“Think it’ll blow all night?” Roger wondered.
“Weather Channel said it will.”
“Weather Channel don’t know shit about mountain weather.”
Glen lit a cigarette with a First Marines Zippo lighter and tossed the pack at his brother. “Think anybody could see the glow of the cherry through the tent wall?”
“Who the hell would be out in this?”
Glen rolled onto his elbow, his face faintly visible in the glow. “We’re out in it.”
Roger lay on his back, tapping an ash from his cigarette onto the front of his Carhartt jacket and rubbing it in. “If it’s gonna blow all night, we might as well make our way back down to the house. We can’t see shit from in here anyhow.”
“Let’s give it an hour,” Glen said. “It might ease off.”
“The old man’s right,” Roger said. “Bastards won’t make another try at Gil anytime soon. If they were super committed, they’d have sent more than one dude the first time. I think they probably shot their wad for now. Their priority is the nuke.”
“Sons a bitches,” Glen muttered. “Where you think it’s at? I bet it’s in New York. Those fuckers love shittin’ on New York.”
“That’s why I think it’s DC. They won’t bother LA on any account. Even Chechens aren’t stupid enough to blow up Hollywood. Everybody likes our movies too much.”
“Buncha hypocrites.” Glen exhaled smoke through his nostrils.
They bullshitted awhile longer and smoked another couple cigarettes before deciding it was likely to rain all night. “If it quits, we can always come back up.”
They crawled out of the tent, slinging their weapons barrel-down over their shoulders as they walked the ridge line in the downpour.
It was Roger who saw the red laser dot appear on the back of his brother’s head in the driving rain. At first he thought his eyes were playing him tricks, but his instincts were fast to set him in motion.
“Get down!” He shoved Glen forward, spinning to unshoulder his carbine.
He did not hear the 5.56 mm NATO round that struck him in the forehead, dropping him in his tracks. Just as Glen did not hear the rounds that struck him in the back. He hit the ground without ever grabbing for his weapon.
Duke rose soaking wet from a copse of junipers fifty feet away, strolling forward to stand over the bodies that lay crumpled on the muddy horse trail, slinging his suppressed M4 and raising the infrared binocular up onto his forehead.
Akram stood from his place among the rocks and came forward.
“See, it’s like I told you,” Duke said over the sound of the storm. “Even these idiots knew ya gotta hold the high ground… but then, you desert folk probably don’t see much high ground where you’re from. Am I right?” He laughed and turned around, ordering two other men to drag the bodies from the trail into the junipers. “Likely gonna be a long, wet night. You all better get used to the idea right now and stop standin’ around with your hands in your pockets.” Then he walked off, mumbling beneath his breath, “Ya haji pricks.”
52
The power to the house went out, and Buck stood up from the couch where he’d been reading the latest internet news about the intensifying search for the nuke. Lightning flashed, and Janet saw him clearly for a brief instant, his hand on his pistol.
“Probably just the storm,” she said. “It happens out here a lot.”
“My place too, but this ain’t a good night to be in the dark.”
Marie came hurrying down the stairs with Oso growling, gripping Gil’s Springfield Armory .45. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered. “Oso’s upset.”
Oso went straight to the back door and began to scratch at the locked dog door.
“Wake Hal up!” Buck said, drawing the pistol. “Janet, you and Marie get upstairs. Take Oso with you.”
Hal was already coming down, a carbine in each hand. He crossed the room and gave one to his father. “We got movement outside by the stable, and it’s not the boys.”
After cutting the power and phone lines, Akram gathered his team of twenty men in the stable and stripped off his soaking jacket. The odor of horse manure was offensive to him, and it made him feel unclean. He ordered Abad and the rest of the men to cover the entrances. The Muslims were equipped with civilian-grade, first-generation night vision goggles, but Duke had brought along his third-generation military-grade binocular, which allowed him to see in infrared in addition to utilizing ambient light.
“If anyone comes out of the house,” Akram said, “shoot them immediately.”
Duke sat down on a bale of hay. “So what’s our next move gonna be?”
“I’m not sure,” Akram said glumly. “I hadn’t planned on it raining.” Where he came from, rain had never been a problem. “I’ll take the TAC-50 up into the loft. You set up down here, and we’ll wait for Shannon to show himself.”
“We could assault the house,” Duke said. “We’ve got the manpower.”
“We’ll wait to see. If Shannon’s in there ready for us, it could be a disaster. We don’t know how many more men he has inside with him.”
“Listen, you want to end this duck hunt before morning, or you wanna fuck around out here all night in the goddamn rain?”
“You need to stop with the blasphemy.”
Duke chortled. “I’m talkin’ about the Jew God.”
“It’s as Abad told you before… blasphemy is blasphemy.”
“You want to kill this prick or not?”
Akram narrowed his eyes, wishing it was time to put the American to death. “I’m listening.”
“You need to send in that kid with the bomb vest. Even if the blast doesn’t get Shannon, it’s gonna fuck up whatever defense they’ve organized in there and set the house on fire. Then we shoot whoever comes running out.”
“Tahir!” Akram called in the darkness, his face illuminated briefly by a flash of lightning. “Come here.” It was a brilliant idea to send a bomber into the house. But Akram was irked with himself for not having thought of it on his own.
Tahir appeared with a pair of night vision goggles on his face, an AK-47 hanging from his shoulder. “Yes, teacher.”
“Your moment has arrived.” Akram put his hands on the youth’s shoulders and squeezed. “I need you to go into the house and detonate the bomb. You will arrive in heaven instantly, bathed in the affections of Allah.”
Tahir shivered, and then felt the warmth of his urine running down the inside of his leg into his boot. “Yes, teacher.” His voice felt raw, and he suddenly realized that he did not want to die. But there was no turning back.
Akram unzipped Tahir’s jacket and readied the dead-man switch, putting it into the youth’s fist. “It is very easy,” he promised. “All you have to do is let go of the handle, and Allah will take care of the rest.”
“Will there be pain?”
“None,” Akram promised. “And your name will live forever.”
Weak in the knees, Tahir leaned back against the stall door where a horse stood eating from a bucket of oats. “Should I sneak across or run?”
“Be stealthy,” Akram said. “Work your way to the red truck, and from there you can run full speed to the back of the house. If you cannot force the door, break in through a window. Whatever you do, you must stay alive long enough to get inside, where the pressure wave will do the most damage. If you see our target, get as close as you can before releasing the detonator.”
“I will not fail,” Tahir said numbly, feeling utterly empty inside his skin.