who have taken over your village. The majority of you will be shooting through the trees, directing the attention of the village toward you. The rest of you will wait until the shooting starts before you can begin picking individuals off. This is going to box them in. They will have nowhere to run but into the river.”

“How are you sure this will work?” one man asked from somewhere in the back of the handful of men. “You do not know what sort of weapons they hold.”

“True,” Marcus said. “If they have more weapons than you, they might win. That being said, you’re going to be hidden and take advantage of the surprise. Stay low and don’t get killed.”

No one had any objections to Marcus’s plan. They were going to take their village back if it was the last thing they ever did. The voices of the men had been that of mourning for their children, women, and brothers. They were nothing short of vengeful.

Knowing more of their family would die meant nothing to them at this point.

The group started out once they had plenty of supplies. Marcus made sure to lead a string of six riflemen down the flank before positioning them. Looking back once more, he quickly moved off with the other three sharpshooters. The signal was simply to start shooting before everyone attacked, but Marcus had given them a time limit of twenty minutes before starting the assault. That would ensure all elements of the attack would have enough time to get into position.

Once the men in the village started running, Marcus was sure there would be no mercy from those who had lost their loved ones.

Marcus got the rebels into approximately the same position he had been in before moving toward what he had thought was the low-walled well. The bodies of the drivers and Stewart had been moved. Only bloodstained dirt remained in their place. Marcus wondered whether or not Stewart had just been thrown down the well with the rest of the villagers. He desperately hoped none of his friends had joined Stewart in death.

They had a good view of everything that was going on in the village. The sun was starting to sink lower in the horizon casting long shadows, but there was more than enough light for Marcus to see the twenty or so men roaming between buildings. They were well equipped, far more so than the villagers currently were, yet Marcus knew his plan would go off without a hitch.

A shot rang out in the distance signaling the beginning of the onslaught. Marcus counted five more before the rebels started reacting, quickly dodging toward the nearest buildings or running headlong toward the sounds. He didn’t tell the three riflemen with him to hold their fire—they sat patiently like hunters, waiting for the perfect shot.

More bangs started filling the air and Marcus knew this was his time to escape. He patted the men on the shoulders and wished them well before darting off through the trees as low as he could. He wasn’t twenty steps into the foliage before he heard the men nearest to him start taking lives.

None of the UOD team members were lying dead beneath the high trees yet, which made Marcus happy. He could see where rounds had impacted trees and something much larger had scorched a streak through the foliage. His hopes climbed with every step back toward his semi-hidden trucks. He tried to remember he wasn’t out of the worst of the journey until he was on a plane back to the United States, but that didn’t stop him from grinning ear-to-ear.

The trucks that they had come in on were still parked as they had been, halfway off the road and into the thick bushes. He found them quickly, running as he had been. A quick scan of the area told him that there were no guards, or rebels, or teammates nearby. Another good sign was that most of the equipment was still intact, just as it had been when the team had left it.

Marcus chanced a quick look around to make sure he wasn’t being followed before opening the truck and diving in. There inside was a radio, laying quietly as it had been since the team had taken off. Thankfully, it had remained both in the vehicle and in the off position, conserving energy and ensuring the battery was fully charged.

The sound of gunfire in the distance was partially drowned out inside the vehicle, leaving his ears open for other sounds. One sound he had not anticipated immediately caught his ears. Somewhere back down the road toward the village, a vehicle was making its way toward him.

Marcus cursed his luck and snatched one of the weapons he had. The pistol would offer little defense against a truckload of armed-to-the-teeth rebels, but he wasn’t about to lie down and die.

A noisy vehicle rounded the corner, flying quickly as if the men inside were being pursued. Marcus hoped the men
were
being chased and would soon be captured, yet he didn’t intend on being involved in any way. Instead, he hid low in the cab of his truck and waited for the vehicle to pass him by. With just his eyes over the dashboard, there was no way anyone driving that quickly would notice him.

The dying light reflected first off the windshield before it bounced quickly over the spectacles of the blond man inside. Marcus felt a sudden confusion overtake him at the sight of someone he had spent the better part of the last two days with. There was no mistaking the smirk of the man driving the big truck at breakneck speeds.

Either Stewart, the supposedly dead man who had brought them to this village, had an identical twin, or the dead man was not dead after all.

Ignoring the voice inside of him that said others might be following close behind meant he was taking a chance. The fact that others might escape their methodically planned ambush was negligible. Marcus started the truck and flipped it around in hot pursuit of the man he thought he had seen, knowing now that Stewart held all the answers.

