57
The battle-scarred DNY rumbled along the dirt road, tossing Noble and Sam around inside. The suspension rattled and groaned. Noble followed the logging road around a soft shoulder and applied the brakes. Trees lined both sides of the lane. Stars winked in a long ribbon of black velvet sky overhead.
If the navigation app on his phone was accurate, then the stone quarry lay directly south, through a hundred meters of forest. Noble set the parking break and turned the key. The engine ticked as it cooled. He turned to Sam. “We need to be quiet and, no pressure or anything, but our lives depend on it.”
“Thanks,” she said. “No pressure at all.”
They left the car in the middle of the logging road and plunged into the woods. The trees formed a vault overhead, shutting out the light and forcing them to navigate in total darkness. There was only shadow and deeper shadow. And, Noble reminded himself, Hong Kong was home to several deadly species of snakes, the King Cobra among them. He almost whispered this fact to Samantha but decided against it. By the time either of them saw a snake, it would be too late to do anything about it. Best not to worry her.
Noble reached back and took her hand so they would not get separated. She gave a little squeeze, grateful for the support. They went slow to avoid getting turned around in the dark or making too much noise. Every lung full of air was tinged with the pungent aroma of dank soil. It took them ten minutes to go less than a hundred meters.
Bright shafts penetrated the forest ahead, creating silhouettes of the trees. The mining operation that worked the site had abandoned large banks of arc sodium lights along with much of the equipment when they closed down the dig. The mercenaries were using the stadium lighting to illuminate their surroundings, giving themselves a tactical advantage. Noble hunkered at the tree line and took stock of the situation.
The quarry was shaped like a gigantic light bulb; a long, sloping access road coming up from the south widened out into a deep circular depression scooped from the earth as if by the hand of God. The steep walls bore the scars of the dynamite used to blast the crater. The floor of the quarry was loose rubble and soft shale. A massive dump truck was parked near a crushing facility shaped like an L and constructed of corrugated steel. A pair of Mercedes-Benz G class trucks with dark tinted windows was parked in the middle of the dig. The lamps were all wired to a construction trailer parked atop the ridgeline thirty meters to Noble’s left. A portable Craftsman generator next to the trailer emitted a throaty rumble.
One of the mercenaries was a German sniper. He would be concealed in the tree line with a view down the access road. Between the low light and dense foliage, he could be a dozen paces in either direction, and Noble would never know it. The idea sent a chill capering up Noble’s spine. But if the sniper had seen them, they’d already be dead. It was a strangely comforting fact.
Even with the construction lights in his eyes, Noble could see three of the mercenaries from his vantage point. One knelt behind an overturned ore cart near the access road. The second had taken cover behind a large boulder. The third stood near the rear bumper of the rusted dump truck talking on a cell phone. That would be the leader, Henries, giving updates to his employer. If Noble had a decent rifle with a scope, he could kill all three from this distance.
Between the three he could see and the sniper hiding among the trees, there was one left. The fifth mercenary would be inside the crushing facility where he could keep an eye on the prisoner. The two kidnappers were likely inside as well, and Noble had to assume they were armed.
All in all, the mercenary leader had done well with limited resources. Between the gunmen in the quarry, the lights along the ridgeline, and the sniper, anyone coming up the access road would get shredded long before they reached the crushing facility.
In Special Operations Group, Noble had spent weeks, sometimes months, planning operations and analyzing every angle of attack and counter attack. But he didn’t have weeks. He had to neutralize the mercenaries, grab Bati, and get out before Krakouer showed up to complicate things. With no time to formulate a plan, Noble would have to win this fight on instinct, improvisation, and a lot of luck.
The sniper was the problem. Noble needed at least two team members. One to extract Bati and one to eliminate the sniper.
He looked at Samantha. She was hunkered at the base of a tree and craning her neck to see into the pit. Her lower lip was pinched between her teeth. Her brow furrowed. The idea of putting her in harm’s way formed a tight knot in his gut and forced him to examine his feelings for her. He had to admit it went beyond simple attraction. He tried to put a label on it but rejected the word love. Besides, she had turned him down last night in the hotel room. Why did he always fall for the ones who weren’t interested in him?
Whatever these feelings were, they were getting in the way of the job. He leaned close and dropped his voice below a whisper. “I need your help.”
She took a deep breath. “What do I have to do?”
“There is a sniper hidden along the ridgeline,” Noble told her.
Sam tensed. The chords in her neck stood out. She peered around like she might spot him behind the nearest bush.
“He’ll stay hidden until he has a target. I’m going to draw him out. When he breaks cover, it’s up to you. All of his attention will be on me. You’ll be able to sneak up in back of him.”
Sam was already shaking her head. “What if I can’t? What if I can’t pull the trigger?”
“Then I die and so does Bati.”
Her lips pressed together. Lines formed around her eyes. Noble could see the storm below the surface. He knew it was asking her to commit the unthinkable—killing another human being. For some people, it was impossible. But removing the sniper was the lynchpin of this entire operation.
He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her close. “It’s a hell of a thing. But I need you. Bati needs you.”
