“Possibly because the CIA put a contract on him,” I said.
Fendt shrugged. “Yeah, I agree that wasn’t a smart idea.”
“It stinks,” I replied. “Not only did you create the Hoffman Curve, but the madman who deployed the tactic was one of your agents?”
Fendt nodded. The American stamped on the ashes of the report with his combat boot, mixing them with blood and sand. “It don’t look great. That’s what we’re trying to mitigate.”
“Mitigate?” said Harry. He stepped forward, prickling with anger. “Your plan is to make sure Paradis dies?”
“No.” Juliet shook her head, “Paradis is suffering from terminal cancer. The CIA must know that. So, Fendt, why are you here?”
Fendt looked us in the eye, one-by-one. He stiffened, jaw set tight. “I’m here to retrieve the source code for the Hoffman algorithm. The Curve. It’s our weapon, but I think Drexler wants it for himself.”
“I don’t think you know how to handle it,” said Juliet, “or if anyone can.”
“I understand your scepticism.” Fendt looked around the gloomy bunker, at corpses and spent cartridge cases. “Say we get the other half of the kill-code? We stop the virus. But Hoffman’s algorithm would still be out there. That’s the real weapon.”
I remembered Hoffman’s explanation at the De Soto Augur office. The Hoffman algorithm was a gun, the virus was ammo. If you took the ammo away, you’d still have a gun.
Juliet wiped sweat from her forehead. “Let me get this straight – you want to let the virus run until we’re able to retrieve the algorithm?”
Fendt nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s what Langley wants. The algorithm is sittin’ on Paradis’ server. Would you want the Russians to get it?”
“A lot could happen in half an hour,” I said, “How do you know the algorithm’s still on the island? It could have been uploaded anywhere.”
“We intercepted comms from Sea Witch. It seemed clear whoever Drexler was answering to had sole access to the algorithm’s source code. I’m guessing Paradis wanted exclusivity in return for funding De Soto Augur. We’ve found no evidence of the full program being anywhere else. That’s our best assessment.”
Harry rubbed his chin. “If you’re so confident, Colonel, why haven’t you already sent a bloody American SF team to grab the thing?”
“It’s on German soil.” Fendt looked down the tunnel. He grimaced. “We were waiting for authority. CARNIVORE has a Special Warfare team on standby in Bavaria.”
I checked my watch. “Too far to get here in good time?”
“Right,” Fendt nodded. “Your friend Marcus gate-crashed. Shit escalated real quick. So I improvised – you guys were coming anyway.”
“That was ballsy,” I said. “Your brass must be desperate.”
“Tuck put the fear of God into ‘em,” Fendt replied. “He’s an asshole, but he plays our bosses like a pro.”
I joined Fendt at the edge of the tunnel. It was dark down there. Harry nodded slowly. Juliet arched an eyebrow and studied Fendt with cold grey eyes. She nodded too.
“Okay, we’ll help,” I said.
Harry stepped back from the edge. “You’ll get us safely off this island when we’re done?”
“Hey, absolutely,” Fendt replied, like a Cadillac dealer closing a sale.
Juliet pointed at Fendt. “I can’t say I trust you, Colonel.”
“Your prerogative, Miss Easter,” the American replied coolly, “but mebbe we can figure that out after the Russians have demobilised and the Sixth Fleet stands down?”
Oz’s voice filled my ear. “We’ve found the exit to the tunnel. It exits into a culvert, a hundred metres north of our position. No sign of Drexler.”
“Hold on, we’ll join you.”
We trooped out of the bunker, hurrying north in a staggered patrol line. Alex and Oz crouched in the dune, weapons trained on the faraway treeline.
“Fresh footprints, headin’ north,” said Alex, camouflage gear soaked and coated in sand.
Oz kept his eye plugged to his carbine’s ACOG sights. “I reckon he’s in the dunes. He couldn’t have made the gardens that quickly.”
Harry hawked into the sand. He unzipped his smock, venting out heat from the hike across the dunes. “Extended line. Flush the bastard out.”
I nodded. “Nothing else for it. Alex, cover us. We’ll stop every hundred metres, go firm and let you catch up.”
The American sipped from a bottle of water. He slapped sand from the carbine across his lap. “Shame I only got this pea-shooter.”
