"Where's Riddle?" Browning asked.
The team looked at each other nervously, uncertain of who should be the spokesman of the group.
"Well?" Browning demanded. "Somebody?"
"He got called away for something," one of the men responded. "He didn't say what."
Browning frowned but said nothing. Why should he be surprised that Riddle showed no interest in this operation? The man resented him, but Browning didn't care. He'd built a career off going into places where he wasn't wanted and taking charge. He'd left a trail of pissed-off men from Tripoli to Tegucigalpa and he was still around to talk about it. To hell with Riddle. He had other fish to fry and he could deal with Riddle when he got back.
"I'm going to give you a quick briefing before we board the chopper. We're flying to the far southwest of Virginia to look for an operator named Conor Maguire who might be going rogue. I'll pass his picture around while we're on the chopper so please take a moment to familiarize yourself with him. We're going to drop into his compound to see if he's there. We might take fire so things could get spicy. There might be secondary targets on the property and they're of no value. I do need to question Maguire so save him for me. All other targets are fair game."
Browning looked down the line of men and saw nothing but eager nods.
"Who's my demo guy?"
A nervous-looking man at the end of the line raised his hand. "Me, sir."
"What's your name, son?"
"Vencill, sir."
"Did Riddle get you set up with everything you needed?"
Vencill stood straighter. "Already on the chopper, sir."
"Then load up and let's get the hell out of here."
The men clambered aboard the chopper, finding seats and strapping in. Browning waited while they settled in, rolling his eyes as they swept each other with muzzles and jabbed each other with barrels. Their awkwardness briefly made him wonder what kind of team he'd been saddled with. They were armed and all had trigger fingers so surely they could carry out basic orders. Besides, it never entered his mind that Riddle might intentionally saddle him with inept troops.
As the rotors began spinning, Browning verified the coordinates with the flight crew. "There's a landing pad at the destination. You land there while the team deploys. You can lift off and circle if things get hot." Browning swiveled his head around. "Vencill? Where are you?"
"Here, sir!" Vencill called out from one of the jump seats.
Browning got up from his seat and moved to Vencill's side, holding onto the rigging to steady himself. He crouched by Vencill, then leaned forward and spoke loudly into his ear. "You'll offload last. I'll stick one of the other guys with you to help set the charges. While we're clearing the property and taking everyone into custody, you'll work your magic. I want the property unlivable when we leave. Take out his house, any structures, and any infrastructure. Blow up his solar and his water. Blow up his damn goats and chickens. I don't intend to leave anyone alive, but the man I'm hunting could have allies in the community. I don't want them to be able to use his facility once he's gone. Are we clear?"
"Understood, sir!"
Browning returned to his seat and strapped in. Between the noise and the nerves, everyone was sunk into their own little world. Browning understood now that it had been a mistake to leave Conor Maguire alive. He'd done it because he still held a grudge over the cocaine Conor had destroyed all those years ago and the resulting blowback from that incident. He didn't understand why Conor had to blow things out of proportion.
Sure, maybe he had made a mistake by putting Maguire's name on those gun cases full of cocaine, but he'd have made it right if Conor had given him the opportunity. Surely five thousand dollars would have smoothed Conor's ruffled feathers but he never gave Browning the opportunity to work out something. Instead, he had to shoot up that shipment of cocaine and make a big scene.
Word of what happened on that airstrip spread through their community and it impacted Browning. While he'd overcome those obstacles, as evidenced by his current role in national security, there had been issues at the time. People didn't want to work with him, didn't trust him. His bosses started handing him bad assignments in remote outposts where he couldn't embarrass them. It had taken him years to work himself out of that hole and it was all because of Conor Maguire.
When Browning learned that Conor was the assassin Ricardo had put on the cruise ship, he'd been intent on salvaging Conor, making him his personal errand boy. His sole reason for doing that was so he could intentionally humiliate and torture Conor. He'd assign him the morally repugnant jobs that would erode his soul. He'd give him horrible physical challenges, send him to the worst locations the country had to offer. That had been the plan, but the truth of the matter was becoming evident—it was too dangerous to have a man like Conor Maguire running loose.
It wasn't exactly the things Conor did, but Browning's awareness of what he was capable of. This was something he had ignored entirely when he'd decided to let Conor go free. He'd been too excited at the prospect of crushing Conor's soul and that had blinded him to the dangers of having an enemy like Conor running about unchecked. Conor could be actively plotting against him at this very moment.
With Conor's vast network of associates, it would be within his abilities to pursue Browning all the way to Washington. Conor's escape from the Shandong and his return to the United States were evidence of his resourcefulness. The guy had connections. He was a liability and he needed to die.
Browning was lost in his thoughts until the pilot announced that they were around five minutes to target. Less than a minute passed before the pilot was back on the comms.
"Sir, I've got two people on horseback on my thermal. Both are armed. It looks like a male and female. They're on the same road that leads to our target destination."
Browning grimaced, unfastened his seatbelt, and nearly flung himself into the cockpit. "Stay on them!" he snarled. "Full magnification!"
