Primary Target

by Jack Mars

  “How are you feeling?” he said to Becca.

  “Honey, I am very, very pregnant now. It just seemed to hit me after you left. I feel like I’ve gained ten pounds in the past day. I’m eating like crazy. I think this is going to be a very big boy.”

  “But no labor pains?”

  The thought of Becca going into labor while he was away was another point of dread for him. He wanted to be there when his son was born. He wanted to be with her and support her, and he wanted to witness the miracle himself.

  He had seen a lot of death in the past fourteen years. It would be a very nice change to watch life begin.

  “Uh, you know… I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I’m a little uncomfortable, but it’s nothing I’d call labor pains.”

  More fear. The idea of her going into labor out there at the house, alone, in the middle of the Eastern Shore countryside… that did not appeal to him. He wanted that baby born at a major medical center in the city, with all the technology, and the best doctors on duty. Some country doctor at a medical clinic…

  He shook his head and took a deep breath. Okay, it’s okay. People have been coming into this world for a long time. Country doctors have delivered a lot of babies.

  “Honey, if you think you might be going into labor, or that it might happen in the next day or two, why don’t you drive over to your mom and dad’s place? You’ll be close to the hospital then. I can meet you there.”

  “Okay, Luke. If I feel that way, I will. I was waiting for you to be here.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s not wait until you feel that way. Let’s anticipate and let’s act before the thing happens. If you wait until you go into labor to make that move, then it’s already too late.”

  He hated the tone of his voice. He hated the worst-case scenario planning that his mind went to naturally, and imposed on everyone and everything, including his personal life. It had kept him alive all this time, but…

  “Luke…”

  “Yeah, babe, I’m just trying to—”

  “I love you, honey. Everything is all right. I’m not in labor.”

  He stopped.

  “Okay. I know that. I love you, too. I love hearing the sound of your voice.”

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced behind him. It was Mark Swann. Swann was a big grinning stork, a doofus in yellow-tinted aviator glasses and a ponytail, standing there.

  Behind Swann, a line of people were waiting for the telephone.

  “How is it there?” Luke said.

  “How is it?” she said.

  “Yeah. What does it look like?”

  “Well,” she said. “It’s really beautiful. Spring is in full bloom. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, looking out at Chesapeake Bay, which is sort of sun-dappled, I guess you’d say. There’s a big colorful sailboat out there with twin masts.”

  He closed his eyes and pictured it.

  Swann tapped him again. If he did it a third time, Luke was going to break his hand off. At the elbow.

  “Honey, I’ve still got to take care of a couple of things related to the mission before the day is over,” he said. “You know, tying up loose ends. I’ve got people tapping me on the shoulder right now.”

  He was about to fly into disputed territory, possible combat, and he was not telling her this. He shook his head. He hated this part. He was lying, not directly, but by omission, in the same way he hadn’t told her that he killed two men this morning.

  She knew so little about what he did. Would she welcome a bloodstained killer back into her arms?

  “Okay, sweetie,” she said. “You run. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m so happy to hear your voice. I hope they let you out of there tomorrow.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you.”

  After they hung up, he looked at Swann.

  “What?”

  Swann’s dopey grin faltered for a second. Was the man high? He could picture that easily. Swann looked exactly like someone who probably went out for smoke breaks, and smoked dope instead of a cigarette.

  “They sent me to get you,” he said. “They’re ready for this mission to roll ASAP.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  5:50 p.m. Arabian Standard Time (10:50 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time)

  The Hamad Desert

  Western Iraq

  They called it the Little Bird. Sometimes they called it the Flying Egg.

  It was the MH-6 helicopter—fast and light, highly maneuverable, the kind of chopper that didn’t need room to land. It could come down on small rooftops, and on narrow roadways in crowded neighborhoods. It was the chopper most beloved by special operations forces. Luke and Ed rode in one out into the stark high desert of western Iraq.

