more complex than the Hezbollah man had realized. “Imam, I bow to your foresight and planning.”
Elham’s response was to turn back to the celebrants, watching their juvenile display for a moment. Then he walked away, intending to pray for better results with the second weapon.
“Well, damn it to hell, what
Yakov Livni gave a sardonic grin. “Solly, I doubt if even Mossad knows what’s happening. All I can say is that I’m grateful the explosion happened up there rather than down here.”
“Nobody I know will argue that point, but we have to assume there are other weapons. Whatever happened, we still need people combing the area looking for more infiltrators.”
Nadel slumped against a desk, arms folded. “Yakov, what about your teams?”
“You mean the ones that officially don’t exist?”
Nadel nodded.
“Well, it looks as if two of them actually do not exist anymore. There’s no word from Team Gimel or Daleth, which I think were in the area. Aleph and Beth have checked in but they’re farther from the blast.”
“So we may never know about the other two teams.”
“Depending on where they were in relation to ground zero, no. I expect overhead coverage fairly soon. Once I see the exact area, I can make a better guess as to our boys’ location.”
“Well, keep me informed, Yakov. But for now I have to get my brigade deployed. We really don’t know what’s coming, do we?”
Livni spread his hands. “Maybe more of the same.”
Jennati had seen more than a very bright flash to the west. He saw opportunity.
“Brothers! The premature explosion is a blessing from Allah. We can use the area to approach the border unseen.”
Esmaili half expected somebody to object. When no one did, he found his voice. “That area now is contaminated with radiation.”
Jennati hefted his load and smiled. “My brother, what does it matter? We are all pledged to die.”
The weaponeer erased his smile in a heartbeat. “I believe we can. The device probably devastated an area of several kilometers or so. That is more than enough to conceal so small a group as ours.”
With that, Jennati abruptly turned right and strode toward the blast site. Esmaili went along for the moment, studying the terrain for a likely hiding place.
46
“Are you sure they had a backpack?” Langevin wanted to be certain before he committed either team to action.
“There’s four or five,” Green replied, pointing to the isolated house. “I just got a glimpse but yes, two had backpacks.” He bit his lip. “Of course, they might have been ordinary packs.”
The physicist mulled that over for three seconds. “I don’t see any option, gentlemen. We must assume they’re carrying a weapon.” He retraced his steps deeper into the copse of trees and pressed the transmit button. “Alpha, this is Bravo, over.”
Seconds later Omar Mohammed’s cultured tones responded. “Bravo, Alpha here. Over.”
“Omar, we have a sighting. Recommend you join us at these coordinates.” He handed the set to Barrkman, who was navigating with a map and GPS.
Fifteen minutes later the two teams were united. They wasted no time.
“All right,” Mohammed began. “Bernie stays here of course. I’ll provide perimeter security with Barrkman and Furr. Ashcroft, Brezyinski, Pitney, and Green are the entry team.” He glanced around. “Questions?”
There were none.
Approaching the house from the blind side, Robert Pitney willed himself to control his pulse, much as he did before a stage in a major match. He had visually checked his Springfield XD. He had a full magazine of .40 caliber Black Talons and one in the chamber. Thirteen rounds to get him through the door and across the room before a reload. A LaserMax sighting system had replaced the normal recoil spring assembly, affording an optical sighting plane nearly identical to the bore.
He thought deeply about what he was going to do. Then he nodded to Phil Green.
The shotgunner stepped back and shouldered the Benelli entry gun. He aimed at the lower door hinge and fired. The ounce and a quarter slug splintered the wood, separating the hinge from the door. Green rode the recoil upward, instantly shooting the middle and top hinges as well. Then he put the last two rounds either side of the doorknob, raised his right foot, and kicked hard.
The door collapsed inward, slightly askew. Breezy was first through the breach, closely followed by Pitney and Ashcroft.
Shooting erupted inside.
As his partners began the dash into the room, Green thumbed three buckshot shells into the tube magazine and followed the other operators.
Breezy was quick on the trigger but his MP-5 had only stuttered when he was knocked off his feet. His ballistic vest stopped a 7.62x39 round fired five meters away. He thought:
Standing to Breezy’s right, slightly in front of him, Pitney activated his pistol’s laser and swept the room, left to right. Even through the Dillon electronic hearing protectors, the short-barreled, compensated pistol barked out a succession of rapid-fire rounds. Breezy heard the cadence almost as a submachine gun:
Behind the sights, Pitney’s sensation was different. He was aware of gunfire in the room, incoming and outgoing, but he ignored it. He had microseconds to discern the hostiles, place the orange-red dot above the eyebrows, and stroke the trigger. The first man — the one who shot Breezy — was kneeling behind a table. The third fighter was shorter than those on either side, requiring a fast adjustment of the dot’s placement. When the muzzle aligned on the fourth man, Pitney double-tapped him before swinging back to where the first had stood. Nobody was there.
Pitney remembered to lateral away from his firing position in case somebody had time to draw a bead on him. Now he was aware of Ashcroft’s FAL barking once, twice. Green appeared between them, shotgun at low ready.
“Clear!” Ashcroft called. He and Green advanced on the prostrate forms, kicking weapons away.
Breezy finally found his feet. Swearing fervently, he hoisted himself off the floor and leaned against the wall. He was breathing heavily but recovered his poise to scan the room, looking for somebody to shoot.
“Breezy, you okay?” It was Pitney.
“Yeah, I think so. This vest…” He fingered the hole in the nylon covering.
Pitney turned toward the others. “Bob, what’d you shoot?”
Ashcroft rolled a body over with his right foot. “This one was still moving.”
Pitney exchanged magazines and took two steps toward the four corpses. He uttered something unintelligible.
“Man, that was fast!” Breezy exclaimed. He regarded the speed shooter. “You saved my ass, amigo.”
Pitney looked at the cadavers on the floor, nodded, and holstered his pistol. Then he turned and walked
