The Secret Crown (2010) (19 page)

Within seconds, a firefight had erupted in the Alps.

Within minutes, Payne and Jones would enter the fray.

Payne and Jones were standing on the front porch of the King’s House, waiting for Ulster to put on his shoes and join them downstairs, when they heard the distant chatter of gun fire. To experienced soldiers, the sound was unmistakable - like a musical instrument to a symphony conductor. In a heartbeat, they knew Kaiser’s men were under attack.

Jones sprinted to the helicopter while Payne pulled the Sig Sauer from his belt and opened the front door. ‘Petr! Stay here! Kaiser’s in trouble.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ulster yelled from upstairs.

‘We’re taking the chopper! Stay here until we come back!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Heidi shouted from the Turkish Hall.

Wearing only one shoe, Ulster nearly stumbled down the steps as he tried to get more information. ‘What kind of trou—’

Payne cut him off. ‘Stay here! Keep an eye on Heidi!’

‘Of course,’ Ulster said while holding his shoe. ‘But—’

‘Now lock this door!’

Payne slammed it shut and leapt off the porch. By the time he landed, Ulster and Heidi were already gone from his thoughts. For the next few minutes, the only thing that mattered was getting to the bunker as quickly as possible. Not to protect the gold or the van Gogh crate, but because lives were on the line and he could save them.

Jones reached the helicopter thirty seconds before Payne and ordered the pilot to start the engine. Baptiste, who only took orders from Ulster, was going to argue until he saw the gun in Jones’s hand. Baptiste swallowed hard and started flipping switches.

As the engine whirred to life, Jones coolly searched the back compartment for equipment but found nothing of value. ‘Do you have a rope?’ he yelled.

‘For what?’ Baptiste shouted.

‘Our exit.’

He turned in his seat and stared at Jones. ‘Your
what
?’

‘Our exit. You can’t land where we’re going. We’re gonna have to jump.’

Baptiste laughed. ‘You’re joking, right?’

Jones flashed his gun. ‘Does it look like I’m joking?’

‘You’re going to jump out of my chopper?’

‘Only if you have a rope.’

Baptiste pointed to the other side. ‘Try over there.’

Jones scurried around the back and opened the far hatch. Inside was a wicker basket. It was stuffed with a loaf of French bread, a hunk of cheese, two salamis, an assortment of fresh fruit, a bottle of wine, and a red-and-white chickened tablecloth. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘A picnic,’ Baptiste said.

‘A
picnic
? Why did you pack a fucking picnic?’

Baptiste shrugged. ‘Petr gets hungry.’

Jones slammed the hatch in frustration. ‘My friend is going to die unless you have a rope. Do you have one or not?’

‘Next compartment back.’

Jones flung it open and grabbed a large coil of black rope. Made with sure-grip synthetic fibres, the low-stretch rope was perfect for rappelling. One end was already equipped with a sturdy metal clasp that could be attached to the chopper’s floor. ‘How long is this?’

‘About a hundred feet.’

Jones pulled out the coil, which weighed over fifty pounds, and tossed it onto the back seat. Then he searched the compartment for additional equipment, anything that could help them get to the ground in one piece. ‘What about gloves? Or belts? Or harnesses?’

Baptiste shook his head. ‘This isn’t a rescue chopper.’

Payne arrived in time to hear the comment. ‘Well, it is today.’

Jones pointed to the hook in the centre of the floor, which Payne could reach while standing outside the chopper. ‘Attach the clasp. I’m almost ready.’

Payne did as he was told, then hopped into the back. As he did, he could hear Jones rummaging through the hatch on the other side. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘A snack,’ Jones shouted.

Payne cupped his ear and leaned in closer. ‘A what?’

Grinning from ear to ear, Jones hopped into the chopper. He held his gun in one hand and the picnic basket in the other. Payne stared at him like he was crazy.

Jones grinned even wider. ‘Don’t worry. I have an idea.’

‘What kind of idea?’

‘I’ll tell you when it’s time to jump.’

Krueger cursed when he heard the gun fire. Obviously something had gone wrong with his plan because his men had been told to avoid interaction at all costs. Their job had been simple. Spy on Kaiser, figure out what he was doing, then report back to Krueger so he could coordinate their attack. His men weren’t supposed to confront Kaiser or do anything that might attract attention. This was supposed to be a surveillance mission. Nothing else.

From his position at the bottom of the mountain, Krueger called his men on the radio. ‘What happened?’ he growled in German.

One of his men responded. ‘We were spotted by a guard with an assault rifle. We managed to take him out quietly.’

‘Did you say
quietly
? There was nothing quiet about it! I could hear it down here!’

‘Blame the guard, not us. We used a blade. He used a gun. He got off a few rounds when he fell to the ground.’

Krueger took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘Did anyone get hit?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What are we up against?’

‘Too early to tell, sir. But so far we’re winning.’

Krueger shook his head. His men were so short-sighted. ‘Winning?’

‘Yes, sir. They’re down one man, and we’re up one gun. This G36 is a serious weapon.’

‘Maybe so, but we lost the best weapon of all - the element of surprise.’

His goon grunted. He couldn’t care less. ‘What do you want us to do?’

‘Find Kaiser and send me his coordinates. I’m on my way.’

The bunker was positioned near the base of a cliff and surrounded by ancient beech trees that were a lot taller than their rope was long. Hoping to survive their descent, Payne and Jones searched for a clearing near the site, somewhere they could land safely when they rappelled out of the chopper. The best they could find was a grove of fir trees, approximately a quarter of a mile from the bunker. Not only were the evergreens significantly shorter than the beeches, but they hoped the fallen pine needles underneath the trees would cushion their fall. Due to the slope of the mountain, they realized they would have to hit the ground and roll, or risk breaking a leg.

