of him as a killer. “Come on, they’re just men! Two injured men! How tough can they be?”
“You don’t understand. I’ve known about the MANIACs for a very long time. These guys aren’t human. They’re machines. Military supermen.”
“Get real!” Greene laughed. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little bit?”
Holmes’s face finally showed some emotion—not much, just a slight flare-up in his eyes. “Exaggerating? They slipped out of bondage, located Terrell’s armory, stole a shitload of weapons, killed thirteen guards in the woods and two with a booby trap, then mysteriously disappeared into the night. Now you tell me, do these guys sound normal to you?”
Greene took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit it, but from Holmes’s description it did seem like Payne and Jones were pretty talented. Hell, he’d underestimated them at Sam’s Tattoos and they had escaped. Maybe these guys were something to worry about.
“So, they’re still out there, huh?”
“Yeah,” Holmes answered. “They’re still on the loose, doing God knows what.”
“And what about Payne’s girlfriend? Where’s she? She’s our insurance policy, you know.”
Holmes turned toward Jackson. “Didn’t you have her in your possession?”
“She’s in the guest bedroom. I left her tied to the bed.”
“Jesus!” Greene growled. “You left her in the house this entire time by herself, and you didn’t say anything! She’s what they want!”
The thought of Ariane’s escape made Greene tense with fear. She was his best chance at safety, and he knew it. As long as he had her, he had lots of bargaining power.
“We better get the bitch before they find her. If we lose her, we’re in deep shit.”
Holmes nodded in agreement. “I’ll come with you, Levon. I think we should bring the young blonde out of the house as well. The less spread out we are, the better.”
WITH a hollow reed in his mouth and a bag on his shoulder, Payne took a breath of fresh air and slipped into the warm water of the gulf. He wouldn’t have to swim far, but the distance he’d travel would be done underwater in complete darkness, so the reed would guarantee a supply of oxygen if he needed it.
Using his hands as his only guide, Payne swam blindly through the intricate web of wooden poles that supported the western dock, making his way toward the heavily guarded boat. After circumnavigating the bow, he breathed through his reed and continued forward, hugging the underbelly of the ship as he successfully wove through a series of ropes before he emerged along the edge of the stern.
The toughest part was over. He was where he needed to be.
WHILE peering through the scope of his Heckler & Koch PSG1 semiautomatic sniper rifle, Jones swung his gun from side to side, searching for targets. He found several. It was a good thing that his weapon offered a deadly combination of precision and speed, or he wouldn’t have a chance against so many men. And if he failed to complete his mission, Payne would probably die.
Thankfully, he had plenty of experience dealing with pressure.
The first blast echoed in the night as the bullet struck the guard. His skull exploded in a mixture of blood, brain, and bone. Before the victim’s partners could react, Jones lined up his second target and repeated his performance.
Another shot. Another corpse. Blood everywhere.
Shot three eliminated one more guard. Shot four did the same.
And for some reason, the guards weren’t hiding. They just stood there, scanning the trees for the source of the gunfire, hoping to see the discharge in the distant night. Jones couldn’t believe his luck and their stupidity, but he was going to take advantage of both while they lasted.
“Adios.” Guard five, killed.
“Sayonara.” Guard six, dead.
If he’d had the chance, Jones would’ve continued shooting all night, but a few of the guards finally wised up and dashed into the woods to find him. That was his cue to leave. Before he departed, though, Jones blasted a few shots into the water—his signal for Payne to begin—then slipped deeper into the trees for safety.
He had done his part. Now it was up to his partner.
AND Payne was ready.
He’d been waiting for several seconds in the water, trying to remain completely silent near the stern, but now that Jones had signaled him, he knew he could spring into action. Using a rope that hung from the deck, Payne quickly scaled the back edge of the ship. He slipped his hand into his shoulder bag and grabbed his Glock. The powerful handgun, fitted with