The Last Man (16 page)

“No, we haven’t.”

“Let me save you guys the headache of trying to sort this mess out. We have police at both ends of the street. My guess is when you guys show up they’re going to think you’re here to help them. Hopefully they’ll stop shooting. Put the Black Hawks over them and hit ’em with the rotor wash and then bring the Little Birds in to pick us up on the roof. I don’t think they’ll shoot at you, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’ll pass it along. Anything else?”

“Yeah. If I don’t make it out of here, there’s something you need to know. Does the name Louie Gould ring a bell?”

There was a moment of silence followed by, “The man who killed your wife?”

“That’s him. Somebody hired him a few weeks ago to fulfill a contract in Kabul. He says he didn’t know it was me until this morning. He was set up in an office building across the street and was supposed to shoot me when I showed up to see the vet.”

“How the hell . . .”

“Exactly . . . do you want to tell me how the fuck somebody knew two weeks ago that I would be in Kabul talking to this vet when I didn’t even know I’d fucking be here?”

“I have no idea, but no more of this bullshit about not making it. We’ll be there in minutes, and after I pull your ass out of the fire again, we’ll figure out what in the hell is going on.”

“I’ll tell you what in the hell is going on. Somebody set my ass up. Rick was the first domino and they knew how we would react. We’re being played.” Rapp carefully moved along the wall until he was just a few feet from the blown-out entrance.

“Is Gould still with you?”

“Yeah, he’s on the roof.” The only police that Rapp could see were taking cover behind their vehicles. “Did Scott tell you we lost Reavers?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

Rapp flexed his knees and then stuck his head out so he could see down the length of the front of the building. He ducked back just as a flurry of shots rang out. What he saw scared him more than the shots. “Mike,” Rapp yelled as he hustled across the lobby, “they’re getting ready to rush the building with riot shields. You guys better haul ass or there’s going to be no one left to save.”

“We’re getting in the birds right now. Hold on for a few more minutes.”

Rapp didn’t bother to answer. He moved in behind his piece of Formica and switched his pistol to his right hand. He counted the seconds in his head, figured it would take the cops another eight seconds to shuffle down the sidewalk in their tight formation. He extended his arm, sighted the Glock in on one of the tanks, and then decided it would be better to pull the gun in close and cradle the grip with his left hand. The first shield came into view, the man behind it clasping the shield with his left arm and holding a pistol in his right hand. Three men followed, all with shields, two protecting their flanks and the fourth holding his shield above their heads. When they reached the front door, Rapp slid his head back behind the Formica, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The 9 mm round punctured the first tank and the explosion was instantaneous.

Rapp attempted to pull the gun back behind his relative cover, but there wasn’t enough time. The energy from the shock wave hit him like a massive hammer. It slammed into the countertop and shot Rapp across the hall and into the far wall. Rapp bounced off the wall and slid to the floor with the countertop and a good portion of the wall falling on top of him. His hearing was completely gone. He tried to open his eyes but felt himself slipping away, falling into a deep hole and then everything went black.

Chapter 20

Coleman joined Maslick and Gould on the roof just as things were settling down. The sun was starting to slide out from the cloud-filled sky and the wind was picking up a bit. Coleman ran across the roof in a low crouch as sporadic bullets zipped overhead. He did a quick ammunition check with the other two and then handed each of them a thirty-round magazine, leaving himself two. Coleman then surveyed the situation at both ends of the block. It appeared Maslick and Gould had taken the fight out of the police.

Coleman had seen it many times before. Put a group of Special Operators in an all-out gunfight with a force superior in size and they would balance the scales quicker than you could imagine. The simple fact was that at these distances they hit what they were shooting at. It was demoralizing for the opposing force as they watched one friend after another get shot in the head. The ones who managed to stay alive got the message real quick that it was a good idea to keep their heads down. And when you decided to keep your head down you ceased to become an effective fighter for the simple reason that you couldn’t hit a target if you weren’t willing to expose yourself and aim your weapon properly.

