Becca XXX - Hard Time Ch. 14

I stayed still for a couple of minutes to get my eyes adjusted to the darkness, scanning all around as though I was enjoying the view. Along the path to the right I could see a splash of light from the lit walkway with four men standing beneath it. They were smoking and joking and looking the other way, so I headed down the steps, crossed the path and headed for the beach.

It was a gloriously clear night, as you'd expect on a Caribbean Island. The stars were bright and plentiful and there was a half moon shining it's eery glow all around. I passed the beds where I'd had fun with Sasha and headed down the beach at a steady pace. If anyone was watching, it would look like I was out for a late night stroll.

The tiny ripples of the sea broke on the shoreline with an iridescent glow of white water, reflecting back in the moonlight. The beach was alive with crabs scavenging for food in the dark. They'd quickly scurry out of the way as they felt the vibrations of my footsteps on the soft sand. I hated creatures that crawled like that, but I had no choice but to keep going until I got to the industrial buildings.

My eyes were out on stalks, checking the undergrowth for sentries, especially at the spot where I'd seen them earlier that day. I didn't rush or sneak along in a crouch - I just walked casually until I got to the rocky outcrop I'd seen earlier.

Through the light foliage I could see the airplanes sitting on the runway. There were a few guys working on the planes, mainly refuelling them by the look of things. Surprisingly, the runway lights were still on which I thought was odd at this time of night.

The building I was interested in was twenty metres in front of me. It was over thirty-feet high and big enough to house one of the planes easily. There were three other identical buildings lined up, but I knew that the one nearest one housed the missiles. It was the one where the flatbed truck had appeared from so I focused my attention there.

I crouched down in the undergrowth and stayed perfectly still. The only thing moving now was my eyes. I listened and watched for a good five minutes taking everything in. Apart from the guys fuelling the planes, there were two others armed with sub machine guns, slowly walking around the industrial area. The area was well lit and the guards looked alert but bored.

I waited for them to pass by and move away and I slowly crept forwards using the palm leaves as cover. Every brush of a leaf or snap of a twig under foot sounded like a bomb going off to me, but no one else heard it. The only thing louder was my heart beating in my chest and my heavy breathing.

My mind was telling me that I shouldn't be here, but I fought the desire to leave the danger behind and I pressed on. My cleavage and armpits were dripping with sweat by now, from the heat as well as the stress.

I noticed a door at the rear of the building and slowly crept over to see if it was unlocked. Unfortunately, it was locked solid from the inside, meaning I was going to have to go in through the front and risk being seen. I snuck to the front edge of the building and lay down on the concrete floor a couple of metres short. Once again, I stayed still and quiet, waiting to see if there was anything I'd missed from further away. Painfully slowly I eased forward on my belly and peered around the corner at floor level.

To my surprise, the whole front of the hangar was open to the elements as though the construction company had forgotten to fit the final wall. Inside I could see a couple of flatbed trucks, a forklift and some work benches. Beyond that it looked like a warehouse fitted with racks and racks of pallets and green packing cases similar to the ones I'd seen earlier.

If all of those boxes contained weapons; Charles would have enough firepower to start a small war. It looked endless, stretching all the way to the back wall and spanning the entire width of the hangar.

The guards were approaching their turning point near the planes and still had their backs to me so I made a dash for it. I quickly sprang up and darted around the corner and into the building before anyone spotted me. I waited for any shouts from behind, but none came so I let out a sigh of relief, for now.

It smelt musty in the hangar as though some of this stuff had been there for years. The truck was on the opposite side of the building so I crept into the warehouse section rather than leaving myself exposed in the open central area. There was enough light spilling in from the flood-lights outside to allow me to pick my way down the racking, keeping a watchful eye out for the guards returning on their designated route.

I heard them before I saw them, chatting quietly as they approached so I stopped in my tracks and squatted down behind a stack of green wooden crates. The security guards passed by without even looking in. I guessed that if they did this every night without incident, they'd become complacent with their job.

