by Cindy Dees
He crawled forward a little farther and then lowered himself all the way to his belly. She groaned mentally, but mimicked him. Low crawling, as he'd called it, sucked.
They eased forward a few feet. She pulled up beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
Gradually he lifted aside the thick fronds of a fern to look at the rebel training facility before them.
The view that met her eyes was the very last thing she'd ever expect to see in the middle of a South American jungle.
Even Tex gasped beside her.
She stared in total, riveted shock. A single thought pierced her numbed mind.
Oh. My. God.
Chapter 16
A full-size mock-up of the White House loomed before them.
In utter disbelief, Kimberly stared at the south facade of the famous building. The rebels had it correct down to the very last detail. Even the cast-iron chandelier on the south portico was accurate.
The jungle pressing in on it from all sides looked out of place, surreal even.
The several-story-tall structure stood on the far side of an enormous clearing in the jungle that reached nearly to the top of the canopy of trees. Far overhead, a huge blanket of camouflage netting lay draped over the trees, covering the whole site.
The scale of the setup overwhelmed her. Someone had gone to enormous expense and trouble to build it. But then, if the White House was the target, whoever was behind this was ambitious, indeed.
Tex let the fern fronds drop and rolled over onto his back, clearly thinking hard. "How well do you know the layout of the White House?" he abruptly asked her.
"I've been there several times," she answered.
"The Oval Office looks out on this side of the White House, doesn't it?" he asked.
The implication of his question hit her like a sledgehammer. "Oh, my God," she breathed. "Yes, it does. When he's at his desk, the president sits with his back to the middle window of the Oval Office."
"With RITA, it'd be an easy shot. A sniper could park on the far side of the mall, a half mile or more from the White House. At that range, the RITA rifle would have no trouble penetrating the bulletproof glass."
"You think that's the plan?" she gasped. "To assassinate the president?"
"If they expected to blow the White House up, they wouldn't bother with a mock-up like this. They'd get the blueprints and figure out the structural weak points to blast. You can only blow up a model once. But you can practice taking a shot through a window a thousand times."
"Why wouldn't the rebels just hire a good sniper and tell him to go take the shot? Why go to all this trouble?" she asked.
"You only get one shot at the president. The Secret Service reacts so fast you'd never get a second shot off. And once someone shoots at the man through his office window, you can be sure he'll be working out of a bunker for many months to come."
"So, this whole facility has been set up for one guy to practice shooting?"
"There are probably several candidates for the honor of taking the shot."
She shuddered at the way he'd put it. How could killing anyone be considered an honor? "If only a few guys are practicing the shot, why all the other soldiers out here?"
"They're probably planning some sort of diversion to draw away the attention of the Secret Service from the shooter."
"What sort of diversion?" she asked.
"I have no idea. But we'll watch these bastards until we find out. That's for damn sure," he retorted grimly.
They lay on the wet, black ground through the afternoon, observing the rebels as they moved around the huge clearing. It looked like the new batch of soldiers spent most of the day being given some sort of orientation to the mock-up and to the overall plan.
Tex grumbled about not having a parabolic microphone to pick up what the rebel leaders said. But, from the way the clump of soldiers was led from point to point around the clearing, the gist of the plan slowly became clear.
The rebels were going to use most of the soldiers to stage some kind of disturbance at the east entrance to the White House. Once they'd drawn the attention of the Secret Service, snipers at several locations around the mall were going to shoot simultaneously at the president. He'd presumably be sitting at his desk in the Oval Office.
Kimberly murmured to Tex, "Do you think they'll try to copy the RITA rifle so each one of the assassins has one like it?"
"Depends on how soon they plan to pull off this operation. It'll take a minimum of a couple weeks to figure out how the RITA rifle works. I'd guess it'll take a master weapon smith another week or two to make copies of the rifle itself."
"What about its fancy targeting system?" she asked.
Tex shrugged. "A top-flight computer geek could probably build the circuitry for the targeting system in a week. But even then, there's likely to be a few more days or weeks of tweaking on the copies to get them to work."
Kimberly sighed in relief. Thank goodness. They had plenty of time here.
Tex interrupted her relief. "However, it will only take one working RITA rifle to take out the president. And they've almost got that."
"Almost?" Kimberly flashed him a hopeful look.
"I took the clip out of the RITA before I dropped it. A whole new clip will have to be fabricated before anyone can shoot the existing weapon."
Thank goodness he was so smart under pressure. She'd never have thought to unload the thing before she dropped it, let alone take the whole clip out.
Tex continued. "If we've pegged the rebel's plan correctly, they'll have the other snipers fire regular sniper rifles at the White House. The Secret Service will still have to split its response among all the shooters, and they won't know which position is using the really lethal weapon."
"Why does that matter? Like you said, the assassins will only get one shot at the president. If the snipers hit him he'll die, and if they miss, he'll be whisked away to safety."
"True, but the assassins can take dozens of shots at the Secret Service before their positions are overrun. Whichever agents approach the guy with the RITA rifle are going to get mowed down like toy soldiers. Their vests aren't going to stop its bullets."
