The IRIS Algorithm, page 30
“Don’t I get a gun?” Simone asked.
It was a bad time for an argument. Logan removed the pistol from his holster and shoved it in her backpack. “You’ll need your hands free to hold Samuel. Can you carry him if you have to?”
“I could carry you if I had to.”
“Check your mics.” Logan switched on his throat mic and whispered, “Check. Can you hear me?”
Lester nodded. “Check.”
Simone nodded. “Credit card.”
Logan shook his head.
On the bay side of the long peninsula, the beach was short. Gnarled scrub oaks, hurricane survivors, pressed to within twenty feet of the brackish water. In silence, Logan led the way to just inside the breezeless cover of the woods. The gentle hiss of the steady rain through the trees covered the noise of their movements. Even well trained soldiers hated to patrol in the rain. If Virtue was really trying to help, security from The Movement would be a little less than well trained.
“There’s a dock five hundred yards west of the jetties.” Lester’s baritone whispered clearly through the earpiece, strangely hypnotic. “If that virtuous woman told the truth, it’s a good chance that’s where they tied off.”
The woman was anything but virtuous, Logan thought. However, she was the only reason they were still in the game. That counted for something. According to Virtue, a small security team from AEM patrolled the fort, including periodic sweeps by water. She refused to say where Samuel was held inside the fort. She wanted to ensure the only way to rescue Samuel was during the actual exchange. It was a perfect setup for her.
If Logan managed to kill her father’s mysterious benefactor, Virtue won. If Logan and Simone were killed, Virtue won. If they all succeeded in killing themselves that was her biggest win of all. Still, he had detected something in Virtue’s voice when she talked about Samuel. It wasn’t compassion. Perhaps she knew innocence, once taken, was never returned. Maybe he believed her out of desperation. She did get them out of Germany.
A low concrete wall emerged from the palm fronds and scrub oaks, turned almost ninety degrees, and ran along the bay. They scrambled over the four-foot-high, two-foot-wide wall. “This here wall was built in the Second World War,” Lester whispered. “Goes all the way around the place. Damn stupid if they ain’t using this for their patrols.” Lester flipped down his night vision. “Yep. There’s rubber boats down at the dock. Little building up front.”
“In this rain, it’s probably where they are right now,” Logan said. “Any signs of life?”
“Some dumbass smoking a cigarette near the window.”
A thousand years from now, commanders would still explain how far away the enemy could see the light from a single cigarette. The wisdom will be ignored then, too. Cigarettes kill in more than one way.
“Let’s leave them alone for now. Get into position.” Logan put his hand on Lester’s shoulder. “Remember, if we don’t confirm we have Samuel, you take out the plane with the Barrett. They’re not flying out of here with him. No matter what.”
“Roger that.” Lester gave a single nod, a soldier’s nod of complete understanding. “When you do get a’hold of my grandson, I’m gonna blow a fifty caliber hole in anything following you.”
Straining to swallow the lump of hot coal in his throat, Logan watched Simone and Lester hold each other’s shoulders, father and daughter found at last. In the darkness, drenched in rain, words tried to form on their lips. The end of everything is a bad time to try to explain the beginning.
If there were tears, they washed away in the rain. If only regrets could be cleansed so easily. Simone looked down, releasing her father to pursue his mission. In a matter of seconds, he was silently absorbed into the darkness.
Cupping his hand over his wrist, and pulling back the black Velcro cover, Logan looked at his watch. They had forty-minutes if this thing went down on schedule. Who was he kidding? These things never went down according to schedule. A twin-engine turboprop flew in low over the fort. “Damn! That’s got to be our plane. No one else would be out here.” Logan scooted beside the low wall, less careful about making noise. “Lester, you gotta haul ass.”
“Roger that. I’m double-time to position.”
“We don’t have time to follow the wall around,” Logan said. “We have to cut through the woods. Go directly to the airstrip.” Going around had the advantage of cover, but it would take another twenty minutes. Cutting through the woods would get them there in half the time. They would have to traverse open ground near the airstrip. There wasn’t a choice.
