"Into the Maze" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stivers Dick)12Pointing to a doorway, Lieutenant Soto posted two of his soldiers to watch the street. Then the lieutenant led his platoon into the darkness. They wore black fatigues and neoprene-soled boots. Wax stick blacking darkened their faces. Tape on the stocks of their M-16 rifles eliminated noise. As silent as a shadow, the line of twenty soldiers moved through the darkness of the alley. The lieutenant walked slowly, gently pushing aside trash with his boots before he eased down his weight. He flicked his eyes from side to side. He scanned the doorways, the warehouse loading docks, the mounds of paper and plastics. Rats ran through the filth and trash piled behind the warehouses. Cans rattled. A block away, a diesel truck roared through its gears. From time to time, workers in one of the factories hammered sheet metal, the banging echoing through the alley. The lieutenant picked up the pace. None of the foreigners in the warehouse would hear the small sounds of the soldiers' soft-soled boots on the asphalt. The shoeshine boy had described the men. The Mexicans who had impersonated soldiers matched the descriptions of the soldiers accompanying the mysterious helicopter. The lieutenant had not matched the boy's descriptions of the North Americans to those of any known criminals. But tonight he would interrogate the foreigners. If they surrendered. If they did not, the lieutenant would send morgue photos to North America and Europe. There would be no escape this time. A platoon of soldiers, headed by his sergeant, watched the street entrance to the warehouse. The lieutenant and the second platoon now moved to secure the back exits. A few blocks away, an army colonel and a metropolitan police commander coordinated the action of the Mexican army antidrug unit with the patrols of the city police in the area. Among the shadows and gray forms, Lieutenant Soto saw the ramp. That ramp led into the warehouse rented by the foreigners. A line of yellow light under the warehouse door indicated activity inside. The lieutenant tapped the chests of the two soldiers behind him, then pointed to a doorway. The soldiers silently took positions in the shadows. A few steps farther, the lieutenant sent two more soldiers to creep into the space between two buildings. Other soldiers walked up a flight of concrete steps to a loading platform. They went prone. After dispersing his men in groups of two and four to positions opposite the warehouse, the lieutenant finally keyed his walkie-talkie. He wore the small radio on the shoulder strap of his web gear, the case secured by a strip of Velcro. He whispered into the microphone. "We are ready. You see anything?" "Nothing," the sergeant answered. "The beggar boy might have lied." "We will know soon. I am entering the building now." Clicking off the transmit key, Lieutenant Soto slipped across the alley. Bullets slammed sheet metal, then an explosion of tiny cubes of tempered glass filled the interior of the rental compact. A bullet had smashed out the back window and continued on to spider-shatter the windshield. Lyons turned in the back seat. Smashing out the shards of fracture-patterned glass with the short barrel of his assault shotgun, he pointed the Atchisson at the pursuing car. He aimed above the left headlight of the swerving, speeding car and fired, but an instant too late. The number-two and double-ought steel shot tore away the driver's side mirror and shattered the window. The driver whipped the steering wheel in the opposite direction, the tires screaming across the wide boulevard. Sideswiping a delivery van, the sedan accelerated to parallel Able Team's compact. Two gunmen pointed Uzis out the right side windows to strafe Able Team. Jacom accelerated from behind the sedan. He pointed a Mini-Uzi out his window and fired one-handed, the machine pistol spraying a 30-round magazine in a fraction of a second, slugs breaking windows, hammering sheet metal. As the gunmen swiveled to return the fire, Jacom hit the brakes and turned to the left, putting his car behind the sedan. The distraction gave Lyons time to plan his shots. He lined up the white tritium dots of his Atchisson on the front passenger-side window of the sedan and fired. Steel shot tore metal and flesh. The impact threw the gunman in the passenger seat against the driver. Lyons fired through the window again and again, until the assault shotgun's bolt locked back. Wheel rims shrieked against concrete. The doomed car jumped the curb and plowed into the marble base of a monument. Glass and chrome flew everywhere. Whipping his small car past the wreck, Jacom accelerated and closed the gap between the two compacts. He flashed his high beams, then Vato powered Able Team's car through a skidding left-hand turn, then a right. He leaned on the horn to speed through a neighborhood, Jacom only a car's length behind him. Lyons kept his Atchisson below the level of the windows. "They were most definitely monitoring," Gadgets told his partners. "This morning, too, I'll bet." "No more calls home." Lyons changed Atchisson mags. He propped the selective-fire assault against the door and unholstered his silenced Colt. He cleared the chamber, then jammed in another standard-issue 7-round magazine. "And that means they know what we know," Blancanales added. "They'll know exactly what we got from Gunther and what we didn't. If there's an address on the tape, they'll be gone tomorrow." Lyons looked at his watch. "Tomorrow's four hours away." "It'll take me that long to go through these tapes!" Gadgets protested. "I can't decode it in a flash, you know." "Then get with it now," Lyons said. Gadgets snapped a salute. "Yes, sir. Immediately. Switching into target-acquisition mode." As Vato drove back to the warehouse, Gadgets put on miniature headphones and skipped through the tapes. "Wow, man, this Gunther dude gets around. Chile, Argentina, El Salvador, Guatemala. Everywhere the Nazis hang out." "Where's he now?" Lyons demanded. "Forget the travelogue." " Vato swerved through the narrow streets, speeding through the boulevard traffic, Jacom a car length behind him. Lyons watched