“Shots fired. Building is secure,” Rad reported over the troop net as he tossed another chemlight at the front door. Then he moved toward the main building to backfill other teams.
Rad heard the boom from another breaching charge somewhere else in the compound as he made his way around the west side of the main house. His heart picked up its pace with anticipation as he thought about what they might find inside. Lauren had said the target and his father most likely resided on the third floor. If she was right, they would soon have their man.
Once inside the main door, the hurry and rushing turned into a slow, deliberate waiting game as Rad became stacked behind other men methodically clearing rooms. It was the impatient rhythm of battle—violent motion reduced to perfect stillness.
Listening to another door or gate being breached in front of him made the situation feel strangely surreal, like he was waiting to enter the house for Close Quarters Battle training. He’d done this hundreds of times, but this one was somehow different.
Rad heard a bop, bop coming from down a hallway ahead of him, and then the call over the radio. “First floor, secure.”
The house was dark and eerily still as the team made their way to the stairwell to check the next floor. They did their best to be quiet, but Rad knew whoever was hiding up there had had plenty of time to get a weapon and prepare a defense. On some raids his men would use a flash grenade to clear their objective, but this one was all about throttle control. Everyone in the compound had certainly heard the helicopters, the shots fired, and the explosive breaches. The fact that everything had grown quiet again would keep the occupants upstairs guessing about what was coming next.
When Rad made it to the second floor, he saw it had four doors, two right and two further down on the left. His teammates crept down the hall, backing each other up on doors before expeditiously clearing each one.
It appeared this floor was made up mostly of women and children because no shots were fired. At the “all clear” call, Rad turned toward the next flight of stairs. Wynn was already on the landing, holding security between the floors. Rad squeezed his shoulder to let him know he was ready. “Take it,” he whispered.
Everything was bathed in an eerie green hue as they moved up the stairs to the next floor. This was it. The culmination of Lauren’s work and the hours of training and planning that had gone into this mission were going to be decided in the next few minutes. They had to be ready for anything now. This terrorist was not going to go down without a fight. There was no margin for error.
As he slowly walked up the stairs, Rad continued to scan the top landing. Every sense was on overdrive and strained to its limit, but he didn’t know if he was breathing hard or not breathing at all. He was on autopilot.
Wynn stood outside the door of the first room and waited for Rad to signal he was in position. When he got the nod, he pushed the door open and immediately swept the room to the left as Rad followed and swept it to the right. Finding nothing but storage boxes, they exited and continued to the next room. After taking only a step, a man appeared at the next door and let go an un-aimed burst from his weapon. Rad hit him with two rounds and kept moving as two of his men went in to clear the room.
A quick movement from the end of the hall caught Rad’s attention. He let go a burst and stepped back into the doorway, waiting for return fire, but none came.
Assured he was covered from behind, he ran down the hallway and swung his weapon into the room where the man had disappeared. Rad found the man sprawled in the doorway reaching for his weapon and put another round in him to keep him down. Then he did a quick sweep of the room with his muzzle and settled on an old man lying in bed.
The man raised one hand as if surrendering, but then without warning drew an AK from beneath the covers with his other, and fired a round while letting out a banshee-like scream. Something clipped Rad’s arm, stinging him with a bolt of fire, but it didn’t stop him from discharging a burst that sent the man sprawling back into the bed in a spray of red mist.
“You okay?” Wynn nodded toward his arm after they had made sure the room was secure.
“Yeah, just a stinger.”
Wielding the rifle against his shoulder again, he took a deep breath and swung back into the hall to the last remaining door. Blood began to drip off the tips of his fingers, making him think that perhaps his wound was a little more serious than he thought. But he felt no pain.
With sweat dripping into his eyes, Rad moved forward as quietly as he could. His senses were hyper-alert, attuned for any sudden movement or noise. They had not yet found their target, and time was running out. The success of this operation depended on getting in and out in a set amount of time. Thirty minutes, with an extra ten minutes of flextime, was the deadline based on the volume of fuel held by the waiting helicopters and the length of time it might take Pakistan to assemble and launch their military. If Lauren’s information was correct—and he believed it was—their man had to be behind this last door.
Rad stood in the hallway and strained his ears. No sound. Standing with his back against the wall, he quietly reached over and tried the doorknob. It was locked. Wynn, in the same position on the other side of the door said quietly into his mic, “Going explosive?”
Rad made a split second decision that ran counter to his better judgment and training. Time was running out. He was so close to the terrorist, he could almost feel him.
Fuck the explosives.
Taking deep breaths, he counted to three, turned toward the barrier and let his foot fly. The moment his boot connected with the door, he heard a roaring barrage of gunfire.
Chapter 22
Rad returned fire while lying on his back and watched Wynn blasting away from the side as well. Scrambling to his feet, he followed Wynn into the room to find two shooters sprawled out on the floor, killed in the gunfight.
The two assaulters had apparently been standing to the side of the door, waiting to shoot whoever came through. The angle of their shots actually came closer to hitting Wynn, even though Rad had been the one directly in front of the door.
