The Ancient Breed Read Online Free PDF Page B

continuously scanned the warehouse.
    “Fair enough.” Nick removed a thick envelope from his back slacks pocket and handed it to the terrorist. “You got a name?”
    “Jim.”
    “Any others?”
    “Lonedeer.”
    “Sounds Indian.”
    “It is.”
    Jim Lonedeer snapped on a narrow beam flashlight, unfolded the sheaf of documents and carefully inspected each one. “This on the level?” he asked and stuffed the documents back into the envelope.
    “One hundred percent.”
    “Good.” He unbuttoned his shirt and withdrew a narrow manila envelope. “Can we get out of this place?”
    “As soon as I’ve examined your information,” Nick answered.
    “Make it quick. This place gives me the creeps.”
    Nick agreed but didn’t admit it to Jim.
    “Here.” Before Jim could hand over his envelope, he and the vital information were shredded by automatic gunfire from the open doorway behind Nick.
    Nick spun and fired at the moonlit silhouette. The shooter collapsed but was replaced by another before his corpse hit the ground. The new shooter was armed with an AK-47 and lit up the old warehouse like it was the Fourth of July. Nick rolled behind the crates and attempted to return the man’s fire, but the shooter marked Nick’s position and kept him pinned down with a continuous stream of bullets.
    While the shooter reloaded, Nick heard clacking footsteps somewhere behind him; that meant reinforcements were taking flanking positions. Sweat erupted on his forehead as another fusillade splintered the wooden crates above him. He had to move. Now. Before it was too late.
    He leaped up and fired wildly toward the entrance as he retreated deeper into the warehouse. A new bullet barrage blistered the crates and clanged off the machine parts. The bullets ricocheted in all directions, and one of them grazed Nick’s left forearm. He swore loudly, but the staccato firing masked his careless outburst.
    Another stream of bullets from his left pinned him to the floor. A new shooter! The terrorists were rapidly closing for the kill. That left him only one avenue of escape –up.
    He easily scaled the closest stack of crates, finding numerous foot and handholds for his ascent. When he reached the top, he lay prone, caught his breath and surveyed the entire area for enemy movements and rifle laser beams. The figure in the doorway abandoned his position and ran a serpentine route to Jim Lonedeer’s lifeless form. The AK-47 shooter kicked the defector in the ribs to be certain he was dead. Satisfied, he yanked the tattered envelope from Jim’s frozen hand, tucked it beneath his belt and advanced toward Nick’s previous position behind the crates.
    Another AK-47 shooter swiftly closed in from the opposite direction, hoping to team with his partner and catch Nick in a deadly crossfire. Nick heard them speaking. Microphone headsets! Nick chastised himself for not anticipating it. Their movements within the dark warehouse were too well coordinated to be dumb luck. He checked the huge labyrinth for other terrorists but came up empty. A corner of his mouth rose. One against two. He could handle those odds.
    The men were now ten feet from his previous position. He peered over the edge of the crate and slowly, quietly targeted the terrorists. He desperately needed Lonedeer’s envelope. He couldn’t afford to miss. Some Washington hotshot’s life depended on his success.
    Of course, Nick wanted to save his own skin, too, and for that to happen he needed to steady his nerves and fire his trusty Glock swiftly and accurately. That meant ignoring the searing pain in his forearm and the discomfort of his blood-soaked shirtsleeve. If he misfired the first time, the two shooters would shred his ass into ground beef before he could get off a second shot.
    He chanced another peek at the shooters. They were sitting ducks. It was now or never.
    Nick targeted the first shooter, inhaled slowly, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. Before the flash and