“So who’s going to place the charges?” asked Silva.
“Are you volunteering?” asked Alton.
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” she replied with a disdainful look at the team.
“I’ll go with you,” said David. “One of us will need to stay sharp while the other’s planting the charges.”
Silva nodded. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll want to plant them in the most lightly occupied area. Any idea where that is?”
“Hang on,” said Alton. “I’ll check.”
Using an app Agent Vega had provided the day before their departure, Alton linked into the NSA’s satellite feed. Using an override code Vega had provided, Alton zoomed the picture as tight as possible on the Pasha Tech site and switched to infrared sensors. Scores of white dots, each one representing a person, appeared on the screen.
“Most of the troops have converged on the center building, the lab,” said Alton. “There are some troops massed around the eastern entrance and, unfortunately, on the western perimeter, where our hole is. But there’s almost no one at the northern perimeter. Plant your charges there. Once you’ve done that, set a fifteen-minute fuse and get back here.
“Take this,” he added, handing his phone to David. “Once the charges are ready, use the satellite app to find the return route with the fewest soldiers.”
David nodded and opened the door. He and Silva poked out their heads. Checking to ensure their departure would go unobserved, they glided through the opening. Alton shut the door behind them.
He studied Mastana. The teen had never looked so troubled.
“You know your dad can take care of himself, right?” he asked.
Mastana exhaled a long, stuttering breath, teetering on the precipice of breaking into tears. “Yes. But I fear for him.”
“I do, too. Let’s think about how we can keep him safe.”
A bit of Mastana’s worry disappeared. “What do you mean? He is out there, and we are in here. What can we do?”
“He’s an experienced soldier and Secret Service agent. I’m confident he’ll return. But when he does, we need to have a route for getting him and the rest of us back over to our hole in the fence without being seen. Let’s talk through that. Once we return to the western side of this building, should we head straight across to the fence and then follow it south, or should we go south along the edge of the building and then head over to the fence?”
As Mastana pondered the question, Alton caught Mallory’s eye. His wife nodded approval. Mastana’s mind had been turned from crippling anxiety to strategic planning. Nothing came more natural to her than focusing on a plan to help a loved one. Now to apply his own mind to this very question.
CHAPTER 30
The Director rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. Eight o’clock. The evening grew late, but the production schedule for the third order was perilously tight. If he didn’t make good progress tonight, his hopes of meeting their commit date would dim like the evening’s fading sun.
Before resuming his work, the Director stood to loosen his stiffening back. He swiveled at his torso to the right. Holding the slow stretch, he faced five sterile racks, each containing a different sample group. Swiveling to the left, he gazed on a row of incubation warmers lining the far wall.
Resuming his seat, he sighed and leaned over the microscope to examine the next set of test results. This latest order required a product of exacting specifications. He had to ensure the specs were met to perfection.
The Director leaned back and gave a start upon seeing Vaziri standing next to him. How did the woman move so silently?
“Vaziri. How are you this evening?
“Fine, Director. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He felt a bit annoyed that his reaction had been noticeable. “I just wasn’t expecting you. That was all. How can I help you?”
Vaziri took a seat on an adjacent lab stool and crossed her long legs. “The second field test is complete.”
“And…?”
She cracked the faintest trace of a smile. “Passed with flying colors.”
“Ahh…that’s good. And the customer is happy?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t he be? We delivered everything we promised.”
The Director chuckled. “You never know.”
A timer across the room began to beep.
“That’ll be lot fifty-two,” said the Director. “Give me a hand getting that out of the incubators, will you? It’s not hot, but we’ll need to glove up to keep from contaminating the sample.”
He moved across the room, where a piece of equipment resembling a sterile pizza oven stood against the wall. After opening a wide door, the Director slid out a long aluminum tray of petri dishes. “I’ll grab this side. You get the other. We’ll move it to that table on the right.”
Donning latex gloves, Vaziri performed the task with supple grace. The Director had to fight to keep his eyes off the pleasing curves of her figure. As leader of the organization, he knew better than to dip his pen in the company ink.
“Thanks for your help,” he said.
“My pleasure. It’s selfish on my part, you know,” she replied with a slight smile. “Without the lab’s products, I have nothing to sell.”
“We help each other. That’s what teammates do.” The Director leaned against a steel table. “Now that you’re here, let me ask you a question. Does the staff seem pleased with their bonuses?”
Vaziri’s smile grew wider. “Oh, yes. And thank you for mine.”
“It was the least I could do—truly.” He eyed his second-in-command. “You’ve brought me good news today, but something’s troubling you.”
Vaziri met his gaze. “It’s Ian Finley.”
“Finley! I was just working on his product when you walked in. Is he worried about us meeting the timetable?”
“It’s not that,” replied Vaziri. “He’s trying to change the terms. Says he wants a forty percent discount or he walks.”
In silence, the Director extracted a spotless cloth from the breast pocket of his lab coat and used it to clean his glasses. “Do you need any help addressing this problem?”
