Gambit David Hagberg (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📖

“I did.”

“Where the hell are the other two?”

Alicia panned downslope until she picked out the fifth man bent over what was probably his drop bag on the ground, but not the sixth.

McGarvey motioned for Pete to keep quiet and stay down. He was too far away and it was too dark for him to know the exact number of jumpers who had landed upslope from their positions, but he could clearly see one man clad in black less than ten feet away downslope.

He and Pete had been bracketed, which could mean that they had been spotted from the air. But by the way the lone operator had gathered his parachute, McGarvey didn’t think that was the case.

McGarvey laid his room broom on the ground and took out his SOG SEAL Ka-Bar strapped on his chest outside his shirt.

Pete was watching him wide-eyed, and he motioned again for her to stay down and make no noise.

The operator was just loading his MP7 and jacking a round into the firing chamber when McGarvey got up. Keeping low, he raced down to him, making as little noise as possible.

At the last instant, the Russian, sensing something, turned around, bringing his weapon to bear, but McGarvey batted it aside with his left hand as he closed in.

Anosov fired a short burst into the air, and at the same moment, McGarvey thrust the knife into the man’s left side beneath his ribs, cutting the man’s heart nearly in two. The Russian opened his mouth, trying to say something, but then fired off another burst from the silenced weapon as his legs gave way and he started to collapse.

“Incoming!” Pete cried urgently from behind him.

McGarvey grabbed the Russian’s body, the knife still in his chest, and held it up as a shield as the second Russian approached in a dead run while firing his MP7, the rounds slamming into his fellow operator’s back.

Stepping to one side, Mac shoved the body forward, then ducked low as Nikolayev continued driving forward, his momentum making it impossible to pull up short.

“Sukin syn!”—Son of a bitch!—the Russian grunted, trying to bring his weapon around as he crashed into Anosov’s body.

McGarvey grabbed the submachine gun out of the man’s hands, stepped back, and jammed the muzzle of the silencer into the back of the Russian’s head.

“Ostanovites’, i vy budete zhit’,” McGarvey said. Stop and you’ll live.

Nikolayev’s eyes widened as he moved his head to the left, pulled a pistol with a large silencer on the end of the barrel from his holster, and fired. At the same instant, McGarvey pulled off a short burst, taking almost the entire side of the man’s head, two rounds spiraling out the back of his skull.

“You’re hit,” Pete said at McGarvey’s side.

McGarvey hadn’t felt a thing. He looked down and felt at the ragged hole in the left leg of his jeans several inches below his knee. The round had hit his prosthetic leg but had done no real damage.

“I’ll be goddamned,” Pete said.

“Get down now,” McGarvey told her, and he dropped to the ground, pulling her with him.

“What the hell?”

“These two were mis-drops; there’re more up toward the lighthouse,” McGarvey said. “And right about now, their mission CO is wondering what the hell happened to his people unless one of these guys told him.” He showed Pete the lapel mic on the Russian’s night camos. “I want him to keep wondering how many of us there are. Hopefully, he’ll do something stupid and come down here to find out what happened.”

“Doesn’t sound so stupid to me,” Pete said.

Alicia had watched everything through the binoculars, and when McGarvey and Pete dropped to the ground, she switched to the four operators farther up the hill. They had dropped into defensive positions, their attention downslope.

“Mac took down both operators who’d dropped behind him and Pete,” she said. “The other four have taken an interest.”

“What are they doing?” Bender asked.

“I think they’re trying to decide exactly what they should do.”

“What do you mean?”

“They have to know or at least suspect that two of their people are down, and they might be thinking about taking care of the threat below them before coming up here. But I’ll bet that they’re surprised in a nasty way.”

“Let me see,” Bender said. He pushed her aside, took the binoculars, and stepped to the open window.

“I’d watch what you’re doing; you’re in plain sight,” Alicia warned.

“Vasili, report,” Vetrov radioed. There was no answer. “Eduard, report.” Again, his earbud remained silent.

“Someone is in the top-floor window of the lighthouse,” Silin said.

“Do you have a clear shot?” Vetrov asked without turning.

“Da.”

“Take them down.”

Silin fired two long bursts, bracketing the open window, and the figure disappeared. “Done,” he said. His weapon was dry, and he switched mags. “What next?”

“Down the hill to deal with whoever took Vasili and Eduard out,” Vetrov said.

“McGarvey?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then who was in the window?”

“We’ll find out later. For now, we’re splitting—two left, two right,” Vetrov said. “Move.”

SEVENTY-TWO

McGarvey was hunched over the Russian with the knife in his chest, taking the room broom and four spare mags from the body. “They know someone is down here, and they’re going to try to flank us,” McGarvey said.

Pete hunched low and, moving fast, came over to him. “What’s our play?”

He gave her the submachine gun and mags. “We’re going up the middle, and when we get in range, we’re going to make a lot of noise, so get rid of the suppressor and make ready to fire at anything that moves.”

Pete stuffed the Glock in the waistband of her jeans and unscrewed the suppressor as Mac took the radio unit from the body, placed the earbud in his right ear, clipped the mic to the lapel of his black polo shirt, and pocketed the cell phone–size unit.

He took the night vision goggles from the body and handed them to Pete, then moved to the other Russian, took the night vision goggles and put them on