“What if I miss?”
“You won’t,” Noble told her. “Listen to me. He won’t be able to hear a damn thing over the sound of the firefight. You sneak right up behind him until you are so close you can’t miss. Put your arms out straight, hold the pistol in both hands, and pull the trigger. Keep pulling the trigger until he stops moving. Understand?”
She let out a trembling breath. “Okay.”
Noble turned her face up to his, so he could look her in the eye. He needed to know she could actually pull the trigger. He was taking a desperate risk. A thousand things could go wrong. If she screwed it up, all three of them would die. “Let me hear you say it.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m going to sneak up behind him, hold the gun in both hands… and shoot him.”
“Again.”
“I’m going to sneak up behind him and shoot him.”
“One more time.”
“I’m going to sneak up behind him and shoot him,” Sam said with more confidence. “To save Bati.”
Noble nodded, satisfied. He didn’t like the idea of sending an inexperienced asset against a trained sniper, but if she failed he wouldn’t have long to lament his mistake.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say and no time to say them. He had done the best he could. He turned his attention to the construction trailer. Crossing the open ground to the generator would feel like crossing a minefield. He would be totally exposed, but he had to turn out the lights or this thing would never get off the ground. He let out a nervous breath. “Wish me luck.”
“Wait,” Sam grabbed his hand and held on. “We should pray.”
“You want to pray?”
She nodded.
“About killing people?”
She gave him a flat look.
Anger brewed below the surface. God, if he existed, never answered any of Noble’s prayers. He didn’t need God’s help. He didn’t want it. Noble made his own way in the world. Sam, on the other hand, believed. If she needed to feel that some sort of supernatural providence was working for her then it would
be worth the few extra seconds. Noble told himself he was doing it for her sake. “Make it quick.”
She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky. “Lord, we need your help. Give us victory over our enemies. Protect us and deliver us. And Lord, please heal Jake’s mother. Give her a miracle. Amen.”
Short and sweet. Noble would have preferred she left his mother out of it, but at least it was quick. She opened her eyes and gave his hands a squeeze. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” he said. “I’d rather be lucky.”
All soldiers were careful. Even the best could catch a bullet. Any one of them would tell you it was better to be lucky. Noble pressed the slide of his pistol halfway back and saw the soft copper gleam of a round nestled in the chamber. He thumbed the safety off and crept through the underbrush to the tree line.
58
Bati lay on the stone floor with her eyes shut and tears streaking her cheeks. A swollen purple welt on her forehead oozed puss. The slightest sound made her head feel like it would split right down the middle. Small movements sent electric jolts racing up her spine. It was everything she could do to deal with the pain. It needed all her concentration.
She was back in the crushing facility. Henries and Rene had carried her back inside and dropped her on the floor after the Australian had smashed her with the butt of his rifle. She was awake by then but kept her eyes closed for fear of further reprisals.
The Frenchman was so close she could feel him. He shifted his weight. His boots scraped the layer of grit on the concrete floor. His gear rattled. Occasionally he would fetch a heavy sigh. Bati didn’t look. She didn’t move. She didn’t want him to know she was awake.
Wrapped up in all the pain and fear were questions—questions Bati had long been afraid to ask. She had grown up in luxury, enjoyed special treatment at school, and met heads of state. Her father, after all, was Bakonawa Ramos. Before she was even old enough to know what a diplomat was, people would tell her how proud she should be of her father. And she was. Everywhere she went, people praised him and his work against human trafficking. There were fundraisers, galas, and award ceremonies. Bati had a good life.
Despite all that, by the time she was a senior in high school, she had developed lingering doubts about daddy’s business. There was nothing she could point to specifically. It was a hundred little things. Maybe it was the whispered phone conversations late at night, or the overly lavish lifestyle, but Bati began to suspect that not all of his deals were above board. At first she tried to explain it away, and when she couldn’t do that any longer, she chose to ignore it. As much as she hated to admit it, Bati enjoyed their expensive lifestyle as much as Daddy. Besides, she reasoned, he was working for the greater good. If that required a few less-than legitimate deals then the ends justified the means.
Now, lying here, feeling her faulty body shutting down for lack of insulin, Bati realized the sins she had tried so hard to ignore were finally coming to light. Was God punishing her? Was this the price for turning a blind eye? A tortured sob issued from her raw throat and a fresh wave of tears welled up.
She heard boots in the gravel and then Henries saying, “I just got off the phone with the boss. We are shutting this operation down.”
“What about her?” Rene asked.
Bati peeled open one eye in time to see Henries shake his head.
“Shame,” Rene said.
“Hold the fort while I take care of business,” Henries said.
They were going to kill her. Bati’s heart squeezed painfully hard. The air caught in her lungs. She sat up and shook her head. “Please don’t,” she begged. “Please don’t kill me.”
“On your feet,” Henries said. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up.
Bati screamed. The big Australian dragged her toward the back of the crushing facility. She struggled wildly despite the pain it caused her head. She kicked and screeched and when that didn’t work, she bit him. Her teeth clamped down on his muscular shoulder.
