Targets of Opportunity (14 page)

“Very impressive,” he said to Choi, “but I’ve got to use the facilities.”

Mr. Choi became instantly flustered. “No, no I am sorry. Act Two to start.”

“That may be, but I’ve got to take care of Act One, if you know what I mean.”

Choi was also standing now. “Please, sit down. You are blocking the view of these people,” he said, then bowed slightly in apology to those behind them.

“Okay, I’ll find my way, no problem,” Sandor replied, starting up the aisle.

Choi protested again. “You must not go.”

At this point Zimmermann stood. “Hey, if it makes it easier, I could use a pit stop myself. I’ll go with him.”

“Sure,” Raabe said as he and Bergenn got up from their seats. “We’ll all make it easy on you. Come on, Choi.”

Choi suddenly found himself surrounded by them, a short Korean bracketed by four tall Americans as they headed up the stairs toward the passageway that led to the men’s room. They reached the concrete hallway behind the stands, passing a few other spectators who were returning to their seats.

“Which way?” Sandor asked.

Choi pointed to the left, and they followed him, past a soldier who was standing guard with an AK-47 slung across his chest, and into a large, tile-lined bathroom.

Two other men were inside, and the foursome took their time at the urinals, waiting as the strangers quickly washed up and left, apparently in a hurry not to miss the next series of card flips. Sandor had been told that the Koreans consider it disrespectful to leave your seat during the performance. He had counted on the bathroom being empty, and was pleased to see the two stragglers go on their way.

Choi, who had been pacing back and forth, moved impatiently toward the door. “Come, come,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Sandor was the first to finish and he walked to the row of sinks. After rinsing his hands, he turned to Choi. “Paper towels?”

The Korean could not believe the man was so dense. “Right there,” he said huffily as he pointed to the dispenser on the wall. That brief move was all Sandor needed.

He stepped forward and grabbed Choi’s outstretched arm with his left hand. Then, with a quick, powerful thrust, he hit him under the chin with the heel of his right hand. As the Korean staggered backward against the wall Sandor moved swiftly to the side, taking him around the neck, then grabbing Choi’s wrist, forming a tight hold that choked off both sound and air as the smaller man struggled to wrench free until he finally succumbed to the sinewy garrote that rendered him unconscious.

Raabe reached under his shirt and removed two strips of duct tape from the small of his back. The first he pressed against Choi’s mouth. The second, longer piece, he used to bind the unconscious man’s hands behind him.

Sandor pointed to Zimmermann, then to the door. The team’s linguistics expert stepped into the corridor and called to the sentry, who was standing at a portal, viewing the extravaganza below. In Korean, Zimmermann said calmly, “We need some help here. Our guide has fainted.”

Zimmermann’s relaxed tone, and the fact that he spoke flawless Korean, gave the guard no reason for alarm. The soldier stepped forward, and Kurt politely held the door for him as he entered the bathroom. Before the man had a chance to assess the situation, Zimmermann hit him from behind, using the side of his hand to land a crushing blow across his neck. Bergenn was waiting, unleashing an open-handed uppercut that shattered the guard’s nose, sending blood flowing down his face as he crumpled to the floor. Kurt was immediately on him, driving his knee into the Korean’s back before grabbing his head with both hands and smashing his face into the tile. Then he took the tape Raabe was holding out and trussed the inert figure the same way they had Choi.

“Bind their legs too,” Sandor said. “Take the AK-47, his radio, and whatever else he’s carrying, then stuff the two of them into those toilet stalls and lock them in.”

As they quickly went about their work, Zimmermann said, “Why not take them out right now?”

Sandor shook his head. “No need.”

Zimmermann responded with a scowl. “The guard is going to be out cold for a while, but how long you think your polite little choke hold is going to keep Mr. Choi asleep?”

Sandor stared at him.

“Not long enough,” Zimmermann warned. Then, before stuffing Choi into the stall, he took the guard’s automatic pistol from its holster and drove the butt of it into the side of Choi’s head three times. As he drew his hand back for a fourth blow, Sandor grabbed his wrist.

“That’s enough, Kurt,” Sandor said angrily.

Zimmermann lowered his arm and Sandor took the gun.

