Point Position Page 16

  Bolan stepped back and looked at the oaks whose sturdy, overhanging branches would support his weight and allow him to get onto the top of the wall.

  He allowed himself a small smile. Buildings, walls, mountains, but it had been a long time since he’d been tree climbing.

  Testing a lower limb for weight-bearing, he hauled himself up onto the body of the tree, moving swiftly upward until he reached those branches and limbs that were drifting across toward the wall. None of them seemed strong enough to hold him, but there was one that was thick and strong as it joined the trunk, and he stood upright, edging out a few inches until the wall was within jumping distance.

  Bolan leaped for the wall, rolling across it as he landed heavily, feeling the uneven stone and brick along the top bite into him. His momentum carried him over the top of the wall, and he held on as he toppled over, fingers and palms biting into the brick and stone to keep him from a freefall. His torso thudded against the wall, and he waited until the shock wave had passed before allowing himself to drop slowly, making sure he kept his footing on the steep bank.

  All the while he had kept silent, even though the mike on the blacksuit would have enabled him to give Grimaldi and the mercs a running commentary. From what he’d seen, he didn’t want to panic Goldman into a rash action, which, he felt, would be too easy. But now he chose to speak, to allow them to know his movements.

  “Ross, Goldman, be ready to move. I’m on the outside and heading your way. Jack, keep tuned in and get ready.”

  “Copy that,” Grimaldi replied briefly.

  Bolan crossed the road and went through the hedgerow, cutting across the fields to the Citroën. As he neared the car, he saw that both Ross and Goldman were out in the open, looking expectantly toward him.

  “Well?” the redhead asked impatiently as Bolan approached.

  “First thing is that we need to move now. I suspect Chavez-Smith has another test of some kind planned. All the guards I saw had on headsets. What we have to do is get some of those. If we can, then we have a chance.”

  “We’d have a better chance if you sent your friend in to knock the crap out of them with some of the hardware I’m betting he’s got on that chopper of his,” Goldman said heatedly.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Bolan answered harshly. “They’d see the chopper coming in and use the weapon. With Jack immobilized, the chopper goes down, and they know there are other forces imminent—other forces that would also be immobilized. The only way to do this is with stealth. And we’ll just have to hope that we can get in there and get headsets before the test.”

  “If we don’t?” Ross queried.

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Bolan said simply. “One advantage we will have is that there’s no way they’ll be expecting an attack during a test, so we get headsets and attack them during the test itself. And believe me, we’ll need every advantage we can get…”

  Briefly, Bolan outlined the situation beyond the walls of the estate. It soon became obvious that the solution would be to draw the terrorists from out of the château and outbuildings and into the vineyards, where their strength would be dissipated. But this couldn’t be done until they had obtained headsets.

  “How are we going to do that?” Goldman asked.

  “Hang on, wait,” Ross countered, “if Cooper followed one security patrol, then they must be circulating at regular intervals, right?”

  “I’d say so,” Bolan replied. “I did a quick head count, and from that I figure there’s always eight to ten men on the grounds, most likely in pairs like the patrol I followed. That way, there’s always a sector of the grounds that’s covered.”

  “So how does that help us? There’s three of us and only two in a patrol. That doesn’t add up,” Goldman said.

  Bolan shook his head. “We don’t go in together. We split and take the east, west and south. The northern approach is completely open, and would be a suicide mission. The way I figure it is that we go over the wall at the point where we already have an opening, then split up and take a sector each. We can keep in touch with the mikes,” he added, tapping the mike in his blacksuit, “and search out the patrols in each sector. Hit them hard, get a headset, and when they’re in place we synchronize and mount the attack.”

  “Sounds like a straightforward plan,” Ross said, “but how are you going to draw them out of the château and disperse their forces?”

  “Well, if we synchronize and hit them from three angles, they’ll be like headless chickens anyway,” Bolan answered, “but just to stir them up a little more, I’ve got this.”

  The soldier moved to the trunk of the car, opened it and lifted out the combat bag. He set it on the ground and withdrew a disassembled weapon. Goldman looked at Ross, puzzled. Ross shrugged. Neither recognized it.

  “Gentlemen, say hello to the M-16 A-2, complete with an M-203 grenade launcher riding beneath. When this is put together, it takes a full thirty rounds of 5.56 mm ammunition. I guarantee this’ll will get the hornets out of the nest.”

  “Damn, it would make me move quickly.” Ross whistled softly. “How long does it take to assemble?”

  “Not long,” Bolan answered. “The only thing is getting the combat bag over the wall, with the trees providing such a strong natural defense. That’s one of the reasons I want us to go over in the same place. It’ll make stowing this a lot quicker if we work it between us.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ross said. “Let’s do it.”

  The three men exchanged glances. With combat about to begin, any differences were put aside for the common goal. They knew that there would be dispute over the chip if and when they obtained it, but that could wait. If they were to stand any chance of getting through this alive, then they would have to pull together.

  Without a word, Bolan led them across the fields and out onto the road. There was no sign of any passing traffic—idly, Bolan wondered if this road ever saw more than one car or truck in a day—and they crossed over to the wall.