"Oh." That would be some of the other thousands of lives he'd said the loss of the RITA rifle would jeopardize.
"Depending on the type of clip they make for the gun, one sniper could take out a big chunk of the presidential security detail in one fell swoop," Tex remarked.
"So I was right," Kimberly exclaimed under her breath.
"About what?" Tex replied.
"Back at Quantico. When I said that one of these rifles in the hands of the right soldier would turn him into a nearly unstoppable killing machine."
"Absolutely," Tex agreed.
She shoved up onto her elbows, glaring down at him. "Then why did you disagree with me when I said it?" she demanded.
"I never disagreed. I only frowned at you, as I recall. Besides, I'm damn well not going to let the press print something like that about this weapon."
"Why not?" she gibed under her breath. "Afraid somebody might go to a lot of trouble to steal it and use it for something dastardly like killing the president of the United States?"
He gave her a dark look. "Don't get started with me. I'm in a foul mood already and my ankle's killing me."
She'd forgotten about that. At least he'd spent the whole day lying on his belly and not traipsing around on it. "Where are we camping tonight?" she asked. "Should I go on ahead and start getting it ready?"
He sighed. "Based on what we've seen, we need to stay right here and keep an eye on the rebels at all times. Every detail we learn about their plan could be vital to the president's safety."
"I thought we were only looking for the RITA rifle," she replied.
"If we can't get the rifle back, the least we have to do is warn the Secret Service of the imminent attempt on the president's life. Anything we can tell them about the rebels and their plan will be important. It's 'round-the-clock surveil
lance for us from here on out."
She sighed and nodded. What he said made sense. "How about if I go find us something to eat and some water?"
He passed her the empty canteen and the cell phone. "Try to call Charlie Squad again. But make it fast. The battery's getting low. Drink your fill if you find any water, then bring me back a jug. I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."
She wriggled backward until she could stand up safely and creep away from Tex's position. She looked carefully at the trees around her, noting landmarks for finding Tex again. It would not be good to overshoot his position and stroll right into the middle of the rebel camp.
For once, water was easy to find. She stumbled across a little stream, barely more than a ribbon of water trickling along an indentation in the ground. She filled the canteen and dropped in a water purification tablet.
While the tablet did its work, she hunted for food. She tried the phone again. Despair welled in her throat as static filled her ear. Tex needed help out here! She pocketed the phone and glumly found more of the sour berries and ginger root, but not a lot of either. She found some small red berries and threw those in the hat with her other finds, as well. Maybe Tex would know if they were edible or not.
She returned to the stream. Girding herself for the iodine taste of the water, she drank down the contents of the whole canteen. She refilled the container and put another tablet in it. By the time she got back to Tex, the water would be ready to drink.
She headed off through the trees. The sun was setting and long shadows filled the jungle. Everything looked different than it had an hour ago.
She frowned, squinting at the tree trunks, trying to ascertain her position. She wasn't lost. She wasn't!
Stay calm. Breathe. Keep your wits about you. She'd work her way through this. She'd headed east, away from Tex's position. If she followed the setting sun—that meant toward the bases of the shadows—that would take her west. Toward Tex.
She tried to move as quietly as he did, but that just wasn't possible. She eased forward, an ominous sensation tickling the back of her neck. She ought to be getting close to the rebel training facility. Very close.
She slowed down even more. If she was right and if she wasn't lost, Tex ought to be just ahead. A big tree with a forked trunk should be on her right and a clump of banana trees should be on the left.
A clump of banana trees loomed straight ahead of her. She slid off to the right, searching for a tree with a forked trunk.
There! In the darkening shadows. She'd found it. Relief flooded her, almost knocking her to her knees.
She practically stepped on Tex when she finally found him. He'd apparently decided to adorn himself with the latest in black dirt cosmetics.
"Get down," he hissed.
It dawned on her that if she was standing on top of Tex, then the rebel camp was only a few yards ahead of her.
"Slow. Move slow," Tex ordered in a bare whisper.
She schooled herself not to drop to the ground like a rock. Rather she eased her body down until she stretched out at full-length beside Tex. She passed him the canteen and he took a long pull from it.
"Any luck with the phone?" he asked.
"Nope. Sorry." In the abruptly heavy silence, she inquired, "See anything interesting this afternoon?"
"Not really. More orientation. They're definitely planning on having five or six snipers shoot from various positions across the mall."
They'd guessed that already. She supposed it was good to have confirmed it. Now she could only hope that Tex didn't see the RITA rifle anytime soon. Maybe then she could talk him into leaving with their information regarding the impending assassination attempt on the president.
Tension rolled off Tex in palpable waves as she stretched out on the ground beside him. He snacked absently on the food, not even reacting to the violently sour green berries. Was he that worried? Or had he gone into some sort of work mode where he was blocking everything else out?
"Tex?" she murmured.
"Hmm?" he murmured back.
"Everything okay?"
