“Chasteen, I believe we have struck gold.”
“How so?” Chasteen responded, still leveling his weapon at the motionless body.
Ballantine used his hand to lightly brush along the man’s strong face, caressing it softly like he might a favored pet. His eyes never strayed from him, as if to reconfirm over and over again that this was indeed who he thought it was.
“As you know, part of our operation here is to kill Matt Garrett,” Ballantine said.
“Yes, of course. We have rehearsed that part of the plan many times.”
Ballantine turned his head slowly, staring directly into the handsome Chasteen’s narrow eyes.
“Do you remember why I want to kill Matt Garrett?”
“Yes, for revenge. His brother killed your only brother. But he was killed, and Matt Garrett was the best remaining target.”
“Well, that has changed somewhat,” Ballantine remarked, a sliver of a smile growing at the corner of his lip. He turned his head back toward the unconscious body.
Chasteen hesitated, slowly turning his gaze toward Garrett, comprehension creeping into him like an Indian stalking a deer, ever so slowly.
“This can’t be Matt Garrett… ”
“No. No, Chasteen, this is none other than Captain Zachary Garrett.”
Chasteen smiled in recognition of what Ballantine was saying, even if he thought the Arabic man was a bit delusional. He reached down and pulled away Garrett’s woodland camouflage-pattern shirt, snapping the ID tags from his chest.
“Winslow Boudreaux, 713-54-8245. O Positive. Catholic. Nothing here about Zachary Garrett, boss.”
Ballantine looked back at Chasteen, only inches away from him now.
“I don’t care what the fake tags say. This is the man who killed Henri.” He lifted his face upward, closing his eyes. His voice was a whisper cutting a crease into the silent mineshaft.
“I can see him now, on top of me, pistol in his hand, all in slow motion. Henri coming over the rise toward the wadi. Garrett lifting that pistol, firing it over and over into Henri’s face.”
Ballantine’s voice carried an iciness that spoke to Chasteen, telling him he should trust his boss and keep his mouth shut. Ballantine looked back at Chasteen, emerging from his trance.
“Help me cuff him and get him back to the cabin. Call Virginia and tell her she needs to come to the operations center. Let her know we’ve got casualties. We need to secure Garrett and then, once he awakens, I will interrogate him. We need to know who sent him.”
“Roger.”
They rolled Garrett onto his stomach, took a pair of plastic flexible cuffs from Garrett’s own gear, and used them to bind his wrists behind his back. Ballantine then swung the unconscious man onto his back.
“Take the Sherpa to Vermont at first light and check on the forward ground control site for the UAVs,” Ballantine told Chasteen. “I had planned on doing that, but I need to think about this new development. Swarming operations will commence soon, and I want to make sure we are set.”
“No problem.” Chasteen was an accomplished bush pilot of many years. He had flown fat-cat loggers into the deep forests to survey future cut areas. “I can be ready in an hour.”
Being careful not to step on the bodies littering the mineshaft, they walked into the morning dawn, weapons at the ready in case Garrett was working with a partner or the military had an automatic response cell. Neither appeared to be the case.
As Ballantine’s boots crunched into the morning frost, he considered his good fortune and the limitless potential for the new situation.
Yes, just as he knew the pale gray line to the east would be followed by an orange hue licking its way slowly across the terrain, bringing light and warmth, he knew that the cargo he now carried on his shoulders was none other than Captain Zachary Garrett.
Ballantine’s heart leapt, surging with love for his brother, Henri. Allah had delivered his prayer.
CHAPTER 23
Admiral Chi Chen sat in his “captain’s chair,” watching the large terminal play for him the real-time full-motion video of a Predator unmanned aerial vehicle.
Chen’s assistant, Seaman Ling, rapidly moved the mouse of the computer that controlled the launch and connectivity of the Predators. The icons for five UAVs circled on another computer terminal display. Scaled numbers and target indicators showed that each aircraft was flying at 10,000 feet above sea level in roughly parallel orbits, each focused on a different island in this sparsely inhabited chain of atolls.
“See there, Admiral,” Ling said, pointing at the screen. Chen stared at one Predator video feed of a small shack on a tiny atoll northwest of Kiribati. As far as they could tell, it was uninhabited; though, they had not done any formal assessment beyond watching the building for half an hour.
“I see. So?”
“Now, watch, Admiral. Bees swarm using pheromones to communicate. The American insect scientist has given us the ability to replicate this communication using ‘digital pheromones.’” Ling moved the cursor to a link he had created and labeled swarm. Once he clicked the swarm button, he saw four of the icons move in the direction of the master Predator that Ling had manipulated to deliver the swarming command. Unseen to Chen and Ling were millions of digital data packets emanating from the master Predator to the other drones. Soon they could see in the video feed of the master the other four drones circling beneath at 8,000 feet above sea level. They looked like broad-winged seagulls circling above baitfish in the ocean.
“Now watch, Admiral,” Ling said. He pushed a button that fired an inert hellfire missile into the shack. Instantly, the other four drones fired similar missiles. Despite the absence of munitions, the shack exploded in a granulated display of dust and wood chips after five cement-filled training rockets slammed into the target.
“Those were not real, correct?” Chen asked.
“Correct. Now watch this,” Ling said. Though it was hard to remove his eyes from the billowing smoke cloud rising from where the shack once stood, Chen watched in amazement as Ling entered commands into the computer that caused the master Predator to arc into a nosedive directly at the smoke cloud. The drones followed suit, like synchronized swimmers, all lining up at the exact same attack angles and along the exact same route.
Though Ling pulled the master drone out of its dive in time to keep it airborne and bring it back to the ship, it was clear to Chen that if he had five nuclear bombs rigged on those five Predators, they could overwhelm any air defenses that any nation might have protecting its capital.
And he had 18 of them.
Chen watched Ling perform the maneuvers with the master as the lead aircraft circled and slowed and then landed through the gap in the Fong Hou’s bow. A chain lowered the lip of the bow and raised the empty containers on top, no more than a shell, like the maw of a hungry animal. Each drone followed the other onto the improvised runway, caught the steel cable with its improvised tail hook, and was rushed out of sight by a crew of Seaman Ling’s counterparts.
Ling looked at Chen, who was still staring at the blank screen.
“Full ahead,” Chen said. “We have some time to make up.”
CHAPTER 24
Matt rolled slightly and then bolted upright.
The morning sunlight was edging through the cracks in the barn’s wooden planks. He had heard a noise down below. It was a metallic screeching sound followed by some dull thuds and a voice. Talking. Someone was talking, but he could only hear one voice.