"Brother, even without the SLA, we are still going to go ahead. You don't need a battle, you just need a diversion, a little attack to get Oryx moving to his security team's rally point. Well, Six, we're gonna give you that little attack, aren't we, Three?"
"Roger that, One."
"Three and Five are going to lay down some direct fire, just enough to get Oryx and his close-in bodyguards through the door of the bank. Then we're going to hit the remainder of the guys in the square from the northeast, just to keep their heads down for a minute or two. After that you'll be clear, break." There was a long pause. "This is Denny's plan, by the way. I didn't want to tell you before now because… well, shit, I hoped the SLA would show. Hope you're not too pissed."
Court wasn't pissed; he was white-hot fucking livid. One hundred rebels had turned to zero, and Zack had neglected to mention the company of infantry that was supposed to be in the area. Court had thought that he would have plenty of time to get Oryx to the car and out of town while the bodyguards were fighting it out with rebels. But now he only had the support of five men in the square, and they would break contact almost immediately, giving Court virtually no time to get Oryx out of the bank, move him ten blocks to the car, and then get him on the road and out of town.
Court had been ordered not to transmit on the C4OPS radio, but he did not care. He pressed the talk button on his belt. "You son of a bitch! I can't get him out in time-"
"Off the net, Six!" Zack ordered. As team leader, his radio had been set to override the transmissions of all others. "Oryx and his detail are in sight. They are entering the square, northeast corner. Get ready to hit the rear of the party, Three."
"Three has targets in sight," said Dan, his voice low.
Court looked out the window at the dawn. He could just make out movement, the mass of dark-suited men in the distance, appearing in the square. He looked down at the staircase, thought about running, although he didn't really know where he would go. It was too late to continue on with Sid's operation now; there was no way he could get back to the Blaser rifle and shoot Abboud, and if he did not complete that objective, then Sidorenko would not help him get out of the country.
Conversely, if he did not go through with Nocturne Sapphire, Zack and the CIA would not help him get out of the country, either.
He was stuck, past the point of no return, and this was the reason Hightower hadn't told him of the change in the mission to direct action.
He'd have to continue on with Nocturne Sapphire now.
"Two hundred yards to the bank," said Five. "I'll hit them when they are passing by the door."
"Roger that."
Gentry took one last look at his gear around him on the atrium; it was all in place. He calmed himself. This was different from most of his other operations, but they'd snagged some terrorists back in the Goon Squad days, so Court was no stranger to this sort of action. Still, this was big. This was the biggest, most complicated, most time-sensitive mission he'd ever been on. It was a mission that stank of desperation on the part of the CIA.
Court's mentor, Maurice, had always told him, "Any mission you can't afford to walk away from is a mission you should run away from."
"One hundred fifty yards," came the call from Sierra Five.
Maurice had another saying that popped into Court's mind right then. "A plan is just a big list of shit that's not going to happen." Court had found this to be the one constant in his missions, in his life. Plans were good. Plans were necessary, but ultimately, most plans were bullshit.
"Sierra Three to One."
"Go for One."
"Boss, I got a truck passing below my position."
"SLA?" Court could hear the hopefulness in Hightower's voice.
"Wait one, break." A short pause. Then, "Negative. It's GOS troops."
"Five for One… I got troops over here, too. Two blocks west of me heading towards the square."
"Goddammit," said Zack as way of reply.
Shit, thought Court. The GOS was nearby, but the SLA was not. Who were the GOS looking for?
Court squinted across the square. To his right the sun began to rise over the water like a fresh red blister. Dawn's light gave an eerie glow to the whitewashed buildings to his left. Abboud's entourage, some twenty or more men, closed on his position.
"One, this is Three. What we doin', boss?" Court's earpiece was alive with Whiskey Sierra's traffic, though he was under orders to not transmit himself.
Court whispered to himself in the cool, dark atrium, willing with every ounce of imagined magic projection he could muster. "Abort. Abort." He stayed at the window, but he was ready to run down the stairs and out the back door of the building. He could get away, not to the car left for him, but to the water. There were little boats tied up all around the harbor; he could grab one and go.
Hightower's voice came over the net. Court knew each inflection of the man, to where he could hear the stress concealed between the words. "Say number of tangos, over."
"One, Three. Could be about thirty. Three-oh, break. One long flatbed. Small arms and RPGs sighted, break. Might be some PKMs in there too, boss, over." PKMs were big Russian belt-fed machine guns.
"Roger that," said Zack flatly.
"Five to One. I've got about the same number over here. They are patrolling in columns, doesn't look like they're too jacked up for trouble."
When Zack said nothing else for a few seconds, the net crackled to life again. "One, this is Three. I can engage right now. Once they disperse it's going to be hard-"
"Understood, Three. Wait one," said Zack.
"Abort," whispered Gentry again. And then, again under his breath, he said over and over and over a line that he'd used many times in the past when life and death was all up to Sierra One, and Court was on the tip of the spear awaiting the decision. "Be cool, Zack. Be cool, Zack. Be cool, Zack."
Court knew everything, literally his very life, likely depended on Sierra One's next transmission; a safe, quiet exfiltration, and then an investigation into how Nocturne Sapphire fell apart so completely.
Or the alternative.
World War fucking Three.
"Be cool, Zack."
Then it came. "Sierra One to all elements."
Be cool Zack.
A long hesitation. "Let's knock it off. Everybody stand down. Hold positions until Oryx's entourage gets in the mosque; then I want a quiet egress back out of the area-"
Court let out one of the longest sighs of relief of his life.
Each member of Whiskey Sierra came on the net, in turn, and confirmed that they understood the order to stand down. These men were consummate professionals; they betrayed no emotion, neither relief nor disappointment, that the mission had been scrubbed at the very last second.
Gentry took one last look at President Abboud, walking briskly through the square with his entourage towards his position. Disappointing to be so close and yet so far, but Gentry was a pro as well. He'd been here before, a second or two before the point of no return but unable or unwilling to proceed. Court wasted no time turning away from the window and moving back towards the stairs from the atrium to the front door entrance to the bank. He walked down the dark colonnaded hall. He'd almost reached the back door when his headset came alive once again with Whiskey Sierra's radio traffic.
Zack Hightower rested his rifle between his knees and leaned his head back against the headrest of the passenger seat in frustration as Brad/Sierra Two put the dirty beige cargo van in gear. Behind them, in the very back of the van, was Milo, Sierra Four. He sat facing the closed back door of the vehicle, with a big HK21 between his legs. The shoulder-wielded machine gun carried the same powerful cartridge as many hunting and sniper rifles, but it fired them faster and from a 100-round box magazine. Milo was the designated "trunk monkey," the man ready to shoot out the back doors to keep opposition off of their tail. He was low-profile now, with the doors closed and no targets to fire at, but if the operation had gone ahead, it was likely Sierra Four would have been the man sending the most hate downrange.