"Come on, come on, come on," she whispered.
Within a minute Diaz finally settled into her next spot, the balaclava now tucked behind her belt, the Cross-Com back on her ear.
The cold, wet rifle felt perfect against her cheek. She homed in on the second sniper.
Time for him to check out.
But damn it, he was already moving, the red diamond IDing him sliding across her HUD.
She breathed another curse, dragged herself back up, and got moving again.
Mitchell, Ramirez, Smith, and Nolan worked their way across the field, the mud rising to their ankles.
With the rain and their black uniforms, they should be near impossible to spot. Still, sharp veins of lightning printed the sky negative, and the ground rumbled with racing cracks of thunder. During any one of those flashes, a keen-eyed guard could turn his head in the right direction, make his radio call, and open fire. Surprise party over.
A long, earthen wall about four feet tall extended from both sides of the wrought-iron gates, and Ramirez was first to reach it, followed by Mitchell, Smith, and Nolan.
Crouching in the shallow mud puddles, Mitchell activated his MR-C's gun cam, then he rose and slid the rifle over the wall top while peering into the camera's display, which flipped open like a portable video camera's. The screen allowed him to shoot around corners and over the tops of walls, but for now he exploited its recon possibilities. He panned right, then left, and despite the grainy image, he saw enough to elicit a huff of frustration. The two guards posted outside the rectangular building were still at their posts, so Mitchell and the others would have to risk moving in closer to ensure single-shot, clean kills. And the question lingered: what had happened to Diaz?
He slid back down and shook his head at the others, then he checked his HUD, switching to an image coming in from Diaz's camera: she was on the run.
"Diaz, SITREP."
"I lost the second sniper for a minute. Got him now in my HUD. I'm moving position. Can you wait for me?"
"Negative, I need my guards down now."
"Roger that. Stand by."
The truck's schematics had given no indication if the windshield and side windows were bulletproof, and Beasley couldn't take the chance of allowing Jenkins and Hume to make a firing attempt through the glass.
Time for plan B, as in use an enemy body to your advantage. Beasley and Brown kept low behind the dead driver, bringing him over to and propping him up near the truck. Hume, who was hunkered down near the driver's side rear door, moved up and knocked on the driver's window. The guy at the wheel turned.
Between the pouring rain and the darkness, the guy would fail to get a good look at his dead colleague--and that's what Beasley was counting on. The window lowered, and the second it did, Beasley and Brown let the body fall back, giving Jenkins, who was positioned near the truck's front tire, room enough to slide up and direct his pistol into the cabin. His Px4 Storm SD thumped twice. Blood began dripping down the side windows. Jenkins reached in and opened the truck's door.
"Outstanding," grunted Beasley. "Now start with the choppers while I take care of the bot." He opened the truck's rear door and climbed inside, out of the rain. He called up the SUGV's main camera in his HUD and worked the wireless controller to pan that camera toward the main gate. Headlights grew brighter in the distance.
He steered the drone away from its cover spot and began launching all six smoke grenades, positioning them all over the station. The new lock and the threat of an electrical fire, as evidenced by the smoke, should delay that crew a little longer.
By the time he finished and returned the bot to its position, Hume signaled that all vehicles were inoperable and rigged with more C-4, should they choose to create yet another diversion.
Now it was time to move in toward the castle and take out as many guards as they could before falling back to cover Alpha Team's exit. Beasley updated the captain, then ordered Bravo Team to move out toward the building on the castle's west side.
Diaz's attention was divided between the sniper running along the opposite mountain to the north and the two guards below. She had to adjust her damned firing position three times before she finally had her bead on the first guy.
But the rain. All that damned rain. The best she could do was make her adjustments . . . and fire.
The first guard went down, tumbling beside one wall, out of sight. The second guard, standing just around the corner from him and shivering under the overhanging roofline, turned his head, as though he'd heard something.
He began speaking into his radio.
Diaz waited until he was finished. Then, without warning, a burst of wind came in hard--just as she took her next shot.
The round exploded into the wall just above the guard's left shoulder.
Her brothers began screaming in her head as she reloaded in one smooth motion and the guard dropped to his belly, seeking cover.
But she still had him in her sights. And as he crawled forward, her second shot caught him in the middle of his back. He did not move again.
"Captain, this is Diaz. You're clear!"
Mitchell and Smith jogged forward toward the main entrance of the central building, while Ramirez and Nolan broke right toward the long, curving wall of the east building and its rows of rectangular windows. Once they drew closer, they'd have two guards to pick off before they moved inside.
According to the CIA's inside guy, Colonel Xu was in the central building, while each of the others were staying in the south, east, and north buildings, respectively. Their locations had been assessed by the Ghosts' intelligence analysts and sent to Mitchell's HUD so that he and the others need only follow the intel indicators to find the men.