  “I’ll go first,” Bolan said briefly. “When I’m on top, pass up the combat bag.”

  He found the foot- and handholds that had served him so well on his first climb, and hoisted himself onto the wall. It was easier now, with the space made by the hacked away young shoots, and the knowledge of how the limbs pushed at him. He straddled the wall and attempted to sit upright, his spine forcing some of the heavy foliage back and clear of the wall, making a space for the combat bag.

  “Okay,” he said. Goldman and Ross both lifted the heavy bag until it came within the soldier’s grasp. He took hold of it, feeling the strain in his biceps and forearm muscles as the deadweight of the hardware tried to drag his arm downward, out of its socket. He gritted his teeth and slowly began to lift.

  With a slow but steady movement, the bag attained the crest of the wall, and Bolan paused only for a fraction of a second, before using his other hand to grasp the handles of the bag and let it fall over the other side. It landed with a dull thump in the bracken and grasses, which he knew would cushion the impact of its fall.

  “Okay, follow me,” he said to Ross and Goldman before allowing himself to drop onto the other side, landing in a roll beside the combat bag. He rose to his feet and moved to one side, taking the bag with him. The last thing he wanted was either of the mercs to land on the heavy hardware and injure himself before the mission had even begun.

  On the road side of the wall, Ross had started to climb. He pushed against the outgrowth of oak as he reached the top and marveled at the strength Bolan had to have to enable him to move against the limbs so easily. He heaved himself over the wall, dropping and rolling, stifling a grunt as he hit the ground. Even as he moved over to the château side of the wall, Goldman was following him up. The smaller redhead found it easier to squeeze into the gap Bolan had created, and he jumped away from the wall, rolling and coming upright with no problem.

  Bolan led the way to the edge of the trees, beckoning them to follow. Quietly, knowin
g that raised voices would carry across the scrub and vineyard, he outlined the territory ahead and to the east. He ordered Goldman to take the east, and Ross to press on ahead, outlining the obstacles they may encounter, and reiterating the points of cover.

  “What about you?” Ross asked.

  “I’ll take the west. It’s the only area I haven’t checked, and I can’t send either of you into the unknown.”

  “But what if the château is protected to the west?” Ross continued. “What if you can’t use that?” And he indicated the combat bag with the dismantled M-16/M-203 combo.

  Bolan shook his head. “I could see enough to tell that the château is uncovered on all sides. There are enough windows in that building to make it a sun trap—and that’s exactly what the original owners wanted. The outbuildings are far enough away to insure that, but not far enough for me not to be able to resight on them rapidly,” he added with a sly grin. “Besides, when I use this, it’ll bring them out into the open.”

  “Okay, let’s get going, then.”

  “Only break radio silence to confirm you’ve obtained a headset, or in the event of emergency. Then we synchronize and attack. Understood?”

  The mercs nodded and began to move out as Bolan turned away, beginning to jog through the undergrowth in an arc around to the western side of the estate.

  IN MANY WAYS, Errol Ross had the simplest task, as he had to move forward in a straight line for the shortest distance, but, unlike the others, this would entail moving across a far more open stretch of ground.

  There were clumps of cover, but the area between the scrub and the maze of vines from the south was completely open for about a hundred yards. If Ross was caught by a guard patrol crossing this distance, there would be nowhere to hide.

  Ross advanced as far as the edge of the scrub with ease and then hunkered down in cover. As he fitted a sound suppressor to his Beretta, he gave the surrounding area a careful surveillance. It looked deserted.

  Rising into a crouch, Ross began to move swiftly across the empty area, his heart pounding in his ears and adrenaline racing through his veins. He wanted to catch a patrol so he could get a headset, but only when he was able to use some cover.

  The entrance into the vineyard maze loomed before him, the convergence of three separated strands of vine coming together and then leaving a gap before the next set of twisting leaf and branch began. Of course, the other thing he didn’t want to do was dive for the covering vines and run slap bang into a patrol when he wasn’t prepared to fight. He slowed, trying to see as wide an angle as possible. It looked deserted, but…

  No time for doubts. Ross took the corner made by the vines and proscribed an arc with the Beretta, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to tap a burst at the first sign of life.

  Nothing.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he sank onto his haunches and drew air into his lungs, willing his pounding heart to slow. But still he kept a sharp lookout for any security patrols. From what Cooper had told him, they were casual, obviously not expecting anyone. Ross still wanted to be first on the draw, the one who was the sharpest.

  Getting to his feet, he set off toward the château, following the line of the vineyard maze, keeping his attention focused on any extraneous sounds.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  Ross had moved about two hundred yards into the maze when the sound of a laugh jolted him. It was about five hundred yards away, and as the laugh was followed by voices, he could hear that it was moving toward him. To the right or left? He strained to locate it exactly. To the right, nearer the château. There were two voices, and their French was too guttural and colloquial for him to make out what they were saying.

  It didn’t matter. The important thing was that they were headed his way. He had to take them out without their becoming aware of his presence.

