I swam the last few yards to the beach but was careful to keep the Beretta above the surface in order to keep the water from fouling its action. As my left hand touched sand, I realized it was time. The guy was thirty feet away and very likely wearing body armor, which brought me to a major moral dilemma. Do I go for a head shot or center mass. The head shot would take him instantly out of the game but was a lot harder. People always did them in the movies, but in real life it took serious practice and skill. At about twenty feet, a barrel movement of an eighth of an inch left or right would move the shot off target by more than a foot, and those numbers only increased with distance. If he heard the cough of the silencer and I missed, he would be on the radio to his friends, and everything would over before it even started. The other option was center mass, and it would be a guaranteed hit, but if he were wearing body armor, it would do little more than temporarily incapacitate him. To kill or not to kill? That was the question. Did the guy have a family, or was a he a troubled soul still trying to acclimate to civilian life? Those thoughts were weighing heavily on my conscious, but it was time to get my head in the game. Just as I decided to go with the headshot, I saw the wedding ring. Fuck, center mass it is.
I raised up and kept my right arm extended and left bent at the elbow in order to brace the pistol in my usual firing posture. It was called the cheek weld, and it allowed me to look straight down my arm as though it were the stock of a rifle. Whatever you saw, you killed. Now, I was staring at my first adversary, and it took him a second to register my presence before he lowered the binoculars and reached for his pistol, but it was too late. I fired twice, and both impacted his chest and sent him falling backward onto the ground. I quickly closed the distance, but kept the gun still aimed at him until we were face to face, and I could see his pained expression as he lay there mostly incapacitated. He had the wind knocked out of him by the impact of the bullets, but he had been wearing a vest, so he was therefore still very much alive. He stared up at me with fear in his eyes, and it was odd to think that we had once been on the same team and perhaps even played in the same game, but life had somehow brought us together on a collision course as enemies. I reached down, zip tied his arms and legs, then duct taped his mouth before removing his radio, body armor, and very sweet silenced HK 94 submachine gun. I put on the armor then attached his radio to my free ear and felt good to finally have a little good luck. Now, I had a way to hear the bad guys, but, at the moment, all was quiet, and that meant everything was going to plan. It was therefore time to bring in the Rogue and take over their security room, so I cued my waterproof mic.
“Rogue, Santa is on the beach, bring in the bag of toys, over,” I said.
Jerasian swam in then climbed out of the surf and joined me beside guard one.
“Holy shit, this is really happening,” he said, looking down at the man.
“It is, and so far you’re doing a great job. Now, hold tight here until I give you the next all clear. At that point, you’re going to fulfill your D&D character’s traits—but in real life. Are you clear on your next objective?”
“Yeah, make my way to the pool and leave the extra weapons and the radio under the lounger in the southeast corner. When I’ve completed that mission, I check in and then hall ass to the security room.”
“You’ve got it, now wait here until I give you the signal.”
I slipped back to the beach but kept below the line of ocean front greenery as I made my way to the main house. Fortunately, they didn’t have any direct camera coverage on the beach, but the house was a different story. Just above the wine cellar window was a camera that turned through a hundred and eighty degree arc, and I waited for it to cycle all the way to one side then ran over and crouched directly below it where I was safely out of its view. At that point, I knelt down at the wine cellar window and smiled to myself as I thought back to the tour of the estate. For once, my obsessive compulsive personality had come in handy, as I had seen that the locking latch on the wine cellar window wouldn’t fully engage. Now, I had a nice easy place to breach the estate, and I reached down and slid the diving knife out of the sheath on my leg then wedged the blade under the window edge and easily moved the latch until the little locking arm was completely clear. Next, I opened the window and peered in to find my next obstacle—an infra red motion sensor located on the wall to my right.
