By now, most everything we were taking with us was packed onto pallets, ready to be loaded onto the boat when it arrived. Everything else was being systematically destroyed. We were leaving nothing behind for the Zubarans to capture.
A lot of us didn’t have anything to do. Everything had been broken down and packed away, so we didn’t even have a television to watch. We ended up gathering on the roof of the dormitory, where we had a pretty good view of the city, to watch the fighting.
It was like a grim fireworks show. The occasional stream of tracer fire arced into the darkened sky. We could see flashes and hear distant rumbling as both sides shelled each other with artillery. Jets roared overhead, and ancient air-raid sirens screamed throughout the city. Several large fires had broken out. Volleys of rockets were exchanged. We watched in awe as a Zubaran jet, engulfed in flames, plunged into the bay.
I sat on an old metal bucket and played my harmonica. I was rusty, but I’d been pretty good back in the day. I played a sad, lilting tune. I didn’t know what it was called, but no one seemed to mind me setting things to music as we watched Zubara burn.
“We caused this,” Anita King said. She stood near me, arms folded across her chest, looking off into the distance. “We destroyed this country.”
“We were trying to prevent this,” Holbrook said, looking through a pair of large military binoculars.
Tailor’s face was briefly illuminated as he lit a cigarette. “This was bound to happen sooner or later,” he said, snapping the lighter shut. “There was no way a handful of guys was going to come in and change the course of this country.”
“Then why did you sign up?” Holbrook asked.
Tailor shrugged. “It was something to do. I was bored.” He cracked a smile, and Holbrook shook his head.
Frank Mann, the armorer, was with us. “It’s been nice working with you guys,” he said. “You didn’t abuse my weapons. I appreciated that.” We all chuckled.
“You know what really pisses me off?” Holbrook asked. “You know they’ll try this again.”
“Who?”
“Whoever the hell we work for. These black-ops guys. Project Heartbreaker failed. But you know they’re going to try this again somewhere else. Might be a year from now, might be twenty years. But they will try again. And a handful of guys will die trying to accomplish a mission an entire army would have trouble with.”
He was right. If Gordon Willis was representative of whatever shadowy organization he worked for, I knew they’d try something like this again. Our employers had no regard for human life, neither ours nor those of civilians caught in the crossfire. They would do anything, no matter the cost, to accomplish their ambiguous and convoluted goals. We were the ones that paid the price.
Whoever they were, they were powerful, well-funded, and connected. And they were arrogant. I had no doubt in my mind that they’d try again someday. A strong wind gusted from the ocean. A storm was coming, unseasonably late in the year.
LORENZO
I hung from the underside of the stairs of the big forties- era structure we had christened Building Two, sweat rolling down my face and stinging my eyes. My grip was tight on the hot metal bars, and I prayed that the Dead Six personnel standing ten feet away would hurry up and find a better place to be.
“Aqua Teens is way better than Venture Brothers,” the first argued. There were some clicking sounds, and then a lighter flame appeared, briefly highlighting the two men. I could hear him take a long drag. The nearest light was burned out, and it was dark enough that I could only see the glowing red embers.
Using the thermal camera on Little Bird, Reaper had warned me right before the Dead Six men had turned the corner. My awkward perch was the best that I could come up with on short notice.
“Dude, you’re stupid,” the second replied. “Venture Brothers has Brock Samson. Brock Samson, man. All you got is a milkshake. Quit hogging that.”
Who argues about cartoons in the middle of the night? Ignoring the growing pain in my arms, I contemplated shooting them and getting it over with, but it was too damn hot to have to drag their bodies to a hiding place. Luckily, after a few minutes the two super geniuses decided they needed some munchies and went back inside. The smell from Building Two’s open door told me that it was the chow hall.
I slowly lowered myself to the floor, careful to settle my weight without making a sound. Checking my watch, I cursed the delay. I didn’t know what was going down at midnight, but I didn’t want to be here to find out. I’d crept around the first few buildings now and I still hadn’t seen Nightcrawler. My best bet was to isolate him and find out where the box was. If he had any clue how incredibly valuable it was, he had more than likely kept it for himself. If not, I could certainly carve the box’s location out of him.
Building Three looked liked like the living quarters, so that’s where I’d start. I could stick to the shadows under the wall of the old steel building all the way there. It took nearly twenty minutes, since I had to low-crawl through a few narrow patches between rays of naked light, but this was my element, I was a ghost, I was a predator. Move . . . stop, wait, listen . . . move. Every time I heard Reaper’s voice I would freeze and wait until the danger passed. There was one final wide space to cross, but it was relatively dark and scattered with miscellaneous barrels and bits of cover, and then I was in place.
Building Three had a covered stairwell on both ends. Reaper’s thermal camera couldn’t help me once I was under a roof. I heard the footsteps coming and unconsciously calculated where they would be looking as they descended. I pulled into the darkest corner, hand coming to rest on my Greco Whisper CT. The 5 º inch blade came out slowly, not making any noise, and I held it in against my body. A bearded man came down the stairs, whistling. If his eyes so much as flick in this direction . . .
Knives aren’t for fighting. Knives are for killing. I was already visualizing his death, when luckily for both of us, he just kept going, opened the door, and walked out. I started breathing again and sheathed the blade back under my vest.
The second floor. Hall clear. I couldn’t believe it. Their names were actually written on the doors. The first door said McAllister. The next door read Valentine and had a stupid heart with an arrow through it. Jill had thought that she’d heard Nightcrawler called Val back at the Hasa Market. The door was locked, but I picked it in under five seconds. I drew my 9mm, screwed the suppressor on, and entered the room without hesitation. Thankfully the hinges did not squeak.
The nearest exterior lights of the compound provided enough illumination to see by through the open balcony door. The balcony was empty. The bed was unoccupied. I checked the bathroom. The shower was damp, and there was still condensation on the mirror. He had not been gone long. Music came from the other bedroom attached to this bathroom. I had to hurry. I closed the door. If anyone returned, it would at least give me a brief warning.
Some weapons were thrown on the bed. There was a disassembled 7.62mm SCAR sitting on top of some armor. The armor itself was stained with dried blood and had a bullet impact on the trauma plate. I could not help but notice the oddball sidearm still holstered on the green web gear, a weird, customized S&W .44 Magnum. That was probably the same gun that had blasted a hole clear through Hosani and into me. I’d found the right room.