Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

Robert closed his eyes, as he always did right before a mission, and played the details over in his head. The compound sat on fifty-two acres, which was good news. They’d be able to enter at the far end of the complex without detection, and walk up to the main area; a walled off six acres, with another wall around the main house. If they avoided booby-traps and land sensors they’d avoid being announced too soon.

Their next potential hazard would be any roving security team on patrol, but with such a large area to cover, Robert thought the chance that they’d be discovered was small.

Robert had finally managed to convince Father Kong and Sister Isabella to let him bring in three of the men he had on standby, by telling them that if things got too heavy, they’d need back up. Despite their assurances of faith, they finally agreed.

Robert, Thorne and Sister Isabella would make the final approach inside the house. Father Kong, one of his people, and Robert’s men, would post up just outside the wall around the house, and would be ready to rush in at Robert’s signal. His men were directed to shoot only if necessary.

Father Kong turned onto a dark country road, lights off. Drove two miles, and eased to a stop next to some high brush and trees. From there, they hiked through the expansive acreage. Thorne walked the point, using a metal detector to pick up any sensors or traps. The rest of them followed in twos, with one of Robert’s men covering the rear. From where they entered it was about four miles to the main wall, then half a mile to the wall around the main house.

They kept low in the brush and took their time, quietly navigating the tall grass, with only the moon lighting their way. The excursion reminded Robert of covert incursions they’d run everywhere from North Korea to the Ukraine, and each step brought back the keenness of his senses and training. Adrenaline pumped into his veins, his heartbeat steady, controlled.

Thorne lifted her right hand in the air. Everybody came to a stop and dipped down lower in the grass. Three minutes passed without a sound.

Thorne came back to Robert.

“We need to tighten up the line and keep it narrow right behind me,” she whispered. “I found a Bouncing Betty.” Robert rallied everyone into a narrow formation. He’d seen the havoc a Bouncing Betty could do to a human being. When stepped on, it propelled itself upwards about waist-high and exploded, sending dense shrapnel buzz sawing through its victim, tearing their torso in half. The device was used heavily in Vietnam, when thousands of U.S. soldiers made its rude, deadly acquaintance.

Despite the threat, the team made it to the first wall, then moved to the wall just outside the main house without incident. Robert used night-vision goggles to scan the front gate and the area along the wall, searching for the right spot to enter. Armed sentries patrolled one thousand foot sections of the wall. All of them looked diligent, as though they’d been warned to keep an eye open for intruders.

To get over the wall without being seen, Robert estimated that they’d have to immobilize all three guards on one side of the wall, simultaneously. He dispatched Father Kong to the far end, Thorne to the middle, and he took the guard closest to him. Everyone used their radio headsets to signal that they were in position. Robert counted three. Each of them shot a tranquilizer dart into the guards, and by the time each man realized they hadn’t been stung by a bug, they were deep asleep, face down in the dirt.

Robert, Thorne and Sister Isabella grouped together. As planned, Thorne ran to the ten-foot wall, tossed up a grappling hook and climbed to the top with ease. Robert saw her use night-vision binoculars to scan the other side of the compound.

“Come one at a time, on my mark,” she said in Robert’s earpiece.

“Three, two, one.”

Sister Isabella ran to the wall and made it up like a pro. By the time Robert pulled himself up and over, both women had neutralized two guards and were hunched down behind a large truck parked five hundred feet from the house.

The main house, a two-story country home as picturesque as any Robert had ever seen, was dark inside, except for lights in two rooms on the second floor. The house was well lit outside, with floodlights beaming down on the surrounding grounds.

“I count four guards we’ll have to bring down to reach the house,” said Sister Isabella, in the earpiece. “Two to the left, one on the right, and one on the roof.”

Thorne volunteered to take the two on the left. Sister Isabella, the man on the right. After the women were in position, Robert pulled a rifle with scope from over his shoulder, screwed on a silencer, and waited.

Thorne dropped both men without a hitch, her darts hitting them in their necks. Sister Isabella missed, but Robert caught hers twice in the chest before he could blink. The man on the roof leaned forward as though he’d heard a sound. Robert aimed carefully. The man caught a glimpse of Sister Isabella and put a handheld radio to his ear. Robert sent him falling backwards with a dead shot to the throat.

Robert ran for the house and pressed himself up against the wall.

Thorne and Sister Isabella followed. “Stay away from the windows,” he said. “I’m sure they have sensors attached. We’ll climb to the roof. I’m sure our friend up top has an easier entrance available.” Thorne and Sister Isabella acknowledged with a nod.

Robert stepped back and readied the rope and grappling hook, while both women kept a lookout for any surprises. Once the rope was secure, Thorne grabbed hold first and pulled herself up in no time. Sister Isabella went next, struggled just a bit, but made it up too. Robert started his ascent, but halfway up, Thorne hissed, looked down, and pointed to his left. Two guards approached. Robert quickly lowered himself back to the ground.

One of the guards caught a glimpse of Robert and aimed. Robert pointed the rifle, but before he could get off a shot, both guards were flat on their backs. Robert looked up. Thorne and Sister Isabella smiled and gave him the thumbs up.

Robert hid the bodies, climbed up top, and found an open entrance down into the house. “We have to move quickly,” he said. “The sedative in the darts will keep them out for at least an hour, but not much longer.” He led the way down into what looked like an attic bedroom, dim and musty, with cobwebs and rat droppings all over the floor. Fifteen feet from the window, he spotted a narrow row of steps that went down to a closed door. He carefully eased down, testing each step for creaks, not wanting to telegraph their presence. When they reached the door, Robert pressed his ear against it and listened, nothing. Thirty seconds later, they were on the second floor. Robert signaled for Thorne to check the rooms on the left. He and Sister Isabella took the rooms on the right.

Robert braced the rifle against his shoulder. Sister Isabella opened the doors. Each door they tried gave them the same, nothing. When they finished the floor, Thorne gave the all clear.

Robert pointed downstairs. The lights were off and they didn’t hear any voices. They edged their way down, guns pointing in every direction.

Robert smelled the sweet aroma of recently smoked tobacco, mixed with garlic and other unintelligible spices, all fighting for room in his nostrils.

They crept down a long hallway, where a door was cracked open at the end. A light was on inside, and when they reached it, Robert gently pushed it open.

Sitting in large recliner was a grandfatherly man, in a black Polo shirt, burgundy sweater vest, smoking a pipe. On the couch sat a vivacious, buxom Italian woman, who would’ve shamed the most alluring movie star. Rinaldo and Dianora. Rinaldo waved them over.