Fighting strong gusts of wind, Baptiste held the chopper in place just over the tops of the trees. To make sure the weld would hold his weight, Payne yanked on the hook with all his strength before Jones tossed the coil of rope over the side. Both of them watched it unravel until the far end disappeared into the thick blanket of branches.

‘Did it hit bottom?’ Payne asked.

Jones shrugged. ‘Can’t tell for sure, but I think it’s close.’

Payne nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time they had jumped blindly from a chopper. Then again, a picnic basket was something new. ‘Do you mind telling me what that’s for?’

Jones plucked a grape from its stem and popped it in his mouth. ‘Here’s what we’re facing: no gloves, no belts, no harnesses. Rough wind, blind drop, unknown enemy. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to lose as little skin as possible.’

Payne stared at his hands. They’d be torn to shreds in a fast descent. And if he took the drop slowly, his palms would survive intact, but he’d be an easy target for several seconds as he dangled from the chopper. ‘What’s the solution?’

Jones grabbed two salamis and handed one to Payne. ‘We use these.’

Payne stared at the cured meat. It was nine inches long and sealed in a rough casing. For the life of him, he had no idea what his friend meant. ‘Excuse me?’

Jones reached into his cargo pants and pulled out his knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade popped open, and he plunged the sharp tip into the top of the salami. As Payne watched, Jones cut the meat vertically, making a nine-inch incision that went halfway into the salami. When he was done, he held it up so Payne could understand what he had in mind.

‘We wrap the salami around the rope like a bun round a hot dog. This casing is hard and coarse. Our hands should be fine as the meat gets torn to shreds.’

‘And if the casing doesn’t hold?’ Payne asked.

Jones shrugged as he traded salamis with Payne and went to work on the other one. ‘We hope the branches break our fall.’

Payne stared at him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘I’d rather fall fast than dangle slow. Too many unknowns.’

Payne searched the basket for alternatives. ‘What about the tablecloth? We can cut it in strips and wrap it around our hands.’

Jones shook his head. ‘Our fingers would get filleted. Cut right to the bone.’

Payne grimaced. He had seen that happen to one of his men, and his hands had never fully recovered. ‘You realize, this is crazy.’

Jones laughed at the danger. ‘That’s what makes it fun.’

The United States Special Operations Command (
SOCOM
) is headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. It oversees the various special operations units of the
US
Armed Forces and the
US
Intelligence Community. The concept of a unified command sprouted from the disastrous rescue attempt of hostages at the American embassy in Iran in 1980. The ensuing investigation noted a lack of inter-service cooperation and the breakdown of a clear chain of command as factors in the mission’s failure.

Seven years later
SOCOM
was officially activated. The main goal of
SOCOM
is to coordinate the efforts of the different branches of the armed forces whenever joint missions are conducted. Each branch has a Special Operations Command capable of running its own missions, but when different Special Operations Forces (Green Berets, Navy
SEAL
s, Rangers, etc.) need to work together on a mission,
SOCOM
takes control of the operation - for example, Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom.

In addition,
SOCOM
conducts several missions of its own, which are run by the Joint Special Operations Command (
JSOC
). These Special Mission Units (
SMU
) perform highly classified activities, such as personnel recovery, counter-guerrilla sabotage, unconventional warfare, psychological operations and counter terrorism. So far, only three
SMU
s have been publicly disclosed: the Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment (Delta Force), the Navy’s Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU), and the Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron (
AFSOC
). One of the
SMU
s that is still classified is the
MANIAC
s.

Comprised of the top soldiers from the
M
arines,
A
rmy,
N
avy,
I
ntelligence,
A
ir Force and
C
oast Guard, the
MANIAC
s are a military all-star team, assembled from a small list of candidates who passed the most stringent selection process and training in the world. One of the most important skills the soldiers learned was the art of improvisation. Without it, they wouldn’t last long behind enemy lines, where weapons and equipment were scarce. To survive, they were forced to make do with whatever they could find, whether that was picking a lock with a paperclip or making an explosive out of household chemicals. Not only did this skill require ingenuity, it also required guts. Otherwise, new ideas would never be tested in the field.

During his time in the
MANIAC
s, Payne had used a grapefruit as a silencer, stalled a car with a tube sock and killed a man with a stapler, but he had never used salami for anything except sandwiches. Of course, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. It simply meant that one of them had to be a guinea pig. Normally that burden would fall on Payne, who preferred to lead by example. But in this situation, Jones insisted on going first.

‘My idea, my glory,’ Jones shouted over the wind and the roar of the rotor. ‘Plus, your ass is so fat you might snap the rope.’

Payne watched closely as Jones clamped the salami round the rope and stepped onto the skid tube, which was attached to the chopper’s wheels. ‘See you soon.’

Jones took a deep breath, then leaned back on the skid more than a hundred feet above the ground. As he did, he focused on his grip. If this didn’t work, he knew his hands would never be the same, and neither would his life. Jones was brave, not stupid. He realized if his idea failed, there was a damn good chance he was going to die - either from the fall or from the gunmen down below who would pounce upon him like cheetahs on an injured gazelle.

And yet Jones remained unfazed.

Compared to the things he had faced in the
MANIAC
s, this was less dangerous than bungee jumping. Sure, something could go wrong, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin his fun. With a smile on his face, Jones launched himself backward and yelled, ‘Geronimo!’