Having been in combat many times, Coleman knew how to recognize the ebb and flow of a battle. The frantic adrenaline rush of the initial engagement was almost always followed by a lull as each side took stock of its losses and either retrenched or prepared for another assault. The dynamics of this battle dictated who would do what. They were in no position to launch an assault, so it would be the other side that would have to make the next move.

Coleman moved to the roof’s edge a few feet away and dropped to one knee. “Any movement on the roofs across the street?”

Gould glanced across the street. He’d been worried about the same thing. Crossways from them was a three-story building that was the high ground on the block. Gould pointed his rifle at the building and said, “If they put a few decent shooters up there they could make our lives miserable.”

“Yeah . . . keep your eye on it.”

Gould looked behind them. There were multiple elevated rooftop positions within five hundred yards. “If they get behind us we’re done for.”

Coleman checked his watch. “We’ll be out of here before they figure that out.”

Off in the distance he heard the dull thumping of rotor blades. Coleman looked to the east, toward the airport. At first he couldn’t find a sign of the helicopters, as they were flying so low, and then he saw the shimmer of movement as they skimmed the rooftops almost two miles out.

“Scott!”

Coleman turned his head and looked at Maslick, who was pointing over the edge of the building.

“We’ve got trouble.”

Coleman looked down and saw the men with the clear bulletproof shields forming up along the edge of the building. He looked to his right and saw the same thing. He grabbed Gould and said, “Get over there and help him.”

A bullet slammed into the top of the stone parapet, just a few inches from Gould’s face. He almost immediately realized from the trajectory that it had to have come from above. Lunging forward from his knees, he shoved Coleman to the ground as a barrage of bullets hit their position. Gould rolled off Coleman and said, “I’ll deal with the men across the street.” He handed Coleman one of the canisters from his vest. “It’s only a flash-bang but it might help.”

Coleman grabbed it from him. “I’ll try to draw their fire in a second.” On all fours he stayed near the edge and began crawling to the far corner. He looked back at Gould, counted down with his fingers, and rose onto one knee. He was surprised to see four gun barrels pointed in his general direction from an elevated position. He was expecting just one or two. Coleman’s right index finger began rapidly squeezing off rounds. His aim was far from exact, as he was trying to draw the attention of these men so Gould get a few good shots.

Gould came up a second later and quickly moved his aperture into position. He placed the red dot on the closest man’s head and fired. At the exact same instant he saw a muzzle flash from the man he was trying to kill. Before Gould had a chance to seek out a second target, he was knocked on his ass. He knew immediately it was his left shoulder. He looked over and saw the near-perfect circle of blood slowly growing. His shoulder was screaming with pain, but Gould knew the injury was not fatal. At least it wasn’t if he got medical care in the not-so-distant future. His best hope for that was if he got off his ass and back in the fight. With a grunt and more effort than he should have needed he got back on his knees and took aim at the men across the street. Gould’s left hand was still functional, so his aim was as steady as ever, although he knew that might not last. Only two heads were visible. Gould lined up the first one, took the shot, and saw the man go down. He was moving the rifle into position for the second shot when there was a large explosion beneath him. The building shook for a second and then all was quiet.

“Dammit,” Coleman yelled. “Cover me.” He tore off across the roof for the hatch.

Gould shouldered his weapon and began firing on the rooftop position across the street. More barrels suddenly appeared and he had to seek cover beneath the stone parapet. When he looked back the blond haired guy was gone. Gould lay on his back for a moment trying to survey the damage to his shoulder, and then he suddenly became aware of the growing noise of helicopter rotors slicing through the air.

Coleman found his way down the ladder as quickly as you’d expect from a guy who had spent a good portion of his life on ships. By the time he reached the staircase he had Reavers’s M-4 up and ready to engage. He flew down the stairs and into a cloud of floating debris in the first-floor hallway. He didn’t care how many men there were, he was going to rush them head-on. Moving down the hallway at a steady pace, he saw the pile of debris near where he had last seen Rapp. Coleman’s heart sank as he stepped on the pile and swung his weapon to the left to engage the men who would be coming through the front door.