“Grab some paper towels, wipe up the blood as best you can,” Sandor told Raabe and Bergenn. “We need as much time as we can get before we set any alarms off.” He pointed at the unconscious soldier as Craig sat him on a toilet and shut the door. “What’d we get from him?”

“An extra magazine for the AK-47,” Bergenn reported. “And that Tokarev, with two eight-round magazines in the pouch.” The Tokarev Type 68 is a Russian-style handgun, eight-shot, 7.62 mm. “Two-way radio. That’s it.”

Sandor nodded. “Better than what we came with. Jim, you hold the rifle, I’ll hang on to the gun. Kurt, you take the radio, should come in handy later and you speak the lingo.”

Bergenn finished wiping up the blood on the floor and against the wall. Raabe locked each toilet stall from inside, then climbed over the top of the divider.

“Okay,” Sandor said, tapping himself on the lapel of his jacket. “Time to find someone with a friendly face who’s wearing this pin.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ST. BARTHÉLEMY, F.W.I.

T
HE FIRST OF
Adina’s teams made its way around Gustavia harbor on foot. Led by Cardona, they strolled past the various dockside restaurants and
tavernes
like a curious crew from one of the yachts in residence, attracting no attention from the well-oiled patrons who were sitting at outside tables or milling about in the bars. The four men turned left at the end of the Rue des Quais, passing the Wall House, a popular eatery that was winding down its service for the night. They continued on the Rue Pitea, then circled off to the right, approaching the base of the hill that formed the westerly embankment just below Fort Oscar. As they began their climb there was nothing behind them but the peaceful expanse of the Caribbean.

The evening sky was clear, but the crescent moon did little to illuminate their ascent. The fortress loomed above them, constructed of imposing brown stones that had withstood centuries of baking sun, vicious hurricanes and foreign attacks. Their raid would not require them to breach these walls, however. They knew, from the surveillance done by Hicham and Cardona, that the exterior of Fort Oscar was no longer treated as a high-security installation, its massive profile more of a landmark than an active military stronghold.

They also knew that the nighttime guard on this side of the fort was actually stationed just inside the main wall and, even following the airliner explosion in nearby St. Maarten, Fort Oscar maintained its usual laid-back appearance as they scrambled quietly upward.

When Cardona determined they had come close enough to the entrance, he held up his hand, halting their progress, then motioned for them to stay low on the ground. They could see the entry now, but were hidden from sight amid the scruffy vegetation along the hillside. Cardona checked his watch, then held up five fingers.

————

Renaldo and his three compatriots had traveled across the harbor in a small tender, then tied it off at the far end of the concrete dock alongside a large sailboat. They had chosen this route since they were carrying most of the equipment, two of the men wearing backpacks. A late-night saunter through town lugging explosives and electronic gear might have provoked some inquiries even among the drunken denizens of St. Barths.

Once on land they hurried along the paved path that led to the southerly wall of the fortress, Renaldo timing their arrival to coordinate with the four men on the other side. As they neared the main gate, he engaged the electronic transmitter that would jam all cellular and radio phone signals in and out of Fort Oscar.

At the appointed moment, exactly 1:45
A.M
., the two teams approached their respective entrances to the fort.

————

Fort Oscar has two entry points, one on the west, the main gate on the south. The fortress is a large rectangle. Inside the imposing walls is an open corridor that rings the interior structure, a smaller rectangle housing the main building with its offices, barracks, armory and the communications center below ground level.

Cardona’s men stayed in place on the hill as he stood and strode toward the small guardhouse within the opening on the western wall. The man on duty was seated at a desk. When he looked up he first saw the stocky Venezuelan, then the silenced barrel of an automatic 9 mm pistol leveled directly at his eyes.

“Do not move, do not even speak,” Cardona said in Spanish, making no effort at French. If the man did not understand him, it would be his loss. “Slowly, very slowly, let me see your hands.”

The guard had been reading a book, which now fell to the ground as he lifted his arms above his head.