for pursuit units. It looked as if they had lost the International. In the industrial section, the compacts sped past factories and diesel trucks. Vato announced that they neared their rented warehouse. Lyons leaned forward. "Don't go the front way. Circle around the block and then go in by the back alley." Vato nodded. He drove for a minute more, then turned into an alley. As he sped through the narrow lane, Vato hit the high beams. Lyons saw a shape dart into the shadows. Throwing open the door, Lyons stepped out running. The black-clad form reached for a holstered pistol. Lyons dived. Breath exploded from a man's lungs as Lyons hit him, then locked a left arm around the man's throat. Lyons took the automatic from his prisoner's holster and put the muzzle against the man's head. He thumbed back the hammer and flicked up the safety. Voices shouted. Forms blocked the alley. Flashlight beams found Lyons where he struggled with the soldier. Vato switched off the headlights as Blancanales ran to Lyons and crouched beside the prisoner. "We're surrounded!" Blancanales yelled. Forcing his prisoner flat on the concrete, Lyons pressed the muzzle of the battered Colt Government Model against the head of the soldier. "Who are you?'' "I am Lieutenant Soto of the army of the Republic of Mexico. You are under arrest. Surrender now, or you die." "Cut the talk, Mexican. I "And he's got us," Blancanales added. "You work for the International?" Lyons demanded. "What?" the lieutenant asked. "The Reich. The Nazis. The International Group. The Guerreros Blancos. Who are you with?" "What do you talk about?" Vato and Gadgets crouched behind the compact, their weapons ready. But they held their fire. Two soldiers stopped Jacom, putting the muzzles of their M-16 rifles through the car's window. The Yaqui kept his hands on the steering wheel as one of the soldiers reached in and switched off the engine. Gadgets called out to his partners. "It's a Mexican standoff!" "Surrender or we kill you," the lieutenant threatened. "Tough talk, Lieutenant," Lyons warned. "Any of your men shoot and you' re gone.'' "May I attempt to negotiate this problem?" Blancanales suggested. "You are my prisoners," the lieutenant stated. "My sergeant has another twenty men watching the streets." "Lieutenant," Blancanales said calmly, "there is a conspiracy operating within the Mexican army and various offices of the regional governments. This conspiracy also employs agents within the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. We are special antiterrorist operatives. We came to your country to participate in a bilateral investigation, and it's been one long fight. We fought a battalion of the Mexican army called the International Group. We fought "American antiterrorist operatives?" "We came to investigate links between an international death squad, Los Guerreros Blancos, and the international drug syndicates." "Did you have a helicopter?" "We captured it from the Mexican army unit called the International Group.'' The Lieutenant shouted out to his soldiers. " "Not for you!" Lyons countered. "Release him," Blancanales instructed his partner. "But remember this," he said to the lieutenant, his voice rising. "We have been tricked by your government and ours. Betrayal is everywhere. Seriously, how do you expect us to take such insanity? You think we should just take this shit?" His eyes glared with fury and determination. Lyons broke his lock around the lieutenant's throat. But he kept the man's automatic. Lieutenant Soto spoke into his walkie-talkie. A voice answered. As the lieutenant whispered into the radio secured to his chest strap, the scene remained otherwise motionless. The soldiers watched Able Team, Able Team watched the soldiers. No one risked a sudden move. Finally, the lieutenant spoke to the foreigners again. "He will come." Then he called to his soldiers. The two men pointing rifles at Jacom stepped away from the rental car. They took positions watching the foreigners. Soldiers blocked the other exit at the far end of the alley. Lyons and Blancanales sat with Lieutenant Soto on the truck ramp. The headlights of the rented cars lit the scene. Blancanales used the wait to question the lieutenant. "Your commander is a patriotic soldier?" " "And as a senior officer, he earns a good salary, yes?" "He is comfortable. Why do you..." "Lieutenant, I do not mean to insult your commander. But I must ask. Has he become inexplicably more comfortable, even wealthy in the past year?" "He says he has been successful in his investments." "He says?" "I do not interrogate my commander." "And your sergeant. Is he a successful investor also?" "No," the lieutenant laughed. "For a gift for his grandchild's baptism, he borrowed the money from me." "Could you perhaps ask the sergeant to watch the street? If anyone other than your commander appears, if the sergeant sees cars or trucks he does not recognize, could you ask him to notify you immediately? Please do not misunderstand me. But it is possible that anything is possible." The lieutenant nodded and spoke quickly into his walkie-talkie. A voice answered immediately. The lieutenant relayed the message to his captors. "He sees many headlights." Lyons yelled, "Wizard! Jacom! Off the lights! Right now!" Moving slowly, Gadgets set down his Uzi, then leaned into the car to switch off the headlight. The lights of the second car went black an instant later. They heard engines. Tires squealed around corners. Blancanales spoke quickly to the lieutenant. "Tell your soldiers to take cover! The International..." "You are my prisoners, you don't give me commands!" "Lieutenant! They are the enemies of your nation and ours! Your men will die if...'' Tires screeched to a halt. Autofire shattered the night. Bullets shrieked the length of the alley. A soldier screamed with pain. Soldiers returned the fire. Other soldiers shouted to their lieutenant for instructions. "We're on your side, Lieutenant," Lyons told the Mexican officer. "Return my pistol!" Lyons eased down the old Colt's hammer and passed it to the lieutenant. Snapping back the hammer, Lieutenant Soto aimed at Lyons's face. |
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