  The surreal, undulating desert landscape below them was orange-yellow with vast blackened, sunblasted regions. Parts of it looked like parking lot blacktop. The sky was pale blue, with the giant orange orb of the sun moving toward the horizon. It was an alien landscape. Hot winds blew in through the open bay doors.

  Luke knew they were being followed by two Apache helicopter gunships—armored and armed to the teeth with thirty-millimeter miniguns and Hydra rockets. The Apaches were flying high above them, and well to the south. But they were outfitted with state of the art radar and ground video systems. They could see well enough.

  Luke and Ed were not talking.

  Ed’s bulk slouched beside him in the cramped compartment. They both wore flight suits and helmets. Luke wore a heavy tactical vest, as did Ed. The weight had settled onto Luke, making him feel as if gravity had doubled. His pants were lined with lightweight armor.

  Luke was armed with his MP5 submachine gun and a Remington pump-action shotgun. He felt the heft of both guns. They were heavy. The weight was reassuring. The MP5 was loaded with armor-piercing rounds. If there were bad guys here, those rounds should punch through most body armor they could be wearing. Luke had half a dozen magazines fully loaded, just in case he needed them.

  In Delta, they let you carry what you wanted—what you felt would be effective. Don kept that tradition intact.

  The sounds of the chopper blades and the winds were nearly deafening, but he and Ed could talk if they wanted to. So far, they hadn’t. But Luke felt he should try to mend fences a little bit. It was hard to go into combat sitting next to a man who hated him.

  “Ed!” Luke shouted.

  Ed nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “You got a problem with me? That’s fine! But don’t get me killed out here! Okay?”

  Ed looked at him with squinted eyes. “What do you take me for, man?”

  “An angry kid!”

  “I’m a professional,” Ed said. He raised a big, gloved fist. “I’ll hurt you with this. But I ain’t gonna let these men out here hurt you. Ruin my enjoyment?”

  He shook his head.

  “Unh-uh.”

  Luke nodded.

  “Good enough. Just remember who’s in charge.”

  The pilot’s voice appeared inside Luke’s headset.

  “Guys! ETA two minutes. Two minutes to the drop site. This is a touch and go, just like we said in the briefing. So when I set it down, do your thing, or you’ll be hanging off my rails. Two minutes.”

  Luke and Ed grabbed their weapons and clambered out onto the wooden side-mounted bench seats, their legs dangling in the air. The chopper adjusted to the redistribution of weight.

  They came in low over the camp, just above a cluster of tents, their entry flaps blowing in the wind. The camp was bigger than it had looked in the satellite photos—much of it had been deliberately obscured by sand-colored tarps. Still, the place seemed like a ghost town. No one was out.

  The Little Bird pilot hit the old helipad directly in the middle. He touched down and both men slid out onto the hard-packed desert gravel. Three seconds later, the chopper was back in the air.

  Luk
e and Ed ran across the dusty campsite, holing up in the shade of a low cinderblock outbuilding. The chopper banked hard to the right, turning toward the north and east, out of harm’s way. Within seconds, it was a speck moving higher and now turning toward the south. It would circle at a safe distance until they called it back.

  “Okay,” Ed said. “You’re the boss. What first?”

  Luke gestured with his head. “Those large tents in the middle there. I’d say that is, or was, the headquarters.”

  “What about these buildings?” Ed said.

  “Food storage and weapons storage, if I had to guess.”

  Ed nodded, then shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure.

  “What do you think they are?” Luke said.

  “I have no idea, white man. They pay you to do the thinking.”

  “Don’t think in that case,” Luke said. “Guess.”

  Ed peered around the corner at the tents blowing in the wind. “Those tents are half-collapsed, look like they been sitting out here in the weather by themselves for days, if not weeks. My guess? If we don’t find dead people inside them, they’re decoys. From the air, they make this place look abandoned, or like somebody wiped it out. If the place is still active, then at least one of these buildings is the entrance to a bunker, or underground complex. If I was a bad guy right now, I’d be playing dead, and doing it where nobody could see me. You can’t hide this camp from satellites, but you can make it look like nobody’s home.”

