“You can say that again. He’s always pushing me to be more, do more. He just wants to make me into a soldier like him. Well, I don’t want to be a soldier.”
“So don’t become one. Become what you want to be.”
“My dad won’t let me.”
“Has he ever told you he wants you to go into the Army?”
Rob hesitated. “Not in so many words.”
Bartley frowned. “Let me tell you what your dad is doing. I’ve seen this a hundred times, so I recognize it. Your dad is tough on you because he wants you to be tough—not so you can be a soldier but so you can protect the family if the worst happens.”
The teenager’s mouth opened but no words came out.
“That’s right, Rob. The thing that frightens a soldier like your father most isn’t AK-47 fire, improvised bombs, or mortar attacks; it’s leaving his family in the lurch, leaving his kids fatherless and his wife without a husband. Rob, I’ve seen big, bold men weep over that one fear. They can look a heavily armed Taliban soldier in the eye without flinching, but the thought of leaving their family alone melts them like butter in a frying pan.”
Bartley took his hand from Rob’s shoulder. “You and your father are going to knock heads from time to time, but you’re too smart not to know that’s normal. You’re also too smart not to know that I’m right. Whatever happens, son, I’m convinced your mother and sister can count on you.”
“Done?”
Bartley nodded. Rob was doing his best to act like the words had just bounced off his steel exterior, but Chaplain Bartley could see the boy got the message.
“Rob, your mother needs you right now. Her plate is full with your dad gone and with the help she’s trying to provide to Lucy.”
“That the pregnant woman? How’s she doing?”
“Not good. Her husband is on your father’s team. There’s a good chance she may lose the baby. She may even lose her life.”
Rob furrowed his brow. “Not good.”
“No it’s not. I’ll tell you something else. I think there’s another problem your mother is dealing with, but I don’t know what it is. She hasn’t said anything, but I get a sense that something is weighing her down. Do you know what it is?”
He shook his head. “No. We haven’t talked much the last few days.”
“Look Rob, I’m not your conscience. I’m not your father or your uncle. I’m a stranger to you, so there’s no reason for you to listen to me, but I think you should talk to your mother. She needs you. She needs you to stop being a pain, but she also needs you to man up. I don’t know what else she’s carrying on her shoulders, but my guess is that it’s pretty heavy.”
Rob stared into the distance. Bartley gave him time, gathering wrappers and soda cups, exiting the car and depositing them in a waste container. He slipped back into the car. “You know the way home?”
“Of course.”
“Then tallyho.”
Bartley couldn’t help noticing that Rob drove more slowly than before.
CHAPTER 44
AS FAR AS MOYER was concerned, night came too slowly. On this kind of mission, darkness was a friend, daylight the enemy. The building they had under surveillance sat at the end of an industrial section of town. When they scouted the area days before, they noticed that several of the large structures were empty, perhaps due to a downturn in the economy. Whatever the cause, Moyer was grateful. As it was, there were still too many people moving through the streets.
Jose stood nearby. Moyer knew Jose always stood when he was nervous. It paid for a leader to know the little things about his men.
He turned his attention to the monitors. Two were blank and one displayed a fuzzy image. They had pushed their luck too far. The batteries had died on the gooseneck spy camera, and one of the LVRS units had suffered the same fate. Replacing the batteries was an easy task; getting to the units wasn’t. Since J.J. and Caraway had already made access to the building once, they were the logical choice to do it again. Except this time they had to make roof access on three buildings. The lightweight video reconnaissance systems had worked flawlessly, but batteries could only last so long without being recharged.
“Position one clear.” It was Caraway’s voice over the radio.
“Position one clear, roger that.” The blank screen to his right came to life. “Functional.”
“So far, so good,” Jose said.
“Ever hear about the man who fell off the roof of the Empire State Building? Every floor he passed, he yelled, ‘So far, so good!’”
“Feeling pessimistic, Boss?”
