Spyder Web (11 page)

He reached down and grabbed one of the women by the hair. As she screamed and dug her fingernails into his forearm, Gano picked her up and threw her into the center of the hut. She was naked, and purplish welts marked what had once been an attractive body. She pulled herself up from the ground, crouching on all fours.

‘So, you like blood,’ Gano said as the clawed flesh on his arm reddened. ‘I do, too.’

Gano viciously kicked the woman in the chest. She rolled with the blow, but the impact still managed to break two ribs. The sharp pain almost caused her to black out, but she held on to her consciousness.

Kilkenny’s first shot punched a hole the size of a quarter in one soldier’s forehead. The bottle slipped from the man’s hand as his head slumped back. The others thought their companion had passed out, until a second man collapsed in a bloody heap. Kilkenny and Darvas didn’t waste a single round from their silenced H-K MP5s; each shot hammered into a kill zone. With Darvas covering him, Kilkenny followed the screams into the hut.

Gano looked down at the woman and smiled as she struggled against the pain. He knelt, grinding his knee into her right leg to pin the limb down. Wrapping his right arm around her left leg, he spread her legs apart. She tried to pull her leg back, but Gano locked her knee, and each twist felt as if the joint would break.

‘I’ll give you a choice, vache, ’ Gano sneered. First, he loosened the rope that held his pants up; then he pulled a grimy pistol from his hip holster and held it between her legs. ‘You can have me or my gun. Which will it be?’

Before the woman could reply, Kilkenny fired. The near-silent blast shattered the man’s shoulder. The impact twisted Gano at the waist, turning him toward the hut’s entry. Kilkenny’s second shot exploded in the man’s heart and sent him sprawling backward to the ground. The woman had been kicking her captor furiously as Kilkenny entered, a dark figure backlit by the fire outside. She shrank back when she saw him, not certain if Kilkenny would now take the dead man’s place.

‘ Va! ’ Kilkenny shouted at the women as he pointed to the door.

The women needed little encouragement as they bolted for their freedom, fleeing with little regard for personal modesty as they vanished into the jungle. Kilkenny’s stomach tightened as he stowed his revulsion at the thought of his mother or sister in the hands of these monsters.

Kilkenny switched on his throat mike.’Hep, talk to me.’

‘We had a little trouble on the back side,’ Hepburn replied, ‘but the camp is secure.’

Kilkenny had heard a sporadic exchange of gunfire-on the far end of the compound-which seemed to end as quickly as it had started.

‘Good. The women are heading into the jungle like the devil’s after them. See if you and Gilgallon can’t get ‘em to safe ground and tend to their wounds.’

‘Will do.’

Kilkenny then left the hut and turned to Darvas. ‘Let’s move.’

The camp was quiet, unnaturally so as Kilkenny and Darvas moved among the huts. Through a few open doors, Kilkenny saw the bodies of Masson’s men scattered in heaps on the ground. Gates scurried across the compound to join him.

‘Masson’s holed up in his hut. Rodriguez and Detmer have him pinned down. Near as I can figure, he’s got the place lined with sandbags.’

‘Smart man. How are we set for time?’

‘The satchel charges are in place and the clock is running. We’ve got just under five minutes to get clear.’

The SEALs had planted enough plastic explosives around the camp so that, in five minutes, there would be nothing left but a scorched crater. Normally, they would just toss a couple of grenades into the hut and call it a day, but the C-4 they’d planted had a nasty tendency to detonate in the proximity of an exploding grenade.

‘If we back off now, this guy just might get away, and that is fucking unacceptable. Masson is a cancer and we’re cutting him out. Gates, you’re with me. Darvas, cover our backs. Rodriguez and Detmer, make sure he doesn’t pop out the other side. Let’s do it.’

Gates and Kilkenny ran a zigzag pattern across the clearing in front of Masson’s hut, dodging fire as they approached. Well-timed bursts from Darvas’s MP5 kept Masson from getting a clean shot at them.

Kilkenny let loose a burst of gunfire that perforated the corrugated metal door, twisting and warping flimsy steel until it finally pulled free of its hinges and clattered to the ground. Masson’s weapon replied on full automatic, emptying itself quickly, although failing to find a target.

