Hide and Seek (37 page)

“And if I drop it?”

“I’ll fire you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ll still admire you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought I heard.” J. J. lowered his window then extended his arm. The flying ball felt too light to be real.

A second later the propeller began to spin, sending a column of air rushing through the rib structure and over J. J.’s hand.

“Did I ever tell you the first model of this was invented by a Japanese engineer who wanted it to search for injured people who might be trapped in a building?”

“Just five or six times. Less talk, more flying.”

“Understood, Boss.”

From the corner of his eye, J. J. caught Crispin extend the antenna of the control out his window. “Up, up, and away. Go get ’em, Binkster.”

The device rose almost noiselessly.

“Coming around,” J. J. said. He opened the door. The dome light didn’t come on. They thought to turn that off before pulling from the embassy compound. J. J. slipped into the backseat. Crispin held the controller so J. J. could see the tiny video screen.

“We’re straight up. You can see our car.” Crispin’s tone was changed. He was often glib and a tad too talkative except when working, then he had the focus of a rattlesnake staring down his next meal. “Advancing.”

J. J. watched the camera switch to a forty-five-degree angle, allowing Crispin to see down and forward. The target building was a three-story, Soviet-era structure heavy on naked concrete and draped windows. To J. J.’s eye, there was very little design, it was a tall box with windows on four sides. It looked like an old office building waiting to be replaced by something newer.

Crispin kept the remote-control vehicle high and did a quick circle around the building. His comments were radioed to the others. “Three stories, bars over the first-floor windows. All windows obscured, probably by drapes. I don’t have enough light to be positive.” He kept his eyes fixed on the display. “I see dim light in the building, so I assume they have an emergency generator.”

Crispin continued. “Windows are fixed, no sliders that I can see.” The device rose and hovered over the roof. “Flat roof, gravel and tar covering. Looks fairly new. Elevator overrun. Just one elevator. Antennas. Junior might be able to identify them. Best guess is standard radio and shortwave. Maybe something more. I count six skylights. Translucent covering and I see light, so someone is on the top floor.”

He sent the RPV higher and directed it over the street, then slowly descended. “Time for the money shots. Front door is solid and looks to be metal.” He zoomed the camera. “Looks like heavy-duty hardware, and . . . wait. I’ve got a guard now. Single male packing a machine pistol.”

J. J. leaned closer. “West German HK MP5 variant.”

Crispin repeated the designation. “Man looks to be six foot one, maybe six foot two, late twenties.”

The RPV made another circuit until it hovered over the street at the rear of the building. Unlike the part of the city they were in earlier, this section had no alleys. J. J. couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Either way, it was what the situation dealt him.

“Rear door is similar to the front. One guard, maybe midthirties, five ten or so. Packin’ a . . .” He looked to J. J.

“T91, Chinese. Similar to M-16.”

“Hardware is the same as the front door. Wait . . . keypad entrance. Front door probably has the same . . . hold . . . just caught a glimpse of two men patrolling the perimeter. They’re moving counterclockwise. Just disappeared around the northeast corner. They’re walking shoulder to shoulder.”

“Bring it home, Hawkeye.” J. J. leaned against the door and pondered the information, running scenarios through his head.

Option one: a straightforward street approach. That would require taking out the guards without drawing attention.

Option two: go in through the skylights. Problem: how to get on the roof without being seen. A one-story structure might be possible but still risky; three stories was impossible with guards walking around.

Option one and two together: neutralize the guards, make entrance. He paused in his thoughts. There were bound to be more guys inside. J. J. gently tapped his teeth together as he thought. An urban operation like this one was best carried out after weeks of planning, intel, and dry-run scenarios. In a perfect world that was how UOs worked. This wasn’t a perfect world. They had almost no time. J. J. was making this up on the fly. Lousy way to run a mission.

“Listen up, team. All visible combatants have radios. You know what that means. We have to assume there are more hostiles inside. Be prepared for CQC.” His men were trained for Close Quarters Combat, and that went for Aliki and Nagano. J. J. wouldn’t have accepted them had they no experience in dynamic entry and continuous flow. “Here’s how this is going to go down . . .”

MIKE NAGANO, WITH THE
help of Aliki, found his way to the roof of a one-story building across the street from the front entrance of the target building. He pushed the legs of the Harris bipod forward and rested the long-barreled M110 sniper rifle on the lip that ran the edges of the building. The suppressor was in place. Next he flicked up the covers of the AN/PVS night sight, then settled the crosshairs on the smoking man at the front door.

He lay prone, still, willing his heart to slow, his breathing to calm, and his mind to expel every thought but one.

“Weps ready.”

ALIKI ROUNDED THE CORNER,
jogging at a fast pace, but not so fast as to leave him too winded to do what came next.

