King had briefly considered assigning Somers the callsign of “Terminator,” but he figured the big guy had probably had his fill of comparisons to ‘Ahnold.’ Instead, he pulled a different iconic name from the well of Hollywood inspiration; Somers was now ‘Eastwood,’ and given his personality, that seemed even more apropos.
It didn’t surprise King at all that Somers hadn’t been selected to a Delta unit. Operators tended to be extroverts by nature, able to kick back over a brew with their teammates after a mission, shedding the stress of combat as easily as dropping their gear. He couldn’t imagine what ‘kicking back’ would look like to Erik Somers.
Parker had recommended Somers, and that counted for a lot, but whether or not the big man found a place on King’s new team would depend on how tonight’s mission went.
I suppose that’s true for all of us, he thought morosely.
They passed through a small town, and King spied a billboard written in several languages, including English, indicating the National Botanical Gardens lay just ahead.
“Almost there,” Zelda announced. “Shin says it’s just a couple miles past Pyin Oo Lwin.”
Tremblay’s face appeared at her shoulder. “What a coincidence; that’s the name of my favorite noodle dish at PF Chang’s. Speaking of which, I’m famished. Is there a Mickey D’s hereabouts?”
Zelda purposefully ignored him, as did King. “All right. Let’s find a good place to park.”
A few minutes later, she pulled the van off road and threaded it into the woods, where it wouldn’t be readily visible from the highway. The trees shut out the last few rays of daylight, plunging them into a world of shadows. They would be making their final approach to the objective on the dirt road, but before they could begin that journey, they had to deal with the gate guard.
King, Bellows and Silent Bob left the van behind and hiked through the woods toward the guard shack. There was no sign of the old man Shin had reported meeting the previous day, but the windows of the small structure glowed with artificial light—probably from a television set. Bellows crept to one of the windows, cautiously peered inside and then used hand signals to relay what he had seen: one man, sitting near the wall, facing east.
Silent Bob nodded, and then, with the stealthy swiftness that had earned him his nickname, he swept through the door. King, half a step behind, glimpsed movement in the dark interior room—the guard reached for his rifle but Silent Bob’s suppressed MP5 coughed twice, and all motion ceased.
King scanned the small room, noting the old television set and a radio transmitter station that looked like little more than an off-the-shelf citizen’s band radio. He decided that was a good sign; the triad, or whoever was running this little operation, evidently didn’t think it warranted more aggressive security measures. He keyed his mic. “Legend, this is King. We have the gate. Move up now.”
Zelda, who had made her displeasure at the callsign he’d chose for her abundantly clear, answered with a terse: “Roger, out.”
King backed through the door and turned to Bellows. “Casey. You’re staying here. Set up an observation post and watch the door.”
Surprise and dismay flickered across his teammate’s face, but Bellows was too much of a professional to protest. Deep down, the man was probably relieved to be sitting on the bench for this raid. They had all used up a lifetime’s worth of luck, but Casey Bellows had a pretty wife and a newborn baby waiting for him back home. Every Delta shooter knew the risks that came with the job, even those with families, but King believed there were already too many kids without fathers in the world, and he didn’t want to be responsible for one more.
Bellows assented with a nod and melted into the woods behind the shack, while King and Silent Bob headed for road where Zelda and others were waiting.
TWENTY-TWO
The compound glowed brightly over the hilltops, or at least appeared to when viewed through night-vision goggles. It had been visible even from the road where they had parked their rented vehicle, but Parker had nonetheless let his Garman GPS guide him rather than relying on the distant source of illumination. The most direct route to their goal—a straight line—would have required them to climb hills and traverse the valleys in between, where the forest cover was thickest and the uneven terrain in between could easily cause injuries that would jeopardize the mission. Instead, they had programmed a more circuitous route into the GPS, one that kept them mostly on the high ground, at the expense of adding a couple of miles to the cross-country trek. The compound was still about five hundred meters away, but according to the GPS, they had reached the last waypoint marker, the place where they were to rendezvous with the forward observer.
