Under normal circumstances, if there was a designated target, Novak would have a spotter, someone who’d assist in calling wind direction and speed, movement of the target, and other variables. Tonight Novak would be working alone. His role was to observe the area, to advise his teammates of approaching danger. He would keep an eye out for any TOO (target of opportunity), anyone who could be a possible threat.
Slade opened the door, then stepped into the alleyway, looking both ways. “Clear.”
Then in single file, with NVGs resting on top of their heads, and weapons drawn, the Team followed him down the alley, keeping close to the building. Silently heading toward the main road, they stepped over and around holes and depressions that overflowed with rainwater.
Nearing the road, Slade held up a fist, bringing everyone to a halt. He edged closer to the corner then leaned just enough, enabling him to look up and down the road.
Grant wanted further confirmation they were good to go. “Seven-Three, Zero-Niner.”
“Go ahead, Zero-Niner.”
“Affirm we are clear.”
“Clear.”
“Roger. Out.”
After one more look, Slade and James took off. Crouching low, they headed across the road in the direction of the alley, one block away from Bridge House.
Novak observed the two just before they disappeared into the darkness of the alley, then he quickly turned his attention away. “Hold it!” For a brief moment he thought he saw something or someone moving in the shadows. Refocusing the scope, he looked again. He had his index finger poised just to the side of the trigger. Nothing. He exhaled a quick breath, then reported, “Clear.”
Grant, Adler, Diaz and Stalley had just taken a couple of steps, when a sound behind Stalley made him spin around. With split second reaction time, he pulled his finger away from the trigger. “‘Lion,’” he whispered.
“Hold positions,” Grant said softly, as he walked back to where Kwan was standing. He lowered his .45, but kept it in front of him, holding it with both hands. Staring at Kwan dead-on, he said, “Behind me.” Grant turned and went forward, with Kwan close off his six.
“Seven-Three, Zero-Niner.”
“Go ahead, Zero-Niner.”
“‘Lion’ arrived. Are we clear?” Grant asked Novak.
Novak immediately responded, “Clear.”
Grant, Kwan, and Adler hustled across the road, joining up with Slade and James.
While they waited for Diaz and Stalley, Grant turned toward Kwan and pointed to his own .45. Kwan reached behind his back and pulled out a Norinco T-54 semi-automatic pistol. It had a short recoil, locked breech, and was single action. The weapon was used by the Chinese military. But this particular one was CIA issued.
Grant gave a thumb’s up then turned his attention to the street, seeing the last two men running toward him.
Staying in the shadow of a building across from their target, the seven men quietly made their way closer to the road.
Grant motioned for Slade and James to head across the street. Stalley backed up against the wall, holding his .45 close, keeping himself on full alert, protecting everyone’s six.
Grant pressed his earpiece, finally hearing James, “Zero-Niner, Six-Eight.”
“Go ahead, Six-Eight.”
“Door locked.”
“Copy that. Two-Seven approaching your six. Out.”
Grant nodded toward Adler, who took one more look for guards, then ran across the street. “Nimble Fingers” Adler would once again work his magic with a lock.
Adler pressed the PTT. “Zero-Niner, Two-Seven.”
“Go ahead, Two-Seven.”
“Good to go.”
“Copy that. Approaching your six. Out.”
Once everyone was in place, Adler slowly pulled the door open, stopping often, trying to hear any sounds from inside. Nothing but silence. They all lowered their NVGs.
With the door fully open now, and staying close, one behind the other, Slade then James cautiously stepped in. They turned their heads, aiming their NVGs, focusing their eyes on the floor and walls of the narrow entryway. Straight ahead was a stairwell leading down. To the left was a wide staircase leading up to a first floor landing and into total darkness.
“Clear,” Slade whispered, as the two men continued walking forward.
With Grant in the lead, the other men came in with weapons at the ready. Adler closed the door.
Grant stepped forward, looking down into what was apparently a basement. A repulsive, acrid odor drifted into his nostrils. “Phew,” he uttered quietly, shaking his head. Then, he silently thought, Oh, Christ! A terrible feeling shot through him.
There were too many floors above to be checked in the short amount of time they had. If there were prisoners, they’d most likely be in the basement. Interrogators or guards sure as hell wouldn’t want to stay down there, he thought disgustedly.
He turned toward Slade, whispering, “Check one floor. Report back.” Slade nodded and headed upstairs. Grant wanted Novak to hear the conversation that he was sending Diaz and James outside.
“Seven-Three, Zero-Niner.”
“Go ahead, Zero-Niner.”
“Six-Eight and Three-Six, recon outside.” As he said it, he motioned to the two men, who nodded and left quietly.
“You copy, Seven-Three?”
“Copy that.”
“Zero-Niner, out.”
Adler jerked on Kwan’s jacket and pointed behind Grant, indicating for him to take up that position. Grant motioned for Stalley to take the lead. Cautiously, the four men took one step at a time, stopping to listen for anything.
Only halfway down the stairs, Stalley held up a fist. A faint noise caught his attention. He looked back at Grant, who pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then pointed to Stalley. Stalley nodded.
While Stalley made a search, Grant worried. The smell was worse the closer they got to where they assumed the cells were located.
Within seconds, Stalley reported, “One foreign badly injured.”
Grant sucked in a deep breath, then led Adler and Kwan into the basement. Stalley was standing outside an open doorway. “Two rooms, unchecked,” he said, as he pointed to two doors, then he went to the man and knelt by him.
Grant looked at the emaciated man in the cell. He wore a Chinese Army uniform. Two pockets on the jacket indicated he was an enlisted rank. Blood soaked his jacket and had pooled on the floor under and around him.
He’d been left here to die, Grant thought, before he asked Stalley, “How’s he doing?”
The corpsman’s medical bag was laying next to him, already open. He’d opened the man’s jacket, exposing a blood-covered chest. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Wound was made from some kinda sharp instrument. But I don’t think it was a knife.” Stalley put a stethoscope around his neck, commenting, “Have my doubts he’ll last much longer.”
“See what you can do to make him comfortable,” Grant said. “Look for ID.” Stalley nodded, then removed a syringe and bottle of morphine from his bag.
Adler had positioned himself near one of the closed doors. The smell coming from the opening at the bottom made him squeeze his nose as he breathed in through his mouth.
He looked at Grant, who already had a hand on the latch. They had to get it over with.
They pressed down on the latches. The doors weren’t locked. That meant either the cell was empty, or…
Swinging the doors open, they stood just outside the nearly pitch black rooms, moving their heads as they looked through the NVGs. Nothing. Nobody. Empty.