The white supremacist had moved along the right side of the garage. I crept to within ten yards, then snuck even closer, approaching from his six like a stalking jungle cat.
“In position,” I whispered into the radio.
When Jason and Scott both replied that they were ready as well, I counted down.
“Three… two… one…”
I stood and stealthily homed in on the skinhead. Before he knew what was happening, let alone reacted, I tightened my left arm around his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound, then jerked his body back and slammed my right fist into the base of his skull, right at the occipital lobe. The blow caused his legs to give out, and he instantly went unconscious in my arms.
I dragged his body back into the shadows, then wedged him between an overgrown planter box and an old tractor.
Grabbing hold of my M4, I looked up at Jason, who was pulling skinhead number two down into the darkness as well. I moved toward him, keeping my rifle raised and my head on a swivel.
“Scottie, we’ve got two down,” I said into the radio.
“Third’s sleeping in the driveway,” he replied. “This thing works like a dream.”
When I met up with Jason at the back of the main structure, we heard a low voice call out from inside through an open window. It was dirty and cracked, and the interior space was dim. We dropped back and crouched, scanning for a glimpse of the guy.
Suddenly, a door slammed open and a man smoking a cigarette stepped out. He had his rifle held with both hands and focused his angry gaze across the dark, decrepit landscape.
“Where the fuck are the watchstanders?” he yelled.
He fumed, then turned around to head back inside and, I assumed, notify the others. Before he’d taken two steps, I pulled my dive knife free, lunged forward, and let it fly. The titanium blade flew through the air and stabbed into his side. He grunted from the blow, and I sprinted after him, tackling him hard to the ground just as he spotted me. I kept my arm over his mouth to muffle his screams. He punched me hard as I pulled my knife free and stabbed him again, this time through the throat.
As he went limp in my arms, he managed to pull the trigger of his rifle, sending a spray of bullets into the sky. It was like a loud beacon, the bullets shaking the quiet compound to life and alerting the rest of the Aryan Order of our presence. I knocked the rifle from his grasp, finished him off, then jumped to my feet.
We heard more shouting coming from inside, but before we stormed in to engage, Scott’s voice came over our radio.
“The two guys out front are sprinting your way,” he said. “Heading around the north side of the main structure.”
Jason and I raised our rifles, moved along the back side of the structure, and took aim just as the two approached. They looked like spooked animals when they popped around the corner but managed to pull their triggers, sending a spray of bullets right past us. Jason and I dropped left, then opened fire, putting them both down with center-mass shots before they were able to lock in their aims.
Just as I was thinking that the raid was going perfectly, I heard the sound of feet and groaning metal coming from above us. I snapped my head up and spotted one of Lynch’s men. I recognized him as Casper, the young guy I’d met back at Teddy’s Marina and then subsequently beaten to hell. He was still alive, and he was standing on the roof, his rifle aimed straight at us.
FORTY-FOUR
Scott parked the black Range Rover at the base of the hundred-and-thirty-foot water tower. The narrow, frail structure looked like a swift breeze would topple it over at any second. It was rusted, its big tank more reddish-brown than its original white.
He and Ange hopped out and stepped to the back. Opening the rear door, Ange grabbed the hard case with her sniper rifle, slid it into a backpack, then zipped it up and tightened it over her shoulders. Scott popped open a plastic hard case, revealing the state-of-the-art drone along with its various attachments and remote control.
Ange let out a quiet whistle. “And I thought our drone was nice,” she said. She slid the earpiece for her radio into her left ear, then motioned toward the looming tower and added, “I’m heading up.”
“Three points of contact,” Scott said, eyeing the tall, narrow ladder suspiciously.
“I’ve climbed worse,” Ange retorted as she turned and strode toward the base of the tower.
Just getting to the ladder was a challenge. The base had been reclaimed by the jungle surrounding it. Trees and shrubs sprouted up everywhere, and vines climbed the tower’s four gangly metal legs.
The base of the ladder had been blocked off to prevent trespassers from climbing the dangerous route, but it wouldn’t stop Ange. She lunged into a running start, ran up the flat metal barricade for two steps, then jumped and grabbed hold of the closest visible rung. A twist, a pull, and a push with her foot and she was up on the ladder.
She moved carefully, testing each rung before giving it her full weight. A few were loose, but the ladder still held up. The air cooled slightly as she rose up over the tree-covered landscape. She appreciated the cool breeze, especially given the workout. Though she wasn’t afraid of heights, she kept her head locked skyward. It wouldn’t do her mind any good to glance down and ponder the possibility of a fall