Kilkenny dove through the open doorway, tuck-rolling across the dirt floor, with Gates following his lead. Masson had just snapped a new clip of ammunition into an Uzi when Kilkenny’s boot struck his stomach and sent him sprawling against a pile of sandbags. The blow stunned him, but his grip on the weapon was firm. Still gasping for air, Masson aimed at Kilkenny.

Muzzle flashes filled the interior of the hut like a strobe, but Gates found his target first. Pain seared Masson’s mind as a dozen blistering rounds riddled his body, breaking bones and tearing flesh. The crazed exsoldier fell backward before collapsing on the ground.

Kilkenny got up, nodded to Gates, and turned to his fallen opponent. A fire still burned in Masson’s eyes, but his breathing came in wheezing gasps as he clung to his last moments of life.

Dawson zoomed the satellite image back in order to show a larger area of southern Haiti as his men left the guerilla camp. Right on cue, a bright thermal plume lit up the infrared display.

Helicopters from Port-au-Prince were racing toward the scene of the explosion, the government having been quietly notified that several captives of the scavengers had been liberated and required assistance.

‘Bravo Zulu, Trident,’ Dawson said quietly to himself. ‘Well done.’

The SEALs melted into the jungle as the helicopters approached the smoldering crater. The women, clothed and cared for as well as the squad could provide, were quickly evacuated from the scene. Kilkenny bowed his head as the helicopters disappeared from view.

‘What ya thinking about, Nolan?’ Gates asked.

‘Something my mother taught me, the Prayer of Contentment. “Lord, grant me the courage to change what I can change, the strength to accept what I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.’”

‘Good prayer. I can see how the first part applies to our current situation, but what about the rest?’

Nolan paused to consider why these words would come to him at this time. ‘I guess this is the first time since this mission started that I let myself think about what’s waiting for me when we get back.’

‘Getting cold feet, partner?’ Gates asked in his smoothasmolasses drawl. ‘You could just sign up for another hitch and take the easy way out. Dawson hasn’t filled your slot yet.’

‘C’mon, Max,’ Nolan said with a laugh, ‘you, of all people, know I never do anything the easy way.’

‘No, son, you don’t. But you do what has to be done. That’s what made you a good leader and a hell of a SEAL.’

Nolan smiled, accepting the compliment. He had been paired with Gates for almost five years, and he had come to value the master chief ‘s experience and to respect his opinions.

‘This,’ Gates said, cradling his submachine gun and smelling the cordite in the air, ‘this is my life. This is what I was meant to do. This life isn’t for everybody, and we both know it’s not for you. This is your send-off, Nolan. It’s time to move on.’

‘So I should just accept the fact that change is inevitable?’

‘Deal with it, Lieutenant.’

December 24

Parnell chuckled quietly to himself.

‘Something funny, Ian?’ Roe asked, looking up from her laptop. An hour ago, she’d given up on trying to work during the long flight from London to Santo Domingo. Her computer screen now displayed a half-played game of solitaire.

‘I was just thinking that if one of us had acquired Mr Cole’s device a few years ago, we might never have met.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Ian. We move in the same circles. I’m sure we would have bumped into each other at some point or another.’

‘Quite right,’ Parnell replied, amused at her double entendre.

A smile crossed Roe’s face as she thought about the first time she’d met British business consultant Ian Parnell. His light brown hair had been a little longer than it was now, and in place of the Savile Row suit and the Burberry shirt that was tailored so well to his lean five-ten body, he had worn a suit of black Gore-Tex then.

Five years ago, Alex Roe had been hired by a corporate client to acquire technology from a German competitor. The technology had to do with methods of very precise measurement, and the German competitor was apparently able to size very small things with greater accuracy than was her client. She’d entered the German firm’s research facility late one night, with the cleaning crew, and set out to locate the design documents relating to this device. While carefully negotiating a darkened room to avoid a night guard, Roe quite literally bumped into Parnell. Both quickly realized that they were working on the same assignment and decided to pool their resources and charge the client double. Since then, they had worked together on a variety of interesting and profitable projects.

The flight attendant arrived with a small bottle of champagne and two glasses.

