The Four Corners of the Earth

CHAPTER EIGHT

The race continued, but now the odds were drawing in. As Drake and Alicia, in front, broke cover and headed inland, careful to keep the farmhouse between them and their pursuers, the Mossad team finally emerged from the forest. Clad all in black and with face masks, they came low and cautious, guns up and firing. Mai and Smyth quickly fell behind the cover of the farmhouse. Hayden sprinted forward.

“Move!”

Drake fought the instinct to stand and fight; Dahl to his left clearly fought it too. Normally they battled and outwitted their opponents — sometimes it was down to brute force and numbers. But often it was down to the numb-headedness of their opponents. Most paid mercenaries were slow and dull-witted, relying on their size, ferocity and lack of morals to get the job done.

Not today.

Drake was acutely aware of the need to protect the prize. Dahl carried the box and kept it as protected as it was ever going to be. Yorgi now ranged ahead, sampling the ground and trying to find the paths with the most cover. They traversed a hilly field and then dropped through a small, sparse stand of trees. The Israelis stopped their fire for a period, perhaps sensing other teams and not wanting to broadcast their position.

Many tactics were now on display.

But, for Drake, Alicia summed it up best. “For fuck’s sake, Yogi. Get your Russkie head down and run!”

Lauren was tracking their progress by GPS and announced the plan B rendezvous was just over the next horizon.

Drake breathed a little easier. The stand of trees ended and Yorgi led the way up a slight hill, Kinimaka hot on his heels. The Hawaiian’s trousers were caked in mud where he’d fallen — three times. Alicia glanced across at Mai, moving nimbly between folds in the ground.

“Friggin’ Sprite. Looks like a spring lamb gamboling along.”

“Everything she does, she does it well,” Drake agreed.

Alicia skidded in shale, but managed to keep her stride. “We all do it well.”

“Yeah, but some of us look more like goats.”

Alicia raised her weapon. “Hope you don’t mean me, Drakey.” Her voice held a note of warning.

“Oh, of course not, dear. Obviously, I meant the Swede.”

“Dear?”

Shots rang out from behind, cutting Dahl’s retort off before it even began. Experience told Drake the shots were not meant for them, and consisted of two different notes. Mossad were engaging with either the Russians or the Swedes.

The Swedes probably, he thought, ran headlong into Mossad.

He couldn’t help the private chuckle.

Dahl glanced over as if sensing the outrage. Drake offered innocent eyes. They crested the minor hill and slipped down the other side.

“Transport incoming,” Lauren said.

“There!” Hayden pointed to the skies, far away, where a black speck moved. Drake viewed the area and dragged Yorgi down just as a bullet skimmed its way over the top of the hill. Someone had suddenly become more interested in them.

“Into the valley,” Kinimaka said. “If we can reach that set of trees…”

The team readied for the final sprint. Drake glanced again at the oncoming speck. For a second he thought he might be seeing a shadow, but then saw the truth.

“Um, people, that’s another chopper.”

Kinimaka stared hard. “Crap.”

“And there.” Mai pointed to the left, high toward a bank of clouds. “A third.”

“Lauren,” Hayden said urgently. “Lauren, talk to us!”

“Just getting confirmation.” The calm voice came back. “You have the Chinese and the Brits in the air. Russia, Swedes and Israelis on the ground. Look, I’m gonna patch you into the chatter now so you can get first time information. Some of it’s crap, but anything could be valuable.”

“The French?” Kinimaka wondered for some reason.

“Nothing,” Lauren said.

“Good job they’re not all like Beau,” Alicia said with a twist of bitterness and melancholy. “The French, I mean. The guy was a traitor, but damn good at his job.”

Dahl screwed his face up. “If they’re like Beau,” he said quietly. “They could already be here.”

Alicia blinked at that, studying the nearby mounds of dirt. Nothing moved.

“We’re surrounded,” Hayden said.

“Special Forces teams to all sides,” Drake agreed. “Rats in a trap.”

“Speak for yourself.” Mai evaluated everything quickly. “Take two minutes. Memorize what’s inside that box as best you can.” She raised her hands. “Do it.”

Drake caught the gist of it. The box, at the end of the day, wasn’t worth their lives. If things got really tight and the friendlier team overcame them, giving up the box might just save their lives. Dahl flipped the lid open as the team walked straight toward the oncoming choppers.

He handed sheaves of paper all around.

“Whoa, this is weird,” Alicia said.

Kenzie shuffled several sheets. “Walking into a fight whilst reading a thirty to fifty-year-old document written by Nazis and hidden in Hannibal Barca’s grave? What’s weird about that?”

Drake tried to commit the passages to memory. “She has a point. Par for the course for SPEAR.”

High altitude research project, he read. Initially created with the goal of studying the ballistics of re-entry at lesser cost. Instead of expensive rockets…

“I don’t know what the hell this is.”

Non-rocket space launch. The project suggests a very large gun could be used to fire objects at high speed to high altitudes…

“Oh, shit.”

Dahl and Alicia were similarly ashen faced. “This can’t be good.”

Hayden pointed out the oncoming choppers, now in plain sight. They could see individual weapons hanging out of the helos.

“And neither is that!”

Drake handed over the papers and readied his weapons. Time for something he was used to and good at. Chatter flew at him from Hayden, Mai and Smyth, and also from the comms system that Lauren had patched in.

“Israelis engaged with Swedes. Russia unknown…” Then came bursts of static and quick translations from live feed communications that the NSA and other organizations had managed to listen in on.

The French: “We are approaching the area…”

The British: “Yes sir, targets seen. We have multiple enemies in the field…”

The Chinese: “Are you certain they have the box?”

Hayden led the way. They ran from the field. They ran without a plan. Careful gunfire made the choppers shy away and forced their ground pursuit to move with extreme caution.

And then, as Drake had almost tuned out and concentrated on their new escape route, another voice cut through the static.

Only briefly.

Partially hidden under the noise, hard to properly make out, a deep drawl jabbed at his ears.

American: “SEAL Team 7 here. We’re real close now…”

Shock jolted him to the core. But there was no time. No chance to talk. Not even a second to absorb it.

His eyes though met Torsten Dahl’s.

What the…?