Admittedly, Mitchell had chosen to take out Xu because he knew Fang had been stationed on the roof of Xu's building. Fang had come down when the rain had picked up, and Mitchell assumed that the bastard was somewhere inside.
Ramirez crawled on his hands and knees through the muck as he neared the first guard, who was sniffling and huddling beside the door, his weapon pointed at the ground. Ramirez needed him to turn his head a bit more, so he issued a curt, "Hey!"
The guard looked down, up, didn't see Ramirez. He frowned, blinked, and then . . . he finally spotted him and made that turn.
One silenced round to the head ended his surprise and discomfort.
Ramirez waved on Nolan, and they kept tight to the wall, racing around to the opposite side of the building, where the second guy was posted near the other door.
They got down as they approached, and Nolan drifted out a bit from the wall, lifted his pistol, just as the guard raised his head and looked at them.
The shot kicked him onto his back.
Ramirez rose and raced to him. Clean head shot. He glanced back at Nolan, raised a thumb. They tried the door: locked. Ramirez fished out his tool kit and got to work, while Nolan covered him.
They still had one more guard in their way. He was, of course, posted outside Admiral Cai Ming's door.
Nolan breathed a curse and suddenly fired. Ramirez turned his head to watch a guard posted outside the south building tumble to his death.
"He was just coming around," Nolan explained. "And can you hurry up? It's not like bad guys are trying to shoot us or anything."
Ramirez jabbed one of his tools into the lock. "I'm an artist, bro. Patience."
Huang peered out his window and saw the dead guard lying beside the central building. It was happening now, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
They were in the west building, on the fifth floor. He glanced over at his wife, who slept soundly, the candle-light playing over her face.
A knock came at the door. Huang frowned and answered it.
There stood Pan, a flashlight in one hand, a pistol in the other. "Step out here onto the balcony," he said.
"Pan, what is this?"
"You know what this is."
"No, I don't."
"I went back
to my quarters and began thinking, and I realized that your little deal with the police has given me the perfect opportunity."
Huang shook his head. "I don't believe you."
Pan raised the pistol even higher. "They will think you were accidentally shot by the police or by one of Fang's guards. Your family has no money for an autopsy. There will be no investigation."
"Pan, listen to me. If you fire that gun, everything will be ruined. Is killing me worth that much to you? Think of your own sons. And remember, if you didn't have doubts, you wouldn't be talking to me."
Pan stepped forward, the pistol poised over Huang's forehead. "This is the only way I can save face with the council."
"No, it's not. When this is over, I will leave, okay? There is no reason to shoot me."
Pan's breathing grew labored, and Huang could almost hear the gears grinding in the man's head.
"Pan, go back to bed."
Fang stood outside Xu's door, his flashlight beaming at the floor. The row of fifth-floor balconies was otherwise dark. He tried to get in touch with Sergeant Chung, who'd once more failed to respond. What was that fool doing now? Huddling inside to smoke a cigarette? Fang was a few seconds away from going down there to beat the man with his cane.
He checked his watch. The power should be back up soon, and that was good. The rain, thunder, and lightning strained his eyes and made his bones ache. Just across the balcony, the building's roof sagged as chutes of water funneled down and tumbled five stories to the muddy courtyard below.
After calling once more into his radio, Fang decided to check in with his snipers. No response from the first.
But the second man's voice came tight with exertion: "Captain, I think I've spotted someone along the south ridge. Another sniper, maybe. Need time to confirm, over."
"You find out who that is."
"I will, sir."
Fang immediately called out to his first team of guards in the east building. After a long pause, only Sergeant Keng, the guard posted outside Admiral Cai's door, responded. Fang demanded to know what was happening with the others, but Keng was not sure. He could only see the courtyard from his vantage point.
Fang rushed along the balcony and toward the staircase. He ordered one of Sergeant Chung's men to come up and assume his position, but again, his order was met with static.
It took incredible force of will for Mitchell to crouch there, peering from behind the cracked door as Fang Zhi jogged right by him.
Yes, Mitchell could have chanced an interception. But any noise, even the slightest, could alert Colonel Xu--and he was the true target.
Behind Mitchell, Smith held the young village man and his wife at gunpoint, his finger to his lips after he'd ordered them to be quiet in Mandarin.
For a long moment, Mitchell remained there, just breathing, his thoughts lost in another decade, in a moment that turned his blood cold.
"Boss? We ready?"
Mitchell stared through the sergeant. Only one fact registered: that he had allowed Fang to walk away.
"Boss?"
"Yeah. Come on. Three doors down. Let's do it."
