by Ryan, Chris
They rolled on past dark hills at their three o’clock and nine, the Land Cruiser’s headlamps burning halos on the unlit road. After ten miles the satnav prompted Bald to make a right and they bowled down another metalled road running between a range of steep-sided mountains.
The road veered this way and that along the narrow valley floor for seven miles before the landscape opened up into a wide, relatively flat plain bordered to the south by several low hills. A much higher, forbidding peak rose like a clenched fist out of the landscape to the north, black against the grey starred night.
Two miles to the east, further along the main road, Bald saw a cluster of orange lights from a mid-sized town. Which he figured must be Los Altos. To the north, near the base of the tall mountain, he spotted the weak glow from a smaller set of lights studding the surrounding blackness. A couple of miles from their current position.
The stronghold, Bald realised.
‘Almost time to teach these sons of bitches a lesson,’ Dudley said.
‘So. Remember the plan,’ Hulk said. ‘We’ll advance to our first lying-up position in the gully and report in to Langley, then wait for confirmation that the distraction is about to deploy. Once we have the green light, we’ll move forward to our final assault positions, wait for the distraction. Then begin the attack.’
Bald’s eyes wandered down to the glowing digits on the display: 22.39. Which gave them a full eighty minutes to move into their lying-up position at the gully. They were a mile due west of the road junction, according to the satnav. At this hour of the night, in this rural pocket of the country, the road was eerily quiet. They travelled along in the pitch black for another three minutes without passing another vehicle, and then Bald slowed the Cruiser down to twenty per and pointed at the satnav.
‘We’re three hundred metres from the junction,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop you lot off and find somewhere to stash the wagon. Meet you at the gully.’
Dudley’s face puckered. ‘But that makes you the getaway driver. You’ll be the only one of us who knows where she’s parked up.’
‘So what?’
‘Getaway driver should be the fastest man on the team. Sure as shit isn’t you, with that dicky knee of yours. Your buddy ain’t up to the job neither, seeing as how he got out of breath on the range. I should hide the wagon.’
‘No way. We need your skills on as sniper. You’ll be covering us on the way out.’
‘I agree,’ Hulk said, giving Dudley a look. ‘Your job’s too important. John will stash the vehicle.’
He met Bald’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘Wherever you hide it, make sure it’s out of sight. Don’t want some kid finding it and jacking our ride out of here.’
A hundred metres further on, Bald eased off the gas as they neared the junction. A single-track lane ran to the north from the main road, towards the stronghold. The gully, according to the maps they had been given, was somewhere off to their left, in an area of uncultivated fields dotted with trees.
Directly ahead of them, the main road carried on to the east, with the clustered lights from the town of Los Altos, two miles away at their eleven o’clock.
Further to the north, Bald spotted a third separate grouping of lights. Glowing white orbs, burning like beacons across the blackened landscape. The floodlights from the army base, he realised.
They were fifty metres away from the junction when Hulk leaned forward in his seat.
‘Stop here,’ he said.
Bald slowed down and pulled over at the side of the road, fifteen metres west of the junction. He kept the engine running while Porter and Dudley climbed out of the Land Cruiser, clutching their weapons. Hulk was the last to get out.
‘Find somewhere to hide this thing, then RV with us at the gully. Pass number is anything that adds up to seven. Approach from the south and keep your weapon at your side. We don’t want any blue-on-blues.’
‘Roger that.’
He stepped out and joined Porter and Dudley beside the Land Cruiser. They grabbed their daysacks from the boot. Stepped off the blacktop and moved stealthily across the field parallel to the single-lane road, heading towards their designated lying-up point. A few seconds later they disappeared from view.
Bald carried on past the junction, searching for a good spot to conceal the wagon from view of passing traffic. After a mile he spotted a rough path leading off to the south between corridors of dense forest. Vaguely recalled noticing the path when they had been planning for the mission. The track was unpaved and overgrown with weeds and piles of rubbish. Which suggested it hadn’t been used for a long while. He swerved off the main road and arrowed down the track for a hundred metres before he came to a footpath at the side of the road. The area looked desolate, as far as he could see. No artificial lights or sounds indicating human habitation.
