Harry Welsh had answered the door red eyed and disheveled, clearly woken out of a severe Sunday morning hangover. He barely examined their credentials and didn't seem fazed by their outfits. Daniel and Munoz had purchased several black nylon jackets at Walmart to lend some uniform credibility to their group appearance and to conceal their pistols. It worked with Welsh, though Daniel was convinced that the man was seeing double. As he swayed in the doorway, they thought about leaving him alone and moving on to the next driver, but Welsh insisted he could get them to the site, and Daniel didn't feel like wasting any more time.
According to Welsh, he'd made over a hundred trips out there, sometimes at night, and could drive it blindfolded. Several wrong turns later, Daniel was about to dump him on the side of the road when he finally spotted the dirt road off Route 590. Based on the numerous, recent tire tracks on the seemingly obscure, unmarked road, Daniel decided to give him a little more time. When he started calling out turns well in advance, they felt more confident that the man had found his way.
"How much further?" Munoz said.
"About another quarter mile. It's a pretty big place, you know," Welsh said, followed by a deep, guttural burp. "Sorry about that. The road is fucking with my stomach."
Daniel turned his head and met Jessica's glare. She didn't look happy to be seated next to Homer Simpson. Welsh's gaseous discharge refreshed the stale beer smell that had persisted in the SUV since he was stuffed into the back seat. Their short trip on the interstate had provided them with enough air turbulence to clear the stench, but they had no such luxury moving along at ten miles per hour on these roads. Daniel's handheld radio crackled and Graves' voice filled the van.
"We're picking up some faint wireless signals to the north. We should proceed on foot from here," he said, and Daniel acknowledged.
Munoz slowed the van in the middle of the road, blocking traffic in both directions. The Ford Transit stopped twenty feet behind them, depositing Fayed and Paracha.
"What kind of fence can we expect?" Daniel asked Welsh.
"I just hauled construction material up here. They didn't have a fence at that point."
"You think it's a quarter mile? Does this road run straight north?"
"Straight as an arrow," Welsh said.
"All right. Let's gear up," he said, and they all stepped into the damp Poconos air.
The operatives met between the two vans.
"Do the two of you mind keeping an eye on Mr. Welsh? We'll head about fifty meters into the forest and turn north toward the site," he said to Fayed and Paracha.
"No problem. We'll make sure nobody gets in or out. Our guys in the van are trying to access the security system. They're pretty sure we're dealing with cameras. High bandwidth wireless output," Fayed said.
"No motion detectors?" Munoz said.
"Not as far as our guys could tell. There might be a hardwired system close to the structure, but these are the only signals so far. I think we should move up another two hundred meters to be sure."
"We'll unload here and set out, while you reposition," Daniel said.
Munoz tossed the vehicle keys to Paracha, who snatched them out of the air.
"Mr. Welsh, Agents Paracha and Fayed will keep you company until we return. We should have you home in an hour or so. This is probably just a wild goose chase, but you never know. You'll be safe here," Daniel said.
He turned and walked to the Cherokee's rear lift gate, raising it to expose two black nylon duffel bags. He pulled out dark green load-bearing vests (LBV) for the four operatives that would approach the compound. The vests had been loaded with thirty-round magazines for the Mark 18 Mod 0 rifles each of them would carry. The Mark 18 was a modified M-4 carbine, fitted with a more compact 10.3-inch barrel, which was better suited for close quarters battle. These preselected versions had been equipped with EOTech holographic sights. Welsh nearly stumbled off the road when Daniel started to distribute the rifles.
"Fuckin' A, man. What are you expecting in there? Osama Bin Laden?" he said, clearly amused with his own comment.
Worse, Daniel thought. Aloud, he said, "Never hurts to be prepared."
Melendez reached into the same duffel bag and removed a thick suppressor, attaching it to the barrel of his rifle. He had already removed the EOTech sight, preferring to trust the iron sights for any long-range shots that might need to be taken. He would be their designated sharpshooter during the compound breach. All of them removed their black jackets and donned hunter camouflage-patterned hoodies and ball caps, also compliments of Walmart. Once they had tightened the LBVs over the camouflage hoodies, they all adjusted their earpieces and conducted a communications check. Everyone would be on the same channel for the raid, including the electronics team. Satisfied that they were ready, Daniel assembled them on the side of the road.
"Melendez, I want you on point. Pick a spot roughly fifty meters out and head due north. The rest of us will follow twenty meters back. Line abreast formation. Jess on the right, Munoz on the left. I got the middle. When we reach the fence, if there is one, we'll breach together. Sound good?"
Everyone nodded, and Melendez removed a small handheld GPS unit, which he quickly configured as a compass. Moments later, their scout disappeared into the thick forest.
"We look like hillbillies. I can't believe our friend hasn't figured it out yet," Jessica whispered.
"He's still about seven Pabst Blue Ribbons away from sober. We could have shown up in clown suits. We're just lucky he found this place," Daniel said.
"You get to ride with him on the way back."
"Thanks," he said.
They pushed their way through the persistent ground cover to catch up with Melendez.
The approach to the compound proved difficult. Stubborn, newly grown underbrush obscured their vision, nearly eliminating any clear line of sight beyond twenty or thirty feet. Upon repositioning the vehicles, Graves was able to fix the locations of four wireless signals, none of which were located in the team's path. Graves felt confident that the signals belonged to four wireless cameras located along the road. He still couldn't discount the possibility of a fence-linked motion detection system. At this point, security for the compound appeared to consist of four separate wireless feeds, which weren't tied to a central system. There was little Graves could do to help them without a computer network to manipulate. If the fence was hardwired into a standalone security alarm, they could expect immediate resistance.
Forty minutes into their patrol, Melendez reached a point where he could observe the fence. They all moved into a tight formation around Melendez and surveyed what they could see of the grounds. Daniel could see a tall chain-link fence topped with a single coil of concertina wire. It was difficult to tell from his angle, but it looked like the fence backed right up against the forest. Large branches appeared to rest on the concertina wire in a few places, flattening the coils. This basic observation convinced him that the fence was neither electrified, nor rigged with motion detection equipment. The constantly moving branches would have shorted the fence and driven security personnel insane with false alarms.
"Looks like about fifty meters of open ground," he said.
"Maybe a little less. I don't see any cameras mounted to the building, but I'd need to get closer to verify. Too many blind spots from here," Melendez said.
"All right. Let's move up to the fence and observe for a few minutes. Keep low."
The small group slithered through the brush on the forest floor to a point along the fence. Now Daniel could see everything. Devoid of windows, the building's frontage spanned over one hundred feet. Two black Suburbans, parked side by side, faced a closed loading bay at the far eastern end of the building. Daniel couldn't see a gate from his angle, but he could discern a well-worn driveway leading away from the loading bay. A single, closed metal door was located to the right of the loading bay, made accessible by a short concrete slab stairway. The building's walls were constructed of featureless, gray cinderblocks, holding up what appeared to be a flat, metal roof. He could discern no pitch whatsoever to the roof, which struck him as unusual given the vast size of the one-story building. If the interior craftsmanship resembled anything close to the lackluster exterior appearance, Honesdale Construction owed Mr. Mills about four million dollars.