Hendrickson checked his notes. ‘Hightech ultra-featherlight four-channel FM forty-megahertz aircraft receivers.’
‘You got any ECM?’ Seaton asked.
‘ECM?’ queried Hendrickson.
‘Electronic countermeasures,’ Seaton explained. ‘To block transmissions.’
‘No,’ Hendrickson said, looking between the two men.
‘You might want to think about pulling some in,’ Seaton said.
Hendrickson made a note.
‘How long before we get to this place?’ Hobart asked as the car sped out of the airport.
‘We burn gas, we can make it in fifteen minutes,’ Hendrickson said confidently.
‘You know those funny little flashing lights we sometimes use to let people know we’re in a hurry?’ Hobart asked. ‘Well, turn the fucking things on.’
Hendrickson obeyed instantly, kicking himself for forgetting it.
30
As soon as the daylight had begun to fade, Stratton had rolled up the blueprints, put them back into the pick-up’s cab and gone into the mine to collect the rest of the charges and carry them to the truck. As he secured the load under the tarpaulin and tied the last slip knot he stopped dead as a faint sound dropped out of the slight breeze above. A second later it was gone.
He climbed down, stepped out of the barn and scanned the night sky. It was filled with stars that seemed unusually bright.
As he stood holding his breath, his senses tingling, the sound came again, as brief and faint as before but unmistakable to his experienced ear.
Stratton stepped further into the open and looked up again, panning slowly around. But he could see nothing to confirm that what he’d heard was almost certainly a distant helicopter. Then it came again, a little louder this time, the faint throb produced by rotors cutting through the air.
He stood still for almost a minute, waiting for it again. But the air was empty now except for the breeze gently toying with the treetops.
If it was a coincidence it didn’t matter – a rule of survival in the intelligence business was that there was no such thing. The fact was that Stratton had been in the same location for too long.
He hurried into the mine and down the shaft, knowing what he had to do. He’d been considering his contingency plans since his arrival. Some fulminate remained in the glass bowl and he placed it in the centre of the cavern, grabbed up the reel of explosive cord, tied a knot in the end and carefully placed it in the detonator compound. The remaining RDX was in a corner in a bin liner and he carried it over and lowered it gently on top of the bowl. Then he picked up the gas bottle, leaned it against the RDX and moved the glowing petrol lights alongside it. He picked up the reel and headed slowly back up the shaft, unreeling the cord as he went, ensuring that it remained slack but without any kinks or loops that might negate its function.
When Stratton reached the truck he hung the reel over the driver’s wing mirror, climbed into the cab and turned the key in the ignition. But the beast of an engine kicked over once and then died.
‘Great,’ Stratton muttered as he turned the starter again and stamped on the accelerator. But the truck appeared to have chosen this moment to retire. The smell of petrol wafted from the engine compartment and he cursed himself for flooding it.
He sat back, took a calming breath, left the pedals alone and eased the ignition key around in its slot. ‘Come on, old girl,’ he said as the starter motor turned over several times without the engine catching. As he let go of the key to give the starter motor another rest the engine suddenly boomed into life, spluttering as a couple of the pistons failed to ignite at first. A gentle pressure on the accelerator increased the revs and as the truck shook with the unbalanced rhythm the idle cylinders suddenly kicked in. The roar grew healthier by the second.
‘Attagirl,’ Stratton said as he played the accelerator to warm the engine. Then he eased it into reverse and backed out of the barn. He straightened the truck up as the nose faced the track that he could just about make out by the gap through the trees. Keeping his lights off, he eased it into drive and powered slowly forward, his hand out through the window as he unwound the cord. He kept the line slack, being careful not to pull the end out of the charge, and it seemed to take an age to reach the gate. As he closed on it Stratton took his foot off the accelerator and eased the gear lever into neutral so that the truck would roll to a stop without him having to touch the brakes and activate the red tail lights. To bring the truck to a final halt he eased on the hand-brake, jumped out, opened the gate, climbed back into the truck and eased it forward.
A few yards past the gate Stratton turned off the road, along a rut that separated the track from the wood, up and over the other side and in among the trees, the lower branches snapping against the sides of the truck. He continued slowly into the wood and when the cord ran off the reel after reaching the end he stopped the truck, using the handbrake again. He turned off the engine.
Stratton climbed out. He walked ahead of the vehicle through the trees until he reached the edge of the wood from where he could see the road several hundred yards away. He watched it, waiting for his night vision to kick in.
As it did, a shape began to grow in clarity on the hairpin bend in the darkness. After a few minutes Stratton had no doubt that it was a large van. Then his heart quickened as the possibility grew that the van and helicopter were part of a net closing in on him. He looked in all directions, not only for signs of other elements of a trap but for a way out. The ground in front of him was rough but all right for the pick-up and he could make the road without using the track if he had to. The problem was what to do then, if he could even get that far, since there were bound to be roadblocks. He had two choices: leave now and abandon the mission or let the noose tighten around his position and then assess the disposition of the enemy and their likely tactics.
A pair of headlights suddenly flashed from the direction of Caliente and a few seconds later they disappeared, extinguished. But he could hear the vehicle’s motor and then the black silhouette came into view on the road from Twin Oaks, eventually slowing to a stop behind the van with a brief display of red brake lights. A moment later several dark shapes climbed out from both vehicles and gathered in the gap between them.
‘That track leads directly to the mine,’ the commander of the HRT unit said to Hobart as they approached each other. The commander was dressed in a one-piece black fire-retardant suit, a Heckler & Koch MP5K sub-machine gun hanging by his side and a pistol in a holster strapped to his right thigh. A chest harness filled with MP5K magazines and a radio with a wire leading to an earpiece completed the ensemble. Behind him the rear doors of the van were open, revealing about two dozen similarly dressed personnel sitting inside.
‘How do you want to play this?’ Hobart asked as he scanned the distant black wood that hid the precise location of the mine.
‘Way I see it, we can do it two ways,’ the HRT agent said with a degree of confidence. ‘We can debus here and make our way in teams across country to the wood, then head for the mine, cover it from all sides, see what we got and then head in. Other option is to drive up the track, get closer to the mine, debus and move in along the track. The walk-in option is quieter,’ he said, looking at the night sky and listening to the still air.
‘Unless you get caught up in the wood,’ Hobart said, not sounding overly confident. He didn’t know the man other than by sight and was never too fond of this military type of operation. Hobart was a Federal agent, by job and by heart, and running around the countryside with a small army made him feel more like some kind of platoon commander. It did not appeal to him.