“Yes, or an eardrum shattering machine, depending on the setting and the range. It’s non-lethal, but you don’t want to be in its transmission path. Graham will explain more since one of you may have to handle it today—hopefully not, though.”
Brian and Malcolm looked at each other uncertainly.
“Who’s the pilot?” Melissa asked, leaning to get glimpse of the two men conversing.
“Ward,” she answered. “Your friends have already met him on the trip from Tel Aviv.” Ward Bennett was in his early forties. He was trim, athletic, and—from what Brian could see—all business.
“Military?” Melissa asked.
Clarise smiled. “No, though he looks the part. Ward has never spent a day in the service. He has a background in international finance. He spent most of his career in venture capital and economic development in foreign countries. He speaks Spanish and Russian fluently—Spanish because of a grandmother, and Russian because of his career.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“He wouldn’t describe it that way. If you asked him what he did in his old life, he’d call himself a glorified mobster. His career was all legal and legit, but it amounted to putting poor countries into crushing debt relationships with his employer and the US government so they could control the country’s natural resources and leverage the geography for the military.”
“So he’s out of that now?” Dee asked.
Clarise nodded.
“What does he do now—besides fly helicopters?”
“He keeps track of all our businesses, investments, expenses—everything financial that concerns us. We have to hide our money and cash flow all over the world. I should mention that he’s also my husband.”
“So Mr. Right Stuff is a full-time accountant?” Malcolm asked, trying to pry a little more out of Clarise about their operation.
“Sort of,” she agreed, chuckling at the reference. “I think we need to get back to what we’ll be doing here.”
The four of them listened attentively.
“We’ll be picking up thirty people, nearly all of them girls. They’ll be anywhere from preteens to young adults. Roughly half will be Filipino; they’ll all speak a little English, some better than others.”
“How do you know that already?” Melissa inquired.
“We run almost a hundred orphanages around the world, most of them in the poorest places on the planet. We finance another fifty or so mercy projects in the US. We’ve also created an international network to move all sorts of victims to safe locations—mostly battered women and kids. But our orphanages are the priority. They focus on the young people we rescue from slavery, sex trafficking, violent revolutions—all the vile crap you never want to think about.
“We make trips to Africa, Asia, and the Americas and pose as slave traders and sex traffickers to buy people—mostly kids—all year round. Our operations are off the radar and separate from any funding we report to the IRS under the name of non-profits we’ve created solely for that purpose. It has to be that way since we bend or break international law when we must to rescue kids. We don’t hold meetings with politicians or the UN—we get people out.”
“So one of those orphanages is in the Philippines,” Malcolm concluded.
“Right. Almost three months ago, a dozen kids were kidnapped from one of our orphanages. Our network has been hunting for them ever since. We heard they had wound up in Canada, but we had no idea where until two days ago. They’re together, but only because they were all put to work in a new brothel.”
Clarise stopped to gaze at their faces, which were filled with horror, disgust, and outrage. She waited, but no one said anything.
“What you’ll see here won’t be pretty. Some of them will be recovering from being heavily drugged. Some might be injured from beatings and rapes—who knows? But the task is simple: get everyone into the helicopters and head out as fast as possible. It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Does Neff know if the people who were holding them know where they are now?” Melissa asked anxiously.
“No. We don’t know anything about how our contact, Cal, got them out or who the creeps are that pimped them. We don’t even know where the kids are hiding—only that they’re being brought here. So far, everybody has been safe, but Cal is convinced there are people in the area tracking them.”
“Where do you want us?” asked Dee.
“I want you and Melissa to sit in the last two seats in the rear. You’ll have a walkie-talkie. Keep an eye out the windows on both sides of the helicopter. The kids will be in three vehicles, all arriving at the same time. If you see any other vehicle at any time after the cargo gets here, let us know immediately. Any surprises mean trouble, and we’ll have to act fast.”
Neff climbed inside the helicopter and joined the small group.
