“That’s a big project,” Duncan said. “Can you carry up enough material to do the job?”
“They’ve got some lightweight, highly expansive material,” Kopina said. “I think they can do it.”
“And then what?” Duncan asked.
Osebold shrugged. “That’s up to UNAOC. I assume we might be able to bring the mothership back down. Maybe back to Area 51.”
Duncan was startled. She hadn’t even thought of that. “And the talon?”
“The crew of the Columbia has to ascertain its status, then a decision can be made,” Osebold said.
“Isn’t this all a little rushed?” Duncan asked.
She picked up some nervous rustling among the crew, but Osebold’s answer was confident. “We can do it.”
“Flank and far security report in all clear,” Faulkener whispered, one finger pressing the earpiece from the small FM radio into his ear.
Toland nodded, watching through his binoculars at the small clearing on the other side of the border. He and Faulkener were lying in a shallow trench they’d dug the previous evening. Toland had dismissed most of the patrol, keeping only two other men besides Faulkener. All people he had worked with before and trusted, as far as you could trust anyone who was a mercenary. Which, Toland had to admit to himself, wasn’t very far.
There was another reason besides the better split on the money for going light. Several of the men were ill, and he didn’t want to be burdened with them. Toland wanted to travel light to get his job over with as fast as possible. They’d put two of the men on the far side of the clearing and one on each flank to make sure nobody else moved in during the night.
There was a distant noise, getting closer. Toland recognized it — a car engine. Ten minutes after he first heard the sound a Land Rover pulled into the clearing.
The vehicle was covered in mud and looked as if it had had a long trip.
“Long way from the nearest town,” Faulkener whispered. “They been on the road awhile.”
“Yeah.” Toland had half expected a helicopter. Travel by vehicle was very difficult in this part of South America. But maybe The Mission still had to be wary of the Americans’ drug trafficking surveillance in this part of the world. The Americans tracked everything in the air in the top half of South America.
The Land Rover came to a halt and two men armed with AK-47 assault rifles jumped out. A man in a dark gray jumpsuit exited more slowly from the front passenger seat.
“Damn Nazi,” Faulkener hissed.
The man was over six feet tall, with straight blond hair. Even at this distance, Toland could tell he had blue eyes. The man would have been considered the perfect physical specimen in the Third Reich.
The man began unloading several green cases from the back while looking about the clearing. The two guards moved ten feet from the vehicle and waited, weapons at the ready.
“Professionals,” Faulkener muttered. “Why don’t they take this fellow in?”
“We know the terrain,” Toland replied, but it was a good question. Any adequate soldier with a map could navigate in terrain they hadn’t been in before. There were a lot of pieces that didn’t fit together here.
The man in the gray suit was done. The two guards climbed back in the Land Rover and drove away, back the way they had come. Toland waited until he could no longer hear the engine. He glanced at Faulkener.
“All clear,” Faulkener reported after checking on the FM radio with the security men.
Toland stood up. “What’s in the cases?” he called out.
The man was startled by the sudden apparition. He stood. “Equipment.” He spoke with an accent, which Toland tried to place. European.
“Step away from it,” Toland ordered. When the man complied, he gave more orders. “Kneel down, forehead in the dirt.”
“Is this really necessary?” the man asked.
Now that he was closer, Toland could see that the man’s skin was pale, indicating he had not spent much time in the outdoors.
Toland gestured with the muzzle of his Sterling, and the man reluctantly got on his knees and bent over. Toland walked forward and looked at the three cases. They had hard plastic cases and locks on the opening snaps. He turned back to the man. “What’s your name?”
“Baldrick.”
Keeping out of Toland’s line of fire, Faulkener quickly frisked Baldrick. No weapons.
“You can stand up, Baldrick,” Toland said. “Open the cases.”
“No,” Baldrick said.
Toland closed the distance between the two men in a breath, jamming the muzzle of the Sterling into the skin under Baldrick’s chin. “I didn’t hear that. Say it again.”
“I can’t,” Baldrick said in calm voice. “I’m under orders too. You aren’t authorized to see what’s in the cases.”
“Bad answer,” Toland said.
“I can open one,” Baldrick said. “I have to for us to get where we’re going.” Toland glanced at Faulkener, who met the look and shrugged. Toland removed the weapon. “Open what you can.”
Baldrick flipped open the lid and pulled out a laptop computer with several cables coming out the back. Next he took out a small folded-up satellite dish with tripod legs.
“SATCOM?” Toland asked. It looked more sophisticated than the rig Faulkener carried in his rucksack.
“Not quite,” Baldrick said, unfolding the fans that made up the dish.
Toland stepped forward, bringing up the barrel of his submachine gun.
“Don’t do that!” Baldrick glared at the soldier. “Do that again, I call this off and you can forget your bonus. Plus I tell The Mission you blew this. You wouldn’t want that. They are most ruthless. I and my equipment are more important here than you or any of your men. Is that clear?”
Toland stepped back and gritted his teeth. He waited as Baldrick hooked up the computer to the satellite dish.
“What I have here,” Baldrick said, “is a terrain map of this area loaded in the computer. When I hit the enter key here, we get a kick burst up to a satellite, which activates the homing device in the object we’re looking for, which bounces back up and gives us a location.” With that Baldrick hit the enter key.
Two seconds later there was a glowing dot on the electronic map. “That’s where I need you to take me,” Baldrick said.
Toland looked at the screen. The dot was located in the foothills just over the border in Brazil. Very rough terrain. Toland pulled out his map case and looked at it, comparing it to the screen.
“How long to get there?” Baldrick asked, turning off the computer and beginning to repack it.
“About forty kilometers,” Toland said. “My men can make it in a day. Maybe less.”
“Good.” Baldrick snapped shut the case. “I’ll need help carrying this.”
“Bring in the security,” Toland ordered Faulkener. He turned back to Baldrick. “Mind telling me what we’re looking for?”
“Yes, I do mind,” Baldrick said, shouldering his own small pack.
Toland smiled, but Baldrick didn’t see it. Faulkener did see the smile, and it sent a chill through him. He’d seen Toland smile like that before, and it meant trouble.
“That’s it,” the pilot called out.
Turcotte looked down through the clear bottom of the bouncer. “Goddamn,” he whispered. Vilhena looked deserted, not a single person visible.
“Where do you want me to set down?” the pilot asked.
Turcotte turned to Kenyon and Norward.
“There — that empty field on the east side of the town,” Kenyon said. “Are you sure it’s safe?” Turcotte asked.
Kenyon shrugged. “We don’t know what the transmission vector is, so I can’t answer that. But it should be safe; plus we’ll gear up before venturing out.”