A strident hiss issued from the darkness. Parker and the others immediately brought their weapons up, scanning the area for the source of the noise, but even with their night-vision, there was nothing to see.
“Take it easy, Irish.” The voice was pitched just above a whisper, but Parker couldn’t fix its location. “We’re all on the same side. Safe your weapons, and I’ll come out.”
Parker breathed a sigh of relief. It had to be their contact, but he remained alert. “What’s the word?”
“Nighteyes.”
It was the callsign that King had assigned to their advanced scout. Parker thumbed the safety on his MP5 and lowered the weapon, nodding for the other men to do the same. As soon as they did, something rose from the ground just a few steps from where he stood. The figure was man-shaped, but camouflaged with dirt and tree branches, so he was nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. The only indication that there was a real person standing before him was a broad smile that glowed like a Cheshire Cat grin in the display of Parker’s night vision.
“Took you guys long enough,” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m Nighteyes, but please, just call me Shin.”
Parker accepted the handclasp, and after a quick round of introductions, unslung his field pack and passed it over. Shin opened the pack and began sorting through its contents—a radio, a bottle of water and a partially disassembled M21 sniper rifle.
“Now we’re talking,” Shin muttered as he fitted the parts of the weapon together. In the dark, he had work by feel alone, but his fingers knew exactly what to do, and in less than thirty seconds, he was performing a dry-fire functions check. When he was done, he slid a magazine into the well and advanced a round, after which, he turned back to Parker. “Okay, here’s the good news. There’s virtually no security. No patrols, no cameras or perimeter sensors… Hell, I don’t even think they have a night watchman.”
“And the bad news?”
Shin shrugged. “This place is remote, and the triads don’t exactly follow military procedures…but there should be some kind of security here. The fact that there isn’t any has me worried.”
“You don’t believe in luck?”
“I don’t trust it.”
“Words to live by.”
Shin clipped the radio to his belt and fixed the headset in place. He turned his head away and whispered into the lip mic. “This is Nighteyes. Radio check, over.”
Parker heard the man’s voice as clear as day in his own earpiece, followed immediately by King’s voice. “This is King. Good copy, Nighteyes. Irish, you there?”
“Right next to him,” Parker answered. “We’re about to move out. Should be romeo-tango-golf in five mikes.”
“Waiting on you, Irish. King out.”
Parker turned to the other men. “Dark, you’re with me. Race, you and Nighteyes head to OP-Two. Call in when you’re set. You heard the boss; the clock is ticking.”
TWENTY-THREE
Zelda felt like she’d been reborn.
King, in inviting her to join Delta—or rather, as it had been explained to her, a new elite team within Delta—had done something no man had ever done so quickly before: he had earned her respect. One of the reasons she had joined the Army in the first place, was to be part of something big, something important. S
he had been relentless in her pursuit of that goal. She had certainly earned this advancement, but it still felt good to finally, at long last, be appreciated for more than just her looks. Of course, she wasn’t about to let the rest of the men in the van know how pleased she was to be ‘one of the boys.’
That was only part of the reason for the elation she now felt. Mostly, what had her feeling so energized—so alive—was the fact that she was charging down an unfamiliar dirt road, bouncing over potholes and ruts at nearly forty miles an hour and barely slowing for the turns, all without headlights and in near total darkness. She was aided by night vision technology, but she was trusting more in her memory of the satellite photos the team’s new handler had provided.
It was a pure adrenaline rush, made all the sweeter by the fact that, for the first time since meeting him, Stan Tremblay had finally shut up. He actually looked like he was about to throw up, but maybe that was just a trick of the night vision.
