One guard remained at the far end, directly opposite that wall of plastic-wrapped shipments at the loading docks. Pepper led Ross around to the first pallet, got on his knees and fished out the PXD.
Ross took the wedge, and they got to work as a slight ache began to splinter across Pepper’s chest.
30K was literally salivating with the desire to knife the guard who was shifting alongside the pallets, toward where he and Kozak where crouched down, waiting and listening.
There were times when being a Ghost, being swift and silent, no footprint as the major tirelessly argued, was infuriating. Sometimes, well, okay, most times, he simply wanted to sever a carotid artery and send his foes stumbling and gurgling to their deaths –
Instead of hiding from them like cowards.
Okay, so their tactics weren’t supposed to be cowardly; they were audacious, cunning, and in the end, far deadlier than going in like barbarians swinging hammers high above their heads.
But sometimes being a dumb-ass barbarian was a hell of a lot more fun.
He took a deep breath. Go with the flow. You’re a Ghost. Just vanish …
The guard walked past them, then suddenly swung around and hurried off, passing down one of the far aisles. ‘Hey, I’ve just thought of something,’ he cried to his friends. ‘The backup systems for the cameras and sensors aren’t working. Did you notice that? Are the batteries all dead? That can’t be …’
Using a small razor knife he’d retrieved from his pack, Kozak cut a thin seam in the plastic wrap that went right through one of the boxes. Through that seam he inserted another of their GPS tracking beacons.
And then he tapped a few commands on his smartphone, linking it to his Cross-Com while also sending the X-ray’s images to 30K’s HUD.
30K took one look at those X-rays, faced Kozak, and mouthed the word Damn!
Kozak shook a fist, having a Christmas morning moment himself.
With the guard a few aisles down now, 30K gestured toward the door: Let’s get the hell out of here!
The boxes that Ross and Pepper X-rayed contained a combination of parts for the refinery and bricks of cocaine, perhaps one hundred or more distributed throughout the shipment. He and Pepper were able to tag two pallets before slipping back out of the warehouse. Ross ordered Maziq to turn the power back on, then he and Pepper met up with 30K and Kozak behind the old medical supply building.
‘What’d you get?’ he asked Kozak.
‘We should go back to the church,’ Kozak began. ‘That way you can sit down before I tell you.’
‘Spit it out, son,’ Pepper said impatiently.
‘SA-24 Igla-S MANPADS.’
Those numbers and words might be gibberish to the average civilian, but to Ross and his Ghosts, they represented an alarming and deadly find.
‘Aw, hell,’ Ross said. ‘How many?’
Kozak grimaced. ‘By my count: one hundred and twenty-six.’
Ross began to shake his head; that was way more than he’d expected. ‘You’re right then. We need to get back to the church.’
‘You know what this means, don’t you, sir?’ asked Kozak.
‘I’ll tell you what it means,’ Pepper began.
‘Not here, guys,’ said Ross. ‘Saddle up. Let’s go.’
Ross led them back up the shoreline road and toward the church. His thoughts raced ahead as he considered the length and breadth of this alliance between the FARC and Hamid’s group, the Bedayat jadeda.
THIRTY-THREE
The weapons report, schematics, world inventories and accompanying videos Ross showed the team were dark reminders of what they were dealing with:
The SA-24 Igla-S MANPADS (man-portable air defense system) was a shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile (SAM) fielded by the Russian Army since 2004. Dubbed the SA-24 Grinch by NATO, the 1.57-meter-long launcher unit fired a missile with a 1.17-kilogram warhead at a speed of Mach 2.3 via the solid fuel rocket motor. The Grinch had an operational range of nearly six kilometers and could kill its targets with a direct hit or by proximity fuse. The system was the equivalent of the US Stinger missile and currently regarded as one of the most lethal air defense systems ever made because of its sophisticated high jamming immunity provided by a dual-channel optical homing head with logic unit for true target selection against clutter.
If you were an Islamic terrorist, a Colombian rebel, or perhaps a Mexican cartel leader seeking portable firepower against air threats or a powerful weapon to carry out Allah’s will against infidels, then the Grinch was, in Ross’s humble opinion, the most bad-ass launcher of them all.
He took a seat at his desk as the team gathered around.
‘So as I was saying,’ Kozak began after the weapons briefing. ‘Do you know what this means?’
‘It means we ain’t going home,’ Pepper said. ‘Not anytime soon …’
‘Right,’ Kozak agreed. ‘But check this out.’ He began reading from his own tablet computer. ‘The Russians have been selling these Grinch launchers to Venezuela, and the State Department has been worried for a long time that those launchers could find their way into the hands of the FARC. They, in turn, might sell them to the Mexicans. You know how that goes: Here’s a few bricks of cocaine, and with every order over five hundred grand, you get a free rocket launcher. Worse thing is, terrorists trying to get into the US through Mexico could get their hands on one of those puppies.’
‘So why are these FARC guys shipping the launchers overseas?’ 30K asked. ‘Are they selling them?’
‘These launchers don’t come from Venezuela,’ said Kozak.
‘Okay, now I’m confused,’ said 30K.
‘He’s right,’ Ross interjected. ‘During the civil war here in Libya, the warehouses in Tripoli were raided, and thousands of these Grinch launchers, along with the older SA-7s, went missing. Both sides stole them for their own use. I remember seeing pictures of civilian cars loaded with cases.’
‘So are these babies going back to Colombia then?’ asked Pepper. ‘Meaning the FARC have found another source for their weapons?’
‘That’s possible,’ said Ross. ‘If they’re not headed back there, then maybe Hamid’s new terrorist group is taking possession. Maybe he made a deal with the Libyans who stole them.’
‘Or better yet, maybe they’re splitting them up,’ said 30K. ‘Send some from Libya to Colombia, then send the rest to Mr Hamid’s house. Weapons, money, drugs all flowing in multiple directions.’
Ross slapped his palms on his knees, about to stand. ‘Well, this, gentlemen, is why they pay us the big bucks.’ He turned to Pepper. ‘Make sure your motorcycle’s got a full tank.’
‘Roger that.’
Ross glanced to the others. ‘We’ve got observers on the hotel and the warehouses. We’ll rotate out on watch. Everyone, try to grab a few z’s. We have a big day tomorrow.’
Ross had his arm draped over his eyes and was lying on his back, the support poles of the bed digging into his spine. He’d been fading in and out of sleep for the past hour, his thoughts rising in explosive clouds then dissipating before he could fully grapple with them:
His first date with Wendy at the Abbey Road Pub in Virginia Beach, how the ketchup bottle exploded …
Taking her to the beach that night and proposing, on his knees in the sand, the half-carat diamond small but the best he could afford …
Her calling him in Afghanistan to say they were going to have a baby, her voice cracking and making him cry …
The birth announcement card welcoming Jonathan Taylor Ross into the world, 10 pounds, 3 ounces …