Split second, p.18
Split Second, page 18
The men nodded their understanding.
“Recinos, I’m afraid you’re the man of the hour,” said Allen. “Study the photos. If you aren’t certain you can flash this climb, I need to know it, because we’re only going to get one chance at this.” He shrugged. “Not to mention that a fall from this height onto jagged rocks will almost certainly be fatal for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Recinos with just the hint of smile. “Believe it or not, that thought had already occurred to me.”
30
Lieutenant Ricardo Recinos was flown by helicopter to a staging area near Soyer’s home, where the latest model Ford Raptor, known for its off-road tenacity, was waiting for him. The vehicle’s GPS was already programmed with the best route into the canyon, and he drove as close to Soyer’s home as he could before hiking the remaining short distance to his destination.
Once he arrived, he achieved a Zen-like state of calm and studied the wall face before him—and above him. He had studied close-up images and had also brought a scope to plot out his route up the rock face.
He laid out three crash pads at the foot of the cliff, wondering just how helpful these would be if he fell. He had to admit there was a good chance they would save his life, but this wasn’t something he was keen on putting to the test, because if he fell from near the top, he would require hospitalization at the very least.
He didn’t mind risking his life. He wouldn’t have undergone the insanely brutal and arduous training necessary to join the Green Berets if he was afraid of hard work or risk. But he liked to know what he was risking his life for.
Say what you wanted about terrorists, but fighting them was nicely black-and-white. They harbored an ideology that would tolerate no dissent. If you didn’t subscribe to Sharia Law, to Islamic justice, you needed to be erased from existence. Period. They couldn’t be reasoned with. They believed their god wanted them to kill you, and it didn’t matter how they had come to this belief—only that it was either kill or be killed.
When a stampeding herd of cattle were coming your way, it didn’t much matter what had caused the stampede. You only had to know that no argument would alter its course, no persuasion would save your life if you were standing in its path.
Recinos was willing to risk his life to battle extremists, to attempt to prevent barbaric zealots from slaughtering as many innocents as they could manage.
But having this Joe Allen assigned as his temporary CO, knowing the man was part of an off-the-books Black Ops group with incredible power and little accountability, was something he found very troubling. Conducting a mission on US soil even more so.
What was on that flash drive?
There was no way of knowing. Maybe it was as important as Allen had said. Maybe it listed the locations of thirty nukes hidden in the thirty biggest cities in America, set to detonate later that night.
On the other hand, just because Allen suggested it was vital didn’t make it so. It could just as easily contain evidence that Allen’s girlfriend was cheating on him.
Allen seemed like an upstanding guy, but tyrants could pretend to be saints when it suited their purposes. So the motives of his temporary CO might be heroic, but they also might be treacherous. For all Recinos knew, the world would be better off if he did fall from the cliff.
And he didn’t like the fact that two Rangers were part of this. Why did Allen want them? Recinos vowed to make sure this operation went by the numbers so Soyer and Blake were taken cleanly. Rangers and Green Berets were both Army Special Forces, and he felt a kinship with these men almost as great as if they had been Green Berets themselves.
Joe Allen’s voice whispered through his earpiece, informing him that the chopper was in position, hovering far above him, just out of sight, and ordered him to begin his climb.
The lieutenant took a deep breath and launched himself off the canyon floor, his hands locking onto a five-inch-wide handhold that was as secure as the rung of a ladder. It was good that the lower part of the climb was the easiest so he could get used to the added weight of his backpack and his new center of gravity.
Climbing wasn’t just about strength. It was about training fingertips to cling to small crevices with superhuman tenacity, about making them bleed so often they grew calluses as tough as Kevlar. It was about turning tendons into steel. About wedging the tips of shoes into the tiniest of imperfections in a smooth wall and hanging upside down when this didn’t seem possible. And it was about balance and body control.
The lieutenant gained confidence as he continued to climb. Halfway up he hung from one arm while he worked the kinks out of the other, and then calmly and methodically worked out the next necessary moves as though solving a crossword puzzle at his kitchen table.
His focus was as absolute as the life-and-death stakes required, and minutes later he finished his ascent, grasping the wrought iron fence at the back of Soyer’s yard.
He peered through the fence to be sure he wouldn’t be seen, and then silently, effortlessly, pulled himself over and onto Soyer’s lawn.
* * *
Greg Soyer sipped a Piña Colada and wondered idly what kind of ribbing he would receive from his fellow rangers had they spied him nursing such a girly drink. Not that he would care. He liked what he liked, and the best thing about having been a ranger was that his masculine self-image could not be brought down in the slightest, even if he were wearing a pink tutu and high heels while preparing a scented bubble bath.
He had finished work on Aaron Blake’s project the night before, which had been even more straightforward than he had expected, even given the care he had used. He had opened the file and confirmed that it wasn’t gibberish, but only because there were a few recognizable English words between the unrecognizable math symbols and diagrams. Once he had succeeded, he then set about protecting the file once again, only this time far more securely, and setting up a secure copy in the cloud.