“Pessimism gets a bad rap.”
The next transmission wouldn’t be made until J.J. and Caraway reached the roof with the other video system. Now with one system working he could see part of the target building and its lot. Using the small joystick on the control panel, he aimed the lens across the street and at the other LVRS and waited. Five minutes later, the dark image of two men dressed in black appeared. They slowly moved to the other observation unit, the one transmitting the weak signal.
The screen went black then glowed as the new battery was installed.
“Position two clear.” Caraway again.
“Roger, two clear. Functional.”
Moyer watched as J.J. and Caraway made their way across the rooftop and down an access ladder. Only one camera remained: the fiber-optic spy cam the two men had set the night before. Caraway believed the battery would last two days. It didn’t. Moyer learned long ago that no mission goes according to plan.
This was the tricky part of the operation. The other two buildings were unoccupied, making access easy. The third building, the one that held at least three armed men and three captives, was different. His team had watched the building for many hours and spotted no guard on the ground. Perhaps they were being lax; perhaps they feared a guard outside the building might draw attention. Whatever the reason, Moyer counted it a blessing. He directed one camera to the front of the building and one to the back fence where J.J. and Caraway had previously made entry to the property. There they were repeating their actions of the night before.
The most difficult task of leadership, Moyer decided years ago, was sending someone else to do a job. Moyer wished it were he sneaking down alleys and climbing the side of buildings, but J.J. and Caraway were younger, faster, and better suited to the task. Such knowledge didn’t make him feel better, but it calmed his frustration some.
For thirty seconds the building blocked his view of the two men climbing the ladder, then he saw the head of one appear over the parapet and do what soldiers called a “snoop and poop.” Caraway made his way onto the roof. Shortly after that, J.J. appeared. Again they moved slowly, careful not to make noise that could be heard by the armed men below them. Moyer watched as they crouched. They were at the camera—
Thunder was Moyer’s first thought but immediately dismissed it. The sound was more familiar than thunder and more frightening. On the monitor he saw his two men freeze and look up.
Moyer’s cell phone chimed. He snapped it up and punched the button for speakerphone. Rich spoke before Moyer could finish saying, “Yeah?”
“Incoming, Boss. Three vans just passed our location and are headed your way … wait one … we hear rotor sounds.”
“I hear it too,” Jose said.
“Start moving this direction.” He hung up.
“Boss.” The voice was a whisper but clear enough for Moyer to recognize J.J. “We hear a chopper. Sounds inbound.”
“Roger that. We have incoming vehicles. Repeat, incoming vehicles. Bug out, bug out.”
Then Moyer saw something that turned his spine to ice: A bright light shone from above, illuminating the area just in front of the target building. Half a breath later the helicopter searchlight began scanning the rooftops.
Jose swore.
Moyer snapped up his cell phone. “We got trouble, Shaq.”
* * *
J.J. HEARD IT FIRST, the distant thumpin
g of a helicopter’s rotors beating the air. He tipped his head and tried to locate the direction of the sound. It was coming from the north. Although he hadn’t seen it yet, he could tell it wasn’t a heavy military craft—more like a business or news chopper. It was coming closer. He looked at Caraway, who kept his head down while changing the batteries on the gooseneck camera. He held a small flashlight in his mouth. J.J. touched his shoulder.
Caraway removed the light from between his teeth, switched it off then looked up. He said nothing, letting his expression ask the question. J.J. tapped his ear and pointed skyward. Caraway tilted his head and listened.
J.J. keyed his radio. “Boss. We hear a chopper. Sounds like it’s inbound.”
“Roger that,” came the response. “We have incoming vehicles. Repeat incoming vehicles. Bug out, bug out.”
Caraway whispered a curse and handed the small flashlight to J.J. “Take this. I need sixty seconds.”
“We have orders to bug, man.”
“Hold the light. Talking will only take more time.” Caraway’s gloved fingers snapped the battery in place. It took another fifteen seconds to place the gooseneck down the hole they had created the night before.