Five days ago, I had defeated a very similar sensor, though it had been part of a toilet, and its function was to automatically flush when the occupant disembarked. This little unit detected the same kind of heat source and would entail a similar principle, but I’d use duct tape instead of toilet paper. I tore off a piece of duct tape and lowered it down and stuck it over the sensor, thereby temporarily blinding it’s ability to detect heat signatures—namely my own. The security system was temporarily defeated, and I slid through the window legs first and dropped to the floor, where I quickly moved to the wine cellar door. I put my ear to its old wooden planks and listened carefully for the sound of any people out in the hallway. All appeared quiet for the moment, so I lifted the latch and eased open the door and saw that all was thankfully clear.
I left the wine cellar and made my way to the security room to find that the door was closed this time, so I reached down and slowly turned the knob, ever hopeful it was unlocked. It continued to turn, so I cautiously opened the door and discovered that the chair in front of the monitors was empty. The only thing occupying the desk was a radio headset, and that meant that the guy who had been wearing it couldn’t be far away. I looked around the room and spied another door, but as I moved closer, it suddenly opened, and there stood the man I had seen the day before. He had obviously just used the bathroom, which was the reason he had discarded his radio. No one liked to accidentally broadcast a bathroom stop—especially if it was a number two. He looked stunned but reacted quickly by retreating back inside and slamming the door. Fuck, this was an unexpected bump in the road, but the good news was that his headset was still out here, and his bathroom radio etiquette just earned him five gentleman points in my book.
Gentleman or not, I still had to go in and get him. Just as I moved towards the door, two muted shots came right through the center and both hit me in the chest and knocked me onto my back. He might have forgotten the radio, but he obviously remembered to bring his gun—a wise move considering the circumstances. Lying on the floor with an aching in my chest, I realized that life was always about setbacks and lessons learned the hard way. Thankfully, this lesson had worked in my favor, as I had been wise and donned his friend’s vest, thereby freeing myself from a traumatic and premature demise.
I was still flat on my back and recovering when the door opened and my adversary emerged. I fired up into his chest to return the favor, and it knocked him off his feet. He, like his peers, was wearing a vest and therefore experienced the very same wrenching pain and knockdown. I struggled to my feet and closed the distance and arrived just in time to kick his gun out of his hand. I tried to follow it up with a stomp kick to his wrist, but he dodged my effort then wrapped his arm around my ankle and rolled to his right, thereby forcing me to the ground. Just as I landed, he slammed his left elbow into my inner thigh, and it caused a massive jolt of pain. Disregarding it, I rolled to my right to create enough space to send a kick with my free foot square up into his jaw. It knocked him backward, and he hit his head on the hard tiled floor and released my other foot. I shifted slightly and threw another kick, though this one was to his groin, and it brought his head back up and into range for the last kick. This time I put a bit more gusto into it, and the blow split his nose and knocked him unconscious. I got up and quickly zip tied his hand and feet then applied duct taped to his mouth and dragged him into the bathtub. The score was good guys two, bad guys zero. I went over to the security monitors and saw that all of the bad guys were still in their same positions, so I cued my radio.
“Rogue, step two completed. Deliver the presents and come join Santa in the Jacuz
zi—clothing optional.”
I monitored the security cameras and watched as Jerasian made his way to the pool, and I had to give the guy credit. He was indeed sneaky and did an excellent job of using the available cover to make the journey without being seen by Rex and his men. After delivering the package, he did a radio check.
“The presents are under three,” he said.
“Roger. The Jacuzzi is nice and hot, if not a little lonely. Get your Rogue ass in here.”
Jerasian left the pool area and once again kept to the shadows and maintained a low crouch as he moved swiftly across the estate. I lost visual when he reached the wine cellar, then I heard a noise and turned my gun towards the door but lowered it when I saw that it was Jerasian right on schedule.
“Everyone check in, over,” I said.
“Trojan Horse is on station,” Corn said.
“Zeus is in place, over,” Dave said.
“Frodo, Pergegrin, and Took are ready to leave the Shire, over,” Johnny said.