His ears rang louder than ever before, made worse by the report of weapons fired in the close confines of the truck trailer. If communications was coming over an earbud crammed deep into his ear canal, he doubted he would hear much of anything.

You should have fessed up. Should have told, J. J. But no, you didn’t. If someone dies because . . .

He flushed the thought and focused on the next thing he had to do. He moved to the Range Rover where the rest of the team waited. He never had much use for God, but now that he might be a liability to this new team, he was considering starting a prayer life.

J. J. LOVED THE
Army. He loved the action. Loved the adventure. It was good to him; made him a man. It also fed his need for guns and other weapons. It was an odd thing, he knew: devoted Christian; former sniper; present team leader about to invade a building. He held the belief that what he did saved lives even if it required the taking of a life. J. J. knew men who could kill without remorse. He wasn’t one of them. War was war and there were plenty of examples in the Bible. He reminded himself the New Testament taught that Jesus would come back again, not to die this time, but to put an end to evil. Good rationalizations. Biblically based. Still, he never felt comfortable with killing.

He did it when necessary.

And it was necessary. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

They watched and took note of the time it took for the two roving guards to complete a circuit around the building. Unless they had changed their pace or direction, they should be rounding the corner at the front of the building.

“Boss, Weps. Go.”

Nagano was in a position to see when the “walkers” were in the front of the building so J. J. gave the command decision to the team sniper.

J. J. walked up the back street toward the rear guard. The man snapped his head around, no doubt stunned by the sudden appearance of a man in a black uniform, a black balaclava, and a helmet. The man raised his T91 and managed to get the muzzle up several inches before J. J. put a round in the man’s chest and one in his head. The suppressor kept the gunfire to a whisper.

Turning, J. J. started for the front of the building. He stopped at the front corner and peeked around. Three bodies lay on the sidewalk. “Perimeter secure. Time to rock.” J. J. moved forward in a crouch, doing his best to keep his head and back below the first-floor windowsill. He reached the front door and a second later so did the rest of the team. All except Nagano, who was still on the roof. By that time Aliki had placed a small piece of ECT—explosive cutting tape—in the center of the large door. Aliki then duct-taped a large I.V. bladder he “borrowed” from Doc to the outside of the ECT. Nagano slowed, moving with a slight limp. He flashed a thumbs-up. J. J. answered with a nod.

Crispin was right, the door was metal. There was no way to cut through or kick through it. More force was needed. The fluid in the I.V. bag would direct the force of the explosive tape into the door. Aliki worked from experience. Explosives were J. J.’s responsibility before becoming team leader and he had to fight the urge to do the work himself. Aliki proved to be adept. He motioned for the team to move back and stand clear, then slipped around to the tight line they formed along the wall.

J. J. held out his hand so Aliki and the others could see it. He showed three fingers, then two, lowered his head, then—

Aliki pushed the button on the remote detonator.

The windows shook. Dust flew to the street.

J. J. started for the door, which folded in on itself like a taco shell from the charge. He kicked it the rest of the way open and sprinted through, the tac-light mounted below the barrel of his M4 scanning the lobby on the other side. A man appeared holding a handgun. He hit the floor before his gun.

The line of men parted as they crossed the threshold, spreading out so each could train his weapon on the field before them.

The lobby contained no chairs, just an empty area with a tile floor that emptied into a space where J. J. saw elevator doors. He had no interest in the elevator unless the doors suddenly opened. He doubted they would. He didn’t think the generator could provide enough electricity to run the hefty motors necessary to lift the thing. Based on the weapons he saw, they were dealing with trained gunmen, no one with experience would enter a metal box with no place to take cover.

A wide hall at the end of the lobby ran north and south, bisecting the building. J. J. sent Aliki and half the team to the south while he led Jose and Hawkeye north. On either side of the hallway were a series of small offices, all looked empty and abandoned long ago. Dust covered the floor and he saw no footprints.

“Next floor,” J. J. said into the radio.

This part of the plan had been worked out before. Crispin’s RPV revealed a vertical space on each end of the building that reached from ground to roof. There was a door with no handle at the base. J. J. took this to mean each extreme of the building had a stairway.

J. J. pushed the door open and held it in place as Crispin plunged into the stairwell, his weapon pointed up the steps. Jose followed on his heels. The men left room for J. J. to enter.

This time Crispin led the way, the muzzle of his weapon pointing ahead of him. J. J. and Jose followed behind, their weapons ready. At the door to the second floor, Crispin paused, made eye contact with J. J., who nodded. He snapped the door open and now Jose was in front, J. J. one step removed from being in the medic’s back pocket.

The floor was dark. No overhead lights. No lights from the offices.