CHAPTER 7
Saturday
9:44 pm
Germany
Beyond the gated parameter ran a long stretch of grass leading up to a large estate, guards patrolling each gate and a wash of light flooding over the entrance to the house.
"Looks fun," Saint John remarked sarcastically.
"We could always change the plan and both go in."
"No, someone needs to stay with Airwolf, and when Stefan and I get out I want you to be there to pick us up."
The pilot nodded and continued to make his rounds. "German guards carrying AK-47s, don't appear to be any snipers, SAM launch sites at each corner of the house, and two more on the south end. Stefan is supposed to be back in his suite by 9:45 with no company, but he will have some a few minutes later, usually no later than 10pm, sometimes as early as 9:50.
"So I've got fifteen minutes to get in and get out with a five minute time window for him being alone. Alright, better head out then."
"I'll drop you off by the tree just outside the gate on the west side and pick you up when you radio or at the front door in fifteen at the latest."
"Got it, good luck, String."
"Keep the good luck, I've got the Lady to take care of me."
With booted feet, Saint John landed hard on the ground, M-16 slung over his shoulder, and sidearm tucked in the left side of his waistband, radio on the other. He immediately started climbing the tree, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and dropped inside from an overhanging limb. At a quick jog he approached the house, slipping past the guard and inside.
Hope nobody has decided to remodel any time recently, he thought to himself as he mentally pictured the blue prints of the house Michael had sent. Upstairs, the last room on the … "Damn," he muttered. Was it on the left side or the right?
It was upstairs at any rate, he though, taking the stairs two at a time, maybe once he got up there he'd remember. Hopefully.
Glancing down at his watch, he realized his narrow time window was quickly diminishing, and he now only had nine minutes he could count on.
Behind him he could hear many feet traipsing by, followed by the loud bark of a dog. Dogs, that was the last thing he needed at the moment.
The hall was unoccupied but far from empty, a rich red carpet lining the floor and golden trim at every turn, chandeliers evenly spaced across the ceiling and shedding far more light than would have been ideal at the moment. He reached the end of the hallway, left with the difficult choice - left or right? The front door where he was supposed to be picked up was closer to the left, so he decided to try the left, praying it was the right choice.
Gun drawn, he entered the room. It was empty, or at least appeared that way until he heard someone cock the gun that was now aligned with his head.
"Werden Sie hier drinnen," the German man ordered.
Not much chance at point blank, Saint John thought bleakly.
"Now! In, in, in!"
He stepped forward and had the door shut abruptly behind him.
"Erklären Sie Ihren Namen," he demanded.
Saint John remained silent, not that he had the slightest clue what the German man was saying anyway.
"Name," he repeated, this time in English.
"Hawke," Saint John answered.
"American?"
"Yes."
"Where from?"
"California," the pilot answered warily.
"Who sent you?"
Silence.
"Who sent you?" he repeated impatiently. "Tell me now or I'll take care of your sudden inability to speak for good."
"I can't tell you."
"Are you sure about that?" he asked one last time, finger looming dangerously close to the trigger of the American revolver.
"You're Stefan Keller, aren't you?"
"And who told you? Never mind, it doesn't matter, but for your information, yes I am."
Saint John ducked, catching Keller behind the heel just as he fired. The bullet embedded itself in the wall hardly an inch from Saint John's head as he dropped the German agent to the ground and disarmed him. Keller smiled. "Good. I'm glad to see the FIRM still trains its agents as well."
"You're… You mean that was just as test to figure out if I was well trained?"
"Yes," the agent answered. "More or less."
"Well now that we've established they do," Saint John said, giving him a hand up, "I'm not FIRM trained, and we only have six minutes to get out of here."
"But if you're not…."
"Long story, I'll explain later. At the moment let's worry about getting you out of here."
He handed the revolved back and picked up a long, dark colored trench coat and handed it to Keller. "How far from that window to the ground?"
"About ten feet to the balcony and another fifteen to the grass from it."
"It'll due."
He pried the window open and motioned toward the large square tiled porch below, gesturing towards the significant drop. "Only ten feet, huh?"
"About ten," Keller reminded.
"Let's move."
Hanging from the window still and dropping down the remaining four feet, Saint John hit the tile, rolling to absorb some of the impact, followed by Keller. Before they could jump to the ground below, one step closer to safety, both of the found themselves looking down the barrel of a gun.
"Do you think you're going somewhere?" the guard asked mockingly.
As if synchronized, Saint John and Stefan attacked the guards, but the watchmen proved to be a fair match, each blow they received returned with an equally strong one. Rolling to the left, Saint John avoided the rubber sole coming down at his head, drawing his gun as he did so and taking down the man with one shot. Stefan ducked a punch, landing a hard fisted blow to the jaw of his enemy and grabbing him by the neck as he doubled over in pain and broke it.
From overhead, Airwolf's banshee cry could be heard as she circled and came to hover mere feet from the ground and let loose a barrage of gunfire.
The remaining guardsmen fired back, magazine after magazine ricocheted harmlessly off the armored black hide. Another wave of fire followed by a large canon plowed across the ground and the guard tower from where two more bodies came flying toward the ground.
"What is that?"
"Our ticket out of here, now let's get gone." Saint John called out, already a step ahead, letting off a couple shots behind him and plunging onward into the cloud of smoke.
From the inside of the cockpit, String targeted another guard tower and released the Wolf's fury on it. At last he saw his brother and the German agent coming toward the helicopters. Relief flooded through him until another spat of gunfire erupted, piling into the sand around them as a cloud of dust arose up, hiding them from view.
Stefan reappeared a moment later, climbing into the back of the cockpit. Alone.
"Where's my brother? Where's Saint John?"
Stefan shook his head, still coughing from inhaling so much smoke. "I don't know," he choked. "He was right beside me… then he just disappeared."