“Let’s move, Caraway.” J.J. started for the ladder, still moving as softly as he could. The helicopter might simply fly over them. For all he knew it was an air ambulance on routine duty. Of course, it could be a police helicopter or, worse, a military scout. Moyer’s announcement about incoming vehicles made J.J. dismiss the air ambulance idea.
“Hold it,” Caraway whispered. J.J. turned in time to see Caraway soft-shoe back across the roof to the camera. He squatted by the device, touched something, then rose again. “I forgot to turn the thing back on.”
J.J.’s earpiece crackled to life. “I said, bug out.”
Caraway heard the same thing in his ear. “Boss doesn’t sound
happy.”
“You got that right.”
The pounding of the rotors sounded closer—much too close.
J.J. reached for the curved top of the access ladder and raised a foot over the parapet when he saw something that made his heart tumble. A bright beam of light slashed through the night, falling on the street in front of the building.
“Uh-oh,” was all he could say. He stepped over the parapet and worked his way down the side of the ladder as he had the night before. He hadn’t traveled more than two rungs before he saw the bottom of Caraway’s boots come over the edge of the roof. Halfway down the ladder, J.J. let go and dropped to the ground. Caraway did the same two seconds later. They kept their backs to the wall and waited. The helicopter circled overhead, its blinding beam of light sweeping the road.
Turning to Caraway, J.J. pointed two fingers at his own eyes then at the corner of the building closest to the street. He moved quickly along the wall, stopping at the corner. He saw what he feared he would see. The light moved from the street to the tops of the building directly across the road. The beam swept left, right, then stopped. It had found the LVRS camera system.
Not good. Not good at all.
J.J. scooted back to Caraway and motioned for him to stay. “Boss, this is Colt. The helo has spotted one of the LVRS—”
J.J. felt himself jerked to the side. Caraway had grabbed his sleeve and was dragging him along the wall toward the other corner. J.J. didn’t resist. Caraway was a pain in the fanny, but he was a good soldier. If he felt they needed to move, then move they would.
“Say again, Colt.”
“Stand by one, Boss.”
Caraway let go of J.J.’s sleeve and the two ducked around the backside of the building.
“Repeating, helo has spotted one of the LVRS.” A slight change in pitch told J.J. the helo was moving. Light from above spilled over the edge of the roof, but since the spotlight was directly overhead J.J. and Caraway remained in darkness.
“Can you make it off the compound?” “
Not without being seen,” Caraway answered. “My bad, Boss. I lingered too long.” “
Yeah, I saw that. You just get back here alive so I can kill you.”
J.J. and Caraway exchanged glances. Moyer continued. “I can see the helo on the monitor. It’s moving to the building directly south. It sees the LVRS. You got seconds. Move out!”
Caraway was moving before Moyer finished the sentence, J.J. a half step behind. Halfway across the empty portion of the lot and still several meters from the fence, J.J. slowed. The next maneuver required it.
The moment Caraway reached the fence he turned and linked his fingers to form a flesh-and-blood stirrup. J.J. took several more steps, planted his foot in Caraway’s hands, and boosted himself up the fence. He threw a leg over the top, feeling the bent ends of the chain-link top digging into his thigh. He extended an arm to Caraway, who had already begun to climb, seized the back of the man’s vest and pulled. The chain link dug deeper into J.J.’s thigh, but he pushed the pain from his mind. If he lived, he would have time to complain later. Otherwise, it didn’t much matter.
Caraway got both hands on top of the fence, and as he did, J.J. heard a new sound added to the thumpa-thumpa of the helo—the noise of a metal roll-up door opening. Facing three men armed with automatic weapons held no appeal for J.J. He swung his other leg over the fence and dropped to the ground. Caraway followed. They turned to run down the alley.
Then everything around them lit up.
