Rogue Faction Part 1 Read online

  This resulted in another pregnant pause, one that made Cyrus wonder if Thompson was still there. That was, until he heard the distinctive sound of an uncomfortable man taking a very deep breath and swallowing down a dry throat.

  Thompson just needed a minute to process all that was happening around him.

  While he waited, Cyrus hunkered down behind Sutter’s big black Escalade for cover. No one had opened fire from inside the aircraft yet, but it was only a matter of time. Hell only knew what sort of party favors were stocked away in the expanded cargo hold. Once Sutter’s soldiers realized how well armed they were, things would get messy very quickly. Cyrus hoped to preempt that situation with his radio call to the pilot.

  “Go ahead, Cyrus.” Thompson returned. “You’re on the ship wide COMM.”

  That meant it was Cyrus’s turn to take a steadying breath before keying the transmit button.

  “How’re we doing in there, guys?” he addressed the soldiers en masse. “If you would please direct your attention to the starboard windows, you will notice that the boss man is down for the count. He has been relieved of his command—”

  While Cyrus was talking, one of the more creative members of Sutter’s team took it upon himself to slip into the shadowed corner of the open fuselage door with a sniper rifle. It was a clever move, but the conditions weren’t dark enough to provide him proper cover. Plus, Cyrus had anticipated such a maneuver was coming.

  Even as he was continuing his address of the crew, Cyrus pulled his head back behind the Escalade and readied the M4. The sniper had a scope that gave him an advantage over the M4’s iron sights, but the scope had a distinct disadvantage as well in that it limited the shooter’s field of view. It was something Cyrus could use to his advantage.

  While the sniper lay prone in the shadows of the aircraft doorway, Cyrus slipped around to the rear of the SUV and readied his rifle with his free hand. At the last moment, he abruptly ceased his address of the crew, pulled the M4 tight to his shoulder, and peered around the quarter panel of the Escalade.

  Cyrus rested his shoulder against the SUV to steady the shot, and quickly brought his target into view though the peep sight. He heard a cry from inside the cabin of the aircraft. Spotters watching from windows had seen him and were trying to warn the sniper.

  They were too late. Cyrus squeezed the trigger. His rifle barked and the target slumped, even as the report echoed through the confines of the hangar bay.

  “As I was saying,” Cyrus continued as if nothing had happened. “You folks are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Should you refuse this right, you’re welcome to go up in a fiery blaze of senseless glory. The choice is yours. But, just so you can make a fully informed decision, I think it’s only fair to disclose the C4 charges currently distributed along the underside of your aircraft.”

  Cyrus went momentarily silent, giving everyone a chance to let the revelation sink in. “While you’re pondering that, I’d like to remind you fellas that you’re sitting on two tons of armaments at the moment. So, while fighting your way out might hold a certain appeal, please keep in mind that every bit of that shit is also incendiary. And since I know a few of you gentlemen are a little slow on the uptake, let me put that another way: You’re sitting on enough explosives that, should you piss me off, even DNA won’t be useful in identifying your remains.”

  Cyrus watched the doorway of the plane, but there was no further movement. He caught activity in the occasional passenger window, but that was to be expected. He’d given them a lot to think about and discuss.

  A rather cruel idea crossed his mind, and Cyrus couldn’t help himself. He tapped the transmit button once more. “You folks don’t have to give me a formal answer,” he prodded. “I’ll assume you’re willing to sit tight for the moment unless you show me otherwise. But if I see a single face appear in that doorway, smiling or otherwise, I’ll take that as your collective decision and send you all straight to Hell. Please don’t test me.” He was grinning—he just couldn’t help it.

  Setting the radio aside, Cyrus ejected the magazine from his rifle. There were two rounds left, plus one in the chamber. If they called his bluff, he would have to hold off what was left of a dozen heavily armed men with three shots and an empty 1911. He knew it was a hell of a gamble, and he had never considered himself a betting man.

