“Guards on foot can see you from that angle.”
“You know what? You’re making me nervous. Did you take control of the Crow?”
“We have it.”
“Then come on yourself.”
“It wasn’t built for precision flying and we’re controlling it from here, rather than Space Command.”
Lia waited until the Crow fluttered toward the camera, heading directly for the lens. Just as it seemed as if it would poke into the box, Lia moved the glasslike device quickly over the opening. The pseudo-tumbler was actually a sophisticated video screen, at the moment transparently projecting the fence. In twelve seconds Rockman would flick a switch that would substitute a loop of that image for a real feed.
“We still have the Crow,” said Telach.
Lia trotted down the fence line. Once on the other side, she had to cross about twenty feet of open area before reaching the two vehicles parked at the side of the garage; this was by far the best spot to use to get inside the complex, but there was no cover from the fence to the buildings.
She tucked her gear into the small ruck attached to her belly. Except for her small hideaway pistols, her only weapons were a pair of tear gas grenades, flash-bangs, and a heavily customized Ingram Mac 11. The gun, which was loaded with 9mm slugs, had a carbon-fiber stock in place of the standard metal, and some of the metal in the body had been replaced with plastic or titanium for extra strength as well as lightness; a good number of water pistols were heavier. The modified Mac 11 retained the original’s excellent balance and light kick; it could be fired adequately with one hand. Lia had several magazines in her bag, as well as a noise suppressor that worked considerably better than the standard “muffler,” a scope, and a standard stock. The gun slipped as she started to climb; she nearly lost it and had to pull the strap awkwardly over her neck to get over.
She had just gotten down on the other side and pulled her computer back out for an update on where everyone was when Rockman hissed a warning in her ear.
“Two guards, with guns, coming from around the comer on your left.”
As Lia turned to look, she saw a gun barrel and boot turning the comer and realized she’d never bring her own weapon to bear in time.
34
“Stinking Air Force is never on time,” said Karr, glancing at his watch.
“First thing you said since you got here that I agree with.”
“You know what your problem is, Foster? You look at a glass and you see it’s half-full.”
“I look at a glass and I wonder who was drinking out of it,” said the Marine, who was sitting on the rocks next to the stream.
Karr laughed.
“What do we do if they don’t come?” asked Gidrey. “These guys are going to roast us after all your promises.”
“Wait…. Listen—”
“You talking to yourself again?”
“No, listen.” Karr put his hand to his ear. The drone of an MC-130 could be heard in the distance.
Foster and Gidrey didn’t react until the Special Forces cargo plane was nearly overhead. Guided solely by an onboard GPS system — Karr had fed the coordinates to them via the Art Room — the four-engined transport rode practically into the jungle canopy before rolling its load out the ramp at the rear of the plane. By the time the plane roared away, Karr and the Marines were hustling toward the crackling trees where the large skids of gear had come down. Six members of the Thai Army followed. One of the skids had landed at the edge of the water; the other leaned against a tree.
“Come on, let’s get going,” said Karr. “There’s supposed to be steak in here somewhere.”
Karr walked to one of the skids, taking out his knife to hack away the netting and plastic protecting the gear. Foster went to the other, and soon the Thai soldiers were donning body armor and passing out new weapons — Minimi machine guns and enough new M4s for everybody in the squad. The M4s were essentially short-barreled M16s, and the Thais had no trouble exchanging their older, worn-down rifles for them; the shorter length and lighter weight made them easier to handle and carry. The Minimis added firepower to the squads; though theoretically the weapons could be fired from the hip, as a practical matter the lightweight machine guns demanded either prone firing positions with the attached bipod or the use of a heavier tripod for accuracy. Gidrey gave a quick demonstration that emphasized the loading of the boxes that slapped into the underside of the gun; they held 200- round belts and were clear enough so a shooter could get an idea of how much ammunition he had left. Magazines from M16s could also be used in a pinch.
Meanwhile, Fisher and Karr continued sorting through the dropped supplies. There were several crates of M72 antitank missiles, night-vision gear, grenades, and radios.
And one sixteen-ounce porterhouse, packed in ice.
35
The Crow saved her. Its path took it back from the direction to the guards’ right, and the two men stopped in their tracks at the comer of the building, watching it.
Lia leaped forward, dashing across the lot toward the cars about twenty feet away. She jerked up the Mac 11 as she ran, then held it close to her body as she spun and dropped down between the cars on her butt. There was barely three feet of clearance between the bumpers, but the close space helped hide her as she sidled to the left, sliding behind the small VW sedan.
The guards watched the Crow flutter away, then resumed walking, checking the fence line and jabbering in Austrian-accented German so quickly that Lia couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“That was close,” said Rockman as the two men turned the far corner, walking by the trailers.
“Why the hell didn’t you warn me?” asked Lia.
“They came up out of the basement entrance at the side. We never saw them.”
“Don’t let that happen again,” she told the runner. “You’re supposed to be watching for me!”
“Really, Lia, recriminations are unnecessary,” said Rubens in her ear. “I’m sure we can all find plenty of areas for improvement.”
“Just make sure they’re improved before I get fried,” said Lia. She pulled out her handheld. She had a sit map but no visual from the Fokker. “Where’s Eyes?” Lia asked.
“The helicopters are too close. We have to keep the Fokker back,” said Telach.
“Yeah, but I’m here, damn it.”
“Your language, Ms. DeFrancesca, is hardly professional,” said Rubens. “Focus on obtaining your objective. Mr. Dean is now entering the compound. Once he’s inside and the helicopters back off, we should have an easier time of things. You’re not in any danger.”
“What sort of guns do the guards have?”
“Excuse me?”
“Those were Steyrs, right?”
“Very possibly.”
“Just wanted to make sure they weren’t cap guns.”
“They’re coming back,” said Rockman.
Dean followed Hercules into the building they had stopped at earlier, walking down the corridor next to him. His head hurt too much now for him to keep track of where he was going, let alone to anticipate what would happen next; he wasn’t quite to the point where he didn’t care anymore, but he was getting close. Sweat poured from his body, and he felt as if he’d been pummeled by a dozen heavyweights.