“What the hell do you think you’re wearing?” Wynn said once they had made sure the room was secure. “Bulletproof everything?”
Rad bent over the men, studying their faces and physical characteristics. “Dammit. Not him.”
He raised his gaze to meet Wynn’s, and then stood, searching the room for any signs their target had been there. This had to be his room. Located at the end of the hallway, it seemed like everyone had been moving toward this position to defend it. It was the room beside the father’s room just as the intelligence had noted. It was the only locked door, and there were files and a laptop in a small enclave off to the side.
Rad listened to the others check in and give updates. After hearing the third floor was secure they had already begun the SSE (Sensitive Site Exploitation) phase of the operation, gathering files, computer disks and hard drives into their mesh evidence bags.
He stared absently around at his surroundings. Whoever’s room this was, he was a neat freak. Unlike most of the other rubbish-filled living areas they had seen, this one was organized and tidy, everything neat as a pin and in its place.
He looked back over his shoulder. Except for one thing. A large floor to ceiling bureau sat a little cockeyed from the wall as if it had been moved and not placed back in its original position.
Pulling on some of the drawers, Rad found everything folded and neatly arranged by color and size.
“Is this some OCD or what?” Wynn rummaged through the drawers. “Who folds their stuff like that?”
Rad shook his head, stood back, and studied the bureau again.
“What’s wrong, dude?”
“Something’s not right. Why is this thing out of place when everything else is so neat?”
Wynn continued searching through drawers to see if he could find anything of interest. “Maybe one of those guys fell into it during the fight.”
Rad studied the distance from the door where the two bodies were located to the bureau in the back of the room. “I don’t think so.” Acting on impulse, he put his shoulder into the bureau and moved it out of the way.
“Holy shit.” Wynn took a quick step back and positioned his rifle to his shoulder, pointing it at the plain white curtain that hung behind the bureau.
Placing his back against the wall, Rad waited for Wynn to nod, then tore down the piece of cloth with one hand, revealing another door.
Rad’s heart twisted a little. The choppers were probably already on their way back for the pick-up. This operation had been planned and choreographed down to the minute. There would be no leniency on time and no second chance.
As if on cue Rad heard the call, “Fifteen until exfil.”
“Third floor not secure.” Rad spoke calmly into his mic, even though his heart was racing. They had less than fifteen minutes to find out who or what was behind this door.
“I hope it’s not a freaking tunnel into the mountain.” Wynn voiced exactly what Rad was thinking. The way the house was built into the hillside, the third floor in the front was actually ground level in the back.
Fearing it was booby-trapped, but pressed for time, Rad pushed the latch, held his breath, and opened the door. He was greeted by the scent of musty air, the kind that hits you when you descend into a dirt cellar. He glanced at Wynn and knew by his expression he smelled it too. Definitely a tunnel.
Swinging through the door with his gun at the ready, Rad almost hit his head on the low ceiling. He felt Wynn give his shoulder a squeeze and continued walking slowly and quietly. It was so pitch black that even with NVGs, the images before them were murky.
After taking a few dozen steps, they both paused and listened, every nerve strained to its limit. Hearing nothing but their own steady breathing, they continued forward, guns moving back and forth as they probed the darkness in front of them.
Just as they started to round a sharp turn in the tunnel they heard the pop, pop, pop from a gun and saw the flash from its muzzle not thirty yards ahead of them. They both took an instant step back for cover and waited for the shooting to stop. When it did, Rad pointed his gun around the corner and sprayed that direction with gunfire. Even with their ears ringing from the close quarters, they both heard the body drop, and the whoof sound that escaped from the man’s lungs when he hit the ground.
Walking cautiously toward the prostate form, Rad could see from the size of the puddle of blood he was dead.
“Looks like the tunnel’s not quite finished.” Wynn nodded toward the equipment that lined the walls. The terrorist had gone as far as he could go and had been cornered. Although he probably couldn’t see them, he had heard them start to make the turn.
Rad and Wynn both looked over their shoulders at the same time, obviously thinking the same thing. If the shooter had waited until they had completely rounded that corner before firing, just another split second, there was a good chance he would have gotten one of them—if not both.
“Looks like we almost got an acute case of lead poisoning,” Wynn murmured.
Rad went down on one knee and rolled the man over, breathing a sigh of relief. He switched on his helmet light to examine his face and saw the birthmark on his cheek. “It’s him.”
“Good job, dude.”
“Ten minutes to ex-fil.”
“Third floor secure. We need an extra five.”
“Ten minutes to ex-fil,” the voice repeated calmly.
Rad quickly shot photos of the body while Wynn worked on DNA samples. He dabbed a cotton swab in blood, and then took another and jammed it in the dead man’s mouth for saliva. Finally, Wynn stuck a spring-loaded syringe into the terrorist’s thigh for a blood marrow sample, just to be on the safe side.
From the transmission he was hearing on the radio, Rad knew a group of curious villagers had heard the noise and were gathering at the gate. The interpreter was busy trying to get them to disperse by telling them there was a security operation under way.