Mitchell stood, slid over his Cross-Com's monocle, then he and Smith reached into their packs and tugged out their lightweight enhanced night-vision goggles (ENVGs). Their eyes had adjusted to the outside, but they wouldn't take chances within the darker confines of Xu's room. The straps fit firmly over their heads.
Mitchell opened the door and returned to the balcony. He skulked along the wall with Smith in his shadow. They reached Xu's door and took up positions on either side. Mitchell gave Smith a terse nod.
As the sergeant's size-thirteen foot connected with the warped wood, a gunshot rang out in the distance, leaving Mitchell confused as the door swung open and he dropped to the floor, with Smith coming in above him.
In a bed on the opposite side of the room lay a screaming woman pulling blankets up to her neck. Next to her, on the side nearest Mitchell, was the young colonel, who rolled over toward a small nightstand, where his sidearm sat in its holster.
TWENTY-SEVEN
HAKKA CASTLE
XIAMEN, CHINA
APRIL 2012
After more than an hour's worth of dizzying passion, Colonel Xu Dingfa had fallen onto the bed, breathless and relaxed, with the comfort girl's head resting gently on his chest. He had vowed in the morning to ask her name and make arrangements to see her again.
He'd thought he'd been dreaming when the door had smashed inward, the faint light from the candle near the bed illuminating two figures, their faces concealed by masks, their night-vision goggles protruding like antennae from their heads. One was hunkered down, one stood, and as Xu's eyes had opened wider, he'd spotted their guns.
The reach for his own weapon was instinctual, worthless, really, but he couldn't just lie there.
Now, as the girl screamed and the first silenced rounds finished her, Xu wondered who was responsible for his death. Who had betrayed him? Fang? Had the man been lying in wait for these past four years, a tiger himself? No, it couldn't be. Could it?
The shots ripped through Xu's chest, and it took another second for the pain to register like a claw shredding his gut with slow, even strokes. He coughed, and his mouth immediately filled with blood.
Xu felt no sorrow for himself, only for his dear mother and father, whom he had failed. They would not see their lost children, and that was the greatest tragedy.
As the men rifled through his belongings, Xu thought of raising his fist in one last act of defiance, but the room had already grown dark around the edges, and there was only the strength for one final breath.
As Huang and Pan had stood facing each other on the balcony, Huang had realized that Pan was not going to leave and had every intention of shooting him.
So Huang had lashed out, seizing Pan's wrist to shift away the gun. Pan had fought against Huang's grip with one hand while clubbing Huang in the head with his flashlight.
Even as the blow seemed to reverberate through Huang's head, the gun had gone off, the round tearing through Huang's shoulder.
Pan gasped, muttered his disbelief that he had fired, and the gun slipped from his grip. Huang kicked the weapon away and shoved Pan against the railing with so much force that the warped and rotting wood cracked and gave way.
Pan flailed his arms and screamed as he fell back into the chutes of rain, plunging five stories to splash hard to his death.
Huang's wife was crying and rushed up beside him. Down in the courtyard, one of Fang's guards ran up to Pan's body and checked for a pulse. Then he gazed up at Huang and screamed, "I heard the shot! What's going on here?"
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Huang was about to answer when a click sounded from below, and the guard's head snapped back before he toppled.
Huang gasped as a fresh volley of automatic weapons fire rattled loudly through the courtyard.
Buddha sat in the idling SUV, chomping on a chocolate bar and staring at the streaming video of the castle being fed to his laptop. Boy Scout was doing likewise and issuing his banal and obvious commentary on the action.
That first shot had been barely audible from their range, but Buddha had pricked up his ears and now leaned out the window, grimacing over a lot more gunfire.
"You were right," came Boy Scout's voice from the phone on the seat.
"About the noise, yes," Buddha answered. "I was hoping I would not be."
"We should get in closer. The cowboys will need us soon."
"We stay here."
"That's a mistake, old man."
"Shut up. Do what I say." Buddha wiped his hands on his jeans and stared at Boy Scout's SUV, just ahead.
If the kid acted rashly, he would not live to regret it.
Beasley had shot the guard who'd run into the courtyard, then he'd paused and frowned. There were two bodies lying there. He glanced up, saw an old couple staring down at him from the fifth-floor balcony, the railing busted away.
The other two g
uards had come in from the north side entrance of the building, and one of them had begun firing at Jenkins and Hume, who were about ten meters behind Beasley, close to the wall.
"Damn it, Jenkins, he sees you!" cried Beasley. "Move up and take him out!"
Just then Lieutenant Moch got on the Cross-Com with an intel update from his Predator: the power crew was at the fence, working on the gate, and yet another truck was inbound.