Our carbines, even with the Blackout rounds, were no substitute for a long rifle. I unslung the 66mm rocket. “You can have that bastard thing back for starters.”
“Hey, hello baby,” he said, taking the LAW.
We patrolled forward, weapons covering every arc. Oz went first, the little ex-marine using every crease and swell of the terrain to his advantage. He missed nothing, carbine an extension of his body.
Swollen clouds bubbled in the east. Juliet made a signal. We hit the deck. “Blood spatter on the rocks over here,” she said. “Maybe Drexler was injured.”
We continued along the narrow waist of the comma-shaped island, boots sinking into damp, sandy earth. The path hugged the high ground, a place of dunes, stunted trees and scything wind. We walked downhill, dead ground. In the distance, behind a row of sharply-manicured trees, jutted the mansion’s roof. A light atop an aerial winked. Scanning the middle-distance, I saw a cluster of grass-topped hillocks. They lay between the island’s waist and the gardens, wilderness seguing into a fairy-tale Babylon. It was a sniper’s dream, plenty of places to hide. Stalking forward, weapon shouldered, I expected Drexler to pop up at any minute, like a lethal jack-in-the-box.
“He’s gone,” said Oz, sniffing the wind. “I reckon he made it to the house.”
We reached a plateau. Seagrass whipped my legs, stirred by the relentless wind. Fanning out into a defensive ‘V’ shape, we went firm. Alex took the higher ground, the squat American wriggling into a fire position. The house was less than a kilometre away.
“Check that out,” said Oz, face hidden by a pair of binoculars. “Talk about lifestyles of the rich and famous.”
Paradis’ mansion was a confusion of angles, fashioned from glass and steel. The windows were privacy glassed, dark rectangular screens buttressed with brushed metal beams. The roof was gently pitched, covered with solar panels and satellite dishes.
Juliet lay nearby, studying the terrain through rifle sights. “The invoices from the security company were in Paradis’ safe. The fence is monofilament mesh. Electrified, of course. The biometric access point uses gait analysis. If it doesn’t recognise the way you walk, you can’t get in.”
“Let’s take a better look,” I said, crawling closer. Juliet followed.
We settled into the dunes, behind a ridge covered with wiry gorse. Dull light filtered through leaden clouds, glinting off mesh. It appeared suddenly, like a mirage. The geometric web of shimmering mesh was suspended from a series of spindly metal poles, six metres high. The gate itself was a grid of silvery metal. Black-lensed CCTV pods dotted the trees beyond, like Big Brother’s Christmas decorations.
I shrugged off my assault pack. Checking my watch, I pulled out Blind Angel’s laptop and booted it up. The desktop held an icon in the shape of a circular green radar screen. Clicking on it, a grid appeared. The program scanned for wireless connections. Several attributable to Nördhaus scrolled down the list. All were red. Encrypted. I hovered the mouse over the first connection and the cursor turned into an animated key. I clicked on it.
Juliet looked at the app with interest. “What’s that?”
“A toy I picked up before we left.” I found my satellite phone and activated its Wi-Fi hotspot function. It connected with a tinny bleep. I dialled a number. “Blind Angel? It’s Winter. I need to identify which of these networks is controlling the security fence.”
“Copy that, Winter,” Bl
ind Angel replied. His voice sounded different, clear and strong. “Hugh spoke to a guy called Marcus. Whoever Marcus is, he’s sent a military command truck with a two-hundred meg download speed. They’re setting up tents and generators on Blackheath.”
“That’ll be 77 Brigade,” I replied, “now get me through that gate.”
“Okay, chill. I’m on it.”
One of the red wireless connections, a long alphanumeric code, turned grey. The program made a happy pinging noise. The code turned bright green and pulsed. I received an onscreen message:
YOU’RE IN. ATTACKING CCTV NEXT.
“The gate’s open,” I said into my mic. The rest of the team squelched PTT buttons in acknowledgement.
“Get down!” said Alex. “I got glint from a scope. Third storey window, western corner.”
“Can you take a shot?” I asked.
Alex pulled a face. “Eight-hundred metres into a headwind, with a short-barrel carbine?”
Harry’s voice came on the net. The old handler was behind us, concealed in the dunes. “Alex, I’ll draw him out. Look left! Red-brown bushes…”
“Red-brown bushes seen,” Alex replied mechanically, responding to the fire control order.