Bald pulled over a few metres further along at the side of the road and parked up. Switched off the engine, snatched up his M4 from the footwell and hopped out. He opened the boot, took out the plastic container for the explosive charge. Grabbed his small daysack containing his water bottle, three extra ammunition clips and a pair of L2 fragmentation grenades. Locked the vehicle. Stuffed the keys in the side pocket on his trousers.
Hurried back down the track towards the main road.
The night was cool and dry and thick with cloud. A gentle breeze was blowing across the land, whispering through the grass as Bald approached the main road. He carried on west through the trees, paralleling the main road, using his natural night vision and the faint moonlight to guide him. Ready to dive behind the trees at the first hint of an onrushing motor.
Twelve minutes later he reached the junction he’d passed earlier. He continued west for fifty metres, counting his paces, then stopped and dropped to a crouch, checking that the road was clear in both directions.
The road was empty. Eleven o’clock at night. All the locals had their heads down, presumably.
Bald rushed across to the other side and moved through the field to the west of the minor road. After fifty metres he glimpsed the outline of an oak tree, perched on a slight rise, dimly visible beneath the light of the moon.
The oak tree marked the point next to the gully, he knew. As he drew nearer, holding his weapon sideways, a voice issued a challenge.
‘Pass number?’ Hulk whispered.
‘Two, one, four,’ Bald answered softly.
There was a pause. ‘Okay, brother.’
Bald moved down the side of the gully. It was three metres deep and about twice as wide, stretching between two gently sloping mounds. To the right, four metres away, a loose tumble of rocks and dirt led up towards the oak tree. The ground either side of the gully was covered with bushes, providing some modest cover. Straight away he saw that they were badly exposed. Anyone wandering past that oak tree would easily spot the four armed men sheltered below, compromising the operation. But it was still less risky than moving closer to the stronghold and waiting potentially hours for the distraction to activate.
He scrabbled over to Hulk and Porter while Dudley kept watch over the southern approach. ‘You find a spot for the wagon?’ Hulk asked.
‘A mile from here,’ Bald replied quietly as he dumped the rucksack and container. ‘No fucker will find it.’
‘That’s a long way from the stronghold,’ Porter said.
‘Not for us. Any of us can run that in a few minutes.’
‘I’m not thinking of us. I’m thinking of the hostage. What if she’s badly hurt? She won’t be able to walk that far.’
‘Then we’ll revert to the backup plan,’ said Hulk. ‘As we discussed at the camp. Jack one of the motors inside the compound and drive that out to the Land Cruiser. Won’t be a problem. President’s got a whole fleet of vehicles in there.’
‘What now?’ asked Dudley.
‘We wait. I’ve sent a message to Taylor. He knows we’re in position. He’ll call us when he’s got a more precise ETA for the distraction.’
�
��They still reckon it’ll deploy between midnight and first light?’
‘That’s what Taylor says.’
‘They’d better not leave it too late.’ Bald pointed to the oak tree. ‘All it’ll take is a couple of young lovers to park up and go for a shag under that tree, and we’re shafted.’
‘It’s the middle of the night. Everybody’s asleep. Road’s empty.’
‘Right now, maybe. But if it gets to first light and we’ve not heard anything, we’re gonna have to move.’
‘It won’t come to that.’
Bald glanced at his G-Shock: 23.09. Less than six hours until first light at 04.45. Which means we might be here for another five hours or more, thought Bald, waiting for confirmation from Langley that the distraction was ready to go.
He mentally rehearsed the assault in his plan.
Get the green light from the CIA.
Advance to their final assault positions.
Wait for the distraction to trigger.
Then go in, hard.
His muscles were bunched tight with tension. We could get the call at any moment, he reminded himself. All we can do now is wait.
