Ted Bell - Warlord

"On your right," Hawke said, seeing two men dive from behind the table and scramble for cover in a nearby alcove. "Smoke 'em, Harry, and go to cover."

Brock fired a sustained burst and the two men stopped shooting and living simultaneously. At that moment Harry sensed noise and movement from behind him. He whirled and saw the doors of another elevator opening into the room. Inside were three guys in green surgical scrubs carrying automatic weapons.

Harry began firing into the elevator car before the doors were fully opened. Two of the three Talibs inside never stood a chance. The third was unhurt and had Harry pinned down, crouching behind a very small wooden chair.

"Over here, mothercusser!" Stoke yelled at the last remaining elevator guy, diverting his focus away from Brock. "I'm putting a fatwa on your ugly ass!"

The guy looked wide-eyed at Stoke's yawning black muzzle and that was his last look ever. Stoke saw Hawke signal and hurled himself across the room to join him.

Stoke and Hawke took cover behind a large slab of marble being used as a desk. Rounds were taking chunks out of the stone. Hawke got Stoke's attention, mimicked pulling the pin on a grenade, and snatched one from his webbed utility belt. He pulled the pin and let the frag grenade "cook off" in his hand before heaving it over the upended table.

Stoke cringed at Hawke's decision. Cooking off grenades was an extremely dangerous thing to do since frag fuses were not completely reliable. On the other hand, this action eliminated any chance of the enemy hurling it back.

"One…two…and…" Hawke said before rising up and tossing it across the room where it dropped just behind the table. Ducking down as it exploded, he clapped both hands over his ears. The noise and concussion of the explosion was shattering in the closed quarters. Hawke looked at Stoke. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

Back to back, they moved out from behind the safety of the slab of marble swinging their weapons in opposite arcs, ready to kill anything that moved. Nothing was moving. There were four chopped-up bodies behind what was left of the heavy wooden table.

"Find a live one somewhere who speaks English," Hawke called out. "If you can."

"Over here," Brock said.

Hawke and Stoke converged on the guy. Chest wound sucking loudly. Hawke knelt beside him.

"You're going to be okay. You're in a hospital after all, we're getting medics down here right now. I need to know where Abu al-Rashad is. Is he one of the men in this room?"

"No-o," the guy wheezed, and you could hear air from deep inside the wound.

"Where is he now?"

"Office."

"Where is his office?"

"One floor above. That elevator there. Please help me. Am I dying?"

"We are here to neutralize a weapon the Sheik has taken from the Islamabad nuclear arsenal. Where is it? Here in this facility?"

"D-don't know…"

"I have help standing by on this radio. You want me to tell that doctor to hurry up?"

"Please, God. Please get me a doctor…"

"Is there another way out of this complex? A way for the Sheik to escape?"

"A hidden elevator. Drops down from the ceiling behind his desk. Leads to a door in the morgue."

"Where would he go? How does he travel?"

"In a body bag. Everywhere."

"Good God."

"Please help me. I don't want to die."

"No one does," Hawke said, getting to his feet. He looked at Stoke and Brock and said, "One floor up. We'll use the elevator with the three dead occupants."

It was the work of ten minutes to discover that whoever had been there had left in a hurry. Hawke found three half-empty plates of food and three cups of still warm tea on the desk in the Sheik's office. He looked up at the ceiling and saw the faint outline of a square the size of a small elevator.

"Sahira," he said into his lip mike, "has anyone left the hospital?"

"No. But about ten minutes ago a Red Crescent ambulance pulled up outside and two medical technicians retrieved a corpse from the morgue and loaded it in the back. Did you find the weapon?"

"No. We have enemy wounded down here. Ring the hospital operator and tell them we need a trauma team down in the morgue. I will meet them there and direct them to the Sheik's underground bunker."

"Got it."

"Then go out and tell Abdul to call the ambassador at the U.S. Embassy residence. Use my name. Give him the situation here. Describe that ambulance and the two med techs in as much detail as you possibly can. And which direction it was headed."

"Don't tell me he-"

"Went out in that body bag? Yeah, that's exactly what he did. I need to know. Were the techs carrying anything?"

"No. Wait…Damn it!"

"What?"

"Alex, there was one of those UN corrugated aluminum coffins on the lower rack of the gurney, beneath the body. I thought that was a little odd, but since-"

"Our target has a nuclear weapon in that ambulance, Sahira. Not warheads, obviously, they wouldn't fit in the UN coffin. He's got a suitcase-sized device. Get Abdul to get his CIA contact to set up checkpoints and get Pak Army choppers in the air. We need to stop that ambulance before it leaves the city."

"I'm on it," Sahira said and dashed outside.

Hawke looked at Brock, and Harry saw red-hot anger flashing in the man's normally cool blue eyes.

"Say the F-word, Harry. Right now. This is a one-time-only opportunity."

Harry said it, all right.

Loud and clear enough for all of them.

MUHAMMAD IMRAN SPED AWAY from the hospital in the Red Crescent ambulance, leaving the staff and patients completely unaware of the ferocious drama that had just taken place deep belowground. He took the first entrance into the city's largest park. Inside the densely wooded area, in the predawn hours, there would be no vehicular traffic; and certainly no pedestrians out for a stroll.

Due to the seemingly endless power outages, most of the city was dark. Unless you lived in a section of the capital that housed some important minister, or retired generals, the chances were your street would have an interrupted electric supply at least twice a day. Imran believed the founder of Pakistan, the beloved Jinnah, was probably rolling in his grave over the current state of his country. Turmoil, to put it mildly. But Imran's employer, al-Rashad, would soon right all the wrongs, of that he had no doubt.

He drove the big white ambulance at very high speeds now, along the serpentine road leading to an ancient stone gate on the far side of the city. This arch was the entrance to Islamabad's "old town." It was all that remained of the original settlement of Saidpur.

The streets here were narrow and circuitous, with many dead ends, and the chances of being followed were minimal. The only thing he feared now were Pak Army or police helicopters with searchlights. But, so far, nothing in the sky, nor in the rearview mirror.

Muhammad Imran's knowledge that his ambulance now had, in addition to his powerful employer stuffed into a bag, one easily armed and detonated nuclear device two feet behind him was a bit worrisome. But he was sanguine. This night, or perhaps the next one, had always been his destiny. The Sheik had gathered him in, seduced the young ISI agent like the hypnotic imam he was, mesmerized him like so many countless thousands of Muslim jihadists.

Since the hospital's completion he and his constant companion, Ali, had practiced all of the Sheik's carefully planned and meticulously designed escape routes regularly. But this was the first time they'd executed the Islamabad hospital evac for real. All the plans were pretty much the same, although the level of menace had appreciated considerably, considering the fierce armed attack on what had previously been considered the ultimate secret bunker.