Vortex Read Free

repeated, they moved on, staying in the shadows as much as possible.
    One block to go. Bekker felt his heart speeding up, anticipating action.
    His radioman leaned closer and whispered, “Sir, second section sends “Rhino.”

    ”

    Good. Der Merwe’s men were in position-covering the north end of town, including the road, the rail line, and the police station. He kept moving, with his troops close behind.
    Suddenly, they were there.
    Bekker and his men found themselves facing the side of the building. a whitewashed wall that had no windows. Nkume’s information was right, so far. The radioman whispered another code word in his ear. Heitman’s third section was in place to the south.
    Bekker checked his rifle, took a quick breath, and scanned both sides of the street. No movement, at least not yet.
    He gestured, and the team crossed in a rush. Hopefully any observer would not recover from his initial surprise until it was too late and they were all out of view. Once across, his men took up covering positions while
    Bekker headed for the rear of the building. Nkume, flanked by his two escorts, followed.
    Reebeck met Bekker at the rear and pointed to the back door. It was solid steel, set in a metal frame, and had no lock or handle.
    “A little much for a small-town grocery, Kaptein, ” Reebeck observed in a low, hoarse voice.
    Bekker nodded abruptly. It was the first direct evidence that this building was more than it seemed.
    “Wire it,” he ordered.
    While a private laid a rope of plastique around the edge of the door,
    Bekker heard a low rustling as the rest of his men readied their weapons.
    Sergeant Roost, a short, wiry man with a craggy, oft-broken nose, crouched nearest the entrance and looked as if he couldn’t wait for the chance to go through it. Bekker waved him back and took his place.
    The private with the plastique finished working and moved away. Bekker nodded to his radioman. The man spoke into his handset, waited a moment, then gave him a thumbs-up. Everybody was ready. Bekker motioned to the soldier holding the detonator and buried his face in his arm.
    An enormous explosion lit the street for a split second, punctuated by a solid clang as the building’s steel door blew
    inward and landed somewhere inside. Bits of doorframe and concrete flew everywhere.
    Bekker felt the concussion rip at his clothing. Even as he held his breath, the blast’s acrid smell filled his nostrils. He dove through the still-smoking opening, followed by half the men of his first assault section.
    He found himself in a single, large room. Canned goods from spilled stacks, smashed boxes, and shattered glassware littered the floor. He was expecting, and saw, a stairway leading up. Seconds were precious now.
    “Two men to search this floor!” he shouted, and bounded up the stairs.
    He took them two at a time and coughed as the exertion forced him to breathe smoke-filled air.
    A wooden door blocked the stairs. Without stopping, Bekker fired a long burst into it, then hit the door with his shoulder. Shredded wood gave way and he landed on his side, rifle pointing down the length of the building.
    Nobody in sight. He was in what could only be an office, a room crowded with tables and desks. Doors in the opposite wall opened into other rooms and corridors. His mind noted a picture of Marx prominently displayed over a desk in the corner.
    Bekker kept moving, rolling for cover behind a desk and making room for the men behind him. He rose to one knee and leveled his weapon just as a black man carrying an AK47 came running into the office. Belcker fired a short burst, heard the man scream, and saw him crumple to the floor.
    Sergeant Roost crashed into the room in time to see the kill. He raised an eyebrow at Bekker, who pointed to the open door. Roost nodded and with a single, smooth motion, tore a concussion grenade off his webbing, pulled its pin, and lobbed it through the doorway.
    The sergeant dove for cover as his grenade