David Golemon - Event

"You lead, we'll cover," Everett shouted, coming to a knee with his own weapon already drawn and aimed at the shoddy curtain.

Mendenhall was already duckwalking toward the major, using the booths for cover. Everett and O'Connell stood as one and ran toward the side of the curtain with guns held up in the air. Everett nodded and Collins ran for the curtain, coming to his knees. At that moment three quick shots rang out and echoed from what seemed like considerable distance. The two men looked at each other and Collins pointed his finger at the door, then pointed down.

Everett mouthed the word basement to O'Connell.

The music on the jukebox went suddenly silent. They looked over at the black army sergeant; he was just dropping the cord he had yanked from the wall. He stood there with his gun pointed toward the curtain in an area in the center between the two officers.

Other distant shots sounded, echoing until they faded away, erupted again and then stopped.

Farbeaux was furious. The fool he had sent up the stairs from the basement to check on their visitors had obviously panicked and opened fire. He didn't like admitting it, but he had become used to the professional way the company's Black Teams operated, not like these goons the club had on staff. Now he calmly waited for the man to reappear so he could shoot the incompetent fool. He quickly turned to the other two who were standing by the card table and put two rounds into them, just as the closest one turned and fired. The round missed the Frenchman by two feet, but caught the unfortunate Reese in the head.

"My apologies, Mr. Reese, I'm afraid circumstances have prevented me from keeping my promise," he said as he quickly turned for the door that led to the alley behind the club.

As the door opened, he saw several things at once. First was an older man who was coming toward him while reaching for something behind him, probably a weapon. The second was, Farbeaux assumed, the old man's younger companion, who was turned and looking at three men in black who were approaching from the lot. They had already drawn their weapons and opened up, making the younger man hit the asphalt and roll under a car. Then they turned their weapons toward the old man himself. That man had turned at the sound of gunfire behind him, then suddenly flailed his arms and fell as Farbeaux opened fire with his silenced weapon, making the old man's assailants all dive for cover. Farbeaux made his way for the fallen man and saw he had been hit in the upper chest. He grimaced and fired twice more toward the three men in black as he used his own cover fire to sprint from the rear lot.

Gianelli had regained his composure and started firing toward the men who had taken cover behind the parked cars. They returned fire and broke for the alley toward the running man Gianelli had seen exit the club, then the marine noticed that Gunny was down.

Let's go," Collins said.

He burst through the curtain first, followed by the taller Everett. They were at the top of a stairwell that descended into what had to be a basement. The paint on the walls was peeling and the stairwell looked as if it was seldom used. Collins, Everett, and O'Connell started down. Mendenhall placed himself at the top of the stairs with his nine-millimeter pointed outward into the club.

One minute later, a very long one minute of creaking wooden stairs, Collins stepped onto a concrete floor. The only door was five feet in front of him. He knew he was a sitting duck to anyone who wanted to plug a couple of rounds into the door from the other side, but he felt the urgency of what was happening. He glanced back at Everett. They both started forward and placed themselves on either side of the door. The major motioned with his finger, pointing upward for Everett to go high, then used the same finger pointing down, indicating he would go low. It was a classic police maneuver he had learned in terrorist training at Fort Bragg. The lieutenant would kick the door in, then Collins would dive and quickly roll, bringing his gun to bear on anything in front of him. Then Everett would come in high, and in theory the odds of both of them getting hit were low, and that was why policemen and military people used it all over the world.

What Collins saw after finishing his roll was bizarre to say the least. The topless girl from upstairs was now dead. She was propped up against a man that lay against a far wall with a perfect round hole between her eyes. As she had tried to follow Farbeaux outside, a stray round had ended her flight. A small trickle of blood had run down between her sagging breasts.

"Jesus, Major, what the fuck happened here?" Everett whispered.

Collins said nothing; he just looked at the body of Robert Reese, still seated in the swivel chair in which he had died. One of his white shirtsleeves was rolled up, indicating he had probably been drugged.

"Jesus," said Mendenhall as he stepped around Everett and into the room.

Collins made a shushing gesture with his finger to his lips and looked around at the two men lying by the card table. He could see they had been dispatched at close range. Then Jack saw the notebook lying on the blood-covered floor and quickly realized that it was filled with notes about the Event yesterday, penned in a neat hand that hadn't been hurried to say the least. Jack frowned when he saw notations on Operation Purple Sage. Then question marks after it.

Suddenly, the doorway was filled with a form and Jack raised his pistol.

"Major!" a familiar voice called out, hollowly echoing off the basement walls.

"O'Connell?" Everett called, the handgun now pointing toward the doorway.

"Yes, sir," the marine answered. The others watched as O'Connell, holding up a severely wounded Gianelli, stumbled in through the doorway. Everett and Mendenhall lowered their guns and helped with Gianelli, and Collins covered their movement.

"What the hell...?" Collins hissed.

"Sir, he told me Gunny's hit bad," O'Connell said as his teeth clenched in the effort to hold the other man upright. "I found him when I went back out the front toward the gunfire."

Collins moved his head, indicating Everett and Mendenhall should get outside and check out what was going on.

"Report, Gianelli. What are we up against?" Collins asked, bending down to come eye to eye with the injured man.

"One... man ran... from the building," Gianelli said, getting his breath, "Then others ambushed him and... us. Some... guys bushwhacked... us from behind. They hit Gunny, but they were gunning for the guy who ran... out of the club."

Collins looked around and saw the video monitors. One of them had a view of the back, and as he was staring at the black-and-white image, he saw Everett break into the sunlight and head off camera, followed quickly by the sergeant.

"Come on, son, let's get the hell out of here," Collins said, helping to lift the young marine.

He supported most of the wounded man's weight as the three made their way outside. When they exited the back door, Mendenhall was on his knees, bending over Gunny, pushing down steadily on his chest. He was trying to stop the life's blood from draining from the old marine. The gunnery sergeant's gun was still wedged between his belt and his tucked-in shirt. Everett knelt beside him.

"Hang in there, Gunny, we'll get you some help."

Gunny took a deep breath as sirens started to sound a distance away.

"Get in there and get Reese, we're not leaving anyone behind," Collins ordered O'Connell.

Mendenhall looked from Collins to the gasping gunnery sergeant. Blood was now bubbling at the corners of the old man's lips. Mendenhall was stunned and quickly swiped a tear of frustration away.

"Grab that videotape out of the recorder on the desk," Collins shouted at the retreating O'Connell. The private didn't turn but just raised his right hand in acknowledgment as he ran for the rear door.