  The radio chirped with static. “Okay,” Thompson said, from the other end of the radio. “I think you made your point when you blew up the little bald guy. We’re not moving. Just don’t blow us up too, okay?”

  Exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Cyrus chuckled. “That sounds fair to me,” he agreed.

  ————

  Kingston Waterfront

  11:20 pm

  The roar of the approaching ATV was unmistakable. The engine noise filled the confines of the tunnel; although he couldn’t yet see them, Kang knew that his pursuers were fast approaching. He smiled and flipped away the safety catch on the remote detonator. They wouldn’t arrive in time. The onslaught of water would kill them as surely as any bullet.

  Taking a deep breath through his regulator, Kang tapped the trigger button on the small remote and braced himself for the violent rush of water.

  But no explosion came, and no water resulted.

  Kang’s focus shot to the small remote in his hand. The small LED light was clearly visible in the green cast of his night vision headset. Likewise, he could see the light on the tiny receiver detonator attached to the roof of the tunnel only a few yards away. He tapped the trigger several times, rapidly as his pulse began to race. The light on the remote flashed with each tap, but there was no flicker from the light on the receiver.

  No!

  Kang didn’t know how or why the charge wasn’t working, but his well laid escape plan hinged on the rapid flooding of the tunnel. His pursuers were drawing nearer—judging by the sound, the ATVs were uncomfortably close. Movement was visible at the south end of the tunnel.

  Throwing the useless trigger away, Kang snatched the Glock from his waistband and chambered a round. The cargo netting containing his prize was secured to his left, providing him some cover against what was to come, but at what cost? The thermobaric compound had been secured for travel inside a steel case that was coated in a thick, buoyant, plastic polymer material that would keep it afloat. But would the material stop bullets? While a few well-placed rounds wouldn’t trigger the explosive, they could allow the liquid portion of the compound to leak out and become useless.

  Pressing his heels against the wall behind him, Kang arched his back for a better view around the box and its netting. The harness was tight, but it gave him just enough movement to swing his gun past the obstacle. He opened fire immediately.

  The moment Kang opened fire, so did his associate. The man was confined to a harness on the opposite side of the cargo net, so he suffered no obstructed view. He also had no cover. He would quickly fall to enemy fire if they couldn’t take down their pursuers with the utmost efficiency. Kang knew that no support would come from the man to his right. He’d already lost consciousness, if he wasn’t already dead.

  From the darkness came the source of the vicious growl: a lone ATV charging at them down the center of the tunnel. The machine had its headlight off—a necessity, Kang realized. Since both sides of this battle relied on night vision optics, neither could afford to be blinded by the limited usefulness of a single headlight. The machine kicked up a sizable wall of water as it bucked the two foot deep flooding and advanced in four-wheel-drive.

  Kang fired off an entire magazine in the time it took the machine to draw near. Ejecting the spent mag and slapping a fresh load home with practiced ease, he fired again while two thoughts crossed his mind for the first time. Why had no one returned fire? And why was there only one ATV attacking?

  The large Honda 4x4 swerved back and forth in the tunnel as it kicked up a wall of water with its wide front end. But even as it zigged and zagged, it did so
only with the slightest of adjustments. It was less like the rider was trying to avoid the gunfire, and more like he was fighting for control of the machine.

  The ATV continued its attack at a ceaseless pace until it smashed into the back of the ATV Kang had left parked beneath his ring of det cord. At the moment of impact, when the forward motion ceased and the wall of water abated, Kang saw there was no one on the driver’s seat. The engine roared unchecked as the 4x4 continued to buck and push against the parked machine as if it had a mission of its own.

  Kang’s brow furrowed as his eyes searched the tunnel to the south. Still, he saw nothing. A loud pop returned his attention to the Honda. The machine’s seat went spinning up into the air, apparently of its own accord. When the unmistakable form of what could only be a pair of grenades rolled from under where the seat had been, a curse caught in the Korean’s throat.

  Shouting as he fought with the restraints confining him to the harness, Kang’s words were lost to the sound of the ATV’s over revved engine and the crunching of plastic and metal as it fought for a way over or through the obstruction.

