The Ghost Ships of Arizona

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hayden had ensured all combatants were in the first of their two SUVs, whilst communications would be handled by the second. That way they could drive as far inside the power plant as they were able.

Reports indicated that the second assault force was even larger. Drake began now to realize the size of the new problem they were up against.

“Beauregard told us that they’d swamped the ranks with mercenaries,” he said. “I guess we didn’t fully understand how many until now.”

The SUV jounced along the badly asphalted road. Hayden grunted. “He might have been right about that point,” she said. “But why send us to the wrong substation?”

“We can’t answer that now,” Dahl said. “Let’s leave the questions for later and work on getting a step ahead of our enemy this time.”

“Better still,” Kinimaka muttered. “Our focus should be on finding this asshole, Webb. Put an end to the threat at its source in one big swoop.”

Drake agreed. “He’s right. Cut off the head and the body dies. We’re not talking a terrorist organization here, folks, we’re talking a bunch of rich autocrats.”

“As much as I agree with both of you,” Hayden said, pointing ahead. “We already have our main focus right now. Webb has been firing attack after attack at us since the Pythians began. He will implode soon. He has to. Right now we have this facility and the ghost ships to focus on. Our job, for now at least, is pretty clear.”

The San Jose substation bore every resemblance imaginable to its smaller sister. PG&E, it seemed — the people who owned the facility — weren’t big on change.

Smyth, driving their SUV, aimed for the demolished outer wall. No mercs guarded this entry point and the vehicle bounced through, riding the rough terrain presented by the scattered heaps of bricks. Drake clung on to the grab handle whilst scanning the area ahead.

“There.”

Smyth saw it too, aiming the SUV around the gravel track toward the jagged hole in the building’s wall. A man was staggering out of there now, a man, wearing a blood-soaked shirt and tie.

“Hurry!” Hayden cried.

Smyth juiced the throttle. The vehicle eventually slewed to a halt before the wavering man. Drake leapt out of the door.

“Where are you hurt?”

The man fell to his knees, holding his chest. Hayden dropped beside them.

“… came through about ten… ten minutes ago…” the man gasped. “… crowd of them with guns, all screaming… I didn’t drop fast enough…”

Drake saw the bullet wound and quickly put pressure on it. “Ten minutes?” he glanced worriedly at the others.

“Not good,” Dahl said.

Hayden attended the man. “Go,” she said. “I’ll look after him. You guys need to hurry.”

Drake hurdled the rubble and landed inside the building. Alarms blared and emergency lights shone. He raced down a narrow corridor and then through an already blasted-apart door into a spacious high-ceilinged room. At its far end stood a complex of offices and it was from this direction that a barrage of bullets erupted. Drake dived to the floor, rolling as the air was crisscrossed with death. As he did so, mercs fell from above and jumped in from the sides.

An ambush.

A forest of feet obscured his vision. Pain erupted where boots kicked at him. Then two enormous pairs smashed among them — Dahl and Kinimaka laying waste to their enemies. Drake rolled and jumped up. A foot smashed him in the ribs but he ignored the pain. He caught the arm of his attacker and broke it, then twisted and engaged another. A merc landed a blow on the back of his neck, making the joints creak. Drake saw stars for a moment, turning amidst half a dozen enemies all intent on stamping him to mush. Bullets still hammered above their heads, probably fired from gung-ho assholes. Drake somehow managed to stay on his feet, using the crush of the mercs themselves to remain vertical. This was close combat like he’d never dreamed of. A blow to the ribs at this distance was a mere slap, a “love tap” as Drake used to call them. He pushed and fought to gain some room, wary of knives but unable to see much of anything.

Shouting came from the far side. More alarms began to bay. Through a brief gap between the bobbing heads, Drake saw the alarm room light up like the Fourth of July, and men bent over flickering screens. Something significant was going on in there. Then, Dahl and Kinimaka were back, physically grabbing hold of mercs and pulling them out of the crush of bodies, launching them through the air. Smyth knelt and shot the flying bodies as they landed.

“Like shooting tin-cans in a field,” he murmured, shifting his sights to take out a soaring merc as he might a clay pigeon. “Next!”

Dahl obliged, hefting a struggling ski-mask covered man out of the throng and then flinging him into space. The next merc caught the Swede by surprise, hammering a closed fist at his solar-plexus and then immediately grinning.

He’d fully expected Dahl to go down after that enormous hit.

The mad Swede bellowed in anger, picked the man up and used him as a battering ram to take out three more. At last, Drake began to see some light. Ducking and rolling he escaped the crush, swinging his weapon around as he went.

“Fire!”

Drake, Dahl, Kinimaka and Smyth were all on the outside of the merc pack now and, upon seeing guns swiveling toward them and no sign of enemy surrender, immediately opened fire. Bodies fell and twisted. Blood sprayed and then curdled on the floor. Shots went off as mercs folded, now just lead fired up at the roof. Drake turned to check the state of what he believed was the main operations room.

Mercs were piling out and forming a perimeter. Other men moved within that perimeter, guarded, making swiftly for a far door. The bastards have already taken what they came here for!