  Looking at his options, he could see that if he moved toward them, there was a very good chance that they would hear him, no matter how careful he was. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he could see that there was a break in the vine just behind him. That may just give him the edge.

  The leaves and grapes were of such a thickness on the vines that Ross couldn’t see through the wall of greenery. Logically, the same would apply to the guards passing on the other side. Even so, he still held his breath and crouched as he heard them draw level. They were still talking, and he could pick out a few words. They were being uncomplimentary about Chavez-Smith, and questioning the species of his parentage before moving on to complain about how long they would be stuck at the château. This topic of conversation kept them talking until they had passed beyond Ross.

  With infinite care, he turned on his heel and brought up the Beretta so that it was leveled at them. He had hoped that the angle of the gap would be such that he would be able to tap the trigger and take them out without giving them a chance to turn. No such luck. By the time he was in position, one of them was hidden from view by the vines.

  He didn’t even take the time to curse. With one elongated stride he was at the gap and moving through. He brushed against the leaves, making them rustle. It was enough to alert the two guards to an alien presence, and they began to turn.

  Not quickly enough. Four holes appeared in the two bodies, stretched across their backs. The slugs had to have taken out their kidneys, and bone splinters and shock waves damaged the remainder of their internal organs, especially at a range of only a couple of yards. Both men spun, the momentum of their turns increased by the force of the 9 mm Parabellum rounds as they hit home.

  Even in the quiet vineyard, the sound-suppressed Beretta was nowhere near as loud as Ross had feared. He breathed a sigh of relief that neither of the guards had been prepared to fire, and there were no death spasms to trigger off useless bursts of SMG fire from the Uzi and H&K MP-5 that they were carrying.

  As they hit the ground, Ross was already on the move. He checked that both were truly dead before advancing enough to bend over one of the guards and take off his headset. He fitted it to his own ears, finding that the earpiece for the blacksuit mike was proving something of an obstruction. As he removed the MP-5 from the dead guard and slung it over his shoulder—it would be a useful addition—he spoke quietly and rapidly into the mike.

  “Ross. Two guards down and I have a headset. Can’t wear it properly without removing the mike earpiece. Maybe should wait until after synchronization.”

  “Copy. Good point,” Bolan’s voice came back.

  Ross said nothing more. He had a position to obtain before they were ready to attack, and two dead bodies made the likelihood of discovery greater.

  Errol Ross hid the corpses in the vines and moved quickly toward the château.

  JIMMY GOLDMAN WASN’T happy. This whole mission had been a crock as far as he was concerned. This guy Cooper, for one—the guy that the USAF lieutenant called Colonel Stone—who was he? Goldman wondered. This was supposed to have been a simple retrieval in Marseilles, and then away. Instead, this guy had gotten in their way. They’d been involved in a bloodbath, dragged over half of southern France—or so it seemed—and now he found himself running around the grounds of a château playing soldiers against a bunch of terrorists who, as far as he could work out, outnumbered them about ten to one.

  Just great. Meanwhile, Ross was treating Cooper like he was God’s gift to the intelligence business, and happily joining in with all the madness.

  Goldman moved around the estate to the eastern edges, using the wild area as cover. It was excellent cover, all right, but he was more at home in the city, and it bothered him that he may pitch over on this uneven ground—with grass so thick he couldn’t see where he was treading, or where there may be holes—and break his ankle. A lot of good he’d be then.

  Goldman was itching for a guard to come into view. He badly wanted to kill something or someone to vent his anger. He could feel it boiling up in him to the point where he was literally seeing a red mist clouding everything. He stopped and
tried to compose himself. This feeling wouldn’t get the chip back. And not only did he need to be on form for that, he also needed to be on top of the game for when they had to deal with Cooper. He’d sure want to take possession of the chip, and Ross and Goldman’s employers weren’t likely to be too keen on that idea.

  Looking around, he could see that he’d covered a lot of territory. He had to be more or less at the central point on the eastern wall. Just as well that he’d stopped where he was, or else he may have ended up coming around to the north wall, and the area that had been described as open. Now he had to get into the vines, across a hundred yards of open territory. Of course, he thought bitterly, that was no problem for Colonel Marvel, who could probably do it backward, and with his eyes closed.

  The one thing Goldman had always been good at was running. Right from the days when he was a schoolboy athlete. And despite his age, he was still incredibly fit. The scrub separating the wild undergrowth from the vines was flat, almost grassless in places. He could see every little bump and dip. Goldman grinned to himself. This part of the advance he felt confident about; the rest could wait.

  Checking that the land was clear as far as he could see and hear, Goldman gathered himself, then set off across the hundred yards of open ground. He treated it as though it were a race, which in some ways it was. Having checked before beginning, he didn’t bother to look around as he ran, focusing totally on achieving the distance in a fast time.

  He grunted as he reached the vines and managed to stop himself before he cannoned into them. He suppressed the desire to noisily gulp in great lungfuls of air after his exertion, consciously slowing his intake and trying to calm his racing heart. He crouched and looked around, suddenly realizing that anyone could be approaching while he remained that oblivious.