The co-pilot tapped a button until the thermal image was at full magnification. Because of the manner in which thermal imaging displayed heat signatures, the figures on the screen were displayed as multi-colored human-shaped objects but Browning was certain he recognized one of them. That posture. The shape of his body. That cocky demeanor.
It had to be Conor Maguire.
The riders had been standing still, obviously trying to figure out the intentions of the chopper approaching them. Then, as if they could sense Browning's presence in the helicopter, they kicked their horses and bolted, disappearing from the monitor screen.
"Should I pursue?" the pilot asked.
Browning felt the odds of hitting Conor while he was shooting from a chopper and Conor was on horseback were pretty slim in this mountainous terrain. Although the riders were easy to spot on the chopper's thermal imaging, Browning didn't have a thermal scope on his rifle. He'd be using his nightvision to sight through a simple ACOG with no magnification. A much tougher shot. Besides, he'd come here for satisfaction and he'd find none in dropping Conor in this impersonal manner. He wanted to be close. He wanted to see the light fade in Conor's eyes as he drew his last breath.
"That's a negative," Browning said. "Don't pursue. I want you to pull back a half-mile down the road and hover. I'm going to drop a team of three on the pavement and they're going to advance on foot."
The pilot immediately banked the chopper and headed back down the road. Browning held on, then turned and pointed out three men. "You three are roping down."
"Sir, we don't have the gear or the training for that," one of the team said. "There was no mention of fast-roping from a chopper."
Browning was stunned for a moment, more accustomed to working with men who had those kinds of skills. He pointed to the crew chief. "You got a hoist on this bird?"
The crew chief nodded.
"Harnesses?" Browning asked.
The crew chief held up two fingers.
"Get them." Browning returned his attention to the
three men he'd selected. "You all get those harnesses on. You're winching to the road. You'll pursue the target uphill but don't you dare kill him. Keep them on the run. That's your job."
"How far do we chase him?" one of the men asked.
"Until you catch him!" Browning snapped as if it were the stupidest question he'd ever been asked.
The chopper went into a hover and the crew chief threw the door open. The act of rigging and lowering the three men was painfully slow. The agitated Browning stomped around the cabin, cursing and complaining the whole time. For every second they were delayed, Conor was charging hell for leather up the mountain.
Finally, when the last assaulter unclipped on the ground, the crew chief retracted the hoist cable and Browning rushed back to the cockpit.
"Now get me ahead of those horses," Browning ordered.
"To the target destination?" the pilot asked, pulling off the three men they'd just dropped.
"Negative!" Browning barked. "Near the top, but not all the way. I just need to be ahead of those riders. I'm going to drop down with two more men and we're going to set up an ambush. After we're on the ground, you'll land on target and deploy the last three men. Confirmed?"
"Roger that, sir."
As the pilot raced the chopper up the mountain, Browning tapped his foot. It was time to make this happen and he was ready.
50
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
At the mine, Shannon, Ragus, and Wayne had gotten up early to prepare for their raid on Conor's compound. Everyone had their gear and weapons. They'd checked each other's gear to make sure no detail was overlooked. Once they were ready, all three transitioned to helmet-mounted nightvision and started the walk down the weedy trail from the mine to the road. High dew-soaked grass lashed at their pants legs and left seeds clinging to them. If all went well, they'd soon know the identity of the two intruders at the compound and hopefully have an idea of why they were there.
They'd only gotten as far as the paved road when Shannon snapped to alertness, hissing at them to be quiet. "Stop! I hear something."
Then the rest of them heard it too.
"Chopper," Ragus whispered.
Wayne threw out an arm and halted the procession. "Let's get back to the mine!"
Ragus started to protest but Wayne corralled him with an arm. "Get moving! We don't want to be caught in the open if they’ve got thermal and heavy weapons."
Suddenly Ragus understood the magnitude of the situation and tore off in pursuit of Shannon. Running with the nightvision units was a challenge. The impact of running jostled the helmets, throwing the device out of alignment with their eyes. One minute you could see, the next you couldn't. On top of it, viewing the world through nightvision altered their depth perception in a way that took some getting used to and none of them had acquired that level of comfort.
Shannon was the first to go down, misjudging a leap over a downed tree. Ragus was immediately on her, looping a hand beneath her bicep and tugging her to her feet. No sooner was she back up to speed than Wayne tumbled over a wet rock and went down too. Ragus paused to go back for him but Wayne waved him off.
"Keep going! Get inside the mine! Go!"
Wayne was back on his feet in a second but moving more carefully now, his arms outstretched in case he went down again. When he reached the mine, Ragus and Shannon threw out their arms to catch him, then the three of them crouched in the entrance, listening desperately for the chopper.
"Is it going away from us?" Ragus asked. "I could swear it was louder a minute ago."
"It could be the trees affecting the sound," Wayne said.
"You think it's going for the people at the compound?" asked Shannon.
"It has to be," Ragus replied. "Why else would they be here?"
Wayne held up a hand. "Listen! I think it's getting louder again."
Indeed it was. They could all hear it now, could feel the thrum of the rotors in their chests. The chopper was definitely coming up the mountain. Then the pitch of the engines changed again.
"What's happening?" Ragus asked.