“Attack!”

Drake knew there was no alternative, and that single word would convey all he wanted to say. No option, no surrender. Take these fuckers to hell!

Fanning out and moving slowly forward, the four men opened fire without relenting. Their Sig MPX’s barked and spat with fury, emitting the fire of devils desperate to be unleashed. Bodies collapsed all along the mercenary line and at least one of their dependents keeled over, his blood spraying against the office wall. Return fire was hesitant, the entire line now in two minds and intimidated under fire. The four-man SPEAR team increased their speed, unconsciously working as one, fully aware of the men at their sides and what they might do next. Some bullets flew between them but they did not flinch. The force of their fire decimated the mercenary line. Behind that line several men ran and hit a far door, booting it open, one with a package strapped to his back. Drake forced the advance even more, feeling the risk was worth it, and riding their wave of luck.

Until it all crashed down.

Smyth took a bullet to the chest. One minute he strode with them, a solid and proven link in the chain. They were invincible, unstoppable. Then a well-aimed slug kicked him off his feet, depositing him onto his back with a heavy grunt of pain.

The sight of their comrade falling hit the rest of them hard. Memories of Komodo were fresh in their brains. When Smyth was hit, Drake instantly dropped to his knees beside the man only to find both Dahl and Kinimaka doing the same.

Their eyes met above the groaning body.

“Thank God for Kevlar,” Drake breathed, voicing the thought that came to them all at the same time.

“Isn’t it time for something new?” Dahl wondered.

Smyth grimaced as he tried to sit up. “Fuck me, guys. What the fuck are you doing down here? The assholes are getting away!”

Drake breathed out long and carefully, tempted to let his fist give the explanation but quickly rising above such crassness. Instead he leaned on Smyth’s impact zone as he stood up.

“Shall we?”

With Smyth carping after them Drake, Dahl and Kinimaka ran headlong for the far door. Drake picked off a covering henchman. Dahl turned as another leapt from the shadows, knife in hand. The blade passed by the Swede’s neck, drawing a single speck of blood but not an ounce of reaction beyond swift retribution. Dahl left him motionless, head canted at an unhealthy angle.

Drake slowed quickly as he reached the door, wary of booby traps, but there were none. The comms system crackled and Lauren reported the arrival of a huge contingent of cops and agents and ambulances. Kinimaka shouted that they should be redirected to the building’s rear.

“They will be too late,” Dahl intoned.

Drake thought about the sprawling office they had just passed. Not surprisingly it had been crammed full of multi-colored screens, computers and other monitors. Was this station an electrical hub? If something was stolen — either physically or electronically — how would they know?

He saw the tripwire at the last minute, pulled up before the single glistening thread, and held an arm out. Kinimaka, almost inevitably, noticed way too late and had to launch his huge bulk through the air and over the wire. The Hawaiian crashed down, sliding, coming to a halt a hair’s-breadth from a second shimmering cable.

“Crap,” he breathed, nose almost touching the cord. With great care he shuffled back and tried to pull his feet underneath him.

“Wait!” Dahl suddenly shouted. “There’s another wire at shoulder height and it’s right above you!”

Kinimaka froze, left in an ungainly position. Drake examined one wire whilst Dahl leapt over to the second. Within a moment they had disarmed both. As Kinimaka finally gained his feet, the Swede made short work of the third.

“Thanks guys,” Mano said.

“None needed,” Drake said. “It’s what we do.”

The delay had cost them. By the time they traversed the rest of the corridor, moving slowly in case of further traps, their quarry was gone. One more merc lay bleeding out to the right of the farthest door, but Dahl categorically stopped anybody from approaching him, fearful that a grenade might have been wedged beneath his body.

“I guess that’s part of reaping what you sow.” Drake thought about the previous snares, still feeling a twinge of guilt at not being able to help the merc.

“Let’s move.” Smyth was with them again. “And quit being such pansy-ass pussies.”

The door opened into cool night air. Drake went first, gun up, checking every direction, squinting again in the harsh glare of artificial light. It took a moment for his vision to adjust.

“There,” he said.

They headed toward something that gleamed in the dark, the only thing Drake could see that didn’t quite fit. As they approached, a heavy motor coughed into life and rotors began to whir. A chopper rose, its cockpit blacked out, another shadow in the dark. Now Drake saw other choppers, maybe as many as five, most of which were redundant now so many mercs hadn’t made it. As they approached the rising bird cops and other forces streamed around the side of the building, yelling for all and sundry to “eat the fucking dirt and lace their hands together over their heads!” Drake knew there was no point arguing. He lowered his weapon.

The chopper banked as it rose, audaciously passing over the running cops. Then Drake saw why.

“Get down!” he cried. “Down! Now!”

Leaning out of one of the doors was a man holding a chain gun. Heavy caliber rounds thunked into the ground and the building, causing mini explosions wherever they hit. Mercifully the rounds all passed between the cops but the message was abundantly clear.

Stay the fuck down.

The chopper ascended and then took off to the north. Drake watched it go with a sense of unfinished business ricocheting around his mind.

“Your time will come,” he said under his breath. “And soon.”