  Luke nodded. “Okay. I like that. What do you say we cross over there, see what we find in the tents? Maybe what we’re looking for is there.”

  Ed gazed across the open terrain toward the tents. “You gonna get me killed out there?”

  Luke shook his head. “You cover me. I’ll go first.”

  Ed smiled, just a bit. “See what I mean? A little respect, that’s all I ask. Recognize that I’m alive too.”

  Luke didn’t touch any of that. “On your go,” he said.

  Ed waited a beat. He took a breath. “Go.”

  Luke took off. The sky was huge above him. His feet pounded and arms pumped as he dashed across the open space, totally exposed. The main tent seemed like it was miles away. A second later, he was there. He burst through the entryway and inside.

  Inside, it was darker and cooler than outside.

  Luke lay on the floor, breathing hard for a few seconds. He looked around. There was nothing in the tent. Nothing at all.

  He moved to the opening, took out his gun, and got ready to lay covering fire.

  Ed ran across the fifty-yard gap. No one took a shot. Nothing moved.

  Ed crouched near him. His big face was red and sweaty. It was hot out there.

  “Uh-oh,” Luke said. “Looks like you might be a little…”

  Suddenly, a tracer ripped through the thick canvas of the tent, a few feet above their heads. It tore a hole out the other side as it went.

  “Dammit!” Luke shouted. “Down! Get down!”

  Ed hit the ground.

  An instant later, gunfire was strafing the air just above their heads. There was no sense even trying to fight back. They lay in place. Their one saving grace was the bad guys couldn’t see them and didn’t know exactly where they were. But if they stayed here very long, they would be dead men. Luke pulled out his radio.

  “Viper One, Viper One, come in,” he said, calling the name of the lead Apache helicopter.

  A Texas drawl answered him. “Viper One, over.”

  “We got problems down here!” Luke shouted.

  “We see it,” the Texas drawl said. “We are en route to your position.”

  “What does it look like?” Luke said.

  “Uh, about twenty… scratch that. Thirty fighters or thereabouts, emerging from two stone buildings, and converging on a cluster of tents.”

  “We’re in those tents!” Luke shouted.

  “Roger that. Keep your heads down, boys. It’s about to get hot down there.”

  “Watch the tents!” Ed screamed.

  A few seconds later, a sound came. It was low at first, building and becoming louder, a whistling sound. Then it was a shriek, still coming, impossibly loud.

  Still coming. It split the day apart. Luke tore his helmet off and covered his ears.

  It screamed by overhead. Somewhere nearby, an explosion rent the air.

  BA-BOOOOM.

  A blast of heat roiled the air inside the tent.

  Luke crawled like a worm toward the edge of the tent. He pulled a canvas flap up an inch from the ground.

  Outside, men were running. One of the low outbuildings was on fire. The bad guys were no longer interested in Luke and Ed. They knew what was above their heads, and they knew how bad it was. There was nowhere to run, but they tried anyway.

  The sound of a chopper’s rotor blades beat the ground as it made a low pass. An ugly blat of automatic gunfire ripped the sky as its mini-gun opened up. Luke saw men come apart as they ran, arms, legs, and heads flying in different directions, foundations spraying blood before falling to the ground.

  He looked away.

  Another Hydra rocket sounded, the missile whistling, then shrieking.

  Luke rolled away from the tent edge and curled into a ball. He saw that Ed had already done so.

  BA-BOOOOOM.

  Now another mini-gun opened up.

  The choppers were up there, just above them, clearing this space. He prayed they didn’t clear this tent by accident.

  Luke went into a vague state of mind. It almost seemed like he was dreaming. Somewhere, Becca lay on an operating table, giving birth to his son. Somewhere, Martinez lay in a hospital bed, begging Luke to kill him. Somewhere, Captain Ahab’s ship was sunk by a gigantic white whale.

