Avenged (Hostage Rescue Team Series) (Volume 5) (31 page)

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When the crowd assembled fled in panic in the aftermath of the second suicide bomber’s device, Ayman seized his chance.

Pulling the automatic rifle from inside his trench coat, he and the others converged on the epicenter of the destruction.

He surged forward, shoving through the terrified mass of bodies running toward him. The heat of the fire singed his face as he ran. Darwish ran beside him and two others behind, Tarif carrying a body draped over his broad shoulders.

Ayman’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, adrenaline and euphoria coursing through his bloodstream, heightened by the amphetamine they’d all taken prior to arriving at the courthouse. The explosions had been timed perfectly, and he loved the irony of using the kidnapped witnesses as suicide bombers.

The security forces would be attempting to lock down the building, but they’d never make it. All the personnel guarding the entrances were either dead or preoccupied with securing the perimeter, aiding the wounded or taking out the teams of shooters who were now moving into position. The smoke from the fires only helped conceal Ayman and the others from the snipers positioned on the surrounding rooftops.

The large truck bomb at the east side of the building had done its work. People lay dead or dying, survivors fleeing the area, adding to the chaos. Ayman’s path to the exterior door was clear, the doors wide open, imploded from the powerful force of the explosion. He charged ahead, leaping over a pile of debris, climbed up a mound of fallen bricks, rifle to his shoulder.

Two Feds appeared in the blackened doorway, wearing marked windbreakers. Ayman fired, hitting them both in the chest before they’d even stepped into the daylight. They fell, twitching where they lay, their weapons lying useless on the ground.

In his peripheral vision he saw more security converging on them. He wheeled and fired to the right as Darwish did the same on his left, clearing a path to the building. He sprayed a burst of rounds into the black rectangle of the open doorway. Someone inside fired back. Bullets whizzed past him.

The screams of the wounded and fleeing people trapped inside only spurred him onward. A gleeful laugh bubbled up in his throat. This was the most intense rush he’d ever experienced. He felt powerful, invincible as he tore over the open ground toward his target.

Other teams of attackers were converging on the building from different directions. Four other death squads, more than sixty trained men here to take out as many law enforcement and civilians as possible. The additional attackers fueled the chaos, aiding Ayman and his team in their primary mission.

He plunged through the doorway into the dimly lit hallway, the acrid smell of smoke and burned flesh stinging his nostrils. Screams and distant gunfire echoed along the hallway. Another group of shooters appeared at the end of the hall. Security forces inside were shooting at them. Ayman saw some of his brothers fall, but there were so many of them, security was overwhelmed and outgunned.

Someone popped around the corner ahead of him. He fired once, dropped the man where he stood and kept running. His blood raced through his veins, a sense of euphoria blotting out everything else.

His target was here. She’d tried to fool them by altering her appearance, but it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Ayman had spotted her the moment she’d stepped out of that SUV with her security team.

Time to kill the American whore for the part she’d played in bringing this mockery of justice to fruition. That was the role he’d been given for this attack.

Up ahead at the end of the long hallway he could hear the sounds of other, smaller explosions, probably from grenades like the ones he carried. More raw screams of terror punctuating the silence that followed. It was all going exactly as planned so far.

Ayman kept running, Darwish and the others close behind him, Tarif dropping back due to the heavy load he carried. The teams currently breaching the interior into the courtrooms knew what to do: seize Qureshi and protect him at all costs until they could get him out—just another few minutes. Ayman and Darwish had a different task to complete. One they both relished.

His boots thudded against the marble floor, the sound echoing off the walls. The hallway was deserted now, everyone fleeing for what they thought was the safety of the inner chambers.

A fatal mistake, as they would soon find out.

Darwish shouted a warning. Ayman veered sharply to the right and hugged the wall a split second before the loud hiss whizzed past him. Seconds later the rocket propelled grenade Darwish had fired detonated at the solid mahogany doors up ahead.

It exploded, the reverberations flowing through his body, pulsing in his ears. He grunted at the force of the concussion in his chest, kept running. More explosions pounded through the building, out of sight. The lights flickered once, then went out.

