Thorpe didn't have an answer. His and McKenzie's need-to-know had only extended to a rumor that there would be transfer of a large amount of weapons-grade plutonium. The plutonium, supposedly smuggled out of Russia, was to be delivered to the buyer tonight on this beach. They had not been informed who was doing the smuggling or who was doing the buying, but the assumption that an Arab group was involved on the receiving end had seemed likely since they were lying on Lebanese sand.
Thorpe and McKenzie had no idea how even this limited information was obtained. They had received only the filtered-down classified version from Department of Defense intelligence channels.
Both men flinched as the seaward tank turned on its high-powered searchlight. The beam spread across the water and Thorpe was glad they had come in four hundred meters to the south. He could see armed men walking around the perimeter, the nearest only twenty meters away on the far slope of the dune.
"What now, Mr. Brains?" McKenzie whispered.
"We get our air and ground support on station and we film," Thorpe said.
"Those are Israelis," McKenzie hissed. "Not some ragheads. Something heavy is going down here."
Thorpe retrieved the handset for the small backpack satellite radio from his ruck. The radio was hooked to a specially designed frequency-jumping scrambler that made it impossible for the transmission to be intercepted. "Heaven, this is Topaz. We are on target. Over."
Heaven was the code name for their commander on board an aircraft carrier two hundred miles to the west.
"This is Heaven. Read you five by. Give us a description of what you have. Over."
"Four trucks waiting on the beach. Also we've got two Merkava tanks standing guard, so your people better have something to take care of that. Approximately two dozen men on foot armed with automatic weapons. Over."
"Did you say Merkavas? Over."
Thorpe glanced at McKenzie who only grunted as he opened his ruck. "Roger. Over."
While Thorpe was talking, McKenzie pulled out a palm-sized digital video camera with a specially designed night lens. Instead of recording the image on film or tape, the camera computerized and digitized directly onto a small CD-ROM disk. McKenzie began filming.
After a few seconds of silence, Thorpe keyed the mike. "Request support stand by, over."
"This is Heaven. Your support is standing by and coming on this channel. Call sign Angel. Will be monitoring. Update us any changes. I still reserve final go. Out."
Thorpe keyed the mike. "Angel, this is Topaz. Over."
The voice that came over the air had a distinct dull roar in the background that indicated the speaker was sitting in a cockpit moving at several hundred miles an hour. "This is Angel. Standing by. We're four minutes out from your location and waiting. Over."
"Roger," Thorpe said, "stand by. Over."
According to their briefing, Angel consisted of several Harrier jets and four helicopters full of heavily armed Marines flying in from the carrier. Thorpe knew the Harriers could make short work of the tanks and the Marines could finish the job.
Something slid into the light sent out by the searchlight. There was the sound of a strong wind, then a hovercraft came into view, rapidly approaching the shore, coming up onto the beach and blowing sand about. There were no markings on the vehicle.
Thorpe pulled the mike close to his lips. "This is Topaz. We've a got a hovercraft coming in. The deal is going down. Request Angel come on in. Over."
The hovercraft pulled up directly behind the four trucks and slowly settled down. Men ran up to the rear deck and began rolling barrels down a plank onto the sand and then four men lifted each one into the rear of a truck. The barrels were painted bright red.
"Pay dirt," McKenzie muttered. "I'll bet you every cent of my measly salary that those barrels contain cased plutonium."
"I wouldn't take the bet," Thorpe whispered. "The question is, who's the supplier?" Thorpe keyed the mike, wondering why he had not received a reply to his previous message. "Angel, this is Topaz. We have positive confirmation of hot materials. Request Angel come in. Over."
"Topaz, this is Heaven. Negative. I am switching you over to call sign Loki. Take all orders from Loki. Out."
Thorpe looked at McKenzie in confusion. There was a brief break of static, then a new voice came on. "Topaz, this is Loki, over."
"This is Topaz," Thorpe replied.
"Abort mission. Return to home base. Over."
Thorpe glanced at McKenzie. "This is Topaz. I say again. Confirm hot materials here. Request Angel. Over."
"Angel is heading home, suggest you do the same. Out." The radio went dead.
"Fuck!" McKenzie hissed. "They've left us!"
At that moment, they both heard a slight noise to their rear. Thorpe was still putting the mike down and turning when he heard the low popping of McKenzie's submachine gun spewing rounds.
Thorpe caught a glimpse of a figure tumbling back down the dune. Someone else was there and a muzzle flashed. Thorpe didn't hear anything, but he reacted instinctively, firing at the flash.
Leaving their rucks behind, Thorpe and McKenzie slid down the slope to where the bodies lay, scanning the area for more guards. Both men were dead. They were dressed in khaki and armed with automatic rifles with bulky silencers on top.
McKenzie swore as he peered down at the face of the man at his feet. "They're Agency!"
"What?" Thorpe said.
"I know this guy," McKenzie said. "He's fucking CIA." McKenzie stood. "It's a set-up! That's it. I've had it with this bullshit! No wonder they aborted us." McKenzie popped the CD out of the camera and slid it into a pocket on the inside of his wet suit.
Thorpe grabbed the chin of the man he shot and turned the face up. He spotted the small boom mike attached to the headset the man wore and immediately knew what that meant.
He turned to McKenzie. "We've been made!"
"What?" McKenzie said, then both spun around as the whine of a turbine engine revving up came over the top of the dune, followed by the tip of a 105-mm muzzle.
The Merkava tank was moving at thirty miles an hour as it crested the dune and it flew almost ten feet before the heavy treads crashed down onto the sand.
Thorpe and McKenzie barely had time to roll out of the way as the steel behemoth tore by, showering them with sand and pieces of the dead bodies it had crushed.
The driver of the tank pivot steered, reversing one tread while keeping the other going forward and the tank abruptly turned. Thorpe fired on automatic, more a gesture of defiance than with any hope of causing damage. The bullets ricocheted off the metal in a spray of sparks.
"Run!" McKenzie screamed. "The water!"
Together they scrambled toward the surf two hundred yards away. The tank ate up the distance at four times their speed.
"Split!" McKenzie yelled when the tank was less than twenty feet behind them. Thorpe jigged left while McKenzie went right. With an instant decision to make, the driver turned left. Thorpe looked over his shoulder and saw the blunt edge of the tank's front slope five feet behind him. He dove into the sand, rolling onto his back and watching as the treads came toward him. He rolled once more and the right tread clanked by less than a foot away.
Thorpe was in total blackness and smothered with diesel fumes. Worse though, was the overwhelming sense of weight on top of him, the metal bottom of the tank eight inches above his body, the treads blocking movement to either side.
The tank kept going and Thorpe reached up, grabbing a loop of the tow cable overhanging off the back deck and was dragged through the sand as the tank turned around to the right. The driver briefly searched for Thorpe's body. When he couldn't find it, he decided to go after the other man.