Cliff's Edge Read Free

even through the ringing in his ears from the shots. Or maybe it was just his imagination filling in the blanks.
    Then the shouting started—the voices rough, the language Spanish.
    “Get back, get back.”
    “Hands in the air. Open the safe, or we wipe out everyone downstairs.”
    “All right,” Draco agreed. “Tell the two assholes with the AK-47s to back the fuck off. Goddamn gangbangers. What the fuck do you think you’re going to find—”
    “Shut up. Gato, Raul, move back—now. Open the fucking safe, asshole.”
    “Okay, okay. Nobody else gets hurt…” Something about his tone told Cliff there was probably a weapon inside the safe that Draco believed he could reach before the gunmen fired. There was a brief moment of silence, presumably while Draco worked the lock, then gunfire erupted. A .45 caliber versus automatic weapons. Never a good match.
    Straining to see through the narrow opening, Cliff cursed whatever god deemed it amusing to leave him naked and handcuffed to a goddamn bed while three armed gunman attacked less than twenty feet away. Keeping his arms still so the slide of metal against metal didn’t draw their attention, Cliff stretched his shoulders and neck to the breaking point, trying to see what he could.
    “Goddamn fucker—Raul’s down.”
    “Leave him. Vasquez was right about the fuckin’ weapons. Time’s up. Grab the money and the backup disc. Get the other 47 and let’s go.”
    For what seemed like an eternity, the silence built and Cliff spent the time cataloging everything he’d seen and heard in the three minutes it had taken for the world to go to hell. When he was certain the shooters were gone, he jerked his wrists hard, testing the strength of the metal and the sturdiness of the bed frame. “Draco? Draco, can you hear me?” Nothing. Not even the sound of labored breathing. Nothing but the ringing in his ears until he finally caught the sound of sirens warbling in the distance, drawing ever closer. Help would come far too late for the men in the other room, but someone with a handcuff key would be here to release him soon. He closed his eyes on a sigh.
    Fuck. The only easy day was yesterday. The SEAL motto bounced around in his head before going up in smoke—just like his career.

Chapter Two
    Rhino remained frozen in place, his nostrils barely clearing the slimy surface of the swamp that marked the northern boundary of the former Vietnamese concentration camp. The fetid water soaked through to his skin, bringing along a few uninvited guests—probably of the leech variety. Every so often one of them would move, like a cold glob of snot crawling on his leg. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but remaining in position, out of sight until he had a clear shot.
    A shadow passed by the glassless window of the decrepit cinder block building. This might have been a state of the art prisoner holding area in the sixties, but the place had been long abandoned by any official branch of the government. Vines had overgrown most of the structures, reducing them to rubble or shrouding them in a creepy living cloak. A few fence posts had survived the decades, but not with the barbwire attached. The single remaining building was fifteen by eight, with plywood serving as doors, windows, and most of the roof. The three “patriots” who were his targets were holding former Army Ranger Wilton Rufus for the crime of crossing into Viet Nam illegally—which was true—and accusing him of spying for America—which was not true. According to the official government spokesman located in Ho Chi Minh, neither the local police nor the Peoples Army had any knowledge of the American’s whereabouts, but if he was discovered, he would be prosecuted for spying.
    A second shadow joined the first, and angry voices hung heavy in the air. Come on, you bastards…step outside. All fucking three of you…step outside … step outside…
    Ordering his mind to go still, Rhino checked his angle once more.