Zombie Team Alpha (4 page)

Wayland tapped the folder in front of him with a pen. “You will have full use of one of our company planes and its pilots if you wish.”

Cutter watched the man carefully. It all was supposed to seem like a simple shoot and scoot mission to retrieve the artifact.
A little too easy
. That was exactly what he had thought the last time before everything had gone south. So, there were probably a million glaring reasons not to accept the job. But on the table were a couple of million other reasons to take it. And, if he could somehow prove once and for all that his wife had been right about the origins of the artifact? That what she had told him was indeed true? Well, then, that might just be the single good reason for going.

It was a calculated gamble, certainly, and he really had nothing to lose by taking it. His own life didn’t matter so much anymore. It hadn’t been going all that well lately.

He held up two fingers. “Two million, up front. Two more when the good doctor is returned safe and sound along with your artifact. And we supply our own transportation.”

Wayland closed the manila folder. “But you have already agreed to our deal, Mr. Cutter.”

Cutter feigned disinterest. “I changed my mind, Skippy. Sorry. Happens sometimes. There are just too many unknowns and too many risks for what you want to pay us. We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, would we?”

He continued watching the man carefully to see just how far the guy would bend. He also wanted to get a read on what might have happened the last time they’d crossed paths. Yeah, he’d just doubled the fee, too, which he didn’t expect to get, but his earlier read on Wayland had told him that the guy would check with his boss in some way, fold the hand he held, and then agree to whatever was being asked for.

Wayland glanced at Chimp-man.
Bingo.
Almost on cue, the guy at the head of the table nodded just once as Cutter had predicted.

“Done,” Wayland said, seeming relieved.

Assholes
.
The very best kind—desperate assholes
.

Cutter nodded. “Okay, I’ll get it done.”

“
We
will get it done,” Morgan corrected, placing her hand on top of his and patting it.

“Yes,” Cutter said, correcting himself. He grinned at her, trying to make it genuine. “We will get it done.” He had no intention of allowing Morgan or Gauge or anyone else to accompany him on this operation—other than the doctor. This was going to be a solo gig on his part. He’d slipped up in his wording and hoped Morgan hadn’t caught his true meaning. He was just tired
. Won’t happen again.

Now that he was done screwing these guys, he wanted to lean back and have a smoke and four fingers of expensive single-malt Scotch, but part of Morgan’s initial prodding involved him ditching his cigarettes at the airport before they’d left and drinking nothing but Diet Coke on the plane ride. If she wanted to mother him all the way back to Texas and until the wheels were up and he was on his way overseas without her—
then fine.
He owed her that much. He just needed to figure out how in the hell he was going to tell her and Gauge that they weren’t coming along—and make it stick.

~5~

SIMPLY THE BEST

Less than a minute after Jackson Cutter and Morgan Crow left the conference room, John Wayland adjusted his collar and turned to his boss, Anton Moray, while keeping one eye on Dr. Reyna Martinez, who was scribbling away on a yellow legal pad, seemingly minding her own business.

Wayland tapped a pen against the folder in front of him. “I know Mr. Cutter might seem a bit brash, sir. Quite frankly, many find him to be a real prick to deal with. But, I assure you, he and his team are the best at what they do. Definitely the best that our money can buy, I mean. At least on such short notice.”

Mr. Moray said nothing.

“The failure that happened last time? They—I mean, we, were just unlucky, sir. That’s all. But the story was contained, so no harm, no foul, right?”

When Mr. Moray blinked, Wayland chuckled nervously. Then Mr. Moray adjusted his cufflinks and stood. He walked to the large bank of windows and looked down.

“You have told me all of this before, Mr. Wayland. I certainly hope that what you have told me is the truth of the matter.”

“It is, sir.”

“Has everything else been prepared?”

“Yes, sir. They will have no trouble entering Russian airspace. But—well, we had planned to fly them in on one of our jets, so having them use their own method of transportation is a slight deviation from our initial plan and a loss of our direct control over them, but I can handle it. Rest assured. And—” Wayland hesitated. What he had to say next needed to be phrased with care since it could be interpreted in many ways. “Once their mission has been completed, I will personally see to it that they never bother us again.”

The man at the window nodded only once and left the conference room.

~6~

GUN NUTS

Ceramic mug filled with coffee in hand, Cutter strode up next to Morgan and Gauge, who were stacking and sorting items on a series of folding tables set up in the middle of their company’s warehouse. Both glanced up at Cutter at the same time and nodded. Morgan then brushed a lock of her newly shortened hair over one ear while Gauge grunted and returned to his work.

“How long until go-time?” Cutter asked, and then slurped his coffee.

“I need at least another hour,” Morgan answered. “There’s a load of specialized equipment coming in on a charter. Should be here within the hour. I just heard that the G4 is already at the airfield, fueled and ready to go, but I had to make a slight adjustment to our normal crew. Hope that is okay with you.”

Of course.
Cutter trusted her with that and whomever she might have selected to fly him there. Hell, he trusted her with just about everything. He raised his mug and was just about to ask her what she meant by a crew adjustment when—

“We have one quick stop in Atlanta to pick up Dr. Martinez,” she said before he could speak, “and it’s overseas from there. Got your passport ready, Jack?”

“Which one?” He had collected quite a few over the years.

She smiled back, and he let the whole replacement crew matter drop. She knew what she was doing. Her smile quickly faded, and she headed off, typing away one-handed on her small tablet computer.

He found Gauge checking various weapons arrayed on one of the larger tables in the spacious warehouse. “How we set?”

The big man looked back and raised an eyebrow. “This is just a quick extraction mission, so I’m thinking we go light this time around. Just like you always say.”

But Cutter knew that ‘light’ for Gauge held an entirely different meaning than it did for most normal people. But it did fit well with Cutter’s own
go in light, get out fast
mentality.

