If anyone knew where the convoys were headed, it had to be Mills. Only Mills could have arranged the deliveries, which he would have kept quiet. Mills clearly had some hefty political connections somewhere. Securing a one-time contract to deliver water to the United Nation's Headquarters building couldn't have been easy. Then again, when bottled water was currently the only safe and trusted drinking option on the table in the United States, it may have been a slam-dunk for Mills. It wouldn't surprise Daniel in the least to learn that Mills had been in active negotiations to deliver water to the U.N., when the crisis "conveniently" erupted.
Five more convoys were likely headed to similar, but unknown targets. The NSA was tracking four of them. Their mission was simple: acquire the missing convoy's final destination as quickly as possible. Based on the information available, the convoy in question had left the warehouse around nine in the morning and could have already delivered its cargo to a target as far away as Washington, D.C. This possibility precluded the best assault options, like a water approach at dusk, or a multiple-point perimeter breach. They had barely carved out enough time to survey the compound.
Located at the tip of Boulder Point on the western bank of northern Lake Wallenpaupack, Owen Mills' estate occupied a vast stretch of the most desirable real estate on the lake. With sweeping views of the water spanning east to west, his lone mansion commanded most of the point. A single looping road swung down from Lake Shore Drive, closely following the shoreline and passing several luxury homes on its journey to the front gate of the estate. The road turned inland at that point and crossed the small peninsula, depositing cars back onto Lake Shore Drive. A formidably tall, yet elegant black wrought-iron fence spanned the peninsula, actively discouraging tourists from taking a closer look at the massive house in the distance.
From Ledge Point, a smaller peninsula to the east, they had spent close to fifteen minutes observing Boulder Point, counting guards and looking for patterns. Their first obstacle would be the gatehouse. Manned by two armed guards and located one hundred feet from the eastern shoreline, the stone shack guarded the only road leading to the mansion at the southernmost tip of the small peninsula. The property itself was relatively featureless, with the exception of several thick pockets of towering pine trees. One of the pine tree clusters stood between the gatehouse and the main structure, hopefully obscuring the view between the two structures. They planned on using Paulson's car to approach the gate without raising any alarms. Once the guards were neutralized, they would ditch the car and approach on foot. Taking the car any further would attract too much attention.
Beyond the gatehouse, several lone guards armed with assault rifles patrolled the property. Unfortunately, their observation detected no discernible patrol pattern. None of them came any closer than three hundred feet to the wrought-iron fence, giving Daniel the impression that Mills didn't want to attract the wrong kind of attention. Even the guards at the gate kept their weapons concealed inside the shack, though Daniel could see the barrel of an AR-15 through one of the windows. Clearing the patrols wouldn't be a problem. He was more concerned about what waited for them inside the house.
The guards patrolling the estate looked better trained than what they had encountered in the warehouse. They were heavily armed with optics-enhanced assault rifles, outfitted with body armor and apparently taking their jobs seriously. They constantly communicated using hand signals or talking into their shoulder-mounted microphones. It appeared that Mills had reserved the best operatives for his personal security detail. On the eve of True America's greatest moment, he supposed this was appropriate. Or maybe Mills had VIP guests, which raised a completely different realm of possibilities. The men on patrol didn't look like Secret Service agents, but they could easily pass for civilian contractors assigned to a VIP-protection detail.
"There's the turnoff for Boulder Point Road. We're about a minute from the gate," he said, applying the turn signal and easing the car over the dashed yellow line.
Despite the fact that they were about to jump headfirst into a battle against a numerically superior force, he started wheezing in laughter. He couldn't help it. With one of Jessica's blond wigs jammed over his head, Munoz looked like a transvestite prostitute that had long ago given up trying to maintain the pretense of being a woman. Before leaving with Graves and Gupta, she had tossed it into the back of the Mercedes, thinking it might come in handy approaching the gate. Anne Renee Paulson had blond hair. Laughter erupted from the van, causing Munoz to slam on the brakes and spill everyone forward.
"How about a little fucking professionalism?" he hissed, slamming them all back into their seats by rapidly accelerating.
"Just be glad we're not taking pictures. You look beautiful, by the way," Daniel said, igniting another round of snickering.
"Fuck you, Petrovich."
Munoz continued along Boulder Point Road until the gatehouse appeared over a slight rise in the road. Melendez lowered the rear passenger side window. If the guards reacted before they reached the gate, Melendez would raise himself out of the window and fire his suppressed P90 over the top of the SUV. He was their long-distance insurance policy.
"Here's where we find out if that wig was worth it," Daniel said.
Munoz just nodded, having already settled into his meditation. Daniel would hold the wheel while Munoz lowered the window and held a suppressed pistol in the other, timing the approach so that he could fire point blank into the furthest guard's head upon pulling parallel to the shack. Fayed would shoot the other guard from the rear driver side. Daniel watched one of the guards nonchalantly grab his shoulder handset and presumably relay information regarding Anne Renee's arrival. He didn't detect any signs of panic or alarm among them. A quick scan of the estate in front of them confirmed that none of the patrols were in sight and that the guard shack was partially obscured by the cluster of pines he had spotted earlier. Their approach had been perfectly timed by Munoz.
Daniel held his own suppressed pistol between the front passenger seat and the door, just in case. The decoratively spiked front gate started to swing inward as the Mercedes pulled up to the two guards. Even as both of the driver side windows descended, neither of them looked interested in the vehicle. Daniel gripped the wheel just before Munoz raised the pistol and fired a single .40-caliber bullet through the guard's forehead. The two shell casings hit the front windshield and deflected onto the dashboard.
Munoz threw the blond wig in Daniel's lap and accelerated through the gate, barely missing the slow-moving barrier. He heard a whirlwind of activity from the rear seating area, as Fayed, Paracha and Melendez traded out their compact P90s for more suitable long-range weapons provided by Karl Berg's contact. They would close the main house on foot, possibly traversing up to 800 feet depending on how far they could drive the SUV. The P90's effective range remained well inside of 200 yards, which could put them at a significant disadvantage if they needed to engage targets at the house. The vehicle slowed, and Munoz eased it off the blacktop next to an untamed row of yellow forsythia bushes.
"That's as far as we can go without breaking into sight."
Everyone dismounted at once, and more rifles were exchanged with Paracha, who handed them out from the depths of the SUV's third row of seats. Melendez held out a suppressed M1A SOCOM 7.62mm rifle and a combat load-bearing vest for Daniel. He took the vest, sliding it on before grabbing the rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. He snapped the olive drab vest shut, checking it for loose pouches or anything that could snag on the bushes. They had pre- rigged all their gear on the dirt road off Route 6, swapping 7.62mm and 5.56mm magazines between vests, based on weapons assignment.