The drone of the gasoline generator meant that he could hear nothing. Of course, it handicapped me as well.
I continued around the structure, crossing the road at a spot out of sight of the man at the gate. Taking my time, slipping through the sparse brush as carefully as possible, I inspected every foot of the wall. The main gate was the only entrance I noticed on my first visit, yet I wanted to be sure.
A man strolled on top of the wall on the side opposite the main gate; the instant I saw him I dropped motionless to the ground. Seconds passed as he continued to walk, then finally he reversed his course. When he disappeared from view I scurried over to a rock outcrop and crouched under it, with my body out of sight from the wall.
If he had an infrared scope or any kind of ambient light collector, he could have seen me lying on the open ground.
I crouched there waiting for something to happen. If they came streaming out of the main gate, they could trap me on the point of this ridge, hunt me down at their leisure.
As I waited I discovered that the M-16 was already in my hands. I had removed it from my shoulder automatically, without thinking.
Several minutes passed as I waited, listening to the hypnotic drone of the generator, waiting for something to happen. Anything.
Finally a head became visible on top of the wall. The sentry again, still strolling aimlessly. He leaned against the wall for a while, then disappeared.
Now I hurried along, completed my circumnavigation of the fort.
I saw only the two men, one on the gate and the man who had been walking the walls. Although I had seen the man on the wall twice, I was convinced it was the same person. And I was certain there was only one entrance to the fort, the main gate.
I had to go through that gate so I was going to have to take out the guard. I was going to have to do it soon, then hope I could get in and out before his absence from his post was noticed or someone came to relieve him. Taking chances like that wasn’t the best way to live to spend that three million dollars, that’s for sure, but we didn’t have the time or resources to minimize the risk. I was going to have to have some luck here or we had no chance to pull off this thing.
This whole goddamn expedition was half-baked, I reflected, and certainly no credit to me. Man, why didn’t I think of poisoning their water supply when we were brainstorming in Germany?
In my favor was the fact that these people didn’t seem very worried about their safety or anything else. A generator snoring away, only two guards? An open gate?
I worked my way to the wall, then turned and crept toward the guard. The generator hid the sounds I made as I crept along. He was facing the road.
I got about ten feet from him and froze. He was facing away from me at a slight angle, but if I tried to get closer, he was going to pick me up in his peripheral vision. I sensed it, so I froze.
He changed his position on the stool, played with the rifle on his knees, looked at the myriad of stars that hung just over our heads. Finally he stood and stretched. For an instant he turned away from me. I covered the distance in two bounds, wrapped my arm around his mouth, and jammed my knife into his back up to the hilt.
The knife went between his ribs right into his heart. Two convulsive tremors, then he was dead.
I carried him and his rifle off into the darkness. He weighed maybe one-eighty, as near as I could tell.
One of the outcroppings that formed the edge of the top of the ridge would keep him hidden from anyone but a determined searcher. After I stashed the body, I hurried back to the gate. I took off my night-vision goggles, waited for my eyes to adjust. I took off my rifle, leaned it against the wall out of sight.
As I waited I saw the man on the ramparts walking his rounds. He was in no hurry, obviously bored. I got a radio-controlled bomb from the rucksack, checked the frequency, and turned on the receiver.
The Land Rover was in the courtyard. When the man on the wall was out of sight, I slipped over to it and lay down. I pulled out the snap wire and snapped it around one of the suspension arms. The antenna of the bomb I let dangle.
This little job took less than thirty seconds. Then I scurried across the courtyard into the shelter of the staircase.
The conferees were probably in the living area; I sure as hell hoped they were. My edge was that the people here were not on alert. And why should they be? This fort was buried in the most desolate spot on the planet, hundreds of miles from anyplace.
Still, my life was on the line, so I moved as cautiously as I could, trying very hard to make no noise at all, pausing to listen carefully before I rounded any corner. My progress was glacial. It took me almost five minutes to climb the stairs and inch down the corridor to the radio room.
The hum of the generator was muted the farther away from it I moved, but it was the faint background noise that covered any minor noise I was making. And any minor noise anyone else was making. That reality had me sweating.
The door to the radio room was ajar, the room dark.
Knocking out the generator figured to be the easiest way to disable the radio, unless they had a battery to use as backup. I was betting they did.
After listening for almost a minute outside the door, I eased it open gently, my fighting knife in my hand.
The only light came through the interior window from the floods in the courtyard. The room was empty of people!
I went in fast, laid my knife on the table, got a bomb out of the rucksack. This one was rigged with a chemical fuse, so I broke the chemicals, shook the thing to start the reaction, then put the package — explosive, detonator, fuse, and all — directly behind the radio. As I turned I was struck in the face by a runaway Freightliner.
Only partially conscious, I found myself falling. A rough hand gripped me fiercely, then another truck slammed into my face. If I hadn’t turned my head to protect myself, that blow would have put me completely out.
As it was, I couldn’t stay upright. My legs turned to jelly and I went to the floor, which was cold and hard.
“What a pleasant surprise,” my assailant said in highly accented English, then kicked me in the side. His boot almost broke my left arm, which was fortunate, because if he had managed to get a clean shot at my ribs he would have caved in a lung.
I wasn’t feeling very lucky just then. My arm felt like it was in four pieces and my side was on fire. I fought for air.
I couldn’t take much more of this. If I didn’t do something pretty damned quick he was going to kick me to death.
Curling into a fetal position, I used my right hand to draw my hideout knife from my left boot. I had barely got it out when he kicked me in the kidney.
At first I thought the guy had rammed a knife into my back — the pain was that intense. I was fast running out of time.
I rolled over toward him, just in time to meet his foot coming in again. I slashed with the knife, which had a razor-sharp two-sided blade about three inches long. I felt it bite into something.
He stepped back then, bent down to feel his calf. I got my feet under me and rose into a crouch.