The Rescue(80)

“Neither can I.”

“Good luck,” said Decker, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Aleman glanced uncomfortably at his hand before meeting his gaze. Decker withdrew his hand, not sure why he had done that.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Ryan,” said Aleman. “I truly am. Nothing I can say or do will ever repair what happened.”

Decker nodded, unable to find the words to respond. His rage against Aleman no longer burned as brightly.

“There’s a file on the drive named THEORIES,” said Aleman. “PRAETOR is my bet.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll know when you open the file,” said Aleman, disappearing through the doorway.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

By the time Decker and Pierce reached the metal ladder after grabbing the additional weapons, the deep boom of Aleman’s 50-caliber rifle had started reverberating through the man-made cavern.

“We’re late to the party,” said Decker, grabbing the highest rung he could reach.

“Better late than never,” said Pierce.

Decker stepped on the ladder and pulled himself up, straining from the extra weight of the Barrett Light Fifty and its ammunition. There was nothing light about the thirty-pound beast slung over his shoulder—especially on a ladder. Arms burning from the climb, he reached the ceiling and pushed the hatch open, well aware that he had just broadcast their position to anyone wearing night-vision goggles.

A bullet zipped overhead a moment later, followed immediately by several more. The fact that none of them had struck the upright hatch led him to assume the gunfire came from the speeding vehicles. He balanced his hands against the sides of the opening and walked up the rest of the rungs until he could slither onto the rocky ground. He had started to crawl away when a bullet splintered the top of the wooden hatch, knocking it onto Pierce’s emerging head. The door struck his night-vision goggles, remaining a few inches above the frame before closing tightly.

Decker reacted instinctively, raising himself off the ground to open the door, but a tight series of cracks inches from his head pressed him flat against the ground. The gunfire was now too accurate for moving vehicles. Another salvo snapped by, the bullets still passing a few feet high. Convinced that the shooters didn’t have the right angle to hit him while he lay prone, Decker rolled onto his back and grabbed the rope handle with an outstretched hand, yanking it open.

“You still there?” said Decker.

“If I say no, can I go home?”

“No,” said Decker. “Stay very low when you climb out. I don’t think they can hit us yet.”

“Yet?”

Another bullet struck the top of the hatch, tugging the rope handle out of his grip. Pierce caught the solid door with a hand before it hit his night-vision device. “Enough of this,” he said, heaving himself out of the hole.

Pierce crawled next to Decker and extended his MK12 sniper rifle’s bipod, pushing the gun in front of them. Decker wouldn’t bother to prepare the 50-caliber rifle until he was in position. The weapon would be an absolute nightmare to drag across the ground if it wasn’t slung over his back. The distant crackle of gunfire mixed with the repeated pounding of Aleman’s powerful rifle. He hoped it wasn’t too late to buy them the time needed to escape.

“Ready?” said Decker.

“I guess,” said Pierce.

They low-crawled across the stony earth, gradually drifting about twenty feet apart. Close enough to communicate in a gunfight, but far enough apart to force enemy shooters to make a conscious choice between targets. Muzzle flashes started to appear beyond the edge of the slightly raised roof soon after they separated, followed by a hail of bullets striking the ground in front of them. A few zipped right past Decker’s head, reinforcing the obvious maxim, If you can see them, they can see you.

“You take the stationary shooters!” said Decker. “I’ll hit the moving vehicles.”

Rocks and sandy dirt kicked up between them as he lugged the 50-caliber rifle off his back. Decker extended the bipod and pushed the steel cannon in front of him until he could nestle his shoulder into the cushioned stock. He stared past the thick barrel at the horizon in front of him, grimacing at the situation.

A drastically uneven line of six vehicles sped toward them, the closest SUV no farther than a quarter of a mile away. The SUVs were too damn close. This would all be over in twenty seconds if they didn’t get extremely lucky. As he reached for the cocking handle, the volume of incoming fire intensified, bullets snapping and cracking past Decker and pulverizing the ground around him. One of the bullets ricocheted off the rifle, grazing his shoulder.

Pierce’s rifle started barking a moment later, yielding an immediate decrease to the intensity of incoming fire. Much better. A solid tug on the cocking handle chambered the first 50-caliber round in the ten-round magazine. Time to work the vehicles. He propped himself up with his left arm to bring the barrel even with the horizon and settled in behind the scope to find his first target.

Despite the increasing darkness, Decker easily found the lead SUV and centered the scope’s illuminated reticle on the windshield. He pressed the stiff trigger until the rifle exploded into his shoulder. He pressed his eye back into the scope—the SUV was still speeding toward them. His shot had punched a softball-size hole through the glass on the passenger side. Not a mission kill.