“I’m making for those and going firm. Watch and shoot.”
“No, Harry. Stay put,” I said.
Harry glowered, sweat beading his ruddy. face. “You don’t give me orders. At this rate, the Reds will be in bloody Dover by the time we square this away. Alex, keep your eye on that bloody window.”
“The Reds?” said Oz over the radio. “What is it, 1982?”
“You know what I mean, Osborne,” Harry replied testily.
“Jesus, will you guys shut the fuck up? If Harry’s going, I’m puttin’ down smoke,” said Fendt. I saw the American roll to one side and tug a grenade from his vest.
“No smoke,” Harry ordered, crawling towards me, “Alex needs a clear shot.”
Juliet shook her head, “stubborn bastard.”
Harry barrelled forward, weapon shouldered. His boots sent up clods of wet sand. Changing direction, he made for a row of tangled bushes.
Juliet shouldered her MCX, welding her cheek to the weapon. “Cover him.”
I put my hand on the barrel of her carbine. “No, that’ll keep their heads down. Let Alex take the shot.”
Harry made the bushes and hit the deck. He keyed his PRR, panting. “Alex, d’you see movement?”
“Negative.”
Harry shook his head. “Look right! High grass by tree-stump.”
Alex’s voice crackled in my earpiece. “Seen.”
“That’s where I’m going.”
“Copy that,” said Alex.
Harry got up. A rifle barked, a supersonic bang-and-crack as a bullet pierced the sound barrier.
Behind me, I heard the action of Alex’s carbine as he fired suppressed shots at the house. Harry darted forward. An incoming bullet hit the ground near his boot, sending up a plume of sand.
“Move, Harry!” Juliet yelled. Her finger squeezed the trigger, hot brass toppling from the MCX as she put down covering fire.
Harry lumbered forward, jacket startlingly black against the sandy ground. Jinking right, he headed for cover in the last row of dunes before the grand gardens. I heard another bang-and-crack. Harry groaned and spun, clutching his belly. His rifle swung free on its three-point sling, pointing at the ground like a crutch. The old handler staggered, face skywards. I swear I saw him smile. “Bastards!” he hollered. “Bastards!”
Looking back on it, I don’t think he was talking about the sniper.
The second bullet took him in the throat. I shouldered my MCX and made a sight picture at the faraway window, aiming off for the wind. My finger squeezed the trigger, stock biting into my shoulder. Gun-smoke filled my nose, suppressed rounds hissing towards the mansion. The others joined in, volleys of bullets shattering the topmost windows. Puffs of smoke marked their impact, curtains flapping like a surrender flag.
“Hold your fire,” Alex ordered. “You ain’t hittin’ shit.”
“He’s out of range for us, but we’re well within his,” I replied. “We’ll fan out and rush the gate. Beyond the fence, we take cover in the trees. Then we’re in effective range for our weapons. Fendt, put down smoke now, okay?”
“Copy that,” said the CIA man.
Oz licked a finger and held it in the air. “It’ll give us cover, but not much. Not in this bloody breeze.”
“Alex, I need the LAW.”
“Sure, come get it.”
I crawled over and took hold of the missile tube. “Fendt, did you play baseball at school?” I shouted.
“I mainly played hot-wirin’ cars at school, Winter,” the American replied. “But I can pitch.” He flexed an arm, heavily-muscled under his sleeve.
“On my mark, toss grenades in a sequence, left to right,” I said. “Then we rush the gate. I’m going to flank left, up to the fence, and go firm. When the smoke clears…”
“You might not make it that far,” said Juliet. It began to rain. Drops hit her face, rolling down her slender neck. “For God’s sake, Cal, don’t do what Harry did.”
“I don’t plan on it.” Overhead, the clouds looked close enough to touch. “Wait for the smoke, then run for the gate and into the trees. I’ve got two hundred metres to cover. Soon as you’re close enough, put down rounds.”
Juliet bit her lip and nodded.
“Oz, you good?” I shouted.
“Fuck no. This is crazy,” he replied. “But I’ll go on your mark.”
“I’ll see you on the other side,” said Fendt, tugging the pin from a smoke grenade.
Oz cracked a smile, “What are you, Fendt, a medium?”