She didn’t actually mind Tremblay. In truth, she had passed the point where his relentless sophomoric humor was irritating; it was, strangely, almost charming, and while he still seemed unable to look at her without cracking a shit-eating grin, she sensed that he, like King, was beginning to see her as a teammate and a fellow soldier, first. She got the same sense from the others, particularly Somers, the dark and brooding Ranger, who she was given to understand, was very much an outsider like herself.
“This is good,” King announced from the passenger seat. “Stop here.”
Zelda stamped the brake, stopping the minivan in the middle of the road.
King half-turned so he could see everyone. “All right, kids. The new boss is watching, so let’s make this look easy.”
The team had been outfitted with equipment and weapons from the cache at the safe-house: PVS-14s; sound-suppressed Heckler & Koch MP5s with M68 Aimpoint red-dot aiming sights and tactical body armor vests with load carrying pouches for spare magazines, grenades and their radio sets. They exited the vehicle in silence and made their way on foot up the final hill, with King in the lead and Somers bringing up the rear.
King called a halt at the top of the rise and radioed the sniper teams for a final visual report. Just as Shin had reported all afternoon, the compound was quiet.
King brought them all forward for a final brief. “We do this fast, quiet and by the numbers.”
There were four buildings in the compound. Buildings Two and Four were two stories each. The helicopter, which had arrived at midday, was still parked on the roof of Building Two, but most of the activity Shin had observed occurred in and around Building Four. Based on his description, Zelda felt certain that Building Four was a holding area for the triad’s captives—future slave laborers, child soldiers or organ donors. It was also where the team would probably face the stiffest opposition.
She couldn’t begin to guess what business Chinese gangsters had with rogue Delta operators. ‘By the numbers’ meant Building Four would be the last one they entered.
“There is one presumed non-hostile—”
Zelda recalled her brief glimpse of Sasha Therion at the airport the previous day. She had no doubt that the CIA cryptanalyst was a hostage.
“—so positive ID before you pull the trigger. The good news is, she’s the only one you need to worry about not killing.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Any questions?”
There were none.
“Irish, this is King. Give me a weather report?”
Zelda heard the echo of his transmission a millisecond later in her radio earpiece, followed by Parker’s voice. “Nothing moving on the south side. Nighteyes, how’s the north look?”
“All clear. Watch yourselves. It’s spooky quiet.”
King took a breath and then spoke again. “Deep Blue, this is King. Give the word.”
A weird electronic voice burbled in Zelda’s ears. “The word is ‘Go.’ Give ‘em hell, team!”
“Well, I guess it beats ‘break a leg,’” Tremblay muttered.
King gave the signal to move out. They walked in a straight line, staying about twenty feet apart. Tremblay took point, followed in turn by Silent Bob and King. Zelda was next in the formation, and Somers brought up there rear.
They reached the gate, where it took Tremblay all of ten seconds to cut away a section of wire mesh big enough for even Somers to slip through, and then they were moving again, dashing across the open ground to the front of Building One. As soon as they were all lined up outside the door, King gave another hand signal and they swept inside.
The reception area, like the rest of the structure, was dark and deserted, but they methodically cleared each room just to be sure.
The same would not be true of Building Two.
Although there were no windows, a thin strip of light was visible beneath the front entrance of the two-story building. King gave the order for everyone to switch off their night vision, and then he threw the door open.
Tremblay rushed inside, sweeping the area to the left with his weapon. Silent Bob went right and did the same, but there was no one to shoot at. The brightly lit hallway beyond was as quiet as a cemetery, but Zelda saw closed doors on either side.
King waved them all forward. “Juggernaut, Bob—take the right. Legend, Eastwood—left side. Leapfrog.”
Tremblay and Roberts hastened forward, and moved through the first door in the same dynamic way they’d come in through the front entrance. Zelda waited for the noise of battle, but heard only Tremblay’s voice in her earpiece: “Clear.”
Now it was her turn. She advanced to the next door and felt Somers tap her shoulder with the ready signal.