“Ward has Nili about ten minutes out,” he said to Clarise. “When she lands, she’s going to point her Puma perpendicular to the runway from the other side, about fifty yards to the left of this one. Malone is going to take her place piloting that craft. Ward will pilot this one. They’ll sit in the cockpit with the rotors running, ready for takeoff. You and Madison will leave in this one when we have our people. Nili and Kamran will go with Malone.” He looked toward the cockpit. “I’ll let Madison know; she probably needs help with the weapons. Be back in a minute.”
Clarise nodded approvingly and turned to the others. “We always try to have two experienced pilots on every flight in case one can’t fly for some reason. Madison—the girl in the cockpit—can fly, but she’s not very experienced. Our other associate, Kamran, is the same. He’s logged a lot of hours for only being eighteen, but we like to group people with the most experience, especially with human cargo on board. He’d only fly if it was an absolute emergency.”
“What about the flight home?” Brian asked.
“Graham will have to solo that. We need everyone on the other end to process the people we’re picking up. Don’t worry,” she reassured him, grinning, “he can fly just about anything.”
Neff and Madison emerged from the cockpit together. The others watched as they removed several snub-nosed assault rifles, hand guns, and body armor from a secured bin. Neff motioned the group to move closer to the center of the plane, where he and Madison were crouched.
Brian estimated that Madison was in her mid to late twenties. Her thick, strawberry-blonde hair was neatly tied back into a pony tail. The cold air circulating through the open helicopter doors caused her smooth white cheeks to turn rosy, an effect that accentuated her sparkling blue eyes. She expertly picked up one of the assault rifles, checked the action and the sight, and handed it to Clarise, then grabbed another to repeat the process. Her perfectly incongruent look was completed by a camouflage parka, torso body armor, and army-green shoulder bag stocked with clip rounds for the assault rifles. She noticed Brian watching her and smiled cheerfully.
“Are you Dr. Scott?” she asked, extending her free hand.
“Yes,” he said, returning the gesture.
Madison looked at Clarise with a delighted grin. “Sweet! Nili’s going to be so jealous.” She turned to Brian and laughed at his perplexed face. “I’m just sayin’,” she added, observing Melissa’s tell-me-more expression.
“There are three entrances into our location,” Neff interrupted, making eye contact with each of them. “There’s the one we came in, the far east end of the runway, and a road to the south of us that runs parallel to the runway. That road is accessible only from the east end and comes out about a hundred yards from our location. Unwelcome company could come from any of these entrances.”
“Who gets the walkie-talkie?” Madison asked.
Clarise took it from her and handed it to Melissa.
“Do you think Cal—?” Madison started to ask.
“No—no time for that,” Clarise interrupted, shutting her down with a wry smile.
“No harm in asking,” the younger girl re
plied with a grin before heading back toward the cockpit.
“Madison has a thing for Cal,” Clarise explained.
“Okay, we have three TARs,” Neff continued, this time speaking directly to Clarise. “One for you, one for Madison, and one for me. Nili has her own. We have two extra sets of body armor. I recommend the ladies wear them,” he added, looking at Melissa and Dee.
“Seriously?” Dee complained.
“They’re just an extra precaution,” he assured them. “You won’t have to wear them long.”
“Hand ’em over,” Dee yielded, rolling her eyes. She turned to Melissa. “I’ll bet we’re the only people on earth that could turn getting an X-ray into a black-op with army rangers.”
Clarise helped Melissa and Dee return to the rear of the plane and put on the armor. Neff watched them move toward the back of the Puma out of earshot, and then turned to Brian and Malcolm. “Dr. Scott made it clear to us earlier that he’s handled a gun before, but what about you, Dr. Bradley?”
“A few times.” He looked curiously at Brian, who shrugged.
“Good. We have Glocks for both of you. Madison’s getting them. She’ll load them and show you the safety basics, which are pretty simple: don’t handle the weapon unless you’re going to use it. I’m sure they won’t be necessary—all of this weaponry is purely precautionary.”
