though no one wanted to personally test the circuitry. The mines could also be turned off and on from the central command station.
The rest of the team’s firepower was more traditional. They had a half-dozen AK-47s, common weapons in the area, and indeed the world, despite their age. But they also had two heavy machine guns: XM-312s, which fired.50 caliber rounds. The 312s had recently replaced the M2, a machine gun that had seen service in the U.S. Army longer than any of its operators had been alive. Among the newer weapon’s advantages was its weight; at forty-two pounds it was about a third as heavy as a “Ma Two,” far easier for a single man to lug.
Each member of the team was also equipped with SCAR-H/ MK 17 assault rifles, originally developed by the U.S. Special Operations Command. There were two versions of the SCAR, one “light,” one “heavy.” The MK-17 was the heavy version, firing a 7.62mm round rather than a 5.56. Most of the team members, like many soldiers in the field, preferred the stopping power of the heavier round, though that limited the guns to magazines that contained twenty rounds, ten less than the lighter caliber. The difference didn’t sound like much, until the middle of a firefight.
The Global Hawk that had been detailed to the team the night before had gone on to other assignments. In its place, Danny launched a pair of small hydrogen blimps outfitted with LED technology that made them almost invisible to the naked eye. These were the direct descendants of much larger stationary radar ships developed at Dreamland. They had to be tethered to the ground and could not be maneuvered, but together they provided a view that extended roughly fifty miles around the post.
As a side benefit, the blimps also lofted radio antennas connected to radio scanners, identifying transmissions in the area. The frequencies were then transmitted to a National Security Agency network, making it easier for the cyber spies to sift through the literally billions of satellite transmissions it monitored and identify the rebels’ for decrypting. While the NSA had started a program to pick off transmissions in the region a week before, the rebels were sophisticated enough to change satcoms, frequencies, and encryption methods often enough to make tagging them a laborious process. The scanners didn’t make it instantaneous or foolproof, but the difference was significant.
Short-term reconnaissance of areas far from the camp could be provided by “Owl” UAVs. These aircraft, with a wingspan the size of Boston’s thick hand, had low-noise engines powered by a bank of batteries and solar electric panels on the top wing. They had two drawbacks: their bodies were black, making them nearly invisible at night, but not during the day, and a relatively limited flight time; in general they could be depended on to stay aloft for roughly four hours. The actual time depended on the wind and other conditions, and in practice most tended to last twice as long, especially when the sun could help provide the charge.
There were three rebel camps in the region that had had dealings with Jasmine. Nuri had scouted them all but not yet bugged them. With the defenses shaping up, it was time to start. He chose as his first target the village controlled by a rebel named Tura Dpap, sixty-two miles southwest of Base Camp Alpha. He saw it as a relatively straightforward job.
Danny wasn’t so sure. The village straddled a highway, the only road in or out. Both the northern and southern sides were watched by men in sandbagged positions who stopped any vehicle coming or going, demanding a small “tribute” or tax. They were heavily armed. The satellite photo showed two RPG launchers in the northern post, and it was reasonable to guess that the southern post would have the same.
“There’s no way we can get enough firepower down past these guys if there’s a problem,” said Danny as they reviewed the photos on the table in the “kitchen” and command center they’d established in the roofless building. “That open plain on the north and the hills to the south make it impossible to flank them.”
“It’s not a military operation, Colonel,” said Nuri. He chafed at Danny’s objections even more than his mind- set. He’d been on his own long enough now that explaining what he was going to do felt like rolling a heavy rock up a hill. “This isn’t an attack. It’s the opposite. We’re trying to find someone and follow him. If we have to fight, we’ve already failed.”
“I appreciate that. I’m just worried about you getting in trouble. Like the other night.”
“That worked out fine, didn’t it? That’s the way it goes sometimes. You gotta take risks. That’s the game.”
Nuri got up to refill his coffee cup from the pot on the camp stove at the side. The coffee was bitter and burnt.
“Someone should go in with you to help cover your back,” said Danny.
Nuri didn’t think that was necessary, but it wasn’t worth arguing about. “I’ll take Hera,” he said. He didn’t know her well at all, but she was fellow CIA, could speak Arabic, and most important, was good-looking. “We’ll go looking for supplies. It should only take us a few hours.”
“Fine,” said Danny.
“Don’t forget we’re supposed to be setting up a dig here,” said Nuri. “That has to be laid out as soon as possible.”
“I didn’t forget.” Danny didn’t like the edge in Nuri’s voice, but he let it pass.
Nuri decided it was wiser to take the bus into the village, since it would be more in keeping with the cover story of scientists bumbling their way through unfamiliar territory. This was just fine with Abul, who was chafing at the way Danny and the others were treating him. Even though Nuri had vouched for him, Danny insisted on keeping Abul away from the high-tech gear. With the monitoring station set up in the house, it meant he couldn’t go inside to eat.
Hera dressed in a pair of very baggy pants and a pair of man-style shirts, along with hiking boots and a black cap whose peak hid much of her face. Her intent was to appear drab and boring, but Nuri thought she looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
The only problem with her outfit was her unusual accessory — a SCAR rifle. Nuri had his hideaway strapped to his calf, hidden by his long pants. It was the only weapon he planned on bringing.
Hera had other plans.
“You can’t bring the rifle,” he told her as she slung the SCAR over her shoulder.
“Why not?”
“Because they may inspect the bus. How many paleontologists go around with military rifles?”
“At least one,” said Hera. “Me.”
“You can bring an AK.”
“That’s an old piece of garbage.”
“It works.”
“Excuse me,” said Abul, “but if you want my opinion—”
“We don’t,” snapped Hera.
“I do,” said Nuri.
“It’s more dangerous to be armed,” said the bus driver. “The movement has been pretty benign toward westerners.”
“Benign?” said Hera. “Like Red Henri?”
“I’ve carried the rifle with me on the bike the whole week,” said Nuri.
“I would wager that it has attracted much attention. When people see it, they immediately are on their guard.”
“We can’t go without protection,” said Hera. “That’d be nuts.”
“You can hide the guns inside the seats,” suggested Flash, who was nearby, listening to the conversation. “Cut holes in them.”
“You cannot cut into my seats,” protested Abul.
Nuri thought this was just a bargaining position, but the bus driver/owner turned out to be almost fanatically dedicated to preserving the interior of his bus; the most he would allow were slits in the underside big enough to hide ammunition. Looking over the interior, Nuri realized he could hide two SCAR rifles in the space beneath the dashboard, as long as the guts of the blower were removed. This meant doing without the air-conditioning, which hadn’t worked all that well to begin with.
“This is a driving inferno,” complained Hera as they drove south. “A slow one, too.”
Nuri shrugged. He was beginning to regret choosing her to come along.
