Page 45 of The 9th Man

He eased off the road into the trees, parked, then climbed out.

He made his way toward the structure and decided it had indeed once been a gate. What was this place? He crept closer and parted an overgrowth of weeds at the plinth’s base. Eroded by time and weather, a symbol was barely discernible.

But he recognized it.

ABalkenkreuz.

The German cross.

Now he knew. This was an abandoned World War II Luftwaffe base. The Germans had built them all over Belgium and Luxembourg, using them as fighter stations and emergency night landings for bombers. Most of them were grass runways, and this was no exception, the only concrete a small amount in and around two metal hangars that were in surprisingly good shape. The perimeter fence had likewise looked relatively recent so he assumed this whole place was now privately owned and maintained. Nothing other than the faded cross on the plinth reflected this place’s checkered past. Nazi Germany’s occupation was surely something most Luxembourgers preferred to forget.

He checked his gear.

He had the two pistols he’d acquired and four spare magazines. Maybe fifty rounds of ammunition. But Persik had more men, more bullets, and a defensive superiority with the hangars. A firefight could get both him and Jillian killed.

Best option?

Don’t get shot.

19

LUKE HAD NO IDEA OF THE BASE’S ORIGINAL SIZE. ONLY TWObuildings had survived the intervening eighty years, along with a reinforced concrete hangar whose open side was bracketed by a chest-high revetment, which he assumed had served as a half door / blast shield for the hangar’s interior. Attached to the right side of the hangar was a boxlike concrete structure with a flat roof. Probably once an office of sorts. Nature had done its best to try to reclaim both the hangars and the clearing with shrubs and stunted trees. What little of the original concrete surface Luke could see was either eroded or strewn with faded graffiti.

He spotted two more Range Rovers parked head-on to the revetment. Neither of the vehicles appeared to be running. The helicopter rested quiet and empty. Galang’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

He checked.

A text message.

ETA to airfield?

They were looking for their compatriot. He found the other phone he’d lifted and saw the same query. A thought occurred to him. If Persik hadn’t noticed Galang’s and his partner’s absence, their silence could lead to a check on their status.

He sprinted back in a half crouch toward the Range Rover. Just as he arrived, a figure exited the hangar, hesitated a moment, then started walking toward the vehicle. Apparently, they’d already decided on a check and, lo and behold, the Range Rover was here. The guy was armed with another automatic rifle. Luke dropped to his belly and rolled underneath the vehicle. The man stopped ten feet from the front bumper, surely wondering what the vehicle was doing here. Luke could only see him from the shins down.

“Galang, you there? Rimba?”

Luke heard the rifle being raised as the man walked to the driver’s door, opened it, and looked inside. When he saw it vacant he stepped to the rear hatch. Luke let him pass, then rolled out behind him and kicked the man’s knees out from under him. The body dropped and Luke cradled the head, slamming it hard against the side panel, knocking the guy unconscious.

The pop of head to metal had been loud.

He waited a moment to see if it had been heard.

All quiet.

He repeated the frisking process, found a similar array of stuff, then zip-cuffed the man and shoved him in the cargo area. He scrolled through the text messages on the man’s phone until he found Persik’s number. He typed,They just arrived. Engine overheated. No sign of Daniels.

A reply came a moment later.

The three of you secure the perimeter.

He allowed himself a half smile. So far, so good.

But whatever he was going to do, it had to be now.

He returned to the edge of the clearing and picked his way through the trees until he drew even with the helicopter, which he used as cover to reach the hangar’s attached concrete structure. Quickly, he snapped a photo with his phone of the chopper’s ID numbers.

The office door was missing, so he easily slipped inside and stood in the darkness until his eyes adjusted. Save for a few rickety lawn chairs and a scattering of trash, the room was empty. It stank of mildew. To his left was a closed door that led, he assumed, into the hangar. He had only one advantage. Surprise. No, he had something else. Knowledge, or at least the appearance of it. So negotiate. Swap himself for Jillian. Then use the rifle to bargain.

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