Page 68 of Return of the Spider

Pittman yelled, “Sampson, Cross, repeat!”

Over the flash and rattling of the small-arms fire and the pinging of bullets ricocheting, I triggered my mic, said, “Davidsonville site is under attack by armed men. Firefight in progress. Donovan is inside. Send reinforcements! Now!”

“Jesus Christ. Roger that!”

I put up my binoculars and got glimpses of the combat through the ribbons of fog, seeing the dogs race toward the attackers as if I were watching through a lazy strobe. Three of the hooded men went to their knees, held up canisters, and waited until the Malinois were all but on them and sprayed the dogs with some kind of high-strength pepper spray.

The dogs fell down, screeching, whining, coughing, and pawing at their muzzles, and the emboldened attackers moved past the machines and piles of supplies in coordinated fashion, covering each other, firing when they could. One gunman went down, and another was hit hard; LMC 51 reinforcements began pouring out of the open loading docks.

Carrying automatic weapons, Valentine Rodolpho and Patrice Prince appeared at the first dock’s door, the one closest to the Suburbans.

“They’re gonna try to make a run for it,” Sampson said. He spun around and grabbed one of our shotguns.

“What are we doing?” I said as I grabbed the other shotgun.

“You heard the chief. If they try to get out before the cavalry gets here, we’re supposed to stop them.”

“He said if Donovan was threatened.”

“She and everyone in there is under attack!”

He took off before I could reply. I followed, running along the spine of the high ground that paralleled the fence, heading toward the gate.

Inside the fence, gunfire was near constant, a full-on war in a porous fog.

Prince’s men were fighting ferociously and seemed to outnumber the gunmen of the attacking force. Even the gang leader and his limping cousin were forced to move away from the SUVs. They disappeared into the fog and joined the fray.

We reached the gate, now unguarded. Sampson was right, I decided. We needed to get to Donovan before the fight got to her.

Just as Sampson reached through the gap to raise the bar holding the gate shut, six more hooded attackers jumped out of the back of the eighteen-wheeler that had arrived before the explosion.

“It’s a Trojan Horse!” I yelled and pulled Sampson down. They opened fire as a group, sweeping their guns left to right, catching Prince, Rodolpho, and the rest of the attacking gunmen in a crossfire somewhere in the fog.

CHAPTER

55

The six new attackerssplit up and sprinted past us into the swirling mist and the roaring gunfight.

Sampson jumped up when the second wave of attackers were out of sight, threw up the gate bar, and said, “Let’s get Donovan out of there.”

He pushed open the gates, crouched down, and sprinted toward the second of the two loading docks, and I was right behind him. Bullets cracked through the air, slapped the pavement, and pinged off the Suburbans, forcing us to take cover behind them even as their windows shattered and safety glass rained down on us.

There was a lull in the shooting but not in the shouting. I heard French, Spanish, and English. John and I eased ourselves up, looked through the blown-out windows of the nearbySuburban, and saw Prince darting up the stairs to the first of the three loading docks, Rodolpho covering him from the open dock door. He shot two hooded attackers, who spun and fell.

I had the gang leader’s cousin square in my sights, but at seventy yards away, he was too far for me to hit with the shotgun or my pistol. Prince and his cousin disappeared into the warehouse.

The fog swirled. The gunfire to our north started once more, fiercer than ever.

“Let’s go in at another angle,” Sampson said. “Third bay. Wait. I’ll cover you.”

He hunched over and ran away from the vehicle and the gunfight and toward the rear of the semi. I took one more look in the direction of the gun battle.

Through the fog, I spotted a hooded attacker in full body armor clubbing the skull of one of Prince’s men with the butt of his weapon. When the man went down, he sprinted toward the open second loading dock.

Sampson whistled.

I ran to him, keeping low.