Rogue Faction Part 1 Read online

  Sliding from the left side of his ATV, Boone pulled the rifle from his back and took a knee in the water. The muzzle of his M4 covered the distant darkness to their twelve o’clock. Murphy took his cue and slipped into position on the right side of Boone’s quad. His knee sunk into the stagnant swamp water with barely a thought, as he pointed his own rifle down the tunnel.

  “What did I miss?” Murphy asked. “I must’ve lost my earbud when I dropped into the tunnel.”

  Boone’s answer came as a whisper. He never removed his gaze from the distant darkness. “Control says there’s a fork up ahead. You can bet Kang knows we’re onto him. We sound like we’re riding jet skis up this goddamn pipe.”

  “You’re thinking ambush?”

  That brought a grim nod from Boone. “It’s what I would do. Plus, Control says it’s another mile before this system reaches a gap large enough for a man to crawl out of. We have a team there now and Kang hasn’t shown.”

  Murphy understood. Kang would likely make his stand. “He’s got to know that we’ll have people waiting for him when he surfaces. There’s no getting away now. Why would he—”

  Boone held up a hand to silence Murphy’s whisper. He was receiving another transmission through his earbud. When Boone’s eyes widened and turned to the tunnel roof directly over their heads, Murphy knew they were in trouble.

  Boone spoke through clenched teeth, this time in less of a whisper. “Apparently, we’re now right underneath one of the smaller costal inlets.”

  His eyes following Boone’s gaze to the ceiling, Murphy’s hand instinctively sought the fanny pack strapped to his waist. He was the team’s demolitions expert, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew what was coming next. “Kang doesn’t plan on taking this tunnel to the end of the line, does he?” he grumbled.

  “Would you?” Boone quipped.

  Murphy sensed Ryan silently behind him. His M4 was leveled across the fender of the ATV, and he’d been staring into the darkness throughout the entire conversation. From the look in his eyes, he hadn’t heard what was said.

  Murphy read the question in Ryan’s eyes, and responded. “He said Kang’s going to flood the tunnel and drown us like rats.”

  His eyes narrowed at the thought, but Ryan said nothing. He looked back over his shoulder for a long second and then back to Murphy. Ryan spat the wad of chew from his mouth. “I never liked water park rides. What’s the plan?”

  With a grin, Murphy turned back to Boone. He could see the wheels working behind the boss’s eyes and hoped he had a trick up his sleeve.

  ————

  Kingston Waterfront

  11:17 pm

  Standing on the rear cargo rack of his Honda ATV, Kang Woo-jin secured the last strip of narrow det cord and completed the irregularly shaped circle on the ceiling of the tunnel. The loop was about an inch wide and six feet in diameter. The detonator snapped into place straddling the cordlike material. He knew he was being pursued, but once the charge was triggered, millions of gallons of seawater would flood the tunnel and bring an end to those giving chase.

  Jumping from the ATV and landing with a splash in the knee-deep water, Kang adjusted his night vision headset to check on the progress of his men. His equipment was the more conventional, bulky design with a two-inch lens protruding from the front of goggles. Everything he saw was cast in shapely contrasted shades of iridescent green. One of his men had taken shrapnel when Kang set off the satchel charge on the beach. The fool knew the plan; he just hadn’t been fast enough on his feet. Now he was losing blood at an alarming rate and was guaranteed not to survive the next stage.

  When Kang left his SUV to meet the delivery team on the beach, he didn’t know about the sting operation, but he’d been prepared for an ambush just the same. The satchel he carried with him to the water’s edge had contained the agreed upon two million dollars in bearer bonds, as well as his contingency plan—a kilogram brick of Semtex.

  The trap was sprung the moment Kang and his two men stepped within twenty feet of the team that had arrived on the zodiacs. Kang wasted no time. He threw the satchel to the member of the delivery crew who stood furthest from him, and snatched the cooler sized box from the hands of the couriers. He’d then flung himself to the ground and triggered the charge inside the satchel. SWAT team members had already been sweeping across the beach from the south. When the charge detonated, it nearly vaporized the man who was holding it, but it was the payload of ball bearings that killed the remainder of the landing party. At least one of the SWAT members had been killed in the blast, and Kang had seen two more SWAT members knocked out into the surf before he’d managed to find his feet and make for the tree line.

