The Rescue(84)

“He said the Praetor file is already up on the computer. He was going over it with Decker.” Green motioned for one of the mercenaries to find the office. “I’m sending someone to verify it right now.”

“Harcourt has been a bad boy,” said Aleman.

“Sounds like you’ve been living underground too long,” said Ross.

“Months and months of digging, I finally put the pieces together,” said Aleman. “Decker showing up was a miracle.”

“That must have been one hell of a Judas moment,” said Ross.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” said Aleman.

“Just kill him,” said Ross. “He’s stringing us along.”

Green stood up and pressed the barrel of his rifle into one of Aleman’s eye sockets.

“Mr. Green,” said a voice over the radio. “All the computer screen shows is a thermal camera feed.”

“There’s a small window in the upper left-hand corner,” said Aleman. “What’s that doing?”

“It’s a countdown clock,” said the operative.

“Get out of there!” yelled Ross over the net.

“How much time is left?” said Aleman.

“Eight seconds.”

“Adios, fuckers,” said Aleman, grinning.

Green took off down the ramp and sprinted to the right side of the vehicles, Aleman laughing the entire way. He stopped next to the swing set and sighed. At least a dozen Aegis operatives had swarmed the ladder, the closest to escaping not even halfway to the top. Resigned to his fate, Green sat in one of the swings and pushed back, lifting his feet to sway forward. He never felt gravity’s pull.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Decker ran through the constricted tunnel, the light from his flashlight wobbling off the earthen walls ahead of him. He ducked every ten feet or so to dodge the protruding wood beams that had knocked his night-vision device and chin strap off his head at the very beginning of the trip. His shoulders rubbed the sides in places, slowing him down and forcing him to twist his gear-laden body through to keep going.

A muted light in the distance beckoned him forward, keeping him focused on getting as far away from Aleman’s fireworks show as possible. He had no idea how big of a show he’d planned, but based on Aleman’s final statement, he guessed it wouldn’t disappoint.

He glanced over his shoulder obsessively, afraid to see the same light behind him. Getting shot in the back in this tunnel scared him more than being blown to bits back in Aleman’s underground tomb. Parking that thought as deep as possible in the recesses of his mind, he checked the smartphone again and pushed forward. He still had plenty of time. The light at the end of the tunnel seemed to grow with every step until a head peeked into the tunnel, causing him to raise his rifle. It disappeared just as quickly.

Pierce’s voice echoed off the walls of the tunnel. “Decker!”

“Pierce!” he replied, picking up the pace.

“Hurry up! Everyone’s waiting!”

“I’m moving as fast as I can!” said Decker, his rifle catching on the framework and jamming against his chest.

He dislodged the rifle and slogged onward, reaching the end faster than he’d expected. Decker jumped down from the tunnel, landing next to the tail section of a single-propeller, Cessna-style airplane. He glanced around, once again impressed and a little taken aback by the scope of Aleman’s preparations.

The aircraft sat in a rectangular underground hangar with little room to spare on any side. The tip of the left wing couldn’t be more than two feet from the earthen wall, and the top of the tail rudder had about double that clearance from the wooden plank ceiling. Half of the roof appeared to be a warehouse-style sliding door attached to sturdy-looking tracks on both sides of the hangar. A shallow ramp sat in front of the aircraft, terminating at the far end of the roof-mounted door.

“Kurt?” said Pierce.

Decker shook his head as Pierce squeezed past him to check the tunnel. “As good as gone,” Decker said. “He has the place rigged to blow. I triggered a timer before I entered the tunnel.”

“For how long?” Pierce asked before swinging a heavy metal door off the wall and into place over the opening.

“Five minutes,” said Decker, handing him the smartphone.

“How much time is left?”

“Ninety-three seconds.”

“This is going to be close.”

Pierce turned a heavy-duty dead bolt on the door and stepped away, nodding toward the Cessna. “Aleman’s family is in the plane waiting.”

“I can’t fly that,” said Decker.

“Neither can I,” said Pierce, guiding him under the wing to the open pilot door.

A woman with a blonde ponytail protruding from the back of her olive-green ball cap leaned out of the door as they approached.

“Ms. Aleman is our pilot,” said Pierce.

“It’s Larissa,” she said. “How much time is on the clock?”

Decker checked the phone. “Sixty-seven seconds.”

“I need the two of you to open the hangar door,” she said. “There’s a locking bolt behind the door on each side of the track. Pull those out and walk the door open with the rope lines attached to the back of the door. It’ll get tight back there, but you have to pull the door all the way to the back of the track or the tail rudder won’t make it out.”