Once they were clear of the meeting room, where Jericho had stayed to finalize the mission parameters, Santiago peeled off and entered the console room, sitting down at the main computer and setting to work on getting the target’s flight details. LaSharde caught up with the others.
“This mission is bullshit,” she said, her words sounding more confrontational than they were meant, because of her thick, Bronx accent. “We got no idea why we’re doing any of this.”
“Relax,” said Black, glancing over his shoulder at her. “We’re not here to ask questions, we’re here to aim at whatever we’re told to aim at and pull the goddamn trigger.”
“Jericho wouldn’t send us anywhere he wasn’t happy with,” Baker added. “He said himself, we don’t have much to go on, but timing’s crucial. Trust him, if nothing else.”
“Whatever,” LaSharde replied, pushing past the two men and storming out of the building.
Black and Baker stepped out into the courtyard. Ahead of them, their hot-tempered colleague was pacing angrily toward the barracks.
“You go and gear up,” Black said, pointing to the armory. “I’ll see if I can’t cool her down a little.”
Baker smiled. “Good luck, amigo,” he said, patting Black lightly on his shoulder with his fist before walking off.
Black broke into a light jog and quickly caught up with LaSharde, just as she walked through the doors leading to their quarters. As the doors swung shut behind them, Black grabbed hold of her arm and spun her round to face him. As he did, she snaked her arm around his neck and pulled him down close to her. He grabbed her waist with both arms as they kissed passionately, with the urgency of two forbidden lovers stealing valuable seconds together. They parted after a few moments, short of breath. They looked into each other’s eyes with a lustful hunger.
“I love it when you act in charge,” she said to him, smiling mischievously.
He laughed and lifted her up in both arms with ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they kissed again. Locked in their torrid embrace, Black walked them into his living quarters, which was the first door on the left of the dimly-lit corridor they were in. Once inside, he threw her down on the bed and peeled his T-shirt off, revealing his toned, muscular, scarred body. LaSharde did the same, and they fell together, making love quickly and ferociously.
13:56 CST
Jericho entered the console room and stood behind Santiago, patting him on the shoulder with one of his large hands.
“What have you got for me?” he asked.
“The target’s due to fly from JFK just after nine tonight,” replied Santiago. “It’s a private jet, registered to GlobaTech Industries.”
Jericho frowned. He knew GlobaTech were a military contractor, so what would they be doing helping out a known terrorist? He dismissed the concern a moment later. His orders were clear, and the why wasn’t relevant — simply the who.
“That gives us just over seven hours,” he said, checking his watch. “I want a chopper here in twenty minutes to take Black to the nearest airstrip. Get him airborne within the hour.”
“Copy that,” acknowledged Santiago, tapping away on the console in front of him.
Jericho left the room and headed outside, walking over the armory just as Black and LaSharde appeared from inside the barracks. They all met in the middle and Jericho quickly brought them both up to speed. As LaSharde walked on to gear up for the mission, Jericho tapped Black on the arm and gestured for him to hang back.
“Chris,” he started, “the target is deemed high value until you land. We don’t know his background, but we know who he is, so exercise caution. He’s obviously had training, if he was able to infiltrate a meeting between the CIA director and an agency asset — that place would’ve been swarming with agents.”
“No problem, sir,” replied Black. “Anything else?”
“Just get ready,” said Jericho, shaking his head. “Your ride will be here in ten minutes.”
He watched Black walk off to the armory to join the others. Jericho held the man in high regard. He’d always known of his aspirations to one day run the unit, but he’s unquestioningly loyal, and a formidable soldier. He smiled to himself for a moment, amused as he thought how Black was likely under the impression his sexual relationship with LaSharde was a secret. He shook his head and walked toward the armory.
Baker, LaSharde and Black were standing in a line, wearing black, unmarked Kevlar armor, and holding assault rifles. Jericho moved past them toward a rack of weaponry attached to the back wall. He selected a FAMAS-G2, which was an assault rifle manufactured in France. It fired in three-round bursts, and was incredibly accurate. He took some spare magazines, loading one into the rifle and sliding the others into the pockets sewn into the legs of his pants. He then moved over to the next rack and rested his weapon against it as he picked his own Kevlar vest from a hangar, putting it on expertly and strapping it in place. Picking up his rifle again, he walked back over to his team, standing in front of them. Santiago had joined them, having finished his work in the console room.
“Alright, listen up,” Jericho began. “The mission is officially underway as of now.” He looked at Black. “Chris, your chopper’s en route — ETA: five minutes. It’s going to fly you to the Augusto Cesar Sandino International Airport, where you’ll board a cargo plane that’ll take you stateside. You need to be in place on the target’s private plane by 20:30 hours local time.” He looked at Baker, LaSharde and Santiago in turn. “The rest of you are with me. We’re heading to the airfield in Colombia, where we’ll sit tight and wait for the target to arrive. Questions?”
No one spoke. Outside, the sound of a chopper gradually filled the air. Jericho stepped out into the courtyard and looked up as it approached and hovered overhead, slowly descending and landing behind them.
He looked at Black. “Your ride’s here,” he said. “Move out, soldier.”
Black nodded. “Copy that, Jericho.” He looked at the rest of the team in turn, his gaze lingering a split second longer when his eyes met LaSharde’s. “Stay safe,” he said to them, before turning and disappearing around the corner to the waiting helicopter.
There was no ranking within the unit. They were funded by the CIA, but operated independently, meaning there was zero accountability should they ever be captured while on a mission. For security, they dispensed with any structure or recognized chain of command. They all followed Jericho’s lead — they didn’t need a title or a badge to acknowledge that.
Jericho walked over to the Humvee, stopping near the passenger door.
“Rick,” he called over. “You’re driving. We’ll cross the border into Costa Rica and rendezvous with a chopper to take us the rest of the way.”
The team piled into the vehicle and Santiago started it up, slid the stick into gear, and eased out of the garage, driving through the barrier and off down the dirt track that led them to the main road.
15KM S.E. OF CARTAGENA, COLOMBIA
April 11th, 2017
It was after midnight as the plane made its final approach. There was a slight breeze blowing across the deserted airstrip, cool and refreshing in the otherwise humid climate.
Standing in the doorway of the long-abandoned control tower, shrouded in shadow, Jericho Stone and his squad looked on as the private jet touched down; the screeching of the tires amplified in the ghostly silence. It taxied to a stop just ahead of them, and the door opened out, triggering a small flight of steps to automatically lower to the ground. Two men appeared in the doorway, exchanging a brief word before descending.