On Target

as unreliable for providing intel that said otherwise.

Fuck, thought Court. This is not how he operated his solo hits. Everything was so much simpler as a private contract killer.

THIRTY-THREE

The Gray Man had finished his work inside the bank by ten after six. He’d just returned to his perch on the second floor when a transmission from Zack came though. “Whiskey Sierra in position. Three is on a rooftop on the northwest corner of the square; Five is in the third-floor window of the Suakin Palace on the southwest corner. The remainder of us are together and mobile, three blocks northeast of the square. We are in a beige . . . break. . . . What the hell is this piece of shit? A beige Ford Econoline van. The SLA will hit from the west. They should be getting into position right about now. First one that sees or hears any sign of them, call it in.” A staccato pair of “Roger thats” from his men at the square followed the transmission.

Dawn began in the east ten minutes later. The town sloped from the square down to the water, so from his second-floor vantage point Court could see the distant sea glowing with morning light where it met the sky. Oryx would appear on the other side of the square in minutes, yet still no one had seen any sign of the SLA. They should at least have been somewhere staging to move, and the two Whiskey Sierra operators west of the square should have either heard or seen them by now.

But there was nothing.

Gentry saw what Zack meant when he said the town had an Old West feel. Looking out of the window at the dirt, the simple buildings, the hitching posts and water troughs, the donkey carts and wooden awnings, guns at the ready for a shoot-out, Court realized he could be in another world and another time.

Gentry sipped water in his high perch. He checked the layout of items in the pack on his back for the fourth time.

Tension built quickly in his stomach.

“One for Five,” Zack said in his mike.

“Go for Five, One,” replied Spencer, the muscular black team member who had been an Army Special Forces sergeant before moving into CIA black ops.

“Still nothing in your sector?”

“Don’t see anything over here by the hotel.”

“Three?”

“Not a peep to the northwest, boss.”

Hesitation from Hightower. Court wondered if he was about to abort the mission. “All right. Looks like we’re gonna have to go ahead with Bravo.”

In the dark atrium of the bank, Court Gentry’s eyebrows furrowed almost to the point of touching. What the hell was “Bravo”? If there was a plan B, then Court sure as shit hadn’t been read in on it.

“Roger that, boss,” said Three. “I’ve got the RPG ready.”

The RPG? Cold sweat formed on the Gray Man’s temples.

Court began to reach down to push a button on his sat phone to call Zack to find out what the hell was going on.

But he didn’t have to.

“Okay, Six. Let me fill you in before you blow a blood vessel.” Zack’s disembodied voice sounded somewhat contrite. “Denny and I were worried that the SLA might not be able to come through for us. Sudan Station kept promising . . . but you saw how their numbers were diminishing before our eyes. Your source, the cop, and his intel that the SLA had been compromised, pretty much sealed the deal.

“Brother, even without the SLA, we are still going to go ahead. You don’t need a battle, you just need a diversion, a little attack to get Oryx moving to his security team’s rally point. Well, Six, we’re gonna give you that little attack, aren’t we, Three?”

“Roger that, One.”

“Three and Five are going to lay down some direct fire, just enough to get Oryx and his close-in bodyguards through the door of the bank. Then we’re going to hit the remainder of the guys in the square from the northeast, just to keep their heads down for a minute or two. After that you’ll be clear, break.” There was a long pause. “This is Denny’s plan, by the way. I didn’t want to tell you before now because . . . well, shit, I hoped the SLA would show. Hope you’re not too pissed.”

Court wasn’t pissed; he was white-hot fucking livid. One hundred rebels had turned to zero, and Zack had neglected to mention the company of infantry that was supposed to be in the area. Court had thought that he would have plenty of time to get Oryx to the car and out of town while the bodyguards were fighting it out with rebels. But now he only had the support of five men in the square, and they would break contact almost immediately, giving Court virtually no time to get Oryx out of the bank, move him ten blocks to the car, and then get him on the road and out of town.

Court had been ordered not to transmit on the C4OPS radio, but he did not care. He pressed the talk button on his belt. “You son of a bitch! I can’t get him out in time—”

“Off the net, Six!” Zack ordered. As team leader, his radio had been set to override the transmissions of all others. “Oryx and his detail are in sight. They are entering the square, northeast corner. Get ready to hit the rear of the party, Three.”

“Three has targets in sight,” said Dan, his voice low.

Court looked out the window at the dawn. He could just make out movement, the mass of dark-suited men in the distance, appearing in the square. He looked down at the staircase, thought about running, although he didn’t really know where he would go. It was too late to continue on with Sid’s operation now; there was no way he could get back to the Blaser rifle and shoot Abboud, and if he did not complete that objective, then Sidorenko would not help him get out of the country.

Conversely, if he did not go through with Nocturne Sapphire, Zack and the CIA would not help him get out of the country, either.

He was stuck, past the point of no return, and this was the reason Hightower hadn’t told him of the change in the mission to direct action.

He’d have to continue on with Nocturne Sapphire now.

“Two hundred yards to the bank,” said Five. “I’ll hit them when they are passing by the door.”

“Roger that.”

Gentry took one last look at his gear around him on the atrium; it was all in place. He calmed himself. This was different from most of his other operations, but they’d snagged some terrorists back in the Goon Squad days, so Court was no stranger to this sort of action. Still, this was big. This was the biggest, most complicated, most time-sensitive mission he’d ever been on. It was a mission that stank of desperation on the part of the CIA.

Court’s mentor, Maurice, had always told him, “Any mission you can’t afford to walk away from is a mission you should run away from.”

“One hundred fifty yards,” came the call from Sierra Five.

Maurice had another saying that popped into Court’s mind right then. “A plan is just a big list of shit that’s not going to happen.” Court had found this to be the one constant in his missions, in his life. Plans were good. Plans were necessary, but ultimately, most plans were bullshit.

“Sierra Three to One.”

“Go for One.”

“Boss, I got a truck passing below my position.”

“SLA?” Court could hear the hopefulness in Hightower’s voice.

“Wait one, break.” A short pause. Then, “Negative. It’s GOS troops.”

“Five for One . . . I got troops over here, too. Two blocks west of me heading towards the square.”

“Goddammit,” said Zack as way of reply.

Shit, thought Court. The GOS was nearby, but the SLA was not. Who were the GOS looking for?

Court squinted across the square. To his right the sun began to rise over the water like a fresh red blister.