  Stashing the three all-terrain vehicles in the brush had been a gamble that had paid dividends. There’d been a chance of some backwoods hillbilly finding the machines prior to the exchange, but the simple camouflage nets had proven effective.

  After setting off the charge, Kang and his two men had made for the tree line and retrieved the four-wheelers. From there, it had been only a short ride to the hatch where they gained access to the underground tunnel. Three more ATVs were waiting for them inside the passage. After that, they’d made good time. The most dangerous portion of the backup plan was only moments away, but Kang felt confident that his adversaries wouldn’t see his dodge coming. They would expect him to exit the tunnels at the first junction either north or south of where he’d entered the system.

  “Are the restraints secure?” Kang asked his man in their Korean tongue.

  “I am fastening the cargo netting now,” the man replied over his shoulder as he worked. He was linking a thick mesh of nylon webbing to steel eyelets that were anchored deep into the concrete wall.

  Kang’s view shifted to his wounded man. The short Korean was young, in his mid-twenties at most. Though his night vision didn’t afford a view that included color, Kang could see the young man’s lower chest and abdomen were wet with a fluid much darker than the water that had splashed over every inch of him. He was bleeding out. In fact, Kang wasn’t sure how the boy had remained upright this long.

  “You should have been faster on your feet, my friend,” Kang said. “Let me help you into your harness. We will get you out of here and then find you some help.”

  Kang led the young man to the tunnel wall where a five-point harness had been bolted to the concrete just like the cargo netting. A buzzing could be heard in the distance, and Kang looked to the south in search of the source of the noise. He saw the uncertain look on the face of his healthy subordinate.

  “Don’t worry,” Kang said. “Their pursuit was a foregone conclusion. Just secure the box and strap yourself into your harness. I can’t get the device out of here without you.”

  The man nodded and went to work as instructed. Kang turned back to the wounded boy who was trying to pull the first of the restraining straps into the buckle. “Allow me,” Kang said. His hands moved quickly, buckling three fasteners to hold the man in place.

  As soon as the last buckle latched, Kang saw the boy’s weight sag against the harness. His eyes were rolling listlessly, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Kang pulled the Velcro flap back on the small pouch that was sewn into the harness, and freed a long tube with a breathing regulator on the end. He slipped the device into the injured man’s mouth and pressed the button on the side of it. The hiss of flowing oxygen was unmistakable. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Kang ensured that the healthy man was still busy with the task at hand before deftly releasing the carabineer on three of the four lag bolts securing the harness of the injured man to the wall. His death would be more merciful this way.

  The distant buzzing sound was growing more distinct. Kang could make it out clearly now—the sound of approaching ATVs. His ATVs. How they’d gotten them into the tunnel was anyone’s guess, but he was impressed. After hearing the detonation of the charge he’d left behind on the tunnel entrance, he’d dared to hope that the pursuing force had been co
mpletely eliminated. The explosion had been larger than expected after all, giving him added hope the napalm gel had done a number on the pursuing force. He flipped the power switch on the detonator in his hand, and smiled. It wouldn’t matter in the end. If the bomb hadn’t gotten them, the water would.

  Seeing that his prize was secure in the cargo netting bolted to the wall at his side, it took Kang only seconds to strap himself into his harness. His subordinate was already secure. It would take only a second to trigger the det cord on the tunnel ceiling, and it wouldn’t take much longer to flood the tunnel for a mile in each direction.

  Kang was just slipping the regulator into his mouth when he realized that the buzz of approaching ATVs had ceased. His eyes narrowed through the goggles as he leaned around the cargo net. Peering into the darkness, he searched for his enemy.

  Chapter 5

  Stoffer Airfield

  11:09 pm

  Having been relieved of his gun was the least of Cyrus’s problems. From the looks of things, the plane would be ready for takeoff at any moment. The copilot had completed his external examination of the aircraft only a moment ago, cursory as it was. Eartzie was the key. Cyrus needed to keep Sutter’s attention on the bomb maker. It was his motivation for relentlessly needling Sutter regarding his decision to team up with the madman.