  Only one of the restraining buckles remained when the flash bang grenades detonated simultaneously. The phosphorescent blast of light and bone rattling explosion relegated to the tight confines of the tunnel were overpowering. The combination hit the Korean like a metaphoric freight train and sent him tumbling into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 6

  Undetermined Location

  11:49 pm

  The rustic countryside passed below, unseen by Greg Boone, as the Bell 412 helicopter charged through the night sky. He fought the urge to check his watch once more, knowing that it would do him no good. Nearly an hour overdue for his meeting with Cyrus and Aubin Sutter, his failure had put Cyrus in an unwinnable situation. Everything they knew about Sutter said that he wouldn’t suffer the delay with any degree of understanding. Though Boone now had Kang in custody and had control of the thermobaric compound, sadly, his last task of the night would be to retrieve Cyrus’s body from the meeting location.

  Boone’s side of the operation had suffered casualties, but they were losses he would deal with in time. Members of his field teams knew the risks and accepted them each time they went on assignment. Cyrus had known the risks as well as anyone, but somehow Boone knew he would suffer the death of the young agent more acutely than others he’d lost in the past. He’d recruited Cyrus and been responsible for every stage of his training. And though the kid had an innate talent for the work, Boone realized that it had been his failure that put Cyrus in a corner from which there was no escape.

  A voice in Boone’s headset jarred him from his self-recrimination. “Two minutes to the LZ, sir,” said the copilot.

  With a dry swallow, Boone looked to the three men who accompanied him. Team Three was entirely out of commission. One man was dead and two were severely wounded. The support team had moved in on the beach after he and Team Two left in pursuit of Kang. The unconscious body of Billy Higgs had been found adrift in the surf. Both Higgs and Hobbs had survived, but from what Boone had been told, both would be a long time in recovery.

  Kang’s tunnel escape had been stopped short by a thin margin. When the support team was clearing the beach, they’d discovered a selective frequency jammer hidden in Kang’s SUV. Rather than deactivate the unit, Boone had the device recalibrated to block all but Coalition frequencies. At the time, he’d hoped to prevent Kang from contacting whomever he might rendezvous with to make good his escape. The decision turned out to have lifesaving consequences when the jammer prevented Kang from triggering the charge he planned on using to flood the underground tunnel.

  Realizing that he and his men were about to become easy targets as they approached Kang’s position without defensive cover, Boone’s team rigged up one of their ATV’s as a Trojan horse. They used a pair of rifle straps to tie the handle bar grips to the rear cargo rack. That, and the fact that the machine was essentially running headlong down a wide pipe, made it easy to keep the unmanned machine on course. Binding the ATV thumb-throttle into a wide-open position had taken only a single zip-tie. Boone had only ridden the machine about forty feet—long enough to get the 4x4 into third gear and make sure its course would hold true. Then he bailed, watching the machine until it disappeared beyond the range of his night vision glasses.

  Murphy had rigged a small charge to the latch mechanism under the four-wheeler’s seat. They’d pulled the pin on flash bang grenades before wedging them under the seat. Once the machine reached its target, Murphy triggered the small charge and sent the seat flying. The flash bangs had detonated seconds later. The effect of the detonation in the confined space, and in such close proximity to Kang and his men, had been devastating. Kang and one of his men were rendered unconscious by the percussive blast. The remaining member of Kang’s team was pronounced dead at the scene, likely having succumbed shortly before Boone’s attack on Kang’s position.

  In the end, Boone had taken Kang without having to fire a shot. Sadly, it wouldn’t be enough to save Cyrus Cooper. Boone gnashed his teeth once more at the thought of his error, as the chopper set down on an open stretch of grass at the east end of Stoffer Airfield. Boone and his team piled out of the aircraft. He watched as the chopper lifted off seconds later and disappeared into the night. It wouldn’t return until he radioed the ‘all clear’.

