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Authors: Eric Jerome Dickey
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cover, good for distraction, good for decoy. Assholes always pop a few shots into a smoke and expose their position.”
“Good for confusion in small rooms with tangos in it.”
“Pop a smoke in, followed by a frag, they’ll get stuck against each other trying to escape.”
Medianoche led the team through a parking garage on the corner, connected with streets lined with cars, buses, and Radio Taxis. Medianoche marched a step in front of The Beast, led his warriors, the Book of Revelation come to life. The bringers of the end.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Capítulo 7
los Cuatro Jinetes
Medianoche led the charge.
The Four Horsemen arrived like a hurricane battling an earthquake, contents of the backpacks removed, a combination of M84 stun grenades and flash grenades that exploded and disrupted their enemies’ senses, blinding and deafening their adversaries for six seconds as they moved in with precision, guns drawn, military force exerted on all who stood in their way, shooting the blind and deaf like they were sitting ducks. It sounded like a reenactment of the Buenos Aires civil war, a battle between the unitarios and federales .
Medianoche and the rest of The Horsemen moved like a tsunami, as if trained by notorious firms like Blackwater in both technique and ethics. They fired like they were renegades operating above the law, as if they were clearing the way for diplomats to come into Iraq, moved like they were deep inside Fallujah, on a mission to rescue hostages.
Blackwater was paid up to ten times more than government employees, and The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse made twenty times more than Blackwater.
To murder with impunity.
The seventh floor was a war zone.
A dozen bodyguards on the ground, a dozen left.
A battle ensued as the target fled the hallway, bullets flying as the man from Uruguay grabbed the black briefcase and ran. Gunfire in the darkness. Spanish screams. Shadows moving. Shadows running. Shadows shooting. More flash grenades.
Medianoche felt his heart racing. Life or death.
Then the generator kicked on.
Fluorescent lights revealed Spanish bodyguards who had been taken down, men dressed in all black, the gear of a Spanish militia. Pristine white walls and contemporary Spanish art were now stained in warm blood. Medianoche moved down the hallway. Señorita Raven moved with him, shooting anything that moved. Medianoche did the same, hoping the bitch caught one in the eye.
Señorita Raven, the arrogant soldier who ignored the pecking order. Medianoche fired on a shooter who had appeared off to Señorita Raven’s side, gun aimed at her head, about to take her out. Medianoche blew that sonofabitch’s head off, saved Señorita Raven’s life without thought, then moved on after the target.
He disliked her, but she was a soldier. His instinct was to protect The Four Horsemen.
His goddamn instinct was to protect a woman. A dumb, ignorant, vulgar, arrogant woman. A woman who had eyes that reminded him of the love he’d had in Montserrat.
Rodríguez popped one of the Uruguayan men in the leg. Then popped the other in his knee. Both went down in screams and pain. The third Uruguayan. The briefcase was in his goddamn hand. That was what the mission was all about. The third man panicked, abandoned his fallen comrades and ran off without his bodyguards, fled like a halfback taking off without his blockers. Medianoche went after the package. This was where he was the most alive.
They had been outnumbered six to one. Within thirty seconds, it had been two to one. Now, another thirty seconds later, it was an even fight.
He had seen the third Uruguayan take the briefcase and run through an emergency exit. Medianoche was up front, in the best position to capture the object. Señorita Raven, Señor Rodríguez, and The Beast covered Medianoche as he ran after the package. Behind him, flash grenades and gunfire.
The target fled down another hallway, ran past the elevators, and took the
“Good for confusion in small rooms with tangos in it.”
“Pop a smoke in, followed by a frag, they’ll get stuck against each other trying to escape.”
Medianoche led the team through a parking garage on the corner, connected with streets lined with cars, buses, and Radio Taxis. Medianoche marched a step in front of The Beast, led his warriors, the Book of Revelation come to life. The bringers of the end.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Capítulo 7
los Cuatro Jinetes
Medianoche led the charge.
The Four Horsemen arrived like a hurricane battling an earthquake, contents of the backpacks removed, a combination of M84 stun grenades and flash grenades that exploded and disrupted their enemies’ senses, blinding and deafening their adversaries for six seconds as they moved in with precision, guns drawn, military force exerted on all who stood in their way, shooting the blind and deaf like they were sitting ducks. It sounded like a reenactment of the Buenos Aires civil war, a battle between the unitarios and federales .
Medianoche and the rest of The Horsemen moved like a tsunami, as if trained by notorious firms like Blackwater in both technique and ethics. They fired like they were renegades operating above the law, as if they were clearing the way for diplomats to come into Iraq, moved like they were deep inside Fallujah, on a mission to rescue hostages.
Blackwater was paid up to ten times more than government employees, and The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse made twenty times more than Blackwater.
To murder with impunity.
The seventh floor was a war zone.
A dozen bodyguards on the ground, a dozen left.
A battle ensued as the target fled the hallway, bullets flying as the man from Uruguay grabbed the black briefcase and ran. Gunfire in the darkness. Spanish screams. Shadows moving. Shadows running. Shadows shooting. More flash grenades.
Medianoche felt his heart racing. Life or death.
Then the generator kicked on.
Fluorescent lights revealed Spanish bodyguards who had been taken down, men dressed in all black, the gear of a Spanish militia. Pristine white walls and contemporary Spanish art were now stained in warm blood. Medianoche moved down the hallway. Señorita Raven moved with him, shooting anything that moved. Medianoche did the same, hoping the bitch caught one in the eye.
Señorita Raven, the arrogant soldier who ignored the pecking order. Medianoche fired on a shooter who had appeared off to Señorita Raven’s side, gun aimed at her head, about to take her out. Medianoche blew that sonofabitch’s head off, saved Señorita Raven’s life without thought, then moved on after the target.
He disliked her, but she was a soldier. His instinct was to protect The Four Horsemen.
His goddamn instinct was to protect a woman. A dumb, ignorant, vulgar, arrogant woman. A woman who had eyes that reminded him of the love he’d had in Montserrat.
Rodríguez popped one of the Uruguayan men in the leg. Then popped the other in his knee. Both went down in screams and pain. The third Uruguayan. The briefcase was in his goddamn hand. That was what the mission was all about. The third man panicked, abandoned his fallen comrades and ran off without his bodyguards, fled like a halfback taking off without his blockers. Medianoche went after the package. This was where he was the most alive.
They had been outnumbered six to one. Within thirty seconds, it had been two to one. Now, another thirty seconds later, it was an even fight.
He had seen the third Uruguayan take the briefcase and run through an emergency exit. Medianoche was up front, in the best position to capture the object. Señorita Raven, Señor Rodríguez, and The Beast covered Medianoche as he ran after the package. Behind him, flash grenades and gunfire.
The target fled down another hallway, ran past the elevators, and took the
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