his right shoulder. The impact pushed him off balance and he fell against Rasheed, knocking the man to his knees. The wounded bodyguard pulled a stubby SMG from under his coat and turned to return fire as the other bodyguards bent to help Rasheed.
From his position on the warehouse roof, Hawkins settled his sights on the lead attacker and put two 5.56 mm slugs in the guy’s chest. Dead on his feet, the target fell, legs giving way under him. He flopped onto his back, the rest of his team pushing forward, still firing.
McCarter, down on one knee, brought his Browning up double-handed and fired. His two shots hit one of the attackers in the shoulder, tearing through the padding of flesh and shattering the man’s collarbone. The guy went down, on his knees, all thought of aggression wiped from his mind as the initial numbness gave way to pain. He put a hand to his shoulder and fingered ragged shards of bone protruding from the wound.
“Gary, Rafe, take Rasheed.”
“You got it.”
Encizo, wielding a 9 mm Uzi, scrambled onto the dock. Manning was behind him, pausing only long enough to activate the timer that would transmit the detonation of the incendiary package he had laid in the hold. On the dock, he followed Encizo.
Hawkins took out another of the attack group, his 3-round burst slamming the guy to the dock in a twisting tumble. The man tried to get to his feet in a show of sheer resistance. Hawkins fired once more, laying the 5.56 mm slug through the top of the target’s skull.
Kamal Rasheed was yelling wildly to his remaining bodyguards. They formed a line in front of him, pushing him back toward the warehouse door in an attempt to get him under cover. At the same time they lifted their pistols at the advancing Manning and Encizo.
Regan turned his attention on the remaining attacker. The man had a transceiver in his hand and was yelling into it.
“Son of a bitch,” Regan screamed, losing control. He raised his pistol and began to fire, pulling the trigger in a frenzy of rage. “Try to queer my deal, you assholes!”
The majority of his shots missed, but enough found their mark, driving the target backward, bloody eruptions bursting from his chest.
McCarter swung around and moved to assist his partners. As he did, Encizo, ignoring the shots peppering the dock around him, took out one of Rasheed’s remaining bodyguards, placing a single shot in the guy’s head. As the man fell, Calvin James triggered a close shot that removed the surviving bodyguard.
“Let’s move,” McCarter yelled.
He took off across the dock, reaching Kamal Rasheed as the Iraqi ducked under the warehouse door. McCarter caught hold of the man’s coat collar and hauled him back. He snatched the attaché case from Rasheed’s grip.
“You cannot…” Rahseed protested.
“I’ll tell you just once. Shut it, keep it shut, or I will bury you here and now.”
Rasheed stared into the Briton’s eyes and saw a gleam of wildness there that convinced him he would be wise to do as he was told.
“Fire in the hole,” Manning warned as he glanced at his watch, seeing the second hand sweeping toward the end of the time set on the explosive pack.
The Canadian’s estimate was out by around three seconds. There was a muted thump as the detonators went off, followed by a harsh crackle and blinding light that burst out of the open hatch covers. The intense power of the incendiary charges spread and began to burn the motor vessel.
“Reassemble,” McCarter said into his microphone, calling James and Hawkins down off the roof.
He caught Encizo’s attention. “Go and bring the wagon. We need to be out of here fast.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Regan yelled.
McCarter rounded on him. He barged straight in, stiff-arming Regan in the chest and bouncing him off the warehouse wall. Regan made a token gesture with the gun he still held in his hand. McCarter ignored it, pushing the muzzle of his Browning into the soft flesh under Regan’s chin. The gunrunner made a soft sound. He let his own weapon fall from his fingers.
“Think before you answer, Bubba, because if it isn’t the one I need…”
“What?”
“Where did chummy over there want those guns delivered?”
Regan was many things. He wasn’t a fool. He’d seen the way these men operated. His death wouldn’t mean a thing to them, so he raised both hands in surrender.
“Same place as the other shipments. Mexico. Nuevo Laredo. Local guy named Luiz Santos. Then over the border into the U.S. But I don’t know where. You can blow my balls off and I still wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
McCarter kept up the pressure, pushing until the steel muzzle really hurt.
“Let me make one thing clear. If we go to Mexico and find Santos has got the word, you will expect us back here. And balls could well be at the top of our list. Understand, Bubba?”
Regan nodded.
“No second chance, Regan. We get burned, we always come back.”
“Christ, looks like I got enough problems with those local suppliers we just tangled with. Last thing I need is you on my fuckin’ back. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t need to.”
“We’re just a collection service,” McCarter said. “We’ve got what we came for.”
Regan eyed Rasheed. “Him? He’s worth all this trouble?”
“He’s worth it,” the Phoenix Force leader said.
Behind them the boat’s fuel tank ruptured and sent a fiery cascade across the water. Some of the burning fuel spilled across the edge of the dock.
“Tell me something,” Regan said. “The guns on that boat. They real, or was that part of the scam?”
McCarter smiled.
“Real. But they were all spiked. Except the ones I showed you. Hell, Regan, don’t you know it’s against the law to sell stolen weapons?”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Aren’t I just.”
The Jeep 4x4, Encizo at the wheel, swung into view from behind one of the warehouses. The moment he braked, Manning opened one of the rear doors and pushed a resisting Kamal Rasheed into the vehicle. James and Hawkins appeared. James climbed into the Jeep, so that Rasheed was between him and Manning. Hawkins took the center position in the front, leaving the final space for McCarter. He climbed in and slammed the door, feeling the Jeep surge as Encizo pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
Leaving Port Cristobal, Encizo picked up the road that would connect them with the airstrip. Once they left the town behind, the tarmac surface petered out so that they were driving on a dusty, uneven strip that had more ruts than they had ever seen in one stretch of road.
“Any chance you can get more speed out of this thing?” McCarter asked.
“Right now we’re close to takeoff speed,” Encizo told him. “If we come off this road we’ll probably launch into orbit.”
McCarter laughed. “I wish.”
“Hey,” Manning said, “I think someone has called in backup.”
McCarter looked in the rearview mirror, recalling one of the attackers on the dock sending a message via his transceiver. A dark SUV was trailing in their dusty wake, clinging to the rough road as if it were on rails. The big and powerful vehicle was brand-new. It looked as if it had the power to overtake and run the ancient Jeep off the road.
“Look at him move,” Hawkins said.
“Confirms one thing,” James said. “There are two maniac drivers in Santa Lorca and I’m a passenger with one of them.”
“You