Little by little, as portions of the force began filtering back to the ship or, at least, reporting that the hard parts were done, the almost unbearable stress and anxiety Stauer had been under began to lift. For this, he thanked both God and good subordinates. The news about Buckwheat Fulton was hard to take, but, Mourn later.
Still no word from Phillie, but the last word from Reilly was that she was doing fine and, "You know, boss, you oughta think about marrying that girl."
Which is pretty much a done deal. Note to self: One of these days, think about what changed you, or her, or the both of you, to finally make getting married seem like a good idea.
See Bridges about a prenuptual agreement? Nah. That's bullshit. If you're not sure about the person you're marrying, you shouldn't get married.
And I've come to be pretty sure about my Miss Potter.
Happily whistling the riff from "Lawyers, Guns, and Money," Bridges was already waiting by a two-station battery of computers, in a semi-lighted container on the deck just forward of the mess deck. He smiled and rubbed his hands together as soon as Terry brought Mr. Dayid in. Lox was there, as well, in case it proved necessary to bypass some IT security system or other.
"Sir," Bridges said, "it's a pleasure to meet you. Now, assuming Terry has explained . . . "
"One percent of everything I recover to me and mine, the rest to you," Dayid said. "I am amenable."
"I see that he has explained," Bridges said, smiling. "Very good. Now if you will have a seat and direct me to our first target . . . "
"We should do this by size and liquidity and work our way down," Dayid said. "If you agree, the largest single liquid account is with Hottinger's, in Nassau." As Bridges began to pull up the already bookmarked website for the bank, Dayid added, "The account number is ABZ305697. The password is 30127. And since you have another computer, I can begin working on other assets of the less liquid sort . . . "
Dayid stopped for a moment, then said, "I feel bad, you know, screwing my chief like this and leaving him vulnerable to the ravages of Khalid who is, I assure you, no saint either."
Bridges shrugged. "Don't worry about that overmuch. Khalid stiffed us in minor ways on the contract. He thinks he owns some assets that he is going to discover he doesn't."
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Kill one; terrify a thousand.
-Sun Tzu, "The Art of War"
D-Day, Yemen
As the heaviest, Kravchenko tossed himself shoulder-first against the door, then fell to the floor, weapon aimed out, as the twin leaves burst open. Konstantin and Musin followed the slammed-open door, weapons to shoulders. Inside they found a large room, lavishly rugged and cushioned, with walls gilded in geometric shapes. Fully half a dozen doors opened onto the room, though all of them were closed. Whatever the layout of the place, it must have been well insulated as the sound of firing from outside almost completely disappeared once they were past the door.
Lada followed close behind, stepping over Kravchenko, pointing and shouting, "The bastard sleeps in there."
Following the woman's direction, the major and Musin ran to a closed door. Musin kicked it open while the major rushed in, aiming his submachine gun at Yusuf's head and saying, calm as you please, "Any excuse is a good one."
Musin followed Konstantin in, slinging his submachine gun, jumping on the bed, and rolling both of the girls flanking the Yemeni off the bed with his booted foot. He bent and flipped Yusuf onto his more than ample belly, then dropped down and pinned the man's hands behind him. Konstantin produced some sticky tape he'd gotten from the Americans on the ship and began to wrap Yusuf's hands together. Without a word, Lada went for a laptop lying on a marble table against one wall.
Meanwhile, Litvinov reported via short range radio, "Comrade Major, Galkin's down; dead I think. I'm pinned except that I can probably go over the wall. How far I'll get before they mount the wall and put one in my back I wouldn't bet on."
"Shit!" the major exclaimed, even as he continued wrapping Yusuf's hands. Maybe Galkin was queer and maybe he wasn't. But by God he was our queer and the fuckers are going to pay for that.
From the open central bay, Kravchenko called, "Comrade Major, I have the wog's three sons in tow."
"Shoot them," Konstantin ordered. Immediately, the apartment was filled with a chorus of approximately post-pubescent male voices, screaming, and a cacophony of wailing female ones. "The old man wants this bastard punished." Yusuf began to scream before Musin cuffed and punched him into silence. Of Litvinov, the major asked, "What the fuck happened, Lit?"
"Based on where the guards' bodies are, Comrade Major, I think Galkin saw someone coming for his position. He never said a word, just opened fire. They must have seen him at about the same time-before they went down, anyway-because some of them got a few shots off, too. Right now, as I said, I'm pinned on the parapet."
"Praporschik Baluyev?" Konstantin called.
"Here, Comrade Major. Situation is nominal. I am in good position to cover Litvinov if he can run for it."
Konstantin switched radios. "Falcons?" he called.
"Here, Major," the senior of the helicopter pilots answered.
"Things have gotten complicated," Konstantin said. "A ‘quiet' withdrawal is no longer an option. Come get us. I'll fill you in on the situation on the way."
"Roger. Ten minutes," the pilot answered. However surly a bastard he may have been before, once action had begun his voice and tone went entirely businesslike.
"So long?"
"Have to get the birds started and warmed up," the pilot said. "Remember, we didn't have, couldn't carry, enough fuel to both keep them running and make our rendezvous . . . not and carry all your equipment, all of you, and a minimum of our own ordnance."
"Understood. Please hurry."
"Wilco, Major."
"I've locked the women and very small children in one of the apartments-it actually looked more like a dungeon-Comrade Major," Kravchenko said, entering the room.
Lada followed. "It was a dungeon," she said. "Yusuf's sexual preferences were a bit . . . odd." She didn't elaborate.
Konstantin ignored the detail. In matters sexual he was very pedestrian, so much so that he really didn't like to even think about some of the strange turns human sexuality took. Besides, I've got more important shit on my mind.
He took his own pistol from a shoulder harness and started to toss it to Lada. He thought better of this, put the pistol away, then took Kravchenko's submachine gun and handed her that. "Can you use this?" he asked.
She examined it for all of a half second and answered, "Of course." She dropped the magazine with one hand, then jerked the bolt back and locked it to the rear. She lifted the weapon to inspect the chamber before replacing the magazine and releasing the bolt.
"Very good. Krav, put the wog on your shoulder. Sergeant Musin, lead."
"Where to, Comrade Major?" Tim asked.
"The roof. We're not getting out of the compound by ground and the roof's flat enough and big enough for the helicopter to come in."
In order-Musin, Konstantin, Kravchenko, and Lada-they lined up at the main door, better than half closed at the moment.