He turned, straining to see Simone’s face. He wiped the rain from it with the back of his hand. She reached to embrace him just as the lightning flashed. He saw her terror frozen in a lightning strobe, as she recoiled into a half crouch. No time for tenderness.
“Get up!” He grabbed her ALICE pack and yanked her to her feet.
“I just need… I just need… a moment.”
“Simone, damn it!” He hissed. “We’re out of moments.” Lightning flashed across the bay, sending her body into spasms. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Hard. “You have to beat this! After tonight, we’ll live where there’s no lightning. Right this minute, you have to beat your fear for Samuel!”
She nodded then shook her head. “I’ll slow you down. Leave me here. Save our son.”
He’d lost her once. He wouldn’t let it happen again, ever. They were going to complete this mission together. To hell with the odds. God had to lead, follow, or get out of the way. Lightning struck closer, and the ground shook with agony.
“If you stay here, you die here. That’s not happening!” He grabbed her roughly, dragging her through the scrub as he went. The palmettos sawed at them as they stumbled through the sandy woods. Ten minutes later, they crouched behind a stack of rusted steel drums at the edge of the woods. The small airstrip lay just beyond the drums. They emerged from the woods about halfway along the airstrip and saw lights at the far end. A high-wing, turboprop taxed toward the light.
“Lester, you in position?” Logan asked.
“Roger that. Tracking targets. Aircraft on the ground rolling toward fuel depot. Two vehicles just left, headed toward the fuel depot. A van and a suburban.”
“The van probably carries men with guns and bad attitudes.” Logan didn’t have to say the other carried Samuel.
“Hell. Couldn’t be any worse than my attitude after humping all this shit up here. Soaked to my Underoos. I might have to kick somebody’s ass.”
“Lester, we need to move into position. We will be in the open. We are across the strip from you, behind the steel drums.”
“I see the drums. You’ve got a hundred yards of prairie between you and the structure. Think small.”
“Good advice. Any tangos around the fuel depot?”
“Yep. Got two targets on the opposite side from you. They found a place out of the rain. If they stay put, they won’t see you.”
“We’re moving.”
Desperation and love propelling them, Logan and Simone ran. Lightning arced across the clouds. Simone didn’t have to be dragged. She was a few steps ahead of Logan and impossible to catch. His lungs burned, his wet clothes clung to his skin. Three quarters of the way, he had the stupid thought that they might make it.
Lester’s voice boomed like thunder in the earpiece. “Tango moving. Find a hole! Find a hole!”
“Simone. Down on the ground! Now. Now. Now.” Logan voice was urgent but controlled.
They dove to the wet grass, sliding on their bellies for several feet and stopped about twenty yards from a dilapidated building. “Lie flat, Simone. Don’t move a muscle,” Logan struggled to catch his breath.
“We got one tango on your side of the depot now,” Lester said. “He’s waving the plane in. Hold on. He’s waving the plane toward the covered extension, probably where the vehicles will pull out of the rain. Get ready to move when the plane is between you and them. Go! Go! Go!”
Simone scrambled up, slipped, and fell. Adrenaline pumping, Logan scooped her up in one smooth motion and carried her to the cover of the building. Swathed in grass and mud, they flopped down beneath a broken window and struggled to catch their breaths. Water, mixed with sweat ran off their faces.
“Damn,” Simone said, “I lost my hat. Next time…I’ll carry you… deal?”
Logan ignored her. They were in place, about to find out if their plan worked. It was a brutally simple one, with an emphasis on brutal. Lester was on top of the old ammo bunker, forty feet high with a view of the entire field. Only 200 yards from the fuel depot, it wasn’t a difficult shot with either of Lester’s weapons. Once the principals showed themselves, he would take them out with the suppressed M-4.