Through the burning doors ahead of him, Ayman could see the people scrambling for safety in the courtroom he’d been ordered to take. Raising his weapon, he fired two bursts through the open doorway.

Screams. The people in the threshold melted back inside.

He fired again, clearing the way for himself, high on the knowledge that he was making Americans suffer the way his people were suffering back home.

Plunging through the doorway, he sprayed a burst of rounds in a half circle, screaming in English at the top of his lungs. “Get down! Don’t any of you move! Anyone moves, I shoot!” He immediately moved into the shadows at the periphery of the room as Darwish did the same on the other side. Labored breathing and frightened whimpers sounded in the sudden silence.

His hostages couldn’t see him, but he could see them.

And when those emergency lights came on, he was hunting one person in particular.

Nate was in the team room of the warehouse serving as their staging area when the first muffled boom rumbled through the floor. He and his six other teammates all froze, their gazes shooting to the window set high into the south wall.

“Shit,” Cruz muttered, heading toward the window. Nate shot to his feet and followed, his heart seizing for an instant when he saw the column of smoke boiling up into the clear sky.

“Was that at the courthouse?” he asked. Had to be, but it was hard to tell from this distance.

“Yeah, think so,” Cruz muttered, craning his neck to see out the window. A few inches taller, Nate had a better view. All he could see was that tower of black smoke and hoped to hell that Taya was nowhere near the place yet. She was due at the courthouse around this time though.

As he turned around to race for his gear, another explosion boomed in the distance, the floor undulating a heartbeat later.

Fuck.
Nate’s gaze shot back to the window. This time he couldn’t see the second plume of smoke, but that explosion had been way bigger than the first one, or closer. His hands curled into fists, apprehension winding tighter inside him. There was no way to reach Taya or her security team—he didn’t have the proper channels anymore.

“Let’s go,” Tuck called out.

Nate grabbed his medic ruck from the ground. His team lined up at the door, exited with caution to make sure their perimeter was clear and raced around the side of the warehouse to the abandoned parking lot out front where the bird was supposed to land. Armed FBI agents stood guard around the perimeter.

Nate immediately looked south, eyed the towers of smoke billowing in the distance.

Taya was there, maybe trapped by flames or gunfire. He refused to accept that she might be dead. It made him fucking sick to his stomach to think of her going through that kind of hell again.

Tuck’s expression was grim as he held his phone to his ear. Before anyone answered, the handheld radio in his web gear chirped. “This is Tuck,” he said into it.

“Two explosions confirmed at the courthouse.” Nate recognized DeLuca’s voice immediately. “Gold Team’s mobilizing now, along with two of our regular SWAT teams. Stand by—”

A third boom shook the ground. Vance swore beside him. Nate dragged a hand through his hair, going nuts with the thought of Taya being anywhere near those bombs.

“Fuck. Me,” Evers muttered, staring in the direction of the last explosion.

“Make that three,” DeLuca said. “Second one’s reported to be a truck bomb. Heavy casualties and damage to the east side of the courthouse reported. Attack’s ongoing. Unknown number of gunmen on site, rushing the building. Sniper teams have picked some of them off, but not enough and the smoke’s providing good camouflage.”

“Yeah, copy that.” From across the room Tuck met Nate’s gaze squarely, nodded when he saw that Nate had grabbed his ruck full of medical supplies. “Any word on the current location of the witnesses and their security teams?”

Nate held his breath as he awaited the answer.

“Taya arrived a few minutes ago,” DeLuca confirmed.

For a moment Nate couldn’t breathe. He held Tuck’s stare as the blood drained out of his face, felt the others all watching him. He refused to accept that she might be gone. Couldn’t even go there.

“You’ll coordinate with Grant,” DeLuca continued to Tuck, referring to Gold Team’s leader. “Right now plan Charlie looks like our best bet. Keep this channel clear.”

