Page 169 of Cry Havoc

“Let’s go. Remember—take Dvornikov alive. He’s our bargaining chip.”

Tom switched his Walther to semiautomatic in case he had to take a precise shot amongst the crowd that he could hear swarming in the next room.

“On me,” he said, stepping through the threshold.

The lobby opened onto a lawn with gardens that led to a dock. The front of the hotel faced the Chao Phraya River and was conveniently positioned to welcome travelers who had been arriving by boat for close to a century. It was decorated with elaborate hanging flower arrangements and boasted a large indoor fountain filled with floating water lilies and lotuses.

The lobby was even more chaotic than the high tea room had been. Inebriated patrons had stumbled out of the Bamboo Jazz Bar and Lord Jim’s Restaurant while screaming revelers scrambled past, desperate to find safety. Tom and Serrano pushed through the crowd, searching for their targets. Women in long, colorful flowing gowns and men in beige two-piece suits or white dinner jackets and black bow ties hindered forward progress. Not seeing the Russians in the lobby, Tom dropped his sub gun to his side in an attempt to not cause further alarm. Serrano did the samewith his 1911. The two men continued to scan as they maneuvered their way through the throngs of civilians.

“They have to be going for a boat,” Tom said. “Keep pushing. I’m going to flank them.”

“How?”

“Not sure, I’m making this up as I go.”

Tom broke to his right, toward the Lord Jim Restaurant. Rushing past diners who flooded past him, he felt like a fish swimming upstream.

Tom freed himself from the crowd and ran past the confused Thai hostess dressed in a form-fitting Chut Thai Chakkri, an elegant sarong of gold and silver. A few older diners had stayed in their seats, wisely deciding not to run toward the sound of gunfire. Tom clocked the huge glass window on the far side of the restaurant and, ignoring the shouts from the waitstaff, sprinted toward it, grabbing a heavy jade elephant on a pedestal lit with its own light source. He hurled it through the window and then grabbed a chair, which he used to scrape the shards away before jumping through and landing in a lush garden.

Weapon up and ready, he moved forward toward the front lawn, staying to the shadows, but now coming at it from a new angle. He heard the rise and fall of police sirens wailing in the distance.

I wish I could communicate with Serrano.

Maybe one day we will have radios small enough to use in situations like this.

If you live that long.

Stay locked-on.

Tom knelt at the edge of the building, looking across the lawn and gardens, tall palm trees swaying in the breeze, the lights of the hotel and the winds causing their shadows to come alive on the manicured grass.

There, he saw a man with his arm around a comrade, struggling to drag him down the dock. The security man raised a pistol and shot a longtail boat driver in the chest, sending him into the river.

Tom raised the sub gun. Below the gutter sights, which were designed for fast sight acquisition and close-in shooting situations, was a second set of sights with a more traditional aperture-type configuration, designed for more precise shots. Tom pressed his cheek into the wire stock and zeroed in on his target.

At this distance, the front sight post covered both Dvornikov and his security man.

After you failed in Laos, Dvornikov is the only way to get those POWs home.

Tom lowered his weapon and scanned for the other two shooters.

They must be out there providing security.

It was the gunfire that gave their position away.

Tom looked to his left and saw Serrano take a shot from behind a palm tree near the front entrance to the hotel. It impacted the pylon behind which one shooter had taken cover. Both returned fire with full-auto bursts from their PM63s.

Tom saw the security man with Dvornikov shout something in Russian. One of the men stepped from behind the pylon and let loose another barrage at Serrano while the other ran to the pylon closest to the longtail boat.

Tom tore across the lawn, using the shadows as best he could, counting on the fact that they were engaged in a gunfight and Serrano had drawn their attention. As the second shooter took up covering fire, the man closest to Serrano turned to run as his partner fired to provide cover.

Tom raised his Walther and sent six bullets into his back.

He heard the throaty roar of the longtail boat’s engine as the security man gunned the throttle. Tom still didn’t have a good shot. With both men crouched down, there was too much of a chance of hitting Dvornikov.

Dammit!

He heard more shouting in Russian, the last man none too happy about being left behind. As he ran toward the departing boat, Serranotook him with three rounds of .45 to the back, a fourth catching him in the head and spewing brains down the dock.