“No,” said Tongali, beginning to sweat. “This is only a temporary situation. We have it under control.”
The ambassador sighed. “Tongali, you and I have become close during my time here. I respect you and trust what you tell me, but you must understand that I have to make reports to my government and they may find these things harder to believe than I. There are factions within the Caliphate that are eager to prosecute our jihad against Edens, those who carry the Mark of Satan. There are even some who have urged that the Caliphate make war on your country. Now, I personally believe this would be a great mistake, but what are they to think? Especially as not all your people have submitted to Allah, the benevolent, the merciful.”
Tongali set down his teacup in order to hide the trembling that had begun in his hands. This was the nightmare scenario he had worried about. Ethiopia’s weak and demoralized military would never be able to stand up to the better armed, more numerous and highly fanatical Caliphate army.
“Now,” continued al-Raziq, “we have dealt with our own Eden problem. They have been rounded up into special camps in Sudan where their abomination cannot spread, and are being put to work. It is said that work makes you free, true?” A smile played around the man’s mouth, but didn’t seem to rise to his eyes.
“I have heard this,” Tongali replied, his terror growing. From his contact with Falashas, he knew the words Arbeit Macht Frei, “Work Makes Free,” had been posted above the entrance to Nazi extermination camps.
Al-Raziq was sending him a message.
“So they are working for you?”
“For a time, to pay the Faithful the cost of their incarceration.” The ambassador continued blandly, “The Edens are worse than mere infidels, because infidels can admit the error of their ways and submit to Allah’s will. One who carries the Mark of Satan can never be rid of that demonic possession. We have tried many times to remove this sickness from them, but every effort has been unsuccessful. The only choice is to release the soul contained therein by driving a stake into the brain. This prevents the demon within them from its unnatural healing. We thus rid the Earth of many hundreds of Satan’s ilk a day. You too must learn to be as committed to eliminating this scourge as the Caliphate.”
Tongali swallowed slowly. “Yes, indeed. Please tell your leaders that we are no friends of these spawn of the Evil One and are working to destroy them all.”
“Very good, I will send my report to Cairo and I trust the Caliph will be pleased.”
Tongali nodded and stood with the ambassador. The two walked to the door and shook hands.
The ambassador was almost out the door before he turned back. “And, Tongali…”
“Yes, Ambassador?”
Al-Raziq smiled sadly. “Do not wait too long to resolve this situation. Our friendship can only assure our patience for so long.”
The door closed and Tongali sat heavily at his desk. Shaking, he began to write out orders.
Chapter 15
Reaper looked down at the Mendoles compound from the jungle-covered hillside five hundred yards away. An enormous French style chateau surrounded by gardens and walking paths, it included a number of outbuildings to serve as garages, sheds, or additional housing. The entire complex was enclosed by a tall stone wall with concertina wire atop it. Two armed guards watched the front gate and a dozen more roamed the main house and the grounds.
Clearly, the cartel didn’t really anticipate imminent direct action; the guards were there to deter their competition and make the occupants feel safe. Undoubtedly they relied on their deep penetration of the Colombian government to give them warning against a law enforcement raid, and they would have spies and informants everywhere.
Rule of thumb calculations told her that about twice as many men loitered off shift as were visible, about half of whom would probably be elsewhere – in town or at separate homes.
Reaper tried not to squirm in the humid heat. Acclimatization to Colombia for nearly half a year had accustomed her to the worst of the humidity, but being under the jungle canopy seemed to only make matters worse. Keeping the bugs away always turned into a losing battle even with industrial strength insect repellant. She wondered idly if the mosquitoes that sucked her blood could become carriers for the Eden virus the way they had for malaria and yellow fever. If so, more power to them.
“Reaper, this is Hawkeye,” said a voice from her miniature earpiece. “Support team in position. All lines of sight clear.”
Reaper looked far to her right and thought she might be able to make out one of the men, but couldn’t be sure. They were well camouflaged and Hawkeye knew his business. The man had quickly taken over as the team’s de facto second-in-command.
“Roger, Hawkeye,” said Reaper. “No unusual activity detected. Go to fifty percent security. Eat and get some sleep. Make sure everyone is ready for kickoff at 0300 hours.”
“Wilco,” said Hawkeye.
“And Hawkeye… keep a close eye on Blade and Hound Dog.”
“Got it. Support team out.”
“Pass the word,” said Reaper to the team members lying on her left and right. “Fifty percent security with your battle buddy. Everyone gets at least four hours of sleep before 0300.” Then she went back to studying the compound.
It’s a good thing we’re all Edens, she thought. No way we’re going in there without taking some casualties. Hitting them early in the morning will grant us the element of surprise, but it’s still going to be dicey.
She’d rather not have to rely on Shortfuse, but going through the main gate would be even worse, so she supposed she’d have him blow a breach in the wall.
Speak of the devil. Here’s the nutcase now.
“Why don’t you get a little rest, boss?” said Shortfuse as he crawled up close to her. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” said Reaper. “I never sleep before a mission. Go ahead if you want.”
