"Maloney, Mack - Wingman 05 - The Twisted Cross UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maloney Mack)

"How do you know that we'll be able to find this guy so easy?" Tyler yelled to Hunter.

"Don't worry," the fighter pilot hollered back. "I guarantee he'll be the only one still left inside the house."

Tyler shrugged and nodded. He was a good friend of Hunter and trusted him to no end. They had been on many missions together, some quite similar to this one. He never once doubted The Wingman's instinct, intuition, smarts, and just plain guts and he wasn't going to start now.

They picked the lock that bolted the door to the deck and quietly crept inside and down a set of stairs. This brought them to a third floor set of bedrooms, all of which were deserted. They moved down an ornate, curved staircase to the second floor, their ears starting to hurt from the obnoxiously loud, never-ending siren blasts.

Suddenly, from down the hall, Hunter heard a very nasty sound. Both he and Tyler whirled around to see three attack dogs -a Doberman and two pit bulls - heading straight for them.

"Jesus Christ!" Tyler yelled out, at the same time squeezing off two long bursts from his M-16 at the dogs. He caught the Doberman in mid-leap, the force of the bullets slamming the mutt against the wall. The two pit bulls got it from ground level, though it took about a dozen bullets each to knock them down.

"Damn!" Tyler cursed. "I hate killing animals . . ."

Hunter looked at the three bleeding carcasses and nodded. "Yeah, me too," he said.

They continued the search down the long hallway. At the end of the corridor they saw a room with two large wooden doors, one of which was partially open. A stream of light was coming from the room.

"I've got a feeling . . ." Hunter whispered to Tyler.

The chopper pilot nodded and together they inched their way toward the doorway. All the while, the noise outside from Cobra Two's repeated attacks had gotten even louder.

Hunter was first to reach the open door and he carefully peeked through the crack. Then he turned to Tyler and said

one word: "Bingo . . ."

One more look, and then Hunter stepped back and suddenly kicked the door in. Tyler was at first surprised at Hunter's quick action. But once he got inside the door, he instantly understood.

The room was a large "playpen." From its ceiling hung a variety of leather straps and chrome chains, most of which ended in handcuffs of some kind. The walls, too, were decorated with holding devices and manacles, all used, no doubt, in connection with weird sexual practices.

There was also a scattering of liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia lying about, as well as several tables of uneaten or picked-over food. The floor was covered with women's-or more accurately - girls' underwear. Overall it looked as though the place hadn't been cleaned in weeks.

But it was in the center of the room, lying propped up on a massive bed that Tyler got his biggest surprise.

There was a man on the bed, his face wearing a ghost-white mask of terror. But he was no ordinary man. Tyler estimated that he weighed at least 550 pounds.

"Jesus, is that him?" Tyler asked Hunter.

"It's him," Hunter said, walking over to the man and sticking his M-16 right up to his nose. "Be hard to mistake this cupcake . . ."

Instantly, Tyler knew why Hunter had brought the fisherman's net along.

"Who . . . who are you?" LaFeet asked, trying to control his bladder as he sat paralyzed at the sight of the two armed men.

"None of your business, Tiny," Hunter told him harshly. "Now get up. You're coming with us ..."

"Where?" LaFeet asked, his voice barely above a terrorized whisper.

"We're going for a ride," Hunter said, jabbing the man's chubby cheek with his M-16 barrel. "Now, get the hell on your feet . . ."