“Good. Now stand, very slowly, and turn around.” When he did not immediately respond, Cardona used his left hand to make a motion directing him to get up from his seat. The man’s eyes widened with terror as he stood. Cardona said, “If I wanted to kill you, my friend, you would be dead already. Now, turn around.” The guard hesitated, then slowly showed his back to Cardona and, as he did, the Venezuelan struck him across the head with the butt of his gun, a violent blow that dropped the man to the floor.

Cardona raised his left arm and the other three men stood and hurried forward. Two of them quickly bound and gagged the guard, then all four made their way into the wide corridor.

————

At the same moment, Renaldo’s team came through the main gate, where they knew there would be two guards on duty. His men moved together, guns drawn, taking the two
gendarmes
before they had time to react. The sentries were disarmed and then subjected to the same fate as their comrade on the west wall. They were left trussed and unconscious against a stone wall.

Renaldo checked the time. They were on schedule so far, but they understood that breaching the interior would be far more difficult than their initial incursion. The two outer entrances were manned by local police. The lower levels, however, were protected by French military.

All eight men had memorized the schematics obtained by Adina. They knew that once inside the corridor, they would likely be detected on the security system being operated from below. Each team had one man assigned to disable the surveillance cameras, and that was accomplished without finesse, the devices being taken out with silenced gunshots. There was simply no way to hide their assault from this point forward. The best they could manage was to cut off the video feed, then move quickly to their next point of attack.

————

Cardona and one of his men were already racing along the wide passage, heading for the rear entry leading downstairs. The other two on his team hurried left toward the ground-level garrison. The off-duty soldiers on-site would have been asleep, but alarms would now be triggered. The two men took their positions on either side of the door to the barracks, prepared to take out anyone who might wander into the corridor.

Meanwhile, down the passageway at the steel door that provided access to the lower levels, Cardona’s man took two small charges, set them in place, and wired the fuse to a small digital timing device. He motioned Cardona back, and the two took cover around a turn. In thirty seconds the blast rocked the door from its hinges, the sound loud enough to be heard by Renaldo’s team around the other side of the wide, square hallway that ringed the facility.

That was the signal. Renaldo had his lead man set charges of his own at the southern door.

Cardona and his accomplice were already running along the corridor, again to the right, stopping just before the turn. When they heard the second blast go off they came around the corner and joined Renaldo’s group.

Cardona and his man were handed Uzis from the packs Renaldo’s team had carried. Now all six terrorists were armed with rapid-firing weapons. They also pulled on gas masks. Cardona, his man, and one of Renaldo’s team then hurried back to the door they had blown open on the west wall. Renaldo stood ready at the southern entrance. When Cardona fired a signal shot, each team leader led his men past the twisted metal of the shattered doors, through the smoky entryway and into a common vestibule with stairways on the left and right.

By now the French soldiers stationed below were girding for the attack, taking their posts at the base of the stairways, their FAMAS F-1 multifunction assault weapons raised and at the ready. But the teams led by Renaldo and Cardona had stopped at that first landing, not advancing until they pulled the pins on four grenades and tossed two down each of the stairwells. They made a chilling, clattering sound as they rattled their way down the metal steps.

The soldiers scattered but it was too late, the series of explosions coming quickly, shrapnel cutting into them from all angles while creating chaos throughout the large room. The intruders followed this by tossing tear gas cans that exploded into a cloud of choking fog. Now the six men, proceeding from two directions, made their way carefully into the smoky bedlam below.

————

The explosions were not loud enough to carry into the night beyond the thick stone walls of Fort Oscar, but the
gendarmes
and soldiers who had been asleep inside the barracks had already been awakened by the alarm sent from the communications center in the basement. They had quickly dressed and started for the door, where they were greeted by an announcement from the other side, the voice loud and speaking in clear French.

“You come out here, you die.” One of Cardona’s two rear guards had given the warning as he stood off to the side of the barracks entryway. He had heard the alarm and was listening to the activity within, prepared for an onslaught from the off-duty soldiers. “There is no need for anyone to be a hero,” he told them, then punctuated his threat by reaching out and, without standing in front of the entrance, firing two silenced gunshots, splintering the wood of the door. He followed that demonstration by saying, “Your friends out here have not been hurt, just disarmed. I tell you again that no one needs to be harmed. Just stay inside and we will be gone in ten minutes.”