manner as the previous evening. McCafferty is behind me in the corner. I whisper that we’ll let him pass but if we’re spotted, I’ll take him. If there isn’t time or I’m too slow, she’s to take him out. I quietly hand her my M-4 and take out my six-inch, double-bladed knife. The flashlight on the ground in front of me advances.
My adrenals kick into a higher gear. Guards close by tend to do that. I take a deep breath to calm myself, releasing it through the shemagh wrapped securely around my head. Then it’s back to the short breaths. My body is both tense and relaxed as the beam moves closer, lighting the ground in front of me. The radiant light it casts illuminates my knees but only barely. This location isn’t the best for two people but it’s what we have.
The light advances slowly and the guard comes into view. The grip on my knife tightens. I’d prefer to let the guard pass as he’d be missed soon if we were to take him out. He stops, occupying almost the identical spot as before only this time it isn’t for a cigarette. It’s apparent his subconscious has told him something is amiss. Whether that came from a glimpse out of the corner of his eye or otherwise, it’s there. He turns his head in my direction.
I uncoil and launch at him. My movement causes him to take a step to the side in an attempt to face me. His light starts a quick pan towards me and his hand reaches for the handgun in a holster at his side.
I notice he isn’t wearing a vest nor is there the bulk of one under his shirt. I bring my hand up over his upraised arm on my second step and fold around behind him. My hand goes to his face covering his mouth and I pinch his nostrils closed. Stepping behind him, I draw my knife back and, holding the blade horizontal, plunge it under his rear rib cage on the right striking upward. The horizontal blade is in case I miss the bottom of the rib cage. If that happens, it will allow the knife to continue on its path through the ribs. I hold the knife firmly but with a loose grip in case I strike directly on the rib. This allows some flexibility to the blade and lets it to fold over or under the rib if needed.
My strike is true and the razor sharp edges rip through his shirt, pierce the skin, and enter the kidneys. The kidneys have a lot of blood vessels and nerve endings. A knife to the kidneys causes so much pain that the person becomes almost immobilized and bleeds out quickly. I feel the guard’s body stiffen in my grasp and any struggle that was there before ceases. I quickly twist my knife from side to side and then vertical. Warm blood washes over my hand. Another spasm and the guard begins to go limp, dropping the flashlight to the ground with its beam illuminating a small path toward the tennis courts.
I withdraw my blade, pull the body tightly against me to prevent it from falling, and drag it quickly into the trees. McCafferty is right there, reaches down, and turns the flashlight off. Easing the body to the ground in the trees, I know that our time is now limited. The guard is expected back by someone at some point. My feeling is that point in time is not far off as I remember him entering the rear entrance shortly after passing by me two nights prior. I do a quick search, find his radio, and turn it off so the noise of any radio calls won’t put the teams still in the trees in danger.
“We have two choices,” I tell McCafferty as she returns my M-4. “We can either go in with our previously planned entry or go in the rear entrance. Whoever is there will think it’s their buddy coming in and, if there are only one or two guards, we can clear it quickly. He’s going to be missed soon.”
“I think our original route is the safer and easier way, sir, but if the alarm is sounded or his buddies go looking for him, that changes everything,” McCafferty replies.
“I agree. I’m not a big fan of the light over the entrance. I think we should go in as we planned. We’ll have to be quicker than I like inside but I don’t see that we have a choice,” I say.
“Lead on, sir,” she responds.
We rise and head to the corner of the pool building with Lynn and the group helping to keep a watch. Several shrieks sound from both sides of the camp and faint ones answer from farther away. The night runners may or may not help. They will at least keep the tower guards busy looking outside the camp but if there get to be too many night runners, then the guards may wake the others. Maybe the steak idea wasn’t so great after all.
I slip around the corner and head quickly for the pool entrance door. I hear the soft tread of McCafferty’s boots behind. A quick listen and peek inside shows nothing but the same pattern of lights from the pool splashing against the walls and ceiling. We fold inside shutting the door quietly. Quickly slipping up to the locker room, I listen and edge into the darkened room lit only by our goggles. My pulse is racing. I don’t like to move too fast but sometimes situations dictate moving quickly. This is one of those times. If the guard’s friends start roaming around looking for him, noise is bound to happen.
I grab a couple of towels and stick them in my vest. A quick listen at the hallway door and we are in it. I go to the right this time heading to the rear entrance. I have McCafferty keep an eye behind as we slink down the long hallway. A faint pattern of lights splay against the side wall by both the small window leading into the gym and the larger ones leading into the rear entrance foyer. I glance quickly into the gym. The two guards are still watching over the main gym from the upper level. I move on. I look into the foyer through the nearest large glass pane of the double doors. A guard is peering out through one of the exterior door windows with his hand cupped around his eyes. His head looks back and forth apparently searching for his friend.
“There’s only one and he’s anxious,” I whisper to McCafferty. “Handguns only. I’ll take him and you cover.”
We crouch under the glass panes with our shoulders to the door. I double one of the towels over my gun leaving the barrel free, nod, and we push outward. The guard turns at the opening of the doors but is too late. I center on the mass of his body. A clap fills the foyer as my sub-sonic round leaves the chamber and intersects with his chest staggering him backward into the doors. He kicks a chair and sends it scooting a short distance across the linoleum floor. Recovering quickly from the light kick, I aim again and I press lightly on the trigger. Another clap and blood erupts from his face spraying a pattern on the glass pane. The tinkling of the brass cartridges hitting the floor follows but stops after a couple of bounces. He slides down a metal pole between the two doors. His feet kick out and he falls to a sitting position, resting momentarily, and then slumps over.
I point to the heavy steel doors and windows leading into the main gym. McCafferty edges over and peers in. She turns and gives a thumbs up indicating that no one seems to have heard our little ruckus. I nod and walk over to the body keeping my gun ready in case the guard decides to rise and give us trouble. I see a small hole in his shirt from the first round entering just offset from the sternum close to the heart and a large part of the left side of his face torn asunder by the 9mm colliding with it at high speed.
With McCafferty watching into the main gym, I holster my Beretta and drag the body into the hallway. I take a towel and swiftly wipe the blood streak across the floor. With the other towel, I try to erase a large part of the blood splatter that is now running down the door and window in streaks. Giving a quiet “tsk” to McCafferty, we withdraw back to the hallway. I toss the towels on the body and stalk toward the other end. The timer, meaning our previous short measure of time available, has stopped. We are now back on our own schedule to an extent.
I make a hurried stop in the locker room again to pick out a couple more towels from the large, wheeled bin. A look to make sure all is as it should be in the main gym, with a glance at Robert lying on the same cot he was in before, and we are at the doors leading to the main foyer. Two guards are sitting in plastic chairs close to the main entrance.
“I’ve got left, you have right. As soon as they’re down, get your M-4 and keep an eye on the gym as before,” I whisper to McCafferty. She nods and we gently lean our M-4’s against the wall.
I hand her a towel and we drape them over our Beretta’s. A nod and the doors are pushed open. She is quicker than I as I have to come around the opening door. The subdued sound of two rounds leaving the chamber echoes off the blue-painted tiles of the walls. The two guards, whose heads were just beginning to turn toward us, are launched off their chairs. One chair slides a couple of feet across the floor as its previous resident tumbles to the floor. The other guard takes his chair over with him. Both hit the floor with solid thumps. One guard attempts to roll over. Two additional subdued claps fill the foyer followed by a faint metallic “tink”. The moving guard collapses.
I point to the window and walk steadily across the foyer pointing my handgun at the unmoving bodies. Small