Henries shouted in pain and his grip relaxed.
Bati wrenched her arm free and ran. Her only thought was to find a dark corner and hide.
Henries cursed and started after her, but at that moment, the rumble of the generator hiccupped. The throaty roar rose in pitch to an overburdened shriek. The lights around the quarry flickered. Henries stopped. He looked at Rene. The Frenchman shrugged.
59
Noble moved silently through the underbrush. An itch formed between his shoulder blades with every step. The sniper was out here somewhere. Noble kept expecting to hear a rifle crack and feel a bullet perforate his heart. A twig snapped under his foot. He paused, watching and listening. His eyes strained to penetrate the shadows. After what felt like minutes, he forced himself to keep going. He made it to the edge of the tree line in back of the trailer without getting shot.
Now for the hard part.
Less than four meters separated him from the Craftsman generator, but it was four meters of open ground lit by the spill from the towering construction lamps. He would be exposed every step of the way. If the sniper happened to be looking in that direction, Noble was going to die.
The longer he thought about it, the harder it would be to take that first step. He forced the fear to the back of his mind and broke cover.
He crossed the open ground to the generator. It was a big thirty-five-horsepower job with a plastic fuel tank on the top and a pull chord. He could hit the off switch, but that would give away his location; he wanted to keep the element of surprise as long as possible. Instead he twisted off the fuel cap, tossed it, and then turned the generator on end. Gasoline glugged out through the opening and formed a dark puddle on the bare earth. The engine started to knock and hiccup. The sound of the motor climbed several octaves. The lights dimmed and then flared back to life.
Noble took off running up the wooded incline. He crashed through the underbrush, heedless of the noise. Bare branches raked his face and sleeves. He emerged onto the dirt lane with the DNY parked ten meters to his right.
The next part of Noble’s plan relied heavily on luck. There was no way to know how long the generator would keep laboring. It might have cut out already. Soon as the lights died, the mercenaries would be keyed up for a fight. He sprinted to the car, threw himself behind the steering wheel, and got the vehicle turned around.
He drove at reckless speeds with the headlamps off. The suspension slammed through divots and launched over humps. He needed to reach the quarry as fast as possible. If he killed the car in the process, so be it. He could take one of the Mercedes vans after the fight, always assuming there was an afterward. At the intersection, he fishtailed the DNY onto the blacktop. The front passenger side tire was shredding and made a telltale hum.
Noble stamped the gas and almost missed the access road. He spun the wheel. The DNY slewed around the corner onto the gravel drive, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Along the ridgeline, the arc sodium construction lights dimmed, waxed bright, and dimmed again. The mercenaries turned their attention to the trailer and the struggling generator. Noble was halfway down the access road when the work lamps winked out.
Perfect.
Grace or good luck—Noble didn’t care to speculate—had given him a chance to level one hell of a surprise on his enemy. He took full advantage. His lips pressed together in a savage line. His brow furrowed. He pushed the pedal to the floorboard, coaxing the last bit of horsepower from the engine, and switched on the headlights at the same time. The motor emitted a throaty growl, and twin beams pierced the darkness.
The diversion had bought him a few precious seconds. The mercenaries heard the engine and saw the headlights. Someone yelled, “Contact front!”
Automatic fire echoed around the quarry. Bullets smacked the hood, starred the windshield, and chewed through the front tires.
Noble scrunched down in the driver’s seat and aimed the car at the overturned ore cart. The headrest exploded in a shower of foam confetti.
A bullet drilled through the seat less than an inch from Noble’s head.
He cramped the steering wheel, stamped the break, and pulled the parking lever at the same time, sending the DNY into a sideways skid. The vehicle slewed across the stony ground, pushing a wave of dirt and gravel ahead of it. The mercenary behind the cart realized what was about to happen and ran for safety. He wasn’t fast enough. The left side of the car impacted the metal bucket and sent it tumbling. The mercenary crashed across the front hood of the vehicle in a splay of arms and legs. The DNY reared up on two wheels, hung there a moment, and then settled back onto all four with a bang.
A hailstorm of bullets blew out the windows. Shattered glass flew in every direction. Noble scrambled across the seats and pushed open the passenger side door. He belly crawled out of the vehicle and sheltered behind the rear wheel well while the mercenaries hammered the car with small arms fire.
60
Sam hunkered in the shadows and waited. Noble had tipped the generator on its side and run, leaving her alone. Even from thirty meters, she could hear the Craftsman struggle. It would not be long now. She put her back to a tree, reached a trembling hand into her jacket pocket, and brought out the pistol. The nickel plating winked in the faltering light from the construction lamps. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small gun. She cradled the weapon in both hands, pointed it straight down at the ground between her knees, and practiced lining up the sights. She locked her arms out—because Jake had made a point of it—and realized that it made the sights line up naturally.
The generator began to bang and wheeze. It had run quite a bit longer than she had expected, tipped on its end like that, but now it was burning through the last of the petrol. It was do or die time. Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t the only one who would die if she failed.
With the portable power generator in its death throes, she closed her eyes one last time and asked God for strength.
Noble Man Page 21
