Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection Read online

  She lowered her eyes slowly from him, down across the floor of the helo and finally to the bulge in the side pocket of her field jacket where her right hand was. She shoved the Beretta against the fabric inside her pocket as far as she could, making the barrel more than obvious.

  She brought her eyes back up slowly to his, then grinned back. He looked down to the bulge in her coat and his face cleared of any sign of amusement. His eyes narrowed then shifted back to hers.

  For the next few minutes the ride was tense. Chardoff looked to Sergeant Krebs, the man that had been helping him “exterminate” earlier. She saw that his left forearm was wrapped with a camouflaged bandage. She nodded defiantly, realizing that was where she had shot him. He nodded back one of those yeah-you’re-safe-now-but-I’ll-get-you-later sort of nods.

  The helo came over a clearing in the midst of rolling, rocky hills, tall brown grass and sparse trees and sat down abruptly.

  Chardoff stood and pointed to the floor at the front of the helo near where the aviation-helmeted crew chief stood.

  “Leave your gear,” he said. “Flak jackets, too. Rifles only.

  “The men obeyed without question, throwing their cumbersome packs and protective jackets forward in a pile.

  The ramp dropped slowly and two more helicopters landed behind them and began deplaning groups of black-uniformed men—the SEAL teams from the Enterprise. When the ramp was down completely, Chardoff’s men rushed off. Chardoff was last. He hesitated.

  “After you,” he yelled out and waved his hand.

  “Think I’ll stay,” she said, once again making the Beretta obvious.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “We’ll get a chance to rehash some old business before the night’s over.”

  “Look forward to it,” she said.

  He trotted down the ramp and followed his men through the tall, brown grass toward a group of trees about three hundred yards out.

  Spurs stood as the three-man helo crew watched her.

  She yelled to them as the big engines shut down, “Just here to observe.” She walked over to the crew chief and asked, “So what’s the plan now?”

  “We wait until 0500—until they’re done playing their games.”

  Spurs went back to the tail and watched for a couple minutes until the last of the men had disappeared into the trees. She stepped off of the ramp and ran ninety degrees to the right of them to higher ground. She didn’t know what for sure she was doing or even why, just that something was set to happen tonight, she was sure, and she had to find out what in time to stop it.

  At the top of the nearest hill, she fell prone and watched for movement from the trees that the men had run into, now five hundred yards away. The bright moon gave the tiny emerging figures contrast to the lighter rocks and surroundings. They came out ten yards apart, moving steadily toward what appeared to be an abandoned stone barn, over twice the distance away from her. She wondered what was in that building and if it was germane to Chameleon. Looking to the next hill for a new and closer vantage point, she noticed four tarpaulin-covered trucks parked in a line along a small trail below it.

  There were more than just the two US Special Forces groups out there tonight. Each of the trucks could hold as many as twenty men. She may find some answers there.

  She ran down the back side of the hill she was on and took a wide angle to the trucks, coming up on the trail behind them. She stayed low, running through stickers and thorn bushes along a ditch that ran parallel to the path.

  When she came to within a hundred yards, she saw two sentries, both with what appeared to be M16s. One stood at the front of the trucks, one at the rear. Both looked ahead. If her luck held out, she could get very close.

  Edging up to within twenty yards of the closest sentry and the back of the last truck, she hid behind a boulder as large as a kitchen stove and considered her plan.

  These men were not American military. The closest one had a broad, bushy mustache and smoked a cigarette. That mustache would be well trimmed if he was an American GI and, besides, no American serviceman would ever be allowed to smoke while on guard duty. However, he did wear the same sort of fatigues that the others were wearing.

  A look inside the trucks might provide information: what they were carrying, who they were, anything that could piece the puzzle together.

  Spurs found a rock that filled her palm and hefted it to the other side of the truck. The two men looked to one another from each end of the row of vehicles and then ran to the other side. Spurs leaped up quickly and sprinted to the back of the first covered truck and vaulted in.

  She lay silently while listening to the two sentries scampering around the trucks. It sounded like one or both of them jumped into the back of the vehicle in front of the one she was in. They seemed calmed as one said something to the other in what sounded like an Arabic dialect and then it sounded as if the two men had jumped to the ground.

  “Bah, bah,” said one of the Arabs, like a sheep or goat and they both laughed.

  The moonlight coming in from the back of the covered truck did little to illuminate the inside. She felt around, finally coming up with an empty cigarette pack and some spent 7.62mm cartridges that looked old, tarnished in the dim light. The rifles she thought that the Arab sentries were carrying fired 5.56mm ammo. These had been in the back of the truck for months, probably years.

  It had been a wasted risk and now she had to figure out how to get away. But then she thought about how the two Arabs had checked the truck in front and none of the others. Thank God, they hadn’t looked in the one that she was in. But why didn’t they? Something important was in that second truck.

  Spurs peeked out the back and didn’t see either sentry but did hear their voices. She went to the front of the truck bed and parted the tarp slightly. The sentries were standing together, two trucks up.

