Grimacing, Eldridge knew he would have to push on. The organization aside, he was not a man who accepted failure.
Eldridge and his men tore out of the block of buildings, hot on the tail of their two targets. He was now being provided with real-time information on the pair’s movements, monitored from directly above. He knew it was from an observation satellite in low-earth orbit, and was not surprised that access to such a satellite had been granted so quickly — although relations between the various intelligence services were notoriously bad, Jacobs’ organization always had a way of expediting things.
As Eldridge led his team on to Huérfanos, the electronic voice in his earpiece told him that the targets had just entered the Plaza de Brasil, less than five hundred feet directly east. Ignoring the startled look on the faces of the people in the streets as they stared at the heavily armed, masked men sprinting down the palm-lined boulevard, he quickly directed his teammates.
Two would go down each side of the square, racing round to cut off the north and south exits, while the van would drive round to secure the far west exit. Eldridge and his partner would enter the Plaza directly, and make the arrest.
He hoped.
9
The sight that greeted Adams and Lynn as they entered the plaza took their breath away, although they hardly paused, pressing on into the main square, and the centre of the Festival del Barrio Brasil.
Everywhere they looked, something was going on. There was street theatre, mime artists, dance troupes, art exhibitions, acrobats, music bands, surrounded by hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of captivated spectators. The big plaza was also well covered by trees, offering shade and shelter, and it looked the perfect place to get lost in the crowd.
Adams, all too aware that the armed team was probably right behind them, pulled Lynn forward further into the vast mass of people, slowing down to a fast walk so as not to draw attention.
With everything that was going on in the plaza, it seemed an impossibility that they would be seen.
Five hundred feet below the Nevada desert, the technicians monitored the live feeds coming in from the NSA satellites, as well as the Santiago metropolitan CCTV.
They observed as the targets — Charlie One and Charlie Two — entered the crowded plaza. They lost them both momentarily, but then the program software highlighted them, indicating them with a blue light, and the lead technician cross-checked the given location and patched it through to the plaza’s CCTV cameras, which then turned and focused on the given targets.
Images then came up of Charlie One and Two, drifting easily through the crowd, an American Indian man and Caucasian woman, late thirties, both carrying bags, looking carefully around them.
As the technician reported the details to the field team, he felt almost guilty about how easy it all was.
Eldridge gasped as he saw the crowds, wondering how in the hell he would ever find the targets in such an environment, but then his earpiece crackled, and the information came through with crystal clarity — they were forty yards south-east into the park, directly in the middle of a group of twenty-seven spectators just to the side of the acrobat display.
He relayed the information to the rest of his team, clicked the safety off his weapon, and stalked forward, ignoring the screams of the people who saw him.
Adams didn’t know which was first — the sight of the CCTV camera, all but hidden behind a large palm tree to the north of the square, turning slowly towards them, until it stopped directly facing them, or the sound of screams coming from behind them, the screams one might well imagine coming from people seeing men with guns.
But in an instant he knew they were not hidden — they were trapped. Even now, the exits to the square might be being blocked off, creating a kill zone in the plaza. He knew that whoever was behind what was going on wanted them alive, but he also realized that this might well be preferential, not necessarily essential. He certainly wasn’t going to take any risks with the situation.
Frantically, he scanned the plaza, the crowds, the bands, the dancers, the exhibits, the displays, the—
He stopped dead and, despite himself, a smile broke out across his face.
There was a commotion up ahead, that much Eldridge didn’t have to be told, he could see it with his own eyes, something happening in the crowd, a ripple of people, roaring, laughter, shouts.
The voice coming through his earpiece told him that the two targets had left the crowd, heading further south-east, towards what appeared to be an animal display area. They were pushing past the crowds there, approaching the animals, and then — Eldridge shut himself off, not believing what he was hearing.
Then he was there himself, pushing past people so that he could see, and he knew that the voice had been right.
He pulled back, yelling into his microphone to his teammates. ‘Get to the van! Now! They’re on the back of a damn horse!’
10
Adams felt Lynn’s grip tighten around his waist as he manoeuvred the horse through the rapidly parting crowd.
He knew that the two of them on the back of a horse would only draw attention, their elevated position making them momentarily more of a target, but he hoped that the extra speed they would now have would more than compensate for it. He also didn’t expect shots to be fired wildly in such a packed public place, but there were no guarantees of that, and so he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and drove onwards towards the west exit.
From their higher position, they could both see more of what was going on. None of it was good. Lynn had twisted round to scope out what was going on behind, then turned and whispered in his ear, ‘Two armed men right behind us.’ He was amazed at the control of her voice, damping down any of the horrendous emotions that she must have been going through. At the same time, he had himself identified four policemen at work in the plaza, their attention shifting to the commotion around the animal enclosure.
Adams and Lynn had raced in quickly, Adams jumping lithely on to the back of the unsaddled horse, arm down to pull Lynn up after him. The children who had been feeding the animal hay backed away quickly, and the keeper had tried to grab Adams’ leg to pull him off, but Adams had managed to kick him away, controlling the horse through the pressure of his thighs to steer her towards the far exit.
Riding bareback was a difficult skill but it was one that Adams had mastered long ago, and one which he still often demonstrated during his tours. It was made more difficult by having Lynn behind him of course, but not impossible.
He encouraged the horse — a fine chestnut mare — forwards, and she lightly skipped the barrier of the enclosure, starting to pick up pace. The crowd behind were calling for the police, and Adams knew they didn’t have long to get out of the plaza.
Tim Renfrew sat watching the plaza exit in his van, submachine gun aimed out of the side window.
He was still under orders to bring them in alive if possible, so he was planning on shooting the horse instead. If the horse went down, the targets would be momentarily helpless, hopefully for as long as it took for Renfrew to get close up and taser them.
He could see the large crowd parting, pandemonium seeming to break out visibly, some people running screaming from the plaza, and then there they were. Charlie One, Charlie Two, and the horse — better make that Charlie Three, Renfrew decided as he aimed down the sight of the MP5.