“Roger.” Tuck switched frequencies and contacted Grant. Nate caught snippets of the exchange as he strapped on his gear, his heart racing. Plan Charlie was to counteract a mass hostage taking at the courthouse. It called for a dual assault of the building, with Gold Team arriving in vehicles to assault at ground level, and Blue Team—Nate’s team—arriving via helo to begin the assault from the roof.

His mouth was dry, his throat tight by the time Tuck ended the radio transmission. “Okay, listen up,” he called out, his voice booming through the cavernous warehouse. “We’re going with plan Charlie. Helo’s inbound, ETA thirteen minutes. Federal agents and cops inside the courthouse are trying to lock it down but they’re under heavy fire. They’re holding their own for now but can’t for much longer.”

Nate was fucking ready
now
. He wanted to move
now
. Get to Taya, pull her the hell out of there.

A solid hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up into Bauer’s grim face. “We’ll get her out, man,” the big guy said, his gaze steady, determined.

Nate nodded and counted the seconds as they ticked past, dying a little with each passing minute. Sporadic updates came in from Grant, DeLuca and Celida, all reporting from near the courthouse. The carnage was bad, at least dozens killed and hundreds wounded. The gunmen had stormed the building, were in control of it and had taken nearly a hundred more people hostage inside the courtrooms.

Finally, he made out the distinctive sound of a Black Hawk’s rotors thumping in the distance. Moments later, against the clear blue sky the Black Hawk soared into view. It circled the area once before touching down in the center of the lot.

Nate waited for the crew chief to wave them in, then ran for the helo at a crouch, the powerful rotor wash beating against his utilities. He hopped in and took a seat between Cruz and Evers, Vance on the far end, and set his medic ruck at his feet. The others fanned out on the helo’s other side.

Tuck was up front, yelling to the pilots over the noise of the engines and thud of the rotors. He turned back toward the hold, sat across the deck from Nate. The pilots increased power, the pitch of the engines changing.

Come on, come on
, Nate urged in frustration, his muscles drawn as tight as cables. Nothing was fucking happening fast enough.

Finally the bird eased forward, gaining speed, then lifted off the ground. They soared upward, leaving the warehouse and the industrial area behind. Everyone was quiet on the short flight there. Nate’s gaze remained riveted out the helo door, staring at those three pillars of smoke boiling into the air. The pilots circled the area around the courthouse before heading for the rooftop.

Nate’s heart was in his throat as he and the others got their first look at the damage on the ground. It was total, utter chaos. Emergency crews weren’t even on scene yet, held back a block away due to the heavy firefight still going on. The helo banked and dipped toward the roof. Nate watched a group of Feds outside the building engage some militants already inside. One of the agents fell and was quickly dragged away by the others. More smoke boiled from the windows and doors along the front and ends of the courthouse.

Taya’s trapped in there.

And the gunmen would kill her if they found her.

His chest felt tight, his muscles rigid. He sternly reminded himself about how tough she was, how smart and resourceful. She wouldn’t crumble. She’d fight right up until her last breath to survive.

Hang in there, baby, please, just another few minutes. I’m coming.

A solid hand landed on his shoulder. Cruz. He nodded at Nate. “We’ve got this, man.”

Yeah, they did. And those terrorist assholes were going to meet their maker very soon.

Giving Cruz an appreciative nod, Nate glanced at their team leader. Tuck was busy staring out the open door, scanning the area below, probably trying to assess how bad the fires were inside and how far they might have spread. If he judged it to be too dangerous, they’d switch gears and assist Gold Team from the ground on the opposite side of the courthouse, rather than assault from the roof.

Nate could see Tuck’s lips moving as he spoke over the radio to someone, likely either DeLuca or Grant. Then he slid the radio back into his web gear and gave the thumbs up.

Rooftop landing was a go.

Nate shifted on the seat, body primed for action. His hands tightened around his weapon as he imagined the moment they reached the ground floor. Anticipation and urgency hummed through him, increasing his heart rate.

He pushed thoughts of Taya out of his mind, saving it for later. He couldn’t afford to think about her right now. His teammates were counting on him to have his head on straight. Their lives—and Taya’s—depended on it and he wouldn’t let them down.