Patriot games - Tom Clancy [255]
"Robby," Jack said as he examined the safety-selector switch on the gun. "Let's get the hell away from here."
"Second the motion. Jack, but where to?" Jackson pushed Shorty's head against the floor. The terrorist's eyes crossed almost comically on the business end of the Remington shotgun. "I expect he might know something useful. How'd you plan to get away, boy?"
"No." It was all Cooley could muster at the moment. He realized that he was, after all, the wrong man for this kind of job.
"That the way it is?" Jackson asked, his voice a low, angry rasp. "You listen to me, boy. That lady over there, the one you called niggah-that's my wife, boy, that's my lady. I saw you hit her. So, I already got one good reason to kill you, y'dig?" Robby smiled wickedly, and let the shotgun trace a line down to Shorty's crotch. "But I ain't gonna kill ya. I'll do somethin' lots worse-"
"I'll make a girl outa you, punk." Robby pushed the muzzle against the man's zipper. "Think fast, boy."
Jack listened to his friend in amazement. Robby never talked like this. But it was convincing. Jack believed that he'd do it.
So did Cooley: "Boats boats at the base of the cliff."
"That's not even clever. Say goodbye to 'em, boy." The angle of the shotgun changed fractionally.
"Boats! Two boats at the base of the cliff. There are two ladders-"
"How many watching them?" Jack demanded.
"One, that's all."
Robby looked up. "Jack?"
"People, I suggest we go steal some boats. That firefight outside is getting closer." Jack ran to his closet and got coats for everyone. For Robby he picked up his old Marine field jacket that Cathy hated so much. "Put this on, that white shirt is too damned visible."
"Here." Robby handed over Jack's automatic. "I got a box of rounds for the shotgun." He started transferring them from his pants to the jacket pockets and then hefted the last Uzi over his shoulder. "We're leaving friendlies behind. Jack," he added quietly.
Ryan didn't like it either. "I know, but if they get him, they win-and this ain't no place for women and kids, man."
"Okay, you're the Marine." Robby nodded. That was that.
"Let's get outa here. I have the point. I'm going to take a quick look-see. Rob, you take Shorty for now. Prince, you take the women." Jack reached down and grabbed Dennis Cooley by the throat. "You screw up, you're dead. No fartin' around with him, Robby, just waste him."
"That's a rog." Jackson backed away from the terrorist. "Up slow, punk."
Jack led them through the shattered doors. The.two dead agents lay crumpled on the wood deck, and he hated himself for not doing something about it, but Ryan was proceeding on some sort of automatic control that the Marine Corps had programmed into him ten years before. It was a combat situation, and all the lectures and field exercises were flooding back into his consciousness. In a moment he was drenched by the falling sheets of rain. He trotted down the stairs and looked around the house.
Longley and his men were too busy dealing with the threat to their front to notice what was approaching from behind. The British security officer fired four rounds at an advancing black figure and had the satisfaction of seeing him react from at least one hit when a hammering impact buried him against a tree. He rebounded off the rough bark and half turned to see yet another black-clad shape holding a gun ten feet away. The gun flashed again. Within seconds the woodline was quiet.
"Dear God," the rifleman muttered. Running in a crouch, he passed the bodies of five agents, but there wasn't time for that. He and his spotter went down next to a bush. The rifleman activated his night scope and tracked on the woodline a few hundred yards ahead. The green picture he got on the imaging