“I can’t sleep before a mission either. Too keyed up.” He studied the walls and the gate. “That’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”
Reaper turned and looked at him. “I appreciate you making an effort, I really do, but we’re not going to be friends. You’re only here because Spooky thinks you might be useful. That may be true, but I don’t like people on my team that make me want to watch my own back. You aren’t reliable.”
“We didn’t get off to a good start, but that doesn’t mean I’m not reliable.”
“What about blowing Sparky’s fingers off?” Reaper asked. “He was a damn fine commo guy and we needed him, but after that, he decided not to come back. Can’t say I blame him.”
The man sighed and looked away. “I didn’t actually do it on purpose.”
“What?” asked Reaper. “You laughed and made a big deal out of how much you enjoyed it.”
“That was all show. Better for everyone to think the demo guy is crazy, not incompetent.”
“Are you incompetent?”
“Hell no,” he said fiercely. “I’m the best you’ll find anywhere.”
“So what happened? If you didn’t do it on purpose and you’re not incompetent, how did he lose his fingers on a charge you prepared?”
“I don’t know,” said Shortfuse.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Reaper asked. “Didn’t you prepare the charges?”
“I don’t remember, okay?” the man answered.
“You’re going to have to explain that one.”
He rubbed his hand through his hair. “I get blackouts every now and then. Ever since my last tour in Afghanistan. Doc said it was normal. Part of my mind dealing with cumulative stress.”
“Does Spooky know?”
Shortfuse shook his head.
“How did you get through the screening?”
“You know how it is,” he said. “All the questions rely upon the person being honest regarding the questions. I’ve been through enough PTSD briefings to know which bubbles to darken in and which ones to st
eer clear of.”
“This info just makes it worse,” said Reaper. “I can’t use you, can I? Look, nothing personal, but you could black out at any time.”
“It’s getting better. That was the first one I’ve had in a long time. I think the virus is fixing things.”
“Why would I take the risk?”
“Because you need me and...I need this,” Shortfuse answered. “Ever since my family left me there’s been nothing else. Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose everything at once?”
“Actually, I do,” said Reaper, turning away.
“I know you don’t trust me over what happened, but the truth is, I’m a good soldier and a better demo man. If you let me stay on the team you won’t have any trouble out of me and I promise you won’t have to watch your back. I’ll do that for you.”
Reaper mulled things over. “Okay. For now. But here’s what’s going to happen. After this job, you’re going to train me on everything you know about demolitions and explosives. I want to know what you know.”
“I can’t teach you everything,” he said. “We’re talking decades of experience. I may not look that old, but they forced me to retire after thirty years of service.”
“Well, then show me what you can. Teach me what’s important. I want to double check everything you do to make sure no one else loses body parts.”
Shortfuse’s jaw got tight and his eyes narrowed.
“I’m not going to endanger the team to soothe your pride,” Reaper said. “I’ll make a show of being an asshole about it in front of the others if you want, but that’s the deal and it’s the best one you’re going to get from me right now. Take it or leave it.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll take it. Not like I have a lot of other options.”
“No, you don’t.”
The man nodded and gently took the binoculars out of her hands. He looked down at the compound.
“What do you think?” Reaper asked. “Can you blow a hole through that wall?”
Shortfuse lowered the binos and smiled at her. “Most definitely.”
* * *
They crept through the jungle wearing night vision goggles. Reaper led the assault team forward slowly and carefully. She saw the edge of the compound wall up ahead through the goggles’ green glow.
“Hawkeye, this is Reaper,” Reaper whispered. “Commo check.”
“Read you Lima Charlie,” Hawkeye responded.
“Same here. We’re nearly in position. Everything still quiet?”
“Roger that. Had a car come in around midnight, but nothing since then. There’s a light in the guard house and one in the north shed, but otherwise looks like everyone’s asleep.”
“Good. I’m putting the assault team in position and we’re moving up to place the charges. I’m pretty sure they don’t have motion sensors around the walls, but just in case, let me know if you notice any activity.”
“Wilco.”
Reaper lined up her ten personnel in a pair of files, ready to charge through the breach. Then she and Shortfuse crept forward slowly; he carried a bag of demo in his arms. They rested at the base of the wall and Shortfuse pulled out a small shovel and began digging.
“What are you doing?” Reaper hissed.
“I have to tamp down the charge, otherwise it’ll dissipate in the air. The farther down I can get it the better.” Shortfuse scooped dirt away from the wall until there was a hole about two feet deep. He pulled a bundle of plastic explosive and wires from the small bag. Placing the package in the hole, he pulled up a wire and laid it aside on the ground. He then covered up the hole with dirt and patted it firmly in place.
Picking up the wire he’d left above ground, he plugged the end into a small radio receiver, which buried under a thin layer of loose dirt, its antenna protruding. “That’s it.”
The two crept back to the line of team members waiting in the blackness.
“Listen up,” Shortfuse said. “Hug the dirt, cover your ears and turn off your radios. After it blows, turn them back on and be prepared to climb through rubble.”
Once she was certain everyone understood, Reaper transmitted, “Hawkeye, this is Reaper. We’re ready to blow the charge; stand by.”
“Standing by.”