  She would not have a better chance. She returned to the back and lowered herself to the ground from the tailgate, and then ran around the side, opposite the Arab gunmen. Then, reaching from the side, she raised her foot up to the high rear bumper of the truck and lifted and swung herself up and around and stepped over the closed tailgate.

  Sitting in front of her was Lieutenant Darren North.

  Chapter 54

  DEADLY GAMES

  May 13, 0130

  SPURS POINTED HER gun, not recognizing North at first, then aimed at him when she realized that it was him. Where had he been? Was he in cahoots with the Arabs? He was sitting against the front of the truck bed on the floor in a patch of moonlight showing from a large tear in the tarp above. She soon realized that he was tied up and badly beaten. She ran to him and knelt by his side. He looked up groggily.

  His hands were tied behind his back, his legs tied together and he was gagged. He had a dark bruise over his right eye, a blackened left eye, a swollen bottom lip and a gash on his chin. She quickly took the gag off and he smiled to her. The eyes weren’t nearly as sparkling and charming this time, but they were no less welcome. She kissed him gently on the forehead.

  “Are you able to walk?” she asked frowning over his injuries.

  “Water,” he said, nodding to a utility belt with two canteens hung on it, “and I’ll race you back to the ship.”

  She untied his hands and reached over to the belt, taking care to not make noise.

  She took one canteen out and unscrewed the lid and he took it eagerly, gulping the first few ounces.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Tell you later,” he said as they both untied his legs. “We’ve got to get out of here. They were going to kill me when they heard the signal.”

  “What signal?” she asked.

  He took a final gulp of water just as what sounded like fireworks erupted. But Spurs knew it wasn’t fireworks. More likely an ambush. An ambush of the Marine Recon squad and the SEAL teams who were only armed with blanks.

  “That signal,” he said. “Too late.”

  Chapter 55
r />   NO TIME LEFT

  WHEN THE TWO Arab gunmen climbed into the back of the truck, they saw North gagged and tied up as he was supposed to be.

  “Time to die, American dog,” one said. The other laughed.

  Spurs hoped they wouldn’t notice too soon that the rope across North’s legs had only been laid there and the gag hung loosely from his mouth. She and North had been in too big of a hurry to do a very convincing job. She also hoped that they wouldn’t immediately notice that he sat slightly farther away from the front of the truck bed than before, and that he had a little strawberry blonde as a back cushion.

  They didn’t.

  North pulled the Beretta out as they approached. Their eyes grew big as he fired two shots into each of their chests and they fell to the floor.

  “Let’s go,” he said handing the pistol back to her and picking up one of the M-16s.

  They leaped from the back.

  “Chopper’s this way,” Spurs said and started across the ditch toward the hill she’d observed from.

  “Stay low,” North said and followed.

  He caught up as they jogged around the hill and slung the rifle over his arm.

  They paused, looking into each other’s eyes, his arms around her shoulders. He grabbed her up and kissed her. She struggled at first. There were more important matters to attend to. But her body gave in. This was something good, something true in her confused world and she took of it. She kissed him back passionately, her backbone melting, she hung in his strong arms.

  He released her and smiled that charming smile.

  “They snatched me in Bizerte,” he said. “Found out I was CIA, on their trail. Damn glad to see that you made it.”

  “CIA?”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m kind of a double-double—working inside the Navy for the CIA.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “They’ve just ambushed our two Special Forces units; the Marine Recon team from the Atchison and a couple of SEAL teams from the Enterprise. The terrorists are going to get aboard both ships, without anyone thinking twice, dressed like our people. Especially since some of ours are mingled with them.”

  “Chardoff.”

  “Who else. Once aboard, they’ll knock out all the weapons on the Enterprise and firebomb the flight deck. On the Atchison, they’ll arm the cruise missiles and fire them at the Big E and sink her in the Strait of Gibraltar.”

  “Impossible!”

  “No. Likely if we don’t stop them. If they sink her in the middle of the strait the way they’re planning, they’ll stop all maritime traffic to and from the west end of the Mediterranean. All ships will have to go through the Arab-controlled Suez Canal until they get the strait cleaned up. That could take a very long time with eight of the Enterprise’s nuclear reactors spilling radioactive uranium all over the shipping lane. The danger will be minimal under seawater, but the fear of radiation and possibility of thousands of tons of ordinance blowing up will keep everyone away. The Arab countries, although innocent of any wrongdoing will make a killing, while Western Europe will suffer. Allah’s Jihad will become heroes among their Muslim brothers.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll try to hijack one of the choppers and go back to the Atchison. On the way, we’ll radio the Fleet Commander on the Enterprise and warn him. They’ll knock down the other two choppers full of terrorists before they can say, Marine Barracks, Lebanon.”

  They resumed their run back to the helicopters and then slowed when they came into view of them, not knowing if the pilots could be trusted. All three aircraft sat quietly. They moved around to the back, watching the three crew chiefs standing outside talking to one another as they smoked and watched the trees for their cargo to return.

  North and Spurs quietly stepped up the ramp of the helo Spurs had arrived in.

  By the time they were halfway to the cockpit, they realized the terrorists were only a hundred yards behind.