“Sure,” Brian replied, doubting him more with each reminder.
“Do you both see the logic in the way I described the position the Pumas will take?”
Malcolm looked Neff in the eye. “You can aim that sound weapon down either end of the runway and at the road we took to get here. The third road comes out adjacent to our helicopter a hundred yards away, so we have that angle covered, too. When the other helicopter lands, it’ll be able to do the same. The positions allow for either a crossfire—I remember you said the other Puma had an EMP cannon—or a clear line of sight to all three entry points.”
“Excellent. Did you learn that in graduate school?” he asked with a friendly smirk.
“Military Channel,” Malcolm answered coyly.
“Of course,” Neff smirked good-naturedly.
“So what’s the EMP cannon do?” Brian asked.
“It’s just—”
“I know—it’s a precaution,” he cut him off. “How do you plan on using it?”
“Kamran, our associate in the second helicopter, will use it if a hostile vehicle approaches. The EMP cannon will instantly disable a vehicle. At that point, we’ll demand the occupants surrender. We can communicate with them at a distance through the LRAD.”
“And if they don’t surrender?”
“Then we use the LRAD as a weapon. A good dose of high frequency and they’ll be eager to give in—assuming they can speak, that is. We’ll have ear protection; they won’t.”
“What if the hostile vehicle is old and doesn’t have microprocessors controlling its electrical system?”
“You’re becoming more fascinating all the time, Dr. Bradley. I’m truly impressed that you know how the EMP cannon works—and when it won’t.”
“I’m a scientist. So what’s plan B if we need it? You know that anyone coming our way who isn’t on our side is going to be armed and pissed.”
“We can’t allow a hostile vehicle to approach the Pumas. That’ll turn the rescue into a fire-fight. If the EMP cannon doesn’t work, Nili will have to destroy the car.”
“With what?” Brian asked.
“She’ll use the Spike she’s bringing along.… Do you know what that is as well, Dr. Bradley?”
“That’ll kill everyone inside the car.” He looked at Brian apprehensively. “A Spike is an anti-tank guided missile that can be fired by one person. It’s Israeli.”
“Correct. Who says there’s nothing good on TV?” Neff said, casting another skeptical look in Malcolm’s direction. “And yes, to be sure, it would kill everyone instantly. We’ve never had to use the Spike or anything like it, and I hope we won’t. We normally don’t have to use any weapons, much less lethal force, but that’s because we spend weeks planning our missions. We’ve never operated like this before.”
He hesitated before continuing. “If it comes to the Spike, we’ll have no choice but to save our lives and the lives of the people we’re here to rescue. Do you agree, Dr. Bradley?”
Malcolm looked at him grimly. “Yeah, I do.”
24
I would rather have a good plan today than a perfect plan two weeks from now.
—General George S. Patton, Jr.
Brian looked over at Malcolm nervously. The two of them knelt on either side of the LRAD, handguns tucked into their belts under their coats, the cold wind chilling them as it blew through the helicopter. On the surface, the job was simple. Neff had shown them both how to adjust the intensity of the sonic beam, as well as how to use it as either a weapon or for communication. Composed of some dials and a switch, it would be easy to handle—unless they had to improvise.
Nili’s helicopter had landed thirty minutes ago. Brian and Malcolm had watched from a distance as she unloaded more gear, chatted with Neff briefly, and then suited up. Once she was ready, she had helped a thin, dark-skinned young man position the EMP cannon. It took up more space than the LRAD but, despite its bulk, it swiveled easily on its stand. Then came the Spike. Nili unpacked and readied it in no time at all. Smooth and efficient.
Just precautions.
Outside on the ground, midway in the fifty-yard space between the Pumas, Neff, Nili, and Clarise stood waiting, each of them armed with a TAR and wearing protective headgear around their necks. All three had their eyes trained on the entrance through which their rented SUV had come. Madison stood outside the open door a few feet from Brian and Malcolm.
