23mm anti-aircraft gun. The weapon was equipped with its own GUN DISH radar, capable of acquiring, tracking, and engaging low-flying aircraft, like the drone now attacking Stiletto. It fired full auto, but Hawke had ordered the gun set at bursts of two to three rounds to conserve precious ammunition. No time to change that now.
He squinted his eyes, trying to use the conventional optical sight, aided by the GUN DISH. The sun was fierce and blinding, but he thought he had the little bugger. A sharp beeping tone agreed. He had target acquistion. He had the bastard in his sights now, centering it in the red crosshairs, seeing the one missile remaining on the port wing, knowing it would be fired at any second…and squeezing both triggers simultaneously, he blew the drone out of the sky.
HALF AN HOUR later, Hawke, Stokely, the Frogman, and Brock were huddled in the boat’s tiny war room, deep into refining their plans with the aid of Brock’s much-needed information. It had already been decided that, instead going in with two squads, Stoke and Froggy would mount a combined operation.
Best of all, Brock had even created a rough but reasonable facsimile of the compound itself, rendered in black pencil on the back of a map of the Amazon Basin’s Mata Grosso region. Because of the canopy, Mick Hocking had been unable to get any aerial recon photos. Now, at least, the team could visualize the objective.
“A large force here to the north?” Hawke asked, studying the crude map.
“Saladin has his scouts tracking the main body of Top’s troops. He has begun moving them out.”
“I’D SAY THE TROOPS remaining inside the compound number about a hundred right now,” Brock said. “The hard core Imperial Guards, let’s call them. The vast majority of troops have moved north and west, using these jerry-built highways you helped build in the jungle. I saw three armored divisions pull out late last night.”
“Headed where?”
“Central America is all I know. All the way to Mexico, maybe, join up with forces in the mountains up there. The idea is, once they take the Great Satan out, that’s the signal. Then the troops fan out into the countryside, get the populations to rise up, and they all march together on the cities. Knock them down one by one. Take the capitals.”
“They all want to be the next Bolivar,” Hawke said, rubbing his chin.
“These guys want it all. And they think now’s the time to go for it. Who’s going to stop them?”
“You got inside,” Hawke said, smiling. “Good work, Harry.”
“I’ve still got someone inside. A woman named Caparina. She could probably take Top down all by herself.”
Hawke looked at Brock’s baggy pajamalike fatigues. “Disguised like that?”
“Exactly. Except she’s wearing a fatigue hat pulled down over her ears. And these green camo pajamas like all of Top’s grunts in there. She’d be hard to spot. We all look equally bad.”
“You don’t know where they’re keeping Ambrose Congreve, do you, Harry?”
“Hard to say.”
“Christ, Harry, what’s this woman doing in there?”
Harry spun the hand-rendered chart of the compound around on the table so that it was facing him. He knew this was Hawke’s primary objective now. “Hold your horses. Let me look at this thing a second.”
“Talk to me.”
“All right. Based on Caparina’s last radio transmission, I’d say there is a good chance they might stow any hostages right here.”
His finger was pointing to a cluster of tree houses at the edge of the compound, hard by the main bridge.
“Why there?”
“Caparina managed to get herself assigned to some scutwork on the bridge. Raking debris from all this rain. She said she heard a lot of very unpleasant noises coming from the three houses by the river.”
“When was this?”
“1100 hours. She’s got a radio stashed somewhere.”
“Ambrose was still alive at 1100 hours,” Hawke said, looking at Stokely and then his watch.
“We’ll get him out,” Stoke said to Alex, “Don’t worry.”
“Tell me about this structure here,” Hawke said, pointing to another location a few hundred yards from the river.
“Communications and Control. Call it the ‘Tomb’. About twenty feet underground. Steel blast doors, reinforced concrete walls six feet thick. It’s a bitch, all right.”
“Any tomb will do,” Hawke said, “Where is Saladin now?”
“Moving his squad through the jungle toward this location here. Airstrip I found two miles from the west perimeter. He’ll wait there for our signal before moving into the compound to rendezvous.”
“Rendezvous point?”
“Right here. I told Saladin we’d hook up half mile above the bridge connecting the two sectors.”
“No river mines there?”
“None. The mines are all here.”
“Where we’re headed now.”
“Exactly.”
“Christ.”
Froggy said, “Now that we have an idee where Congreve might be, his rescue is perhaps not impossible.”
For the first time since Ambrose had been kidnapped, Hawke felt a surge of hope.
It had started to rain. Hard. A heavy drumming on the cabin top over his head. Maybe it was a good sign.
God knew he could use one.
76
WASHINGTON, DC
T he phone rang. Dixon reached over and grabbed it before it could ring again, looking at his glow-in-the-dark watch as he did it. Almost eleven. He’d been sleeping for an hour. Couldn’t even stay awake long enough to tell Daisy about meeting the president of the United States; even if he only stuck his head into a meeting to say hello. He’d told her about Homer. That was about all he could manage. Out the window, he could see the vapor lights of the hotel parking lot. It had stopped snowing.
“Hello?”
“Sheriff Dixon?”
“Speaking.”
“Sheriff, this is Secret Service Special Agent Rocky Hernandez, assigned to the president’s detail. I was with the team that greeted you and Secretary de los Reyes at the White House earlier this evening?”
“Yes, sir. I remember you. One of the K-9 fellows.”
“Right. Sorry to disturb you, but my boss just asked me to call. He said to tell you there’s just been an explosion in Rock Creek Park.”
“I thought I heard something. About a fifteen minutes ago? Woke me up. I thought it was normal.”
“No, sir. Not normal. It was a huge explosion. People are very jumpy around here tonight because of the Inauguration tomorrow. Threat level high, internet chatter over at NSA is going through the roof. Police are headed to the scene. I was off duty and headed home to Maryland when I got the call from the White House.”
“How can I help you, Agent Hernandez?”
“Call me Rocky. I’m turned around on the Beltway and headed back to the White House. Your hotel is on my way. Agent-in-Charge was wondering if I could come by and pick you up? There was apparently a big semi truck