He checked the time on the bottom of his computer monitor. It was already after ten. He had expected Blake and his female client to return the night before, or if not, at the crack of dawn. Not that it was time to panic. Not yet. He would give his friend another few hours and then he would be forced to take steps to investigate.
If it was anyone other than Aaron Blake he would have been more worried, but after having served with him for several years and traveling through hell and back, he had decided that when the world self-destructed, the only creatures remaining would be the cockroach and Aaron Blake.
Boom!
Soyer was blasted from his reverie as a thunderous explosion rang in his ears, and he jumped as if hit by a cattle prod. This was accompanied, almost simultaneously, by the sound of shattered glass as a large hole appeared in his sliding door, created by what could have been a small cannon ball from the look of it.
He instinctively dived for cover while pulling out the H&K he had armed himself with after Blake’s visit. He came out of a roll searching for an intruder, his eyes frantically scanning his office and just beyond the slider, but instead of an intruder, he spied a small canister that had bounced against one wall and had come to rest in the middle of his office, five feet away.
At that instant he realized two things, just before his world went black.
First, his instincts had betrayed him. Diving for cover wasn’t any help against a fast-acting gas. He should have held his breath the moment he heard the crash of glass, but it was too late: he had already inhaled.
And second, the bluff the girl had advised, an insistence that the data on the drive would be released if he were killed, would not work.
A bluff only had a chance of working if you were alive to deliver it.
31
Joe Allen and the three other members of the small team descended from the heavens as inconspicuously as possible. The large helicopter incorporated two breathtaking new experimental technologies, one that eliminated noise and one that camouflaged the craft. These technologies worked so well that unless one was expecting to see the helo, it could easily fail to register in the conscious mind.
Captain Jason Thompson landed on Soyer’s front lawn as Recinos stood a safe distance away with his mouth hanging open. How in the world had someone managed to camouflage something so big? To completely silence a machine that was thunderously noisy by its very nature? Was there anything science wouldn’t eventually enable mankind to do?
“Well done, Lieutenant Recinos,” said Allen as he stepped from the just-settled aircraft. At his orders, Laub and Wilmes carefully gathered up Greg Soyer from the floor of his home and carried him into the helicopter, and then remained outside to alert Allen if anyone happened to approach the house.
“Recinos and Thompson,” said Allen, having remained inside, “just sit tight. I need to get what I came here for,” he explained, and then he proceeded to tear through Soyer’s office like a spinning Tasmanian devil out of a Looney Tunes cartoon, leaving no drawer, painting, or piece of furniture intact.
While he was careful to avoid shards of glass, halfway through his demolition he was stabbed by a piece and began bleeding far more excessively than the minor damage it had caused should have warranted. He was more annoyed that he had to steal a hand towel from Soyer’s bathroom to staunch the flow, delaying his efforts, than by the actual stab wound itself.
After fifteen minutes he had found a half-dozen flash drives, but only one that was password protected. He put this one in a special steel case and then all six in his pocket.
Joe Allen then gathered the entire team on Soyer’s front lawn, next to the parked helicopter, his hand still wrapped in the towel.
“Okay, here’s the plan going forward,” he said. “Lieutenants Wilmes and Recinos will stay inside the house, out of sight. Captain Thompson will fly me and Greg Soyer out of here. We’ll deposit Soyer somewhere safe and then return as soon as possible, landing a few minutes away and awaiting a signal.”
Allen turned to the hulking soldier on his left. “Lieutenant Laub, I want you to conceal yourself outside, watching all approaches to the house. Aaron Blake’s car is still in LA, but we’ve learned that he isn’t in his apartment, either, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in a car unknown to us and on his way here. If you see the UPS guy or a few girl scouts selling cookies, let them ring the bell, and make sure they leave when no one answers. If you see Aaron Blake or Jenna Morrison, alert Lieutenants Wilmes and Recinos immediately and stay out of sight.”
Allen paused. “I should also mention that Soyer has a live-in girlfriend, Alisa Bonesteel, but we’ll be monitoring her and don’t expect her to be a factor. Obviously, if this changes, we’ll alert you immediately.”
He faced Wilmes and Recinos and removed two gas canisters from a rucksack, each the shape of a soda can, except almost three times larger in every dimension, and handed one to each man. “Using both of these would be overkill. Even a single one is overkill given the size of this house. But since overdosing isn’t a problem with this particular gas, don’t be shy.”
Recinos examined the canister he had been given. Its operation couldn’t be simpler. Pull the pin and throw or roll the canister.
“Once you two get the word from Laub that he’s spotted your targets,” continued Allen, “open the front door a hair, put on your masks, and get out of sight. Make sure the door to Soyer’s office remains shut, so they can’t see it was tossed. When they enter to investigate, give them some time to make it to the center of the house. Then activate the canisters.”
He paused to be sure they were with him. “Signal us and we’ll be here in a few minutes. I’ll want to spend more time tearing apart the rest of the house, including every last couch cushion, mattress, and drawer, just to be sure I have the flash drive I need. But after this we can all haul our unconscious cargo back to base.”