"I think they're hovering out there somewhere," Wayne replied.
Shannon shifted her position, trying to spot the chopper out the mine entrance. "Do you think they spotted us?"
Wayne sighed nervously. "I'm not sure but they stopped for some reason."
Ragus stepped forward and craned his neck. "We should try to get a look. We're pretty far away from the road. If they're running thermal, maybe we're far enough away that it won't pick us up."
"I don't know," Wayne mumbled.
"I think Ragus is right," Shannon said. "If they're up to something, we need to know about it."
"Then let's do it," Wayne conceded. "Let's only go as far as the edge of the woods."
The three scrambled out of the mine and hurried the short distance to the edge of the woods. Below them, in the green glow of their PVS-14 nightvision devices, they could see the mobile home where Ragus had lived with his mother. They could see the grassy areas around the property that Ragus had kept mowed back when those things mattered. Beyond that was the paved road that ran along the edge of the mountain, cut into a narrow ledge that terminated in a steep drop at its edge. Above it all was the hulking silhouette of a chopper hovering above the road, the downdraft of its rotors whipping the tops of trees.
It was indeed maintaining its position as if it had seen them and was waiting for them to show themselves. It was not oriented in the direction of the mine, though. It was directly above the road and pointing uphill as if it had been following the road up the mountain.
Wayne threw his rifle up and sighted through the low power scope. It was awkward with the nightvision but he could make out a few details. "The door is open and men are standing in the door. They're swinging out."
"They're coming down?" Ragus said, nearly in a panic. "Should we shoot them?"
"No," Shannon said. "If we shoot them now they may come after us in the chopper. They might even have rockets that would collapse the mine."
"She's right," Wayne said, lowering his rifle. "We need to engage them once they’re on the ground and the chopper is gone."
"We don't even know that the chopper will leave," Ragus argued.
Shannon reached out and stroked his arm. "Relax, dude."
"Let's stay put," Wayne said. "Try to get a count on how many drop."
Two men were lowered on a hoist, dropping slowly to the ground. They unclipped when their feet hit the pavement, then ran clear of the chopper, crouching in a ditch.
"Don't move at all," Wayne warned. "They have nightvision on and they might pick us up if we move."
As the chopper hovered, one last man descended by way of the hoist. He didn't take cover in the ditch like the others. He waved them to his side and shouted orders, then the three of them hurried down the mountain. The chopper pulled off and headed in the opposite direction.
"What the hell?" Ragus said. "Those men are headed away from the compound."
"But the chopper is headed for the compound," Shannon noted.
"Those men must not be coming for us," Wayne said. "I have no idea what they're doing."
Shannon took charge. "How about you and I follow these men, Wayne? Ragus, you head up to the compound and let us know what you find. We need to know if the people up there are pulling out or if more are joining them."
"No problem," Ragus said. "I'll radio you as soon as I get up there."
The three crept from cover and headed in the direction of the paved road. They were nearly there when a massive explosion lit up the night. The three flinched, staggered, and stumbled, latching onto each other in sheer terror.
"Was that the chopper?" Shannon asked.
Ragus gulped. "Or the compound?"
The sound of voices reached them and each of them swiveled toward the source. There were footsteps in the darkness. Men running in their direction.
"They're coming back," Shannon whispered, plowing into Ragus and
Wayne, shoving them into the weeds.
51
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
Valeria was on watch, sitting in the dark recesses of Conor's porch, when she thought she heard something off in the darkness. At first, she thought it sounded like a truck engine chugging up the steep mountain road. Then the pitch changed and she was fairly certain she knew what it was. It was something she'd heard hundreds of times at the Banks compound over the last six months. It was an incoming chopper.
She didn't wait for it to get any closer. She didn't wait to see if it might simply be passing over the compound. As far as she was concerned, there was only one reason a chopper would be coming in this direction and that was to land at the compound.
Valeria ran to the front door and barreled into the living quarters, shouting at the top of her lungs. "Ricardo! Ricardo! Wake up!" She hurried through the house, using a flashlight to make sure she didn't fall over anything in the unfamiliar space.
"What is it?" Ricardo demanded, stumbling into the hall and shielding his eyes with an upraised hand.
She stopped in front of him, eyes wide in panic, breathing rushed. "There's a chopper coming."
It took a second for that information to settle into Ricardo's sleep-addled mind. For a moment Valeria was uncertain if he understood her.
"I said there's a chopper coming!" she barked. "We need to get out of here. We need to hide."
Ricardo nodded as the adrenaline hit. "You're right. Grab your pack and rifle. I'll meet you on the front porch. And turn off that flashlight." He disappeared back into the room he'd been sleeping in.
Valeria's belongings were still in the living room. She scooped up her pack, leaving the rest of her possessions behind. She rushed out to the porch, grabbing her rifle from the table where she'd left it. She folded her nightvision into place, climbed down the stairs, and paced nervously while she waited for Ricardo.
She could still hear the chopper but it seemed to have paused in its approach. She couldn't imagine what they were doing, though she appreciated the extra seconds it bought them. She wondered what was keeping Ricardo. She turned back to the house and yelled, "Come on, Ricardo!"
Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series Page 35
