The driver reached down beneath the dashboard and tugged on the barrel of an AK-47. “Weapon,” barked Ruvo, who brought up the shotgun, shot through the windshield, and blew the driver off the jeep in a cloud of pulverized glass. Gable shot the passenger in 1.5 seconds with a double tap in the chest, and a third round in the head, a triple called The Mozambique. The guy collapsed and slid beneath the dashboard. Even before he hit the floor, Ruvo and Lachs advanced on the vehicle in the bent shuffle of close-quarter combat, each firing three rounds, simultaneously knocking the two in the backseat over the rear of the jeep. The sounds of the shots rocketed into the night air, and more dogs on both sides of the river started barking. Aspirated grunts came from the black river. The dead passenger in the jeep settled sideways. The whole evolution had lasted twelve seconds.
“You CIA guys all this good?” said Lachs. He had last seen The Mozambique used in Panama.
“Yeah, it’s the sensitivity training we get,” said Gable. “And the pistol instructors from Texas.” The SEALs looked sideways at Gable.
“You could do with more time on the range,” said Ruvo to Lachs. “You hit that last guy a little high.”
“Didn’t hear him complain,” said Lachs.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” said Gable. “Check these guys for IDs, usually little paper booklets.”
“I’ll ditch the jeep behind the shed,” said Lachs. “You want me to rig a bang on the ignition?”
Gable shook his head. “Odds are some kids will find it first. Let ’em have it.”
“What about these guys?” asked Ruvo, looking at the tangle of legs on the ground.
“Wait a minute,” said Lachs. “Listen.” The sound of multiple vehicles coming across the field and the babbling of excited voices were faint, but getting louder.
“Fuck,” said Gable peeking around the tangle of riverine brush. “More militia. I make three jeeps a klick out, coming slowly.”
Ruvo racked the shotgun slide. “That makes no more than twelve loopy lovers; we each take out a jeep and we’re done.” Gable shook his head.
“They heard our shots. They’ll come in expecting trouble. Odds are too great something happens and we lose the missiles.”
Lachs slapped a muddy missile case on the truck bed. “Let’s fucking use three of these puppies to take out the three jeeps.”
“We sure they gonna light up?” said Ruvo. “They been immersed for a long time.”
Gable looked through the brush again. “They’re slowing down running close to the bank; they don’t know what they’re looking for. You guys take the truck back across the field to the embassy. Bianchi’s waiting at the gate and he’ll open the storeroom. Get those missiles locked down and safe.”
“What the fuck you think you’re gonna do?” said Ruvo.
“I’ll knock out a couple of headlights, crawl into the brush, and keep ’em pinned down. They won’t notice you guys and the truck crossing the field.”
“There’s twelve of those gomers,” said Lachs. “I’ll stay and Ruvo can get those cases back.”
Gable shook his head. “You both get those cases back to the embassy, one drive, one riding shotgun, don’t stop for anything.” The SEALs were pros, and didn’t argue. Ruvo kept his pistol, but handed Gable the shotgun and a pocketful of shells. Lachs handed over his Browning pistol and two spare magazines. Gable stuck the pistol in his belt and stuffed his pockets with ammo.
“We’ll get back with more firepower ASAP,” said Lachs. “Just keep their heads down and stay in the damn brush. Don’t be a hero.”
Gable shook their hands. “Thanks for giving me a hand tonight. You guys made the world secure for another week at least.”
Lachs pointed at Ruvo. “I’m still turning this asshole in to the World Wildlife Federation for killing an endangered species of riverine reptile,” he said.
“If
“Back around these weeds and don’t go until I start popping at these gomers. Then steer for the yellow lamp on the corner of the embassy. Get those cases under lock and key.” The SEALs climbed into the truck, backed it up, and sat waiting. Ruvo gave Gable a thumbs-up.
