The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

Just as Gomez made the transition, the castle was plunged into darkness.

EIGHTEEN

With the lights out, Juan and the rest of his team turned on their flashlights instead of activating their night vision goggles. Juan unlocked the cell holding the woman and children and told Murph to bring Erion Kula in to translate. He entered the cell with the gun slung behind his back, his hands raised, and the warmest smile he could muster given his seething anger at their captors. When they shrank back from him, he couldn’t blame them. A large armed man in black camouflage had to be frightening.

Gretchen came to his rescue. She removed her stocking cap and shook out her hair as she approached them with a smile of her own. The sight of a friendly woman seemed to put them more at ease. She knelt next to them and tenderly caressed the hair of the oldest girl while the woman regarded them warily.

“They’re filthy and underfed,” Gretchen said, “but I don’t see any injuries except for the woman’s bruises.” Her neck and arms were dotted with black and blue marks.

When Kula stepped into the doorway, a look of confusion at being summoned switched instantly to relief. He rushed over to the children, who leaped toward him.

“Baba! Baba!

” they cried as they hugged him tightly. Juan didn’t need a translation to realize that Kula was the children’s father.

While Kula comforted them in Albanian, Murph said, “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

Kula looked up at Juan. “These are my children and aunt. I thought they were still in Tirana. I had no idea Simaku brought them here. He told me he was holding—”

Juan put up his hand. “We’ll get the story later. Right now, we need to figure out an exit strategy. Linda, what’s the situation outside?”

“Simaku and his men were about to breach the door when the power went out,” she said in his earpiece. “They backed off when that happened, and some of them returned to the main building, I assume to look for some portable lights.”

“That gives us another minute at best.” Juan peered out of the small barred outer window and confirmed that this room was the closest to the guard tower they’d descended. Only the parked cars stood between him and the tower. The window was also on the opposite side of the building from the mass of gunmen waiting to assault the barracks.

“You have to help us,” Kula pleaded. “Simaku will surely kill us all now. Please take us with you.”

The Mercedes was temptingly close, but no way were ten of them going to fit inside. They needed to go to Max’s backup plan.

“No one’s getting left behind,” Juan said to Kula. “Linda, tell Max to launch the cargo drone. I want it on the wall in two minutes. Have Eddie meet us in the RHIB on the west side.”

“Aye, Chairman. Max says it’s already in the air. The Oregon is five miles away and heading toward you at flank speed.”

“We’re also going to need help getting to the tower. Have Gomez prepare his air raid. We’re going out the back door. All of us.” He nodded at Murph, who went to the wall and began pulling gear from his bag.

“What back door?” Kula asked in confusion. “The only door is at the front of the building . . .” His voice trailed off when he saw Murph slapping plastic explosive bundles against the stones. He didn’t need to be told to hustle the children into the hallway. His aunt no longer eyed them with suspicion. She calmly herded the kids out the door with him.

“You really think we can do this with a bunch of kids in tow?” Gretchen whispered to Juan.

“I really do,” Juan said confidently, although his training hadn’t exactly prepared him for shepherding a flock of grade school children through a gun battle. But Juan agreed with Kula that worse would happen if they stayed here.

“Charges are set,” Murph said as he stood.

The three of them went into the hallway, where they met MacD, coming from his post in the anteroom. He gaped at the six hostages.

“Someone running a school in here?”

“Meet Erion Kula’s family,” Juan said. “Now, get your goggles on and snuff your lights. Kula, tell your family that we’re heading for the tower, but you’re not to move until Gretchen here says to.”

Kula nodded and spoke to his family in Albanian as they extinguished their flashlights. Two of the children cried out, but he and his aunt soothed them.

Juan checked to make sure Murph was set with the detonator. “We’re ready here, Linda,” he radioed. “Buzz Simaku with Gomez’s hornets.”

—

With the targets identified on the op center’s main viewer by red crosshairs, Linda nodded to Gomez. He pressed a button and three tiny drones were released from beneath the three observation drones hovering above the castle. The hornets were so small—only six inches in diameter—that they disappeared from view in moments.

Max, who was now manning his engineering station, had specially designed the hornet drones for remote attacks. They had only enough battery power for a short-duration flight, but they made up for a lack of range with the stingers they wielded. Each hornet carried six ounces of Composition B, the same explosive used in American M67 hand grenades.