There was no need to organise themselves into a routine. Not when they might get the call at any moment. One guy rotated on guard duty while the others checked their weapons and kit, making sure everything was ready for the assault.
The night was still and quiet, the silence broken only by the roar of the occasional passing lorry or machine-like buzz of motorcycles coming from the main road, a hundred metres away. Above them, the moon glowed wanly behind the scattered clouds.
At 01.30, Bald looked round at Hulk and said, ‘Still nothing?’
Hulk checked his phone. ‘Not yet.’
‘What’s taking them so fucking long?’
‘Patience, brother.’
The night dragged on.
Bald wondered again about the distraction the Company was planning for the army base. Not a drone strike, Hulk had suggested. Not a bomb dropped on top of the barracks. I don’t think that’s what they’re planning.
So what, then?
What the fuck is it?
He checked the time again: 03.27. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he hissed to Hulk. ‘Try them again.’
‘No point. They’ll be ready when they’re ready.’
‘Another hour and it’ll nearly be first light. If they’re gonna do this thing, they’d better make it quick.’
‘It’ll happen.’
There was a confidence to Hulk’s voice that surprised Bald. Either this bloke has a lot more faith in the CIA then I do, he thought. Or he knows something that me and Porter don’t.
Two minutes later, Hulk’s phone vibrated.
He took out the satellite-enabled device from his pocket. Swipe-answered and had a brief muted conversation with the voice on the other end of the line. Then he put the phone to sleep again. Tucked it away. Turned to the others.
‘It’s on,’ he said quietly. ‘Thirty minutes until the distraction activates.’
‘About fucking time,’ Dudley said, his voice laced with nervous excitement.
Hulk said, ‘We’ll move forward to striking distance. Dudley will take up the position on the hillock as team sniper. John, Jock, you’ll come with me. We’ll move into position and wait for the distraction to go off. Then Porter will lay the charge and the Claymore, return to the firing point and detonate.’
‘Did they say what that distraction is?’ asked Porter.
‘Just that we won’t be able to miss it.’
‘Airstrike,’ Bald decided. ‘Must be.’
Hulk made no comment. Bald checked his watch: 03.30.
The distraction would kick off at exactly 04.00, he calculated.
Forty-five minutes before first light.
‘Come on,’ Hulk said. ‘Let’s go. No time to lose.’
They snatched up their weapons and equipment. Porter threw the satchel with the Claymore over his shoulder and picked up the container with the lump of C4 taped to the side of it. Then they scrabbled up the side of the gully and moved at a quick trot across the field. Making their final approach to the target.
They fast-walked north across the terrain, eyes scanning the ground ahead of them for any obstacles or signs of movement. At their three o’clock, no more than half a mile away, stood the barracks. The president’s personal bolt-hole.
Bald had an unobstructed view of the base from his position. He could see the surrounding security fence and two-metre-tall gate, the main accommodation block and a separate building housing the electrical substation, enclosed within a fenced-off area at one side of the camp. The whole place was brightly lit up. Like a car showroom.
Automatic doors, reinforced gates, blast-proof walls.
Like a miniature fortress, thought Bald.
How the fuck are the CIA going to tie down those soldiers?
They crossed another barren field and reached the edge of a gravel track leading from the main road to the east, to the front of the stronghold, four hundred metres to the north. To the left of the track was a dense grove of mango trees, extending for roughly two hundred metres across the open ground. On the right, there was a mostly flat plain pockmarked with a few trees.
Beyond the mango trees, at the far end of the gravel track, stood the stronghold.
It looked more impressive in real life than the satellite imagery Bald had seen back at the camp. The estate was perhaps two hundred metres wide, enclosed within a three-metre-tall wire fence. The track led to a guardhouse at the entrance with a barrier gate.