Arrayed on the table before him were a plethora of legal, somewhat illegal, and
this-will-put-you-in-prison-for-a-long-long-time
weaponry.

Even as muscular as he was, Gauge struggled a bit to pick up the first of the weapons. “This is a GAU-2/A M134 Minigun. Got this baby made up especially for us. It’s been lightened, and the fire rate has been tweaked down a bit to preserve ammo. But it’s still plenty fast. I also had it fitted with a special battery pack that will—”

“Looks like it weighs as much as a Buick. You sure you can handle it?”

Gauge grinned broadly and set the big gun down next to the tripod mount for it. “You have to ask?”

“And when you pull the trigger the first time and are out of every bit of ammunition you can possibly carry for it in two seconds flat?”

Gauge shrugged. “Then we leave it with the vehicles.”

They both moved to the next weapon.

“Recognize this?”

Cutter shook his head as if he didn’t, which caused Gauge to smile again.

“This is a Milkor MGL grenade launcher. Six chambers of 40-millimeter goodness, here. We got a bunch of different projectiles for it—from smoke to flash to fireworks to tweaked-HEDPs, which come with a slightly larger kill radius.”

“Define ‘slightly larger.’”

“Oh, maybe seven to ten meters instead of five. Best not to use them at close range, though. They might just bounce around for a while and then go boom in a big way. But they are great for covering your ass in a retreat. Just remember not to fire them too closely and you’ll be okay.”

“Still seems a little heavy. Got anything more my size?”

Gauge frowned at that statement and set the shell he had picked up back down on the table next to a long line of others. He reached for the next weapon on the table and picked it up. “This is a Fostech Origin 12. When you want to clear out the room with a lot of boom, this is what I’d recommend. Chews through ammo, though.”

“Again, a little bulky for me. What else?”

“Maybe these will do. They are a few of the newest additions.” He picked one up and flipped it to Cutter.

Cutter caught the weapon and tested the weight.
Nice.
The assault rifle was light and compact, which he instantly took a liking to. He lifted it to his shoulder and looked down the barrel. He could imagine himself shooting it either up at his shoulder or slung low from a strap.

“Like it?” Gauge asked. “That’s a Badger AA6 chambered in .300 Blackhawk. It’s a mean little son of a bitch. We got these ones specially made up for us. Short barrel, suppressed. You won’t go deaf shooting it. And it fires both subsonic and supersonic thirty-cals. I got these babies upgraded with SarPoint sights with tactical flashlights, green lasers, and 2 MOA dots.” He paused to take a breath. “Then I had the shop strap on M203s launchers that will take the same loads as the MGL. These babies will make sure that whatever we go up against will soon be with God Almighty, and by the time they get there, they will be so thoroughly ass-fu—”

“They’ll do,” Cutter said approvingly. He tossed the weapon back to Gauge. “Can you strap night optics on them?”

Gauge blew out a sharp breath and rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t want do that.”

“Why?”

“Headsets. Morgan’s got new tech lined up for us.”

“Okay, good,” Cutter said. “What about sidearms?”

“I got that covered there too, boss.”

Cutter grunted his approval. “You still planning on bringing Betty along?” Again, he was certain of the answer, but it was his little ritual he always went through with the man. It felt a little like putting on an old pair of board shorts.

Gauge beamed back enthusiastically. “I never leave home without her.” He withdrew the custom nickel-plated Desert Eagle .50 that he kept in a shoulder holster located next to his heart. The massive handgun had been modified extensively, but the only visible evidence of those modifications was the extended magazine, which stuck out somewhat.

Thirteen rounds always beat eight rounds
, Gauge had often said.

Cutter picked up his coffee mug and raised it in salute. “Add a couple of MP5Ks for good measure.”

“What do you want with those puny things?” Gauge shook his head dismissively. “Too small. Not so good.”

“For you,” Cutter replied. “I’m also thinking Glocks. Some 19s for the ammo swap with the MP5s. I can carry a lot more extras then. And add in an additional complement of Glocks, including one for the doctor. A small 26 should do just fine for her.”

Gauge continued to lovingly admire his Desert Eagle fifty-caliber beast. “What if she doesn’t want it or doesn’t know how to use it?”

“Then you show her the hell how to,” Cutter replied as if the answer should have been obvious.

Morgan returned and lightly touched Cutter on the shoulder. “I hate all these guns. I really, really hate them. You do know that bringing all this firepower into a mine is a seriously stupid idea? There could be so much methane down there that your first shot could very well be your last.”

Gauge grunted a wide smile he shared with Cutter, who was trying to ignore Morgan’s mothering.

Cutter leaned in closer to Gauge. “That reminds me. Explosives. C4 packs, detonators, all the jazzy stuff.”

“You two are crazy,” Morgan said. “You guys know that? You are nothing but gun nuts. Little boys with big toys.”

She thrust the tablet computer she held into Cutter’s hand and patted his shoulder. “Still, Jack, I’m glad you’re in a better mood. We’ve been seriously worried about you.”

Cutter stared blankly at the manifest on the screen. He didn’t have a clue what half the items on the list would ever be used for. But if it was on her list, then it was damn well indispensable. Except for guns. She always left out the guns.

She pointed the screen. “See those checkmarks?”

He did. Only about ten percent of the boxes were checked.

“Help us out then with all that, won’t you? Go find some of those things in the bins over there. Or are you still thinking you are doing this job on your own?”

Yes, I do plan to do this all on my own
. Somehow, though, she’d figured out his plan long before he had broached the subject with them.

She turned and walked away, toes crossing her centerline with each step. Much as he hated to admit it, he admired the way her hips swung as she moved. It was just too damn bad she played for the other team.

Too damn bad
.