Chris shook his head. “Reexamine the threat? What if Mordet acquires the black box on the Switchblade Whisper, and he figures out an algorithm capable of breaking into their IT systems?”
“Exactly. He could obtain our military’s secrets, destroy computers and satellites, shut down electricity and water, and cause billions of dollars of damage,” Hannah said. “Change all traffic lights to green, for example. DC has the second-busiest rapid transit system in the U.S. and the second-busiest train station — Mordet could reroute them for derailing and head-on collisions. I don’t know exactly what his plan is, but I do believe he’ll cause as many human deaths as possible.”
Chris’s nostrils flared, and his eyes opened wide. “We have to stop him.”
“Our cover will be as Adventure Tours, scouting for a new thrill for our wealthy clientele,” Jim Bob said. “The four of us will fly to Cyprus, where we’ll board a yacht and sail to Syria. From there, we’ll drive up a mountain and recon the location near Tishreen Lake where intel reports say the Switchblade Whisper should be. A tracking device was designed into the black box, and we’ll have a GPS tracker to help us pinpoint its location. Then we’ll return to the location at night and retrieve the black box and as much of the plane as is practical to carry. What we can’t take out with us, Chris, you will destroy with explosives.”
Chris didn’t react. There was nothing to say, only to do. His background seemed a perfect fit for the mission.
“Then we’ll sail out of Syria with the Switchblade Whisper,” Jim Bob continued, “and transport it to the USS James E. Williams, an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, anchored in international waters near Cyprus.” He met Chris’s gaze. “The purpose of this mission isn’t to kill people, but if our lives are in danger, we’ll need you to help us shoot our way out.”
“You mean kill people,” Chris said. He hoped the op would go down smoothly and there wouldn’t be a need for killing. But with Mordet involved, that seemed unlikely.
“Yes, do what you have to do. Since our government doesn’t want to be overtly associated with this mission, if we are compromised, the United States will deny any knowledge.”
6
After the briefing, the four of them went to pick up their gear. Then Hannah escorted Chris to the Special Operations Group armory, where a smorgasbord of weapons made his mouth water. He’d forgotten the special bond he felt with firearms that transcended the physical world.
“What would you like for dessert?” she asked, standing in front of racks of pistols, revolvers, submachine pistols, submachine guns, shotguns, assault rifles, and sniper rifles. Hannah grabbed an HK P30 9 mm pistol and HK416 assault rifle. “These two are mine.”
Chris smiled approvingly.
“You can look and touch, but you can’t take,” she said, holding her HK416 out to him.
He took the HK416 and pulled back the charging handle to make sure there wasn’t a live round in the chamber. “Nice balance of durability and accuracy.” He turned on the EO-Tech optical sight. It magnified everything to three times its normal size.
“You broke some hearts when you left Iraq,” she said too casually to be casual. “Why’d you go?”
He continued to study the weapon. He flicked the fire selector switch on the weapon between safe, semi, and full auto. “You don’t really want to know.”
“I only wanted to know, but now I really want to know.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Because I’m so stupid? Or because you’re so smart?”
“Forget about it.” He gave the HK416 back to her.
“Now I can’t forget about it. You built up the suspense.”
She wasn’t going to let it go, and he trusted her, so he gave in. “Okay. You remember that op when we rescued Young?”
“Yeah.”
“After I joined the Teams, I always felt incomplete. Often thought about what it would be like to become a minister. After we rescued Young, I’d had enough of the Teams. Then when Young was going through some emotional issues, the psychologist worked with him, but Young was still suffering. I took him to the chaplain, and that made a significant difference. I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives like that, so I got out and went back to Harvard to study theology.”
Hannah shook her head. “Just like that?”
“It’s something I always wanted to do. And I got tired of chasing dirt-bags.”
“You really are nuts.”
“Why’d you sign up for the Agency?” Chris asked.
“A way out of East LA’s poverty, crime, gangs and drugs. After the director gave me my spy school diploma, I never went back.”
He handed her back her weapon. “Why’d you stay in? You could do other things.”
Hannah discovered another HK416 and handed it to him. “I miss my family, but I have no desire to live in that world. You guys are my family. This is my world.”
“I’ve got to admit, I missed the camaraderie. Never found anything like it again.” Chris examined his HK416. “I need some bling on this bad boy.”
A small, wizened man stepped into the armory. “I’m the armorer,” he said with a voice that sounded like Yoda.
“I’d like to put a Micro Aimpoint sight and a VTAC two-point sling on it,” Chris said. It would allow him to see a red dot in the small scope without the enemy noticing. The sling was just for ease of carrying and the freedom to use both hands on other tasks.
Yoda’s eyes sparkled at the idea. “How soon do you need it?”
“The sooner the better, sir.” Chris picked up a Glock 19 Gen-4. The compact pistol was small enough to conceal without compromising accuracy. It looked brand new, including the plastic sights that might break off under severe conditions. “And I need a pair of Heinie LEDGE Straight Eight sights for this one. I’ll need to zero it to twenty-five meters.”
Yoda’s brow furrowed. People zeroed rifles, but most people didn’t zero pistols. Chris wasn’t most people. He examined the magazine well in the grip, and there was a gap where debris could enter and seep into the trigger mechanism, jamming it. “And a grip plug on the Glock to keep the dirt out.”
“You really know your weapons,” Yoda said.
Chris smiled and handed over the weapons.
Yoda held the Glock in one hand and cradled the HK416 like a child. “I’m going to miss you two.” A hint of sadness crept onto his face before he walked away with the pistol and carbine.
Chris turned to Hannah. “Can you get me on the Farm tonight, so I can do a little shooting?”
Hannah laughed and shook her head. “I knew you weren’t that far out of the game, Reverend. I’ll see what I can do.” She stepped out of the armory, her fingers already flying across her cell phone. Chris guessed she was calling the head of staff at the CIA’s secret training facility.
Half an hour later, they loaded weapons and gear into a green SUV before descending further into the abyss of covert ops. They stopped at a nearby convenience store and loaded up food for later before driving south.
“What’d you do this morning?” Hannah asked.
“Before joining you? Just the usual.”
“The usual?”
“What, did you bug my place or something?” he asked playfully.
“If I did, would I have to ask?”
“Said a prayer. Fifty push-ups, fifty sit-ups, thirty-minute run. Then I read the Bible for half an hour before breakfast.”
“You still shoot much?” she asked, changing the topic.
He shrugged. “Hardly at all.”