“I concur.”
The other sentries they’d seen in the satellite photos patrolled areas inside the compound walls.
“Then let’s go to work,” Jonathan said. He flipped the NVGs back down and brought the extended stock of the MP7 tight against his shoulder. He’d outfitted the weapon with an infrared laser sight, the beam from which would be invisible to anyone who did not have night vision. At this range, the sight guaranteed a kill.
“You take the guy on the left,” Jonathan whispered. “I’ve got the guy on the right.”
“Rog.”
“In three, two, one.”
The weapons fired in unison, one shot each, emitting a pop that sounded more like a firecracker than a gunshot, and launching a tiny 4.6 millimeter bullet at 2,300 feet per second. The targets died in unison. They were already falling before the sound of the gunshots made it halfway across the road.
“Let’s go,” Jonathan said. He turned to beckon Yelena forward, but she had clearly heard him and was already on her way. When she joined them, Jonathan said, “Think of yourself as my shadow. Do what I do, but don’t shoot unless I tell you to.”
This time, he didn’t wait for an answer.
Boxers moved out first, just as far as the near edge of the road, where he took a knee, and, with his weapon to his shoulder, he scanned an arc from left to right. “Clear,” he said.
Jonathan moved next. He grabbed Yelena by her vest to get her going, but then let go as he led her past Boxers and then all the way across the road to the left-hand edge of the gate wall. “Stay,” he said to Yelena, and then he pivoted into the courtyard to scan for any threats they night have missed. Seeing none, he keyed his mike. “Clear.” He motioned Yelena to come closer.
Five seconds later, Boxers was back with them. “I hate it when things start easy,” he said. Call it warriors’ pessimism, but this was a classic way to pull your opponent into a trap. You give them all the encouragement they need to keep moving forward, and then you let them have it when they’re in too deeply to retreat.
Jonathan turned to address Yelena and saw that she was staring at the dead sentry who lay at her feet. The sentry seemed to stare back at her. Jonathan rapped on her helmet to get her attention and she jumped. “If you see somebody with a weapon, you say ‘gun to the right’ or wherever they are, and Big Guy and I will take him out. Your weapon is too loud. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“And to think that I actually had to train for years to master this shit,” Boxers grumbled.
Jonathan brought his weapon back to his shoulder and nodded to the six-inch ring that served as the knob for the enormous door. “Just how easy is it?”
The ring turned and the door floated open. “Too,” Big Guy said.
“Yelena, stay till we call for you.” To Boxers, “You call it.”
“Three, two, one.” Boxers pushed the door open all the way. Following their long-standing protocol, Jonathan went in low and turned to the left while Boxers went in high and turned to the right.
The doors opened onto a wide stone vestibule that Jonathan guessed might have been a processing area back in the day, or maybe a waiting room for visiting relatives. More a part of the structure of the wall than of the prison it surrounded, the vestibule was devoid of furniture and was dimly lit by only a single bulb that dangled from the ceiling. The prominent feature of the room was another door on the far side, directly across from the one they’d just entered.
Jonathan turned back toward the courtyard, where the First Lady stood in the doorway. “Yelena, come in.”
As she stepped inside, her eyes never stopped scanning. It was as if she was trying to memorize everything she saw.
When she cleared the jamb, Jonathan and Boxers moved around her to drag the dead sentries inside. With luck, if they were noted to be missing, no one would see the blood slicks. They laid the bodies side by side in the middle of the room, and Jonathan went back to shut the doors. With the panel closed, Jonathan could see the locking mechanism that was clearly designed to keep people out rather than in. Foot-long steel bars slid into matching keepers on the opposite panel — four of them in total, at eye, chest, belt, and knee level. Boxers started to push one of them home, but Jonathan stopped him.
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” he said. “I think we want stuff to look as normal as possible for as long as it can.”
“You mean, except for the corpses?”
“Maybe we should move them off to the side,” Jonathan conceded. They each chose a body and dragged it from the middle of the floor to the corner where the southern and eastern walls met.
Yelena watched in silence. In the yellow glow of the incandescent light, the massive head wounds stood out in clear relief.
“Don’t freak out on us now,” Boxers said. “This is what you signed on for.”
“I’m not freaking out about anything,” she said. “I’ve seen bodies before.”
Big Guy drew his KA-BAR knife from its sheath on his shoulder, and used it as extension of his arm to kill the overhead lightbulb with a single swipe, drenching them in darkness.
Jonathan flipped down his NVGs, turning the darkness into green daylight. “Just stay close to us, Mrs. Darmond,” he said. “Keep a hand on my back if you have to. We can see everything just fine.”
“I can see shadows,” she said.
If their intel was right — and so far, it had been holding up pretty well — the door ahead led to a hallway. A turn to the left would take them to the chapel, and a turn to the right would take them to the oldest portion of the jail, which they believed to be empty. Going straight would take them out to the prison yard, and the cluster of buildings that comprised the cell blocks and barracks. If things went according to plan, they could be out of here and on their way home in ten minutes. Fifteen, max.
They moved to the next door, and paused to repeat the same entry maneuver. “Ma’am, remember that you are always the last one through a door, okay? Going in or coming out, you’re last.”
A radio broke squelch behind them.
Jonathan pivoted and reflexively pushed Yelena to the floor. He planted a knee on her back to keep her out of any field of fire. “Ow!” she protested, but he didn’t care.
“Guard units report in,” a voice said in a Russian-accented English. It came from one of the dead sentries.
“Unit One is on post and cold.”
“Unit Two’s okay.”
Silence.
In unison, Jonathan and Boxers said, “Uh-oh.” Jonathan stood and helped Yelena to her feet.
“Unit Three? Are you there?” the Russian voice said.
“This is trouble,” Boxers grumbled.
“What is it?” Yelena asked.
“Unit Three, report.”
“Some kind of situation check. Making sure the guards are awake and on station.”
“Unit Four?”
No response.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Boxers said, gesturing to the bodies, “allow me to introduce Units Three and Four. We need to get moving.”
Jonathan moved to one of the bodies and found his radio. “Might help to know what they’re up to,” he said.
He joined Boxers at the door, checked to make sure that Yelena was out of harm’s way, then nodded to Big Guy. “Let’s go.”
Becky hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until somebody rattled her shoulder. She awoke with a start and a hammering heart, and the utter conviction that she should be running away from something.
“All right, Chickadee, it’s time to go to work.” It was Striker, and his eyes looked even more intense than usual.
Apparently, she’d been pretty deeply into REM sleep because none of this resonated with her. “I don’t understand.”
“Scorpion needs our help,” he said. “Looks like we get to join the shooting war.”