‘A toast,’ Parnell offered, tapping the rim of Roe’s glass with his. ‘To the Holy Grail.’

‘Why the Holy Grail, Ian?’ Roe asked before sipping the effervescent beverage.

‘It’s what you’ve discovered, the Holy Grail of our profession. We are on the brink of acquiring a skeleton key, one that can unlock storehouses of information around the world.’

Their flight arrived in Santo Domingo in the late afternoon and, after clearing Dominican Customs and Immigration, they boarded a private helicopter for a short flight to Barahona. Parnell worked hard and he liked to enjoy the fruits of his labor; being whisked over the Dominican capital was one of life’s simple pleasures.

Roe soaked in the tropical atmosphere with delight as the helicopter raced westward over the sandy shoreline. Their destination was an exclusive resort that offered numerous amenities to its guests, including secluded beaches, all manner of water sports, five-star dining, and excellent accommodations. While these were enjoyable, the resort also met their far more crucial needs for privacy and flawless digital communication.

Bellhops collected their bags from the helicopter, hustling to beat the new guests to their rooms. The resort catered to wealthy tourists and the management frowned on anything less than impeccable service from its employees. Praise by a guest meant an additional bonus in the next pay envelope, and each employee worked hard to shine in front of the guests. Poor service-or worse, rude behavior-could result in disciplinary action ranging from a reprimand to job termination. With a long waiting list for job openings, the staff at Las Brisas rarely did anything to jeopardize their employment.

A woman in her mid-thirties with flowing black hair and a perfect figure stood waiting for them as they walked to the edge of the helipad.

‘Senor Parnell, Senorita Roe,’ she said with a warm smile, ‘welcome to Las Brisas. I am Delisa Santiago, the resort manager. If there is anything we can do to make your stay here more pleasant, please let me know.’

‘Ms Santiago,’ Parnell replied, ‘if Las Brisas lives up to its reputation, I’m certain that my associate and I will enjoy our holiday immensely.’

The manager pointed out items of interest along the walk to their bungalows. The resort’s lobby and walkways were decorated with various objects d’art, ranging from pre-Columbian to contemporary, gathered from around the Caribbean.

Mayan statuary was mixed in with islander masks and jewelry; artifacts of peace and war, of life and death, added a unique dimension to the resort. Objects that had once helped a community of people know the gods they worshiped and understand their place in creation had become decorations in a tropical playground for the wealthy.

Even though they’d made reservations only a week ago, Parnell had little trouble arranging two bungalows near the beach. Those holding the original reservations were provided accommodations elsewhere, with the management’s sincere apologies for ‘double-booking’ the room.

Both bungalows were identical in layout-each offering its occupant an entertaining area, a kitchenette and bar, a guest bedroom and bath, and a full master bedroom and bath with an ocean-view terrace. In looking about the rooms, Roe noticed that her luggage had already been delivered and set inside the walk-in closet. She found her toiletries and decided to cleanse the long flight from her body.

It seemed as if only seconds had passed when Roe heard a knock at the bathroom door. She turned the shower off and wrapped a hotel robe around her dripping body. Opening the door cautiously, she discovered Parnell standing at the bar, mixing a drink.

‘Ready for dinner?’ he asked lightly.

‘Not quite, but give me a couple of minutes. How’d you get in, anyway?’

Parnell fingered the gray plastic card key in his hand. ‘The manager, a wonderful woman, configured the keys to work on both of our suites. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I made a drink while I waited.’

‘Rather presumptuous of you, Ian. Make yourself at home. I’ll be out in a bit.’

Roe quickly blow-dried her shoulder-length brown hair. After she finished up in the bathroom, she selected a lightly colored cotton dress that appealed to her sense of style and tropical comfort.

‘When is Cole due to arrive?’ Parnell asked as he took another sip of his gin and tonic.

‘Around six, which leaves us about a half hour to kill.’

‘We could have a drink here or head to the dining room.’

‘I cast my vote for the dining room. I’m starved.’ Roe adjusted her dress in the mirror and mentally declared herself presentable. ‘Not to knock British Airways, but airline food is still airline food. We can leave word at the front desk for him to join us once he arrives.’