Black wind

through the air. His heart skipped a beat, but then he realized it was on the other side of the yacht.
    Gutierrez had been waiting for the burst. Slinking forward on the starboard side, he kept low to the ground in anticipation of an unseen gunman. Reaching the opposite stairwell, he climbed it like a cat, poised on the balls of his feet for a sudden barrage. He didn’t have to go far to find it. The SEAL had barely set foot on the landing when a spray of gunfire whistled over his head. Hiding off the bridge wing, a black-clad gunman fired with an AK-74.
    Gutierrez barely escaped the initial fusillade. The gunman’s burst was thrown high when the yacht suddenly slowed and swerved into the narrow cove inlet. Diving back for the stairwell, Gutierrez slid down the first few steps before twisting around and aiming his MP5K. The SEAL waited calmly for several seconds until the gunman’s muzzle flashed again. The incoming burst chewed up the deck just inches from his head, peppering his face with teakwood splinters. Calmly adjusting his aim, Gutierrez let off a solid burst from the Heckler &

lack Wind
    Koch into the darkness. A brief muffled cry rang out, then another flash of fire spewed from the concealed shooter’s gun. Only this time, the spray of yellow fire arced skyward, then ceased altogether as the mortally wounded gunman fell dead to the deck.
    On the other side of the yacht, Dirk heard the gunfire fall silent and wondered whether Gutierrez had survived the firefight. Moving up the port stairwell, he climbed two steps then froze at the sound of a faint click behind him. Tilting his head back, he detected that the sound came from a side cabin door at the base of the stairs. Descending silently, Dirk crept back down the stairs until he stood in front of the doorway. Gripping the SIG Sauer firmly in his right hand, he reached for the brass door handle with his left hand and gentry turned it to its stops. Holding the latch open for a second, he took a deep breath, then shoved the door open and lunged in.
    He had expected the door to fly fully open, but, instead, it abruptly stopped from the mass of a human being. Slightly thrown off balance by the sudden jar, Dirk found himself bouncing off a muscular guard standing with a surprised look inside the doorway. Facing just inches away, Dirk noted a deep L-shaped scar on the man’s chin and a bent angular nose that had once been broken. In his hands he held an AK-74 rifle, which he was attempting to reload. The rifle’s barrel was pointed at the floor as the man fumbled with the clip, but he immediately swung the stock up toward Dirk’s right side. Lurching back a step in order to bring the SIG Sauer to bear, Dirk was struck by the rifle before he could aim and his shot fired harmlessly into the wall. But rather than stiffly absorbing the blow, Dirk rolled to his right as the rifle struck, at the same time swinging his left arm around. As he pivoted with the force, he balled his left fist and threw a sharp uppercut which landed fimly on the jaw of the man’s face. The blow sent the gunman staggering backward, where he tripped and fell over a basket of laundered clothes.
    For the first time, Dirk noticed that the cabin was a small laundry room. A tiny washing machine and dryer sat against the far wall while
    an open ironing board stood next to the doorway. Regaining his balance, he quickly leveled the SIG Sauer at the guard’s chest and squeezed the trigger.
    There was no loud bark from the muzzle nor a kick to his wrist. Instead, just a metallic click as the gun’s firing pin beat down on an empty chamber. Dirk grimaced as he realized that he had emptied the pistol’s thirteen-round magazine. Smiling in the face of the empty handgun, Kang’s guard rolled to his knees. In his right hand, he still held the full ammo clip, which he expertly jammed into the stock of the assault rifle. Dirk knew there was no way he could reload the SIG Sauer in time, but his body was already reacting with an alternate plan. Barely seen out of the corner of his eye, the shiny object that his hand was already reaching for was a last-gamble defense.
    The chrome iron sitting atop the ironing board was not hot, nor even plugged in. But it made for a sharp and nasty projectile. With a toss that would have made John Elway proud, Dirk grabbed the iron and fired it at the gunman like a bullet. The gunman, intent on training his loaded rifle at Dirk, didn’t even bother to duck. The flat