down!” James yelled as he caught up with the boy. “Let us handle this!”
The boy, however, shook his head determinedly without breaking his stride. “Papa!” he screamed again. “Wake up!”
They were rushing together through the open gateway of the pen surrounding the hut when gunfire erupted inside the enclosure.
“Papa!” the boy wailed yet again.
James lengthened his stride and outraced the boy to the hut. The building was less half the size of a one-car garage, and it looked to James as if the front doorway was the only way in. Figuring the gunfire had likely been directed through a rear window, he bypassed the doorway and approached the far side of the hut, carbine at the ready. As he turned the corner, James froze. Less than ten yards away, one of the Basques stood facing him with a 9 mm Uzi subgun held out before him, finger on the trigger.
Both men fired simultaneously.
James winced as three rounds slammed into his side like jabs from a red-hot poker. He staggered to his right, crashing into the side of the hut. The other man had taken a volley to the chest. Dropping his gun, he pitched forward, landing face-first in the dirt.
Grimacing, James stepped over the body and inched toward the rear of the hut. His side felt as if it were on fire, and he could feel blood seeping from his wounds, but he tried to put the pain out of his mind. He’d taken a few steps when he heard scuffling out near the retaining wall. Whirling, he spotted yet another gunman crawling over the barrier. He emptied the rest of his magazine, bringing the man down, then tossed his carbine aside and backtracked to the man he’d killed moments before, snatching up his Uzi. He was beginning to feel light-headed from the loss of blood, but he forced himself to move on. Rounding the back of the hut, he was about to let loose with the Uzi when he saw another Basque lying in a pool of blood just below a small rear window. James approached cautiously. Once he was sure the man was dead, he peered in through the window.
The shepherd boy had entered the hut and was embracing his father, who held in his right hand the old Smith & Wesson revolver with which he’d apparently shot the man lying at James’s feet. The old shepherd was clearly weak on his feet, but it didn’t look as if he’d been shot. He spoke to his son reassuringly, but James couldn’t make out what the man was saying. There was a odd thundering in his ears, and soon a field of stars began to cloud his vision. When he felt his knees buckling beneath him, James grabbed at the windowsill for support, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. As he began to fall, his world faded to black.
CHAPTER THREE
Encizo was concerned by all the gunfire that had taken place after James had disappeared behind the stone hut, but he was in no position to investigate. The gunmen stationed behind the parked ATV had him pinned down in the middle of the pasture. He fed another grenade into his M-14’s launcher as bullets caromed off the boulders he crouched behind. Encizo figured a well-placed shot could take out the gunmen, but he couldn’t run the risk of blowing up the crate still tethered to the vehicle. He had to try another way.
He waited for a lull in the shooting, then took aim at the stand of chestnut trees to the left of the ATV.
“Get ready to wrap this up!” he shouted out to Hawkins, who was still lying prone at the edge of the nearby ditch.
“Go for it!” Hawkins shouted back, rising to a crouch.
Encizo triggered the launcher. The M-14’s stock bucked sharply against his shoulder as it sent a 40 mm grenade hurtling toward the trees. Encizo’s aim couldn’t have been better. The grenade detonated as it struck the base of one of the trees, obliterating most of the trunk.
With a wrenching snap nearly as loud as the explosion itself, the tall chestnut teetered to one side, then came crashing down, its upper branches slapping across the top of the ATV. By then, Encizo and Hawkins were both on their feet and charging through the meadow.
The ploy worked, flushing the enemy from the ATV. Once Encizo reached another crop of boulders, he dropped to one knee and blasted away with his carbine. Two men dropped from view into the tall grass. Judging from the way they’d gone down, Enzico doubted they’d be getting back up. Hawkins had similar luck, firing through the branches of the fallen tree and nailing a gunman seeking out cover behind the shattered trunk.
As Hawkins continued to race toward the chestnuts, however, he was nearly broadsided by a stream of gunfire coming down from the mountains to his right. He dived to the ground and rolled to one side until he reached one of the sheep, which had been caught up in the cross fire and lay dead in the grass. Peering over the carcass, Hawkins spotted two snipers up in the foothills near the rocks where Encizo had fired earlier. He trained his sights on the man who presented the best target. It took three shots, but he finally managed to send a killshot through the man’s skull. The other gunman returned fire, missing Hawkins by inches with one shot and stirring the dead sheep with another.
“Got a stray to take care of!” Hawkins called over his shoulder to Encizo. “I’ll take him out, then circle around!”
Encizo nodded. He stayed put a moment, eyes on the fallen tree, waiting for another separatist to show himself. None appeared. He stole a quick glance at the stone hut but could still see no sign of James or the shepherd boy. He was about to go have a closer look when he heard the sound of the ATV’s engine revving to life. Shifting his gaze, he saw that one of the Basques had climbed into the driver’s seat and was brushing away the branches draped across the steering wheel. Once he’d shifted gears, the man began to back the ATV up, pulling away from the fallen tree.
“Not so fast,” Encizo muttered.
He quickly fired off a few rounds, managing to hit the vehicle’s framework but not the driver. The ATV separated itself from the tree and began to turn. Encizo realized the driver was hoping to retreat the way he’d come. Cursing, he broke from cover and began to sprint after the vehicle. His carbine was slowing him, so he cast it aside. Without breaking stride, he yanked the 9 mm pistol from his web holster. There was no point in firing, however; the crate blocked his view of the driver.
By the time Encizo reached the fallen tree, the ATV had left the meadow and begun to head down a narrow dirt path that threaded its way between outcroppings and a scattering of tall mountain pines. After a couple turns the vehicle had disappeared from view.
Rather than take the trail, Encizo bounded onto the closest outcropping and followed it, leaping from rock to rock, hoping he wouldn’t lose his footing. He could still hear the ATV and tried his best to head in the same direction. Behind him, he could hear intermittent gunfire back in the meadow and figured Hawkins still had his hands full.
After sixty yards, Encizo was forced to come to a stop. The outcropping had not only narrowed to a point, but it had also come to an abrupt end, leaving him poised at the edge of a sheer, forty-foot precipice.
Another stream of expletives spilled from Encizo’s lips as he sized up his situation. He had two options: he could either backtrack the way he’d come or try to make his way down the sheer face of the cliff. In terms of catching up with the ATV, either way seemed futile. He could no longer even hear the vehicle, much less see it. Like it or not, it looked as if the enemy had gotten away.
“Way to go, Rafe,” he chastised himself.
Encizo was still deliberating his next move when he heard a rustling behind him. He whirled and saw that a mountain goat had appeared atop the outcropping twenty yards behind him. He wasn’t