Brian looked back at the second Puma to his left, its blades rotating lightly in the same manner as their own craft. He could just see the nose of the EMP cannon in the open doorway. He glanced at the rear of their helicopter. Melissa and Dee were huddled together for warmth, trying not to look frightened. It wasn’t working.
Neff looked at his watch. As if on cue, a windowless gray van drove into view. The three sentinels raised their weapons but quickly lowered them when two more vehicles appeared, a large passenger van and a four-door covered jeep. At first Brian couldn’t see anyone through the windows of the second and third vehicles. Once all three pulled in between the Pumas, though, some faces began to pop up from below window level. In unified, choreographed response, the blades on both helicopters accelerated, their whining pitch elevating in preparation for take-off.
All three vehicles burst into activity as soon as they came to a halt. The drivers quickly exited and opened the side and rear doors. The passengers filed out, looking somewhat bewildered as they listened to the verbal commands being shouted over the noise of the choppers. About half had coats, the others were draped in blankets that were inadequate for the cold. None of them had boots, but all wore some sort of footwear in various colors.
Brian estimated that the kids ranged in age from about nine through the late teens. The Filipinos were easy to spot by their dark faces and black hair. The rest were a mix of races. At first they seemed apprehensive, hesitant to move toward the armed people who were urging them to get into the helicopters. But it only took a moment for some of them to recognize their liberators. Some shouted for joy; others began to cry, their terror giving way to a torrent of relief. Three girls bolted toward Neff and threw their arms around his waist. He hugged each one quickly and motioned for them to get on board. The rest hurried toward the craft, some hobbling with limps, but all with eager resolve.
Madison ran a few paces toward the line that Clarise had funneled in her direction. Malcolm and Brian directed traffic inside their helicopter, helping to get the kids seated. Malcolm glanced through a side window and noticed that some of the kids needed help getting into the other helicopter. Kamran had been ordered to not leave the controls of the cannon, and Nili had no one to assist
.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Brian nodded.
Malcolm jumped out and ran to the second Puma, hurriedly helping everyone inside in as orderly a manner as he could manage.
Brian looked back at the vans. Two had already pulled out and were heading away from the runway. Neff and the remaining driver were each carrying blanket-draped girls who couldn’t walk to the helicopter, Clarise close behind. Brian knelt at the edge of the chopper and took the first girl from Neff. She wore a thin dress underneath the blanket, and Brian could see that her legs were badly bruised. She was semiconscious. Clarise had been right. The sight was unforgettably ugly.
“Make sure she’s buckled in tight,” Clarise said, hopping into the Puma. They quickly slid the girl into a seat. Malcolm suddenly reappeared and took the second girl, who was in similar condition but also had a swollen black eye and broken lip. Brian watched the final driver run back to his vehicle, get inside, and make his getaway.
“We’ve got trouble!” Dee shouted from the back, her eyes wide with fear. Melissa was already relaying what they’d spotted to the others via the walkie-talkie. A slate gray SUV was speeding toward them from the east end of the runway.
Neff quickly put on his ear protection and motioned for the others to do the same. He looked at Brian, who quickly got behind the LRAD. Nili waved at Kamran and pointed toward the vehicle, which was now about 100 yards from the nearest Puma. Brian looked back at the second craft and watched the cannon pivot. A blue glow suddenly coursed through the barrel. There was no sound. He turned toward the speeding car and saw arms with handguns protruding out the lowered windows, preparing to fire.
For a moment Brian thought the cannon had failed, but then the SUV noticeably lost speed. It rolled silently to a halt about fifty yards away. The occupants’ confusion was visible through the windshield. Neff, Madison, and Nili quickly took crouching positions, their assault rifles trained on the vehicle.
Brian flipped the switch on the LRAD and spoke into its microphone as he’d been instructed. “Throw your weapons out the windows, then get out of the car with your hands in the air. No one will get hurt.”
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