An eerie feeling followed the truck. For just a moment, Marcus blinked the sunlight from his eyes as he tried to determine what it was. A sudden shadow consumed the land before him, turning everything a deep shade of red.

Marcus couldn’t quell the fear he felt, ripping at his insides. For a brief moment, he wanted to run and hide, cower at the red-tinted cloud.

Then he knew—one of those boxes were being used in the town behind him. He cursed, confident he could do nothing about such a turn of events. Without a second thought, Marcus decided the only thing he could do was to help his friends.

He floored the pedal and exited whatever influence he had been under in a matter of very short seconds.

The first bump in the road he went over flipped the radio up into the air and onto the dashboard. Marcus steered himself into the center of the road and grabbed the radio, all the while pushing the pedal as far into the floorboards as it would go. His reckless driving was doing nothing to catch up to the man he was pursuing—Stewart had much more time invested in the area.

As an afterthought, Marcus flipped the radio on and listened to what might be transpiring with his colleagues. It had been hours since he had made any contact whatsoever. Perhaps his team and the high flying spy plane might be able to help him in his efforts to stop Stewart.

“This is agent Marcus,” he announced, pressing the radio up to his mouth. “Anyone out there?”

“Marcus?” Phillip’s voice was like honey after so long without contact. “Damn it’s good to hear from you. We saw you fall down into some hole and figured you were dead. I guess we can blame what’s going on in the town on you. Were you part of this insurgency?”

“Me?” Marcus questioned playfully. “Never. Listen, I need some help. I’m pursuing a guy that looks strangely like our tour guide Stewart. He’s making good time on me and I was wondering if you can get me a shortcut.”

“No can do,” Gregory’s booming voice came across the radio. “You’ve got four teammates that need a ride—one is in pretty bad condition. Whoever you’re pursuing or
think
you’re pursuing has to wait. Got it?”

Marcus heard the worry in the man who seemed as unshakable as a mountain. He immediately pulled his foot off the accelerator and slowed his pursuit, knowing full well this might be the only opportunity he ever got to catch the traitor Stewart. The questions swirling through his head would have to wait, which made him a very grumpy man.

“Where am I going?”

“You’re almost there, actually,” Gregory said, calming down significantly. “The group is up ahead on your left. I’m sure they’ve been tracking this conversation and will rendezvous with you as you come up the road. Pick them up and get out of that goddamn country as quick as you can. Make sure to tell Henry to hang in there for me.”

“Henry?” Marcus muttered. “What happened to Henry?”

“He nearly drowned,” Cynthia yelled, cutting in between the two and their banter. “He was swept halfway down the river and he almost didn’t make it. It was dumb luck that we got to him as quickly as we did and managed to save him.”

“The old bastard isn’t dead?”

“I didn’t say he died,” Cynthia retorted. “I said he nearly drowned.”

“Is he breathing okay?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said, relieved. “He’s breathing, but Stephen has him over his shoulders and he has no choice with all the bouncing he’s doing up there.”

Marcus laughed, relieved all of them had made it out alive. Though they weren’t out of the woods yet, he had a good feeling that they would make it out of the country as a team of live individuals. It would only be the first leg in their journey, he figured, seeing as how they had not been able to investigate the box or the unique gems in this area of the world. Now he fully intended to track down the once-dead Stewart to give him the beating of a lifetime, not to mention his supposed employer Lambert.

Lambert would be as concerned as Marcus, he was sure. After all, the old man had helped them save a woman from being slaughtered and deterred what could have been the end of the world. Though there was no definitive proof that anything outside of the cave they had been in might have been affected, Marcus was a firm believer they had saved a large amount of the population.

The three men and one woman emerged from the forest ahead like wet cats running from a dog. Marcus slammed on the brakes and skidded sideways so that he didn’t run them over. The mix of emotions ranging from happiness to frustration overtook him and he was immediately out of the vehicle. There was no time for congratulations though. Being the trained expert that Marcus was, he took up a position covering his friends with a small carbine while they got inside.

Henry looked bad. He was pale and coughing loudly. Their clothing was ripped and wet and despite the warm air and the long hike Cynthia looked like she might be cold. David piled into the truck without saying a word and Cynthia jumped in the passenger seat. Henry and Stephen would have to sit in the bed of the truck, seeing as how Henry would need to lie down anyway.

Stephen plopped Henry down with ease and turned on Marcus immediately. Without an explanation, he grabbed Marcus and gave him a bear hug that came as an unexpected surprise. Never in his career had Marcus been embraced by Stephen like this. It felt good.