“Post assault, five minutes,” came over the troop net.
As Rad and Wynn made it down the stairs, other men on the team appeared like a bunch of elves carrying their mesh bags full of computer disks, hard-drives, and documents over their shoulders.
The sound of the choppers coming in greeted Rad’s ears as soon as he made it outside. Grabbing an extra bag from one of the men he began sprinting toward the waiting helicopter, stumbling and almost falling like everyone else over the uneven terrain. When he got to the chopper he flung his bag onto the deck and climbed aboard, his chest heaving.
Glancing at his watch, he saw they were six minutes past planned drop-dead time. Law enforcement, and possibly even Pakistani military, were likely inbound by now.
Only when they lifted off and banked hard toward the Afghanistan border did his heart begin to beat at a regular pace. After about five minutes of flight, Rad began to relax even more. Leaning his head back and taking a deep breath, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye and turned for a better view. The interior of the chopper was pitch black except for a series of dim lights on the cockpit control board. The one that caught his eye was the big one in the center, flashing red.
That doesn’t look good.
Rad turned away and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see it. He wasn’t a pilot. For all he knew blinking red lights were good things—like at Christmas or something. Damn, he hated this part of the mission. No longer in control, there was nothing he could do but trust the pilots to get them safely back to base.
When the chopper changed speeds, circled and began to descend, Rad knew they were taking care of that blinking red light. The delay of a few minutes had cost them vital fuel, and they wouldn’t make it back into Afghanistan without replenishing their tanks.
Once the crew chief opened the door, Rad could make out the faint image of a CH-47 and guys moving toward them with a hose. It was a necessary stop that would cost more time. Rad checked his watch, and then closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t. With the noise they had made between the landing, the raid, and the takeoff, Pakistan must have received reports about something happening and scrambled F-16’s by now. Hopefully they were heading toward the village where the commotion had emanated from—not the airspace near the Afghan border. Getting shot out of the sky over Pakistan was not how he envisioned his otherwise successful night coming to an end.
Once they were back on their way, Rad took off his helmet for the first time and ran his hand through his matted, wet hair, his thoughts turning to Lauren. Did she know the raid had been successful? He wished he could see her face when she found out all her hard work and sacrifice had paid off. Even though she would never receive any credit for a dangerous terrorist’s elimination, he knew the end result would be enough to satisfy her. It would mean she could leave this dirthole she’d resided in for the past five years.
Exhausted as he was, his heart picked up its pace at the thought. She’d said she didn’t have a home in the United States. He intended to change that.
The radio squawked in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. “Welcome back to Afghanistan, gentlemen.”
Wynn tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Never thought I’d be glad to hear those words. How about you?”
Rad smiled and gave him a thumbs up sign, then laid his head back and closed his eyes.
When the helicopter touched down, the men loaded their gear into trucks and headed to a large hanger where CIA specialists waited to go through their bags. There were tables with food and coffee in the hangar, but the men were still all business as they dumped their contents on the appropriate tables and wrote down where they had found whatever they were unloading.
As Rad started to pull off his kit, he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder.
“You caught some major frag, man.” Wynn touched the wound. “Hurt?”
“Feels more like an axe blade than frag.”
“Yeah, well you be
tter get that arm looked at too, dude. You definitely got winged there.”
Rad glanced down at his bloody shirt sleeve from when he’d gotten hit in the house. He’d forgotten all about it. “I’ll get Crock. Just needs to be cleaned and wrapped.”
“Radcliff, what the hell’d you do?” McDunna examined the bloody shirt sleeve. “Get your ass down to the infirmary.”
“Not done here yet, sir.” Rad continued to unload his gear.
“That was an order.”
Rad’s head jerked up to see if he was joking. He’d been taught to take care of team gear, then department gear, and then personal gear—always and in that order. It went without saying he considered his arm as personal gear. Just as he was getting ready to explain that, Wynn interrupted.
“I got this, Rad. Go get cleaned up.”
“Good grief, dude.” He shook his head. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Which one? The ding in your arm or the frag in your shoulder?” Wynn took him and turned him toward the door. “Tell them Mommy was worried and sent you. Go.”
The sun was starting to come up by the time Rad had his arm cleaned up and a couple of pieces of glass removed from his shoulder. Just as he thought, the bullet had only nicked his arm, causing more blood than pain or damage—but the nurse in charge didn’t see it that way. She’d insisted on IV fluids to get him rehydrated and wrapped his arm as if it had been detached and needed to be taped back on.
As it turned out, the timing was perfect. It had taken the guys more than an hour to unload and categorize all their intel, so they were just starting to gather around the fire pit and unwind. After a normal mission they probably would have hit the rack, but they were too keyed up for that.
“Here comes da man!” Bipp handed Rad a celebratory cigar. “Dude, you were the heat.”
“Ah, my favorite. Romeo y Julieta No. 3.” Rad took the cigar and inhaled deeply as he held it under his nose. “You guys rock.”
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