Beyond the guardhouse, fifty metres away, stood an elegant-looking structure, two storeys tall and shaped like a shoebox, with a salmon-pink facade and tall windows and turrets at either end. At the front of the building, a long line of arches and whitewashed columns overlooked a neatly trimmed lawn, decorated with bronze statues and exotic plants.
The driveway was lined with ornate lamp posts and led towards a small carriage circle at the far end, with a pair of white Ford Explorer SUVs parked around it at the six and twelve o’clock positions. A side path trailed from the driveway to a motor court and garage on the western side of the house. Through the arched gateway Bald spotted a Chevrolet Tahoe parked inside the court.
At this time, most of the lights inside the house were out. Four o’clock in the morning. The dead hours. Nobody would be awake except the on-duty guards and a few of the president’s domestic staff, getting the place ready for the big man’s arrival.
Our contact doesn’t think the president has arrived yet.
As they drew level with the edge of the track Hulk signalled for the team to halt. He turned to Dudley and indicated a low hillock forty metres away at their nine o’clock. The slopes were grassy and covered with scrub.
‘Get on the high ground,’ Hulk whispered. ‘Cover us. As soon as those charges go off, start putting down rounds.’
Dudley grinned. ‘Count on it, son.’
He peeled off to the left and started making his way up the slope. From his position at the top of the hillock, Dudley would have an elevated firing point overlooking the grounds at the front of the stronghold on both sides of the track, covering the rest of the team as they made their final approach.
‘Come on,’ Hulk urged Bald and Porter.
The three of them hastened across the flat ground in front of the stronghold, racing towards the clump of mango trees on the left side of the gravel track. They hit the grove and jogged forward for two hundred metres until they neared the edge of the trees. Then they dropped flat and moved into a prone position a hundred metres from the mansion, concealed from view by the line of mango trees. At this distance, with the light coming from the grounds, Bald could see the two guards posted at the guardhouse, patrolling up and down behind the barrier gate.
The pair of them looked like an old time double-act. One of the guards was maybe five-six or five-seven and thickset, with a round head and dark buzz-cut hair. The other guy was tall an
d skinny, all sinewy muscle. Both were dressed in dark suits.
Both wielded rifles.
Bald checked his watch.
03.58.
Two minutes until the distraction triggered.
He glanced past his shoulder at the barracks, half a mile to the east, straining his eyes as he looked for any sign of movement. He saw nothing except the harsh glare from the floodlights above the security fence, the distant glow from the town.
Time scraped past.
Bald felt his muscles tautening. Adrenaline coursed through his bloodstream. Any second now.
04.00.
Silence.
He stole another glance at the base.
Nothing happened.
‘What’s taking them so bloody long?’ he muttered, turning to Hulk.
The American said nothing.
Then Bald saw the fire.
TWENTY-FOUR
The fire came from the fenced-off building on one side of the barracks. The electrical substation, providing power to the base and surrounding towns and villages. Bald saw it erupt almost without warning. A furious zapping noise ripped across the air, the sound of circuitry shorting. Like the sparks from a million live wires. There was a searing flash of light, and then a gout of orange flames and smoke spewed out of the structure and drifted into the air. The fire spread rapidly across the sub-station, engulfing it. The lights briefly went out across the base before they switched back on again as the backup generator kicked in. A few moments later several more lights flicked on inside the accommodation block. Bald could hear shouts and cries. At the same time, an alert sounded over the loudspeaker in Spanish.
At his side, Porter said, ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘Power surge,’ Bald replied. ‘Substation must have been overloaded. Caused one of them transformers to blow.’
‘Told you the boys at Langley would come good,’ Hulk said.
Bald swung round and looked towards the American. He looked strangely composed. As if he had expected this. As if the surge wasn’t a surprise to him at all.
Bald said, ‘This is the distraction?’
Hulk nodded. ‘Specialist hackers have taken control of the security systems at the base. They’ve sealed the automatic doors shut. The front gate too. The soldiers are trapped inside their barracks. Right now, the base is in lockdown. We’ve turned their fortress into a prison.’