That was when it finally hit home for her. She had done this more times than she could count in training, but she had never been given the opportunity to test herself in combat. This was the real deal; this was what she’d been waiting for.
And she was ready.
She gave the go signal, and in a single smooth motion, she turned the doorknob, threw the door open and moved into the room.
This room was not empty.
She processed what she saw in large chunks of information. There were two people, right in front of her: a woman, sitting at a table staring at the screen of a laptop computer, and a man right behind her, mostly hidden from view. Zelda recognized them both; the woman was Sasha Therion and the man was Kevin Rainer.
Zelda adjusted her aim, putting the targeting dot on the narrow sliver of Rainer’s torso that was visible behind Sasha, but in the instant it took her to do so, he moved, ducking out of view.
With no shot, Zelda took a step back, bumping into the solid mass of Erik Somers who was entering the room right behind her, still unaware of what she had found.
“Contact!” she shouted.
Before either of them could move another step, Rainer’s arm extended past Sasha. There was something dark in his fist, and there was just enough time for Zelda’s brain to recognize that it was a gun, before Rainer pulled the trigger.
TWENTY-FOUR
Sasha was only vaguely aware of the intrusion, at least up until Rainer’s pistol thundered right beside her.
The noise was so loud it hurt her ears, and she jerked involuntarily in her seat. The blonde woman standing in the doorway jerked as well, stumbling backward as Rainer’s bullet punched into her chest. Rainer yanked Sasha to her feet and dragged her away from the table…away from her laptop.
Panic flashed through her, but it wasn’t fear for her life that set her heart pounding. “No!” she shrieked. “Not now. Let me finish!”
She couldn’t tell if she said it out loud; all she could hear was a ringing in her ears. Rainer gave no indication that he heard her. Holding her in front of him like a shield, he began advancing toward the doorway. The fingers of his left hand were curled around her biceps, but his right hand, which rested on her shoulder, no longer held a pistol. Instead, he clutched a round green object, about the size of a baseball—a hand grenade with the safety pin already
removed.
No…let me finish.
This time there were no words. Sasha tried to look back, to reach out for the laptop, but her captor gave her a rough shake, asserting his dominance.
I was so close.
The variables swirled out of control in her head, screaming like white noise.
A large man dragged the blonde—Sasha couldn’t tell if the woman was still alive—out of the doorway, retreating from before Rainer, who advanced relentlessly behind his human shield. Rainer thrust her out into the open, staying behind cover. Sasha saw the large man and the blonde woman, as well as three other men, one of whom she recognized from Iraq. The woman was struggling free of the big man’s grip—evidently, she was not seriously injured, but the others had their guns aimed at the doorway…at her.
“Bravo, Jack,” Rainer called out from behind her. “You made it. I’m impressed. And you got yourself some new Mouseketeers. I guess there were some openings on the team.”
When no one answered his taunt, he continued, “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’ve got orders to keep this one alive, right? Otherwise, this place would already be a smoking crater. I’m right, aren’t I? Let’s test it and see.”
Sasha was nudged forward again, out into the open.
One of the men spoke. He was the one Sasha recognized. “Kevin, I want to keep her alive only a little bit more than I want you dead, so I guess it’s your lucky day. Let her go, and that will be the end of it.”
Rainer laughed mirthlessly. “You know, I almost believe you, Jack. You’ve got this whole ‘honor’ thing going on; it’s why I didn’t even think about asking you to join me for this paycheck. No, I think I’ll do this my way.” He waggled the hand grenade. “You might want to stand back.”
Sasha was abruptly yanked backward, down the hallway, deeper into the building’s interior. She caught a last glimpse of the five commandos before Rainer pulled her through another doorway and into a stairwell leading up. His earlier deliberate stride now gave way to a haste that seemed to verge on panic. He darted up the stairs, two at a time, nearly dragging Sasha along, but she barely noticed. The only thing that mattered to her was the ever-increasing distance between herself and the answer she had been so close to uncovering.
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