Recinos sighed inwardly. It was bad enough having a temporary CO with questionable motives, but even worse when he was of questionable competence. To be fair, Allen had done well planning the attack on Soyer, but maybe he had just been lucky.
“Sir,” he said, “with all due respect, this plan won’t work.”
Allen’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that, Lieutenant?” he asked evenly, and to his credit, he sounded interested rather than defensive.
“Given Blake’s background and record, he won’t fall for it. Leaving the door slightly ajar is too obvious a trap. When he sees this, the last thing he’ll do is enter the house.”
“Do the rest of you agree?” said Allen.
They all nodded yes.
“So what do you recommend, Lieutenant Recinos?”
“We have to make him work for it. At least a little. We want him to think we struck here and are now gone, so he’ll feel comfortable doing a post mortem on the house. Let him figure out we were here on his own. If he’s half as good as his file says, it’ll be obvious enough to him without us purposely making it too obvious. So keep the front door closed and locked. When he realizes we were here, he’ll recon the perimeter. When he comes to the slider in back, he’ll see that it’s been smashed and the office tossed. We’ll stay out of sight inside. Since it won’t seem to him like we’re inviting him in, he’ll come in on his own.”
Allen considered. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I believe your analysis is correct. Please proceed accordingly.”
Recinos was surprised by how well he had taken this. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Since Allen appeared to be so receptive to his recommendation, perhaps he would try his luck again. “And one other thing,” he added, gesturing to Allen’s hand. “Before you use the first aid kit in the helo to bandage that up, how do you feel about donating some of that red liquid for the cause?”
Allen raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“And don’t worry, sir,” added Recinos. “We can make a little of that go a long way.”
32
Blake turned from the busy street and began to wind his way up the twisted quarter-mile path to his friend’s home, hoping the aging, dented 2008 Kia Optima he had bought for two grand had enough power to make it up a short incline without collapsing. He hadn’t exactly had the time to give it a proper test drive, and the guy he had bought it from seemed about as trustworthy as . . . well, as a used car salesman.
“I sense you’re a little tense, Jenna,” said Blake.
“I thought I had disguised it better.”
“Are you worried about Greg’s trustworthiness?”
“Not at all. I’m just nervous about finding out what’s really on that flash drive. Whatever it is, it’s been the cause of so much violence, so much tragedy.”
“This is true,” said Blake solemnly. “But we already know the nature of the discovery from Nathan’s e-mail. We’ll just be getting the nuts and bolts, which only Dan will have a hope of understanding, anyway.”
Jenna simply nodded as they reached their destination.
Blake pulled up beside Soyer’s car and the three passengers walked the short distance to the door in silence.
Blake couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. When he reached the front door he spun slowly around. When his eyes came to rest on the middle of Soyer’s front lawn, his stomach tightened.
This is what he had noticed in his peripheral vision, what had alerted his subconscious. Either his friend had just been visited by a dragon, or something else had landed on his lawn and left telltale indentations in the soft ground.
Other than this, there wasn’t a hair out of place anywhere. Given the chopper was no longer there, the assault team that had visited Soyer must have already come and gone. Blake felt bile rise in his throat as he imagined his friend lying in a pool of blood, his death entirely Blake’s fault.
Jenna was oblivious to these concerns and raised her hand to push the doorbell. Blake snatched her wrist with surprising speed, startling her. Fortunately, she didn’t let out any sound. He leaned closer to his two companions. “Someone was here,” he whispered. “Probably gone, but let’s take a look around before we go inside.”
He considered sending them back to the car but decided against it. The odds were that the safest place for them was by his side.
“Follow me,” he whispered, even softer than before, his mouth just inches from their ears. “Be alert. I’ll be looking in windows. I need you to scan the real estate away from the house when I do. Tread silently, and no speaking. Tap me if you see something noteworthy.” The corners of his mouth turned up into an almost undetectable smile. “Unless we’re about to be shot,” he added, “then scream for all you’re worth.”
Blake began circling the house, his gun drawn, cautiously peering through windows as he came to them. When he reached the back of the house the wounded slider made its presence known, with half of an entire pane now obliterated.
Blake’s jaw clenched tightly. Along with pieces of glass, Soyer’s office was a wreck. Someone had put it through a blender. They were too late. The attackers had almost certainly gotten what they were after.
His friend’s body was not in sight, nor could he detect any blood. Not that this necessarily meant anything. Greg Soyer could well be lying dead elsewhere in the house, somewhere that couldn’t be seen from a window.
Blake motioned for the two civilians to follow as he carefully pulled a few large shards of glass from their moorings to enlarge the jagged hole enough for them to enter without becoming impaled.
When all three were inside, Blake spent several minutes inspecting the office and listening for hostiles, but was not rewarded in either endeavor. Finally, he cautiously opened the door into the main house. Seeing no one, he motioned yet again for Jenna and Walsh to follow.
