overpass. The bus was wedged against the concrete barrier, and Mason doubted that it could be moved by anything smaller than a bulldozer. A dozen cars from the other two lanes had been pushed out of the way to form a narrow passageway across the overpass. Nakai’s convoy would have to squeeze between the bus and cars, making it an ideal choke point. Rather than simply tossing the caltrops on the open pavement, Mason moved from one side of the road to the other, carefully placing them like candles on a birthday cake.
He stepped back and studied the trap. The caltrops were all but invisible when standing more than a few feet away. Getting past them would require careful clearing of the road—a time consuming process that would probably have to be conducted on hands and knees. Moving the cars or bus would be even more difficult, and the heavily congested ramps on and off the interstate would prevent the convoy from taking a detour.
Mason grinned with satisfaction. The trap wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty darned good.
Mason lay flat on his belly, peeking out from the tree line on the opposite side of the interstate. Pine cones poked into his side, and the occasional bug crawled along his legs as nature reminded him that he was not entirely welcome. Bowie leaned up against him, snoring softly. The convoy had taken nearly an hour to arrive, and that was about fifty-nine minutes longer than the dog’s attention span.
Bowie finally stirred when he heard the tractor-trailers’ engines groaning as the trucks powered up the steep incline leading to the Richmond Hill overpass. Two things had changed since Mason had last seen the procession. The entire convoy was now traveling more tightly together, keeping their heavy weapons closer to the payload. And the HMMWVs had shifted so that there were now three at the rear of the convoy and just one at the front. Mason suspected the shift in position was due to Nakai worrying about him coming up from behind. As luck would have it, both changes worked in Mason’s favor.
The lead HMMWV rolled across the overpass, followed closely by the first tractor-trailer. To Mason’s surprise, the HMMWV rolled right over the area where the caltrops had been placed without even slowing. The tractor-trailer, however, was not as fortunate. The front right tire blew first, followed by the left a couple seconds later, pitching the nose of the truck down toward the road. The driver locked up his brakes and skidded sideways into the bus that leaned against the edge of the overpass. The rest of the convoy ground to a stop, and two dozen armed men scrambled from their vehicles.
Mason smiled. The ferocious lion had been stopped with nothing more than a tiny thorn.
Even before the tractor-trailer’s tires blew, Nakai knew that something was wrong. The two men left behind had yet to return. Their orders had been simple enough. Catch, question, and kill their pursuer, and then use an abandoned vehicle to return to the convoy. That had not happened. Normally, he would have left them with a radio, but instinct told him not to risk anyone gaining access to their communications. He had to assume that the man following them had somehow managed to kill the two soldiers. He also had to assume that whatever those men knew, his pursuer also now knew.
Nakai and Jeb both stepped from the lead HMMWV and walked cautiously back toward the crippled truck. Two soldiers were climbing down from the cab with AK-47s.
Nakai motioned for Jeb to go on ahead.
“Check the road.”
Jeb nodded and continued across the overpass.
Nakai squatted down and studied the truck’s left tire. He worked out a twisted piece of metal from the tread and studied it. Two nails carefully bent together, their heads removed. This was no accident. It was a trap.
He didn’t need to tell his men to prepare for an assault. They were already doing so. Soldiers manned the two .50 caliber machine guns, rotating them to get maximum
He stepped back and studied the trap. The caltrops were all but invisible when standing more than a few feet away. Getting past them would require careful clearing of the road—a time consuming process that would probably have to be conducted on hands and knees. Moving the cars or bus would be even more difficult, and the heavily congested ramps on and off the interstate would prevent the convoy from taking a detour.
Mason grinned with satisfaction. The trap wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty darned good.
Mason lay flat on his belly, peeking out from the tree line on the opposite side of the interstate. Pine cones poked into his side, and the occasional bug crawled along his legs as nature reminded him that he was not entirely welcome. Bowie leaned up against him, snoring softly. The convoy had taken nearly an hour to arrive, and that was about fifty-nine minutes longer than the dog’s attention span.
Bowie finally stirred when he heard the tractor-trailers’ engines groaning as the trucks powered up the steep incline leading to the Richmond Hill overpass. Two things had changed since Mason had last seen the procession. The entire convoy was now traveling more tightly together, keeping their heavy weapons closer to the payload. And the HMMWVs had shifted so that there were now three at the rear of the convoy and just one at the front. Mason suspected the shift in position was due to Nakai worrying about him coming up from behind. As luck would have it, both changes worked in Mason’s favor.
The lead HMMWV rolled across the overpass, followed closely by the first tractor-trailer. To Mason’s surprise, the HMMWV rolled right over the area where the caltrops had been placed without even slowing. The tractor-trailer, however, was not as fortunate. The front right tire blew first, followed by the left a couple seconds later, pitching the nose of the truck down toward the road. The driver locked up his brakes and skidded sideways into the bus that leaned against the edge of the overpass. The rest of the convoy ground to a stop, and two dozen armed men scrambled from their vehicles.
Mason smiled. The ferocious lion had been stopped with nothing more than a tiny thorn.
Even before the tractor-trailer’s tires blew, Nakai knew that something was wrong. The two men left behind had yet to return. Their orders had been simple enough. Catch, question, and kill their pursuer, and then use an abandoned vehicle to return to the convoy. That had not happened. Normally, he would have left them with a radio, but instinct told him not to risk anyone gaining access to their communications. He had to assume that the man following them had somehow managed to kill the two soldiers. He also had to assume that whatever those men knew, his pursuer also now knew.
Nakai and Jeb both stepped from the lead HMMWV and walked cautiously back toward the crippled truck. Two soldiers were climbing down from the cab with AK-47s.
Nakai motioned for Jeb to go on ahead.
“Check the road.”
Jeb nodded and continued across the overpass.
Nakai squatted down and studied the truck’s left tire. He worked out a twisted piece of metal from the tread and studied it. Two nails carefully bent together, their heads removed. This was no accident. It was a trap.
He didn’t need to tell his men to prepare for an assault. They were already doing so. Soldiers manned the two .50 caliber machine guns, rotating them to get maximum
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