  “I’m not kidding,” Cyrus continued. “You haven’t noticed the little guy’s facial tick? He’s getting worse. Now his bomb doesn’t even arm properly? What more proof do you need?”

  As Sutter fixed him with a penetrating stare, Cyrus knew he was never going to turn one psycho against the other. That was fine. Glancing back at Eartzie, he was fairly certain he only needed another few seconds.

  Sutter’s gaze followed that of Cyrus and fell back on Eartzie who was squatting down along the wall a hundred yards away on the far end of the hangar. There was a sudden violent flash of light, and Eartzie simply ceased to exist. Even before the deafening sound of the explosion reached Cyrus’s ears, the man had disintegrated into a cloud of red mist.

  The explosion caught everyone off guard—everyone except Cyrus. He’d worked hard devising a way to outsmart the mad bomber at his own game. So when the detonation took place, he was already in motion.

  Putting all of his energy into a violent spin to his right, Cyrus felt the rifle muzzle slip away from the left side of his back. He shoved out with his right hand and knocked aside the remaining gun. At the same time, he swept wide with his right leg, knocking the feet from beneath one of the two guards. As the man went down, Cyrus effortlessly snatched the M4 carbine from his failing grip and fired point blank into the torso of the last guard standing.

  Jumping back and swinging the butt of the rifle, Cyrus heard the unmistakable sound of crushing cartilage as the stock connected with the nose of Aubin Sutter. Sutter had his Colt 1911 halfway from the holster when he took the blow to the face. The impact sent the Colt skittering across concrete, as Sutter’s legs folded and he dropped to his backside—his eyes glassy and stunned.

  One immediate threat remained; the guard Cyrus had knocked to the floor.

  Showing amazing dexterity and economy of motion, Cyrus took a wide swinging step to his left and brought the rifle to bear. Two shots rang out through the hangar as both bullets found their mark in the guard’s heart. The guard had his handgun free from his holster, but had only just begun to raise it in Cyrus’s general direction when death came for him.

  Shouts erupted from the fuselage of the Airbus A319. Sutter still had a dozen men, each well trained and even more well-armed. Cyrus didn’t like those odds, so when the first soldier arrived in the doorway of the aircraft, he didn’t waste time with a warning shot—he hit the man with a double tap to the chest. As the dead body tumbled to the base of the mobile staircase, Cyrus could see the churning mass of additional soldiers struggling to move away from the aircraft door, already seeking cover further inside the plane.

  The soldiers were held back for the moment, but it wouldn’t last. They would realize they could fire on him from inside the aircraft soon enough. He didn’t have much time.

  “You sonofabitch!” Sutter snarled from his position on the floor. Blood was pouring from his nose and had already covered the lower portion of his face, drenching him to his collar. “I’ll kill you for—”

  Taking the weight of the rifle in his left hand, Cyrus lashed out with his right fist to deliver a devastating blow to the center of Sutter’s face. There was a loud snap; blood splattered in all directions. This was followed by a hollow ‘thump’ when Sutter’s head bounced off the concrete a half second after he collapsed onto his back. His eyes rolled slowly around while he struggled to hold onto consciousness.

  With a sharp shake of his wrist, Cyrus flung what he could of Sutter’s excess blood from his hand and onto the floor. What remained, he quickly wiped on the leg of his jeans. Hearing more noise from inside the aircraft, he quickly pulled the rifle to his shoulder and peppered the empty doorway with a series of rounds.

  That should keep them pinned down for another minute.

  Unfortunately, he needed a more long-term solution.

  He found the answer to his problem when he glanced at Sutter sprawled out a few feet away. It took another second to find a way to reduce some of the variables. When he was done, he had the makings of a solid, if somewhat messy, plan.