  “Get this bird up!” North ordered the pilot, holding his M-16 out.

  “What the hell?” the pilot asked, he and his copilot twisting around to see him.

  Outside there were gunshots. The three crew chiefs collapsed. Then two carefully aimed shots snapped through the helicopter’s windshield and into the cockpit from the outside. Both pilots slumped.

  Chapter 56

  YOU PEEKED

  WHEN THE TEAM of terrorists boarded the helicopter, Spurs and North had gone undercover— really undercover.

  The impostors stomped on board and four went to the front, stepping over the discarded packs and flak jackets as the first two reached into the cockpit and pulled the two dead American pilots out. They dragged them off the back and fired several rounds into their bodies as two new pilots climbed into the vacant seats.

  The engines on the other two helicopters cranked to life.

  Chardoff came forward carrying a silver case, the size of a medium suitcase. He set it between the pilots.

  “Don’t screw up!” he said then returned to the back of the craft.

  Spurs was thankful that he didn’t notice any difference when he stepped on her hand. She wiggled her fingers carefully, also thankful that the heavy son-of-a-bitch hadn’t broken her fingers.

  The packs smelled of canvas, camouflage grease paint, and gun oil. Not a pleasant odor but easily accepted.

  When that last man climbed over her, the pack covering her face slipped down a couple of inches from the one on her head. Now, she could see out into the troop hold easily but hoped the shadows from the packs would conceal her. It would be much too risky to move the lower pack back into place.

  The engines started as the last man to board trotted up to the pile of discarded gear and threw himself on top. He lay between North and Spurs and she hoped that North’s cover hadn’t shifted any more than hers.

  Noticing the packs move exaggeratingly with every breath she took, she resigned to take short, quick breaths. She could see the side of the dark-complexioned terrorist’s face. He had a broad, bushy mustache similar to the one the sentry at the trucks had, but along with it was a deep scar that ran from his left temple to his chin. She wasn’t sure, but he looked a little like one of the Arabs that she and Saber had fought with back in Tunisia—maybe the one that held her from behind that they called Fahmi. She couldn’t move without being noticed. If he turned just right, and in the right light, he would surely see her blue eyes staring back at him, mere inches away.

  Glancing around the inside of the helo, she saw at least twenty men and figured that there was probably as many on the other two helicopters. There seemed no chance of stopping the terrorists. How could either North or she prevent them from carrying out their plot? But they would try.

  The events over the past couple of days had caused an unquenchable resolve to boil over from the depths of her soul. Now, she was prepared to die for her country. She would die for Nader, for Franken, for Jabrowski. And there were the many others that had been killed along the way from Jesus, the crew chief who’d helped to rescue them from the sea, to poor little Saber. She would willingly die to avenge Saber.

  She considered pushing out of the gear and leaning into the cockpit and shooting both pilots. There should be at least two rounds left in her pistol. She might make it before they got her. If she missed, it would do little good. North had probably already thought of it and dismissed the idea. He surely had a plan. She should follow his more experienced lead.

  Anxious minutes dragged on. The helo banked and lights from the ship showed through the small windows on the sides of the aircraft like search beacons and panned along the inside. They were coming in to land.

  The Arab on top of the gear reached for the rifle he’d laid at his side. His hand went under the pack it was next to and found Spurs’ hand. He felt her fingers curiously without looking.

  She watched his face as he frowned.

  The helo hovered, dropping cautiously to the flight deck as the man turned to her slowly.
He looked into her eyes, his eyebrows raising. He stared much too long.

  What could she do? She was caught. As soon as the Arab opened his mouth, they would have her, and North, too.

  He still looked to her, frowning, his lips seeming unsure of the words they were to speak.

  Chapter 57

  NAUGLE’S LAST STAND

  0500 - USS Atchison

  INSIDE COMMANDER NAUGLE’S stateroom, the wild boar head was silent and still. The globe did not speak, nor did the trophy. Young Kelly’s picture did not beg for help or vengeance.

  Naugle’s head did not ache. He’d been sitting in the dark, as he had many nights, not wishing company of any kind. He preferred sitting where he was, dozing occasionally, dreaming of the past, wishing the clock could be turned back to the happier days, when Kelly was at Annapolis.

  “My, God,” Naugle said. “What have I done?”

  He looked around the room that had been animated before, speaking to him, giving him the terrible advice. It remained silent.

  Outside the dimly lit passageways of the Atchison no one was prepared for what was about to take place.

  What had he done?

  There’d been no one to hear Commander Naugle’s voice. Nor had there been anyone to hear his desk drawer open. No one would hear the gunshot.

  Within the next few minutes, all hell would break loose. By then the gun barrel would quit smoking and the blood that would soon leak from Naugle’s temple would coagulate into a large, dark red puddle on his desk.

  Chapter 58

  UNDER SIEGE

  0515 - Helicopter landing on the Atchison

  THE ARAB TERRORIST on top of the packs gasped lightly. His eyes bulged as he squeezed Spurs hand hard, but only briefly. It was almost as if he’d had a heart attack or a narcoleptic episode. In the next second, his eyes and his body relaxed and were still.