Reaper nodded at Shortfuse.
He pulled a small radio transmitter from his bag and got down behind a big tree. “Fire in the hole,” he said as he pressed the button.
The wall erupted into a blast of noise and light. The force of the shockwave washed over them. Chunks of concrete and rubble rained down through the branches of the trees above.
“Go!” barked Reaper, rushing forward. She climbed carefully over the pile of smoking rubble at the breach. Sniper and machine gun fire from Hawkeye’s team peppered the compound, covering their entry.
“The house first,” she said, rushing forward, followed by her assault team.
Lights popped on all over the compound. Racing up the front steps of the mansion, she crouched down beside the door. “Stack up!” she yelled to the first four as they moved into position. “Go!” She pushed the door open.
The four rushed into the room along the right wall in a textbook deployment, weapons covering their sectors, but there was nothing to shoot. Reaper turned to the next two. “Cover the front of the house,” she ordered. “That’s our way out of here, so keep it clear.”
Reaper led the rest of the team into the foyer, inside toward the main staircase that would lead them to their target’s second-floor bedroom. “We’re in,” she radioed. “Snatch team proceeding to second floor.”
“Roger,” Hawkeye replied. “Copy snatch team moving from first to second floor.”
Before they could ascend, two men began firing pistols from the cover of the kitchen doorway, but their weapons and training were no match for Reaper and her team, who responded immediately with a hail of Sam rounds. When the enemy pulled back, at least one had been hit in the hand.
Reaper immediately rushed the opening, relying on her body armor and healing ability to save her if she was shot, but it was not necessary. Both men lay on the floor, clutching arm injuries. She put another burst into the bellies of each, the safest way to put them out of the fight but allow them to survive. Gut wounds normally took half an hour or more to kill, during which time the infection would take hold and save them.
“Keep moving,” she said as she returned to the foyer. The snatch team filed up the stairs while the others split into pairs and began to secure the ground floor.
A naked woman with wild black hair flew at them suddenly from the top of the staircase. She had a knife in each hand and buried them in the shoulder and neck of Murphy, the first man in line, by luck or skill bypassing his body armor. The two tumbled down the stairs, taking the next man with them.
Reaper stepped back against the wall just in time to avoid getting caught in the mess, and as the blade-woman jerked her weapons free, Reaper put a boot into her head from behind, snapping her neck sideways with an audible crack. Then she put a single round into the woman’s leg, hoping the virus contained therein would save her life.
Shortfuse froze and stared at the fallen woman. Reaper struck him on the arm. “Come on; follow me. Need to move fast. Someone check Murphy.”
She raced up the remaining stairs and into the hallway. Reaper would have preferred to check and clear every room, but they didn’t have time. They needed to secure Enrique Mendoles and be gone before all the guards in the compound converged on the house. Hopefully, Hawkeye was keeping them busy outside.
“He should be in the last one,” Reaper said, rushing forward, hitting the final door with her shoulder. She bounced off; even with body armor and gear she weighed barely one-seventy. Turning to the two who’d followed her up, she motioned to Hulk, her biggest man. “Breach!”
Hulk nodded, lowered his weapon and charged the portal. Three hundred fifty pounds at full speed did the trick. The door crashed inward and the man deliberately fell onto his left si
de as they’d rehearsed.
Reaper followed, dodging to the right, and looked up to see Enrique Mendoles sitting in bed with a shotgun aimed in her direction. He pulled the trigger and she felt the wave of heat as shot spattered over her head and into the wall, one of the pellets stinging her cheek. In return, she put two Sam rounds into him, one in the belly and one into his shoulder.
Enrique fell off the side of the bed onto the floor, the shotgun skidding into a corner.
Hulk powered to his feet and over to Enrique, who was holding his gut wound.
“You’re dead,” the large, fat cartel boss said in Spanish. “All of you are dead. Do you have any idea who you are messing with?”
“Just one more pendejo,” Reaper replied in the same language, wrenching his hands behind him to flex-cuff them. After wrapping a strip of duct tape around his head and over his mouth, she yanked him roughly to his feet. “Let’s go.”
She turned to see Shortfuse standing in the doorway. His rifle was pointed directly at her. “What –”
Shortfuse fired and Reaper felt the whistle of the bullet pass by. She turned to see a scantily clad woman with a pistol in one hand and a SAM wound in her chest, lying on the floor gasping, lung-shot.
Reaper picked up her boot and stomped down forcefully on the manicured hand that still tried to lift the pistol to kill her. She heard the crunch of thin bones as the woman screamed in fresh pain. “Don’t worry, puta. You’ll soon be as right as rain.”
“I think we better go,” said Shortfuse.
“Definitely,” said Reaper, pushing the bound Enrique toward Hulk. “You take him.” She flipped the selector for all frequencies on her radio. “We have the package. Exiting the building now. Cover our extraction.”
Reaper led her people down the stairs. “Out!” she yelled to the rest that covered the ground floor. “Extract, now!”
They raced across the courtyard with a few bullets striking near them, but heavy covering fire from Hawkeye’s team kept most of the enemy suppressed. Reaching the break in the wall, they began climbing through.
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