Free Gibraltar Passage by T. Davis Bunn Page A

instant’s thought his wartime reflexes had him down and flying with outstretched arms for his friends’ legs. “Down! ”
    The wall that was now over their heads erupted with dust from a barrage of bullets. Before the machine gun’s roar was silenced, Jake was rolling and crawling for the gutter.
    The shadows from across the street emitted a faint curse, then the gunner aimed his weapon lower and traversed asecond time. Jake pressed himself to the smelly, slippery stone of the shallow ditch and wished for a weapon of his own.
    A shout from farther down the street. A scream from a window above their heads. The sound of running feet. The machine gun made a third swipe at the street fronting the gutter and at the wall above their heads. Dust and rock chips flew in every direction. Then silence.
    As the footsteps and yelling approached, Jake risked raising his head. The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air. “Are you all right?”
    Pierre rolled over and heaved himself up. “Fine. Commander?”
    â€œAll in order,” Teaves said, emerging into view. “Other than a little shaken.”
    â€œAnd angry,” Pierre added. “I have a distinct dislike for people who shoot in my direction.”
    Shutters overhead flew back, and a shotgun-bearing moustachioed man scowled down at them. “What’s going on here?”
    â€œI wish I knew,” Teaves said to the street in general. “Did you see where they went?”
    Jake pointed down the alley across from them just as the group of a dozen or so men, some in uniform, came racing up. “I think they were back in there.” The men, jabbering in Spanish, turned and chased down the dark alley.
    â€œYou gentlemen all right?” demanded the man over their heads.
    â€œShaken,” Jake said.
    â€œAnd dirty,” Teaves said, picking a bit of filth off the front of his dress whites. He glanced Jake’s way. “Do you realize you’re bleeding?”
    Jake swiped at his face, and only when he saw the blood on his hand did he feel the sting. “Must have been hit by a flying rock.”
    Pierre inspected the cut, decided, “A flesh wound.” He stepped back. “That is the second time you’ve saved my life since all this started.”
    â€œYou don’t say?” Teaves said, joining them. “When was the first?”
    â€œA barkeeper pulled a pistol on me,” Pierre replied, his eyes still on Jake. “My friend moved as fast then as now.”
    The crowd returned, dejected and angry. They exchanged shouted words with the man overhead, who glowered over his shotgun barrels, clearly wishing he could find somebody to shoot. He said to the trio, “They have found shells, nothing more.”
    â€œLet me have some,” Teaves said. “Bingham will want to see them.”
    â€œYou have to tell the admiral?” Jake said.
    â€œHe’ll hear about it all by himself,” Teaves replied. “News like this spreads by osmosis.”
    Someone in the crowd chattered to the man overhead, who translated, “Do you know who it was?”
    â€œBrigands,” Teaves replied, his eyes warning Jake.
    â€œWe saw nothing,” Jake agreed.
    The police arrived, took statements. The alley was searched a second time. Nothing. Weary, dirty, and bruised, the three men were finally permitted to return to base.
    On their way back, Jake asked Teaves, “Why didn’t you want me to say anything to them?”
    â€œJust a hunch,” the commander replied. “Thought it might be easier to track those guys if they don’t know how much we know.”
    â€œThe commander is correct.” The light of a flickering street gas lamp showed Pierre’s expressive face cast in a fierce scowl. “It is time, as you say, to hunt the hunters.”

Chapter Nine
    â€œThis will not do, mister,” Admiral Bingham barked. His anger was fierce enough to blister the