“Roger that. Secondary teams, move into place. Trojan Horse, wait for final approval.”
I brought up the camera closest to the beach then turned its view until I could see the edge of the tidal pool. Three minutes later, a small outrigger canoe landed on the beach, and Johnny, Lou, and Jimmy, with their rifles in hand, stepped out and moved towards the boathouse before checking in a second later.
“The Hobbits have reached Magnum’s place, over,” Johnny said.
“All right, you are officially our eyes, Rogue. Lock that door after I leave and keep an eye on these fuckers.”
I left Jerasian and walked back to the wine cellar and slithered out the window and moved to a position on the western side of the property. I had an excellent view of the estate, and my back was to a wall, so now it was time to call in the diversion.
“Trojan Horse, you are clear to go. Good luck and godspeed.”
“Roger and out.”
They would discard the radio and head for Robin’s Nest, so now it was time to wait, watch, and pray that everyone and everything went according to plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Did You See the Sun Rise? Part III
EVERY JOB IN the world had downtime, but none of them had the stress that existed when that job was related to combat. I’d spent countless hours in planes, boats, submarines, and Humvees simply waiting—waiting to deploy, and every second of that time was spent trying my best to focus on the success of the mission rather than the failure, as failure often meant death. This was one of those moments, only now it wasn’t just my life or the lives of my fellow soldiers on the line. Most of the people here were civilians—innocents, who didn’t ask for this kind of danger. The stress level was therefore about tenfold to anything I’d ever experienced, but I was a professional, and more importantly, deep down, I was a pathological optimist, and so, when life offered up lemons, it was time to man up and make a lovely lemon tart. Still, I was a bit on edge and looked at my watch to see that two minutes had passed without any word.
“Fuck, “ I said, aloud.
A second later, Jerasian finally came over the radio.
“Trojan Horse is at the gate, over,” he said.
“How’s it looking?” I responded.
“OK, but the Trojans have the Greeks out of the horse and have searched every orifice except for their buttholes.”
I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I desperately hoped that we made it through this stage of the plan. If they suspected anything, things would get very ugly—very quickly.
“Trojan Horse has passed muster! Greeks are back inside and on the move.”
“OK, teams, this is where Santa, the Hobbits, and Zeus earn their keep. Everyone be careful and keep watch, as these fuckers are damn good at killing people.”
Halfway across the estate, the Rothster veered off the main driveway and raced across the lawn and slid to a stop just past the tennis courts. Corn, John, Babs, and the nerds piled out and ran for cover behind the stone wall, and, a second later, Corn’s voice came over the radio.
“Trojan Horse has landed, the Greeks are armed and in place.”
I watched as one, then another of Rex’s men began heading towards the Rothster. At the moment, they were spread out around the estate, but, as trained military personnel, they were used to operating as a cohesive unit. That meant they would coverage on one position in order to be ready to mount some kind of counter attack. Perfect. Their radio chatter was harried, but they moved swiftly and efficiently until they were all on sight and staring at the empty vehicle. Rex, looking confused, cued his mic.
“Eyes, can you tell us where they are?” he asked.
I was pretty sure they were referring to the guy I had left tied up in the bathtub.
“Negative,” I responded.
“Repeat over.”
“Negative. All clear.”
It appeared that Rex didn’t recognize my voice as being that of Eyes, and he looked around nervously then ordered his men to move and take up defensive positions. They formed up so that each faced a different direction, but it was too late. Our people were already in superior firing positions.
“Rex, it’s Finn here. You’re surrounded. Lay down your weapons and place your hands on your heads. There’s no need to die for Frank Williams.”
“You really think I’m the least bit worried about you?”
“Probably not, but you should be. You’re completely surrounded by a team of well armed and trained operatives in superior firing positions.”
“Believe me, it’s not a problem.”
Rex and his team started moving towards the opposite fence line.
“I wouldn’t go that way,” I said.
