Seal Team Seven #20: Attack Mode (20 page)

“When the sacks are all on and secure, we go back to our first stakeouts. Somebody is going to be coming out of there within ten or fifteen minutes. Let’s move.”

Murdock, Lam, and Jaybird ran down the side of the hill, through the brush and to their dark hideout spots near the front of the bunker.

“Has to work, man,” Jaybird said. “They can’t get in fresh air and can’t get rid of the old stuff. Yeah, fifteen minutes sounds about right.”

It took twenty minutes, then two men came running out the front door through a fringe of brush and into the open. Lam was less than twenty feet from them. He cut both down with silenced rounds, and they jolted backward and sprawled in the green growth, never to move again.

“We’ve had two come out in front,” Murdock said on the net.

Five minutes passed, then Sadler came on the radio.

“The wall at the road is starting to move. It’s going like a snail with foot problems, sliding to the left. If they want fresh air inside they have to leave both doors open.”

“Take out any men who show themselves,” Murdock said.

“Nobody coming out,” Sadler said. “Behind the door is a blank wall maybe eight to ten feet away. Looks like it’s all concrete.”

“Don’t risk any shots inside until we know more than we do now,” Murdock said.

They waited ten minutes. Nothing happened.

Murdock eased up from behind his cover tree. “Who has tear gas grenades?” he said on the radio. There were two responses.

“Down the intake air vent?” Omar Rafii asked.

“No, they could have filters on the intake. One man to the rear door. Climb up the side of the hill and get a good throw to punch the grenade into the bunker as far as possible. Who?”

“Rafii on the rear truck door,” he said.

“Sadler. I’ll come around to the front. Wait for me Rafii, we’ll hit them both at the same time.”

The front door was still in shadows and darkness. The faint fracturing of the black sky showed dimly in the east. It would be dawn in ten minutes.

“Let’s move it before we lose the dark,” Murdock said.

Rafii scrambled up the side of the hill and crawled to the top of the opening. He hung over it, looking into the bunker. “I can see inside,” he said. “Two of the big crates
of plut. No people. I can get the tear gas in about thirty feet.”

“Wait,” Murdock said.

Sadler had ghosted up through the darkness and picked up Lam, who showed him where the door was. It was a regular-looking wooden door, now hanging open, giving out a faint glow of lights. A drape of heavy cloth hung two feet in back, blocking off the light and the interior. Jaybird found a long stick, pushed up near the side of the door, and rammed the stick into the drape, then pushed it to one side.

Sadler grinned and pulled the pin on the grenade. “I’m ready, Rafii, how about you?”

“Go,” Rafii said. They both threw their tear gas grenades into the bunker and retreated into the fading darkness.

Murdock heard the small popping sound as the small charge blew the fragile tear gas cover off the cylinder and the gas spewed out into the bunker. He heard a cry of anger, then a weapon fired and three slugs whispered out the front door. The SEALs were all behind solid cover and none were hit.

They waited. No one came out either door.

Murdock scowled. “All right, men, they could have gas masks in there to counter any gasses from the plut. Whatever they have, it worked for them. I need some suggestions here, team. Just what the hell should we do next? It’s going to be daylight in another five minutes.”

“Hold your positions, but let’s get some input,” Murdock said.

“I have some movement,” Gardner said from the rear. “Two men just charged out a hidden door and scrambled into the Ford pickups. No good shots at them yet. You want the pickups stopped or the men down?”

“Get the men. Don’t use the twenties. The island can use two new pickups.”

Murdock heard firing from the rear of the hill.

“One man down, one pickup is moving,” Gardner said. “Can’t get a shot at him. Take out the tires, somebody.”

Murdock heard the high-pitched snarl of an Ingram submachine gun on full auto, followed by fifteen or twenty shots from larger bore weapons.

“Truck is down and stopped,” Gardner said. “The man is holding up his hands. Could we use one who can talk?”

“Yes, keep him healthy. Rafii, you check him out. He could be an Arab. Go.”

“We have to go inside and dig out the rest of them,” Fernandez said.

“We’ve accounted for five,” Bradford said. “How many can there be in there?”

“However many there are, they will be in solid defensive positions,” Mahanani said. “All that lead and concrete. No way we can storm in there and not take fifty percent casualties.”

“Why not use a WP on each end?” Claymore asked. “With all that concrete and lead in there, can’t be much
that will burn. We storm in right after the WP has splattered and pick up the pieces.”

“You ever smelled a good strong WP smoke in a contained area?” Sadler said. “It’s murder.”

“Let it air out a little,” Claymore said.

“Let’s stop right there,” Murdock said. “The WP might be the answer. We can move slowly, use one on the front, let it air out a little, and then move in and see what we can see. We’re blind out here. If you haven’t noticed, it’s daylight. So be sure you have cover out there. Gardner?”

“Yeah, let’s try the WP. Only one at each end. Nothing is going to burn that I can see inside this big door. Those timbers Rafii saw on the plut crates might smoke some, but they won’t flame up. That WP splash will go right through them and won’t faze the lead.”

“Rafii, anything from our newfound friend?” Murdock asked.

“Not much. He’s an Arab, from Yemen. Tried to knife me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Poor guy suffered a broken arm. He’s talking more now. He claims there are twenty men still inside. With a little more persuasion he’ll cut that down. He said they have already put plut from two crates into twenty lead boxes that hold twenty pounds of plut each. That may be true.”

“Keep working on him,” Murdock said. “Keep him alive if possible. I’m sure the CIA will want to reason with him later. Gardner, take your men up around that rear truck door and put one WP in as far as you can. We’ll do it together. Ching, how does your arm feel?”

“A hundred percent, Cap. I get to lob in the WP?”