In the confusion, Logan and Simone would work their way toward Samuel, taking out the rear guard. Once they had Samuel, they would exfiltrate to the skiff. Lester would provide cover as long as possible. Using the Barrett, he would take out any vehicles that pursued them. If Logan and Simone failed to get Samuel, it was Lester’s job to make sure the plane didn’t leave the ground. No matter what.
CHAPTER 70
Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. Earth rumbled. My body raged against my mind. Fear, dread, and quivering anger kept me moving. My heart flopped in my throat and I quietly threw up a little stream of sticky bile. Logan did not see or pretended not to. I did not care. I never said I was a soldier.
“We’re in position,” Logan whispered. “It’s not as good as I hoped. Can’t see the door of the plane.”
“Roger that. Got eyes on the plane but there’s a blind spot by the depot where the vehicles pulled under.” Lester grunted and cursed under his breath as he repositioned. “Can you see’em?”
“Affirmative. I have a clear view under the shed. No one’s getting out of the vehicles. Standby.” It was strange to hear my father and my husband whispering details with forced reserve, somehow keeping their adrenaline in check.
I have always considered the differences between men and women to be mainly hardware and body mass. In this circumstance, I saw the internal programming in stark contrast. I was tired, wet, and cold hunkered down in a dilapidated building with half a roof. My body covered in mud, ached all over, and I was pretty sure I peed in my pants when I dove for the ground. The woman in me wanted to march right over to the bad guys, slap someone across the face, take my son by the hand, and walk out of here. Enough of this nonsense.
Logan’s voice brought me back. “Get your binoculars out. I need you to spot for me.” Logan stared through the night scope mounted on the M-4. “We have to know exactly where Samuel is. My guess is the Suburban. Guessing is not good enough.”
I shucked off the backpack and fumbled open the top flap in the dark. Reaching inside I felt the gun. Suddenly, I wanted it in my hand. I wanted to wrap my fingers around the handle and feel the weight of it. I wanted to point it at whoever caused all this and pull the trigger. I let go of the gun and found the case for the image-stabilized binoculars. I popped open the case and pulled them out.
“We’ve got movement on the plane,” Lester said. “Door’s opening. Couple of guys in raincoats coming down the stairs. Guess the wimps waited for the rain to slack off.”
“Are they armed?” Logan asked.
“Something bulky under the raincoats. Submachine guns I’d guess. Another guy is coming down the steps. At least two more behind him in the plane. Probably rear guard.” Lester paused. “That’s interesting.” He didn’t elaborate.
“What?” Logan asked.
“They’re all slopes.”
“Come again.”
“Everybody on the plane. They’re all oriental types. I got the cross hairs on a little, bald fellow with Coke bottle glasses. Looks like he’s in charge. Take him out?”
“Negative. We don’t have positive ID on Samuel. Standby.”
I’d never heard my father use a racial slur. Now he was talking about killing baldheaded slopes as dispassionately as someone exterminating a rat. Maybe it’s easier if you tell yourself it isn’t a human on the other end of the bullet.
I powered on the binoculars and the tiny gyroscopes spun up with a soft whir. Logan explained how they worked on the ride over. It was not that much to tell, but I appreciated that he tried to get me to concentrate on something besides the mission’s low probability of success, the lightning, the wrath of God. It didn’t work, but I loved him for trying.
Binoculars with magnification above 7X are difficult to hold steady. Above 10X, the view gets jittery due to hand movement and are practically useless for accurate spotting. The 14X binoculars in my hand were image stabilized, meaning the optics floated, controlled by small gyroscopes to minimize shake and roll. Why my father had a pair of image-stabilized binoculars is anybody’s guess. A man with his own survival bunker has lots of things you do not find in every garage.
“I’ve got movement at the van,” Logan said. “Keep an eye on the Suburban. This is about to go down.”