  At some point, the shooting and bombing stopped.

  Quiet descended, and Luke could hear the sound of the desert wind again. Outside, it was evening, and the sky was dark, and it was also red, yellow, and orange. He could hear the crackling of flames.

  “Ground Hog…” the radio said. “Come in, Ground Hog. This is Viper One. Viper One, calling Ground Hog. Stone, are you alive? Stone!”

  Luke crawled to the radio.

  Across the way, Ed was still curled into a ball, staring at him. Ed was smart. He still had his helmet on.

  Luke picked up the radio.

  “Viper One, this is Ground Hog. We are alive and well.”

  “Ground Hog, this is Viper One,” the drawl said. “Your zone is cleared of enemy. We are on patrol above your location, and are unopposed. We have a relayed message from the King. If you are operational, then conduct your search.”

  “Copy,” Luke said.

  He looked at Ed.

  “I told you, man,” Ed said. “These tents were a decoy.”

  They walked out into the night desert air. Much of the camp was on fire. Bodies of enemy fighters lay all across the ground, many of them ripped to shreds. For a moment, Luke remembered that morning in eastern Afghanistan, but that wasn’t like this. Most of those Taliban had died in close quarter fighting and from small arms fire. Their bodies were largely intact. These men had been eviscerated by the Apaches.

  A couple of the outbuildings must have been weapons storage—they had blown apart when hit by the rockets, and now black, oily smoke was pouring into the sky.

  “Didn’t leave us much to search, did they?”

  Luke and Ed walked to a corrugated steel hut that had barely been hit in the fighting. It was pockmarked with fist-sized holes from the mini-guns, but beyond that, it was in good shape. A padlock held the door shut.

  Ed smashed the lock off with his rifle.

  They slid the door back. Both Luke and Ed went to their headlamps. They shined their lights around the room inside. It took Luke’s eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting. Then he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at.

  “What is this stuff doing here?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  10:45 p.m. Central European Summer Time (4:45
p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)

  Institut Le Rosey

  Rolle, Switzerland

  “Good night, babe,” Rita said, loud enough to be heard.

  “Good night, babe,” Elizabeth called. “Have fun.”

  “You too,” Rita said.

  “Yeah,” Elizabeth said. “Fun as always.”

  Elizabeth almost couldn’t believe she was going through with it.

  Rita had called for the car service, and it had just passed through the front gates of the school. She was dressed and headed out the door. She wore a tight minidress that hugged her curves. Her long hair hung straight down. She wore heavy makeup with black eyeliner, black lipstick and sparkly glitter, torn stockings, and black high heels. She looked sexy, and trashy, like she was going to a monster ball.

  She held up a piece of paper just before she pulled open the front door of her suite.

  YOU CAN DO THIS

  Then she crumbled up the paper and stuck it in her tiny, glittery purse.

  “Night,” she said, and opened the door.

  Elizabeth went back through the bathroom and into her own suite of rooms. She almost couldn’t breathe, she was so excited. Excited, nervous, terrified. The walls of the suite seemed to close in, then expand, almost as if the place itself was breathing.

  She checked her preparations. At the moment, she was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The T-shirt was made out of long-john-type material—the nights were still chilly here in the mountains. She had sneakers on her feet.

  She had a bookbag packed with her own minidress, high heels, makeup, and cell phone. The TV in her living area was on, loud, like she had been playing it for months—loud enough for the man out in the hall to hear it. Her window out to the roof was already open.

  She was in the habit of ignoring her Secret Service man at night, and just going to bed without telling him. The way she played it, she would turn off the lights and leave the TV set on. Then she would watch in the dark. It was a perfectly normal thing to do.

  She did that now.

  She sat for a moment in the eerie glow of the TV, and the night. A show was on an American satellite station—a show about New Jersey mobsters she had long enjoyed—but she couldn’t focus on it right now.