I was about to move on when I glanced at the case in front of me, letting out a small gasp when I read the writing on the side. 'Heckler and Koch' was emblazoned on the case in white paint followed by 'MP7 PDW'. PDW stood for 'Personal Defence Weapon' and a huge smile crept across my face.

Whatever was going to happen on this island in the next few days, it was obvious that I'd need a weapon. I was fully trained on the MP7 from my previous mission, so one of these would be perfect for me. The lid of the crate had already been prized open so I slid it back and peered inside. Six brand new sub-machine guns stared back at me. New weapons are usually packed in greased-paper by the manufacturer to prevent corrosion during long periods of storage, but these had been cleaned up and were ready to use. They were even fitted with the long cigar-shaped suppressors like the ones the security team were carrying.

I took one out, already feeling like this excursion had been worth it. It obviously wasn't loaded so I slung the weapon over my shoulder and went in search of some ammunition. Fortunately, in this place, I didn't have to look far. Further down the racking, I found some boxes filled with magazines for the MP7. They were pre-loaded with four-point-six-millimetre parabellums which were the correct calibre for the weapon I now had. I decided that six, thirty-round magazines should be enough to get the job done, but I was going to struggle to carry them all.

I looked around the warehouse and soon found a nice sturdy rucksack hanging on the back wall. I loaded the MP7 with a magazine and made the weapon ready by slamming in the mag and pulling the cocking lever back. I heard a round slip into the breach and I gently eased the cocking lever back to keep the noise down. I made sure the safety was on and then stuffed the rest of the ammunition into the bag. As I moved further into the warehouse, I noticed what a huge variety of items were stored here. I walked past tactical vests, day sacks, sniper rifles, grenades, claymores, stinger missiles, javelin anti-tank rockets, you name it, they had it. Hamilton must have been the go-to guy for every terrorist in the area.

I grabbed a vest off a nearby shelf and started to gear up on other essentials. My primary weapon was sorted, an MP7 with all the bells and whistles, but I'd need a back-up weapon in case of a stoppage. I knew that the guards were carrying UCP side arms from what I'd seen earlier that day. UCP stood for 'Ultimate Combat Pistol' and it took the same four-point-six-millimetre bullets as the MP7. It was always best to use the same rounds as it meant they were interchangeable between the two weapons.

I was starting to feel like a kid in a sweet shop and soon found what I was looking for three racks down. An open box of UCP's were also fresh from the factory and had been made ready. After all the bad luck and hardship I'd had on this mission so far, I was due a lucky break. I took a pistol and six magazines and stuffed them into my bag. If I'd had a shopping trolley with me, I could have done a supermarket dash, filling my trolley with enough firepower to kill everyone on the island and then some.

I stopped again briefly as the guards came back around, but I was so far into the hangar, that they wouldn't see me even if they were looking. Once they'd passed by, I carried on, looking for anything that might come in useful and, more importantly, wouldn't be missed come daylight. I took a silencer for the UCP and eight fragmentation grenades from yet another box and then went in search of the one thing I really needed - a satellite phone.

The hangar had been laid out methodically and I moved away from small arms and through a clothing section. I didn't need anything other than my tactical vest, so I kept going into the darkness. At the very back of the building I found the communications area, like being in a department store. To my dismay there wasn't a phone in sight and my heart sank a little. If I'd managed to get a mobile phone or a sat-phone, I could have contacted Lexa and told her what was going on. There were a few short-wave radios similar to the ones the security teams were using, but they would be no good to transmit over a long distance. It was disappointing, but I had to count my blessings. I now had a bag of very dangerous items, which could mean life or death when things finally kicked off. I was happy with my haul so I moved to the far side of the hangar and got ready to investigate the missile launchers on the back of the truck.