“They spotted us, Boss,” J.J. said into his mike, still running. To his own ears he sounded calm and his words conversational. His jackhammer heart said otherwise.
J.J. pulled his 9mm from its holster. “Light,” he said.
“Roger that,” Caraway answered. “Now.”
The two stopped, swiveled on their heels, and raised their
weapons. Each fired three shots and the spotlight went out. The helo banked and pulled away. It banked again and J.J. lost sight of it.
“If they didn’t know where we were before, they do now.” Caraway started back down the alley. “Anyone awake within a mile of this place heard that.”
“Boss, we took the light out. Proceeding on foot.”
“Roger. I count two men on foot to the south. They just made it over the fence. Third man still back at the ranch.”
That was good. Two against two were better odds, even if the other two could fire six hundred rounds a minute. Fortunately the AK-47 clips held only thirty rounds, maybe forty if they favored the larger clip. Of course, it only took one properly placed round to do the job. They may not be outmanned, but they were outgunned at the moment.
“I miss my M4,” Caraway said.
“I miss your M4 too.”
A sharp pop came from behind them.
Caraway grunted, stumbled forward, and fell.
* * *
JULIA CENOBIO HEARD A cell phone ring. She heard shouting. She heard the rumble of the metal overhead door clatter as it climbed its tracks. The combined sounds pushed through the locked bathroom door.
“Mamá?” Lina said.
“Hush, sweetheart.”
“What’s going on?”
“I said, hush.” Julia stood, fingering the shiv. “Get behind me, children.”
“Why Mamá?” Even in the dim light, Julia could see the fear on her daughter’s face. Nestor stood with his spine straight and his fists clenched, but the young boy’s face couldn’t conceal his terror.
Julia stepped to the door and placed her ear close to the dirty surface. She heard the footfalls of running men and a thumpathumpa that made her think of a helicopter. A few seconds later she heard gunfire.
“Blessed Jesus, protect us.”
Julia backed away from the door. She had a decision to make. If she interpreted the sounds correctly, two men had left. That meant only one remained. If he opened the door … Julia looked at the sharpened metal rod in her hand. Would she have the courage to do it if she had to? She looked at the tear-dampened face of Lina and the determined stance of her boy and decided she di
d.
* * *
MOYER LOST VISUAL ON J.J. and Caraway once they were over the fence. He watched as the monitor showed two armed men chasing his soldiers. He was about to key his radio when the cell phone chimed.
“Something has happened,” Rich said. “The motorcade came to a quick stop, then the first car and the van turned down a side street away from our building. The third vehicle, also a van, resumed course.”
“The helicopter spotted our video setup. It also found Colt and Billy. They’re on the move, with two hostiles behind them.”
Rich’s tone didn’t change, but Moyer knew the man well enough to sense his anxiety. “On our way.”
“No. Stay with the two vehicles. Cenobio must be in one of those cars. If we lose them, we may never find them again. We’ll join you. We’ll take turns tracking them.”
“What about Colt and Billy?”
“Cenobio is our mission. Do it, Shaq. Do it now.”
“Understood.”
A van sped past Moyer’s location, headed toward the target building. Moyer was five miles away, near the range limit of the video equipment.
Jose bolted to his feet and removed a 9mm pistol from one of the thin shelves in the panel truck, strapped it on, then reached for an M4 and its clip.
“What are you doing?” Moyer asked.
“You don’t need me to chase the caravan. Billy and Colt need me for backup. They’re packing only pistols.”
“Cenobio is our mission. We have to go after him.”
“Boss, we don’t know Cenobio is in the caravan; we do know that two of our team need some help.”
“We’re over five miles away.”
“Get me as close as you can, Boss. I’ll make the rest of the way on foot.”
Moyer looked back at the monitors. Everything looked quiet, but he knew better. J.J. and Caraway were hidden from the cameras. So were their pursuers. He moved from the chair by the monitors to the driver’s seat of the panel van and started the engine. “Hold on.”
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