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Peachy keen. Why?"
She frowned. "Whenever you start tossing around homespun expressions like that, I get worried."
She had his full attention now. She persisted. "So, what's going on? You're wired tighter than you've ever been around me."
"Finding out that someone's trying to murder my president does that to me," he replied shortly.
She'd forgotten for a minute. He believed he could single-handedly save the world from the forces of evil. She refrained from going back over that well-worn argument.
Tex resumed observing the rebels, most of whom sat around fires eating their suppers, at the moment.
She lay there beside Tex for a long time. Night fell and the usual cacophony of noises commenced. She and Tex could probably have a shouting match right now and the rebels wouldn't hear them over the din of insects, frogs and assorted screeching things.
And then it began to rain. Nothing torrential, just a steady, slow drip that turned their resting spot into a black morass of cold and wet. Tex didn't budge. She wasn't entirely sure he even noticed it was raining.
But then he reached up, plucked a good-size leaf and covered the firing portion of his AK-47. Okay, he knew it was raining. Why didn't he take cover?
The temperature began to drop and their surveillance went from uncomfortable to downright miserable.
Tex remained completely focused on the rebels, clearly thinking intently. But what about? You could only stare at a bunch of guys huddled in tents, drinking, for so long.
Her fingers were starting to ache with the cold. She flexed the stiffness away, but it returned in a few seconds. Her curiosity won out over her desire to stay out of Tex's way. "What are you mulling over so seriously?"
She felt his head turn toward her. It was too dark under the ferns to make out his expression, though.
"I'm considering scenarios."
She frowned. "What kinds of scenarios?"
"A 'what if the rifle's in that big main tent over there' scenario. 'What if the rifle's in the commander's tent on the left edge of the clearing? What if the rifle's inside the mock-up of the White House?'"
"Come up with anything interesting?" She asked more to distract herself from the water running down the back of her neck.
"Yeah. The rifle's not here yet."
She lurched in the dark. "What?" she exclaimed.
"Hush," he ordered sharply.
"What do you mean, it's not here yet?" she whispered.
"I think it's still getting modified. The rebels don't have a facility here to fabricate the replacement clip. It'll take a metal-working shop to do the job."
"Then why in the world are we lying here in the mud watching these idiots play soldier?" she demanded.
"Because if we'd tried to follow the rifle to wherever it's getting worked on, we'd have lost its trail or been caught. Based on this setup, we know the rifle's going to end up here."
"Why?" she interjected.
"The snipers will have to practice firing at the mock-up with it. They'll need to figure out how to use it and get comfortable with it before they try it out on the president."
"Then why aren't we well away from here in a safe, dry little camp with your ankle propped up and a nice shelter overhead?"
"Because anything we learn might be the one tidbit that saves the president's life."
She harrumphed. "All the rebels are safely drunk in their tents. They're not going anywhere as long as it keeps raining. Let's call it a night, and go somewhere to light a fire and get dry and warm."
She made out a glimmer of white as he smiled at her. "I agree. We'll sleep until it quits raining."
Then, to her confusion, he picked up a hefty stick and began digging a small trench around them. He spoke over his shoulder. "Help me dig. It'll go faster if we both do it."
She picked up a stick and began gouging at the soft
dirt. "And I'm doing this why?"
"It'll channel the water away from our position."
Dawning suspicion made her ask slowly, "And?"
"Do you want to get completely soaked in your sleep?" he asked.
"I don't follow you," she mumbled.
"We're sleeping here," he explained.
"What about getting dry? And warm? Having a fire?" she demanded.
"Sorry. No comforts of home when we're doing tight surveillance."
"So we're going to lay here in the rain and mud and cold all night, like a couple of dogs?"
"That'd be the gist of it," he replied.
"That's ridiculous. The rebels aren't going anywhere. We're not going to miss a thing."
He rounded on her, abruptly looming over her, a dark, dangerous shadow. "Do you mean to tell me that your comfort for one night is more important than the life of the president of the United States and potentially dozens of his Secret Service agents?"
She sighed heavily. "Of course not."
"Help me spread out the space blanket." He passed her a corner of the mylar sheeting, its dull, black side facing up and its shiny silver side facing down. "Put rocks or a log over the edges of it to hold it in place. But make sure they're inside the perimeter of the trench."
She did as he directed.
"Tell me why we're not getting out of here and heading for the nearest phone to call the Secret Service?"
"No time," he replied shortly. "By the time someone else found this place, the RITA could be long gone and on its way to kill the president or someone else."
In a matter of moments, she was encased in an uncomfortable plastic shell. Then the large sheet began to rise slowly away from her. Tex had wrapped the end of a stick in leaves and used it to hoist the space blanket off them, forming a tiny pup tent.
Lying half on top of her, he reached down by their feet and propped up another padded stick. They didn't have much room, but it was enough to maneuver a little bit.
"Take off your clothes," he murmured.
"I beg your pardon!" She reared back as much as she could in the confined space, offended by the boldness of his proposition.