The van had been waiting in the deep shadows of an alley a few blocks from the square, far from where the government of Sudan infantry had been reported. Other than chickens and goats in the road, they'd seen no movement at all, so they pulled out of their hide and began moving south. This was in the direction of the square, so Brad made his first turn to the left, which would take him closer to the port and allow him to avoid Abboud's guard force.
But the alleyway turned into a dead end at a camel corral. It was a large circular structure crafted out of driftwood and scrap metal, with a few hulking animals kneeling in the dirt, and there was no way around it.
Brad began backing up the truck. Both he and Sierra One looked into their rearview mirrors.
Zack saw them first and shouted to the van and over his radio to the team.
"Troops!"
Sierra Two slammed on the brakes. Twenty meters behind them, at the mouth of the alleyway they had just entered, stood half a dozen green-clad soldiers, their Chinese-made Type 81 rifles raised in front of them and pointing at the van. One of the soldiers shouted a command.
"What do we do, boss?" asked Brad from the driver's seat.
The delay from Zack was brief. When he spoke, he transmitted to the entire team.
"All elements. Belay my last command. We are a go for Nocturne Sapphire. I say again, execute! Light 'em up!"
In the back of the van, Milo kicked open the rear doors with his boots. They locked open wide. He lifted his machine gun and fired spurting bursts at the six soldiers at the mouth of the alleyway.
Three soldiers died where they stood. The rest dove to the ground and returned fire.
Behind Milo, Zack unbuckled himself and spun between the seats, lifting his Israeli Tavor TAR-21 assault rifle and firing over Sierra Four's left shoulder. Brad shoved the gearshift knob forward, from reverse to drive, stomped on the gas, and the big Ford van crashed through the fencing of the corral, sending massive brown camels clambering out of the way.
The Gray Man's shoulders dropped in resignation.
His fingertips were a foot from the latch to the back door of the bank. On the other side of the door would be a dark alleyway. Beyond that a few quiet twists and turns, and he'd be at the port, in the water of the lagoon or on a small boat. He'd be out of danger in minutes.
But Zack's transmission and the gunfire to the north changed everything.
Now Three was on the net. "Three's going loud." and then the explosion of an RPG, close to Gentry's position.
And now Spencer was joining the action. "Five's on the trigger." Submachine gun fire emanated from the Suakin Palace.
It was on. Abboud would be storming through the doorway behind Court in seconds.
The Gray Man turned, reached for the suppressed Glock 19 holstered on his hip.
Just outside, the square cracked to life with return pistol fire from Abboud's men. Court sucked in the musty air of the old bank building, brought his shoulders back, and clenched his jaw before saying, "Here we go."
He ran up the stairs and got into position.
Seconds later the double doors in the lobby below him burst open.
Welcome to World War fucking Three.
THIRTY-FOUR
The men below Gentry shouted and screamed, but not in panic. No, these were trained bodyguards. Their commands were to their principal, the president of the Republic of Sudan. Court knew the drill. They would hustle into the room in a tight cordon, with Oryx in the center. Once inside they would secure the door and then lead him towards the most secure portion of the building, likely the basement vault. Gentry didn't know how many protectors had come in with Abboud; that would depend on how they were positioned when the gunfire started, if any had been hit by Sierra Five or Three, and any number of other factors. But ultimately it did not matter whether there were two men or twenty downstairs; Court Gentry had a surprise for them.
Court pressed a button on a handheld remote device he'd left on the windowsill. By doing so he activated electromagnets on two bolt locks he'd attached to each side of the double doors below, firing the three-inch long iron bolts across the space between the two doors and holding them fast. This ensured no one else came through.
Next he lifted a twelve-pound device off the cheap linoleum flooring of the atrium by its carry handle, jammed his thumb under a switch cap, and then pressed the button. One second later he hefted it over the side railing. It fell towards the lobby, but it was attached with a six-foot cord to the railing itself, so when the acousto-optical nonpyrotechnic less-lethal stun device reached the eye level of all the men in the lobby, its two-second countdown clock beeping and flickering, thus ensuring all eyes would be upon it, it would create maximum effect. Court threw himself to the atrium's floor, tucked into the fetal position with his eyes shut tight and his hands covering his C4OPS earpieces.
The device was a prototype built by the CIA's Directorate of Science amp; Technology, and Zack just referred to it as the Big Bang. It was designed to cause both physiological and psychophysical disorientation, with incredible lights and sound. The eggheads at Langley had been careful to only use off-the-shelf equipment in the device, mostly from Japan and France and Germany, to avoid having a virtual "Made in the USA" label affixed to the contraption.
Even with his eyes closed, its bright burst of light reflected off the walls around him and burned into his eyes, and even with his noise-reducing C4OPS headset in his ears and his hands covering them, the high-pitched one-second siren's wail was deafening. Its advertised optical effect was akin to staring into the sun for 110 milliseconds, and acoustically it battered the eardrums and even concussed those within twenty feet of it when activated in an enclosed space. Court felt the teeth in his jaw rattle, and coral rag and other material from the ceiling above him rained down on his body, but he ignored pain and the falling debris, and jumped to his feet instantly.
He had no time to wait.
As he ran down the stairs, he raised his weapon in front of him, not 100 percent certain of what he would find. Gentry entered the lobby quickly. He found them all incapacitated to one degree or another, six men in total, one of whom would surely be Oryx. One of the guards was up on his knees, both hands feeling around on the carpet for his weapon. Court shot him in the back of the head, and the man fell forward, his face slamming against the pistol on the floor that he sought. He then stepped over two unconscious guards' lifeless forms to reach an older man, who was lying faceup. Yes, this was his target. Oryx was out cold, and next to him, two younger guards were conscious but completely disoriented. They lay on their backs and writhed in their own vomit. Immediately Gentry ripped open the thick president's white dress shirt and pulled his tie loose. Stepping in front of him, he knelt down, reached under his underarms, and hefted him until their chests were leaning against one another. Court ducked down, let the dead weight settle on his right shoulder, then he used his legs to rise up again into a standing position, heaving Oryx up with him into the fireman's carry. The American walked the big Sudanese man over the legs of another bodyguard and out of the room. At the dead-bolted back door he laid him back down gently and drew his pistol again.
Court hurried back towards the lobby. Though his ears rang from the siren he'd just set off, he could hear incredible amounts of gunfire outside. He was thankful all the heavy fighting was to the north and west, which would not interfere with his escape route.