Careful to stay away from light, she worked her way over to al-Zahrani’s tent. For the home of the leader of the world’s most sophisticated and most wanted terrorist organization, al-Zahrani’s tent was modest. It was also poorly guarded like everything else. Earlier in the evening she had noticed the two guards at its entrance, but security on the other sides seemed to have been ignored, aside from one small light illuminating the back. She followed the shadows as far as they would conceal her and she was about to dash into the lit area when she noticed the adjacent plywood structure with the satellite dishes and antennae-the al Qaeda home office. A few meters away from her was enough intelligence to roll up the organization’s entire network-or at least severely damage al-Zahrani’s faction.
She couldn’t live with herself if she managed to escape from the tangos and didn’t take a few extra minutes to pull off an intelligence coup-one that would make her a legend. Since they were on generator, they had to be using laptops. It wouldn’t take her that long to grab a computer or two.
Ashland wasn’t about to waste his time looking for the girl when he was so close to the mother lode of intelligence on SHANGRI-LA and al Qaeda. Since he looked like one of them, he was able to move quickly past the tents toward the fixed structure with the satellite dishes that they had seen in blow-ups of his photos.
If Paris only knew their agent that the CIA captured yesterday was now walking through the front door of al Qaeda’s central administration. Soon enough the president of the republic himself would be hanging the National Order of Merit around his neck, Ashland was certain. He went inside, pulled on his night vision goggles and switched them on. The office was empty and he speculated that the terrorists were prohibited from sleeping in the headquarters, all the better for him.
He ignored the outer office since those areas were usually confined to low-level support staff and he ducked into the first private office he found to begin his collection. Binders filled one wall and he wished he could haul away a truckload, but instead he settled for yanking out every hard drive he could find. He flipped over a laptop and realized that even with a small screwdriver, he was looking at several minutes to remove the drive. He ripped the computer from its power cable and shoved it into his duffle bag along with his communications headset, then he went on to the next office.
In the al Qaeda offices Camille was reaching under a desk for a bag in which to carry the laptops when she heard the door open. Rolling under the desk, she aimed the Glock at the intruder. If he turned the lights on, she would have little choice but to shoot him, then run over to al-Zahrani’s tent and give the bastard what he deserved before the whole camp swarmed her. She should’ve stuck with her primary mission objective like her father had tried so often to drum into her.
A rectangular hole was cut into the plywood wall, a makeshift window for ventilation. Enough light from al-Zahrani’s security lamp came through it so that she could see the silhouette of a bearded male figure carrying a bulky bag. The interloper made little noise, moved over to the desk and set his bag on the floor beside her, but didn’t seem to notice her. She heard him pull a binder from a shelf and flip it open. He could take hours studying the damn thing and she had to move on to her primary target. Camille shoved the Glock into her waistband and slid the knife from its sheath, preferring to eliminate him silently. Just as she reached out to slice his Achilles tendon, she heard Iggy’s voice coming from the guy’s bag. She had never heard such a welcome sound. She stopped and reached into the duffle bag. Her hand bumped into the headset’s mouthpiece. In less than a second, her fingers oriented themselves and she put her thumb over the ear speaker in case there was more comm traffic while she was removing it. The intruder was probably part of a rescue team, but he could also be a tango who had killed an operator and stolen the comm set. He grabbed for the bag just as she jerked her hand back along with her prize. He stuck a laptop and some papers inside and hurried from the room, shutting the door behind him.
The moment she donned the headset, the compound went black. Camille smiled. She knew what the blackout meant:
Black Management has arrived.
Hunter hugged the shadows, searching the areas between the buildings for anyone moving quickly as he worked his way to the second generator. GENGHIS had already knocked out lights to the south portion of the camp. As he cut the generator’s fuel intake line, he heard Iggy trying to get a response from Ashland, who was refusing to answer. The goddamn French spook had gone feral. He had known better than to trust the fucker. Within seconds of cutting the line, the generator fell silent and the lights went out.
Then Hunter heard over his comm set. “TIN MAN this is LIGHTNING SIX. Reporting for duty, sir.”
Hunter’s eyes teared up.
“Copy that, LIGHTNING SIX. Good to hear your voice,” Iggy said smoothly. The man was a true professional. “What is your status and position?”
“Acquired comm from someone who appeared to be a tango. Is he yours?”
“One asset confirmed. Not responding to comm,” Iggy said. “Repeat, what is your status and position?”
“Good. I’m in the office building. Fixed structure in the center of the compound with the satellite dishes.”
Upon hearing that, Hunter spun around and rushed toward the building, all the while continuing to monitor the radio traffic.
“LIGHTNING SIX, egress building and proceed to your twelve o’clock to the edge. CHALK ONE will link up with you and escort to the LZ.”
“Negative on the escort. Will link up with CHALK ONE, then proceed to neutralize HVT.”
Hunter wondered what High Value Target Stella had discovered.
“Request identity HVT and location,” Iggy said.
“JOURNEYMAN.”
JOURNEYMAN-al-Zahrani’s code name. Hunter was nearly as excited as he was that they had found Stella. They’d finally located the terror mastermind.
“Location, small tent in center of compound,” Stella said.
“CHALK ONE this is TIN MAN. Link up with LIGHTNING SIX twenty meters to the twelve o’clock of the office structure. Proceed with LIGHTNING SIX to extract JOURNEYMAN.”
“CHALK ONE this is LIGHTNING SIX. Belay that order. Link up, then proceed to neutralize JOURNEYMAN.”
“CHALK ONE, this is TIN MAN. Order stands.”
“TIN MAN, sorry, but I’m taking him out with or without help,” Stella said.
“CHALK ONE, this is TIN MAN. Intercept LIGHTNING SIX and extract HVT. Dammit, LIGHTNING SIX. Standing orders are to take him alive. He’s got invaluable intel. What’s gotten into you?”
Hunter ran up to the building and raced inside, but didn’t immediately see Stella. He kicked open an office door and Ashland whirled around, pointing a pistol at him; his other hand held a computer.
“Where is she?” Hunter said.
“Who?”
“GRACKLE-Camille Black, you idiot.”
“How would I know?” Ashland said, shoving a laptop into his bag.
“She’s using your comm.”
“Impossible. It’s here.” Ashland reached into bag stuffed with laptops and rooted around.
Hunter looked around to check out his surroundings, and through a hole cut out for a window, he saw Stella. She was moving toward the smaller tent, the one she had described as al-Zahrani’s. Without thinking, he vaulted the desk and sprung through the hole toward her. He landed hard because of the weight from the Claymore mines in his rucksack.
Camille thought she heard someone and jerked her head around, but it was so dark she could barely see. She had always been clear with Iggy whenever she was along on a mission, he was the commander. Technically, she wasn’t on the mission, so she excused her insubordination as she moved ahead, treading lightly, trying not to step on a sleeping tango. Iggy was right that they should capture al-Zahrani, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to feel that knife pushing into his throat and ripping through the cartilage.