There was a dangerous calm in the President’s voice. A part of Lay’s brain registered that fact as he stared across his office, fighting down the angry words that rose in his throat.
The selfishness of it all! “I trust it has occurred to you, Mr. President, that we have soldiers in harm’s way.”
“Soldiers?” Hancock asked, irony rich in his voice. “I prefer to reserve that term for those who proudly wear the uniform of this country.”
There could be no response equal to the bigotry of the comment, nothing that could be said without igniting a pointless debate. Lay held his tongue, staring bitterly at the wall as the President went on, apparently not expecting a response.
“The last thing this country needs is a hostage crisis, Lay. That’s why we launched this ‘op’ in the first place.”
The last thing your administration needs, the CIA director reflected. That was why the operation had been launched, and he had gone along with it, in hopes of proving the efficacy of the Clandestine Service to a man who had tried to eliminate their funding time and again. And now people were dead.
Dead. That’s the way it was out there on the edge. Out where mistakes meant lives ended, not political careers…
Davood shoved his combat knife back into its ankle sheath and reached through the window, wrapping both arms around Tancretti’s upper body. “Easy, colonel,” he whispered. “I’m going to get you out of there.”
The blood streaking down the Air Force colonel’s face glistened in the light of the flames, adding to the macabre aspect of the scene. His body refused to budge, the legs still pinned between the panel and the seat, and he screamed in pain as Davood tugged at him.
A jagged edge of plexiglass window cut into the agent’s hand as he struggled, gashing the flesh. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, ignoring the pain, his fingers wrapping themselves around Tancretti’s legs.
They started to slide out from underneath the instrument panel, slowly but surely. Almost. The fabric of the colonel’s uniform pants caught on the metal, holding him fast. For a moment Davood considered reaching for his knife again, cutting him loose.
There wasn’t time for that.
He circled his arms tight around the pilot’s torso, struggling to slow down his breathing, gather his reserves of strength for one final effort.
If he had any reserves. “Relax, colonel,” he whispered in Tancretti’s ear. “I need you to relax.”
If the man understood him, he showed no sign of it. Davood was going to have to do the whole job himself.
Tancretti screamed again as Davood pulled fiercely against him, pulling toward the window, toward safety. Tancretti’s pant leg ripped open, the metal that had held it cutting into his skin. His arms and upper body came through the window. He was held by one leg.
Flames licked toward them, consuming the helicopter. Another few moments and the fire would eat through the protective lining of the fuel tank. His time was almost gone.
Davood balanced the pilot’s torso on his shoulder, freeing his hand to reach through the window again. His fingers closed around the trapped ankle, pulling with all his remaining strength.
It came free suddenly and he staggered backward, losing his balance. The colonel landed on top of him, crying out as his leg struck the ground.
They lay there for a moment of time, heat washing over them. Tancretti opened his eyes, looking the CIA man in the face.
“Thanks,” he whispered, forcing the words out past cracked and bleeding lips.
Davood nodded wordlessly, rolling over and running his fingers quickly down the pilot’s legs. A grimace spread slowly across his face.
Both legs were broken below the knee. Tancretti was out of commission.
He leaned down and scooped up the colonel in his arms, staggering to his feet. Flames crackled behind them as he straightened, taking one last look behind him.
The Huey was almost consumed.
He took a step away from the wreck, toward safety. And then the night exploded behind them…
“Copy explosion at the crash site. LONGBOW, do you have visual?”
“Negative, boss. Line-of-sight blocked by the hill behind me.”
“GUNHAND?”
“Nothing clear, the fire’s messing with my NVGs.”
Major Hossein looked up from the map he was studying, shading his flashlight with his hand. He touched his corporal on the arm. “The American they call LONGBOW is somewhere in this area. Take five men and eliminate him.”
The man nodded briefly, rose up from behind the rock where they both crouched. Moved off into the night. Went to his death…
The American would not be taken easily, Hossein knew that. The men he had sent out would die, pawns in the game that had begun in these mountains. Their sacrifice would enable him to pinpoint the sniper’s location.
A means to an end.
“Any sign of FULLBACK?” Harry whispered into his lip mike, clutching his Kalishnikov in sweaty hands as he knelt behind a large boulder.
“Negative, EAGLE SIX.” It was Tex. His voice sounded strained.
“You’re sounding like a broken record, GUNHAND,” Harry replied, grinning for the first time that night. Their conversation was rudely interrupted.
“EAGLE SIX, I have targets.” It was Thomas. “Northwest of your position. Engaging.”
Thomas took quick aim down the scope of the SV-98, resting his cross-hairs on the chest of the point man. Center-of-mass.
That would have to do, until he could find out how badly his scope had been jarred in the landing.
His finger curled slowly around the trigger of the Russian-built sniper rifle, memories flooding back through his mind. Of missions past. Of the men he had killed. Of the last time he had used the SV-98. Azerbaijan…
The rifle’s report echoed through the night like the crack of a whip, a bullet speeding through the darkness. The corporal leading the patrol straightened suddenly, a red stain spreading across the stomach of his shirt.
He crumpled then, like a broken doll, his body sprawling across the sand and dirt. His men scattered, seeking whatever shelter they could find.
Thomas nearly took his eyes off the scope in surprise. He had expected the first shot to be a miss. Chalk one up …
He was shooting a little low, but there wasn’t time to correct that. He would just have to compensate for it.
The figures running for cover glowed pale green in his night-vision scope. A sharp click, the bolt-action sliding crisply into place as he racked another round into the chamber of the SV-98.
Another shot, another kill, another body collapsing into the dust. It was like a shooting gallery…
“Lieutenant, the perimeter is clear. No hostiles. Copy?”
Gideon cupped his hand to his ear, listening to Chaim’s report. “Affirmative. I copy.”
He turned back to the FAV, spreading out a small cloth map on the hood of the vehicle. “We have thirty-two kilometers to go in the next half-hour. Yossi, I want you to take the lead vehicle to an overlook position — here,” he indicated, drawing a circle on the map with his index finger. “Chaim will go with you and prepare to snipe down into the camp. Nathan and I will take the second vehicle and go in the back way.”
He paused and looked around at his team members, their faces shadowed in the glow of his flashlight. “Intelligence indicates our target is inside this building here. We’ve got to hit that building fast, secure it, then escort SCHLIEMANN to the extraction zone. I’ll be sending him with you, Yossi. Understand?”