Laying my rucksack down under a bench, I took out the UCP and loaded a magazine into it. I fitted the silencer and pulled the top slide back, allowing a round into the chamber before gently easing the slide forward to keep the noise down. I then lay the MP7 on top of the bag and swapped it for the pistol. It was less cumbersome to use a pistol in the confined space of the truck so I stuffed it down the back of my shorts to keep my hands free. I took another quick look around before pushing across the open ground inside the hangar towards the truck.

I stopped at the back of it, with my heart pounding in my chest. My vest top and shorts were drenched in sweat by now and I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand to prevent it dripping into my eyes. My pussy lips were stuck to my panties and I wasn't sure if it was from being pumped full of cum earlier that evening or my own excitement at what I was doing. Being in a dangerous situation always made me wet, so I guessed it was a little of both.

The guards were at the farthest point from me by now and I was about to jump up onto the back of the truck, when I heard a new sound. It was the whir of an electric vehicle coming towards the runway from the house. I stayed where I was and watched and listened as a golf cart pulled up at the edge of the runway and two more men got out. They were dressed the same as the other security team and I thought for a moment that they were swapping shifts, but all four men stayed where they were.

They were far enough away and didn't seem to be coming in my direction, so I decided to get on with the job before the situation changed. I grabbed the hand rail with a clammy hand and hauled myself up onto the truck, keeping my head down. The men were about thirty metres away, but the floodlights on the front of the building would be shining in their eyes and preventing them from seeing into the building. I was safe for now.

The large crates were covered with a tarpaulin which I dragged off to expose the weapon cases. Each missile launcher was in its own box with a red star painted on the side and writing underneath. The first identification said 'CCCP'. I didn't know what that meant, but there were more letters underneath which soon made it clear. The letters 'USSR' told me everything I needed to know about the origin of the missile launchers - they were Russian. According to more writing on the case, the missile launchers were 9K32-Strela 2's, whatever that meant.

I lifted the lid off the one which was already open and peered inside. There was a six-foot long green tube and a slightly shorter light-grey missile sitting next to it in sponge packaging. It looked formidable, but I had no idea what I was looking at or how it worked. I had once seen one of Tony's Grey Ghosts down a helicopter with a Stinger missile which was similar, but I'd never been trained on such heavy firepower. Normally, I would Google it to find out how it operated, but I had no phone so that was out of the question. It's not until you need something so desperately that you realise how much its taken for granted. A smart phone would be a lot more use to me than a bag full of weapons at that moment.

I realised I was well and truly out of my depth so I searched for an instruction manual, hoping it would give me a clue as to how it worked. If I could somehow disable the launchers, I could then tell The Patriots that they were being sold faulty weapons. That in turn would hopefully make them turn against Charles and a battle would most likely ensue. I found the instruction manual, but it was written in Russian. I was hoping for a translation as I flicked through the pages, but this was a missile launcher, not a dishwasher. This batch had obviously been liberated from a war-torn country where English wasn't the spoken language. The fact that the initials USSR were written on the case told me how old the launchers were. The Soviet Union collapsed in the early nineties, telling me that the Strelas were decades old. It seemed strange to me that The Patriots were buying these old things, when there were more modern and more technically-advanced Stinger missiles only a few racks away.

I froze for a moment as though my brain had come up with something significant. The sounds around me seemed to fade into the background as I searched my subconscious for an answer. It really didn't make any sense that Whitehouse and his men would choose Strelas over Stingers. The Patriots were Americans and would surely have had a better understanding of their own weapons system rather than a Russian one. If they were ex-soldiers, they would probably have had training on the Stingers, so why would they buy a Russian version?

My train of thought was shattered as I heard a feint whine in the distance. I looked out at the four men standing by the golf cart and the men who had finished refuelling the planes on the runway. All of them were looking skywards in the direction of the runway and I soon realised that a plane was coming in to land. The whine in the distance got louder as the plane got closer. It must have been well after eleven at night by now and I was surprised that anyone would be landing so late. At least it explained why the runway lights had been left on.