I signaled Johnny, and he and his threesome of locals popped their heads over the sills of the windows in the boathouse and brandished their large caliber hunting rifles. Rex and his team paused, and he cued his mic.
“Seriously, Finn? You think a band of local mokes is going to make any difference?”
“Yeah, I do—as long as we also have you pinned down by a decorated Army Sniper.”
“Bullshit.”
I had no idea if Dave was actually a decorated Army sniper, but war was also waged on a psychological level, and we needed every advantage. I cued my other radio and told Dave that we needed a show of force. A second later, I heard the sound of a rifle, then a bullet impacted six inches from Rex’s foot. Startled, he jumped sideways then tried to better his position, but it was pointless with Dave high overhead on the ridge. I watched as Rex looked around then whispered something to his men. Clearly, he wasn’t ready to give up, and, without warning, he and his entire team made a break for it and fired in multiple directions with their silenced HK submachine guns as they tried to carve themselves an avenue of escape. I should have known that former Delta Force soldiers wouldn’t go down without a hell of a fight, so this was probably going to get worse before it got better.
Bullets started flying in all directions, and it was hard to tell which were from friend and which were from foe. I aimed the HK I had taken off the beach guard and fired a three round burst at the group, and, while my shots missed, they landed close enough to make Rex and his men scatter and separate into two fire teams as they turned and began working their way towards the garage. I decided to cut around the back of the house, as I was hoping to cut off their retreat, and, as I moved along the fence line, sporadic gunfire continued out on the main property. It was time for a SITREP or, in civilian terms, a situation report.
“Rogue, what’s going on? Over!”
“They’ve split up but appear to be heading towards the garage. It appears that at least one of them is wounded, over.”
“Roger. All teams, I’m moving around the back of the house to intercept,” I said.
It was always a good idea to check in and report your position to your team, so they wouldn’t get you confused with the enemy. I moved past the house, but between me and the garage lay a l
arge hedgerow, and beyond that was mostly open ground dotted by the occasional palm tree. I slowed my progress and kept close to the hedge and soon spied Rex and his team moving methodically, with one man always covering their retreat. I pulled up the HK and was about to fire when I heard Dave’s rifle go off, and, an instant later, was startled by the sickening thud of a bullet impacting flesh just behind me. I turned to see that one of Rex’s men had doubled back as an extra measure of security and was now splayed out on the ground. I should have known an ex Delta soldier would do something like that, but I was still a little rusty from having been out of the game, and I was suddenly feeling incredibly lucky as I cued my mic.
“Thanks, Dave. I owe you one.”
“What makes you think I wasn’t aiming for you and missed?”
“Because I still have your T-shirt, and you wouldn’t be able to get it back if you killed me.”
“True, over.”
Jerasian came over the radio sounding worried.
“They’re in the garage now,” he said.
“Thanks, I’m on it.”
Looking over to the east, I saw Corn, John, Babs, and the nerds moving up the far side of the property, while over at the boathouse were Johnny and his merry band of mokes. I was thinking we had a bit of a turkey shoot on our hands, until I heard an engine rev in the garage then watched as the door opened, and out came a white Range Rover. The driver gunned the engine and raced up the dirt driveway towards the front gate while the occupants fired from its open windows. We all returned fire and peppered the Range Rover with bullets, and fifty yards up the road it veered off the dirt path and came to an unceremonious halt when it rolled into a large palm tree. I called a cease fire over the radio then switched to the pistol as I walked up to the vehicle. With my weapon at the ready, I visually inspected the interior of the car and found two men splayed out, bleeding, and covered in glass shards. I pulled open the passenger door and realized they might still be alive, so I started pulling them out and laying them on the ground in an improvised triage. They were still breathing and might live, but, as I was about to dial 911, I realized something very important. We were at least a man or two short, and Rex was nowhere to be found. Worried that this was a planned distraction, I cued my mic.
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