“Tell me, then,” Bic said. “Why did you agree to this job if you’re so certain it’s about to go bad?”
“I wanted a change of scenery. And I was tired of working for the drug cartels.”
Bic’s eyes were like saucers.
“What? I shared my résumé during our first meeting. You didn’t think I made it up, did you?”
He shook his head. “Uh, no. Of course not.”
“Yeah, right. Just make sure Eddie gets the crates off the mules, just like I said. Side by side. I’ve got work to do.” She walked away.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
Without looking back Danya pointed to a rocky hill at the edge of the meadow.
“Up there.”
Chapter 3
After consulting her GPS, Danya recognized the hill—her destination—as a finger of the ridgeline running along the near side of the meadow. The far side of the meadow, across the marsh and pond, was more than two thousand yards distant. She climbed the slope at a measured pace to avoid overexertion. Once she reached her terminus, a jumble of boulders near the crest, she settled to a crouch and studied her view, which was unobstructed to her flanks, as well as across the opening to the opposite ridge.
It wasn’t time to settle in yet, though. Although she had a commanding field of fire, she was vulnerable to approach from behind. But she had prepared for such contingencies.
Leaving the M48 rifle leaning against a boulder, she hustled around the top of the hill to avoid silhouetting her figure against the bright, but gray, sky. She still had the Colt M4 in her grip in case she encountered an advance LAD team. But it was the contents of her daypack that were important.
A game trail traced the top of the saddle connecting the hill to the major ridgeline. Beside the trail were scattered trees and a few rotting logs. Not surprising, wild animals followed the paths easiest traveled, and it was logical to expect that any bad guys in the area might also approach Danya’s hide along those same trails.
She spotted a choke point formed where a waist-high log had broken across the well-trodden trail, yielding a narrow gap. The game trail passed through the gap rather than dropping down the steep sides of the saddle. It only took a couple minutes to run a thin tripwire—a translucent monofilament fishing line rather than steel wire—across the opening. With one end of the line secured to the half-rotten timber, she tied the other end off to a detonator on a homemade mine.
Danya had constructed the device using a combination of black powder and smokeless powder loaded into heavy-walled plastic pipe. She had taped nails around the outside of the pipe. Crude, but effective over short distances. Plus, the noise would provide valuable warning.
Turning her attention back to the rocky hill, she spied several other possible approaches and repeated the process of setting her antipersonnel mines in place with tripwires. After emptying her pack of all four explosive devices, confident an attack from the rear would not go undetected, she retreated to her sniper hide.
Once settled into a comfortable position behind a waist-high granitic ledge, she removed a spotting scope from her pack and splayed the short tripod. By swiveling the scope from side to side, she could glass the entire meadow. Finally, she used her laser rangefinder to measure off the distance to key landmarks—distinctive rocks, logs, or small trees at various locations. She recorded this information with pencil and paper she carried in a cargo pocket.
With the preparation done, she folded the pack and laid it on the rock ledge as a pad beneath the stock of her Nosler rifle.
Now, all she had to do was wait.
s
Bic and Eddie had unpacked the mules according to Danya’s directions. They placed the six wooden crates containing the M4 assault rifles side by side, with the tops pried loose for inspection of the arms. They had also stacked the ammunition cases nearby. A third pile of crates held the extra gelatin nitroglycerin dynamite—an especially brisant and sensitive high-explosive frequently used to blast trenches.
Both men sat on a case of explosives, engaged in casual conversation. If they had any safety concerns, it wasn’t evident in their body language. Not that sitting anywhere else within fifty yards of the dynamite would be any less lethal if the stuff went boom.
Even though they were more than four hundred yards away, Danya could clearly see both men through the high-powered optics. Eddie had one leg tucked against his chest, his shoeless foot resting on top of the case as he rubbed his ankle. For his part, Bic preferred to face the ground as he tossed pebbles at an imaginary target. Their weapons were leaning against a crate just beyond arm’s reach. It would take a couple precious seconds to retrieve the rifles if needed—seconds they might not be afforded.
She shook her head in displeasure. They should have been alert, scanning 360 degrees for approach of the buyer. Amateurs.
She resumed scoping across the meadow, looking for motion. The LAD team was expected to arrive on foot. Bic had been told there would only be two men, but she seriously doubted that number. If she were planning this mission, she’d have at least four men. And more likely, six—all well-armed.
The overcast got thicker, and the clouds dropped lower, threatening to merge with the ground in a dense fog. If that happened, she wouldn’t be able to see more than a hundred yards, and would have to abandon her position overlooking the merchandise below.
Bic and Eddie continued to behave as if this was a social outing rather than a high-dollar weapons transaction. No doubt in her mind that the LAD men would keep the money and take the weapons. Bic and his nephew were greenhorns—novices playing a dangerous game. Certainly, they would be outclassed and outnumbered by