  A black Chevy Suburban was waiting nearby. The team silently took up positions and the SUV pulled away without any of the four men uttering a word. A somber mood was shared by all. Everyone understood what they were here to do, and for as much as each man wanted to see this operation come to an end, Boone knew that none of them was in a hurry to address this last task.

  ————

  Stoffer Airfield

  11:56 pm

  The black Suburban pulled up to the ten-foot chain link fence that circled the aircraft hangar. The hangar was a massive arched structure—utilitarian, but modern and recently constructed. Boone slid from the back seat of the four-door vehicle and took a look at the building. They were still about fifty yards out. The gate had been left wide open and there were no guards in sight.

  These were not good signs.

  Stubbs slipped from the back seat, pulling his M4 and a compact MP5 along with him. The Chevy’s internal dome lights had been disabled prior to their arrival.

  Looking over his shoulder, Boone’s eyes met those of Stubbs. The man looked skeptical. He didn’t like the look of things either. Boone gave him a nod and Stubbs ducked inside the fence, sweeping right before disappearing into the darkness. Murphy and Jenson went through the gate, taking the left flank and vanishing just as quickly.

  Sitting in the passenger seat of the Chevy, Boone accepted the FLIR imaging unit Ryan passed him from the driver’s seat. The device would pick up heat sources inside the building and should make it easy to identify potential threats and targets.

  “Three, in position,” Stubbs reported over the COMM from somewhere in the darkness.

  “Four is good to go,” Murphy also responded.

  “Two is set,” Jenson radioed.

  With some trepidation, Boone activated the FLIR imager. He aimed the tiny lens through the windshield and panned it over the face of the aircraft hangar. Only two heat sources stood out. One was clearly a water heater; the other was the distinctive form of a man. At this, Boone’s heart sank. He knew his worst fears were becoming manifest. He’d hoped for multiple heat signatures. It would’ve indicated that Sutter and his men were still on site. If only one warm body was present, it was surely a dire sign. Sutter was long gone.

  What if this signature is Cyrus?

  It was as illogical as it was unlikely. Sutter wouldn’t leave Cyrus behind unless the kid was dead.

  But then who would the last heat signature be? Airport security? Why would Sutter leave anyone behind?

  Boone wasn’t leaving until he knew for sure.

  Just before he pulled the imaging lens down from t
he dashboard, he realized there was another unusual reading. The device showed human body heat temperatures in a distinctive red color. Cold zones were displayed in shades of gray. Anything between black and white was some sort of ambient thermal rating. Temperatures of 60°F or above would take on a subtle yellow color and grow redder from there. So, the orange amorphous blob registering on the north wall was a mystery. It was a shade of orange that was fluctuating constantly. Boone couldn’t tell what he was seeing. It was large, oddly shaped, and indistinct.

  And the fluctuation?

  Then it clicked…

  Fire—or fire damage!

  Tapping his earpiece, Boone reported the unusual discovery. “I register one warm body. We can’t be sure if it’s a tango or a friendly, so let’s use caution in there, boys.”

  Ryan closed the case on the FLIR device, and tossed it over his shoulder into the back seat. Facing forward, he dropped the gear select into ‘drive’ and slowly advanced through the perimeter gate.

  As they approached the front of the hangar, Boone knew that Jenson, Murphy, and Stubbs would be doing the same on foot, moving in from the flanks. The fact that no one had greeted them confirmed what he already knew. They were alone here. Alone, except for the one mystery body inside the hangar.

  Stopping the SUV twenty yards shy of a service entrance set beside the massive overhead hangar door, Boone was surprised to find the smaller door standing wide open. Why not, he supposed. The gate had been open as well.

  Chapter 7

  Stoffer Airfield

  12:03 am

  Boone had his gun drawn, as he slipped through the door and into the hangar. The lighting was poor, but not so bad that he needed his night vision gear. Somewhere in the distance music played, but he couldn’t make out the tune. Only a few of the overhead lights were in use. They were at the far end of the hanger, shining brightly upon the glaring white body of an Airbus A319.