“No, of course not. You did ask what was troubling me.”
“Indeed.” He polished his glasses once again and tucked away the handkerchief. “Inform me when the problem has been remedied, will you?”
Vaziri stood. “Of course. You can count on me.”
CHAPTER 31
Tense minutes ticked away. No word from David or Silva came. Alton had issued the radio-silence order himself, but a part of him hoped they’d disobey the command and confirm the success of their mission.
True to Silva’s prediction, the sound of troops and transports continued to grow. Alton’s uneasiness rose with the decibel level. The bark of commands shouted in a foreign tongue and the occasional roar of engines provided ample evidence of a tightening net through which they had no hope of escaping—unless David and Silva could pull off their subterfuge.
In the glow of her penlight, Mastana cast a concerned glance at Alton.
“It’s okay,” said Alton. “He’ll be back.”
“But it has been so long.”
“Yes, but that’s good.”
“Good? Why?”
“We want your dad and Silva to be careful, right? They’re probably moving only when they’re sure no one will see them. If they’d been captured, we would’ve heard a lot more commotion out there.”
Seconds later, the door swung open. Silva and David fell into the room. Streaks of sand and dirt covered the front of their web gear and clothing, but otherwise they had suffered no ill effects.
Relief flooded Mastana’s face, and she rushed to embrace her father.
“Clock’s ticking,” said Silva. “We need to move.”
Alton led the team out the door. Once they had circled around the green electrical box and returned to the shadows of the building’s eaves, he motioned to David, who came astride.
Alton lea
ned close and lowered his voice so Mastana couldn’t hear. “Where the hell were you guys? I thought you’d never get back.”
David matched Alton’s pace and replied in a whisper. “Let’s just say the soldiers are better about keeping regular patrols than the Pasha Tech guards were. Oh, here’s your phone back.”
They reached the corner. In the fifty-yard berm lying between the building and the fence, a second military transport vehicle arrived, stopping close enough for the NSA team to detect the acrid odor of its diesel fumes.
Alton leaned in close to Silva and whispered. “How long ‘til the charges blow?”
She looked down at the black, non-reflective digital watch on her wrist.
An enormous boom erupted from the northern end of the compound, illuminating the building’s walls in an orange glow and sending a blazing fireball soaring into the night sky.
Silva looked up from her watch. “About now.”
The volume of the soldiers’ reactions rivaled that of the explosion. They raised a cry and bolted in the direction of the detonation, forming a human wave. Alton motioned for the team to crouch down. In their headlong rush, some of the soldiers might pass within feet of them.
The berm emptied within seconds. Before the soldiers had disappeared from view, Alton stood and motioned for his team to follow. He turned the building’s corner and continued to hug the wall as he moved due south.
The explosion had ignited a fire, which now cast an orange glow into the night sky and sent eerie shadows dancing on the berm. Now to hope the team’s movements, if seen in the periphery, would blend into this grotesque display.
The group reached the southwestern corner of the administrative building. They weren’t directly across from their hole in the fence but had shaved off much of the distance they would have to travel in the open.
Alton scanned the surroundings. The decoy explosion had worked flawlessly, drawing away the patrolling troops, but soldiers from the property’s southern end might still be trying to make their way to the scene of the detonation. These late-comers could discover the NSA team quite by accident if Alton didn’t exercise care.
No soldiers appeared in sight.
Alton jerked his head in the direction of the fence. “Head straight to the fence hole. Go!”
Sprinting, Silva and Mastana pulled ahead of the rest. David and Mallory lugged the boxes in the middle, while Alton and Gilbert brought up the rear. As they ran, deformed shadows continued to dance across the berm, endowing the sandy ground with a shifting quality.
By the time Alton reached the fence, everyone but Gilbert had squeezed through its narrow opening. The lighting on this section of the fence was as poor as ever, providing an effective measure of concealment. Alton ducked down and crawled through, grimacing as a fresh bolt of pain coursed through his leg.
Gilbert crouched down to pass through the opening when a shout from twenty yards away echoed off the administrative building.
“It is a soldier,” said Mastana. “He says to stop or he will shoot you.”
CHAPTER 32
Gilbert froze, still crouched down in preparation to pass through the hole.
With his rifle trained on the members of the NSA team, the Afghani soldier emerged from a gloomy section of fence. He looked at Gilbert and shouted.
“He says to rise,” said Mastana.
Gilbert clutched his SIG Sauer in his hand. When had he unholstered it? His eyes darted to Alton, who nodded.
The soldier issued an angry command and pulled his rifle to his shoulder.
The toxicologist began to turn around. He raised his left hand in the air, drawing the soldier’s attention. With his right hand, he fired the SIG Sauer four times from the hip. Two rounds went wild, but two more found their mark. The gentle sigh of the suppressed weapon seemed too delicate to have rendered the soldier a lifeless heap on the ground.
Gilbert scurried under the fence. His hands trembled, but his face bore a determined look.
