The stone steps seemed stable enough, but Court saw proof all around that this structure hadn't been built to last. He walked gingerly up the staircase, found Zack Hightower at the top in the southwest corner of the second floor, the only second-story corner of the building to have a floor. Zack sat cross-legged in the shadows, dressed and armed similar to Sierra Two. He'd grown a short beard in the past eight days but otherwise looked the same as he did in Saint Petersburg.
Gentry sat down next to him, and several cats wandered around them both. Zack scooted back farther into darkness, and Court followed him, until they could see one another no longer.
"You aren't wet," Court mentioned.
"We took a Zodiac from the yacht, came in on the dark side of the lagoon. The Hannah is anchored fifteen klicks to the northeast," Zack said.
"In Sudanese waters?"
"Yep. We were boarded by a patrol boat and half-ass searched. They think we're Aussies cruising up the coast of Africa, waiting on an engine part to be DHL'd into Port Sudan. We gave them beer and smokes and made friends."
Court picked a black cat up off his leg, sent it on its way with a gentle toss towards the stairs.
"You been in town yet?" Zack asked as he tucked his butt closer to Court on the ruined flooring of the old building so he could talk softer. Their voices carried deceptively far in the night.
"Negative. You?"
Zack nodded. Court could just see the tip of his chin rise and lower. "Major hellhole. And I know hellholes. It's got an Old West vibe to it. The only power in town is from generators. There is one paved surface in the city. All the other streets and alleys are hard-packed earth, donkey shit, goat shit, and camel shit everywhere you step. The buildings are made out of cracking limestone and coral, like this shit here. There isn't a structure in the city that I couldn't topple with a brickbat and a half hour. Probably seventy-five percent of the buildings are little huts, made with driftwood and tin and rusted-out fifty-five gallon drums.
"So, no hardened cover when it goes loud," Gentry said, completing Zack's obvious point for him.
"Shit, if it goes loud tomorrow morning, buildings are going to fall down on top of you from the sound waves." Zack shrugged. Court heard the motion in the dark, but he could not see him in the shadows. "Which wouldn't be so bad for the locals. This joint could do for some urban renewal."
"Police presence?"
"Negligible during our recon. A few Chinese AKs on dudes in civilian dress patrolling around. Three or four pickup trucks and a couple of hundred-year-old cannon in front of the police station."
"Cannon?"
"Just for decoration."
Court nodded.
Zack said, "Just so you know, Sudan Station is still shitting bricks about your actions over in North Darfur. Everybody says Sierra Six has gone rogue; he's pulling his own op four hundred miles away from his target. You really fucked up. I don't hear from you for three days, and when I finally do, you don't offer much explanation for all the bang bang in the desert." He looked to Gentry for a reply.
"Yeah," Court admitted with a sigh. "It got weird."
Zack shrugged. "The White House is up Denny Carmichael's butt to know what is going on. I share their concern."
"I told you what happened."
"This woman from the ICC. The Canadian. She can ID you?"
"She doesn't know who I am."
"Is she going to make trouble?"
"Maybe for me, down the road. But not for this op."
"You're sure about that?"
Court thought it over and said, "Yeah. I'm sure. She thinks I'm the epitome of evil… but she does believe that our interests coincide as far as whatever it is I'm up to here."
Zack sat there in the dark for a long time. He seemed to let it go, albeit slowly. "Tomorrow at oh six thirty Abboud will leave the house where he's staying. It's a ten-mike walk to the mosque. It is five mikes to the square, one mike more to get him right in front of the bank building. The SLA will hit the square from the north at oh six thirty-six exactly."
"They got watches?"
"Sudan Station says they do."
"Whiskey Sierra isn't in direct contact with the rebels?"
"Negative. Sudan Station has a case officer in town; he's running the SLA." He shrugged. Kind of a What'cha gonna do? look about the gesture. "I need you to be on your mark in the bank when the shit hits the fan."
"Roger that."
"When you snatch Oryx, take him one block south and eight blocks west of the back of the bank. There is a four-door black Skoda Octavia sedan in the parking lot of a brick-making factory. Sudan Station put it there, paid one of the kiln operators to spend the night on the hood to watch over it. Here are the keys."
Court took them. He asked, "Where are you going to be between now and go time?"
"Me, Brad, Milo, and Dan are staying on the Hannah. We'll be in place tomorrow morning."
"Where's Sierra Five?"
"Spencer is already in town. He and the case officer from Sudan Station are staying at a hotel called the Suakin Palace. Spencer assures me it's no palace. What it is, though, is a decent third-floor overwatch on the square. The case officer is going to leave tonight to get out of the way, but Spencer will stay there, be the eye for us."
"That's good." Court was pleasantly surprised there would be another set of eyes at the target location in the morning, although he was also surprised Zack would want one of his men so close to the action. He didn't press his good fortune by asking about it. Instead he questioned Hightower on the rebels. "The SLA is in place and ready to go?"
Zack shrugged. "Better be. Sudan Station paid four hundred thousand bucks to secure their participation. There are thirty-five rebels who will attack from the north at our command tomorrow morning."
"Thirty-five?"
Zack nodded.
"What happened to one hundred?"
Hightower had promised Court, back when he'd been trying to get him to agree to the op, that a force of rebels one hundred strong would keep Abboud's security and local police tied up. But Zack showed no contrition in explaining the discrepancy. He just waved his hand, like it was a minor matter. "That would have been overkill. A couple of trucks at the square, a couple more at the police station, a couple more on the road into town. We know that if Abboud's personal security detail is close enough to the bank when the raid hits, then they are going to shove him into the bank, no matter how much or how little shooting occurs. We don't want or need a major battle on our hands. Thirty-five rebels is the perfect amount."
"You sound like someone sold that to you, so now you are trying to sell it to me."
Zack smiled a little, the first time he'd been anything but furious with Court since their sat phone conversation when he was flying into Al Fashir, four days earlier. After a second's thought, he raised his hands in surrender. "Yeah. Sudan Station told me one hundred rebels. Then they told me thirty-five. Their explanation was just as I said. It makes sense, especially after looking at the layout of the town, but I sure don't like planning an op under one set of presumptions and then executing it under another set of presumptions."
Court just nodded in the dark. "But you still want to go ahead?"
"Hell yeah," Sierra One said without hesitation. "We're good."
The evening call to prayer came from the minaret in the mosque to the west. If everything went according to plan, Court would be a couple blocks away from that very mosque tomorrow before sunup. He looked at Zack. "You got the stuff for me?"
Zack used his thumb to press a wireless push-to-talk transmission button mounted on the side of the index finger of his glove. He spoke into a small headset angled around his right cheek. "Brad, let's have the ruck."
Sierra Two appeared at the top of the stairs a few seconds later. The rucksack was about the size Court had expected, roughly the same as his other pack, stowed back at the water's edge three hundred yards to the north of this location.