“You guessed it. Get up to the door. Jaybird, use your stick again on that drape. Both you throwers, tell me when you’re ready.”

“Ready front,” Ching said.

Prescott called from the rear on his radio. “Ready rear.”

“Do it,” Murdock said. He watched Ching hold the WP smoke grenade and then pull the pin and throw it sidearm under the curtain where Jaybird held it up inside the bunker.

“Front door WP inside,” Ching said.

“Rear WP about ready to go off inside,” Prescott said.

The powder charge in a WP grenade is larger than that in a tear gas grenade, and Murdock heard the explosion deep in the bunker. Then another one farther away.

He punched his wrist stopwatch button and waited. Within a minute, white smoke seeped past the drape, then billowed out faster. The men near the door faded away into the brush and found solid protection behind larger trees now that it was daylight.

They waited ten minutes. The smoke came out in volume, then slowed and at last faded to wisps. Nobody came out.

“Bradford, get up to that front door and rip down that drape, but don’t get yourself shot.”

Bradford made the run and flattened against the side of the bunker, then reached around with Jaybird’s stick and pulled out the end of the drape. He grabbed it with both hands and lunged away, using all of his two hundred and fifteen pounds. The heavy cloth held for a moment, then ripped off and sent Bradford sprawling on the ground. He did a shoulder roll, came to his feet and raced back to a fallen log, then dove behind it.

There was no gunfire out the door.

Murdock gave it another three minutes. “Lam and Ching, on me. We get to the side of the bunker, then we go in one at a time diving. Doesn’t look like room for right or left. I’m first, then Lam, then Ching. Inside we’ll see what we have to do.”

They sprinted for the green of the hidden bunker, and all made it. Murdock peered around the side of the door at ground level. There were no lights on inside. He took out his large flashlight and motioned to the other two to do the same. Then he sucked in a deep breath, came into a squat position with his boots firmly on the ground, and jolted forward into the bunker, hitting on his right shoulder and rolling, his Bull Pup cradled in his arms flat against his chest.

He stopped his roll on his belly and turned on the flashlight.
The beam probed through remains of the WP. He saw nothing at first, then crawled forward and heard the other two men come in behind him, and their lights joined his. They were in a room ten feet square, the floor half-covered with what looked like lead boxes a foot square and half that deep. None had covers. The room was all concrete, with a ceiling seven feet off the floor. To the left ahead Murdock saw an opening more than four feet wide. He came to his feet, darted ahead to the side of the opening, and shone his light into the void of smoke and darkness.

The next room was twice the size of the first. The planking from one of the two-hundred-pound crates of plutonium lay scattered on the floor. Another crate had been emptied and stood against the far wall. There was no sign of the two two-hundred-pound lead containers of plutonium 239. Against the other wall sat a small forklift truck. The three SEALs surged ahead to the forklift and looked past it into the next room, through another four-foot-wide opening.

Inside was another room twenty feet wide and that deep. Across the far end stood a lead-shielded wall. A man sat on one of two tall stools next to the lead barrier. He didn’t move. Murdock shone his light on the man. His hands were gripping mechanical devices that evidently extended through the lead shielding. Directly in front of him was a large video screen that showed mechanical hands poised over one of the two-hundred-pound lead containers of plutonium.

“Be damned, video,” Lam said. “I wondered how they could do it and not get fried into crispy critters.”

Murdock held up his hand for quiet.

“Sir, you at the video. You’re under arrest. Don’t try anything violent. You must give yourself up.”

Slowly the man turned on the stool. His shirt had been burned off his chest and great third-degree burns dug into his flesh. His face held only one eye; the rest of it was churned into a froth of blood and charred flesh. His hair had burned entirely away. His one eye stared at Murdock
a moment, then he turned more and fell off the stool, his face striking the concrete floor first, leaving a bloody smear as he gave one long sigh, letting all the breath of life gush out of his lungs. Then his bowels voided.

Murdock stepped over the corpse and studied the video screen. It had come through the WP undamaged. He moved the mechanical hands and the camera followed them. He could see two of the large lead vats in the enclosed room that was entirely shielded by lead blankets, inside and out.

“We got here in time,” Murdock said. “Another six hours and they would have divided that plut into those small lead boxes and it could have been on its way to fifty ports throughout the world.”

He used the radio. “We’re in, found one man dead. Gardner, how are you doing?”

There was a faint whisper and then static, but no voice came through.

“Too much lead shielding,” Jaybird said. “It will stop most radio transmissions. Remember that lead blanket we used in London on that live nuke?”

Murdock nodded and pointed toward another four-foot-wide opening. They had to be that big to get the forklift through, he decided. The next room held a small kitchen and beyond that sleeping quarters. The next opening led to a day room, and then they heard friendly voices ahead.

“Gardner, is that you?” Murdock bellowed.

“Yep. We found two more varmints in this rat hole. Both of them dead. The WP got them.”

They met, and Murdock gave the men a guided tour past the lead-shielded room and the mechanical hands, then they hurried out through the front and assembled. The prisoner was wrist tied and they started their march back to the village. Before they had gone twenty yards, a rifle shot blasted into the stillness.

Sadler, bringing up the rear of the line, grunted and pitched forward on his chest on the crushed coral road. At the sound of the shot, the SEALs scattered, rushing into the woods beside the road. The prisoner went with
them, evidently not willing to trust the shooter to miss him.

Sadler remained in the road. Claymore was nearest to him. He charged out of the protection of the trees, scooped up the two-hundred-twenty-pound senior chief like he was a sack of marshmallows and ran with him to the woods. Three shots tracked him, but all missed.

Lam had moved to the rear of the group still in the woods. “My meat,” he said on the radio.

“Fernandez, go with Lam, find that bastard out there, and don’t bring him back alive,” Murdock said.