Alton took a moment to position the cut section of fence back over the opening. No point in making their escape route too obvious. Every minute of time he could buy the team might prove crucial.
He turned to his teammates. “Put on your night-vision goggles, then head for the SUVs. I’ll wait here a minute and make sure no one spotted us.”
“Let me wait instead,” said David. “It’ll be easier for me to catch up.”
Alton nodded. “Sixty seconds, then haul ass back to the team.”
The team set off in a quick walk. Moments later, the sound of a distant explosion rippled across the landscape. The NSA team members turned their heads in unison at the unexpected blast. The fires must have reached some combustible substance, perhaps chemicals used in the site’s central R&D building. Any additional diversion was welcome.
Alton turned back to their escape route. He led the team towards the southern edge of the foothill. In five minutes, they would be out of Pasha Tech’s line of sight, hidden behind the rolling terrain.
David rejoined the team and settled in between the Blackwells.
“Anyone coming?” asked Mallory.
“No. We’re good—for now.”
Alton’s leg burned with every step, but nothing short of death would induce him to stop. He pushed forward, his heart hammering in his chest. At least the goggles provided good visibility of the uneven terrain, even if they did depict everything in a green hue.
A new sound, a low rumble, reverberated across the desert. Alton swiveled his neck to look but couldn’t spot anything. Without breaking his stride, he withdrew his cellphone from his pocket and activated the satellite app, once again narrowing its focus to the Pasha Tech site and employing the infrared camera.
Activity played out on his cellphone screen. A cluster of rectangles, each dark on one end and blazing hot on the other, shifted out of the site’s entrance. It had to be a convoy of vehicles, probably more of the military transports. After passing through the site’s gate, some of the vehicles turned to the left, while other veered right. One of the Afghani commanders had finally realized the intruders must have stashed their vehicles nearby.
“Run!” said Alton. “Military vehicles are pulling out of the site right now. They’re spreading out in a search pattern.”
Gasping for breath, the team members rounded the southern edge of the foothill and raced north. They stumbled on shrubs and depressions while attempting to close the distance to their only chance of escape.
Alton activated the homing beacon in his phone’s navigation system, launching real-time directions that would guide them back to the exact spot of their dimly lit SUVs.
“Just a little further now,” he gasped, limping forward.
The app counted down the yards. If only Alton could will the distance to close more rapidly.
The rumble of massed engines grew louder. The erratic flicker of multiple headlights began to play across the desert to the north of the foothill, signaling the enemy’s approach.
Silva reached the vehicles first. She slid into the seat and waved in David. Moments later, the rest of the team joined her and piled into the two vehicles.
Alton fired up the engine, thankful his pursuers would never hear the noise over their own cacophony of sounds. He spoke over his headset—no need to worry about radio silence now. “Silva, stay on my butt. We’re not spreading out this time.”
“Wilco,” she replied, using the military’s call sign for compliance.
A train of Afghani vehicles rounded the northern slope of the foothill and turned towards the NSA team. Any second, one of the bouncing headlights could land on the NSA vehicles and reveal their location.
Alton punched the gas and shot across the desert, racing through a blanket of inky blackness. No need to give away his location with headlights when the night-vision goggles provided all the visibility he needed. Traveling in a great counterclockwise arc, he began to put a bit of distance between his team and the search-party vehicles.
&
nbsp; He rounded the edge of the foothill and spotted distant headlights. Of course—the enemy vehicles that had deployed south of the compound were now working their way directly towards the NSA team.
“Shit,” said Alton. “Honey, bring up the topographical map. See if there’s anywhere to hide.”
Mallory’s fingers flew over the screen of her cellphone. “Head to the right…two o’clock. Looks like there’s a culvert that runs from Pasha Tech into a ravine. See if you can follow it down behind the ravine’s cliffs.”
“Got it.” Alton turned the wheel, angling away from the company’s site. He bounced the vehicle over a series of ruts, hoping the violence of the motion wouldn’t do what the Afghani soldiers had as yet failed to do: finish them off.
“There it is,” said Mastana, pointing just left of center. “See the low part of the ground?”
“I see it,” said Alton. “Good work.”
Slowing as he approached the culvert, Alton nosed his Cherokee over its lip and eased his vehicle down a steep slab of concrete. A mere trickle of water stained the middle of the culvert, leaving the rest dry.
“Head to the right, away from Pasha Tech,” said Mallory as Alton reached the bottom. “In a hundred yards or so, the culvert will angle around behind the walls of a ravine. Just don’t go too far. It empties into a river about fifty or sixty feet below.”
Alton motored down the manmade trench. He followed the culvert behind the ravine’s cliff and screeched to a halt a mere six or seven feet from a fifty-foot drop-off.
“Watch it coming round the corner,” he warned Silva over his mike. “I’m right behind the cliff, and I’m at the edge of a waterfall.”
“Roger.”
Moments later, the second SUV slid in behind Alton’s.
“Radio silence until I give the signal,” said Alton.
Tears of God (The Blackwell Files Book 7) Page 11
