the powerful but relatively clumsy AN/PVS-5 units supplied to the Thai forces, his were NSA-designed and looked more like extra-thick wraparound sunglasses than traditional night viewers. They were very powerful, however, and besides allowing the wearer to see in the dark provided up to sixty-four-times magnification, depending on the circumstances. Even the Marines, who were equipped with AN/PVS 14 monocles, were jealous.
“How we looking back there, Chafetz?” Karr asked his runner after they’d marched for better than two hours through the jungle.
“Satellite’s just coming over the area now. We’ll have a fresh series of infrared snaps for you in about ninety seconds.”
He took out his handheld, waiting for the download. Besides his A-2, he was humping one of the Minimis and three see-through boxes of ammo belts, all he could fit in his second ruck. Just before joining Desk Three, Karr had done a short stint in Iran helping to plant a signal-stealing device array in the northern mountains; the brief but intense experience drove home one overriding fact of warfare — you can never ever have too many bullets.
The handheld screen flickered, then came up with a red-tinted window of the guerrilla camp. He had to stop so he could fiddle with the magnification. Sourin came over to look.
“Our target,” Karr explained, holding the image up for him.
The Thai major had apparently never seen a handheld computer before and turned his head to look behind the device. Karr showed him how the screen image could be sized. By now the analysts back at the NSA had added information to the image; Karr toggled the overlay and showed Sourin that there were guards in both of the trenches they had spotted earlier. At least six men guarded the northeast line. The Desk Three people IDed two Russian DShKM heavy machine guns, commonly called Dushkas; the weapons were mounted near the center of the compound on a rise that gave them decent coverage to the south as well as the north. Though older than anyone on the assault team, the guns were serious weapons that fired 12.7mm rounds. Lighter machine guns, Russian- made RPDs, were mounted on tripods covering the Thai approach; there were two, along with a third, more curious weapon.
“Hey, uh, Sandy, my computer’s got a glitch. One of the machine guns is being called a Stoner.”
“That’s what it is. Stoner 63 LMG. I may have to hose down the weapons guy. He’s asking if you can take it home for him.”
“What am I going to get in return?”
The Stoner dated from the 1960s; an American weapon, it was a versatile lightweight gun that had been popular with some Special Forces troops in Vietnam but never really caught on in the military at large.
“He’s offering to trade a mint Winchester Model 1873, still chambered for.44–40.”
“That a good deal?”
“Claims it was used to shoot at Wyatt Earp.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Malachi Reese is your air support liaison. His time-to-target is two-five minutes; you’ll want to launch the Kite ten minutes before he’s there.”
“Sounds good,” he told her. He started to set the buzzer on his watch, then realized an audible alarm might not be a good idea.
48
“We have him! He’s in the subway — the metro. Heitzing — the stop is Heitzing,” said Rockman. “It’s right nearby. He’s coming out.”
“You don’t have to shout,” said Lia, turning to tell the pilot to fly there.
As Dean cleared the turnstile and went outside, he heard the pounding rotors of a nearby helicopter. He started to move along the sidewalk, disoriented by the rush of daylight and the press of the tourist crowd nearby.
People were pointing, saying something.
The helicopter was coming right over the buildings, literally close enough to knock them over.
Dean’s headache instantly returned, and he felt his stomach revolting again. A swatch of green appeared on his right, trees, a massive park.
The chopper was coming for
Dean bolted across the street, running. People were staring, shouting.
There was a line of people, a fence, a gate.
Dean’s head swirled. Everyone was looking at the helicopter, which was landing in the park nearby.
“Charlie,” said the voice in his head. “Charlie, we can see you.”
“Rockman?”
“Go to the helicopter. Lia’s there.”
Dean started to run.
Lia opened the helicopter door and leaned out as it came down. She could see someone running on the street toward her.
Charlie?
She lost sight of him as the helicopter descended. She yelled, but of course he couldn’t hear — the engine was too loud and now they were yards and yards away, separated by a small run of trees as well as the metal fence.
She’d have to leave the chopper to get him.
“That van is coming back around,” warned Rockman.
That did it. Lia leaped out, tumbling on the ground as the helicopter roared away. She ran to the park perimeter.
Dean was there, just reaching the fence.
“Get in here! Get over the fence — come on. Come on!”
Dean swung his head around, then started toward her in slow motion. Two men — policemen — were running toward her. Lia pointed toward the street.
“The van!” she yelled in English. “The van!”
Dean grabbed at the fence.
Even if the policemen could have heard her over the roar of the nearby helicopter, there was no van on the street. One of them grabbed her arm and immediately regretted it — Lia flipped him over and spun him back into his companion, both men sprawling in a tumble. Dean climbed the fence, hauling himself up over the pointed bars at the top.
The van skidded to a stop in the street as Lia tossed one of the smoke grenades onto the sidewalk. People began to run — she readied her gun but didn’t fire.
Dean collapsed onto the ground. She ran to him, grabbed his shirt.
“What?” he said.
“What yourself. Come on,” she said, pulling. One of the policemen started to rise but stopped as he caught sight of her Mac 11. Tourists threw themselves down or ran in the opposite direction as Lia and Dean began heading deeper into the grounds. They ran across the paths, cutting momentarily through some of the trees and then to Lia’s left, skirting the large zoo.
“I can’t keep going,” said Dean. “I can’t.”
Lia turned. Dean had stopped running and was walking almost in a daze. His face had flushed red.
“Charlie?”
“I’m okay,” he mumbled.
“You’re burning up,” she said, feeling his face.
“Yeah,” he said.
They walked at a slower pace, making their way toward the Gloriette Monument and then down the large