He was shocked to find not a person standing. On the sidewalk just outside the front entrance there was a tangle of bodies. Coleman saw some movement and almost fired. One of the cops was trying to roll onto his side. Coleman’s conscience got the better of him and he took his finger off the trigger. Two sounds suddenly filled the relative silence. The first was a low moan, which seemed to be fading, and the second one was the roar of U.S. Special Operations helicopters, which was definitely growing in volume.

Coleman turned and looked down at the pile of debris that he had just walked over. He began yanking ceiling tiles and pieces of wood and sheetrock from the heap, and then he saw the blue countertop that Rapp had used to fortify his position. Next he spotted a hand and an arm. Coleman released the rifle, letting it hang from the sling around his neck. Taking both hands, he lifted the large piece of Formica up, revealing a dusty and pale Rapp. He chucked the large board off to the side, dropped down to one knee, and stared at Rapp’s lifeless face. Coleman placed a finger on Rapp’s neck to search for a pulse and then slapped him a couple times on each cheek.

Rapp gasped, his eyes shot open wide and his left hand shot up and grabbed Coleman by the throat.

Coleman removed Rapp’s hand from his throat by applying just the right amount of pressure to his wrist. “It’s me, you idiot. Do you think you can stand?” The former Navy SEAL could tell by the way Rapp’s eyes were darting around that he still wasn’t entirely with it. He ran his hands up and down Rapp’s body looking for any injuries. The thump-thump signature of the helicopters was growing louder by the second. The thought of missing their ride, or worse, getting one of the birds blown out of the sky because they weren’t up on the LZ, made Coleman skip the rest of the medical assessment. He stood and grabbed Rapp by his tactical vest, yanking him to his feet. Rapp wobbled and almost fell to his left, but Coleman steadied him.

“Come on . . . this way. Our ride is waiting for us.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“We have a hot double date.” Coleman squatted, threw Rapp’s right arm around his neck, and then moved the two of them down the hallway. “Don’t want to be late. Come on, we need to hustle.”

“Where the hell are we?” Rapp wobbled again and his legs gave out.

Coleman struggled to keep him upright and then decided he needed to change tactics. He spun Rapp toward him, bent over, and threw Rapp over his shoulder. Coleman hefted him in a fireman’s carry and started up the steps. “Damn, you’re getting fat.”

“Put me down, you idiot. What are you doing?”

“Saving your fat ass, you dumb shit.” Coleman reached the second floor and stopped at the ladder that led to the roof. The rotor wash from one of the helicopters was blowing through the opening. Coleman didn’t think he could climb the ladder with Rapp over his shoulder, so he set him down.

Rapp’s pupils were as big as saucers.

“Shit,” Coleman muttered. He turned Rapp toward the ladder and placed his hands on the rung just above his head. “Come on, climb. Let’s go.”

Rapp turned his head and gave him a blank stare.

Coleman screamed at him, “We’re going to die if you don’t get moving. Snap out of it!” Coleman grabbed him by the waist and started pushing him up the ladder.

Rapp seemed to finally come out of his stupor, his hands grasping at the rungs above him.

“That’s right,” Coleman prodded him on as they made painfully slow progress. Fortunately, Maslick appeared in the hatch opening. He grabbed one of the shoulders on Rapp’s vest and practically yanked him onto the roof. By the time Coleman cleared the ladder, the big former Delta Force Operator had Rapp on his feet and was dragging him toward one of the waiting Little Birds.

Coleman watched as bullets began impacting the ground around Rapp and Maslick. He snapped his M-4 up to his shoulder, flipped the selector to full automatic, and began raking the roofline across the street with fire. Coleman marched steadily forward, and when his weapon locked out he ejected the spent magazine and inserted a fresh one, charging the weapon and then releasing another volley.

Ducking under the Little Bird’s rotors, Coleman kept up the suppressive fire and jumped onto the portside external bench. He looked inside the back compartment and saw Rapp and Gould in a pile on the floor. Maslick was sitting on the starboard side bench laying down suppressive fire. Coleman took his finger off the trigger and reached forward, slapping the pilot on the shoulder. Coleman gave the man the thumbs-up signal and the bird immediately lifted into the air.