  Cyrus retrieved Sutter’s discarded Colt 1911 from the floor a few feet away. It was lying amidst about a dozen loose ball bearings that had managed to roll from the far end of the hangar. They were still coated in a fine layer of Eartzie. Cyrus cringed, then pulled the M4 rifle strap over his shoulder and secured it behind his back. Racking the slide of the 1911, the round that had been in the chamber ejected and leapt into the air. He caught the unfired round in what looked like a well-practiced maneuver. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find there had already been a round in the chamber.

  Standing over Sutter’s semiconscious form, Cyrus considered the bullet in his hand. It had a wide copper casing and was capped with a full metal jacket, Teflon tipped solid point slug. He finally tossed the .45 caliber round down where the heavy live round impacted audibly with Sutter’s chest. “I’ve got to say,” Cyrus said with amusement. “You’re going to wish you’d gone with something smaller, like a 9mm.”

  With that, he fired a shot into the meaty portion of Sutter’s right thigh. This brought the man instantly back to consciousness. His eyes flared wide as he gasped in shock and struggled to pull himself into a sitting position.

  Sutter choked in anguish, and he looked livid. But when Cyrus glanced in Sutter’s eyes, he didn’t see an opponent who was out of the fight. The goal here was to reduce the number of threats, not escalate things. He needed to take him down another notch.

  Directing his attention back to the plane, Cyrus saw a face and a gun barrel appear in the corner of the aircraft doorway. Cyrus responded by raising the 1911 and firing off three quick shots. He paused before following with two more rounds. All five slugs had made solid impacts within the entrance of the aircraft. He hadn’t been trying to hit anyone this time, but needed to keep everyone pinned down so he could get moving.

  Looking back at Sutter, Cyrus fired one more round, this time into the man’s left foot.

  With Sutter now screaming like a wounded animal, Cyrus finally saw what he needed in Sutter’s face. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought the pain. Blood flowed freely from his leg and foot, but since Cyrus had been careful to avoid his femoral artery, Sutter wouldn’t immediately bleed out.

  Pulling the belt from around his waist, Cyrus tossed it to the injured man. “If you want to live, you’d better tie off both legs,” he warned.

  Sutter set about using the belt as a tourniquet for his leg wound. When he was done with that, Cyrus knew he would need to use his own belt on the other leg to stem the flow of blood from the foot on the opposite side. For the remainder of the operation, Sutter would be too busy maintaining the
tourniquets to cause any additional grief.

  That left the dozen soldiers on the Airbus.

  The 1911 was empty, its slide locked open following the last shot. Cyrus flipped the release and let the chamber slam shut before holstering it in the back of his jeans. He pulled the M4’s strap free from his shoulder and once again peppered the doorway of the aircraft with rounds, targeting a wider area for good measure this time. The thin skin of the fuselage surrounding the door would do nothing to stop the rounds, and it would force the gutsier members of Sutter’s crew to reevaluate the foolish plans they were no doubt in the process of making.

  Snatching Sutter’s discarded handheld radio from the ground where it had fallen, Cyrus tapped the transmit button. “Thompson, this is Cyrus. Do you read?”

  The passing seconds seemed like an eternity. Then, Cyrus noticed movement through the cockpit window.

  “This is Thompson.” His voice was shaky, and Cyrus couldn’t blame him. “What the hell’s going on out there Cyrus? Did you just shoot the boss?”

  “Sure did,” Cyrus said. He couldn’t suppress his smile. “Tell me you haven’t had the urge to shoot the arrogant bastard a time or two?”

  This brought another awkward silence.

  “Maybe once or twice,” Thompson finally admitted. “But civilized people don’t do stuff like that, Cyrus. Are you feeling alright, man?”

  The circumstances nearly made Cyrus laugh. He knew Thompson to be a pretty decent guy. He figured that Cyrus had lost his mind and just started shooting. His concern would’ve been touching had he not been working for one of the world’s most notorious arms dealers.

  Cyrus settled for shaking his head. Someone like Thompson should be running a Walmart, not flying aircraft for a gunrunner. What sort of twisted wrong turns in life had brought someone like him to this strange crossroads?

  “Do me a favor, Thompson?” Cyrus asked. “Could you put me on the aircraft wide intercom? Your boys are in a lot of trouble right now. I think it’s only fair to explain the situation before they do something they’ll regret.”