Ballistic Force(78)

“Give it a rest, buddy,” Cook muttered, eyeing the official in his side-view mirror. “You don’t have to alert the whole goddamn island!”

But the other man continued chasing the two vehicles, shouting that they’d missed their turnoff. His cries forewarned some of the workers standing outside the FETC facilities, and when one of them grabbed for a walkie-talkie clipped to his waist, Bolan was instantly on his guard. While he’d yet to see anything more than a bare-bone security force, but as Cook had cautioned earlier, intel on the carrier was limited, and given the amount of black-market cargo now suspected of being trafficked through the site, it seemed a safe bet that the operation was being safeguarded by more than a handful of rent-a-cops.

“Let’s kick it into gear here!” he told Cook, slipping his Desert Eagle from his holster.

“I hear you.”

Cook gave the Hummer more gas and bore down on the FETC compound. A security guard frowned at the sight of the approaching vehicle and stood in front of the turnoff, then quickly dived to one side as the Hummer barreled past. The larger truck followed suit. It had been decided that the Hummer crew would take the hangar, so once they were on the FETC grounds, the truck veered sharply to the right and headed for the control tower.

As Bolan had feared, it quickly became clear that taking over the facility would be no cakewalk. Several more armed security guards had already appeared just outside the hangar, and the Hummer was still fifty yards shy of its objective when at least a dozen more men rushed outside, brandishing AK-107 assault rifles.

“Hang on, boys and girls!” Cook shouted, ducking behind the wheel as the first fusillade of enemy fire smashed through the front windshield.

Bolan had seen the rounds coming and was bent over in the front seat, one arm raised to deflect the shower of glass. In his other hand was his Desert Eagle, safety off, ready to fire. Once the first volley had done its damage, he peered up over the dashboard and fired through the shattered windshield, nailing one of the enemy gunmen. Behind him, Bahn, Scanlon and the two other soldiers were crouching in the rear of the Hummer, ready to make their move. Scanlon had his hand on the door latch.

“Just tell us when,” he called out.

“Wait until we stop,” the major shouted back at him.

The plan had been to drive up to the main entrance and then have everyone pile out, but in light of the stiff resistance they were facing, Cook decided to improvise. He yanked sharply on the steering wheel and veered left, heading toward one of the service bays where the hangar door was only a quarter of the way closed. Two FETC goons stood between the Hummer and the opening. One raised his AK-107 to fire, then changed his mind and somersaulted to his right, putting himself out of the ATV’s path.

The other soldier froze in place, clearly caught off guard. By the time he’d pulled the trigger on his rifle, the Hummer was upon him. With a sickly thud, he was knocked into the air, rifle flying as he bounded off the right front quarter panel and was sent crashing to the ground with a shattered pelvis.

The Hummer, barely jostled by the impact, continued to speed forward. Someone inside the hangar tried to lower the door, but it was too late. Wood and metal splintered as the Hummer crashed through the half-drawn barrier.

Only then did Major Cook apply the brakes, skidding the massive vehicle to a halt several yards shy of a small Cessna that had been undergoing service.

“All right!” Cook bellowed even before the Hummer had come to a complete stop. “Get to that radio of theirs, quick!”

Scanlon heaved open his door and led the charge out of the rear of the Hummer. Bolan, meanwhile, rolled out of the front seat, dodging a spray of gunfire coming from the doorway leading to a walled-off enclosure just inside the main entrance. He dived to the concrete and rolled twice, then came up firing. A 3-shot burst took out the man who’d been gunning for him, and Bolan quickly lunged forward, hoping to reach the radio room before someone else could take up position by the doorway.

Three other FETC goons joined in the fray, not by way of the radio room, but from behind rows of crates stacked near the far wall of the hangar. They managed to strafe the Hummer crew with a deadly spray of 5.56 mm NATO rounds from their AK-107s before they were spotted. The two Rangers caught the worst of it and died without ever knowing they’d been ambushed from behind.

Scanlon was hit in midstride, as well, taking a slug that nicked a rib and plowed through his internal organs before lodging close to his spine. Losing all feeling in his legs, the FBI agent went down hard and fast on the concrete.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled as he tried to crawl to cover. “My legs!”