A reply came from Charlie over the radio at the bunkhouse, “They cut the lights?”
“They probably hacked the grid,” Weng said. “Move YG-30 onto their ground control station. See if you can cut the power to their can in the desert.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inside the bunkhouse, Charlie realized the YG-30 wasn’t a good option. Its orbit was 500 miles above New York, too low to see anything in New Mexico. Charlie typed in a request for imagery from another satellite — the top of the class of Chinese spy satellites — the Gaofen 4. Its orbit was 22,000 miles. Currently stationed above Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, CO — home of the North American Aerospace Command (NORAD). MSS HQ granted Charlie permission to redirect the camera and sensors. He guided it to the new longitude and latitude of the box. Immediately picking up the stealth drone circling the metal crate. The contrast of the jet black MQ-10S over the light brown dessert terrain made it look like a black dragonfly circling a dried-up mud hole.
Charlie radioed Weng. “Negative on ground control station assault. The stealth drone is guarding it.”
“Copy that,” Weng said in Chinese over the laptop speakers. “Figure something out. Without lights, we’re all dead men.” Jenny eased forward in her seat with concern, feeling powerless.
Charlie pulled up the YG-30 feed over the UN. Hal’s flashing tracker appeared on the eastern side of the General Assembly. Without a 3D map correlation, they could only assume he was still inside the translator booth.
Hal knew the enemy saw his muzzle blast from the sniper rifle. Including at least one ghost he was sure to be lurking in the dark, or on his way up to Hal now. Hal shot out the translator booth window with his MP10 and leaped out. Swinging around the edge and gripping the wall with his Geckskin gloves and boots. He scaled down in a flash, released the wall and landed on the assembly carpet below.
Still in stealth mode, Hal sprinted up the aisle toward the man he just shot. Bullets ripped through the chair cushions behind him as he ran, confirming that someone with NVGs was watching. But how could they see me? Hal slowed, realizing his shoes were making sound on the carpet as he ran. He arrived at the fallen gunman and ripped off the bloody NVG headband. The goggles appeared intact. He crouched down and made his way back to toward the podium. “Weng, I’m coming toward you,” he said over the radio. “Don’t shoot. I’m on your left.”
Matt was still up in the rafters, crawling around, feeling for a circuit box. He found a narrow catwalk stairwell and took it to the corridor, opening it up to a lit backstage room. He spotted a circuit breaker on the wall and tried it. Nothing. He switched on emergency lights, but couldn’t tell if it did any good.
The exit lights in the hallway blinked on — along with narrow shafts of light from built-in bulbs, shining down to illuminate the doorways. The assembly was still a pool of darkness, but at least Weng could find an exit for the President. Something fell next to him, startling him. “Wear these.” Hal said. He couldn’t see Hal, but reached down to the bloody headband NVGs. He put them on and adjusted the goggles. He once again had vision in the assembly hall.
Matt wound through the backstage corridor that connected to the eastern translator booth hallway. He sprinted down it, and the stairs to the General Assembly. Matt threw the door open, spilling light into the assembly. His figure formed a perfect silhouette target in the doorway — like paper targets at gun ranges. Matt realized his rookie mistake, but it was too late. Tfft-tfft-tfft! A burst of suppressed submachine gun rounds ripped into Matt’s chest, each bullet hitting within a tight shot-grouping over his heart. Matt fell over dead. His limp body blocked the door from closing, allowing a shaft of light into the assembly hall.
“Huan?!” Weng said, surprised. Uttering the real name of his Guoanbu brother.
The shot grouping told Hal the gunman was very close, and the distinct sound of the suppressed fire was identical to Hal’s own MP10. It was from another ghost nearby.
Hal fired a burst from his MP10 in the direction he thought the shots came from. He hit only air, but heard a trample of footfalls dashing for cover behind the elevated Secretary General’s box. Hal fired at the corner of the box, ripping it to shreds. Believing he had the enemy ghost pinned down.
“Go!” Hal said to Weng. “I’ll cover you! Get the President out!”
Weng helped the frail President up. The Chinese Ambassador aided in escorting the President out the door, stepping over Matt’s body. Another burst fired from the distance and the Ambassador went down.
“GO!” Hal yelled to Weng, as he sprayed a horizontal line from the exit toward the Secretary General’s booth. Shooting continuous automatic fire across a row of seats on the eastern wing of the assembly. Shattering the plate glass windows of booths behind them. Creating a wide swath of spray. Hoping at least one bullet would catch the ghost if he was trailing Weng.
Weng tugged the Chinese President into the hallway and both disappeared. Hal heard bullets RIP by his face, missing by inches. He crouched down and heard a pattering of footsteps on the carpet, sprinting toward him. Hal leaped out of the way and hit the ground rolling.
“What’s going on?” Trest asked, watching the helmet cam from Ghost Two in the box. “What’s he doing?” The camera panned around the empty assembly in night vision.
“He’s looking for Sheridan,” McCreary said.
“How’s the hack coming on his self destruct?” McCreary asked Baldo.
“Still working on it. It’s encrypted, sir.”
“I know it’s encrypted! Crack the sonofabitch!”
The Chinese President leaned with his back against the wall in the lit exit corridor. “We’ll stay here, where we can see.” Weng said. “If we move to the building exit, we might head into an ambush.” He slid across the wall, away from the President. “Stay here, sir.”
Weng scooted further down. Staying below a row of windows on the assembly side. The cavernous room appeared vacant through the headband NVGs. He arrived at the door jarred open by Matt’s body. He raised his submachine gun to provide cover, should Hal need it. Weng spoke to Charlie over his microphone. “What’s the status of the lights?” Hoping the spotlights would come on and help reveal enemy ghosts to him.
Charlie was rattling away at the laptop, typing code and trying to hack…something. “Working on it,” he replied over the radio.
Jenny took it as an opportunity to speak. “How is everyone?”
“President is alive,” Weng replied. “Un-injured. I’m not injured. Hal is okay in the assembly.”
“And Matt?”
Weng was inches away from his fallen comrade. He looked down at Matt’s lifeless legs sprawled into the hallway beside him. Weng rubbed the sweat from his face with a forearm and focused back inside the assembly hall.
Hal climbed the elevated platform and stood up against the marble podium. He knew the other ghost was somewhere in front of him. Too close for either to risk giving up their location with a muzzle flash. He scanned the floor ahead, hoping for any ghost trail ripple from his enemy’s moving feet that might give him away.
Weng’s voice was a relief when it sounded over Hal’s radio. “I’ll cover you if I know where you are.”