My mouth tasted of bile and mud and summer rain. The booms of thunder and my pounding heart echoed in the night. Something squirmed in my gut, threatened to crawl out and proclaim my sins against God and man. Now that the rain had slacked off, I saw the Suburban clearly. There was someone behind the wheel, but the pink glare from the mercury lights prevented a good look at his face. He seemed to be talking over his shoulder. To my son? The urge to do something was so strong it made me want to puke again. I leaned into the embankment to keep from screaming and running at the plane. I felt like fainting. Damn! I was not breathing again. The Suburban wiggled like someone moved around in the back. What were they doing to Samuel? To hell with Logan and Lester and their fancy shooting. I would kill the SOB myself.
“I’ve got three, make that four targets exiting the van. Armed and wearing flak vests. Driver stayed inside.” Logan’s voice was unusually calm. “I’ve marked one as the detail leader. I’ll take him first. Standby.”
Was this really happening? I was spotting for my father and my husband as they lined up people to kill. I was prepared to die to save my son. Was I prepared to murder? Was it murder under these circumstances? Damn straight, and I didn’t care. It was justifiable homicide. It was always going to end like this. There was no other way.
Okay, God, bring it on. Just let it end.
While Logan watched the van, deciding which order to kill the unsuspecting slugs, I watched the Suburban. The back door opened, and a man stepped out, his back to me. I could clearly see the back of the man’s close-cropped head, his broad shoulders pressing against the vented PFG shirt, a man pretending to be on his way to a fishing vacation. There was something odd about him; something about the way he moved, something familiar. He reached in, pulled out luggage. No. Wait. It was Samuel. I gasped. The man turned around, and I momentarily lost cognition.
“You okay?” Logan asked. “Any sign of Samuel?”
Samuel got out of the Suburban and stood in front of the man. He held Samuel’s shoulders, keeping him close. Samuel did not seem scared or hurt. He was not restrained in any way. I needed to tell Logan, needed to say something, needed to unlock my brain in an endless loop.
“Simone?”
I could only seize one word. “Burns!”
“What?”
“Burns. Sheldon Burns has Samuel!”
CHAPTER 71
Before his brain registered what Simone said, Logan swung the M4 toward the Suburban. Her voice said urgent.
Simone’s words finally computed when the green tinted scope lined up on the man standing beside the vehicle, holding a boy Simone said was Samuel close in front of him. A man should not see his son for the first time through a rifle scope. Even without the high-powered spotting binoculars, he recognized Burns.
“Shit.” Logan flipped the selector switch to single fire. “We have positive ID on Samuel.”
“Wait! You can’t take the shot!” Simone said. “He’s holding Samuel right in front of him.”
“I have the forward most slope in sight,” Lester said. “I have a clear shot. Holding on your order.”
“No. Wait.” Simone lowered the binoculars and put her hand on Logan’s shoulder.
“Don’t touch me! My finger’s on the trigger! It’s only about a hundred yards, Lester. I can make the shot.”
“I need to get closer,” Simone said. “We don’t know what Samuel will do when the shooting starts.”
She was stalling. This was not the time to lose her nerve. “Simone, if they get him on that plane, we will never see him again. Do you understand?”
“Something’s happening,” Lester said. “Slope is walking toward the shed. I think they’re going to meet in the middle.”
Logan kept the crosshairs on Burns’ forehead. Burns slowly walked toward the plane. Logan had missed his best opportunity to take him out. The security detail fanned out on both sides—just like they were supposed to do—making it hard to take out the targets. So much for less than adequately trained security.
“Simone, I need you to spot for me. If I get a shot, I’m taking it. Lester, you will see your man react. When he does, start taking them down.”
“Roger that.”
How could it be Burns? Logan struggled to concentrate on the shot. Burns was the last man he would figure to sell out, but he was delivering his son to a foreign national in the middle of the night. There was no scenario to explain Burns as anything but the bad guy. It was insane, but it made everything else make sense. He shook away the thoughts, concentrated on his breathing. The entourage stopped about halfway between the shed and the plane.
“I’m holding on Burns,” Logan said. “The bald headed guy is between me and Burns. I don’t have a clear shot.”
“You want me to take him?” Lester asked.
“No. Burns will fold up Samuel and run. I need to take Burns first.”