I gave up on the missile launchers and closed the lid, sliding the tarp back into place so no one would know I'd been snooping around. Jumping down from the truck, I retrieved my primary weapon and stuffed the UCP back into the bag. I needed to get a closer look at who was landing so I moved back the way I'd come, passing through the various sections of racking. I moved with purpose now, not worrying too much about the noise I might be making, the planes engines were so loud that no one would hear a thing.

I made it to the front of the building and peeked around the corner. The planes wing lights gave a slight wobble as it lined up to land out of the darkness. As it touched down and screamed down the runway, I ducked around the corner, moved into the undergrowth and waited. The security teams moved forward impatiently ready to greet whoever was on board. I threw the rucksack onto my back, staying in a crouch and keeping the MP7 in my shoulder in case I needed to use it.

The plane slowed.

I waited.

The plane stopped.

I watched.

The door came down and a huge guy appeared in the doorway. He was so big that he had to come through it sideways and the door-steps flexed as he walked down them.

It was Maurice.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" I whispered under my breath. "This can't be good news."

Maurice walked down the steps and spoke to the two men who were waiting for him. He produced what looked like a couple of large brown envelopes from his jacket and waved them in front of the guards. Whatever was being said, seemed to spark two of the guys into action and they escorted Maurice to the golf cart and climbed aboard. Within a minute of the plane landing, Maurice was on his way to the villa, probably to see Charles.

It looked like he was delivering something so important to his boss, that he had to deliver it personally. The only thing I could think of that could be that important was our new identities. In Sasha's case it would be her old identity to bring her back from the dead. I wondered what name he'd picked for me as I watched him leave. The planes engines shut down and the ground crew got busy re-fuelling the third plane on the runway. Charles could have started his own airline business at this rate, he had so many private jets.

I waited for another couple of minutes to make sure the coast was clear and then retraced my steps to the beach. I began to worry that someone might check on my room and find me missing, so I upped my pace along the soft sand to get back as quickly as possible.

The crabs continued to scurry out of the way in front of me as though I was Moses parting the sea, only to close back in behind me after I'd passed. I needed to stash my weapons nearer to the villa, but not too close that they'd be found.

I stayed on the beach and stopped fifty meters short of the Balinese beds. There was a distant glow from the villa lights which shone down onto the white sand. I looked for an obvious land mark that I could use to find my weapons cache and saw a low hanging palm tree where the beach met the undergrowth. Moving perpendicular to the sea, I approached the tree and stopped.

I waited.

I listened.

I saw and heard nothing so I moved a metre or so into the foliage and found a fallen palm tree covered in leaves. The Caribbean Sea has a very small tidal range, but I made sure I was well off the beach and took my rucksack off. I felt vulnerable leaving my guns behind, but I couldn't risk someone finding them if I hid them in my room; that would be suicide. I stuffed the MP7 inside the bag in such a way that I could just unzip the bag, grip the handle and pull it out smoothly. I even rehearsed it a couple of times to build my muscle memory. If I needed to do it in an emergency, seconds mattered and I didn't want to get killed just because I'd been complacent about stowing my guns.

Once I was happy, I zipped the bag up and slid it under the tree trunk making sure the opening in the rucksack was facing outwards. I then placed a few palm leaves over the top and moved back three paces to take a look.

It was dark, but I knew the bag was well hidden. When the time came, I'd retrieve my weapons and wreak havoc on my enemy, but for now I needed to sleep. I walked back onto the beach and made my way back to the house. My clothes were soaked in sweat and my panties were dripping wet with cum, sweat and girl juice. Natalie would have loved them. It had been a hell of a day and I still had so many unanswered questions.

Little did I know that I was so close to piecing all this together. The clues were all there, but I was too exhausted to think. A good night's sleep would clear my head and I was looking forward to quizzing Sasha about the briefcase and her thoughts about her father's sinister dealings with terrorists.

Things appeared to be moving in the right direction, but I had a new worry on my mind. It had just arrived on a plane and was the size of a tank.

It was Maurice.