Chapter twenty-six
Fendt rushed the gate, boots pounding sand. I saw the first grenade, a tiny black dot, disappear into the sky. Dirty, mustard-coloured smoke billowed from it, covering the CIA paramilitary from view. Oz, and Juliet followed, ten metres between them. Mauve smoke from another grenade swirled ahead, mixing with yellow. Then a third, this time red.
I followed, LAW gripped in one hand and carbine in the other. Rain stung my eyes, tree-tops barely visible through the drifting curtain of smoke. The wind whipped it into angry phantoms, covering our advance. My boots hit soil rather than sand as I neared the fence. Wind snapped in from the sea, slicing through smoke.
The sniper’s eyrie, on the left side of the mansion, was concealed by trees and mist. I saw no muzzle flash, just heard the sharp report of high-velocity fire. I fell to my knees, skidding on wet grass. A bullet churned muddy greenery, a metre to my right. The sniper had snatched the trigger. More rounds snapped overhead: Alex laying down covering fire, tell-tale puffs of smoke blossoming around the window.
The wind dragged the smoke away, giving me a better view of the target. I swung the LAW onto my shoulder and squinted into the rear-sight. I saw movement, a dark smudge at a window. On the ‘66, the trigger is a switch covered by a rubbery plastic shroud. The weapon was cheap-and-cheerful, a one-shot throwaway. Lining up the optics and adjusting for wind, my finger pressed the firing mechanism. A rifle cracked, the bullet whipping past my shoulder.
One shot.
The rocket whooshed, belching white flame. My ears buzzed as it sliced through treetops, a fiery comet, skittering towards the window. Then a flash, black smoke roiling into the sky. I dumped the empty ’66 tube. Rifle shouldered, I opened fire, aimed single shots. To my right, back towards the gate, smoke had evaporated into dirty mist. Treetops swayed in the wind, revealing more of the shattered window. I ran for the fence, the gate hanging open. The gardens smelt of wet earth and chemical smoke.
Then cover. Sweet cover. I’d never been so happy to see a tree in my life. Juliet lay flat on the ground, weapon ready. “Congratulations,” she said. “You managed to hit a house-sized target.”
Falling to my belly, I joined her, close enough to touch. “Where are the others?”
�
�Oz is in the trees to our right, with Fendt.”
I kissed her then, tasted bloody lips and soil-smeared skin. Her hand clamped the back of my head, pulling me into her. Chemical-havoc fired in my brain, desire trumping fear.
Finally, Juliet let me go. “You choose your moments,” she said.
I shrugged. “Dopamine dump. Does weird stuff to your brain.”
“And there was me thinking I was irresistible.” Juliet peered around a thick-trunked tree, “if there was a sniper up there, he’s either dead or withdrawn.”
Alex spoke across the tactical net. “You sailed that missile straight through the window. Where’s our main entry point?”
Juliet pulled the satellite image from her thigh pocket. “Alex, service access is on the eastern aspect of the target. It’s got best cover from our position.”
“Copy that,” he replied. “I’m gonna take the southeast aspect, up in the trees. I got your backs.”
“Yeah, I copy that,” said Fendt, joining the net. “I’m with Oz. Cal, we’ll cover the door from the garage near the service entrance while you enter.”
I saw a row of outbuildings behind the mansion, disguised from view by more trees. I keyed my PTT. “Alex, we’re going in now.”
We darted tree-to-tree. Up close, the mansion was eccentrically industrial in design. The ground floor was clad in hexagonal blocks of blue-black granite, with privacy-glassed windows. An elaborate web of steel struts supported the upper stories, like a giant’s Lego set. The westernmost corner of the third floor was damaged. I guessed my rocket had struck the top edge of the window, entering the mansion a moment before it detonated.
We hunkered down behind a fountain, a moss-covered nymph firing water from a hunting horn. Juliet rested the barrel of her MCX on the rim and aimed at the door. Numb-fingered, I pulled the laptop and satellite phone from my pack. I tapped in a message, asking Blind Angel if the security systems were disengaged. The reply was immediate:
HOUSE RUNNING AT LEAST *TWO* SECURE NETWORKS. OUTER AND INNER. OUTER CCTV OFFLINE / LOCKING MECHANISMS DISENGAGED / BIOMETRICS DISABLED. INNER TOUGHER TO CRACK. GUNDAM WORKING ON IT, GIMME TEN…
The Saint Jude Rules (Cal Winter Book 3) Page 20