Ken Goddard - Double blind

"And if it is a setup, Henry, where does that leave you?" Bobby LaGrange reminded his former partner.

"I'll worry about that later." Henry Lightstone gave Paxton a pleading look. "We've got to call them, Larry. Right now."

Larry Paxton hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded at Mike Takahara, who immediately reached for his cell phone and punched in a memorized number.

For a good thirty seconds everyone stared at the tech agent-who finally folded up the phone and shook his head.

"No answer. They probably left the cell phones at the hotel."

"Which means they're already gone." Henry Lightstone looked stricken.

"Doing it just like we taught them," Dwight Stoner growled. "Get out to the meet site early, monitor the area, see what happens."

"Shit!" Larry Paxton exploded angrily.

"Did Riley or Donato give any indication of what they planned to do?" Lightstone asked hopefully.

Mike Takahara shook his head silently.

"Nothing about the Chosen Brigade compound at all?"

The tech agent shook his head again and held his hands out in a helpless gesture.

"They could meet their contacts for an illegal hunt anywhere on the outskirts of the refuge, Henry," Bobby LaGrange pointed out. "And that includes literally hundreds of miles. Plus, don't forget, this whole night- exercise business could be a ruse, just to distract you, too."

"I think we need to call Halahan, brief him on the situation, tell him to get us some help out here," Dwight Stoner suggested. "FBI, DEA, somebody with some serious firepower."

"Yeah, but what about right now?" Lightstone looked down at his watch. "It's almost quarter to eight now, and I'm due back at the compound in fifteen minutes. By the time he manages to get anybody out here, whatever's going to happen will be all over."

For a while, only the sounds of the crickets filled the warehouse.

Everyone in the warehouse was silent for a long moment.

"One thing's for certain" — Larry Paxton finally spoke slowly and deliberately-"we can't let them walk into a trap completely blind. Regardless of anything else, we have to at least try to back them up."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Trouble is, though, Henry's right." Bobby LaGrange noted as he slowly pulled an old. 45 semiautomatic pistol out of his waistband, dropped the magazine into his hand, and stared forlornly at the exposed round-nosed bullet. "If we try to face down a team of hotshot Army Rangers armed with assault rifles on our own, we could get ourselves seriously killed."

Henry Lightstone stared gloomily down at the warehouse floor, only vaguely aware of the scattered clumps of tangled duct tape and discarded plastic bags.

Suddenly, a smile appeared on his face.

"But then again," he whispered softly, "who says we have to fight fair."

Remembering his new employer's comment that it would take no more than fifteen minutes to learn how to use the night-vision gear, Henry Lightstone made a show of paying careful attention while his wrist-cast-hampered fellow instructor demonstrated how to secure the binocular night-sight goggles over his head, and adjust the spacing, aperture, and focus of the eyepieces to give him nearly perfect stereoscopic vision.

Unbelievable, he thought to himself, amazed at the degree of improvement in the latest generation of night-vision equipment. Unlike with the second-and third-generation light-magnifying tubes Lightstone was familiar with, the flow of light green images in these new goggles appeared multi-contrasted and almost razor-sharp.

Pretending to master the technology, Lightstone rotated his body in a 180-degree arc. In doing so, he observed two other members of Sergeant Aran Wintersole's training team standing in the trees about twenty yards away from the main group.

A chill went up his spine when he realized that both of these men carried night-vision-scoped bolt-action rifles — very much in contrast to the five trainers grouped around him who all wore standard military-issue Beretta 9mm semiautomatic pistols. In addition, all of the men wore military camouflaged flak jackets with a bullet-deflecting breastplate insert. A half dozen canister grenades dangled from rings on each side of the breastplate on Wintersole's and two of the other soldiers' jackets, and all three carried what looked like a roll of duct tape attached to a loop at waist level opposite their pistol holsters. The other two instructors carried a roll of tape, but no grenades.

Two plus five equals seven, Lightstone told himself. The same number of soldiers he'd seen conducting the surveillance of Charlie Team, all present and accounted for.

In spite of the chilling sight of the two night-vision-equipped snipers partially concealed in the nearby woods, Lightstone felt relieved. That meant that if Charlie Team wasn't the focused target of this supposed night training exercise, they wouldn't be wandering around the perimeter of the nearby Windgate National Wildlife Refuge in the dark and under active surveillance by a bunch of lethally trained combat troops… unless, of course, Lightstone reminded himself, the retired Army Ranger first sergeant had held some of his resources in reserve.

But in any case, Charlie Team wouldn't be out there alone. Whether they liked it or not, Lightstone smiled, the more experienced, manipulative, and treacherous members of Bravo Team would cover them on the perimeter, once again ready to do whatever it took to win.

Not that we'll be much help if things don't go our way, the covert agent's smile faded as he returned his attention to his injured companion.

"Feel comfortable?" the young soldier inquired.

"Just fine," Lightstone acknowledged.

"How do you like them?"

"Pretty amazing." Lightstone put just the right amount of wonder in his voice. "I feel like I'm walking around in some kind of green daylight."

"That's exactly the idea." The young soldier laughed. "The earphones are separate from the goggles, so if you ever have to take the goggles off, you'll stay linked to the rest of us. Your collar mike's an auto-sensor, so just talk and listen. Try not to interrupt someone else, unless it's an emergency. Everything clear?"

Henry nodded.

"Good." The young soldier removed something from the box behind him. "Here, let me help you put this on."

"What is it?"

"Flak jacket. Basically an armored vest."

"What the hell do I need an armored vest for?" Lightstone asked as the young soldier secured the wide Velcro straps tightly around his shoulders, chest, and waist.

"Didn't the sergeant tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Lightstone wheeled to face Wintersole who, to Lightstone's amazement, actually appeared less menacing with the binocular night-sights over his cold pale gray eyes.

"Just to make it a little more interesting for our side, our opponents are going to be firing live rounds tonight."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it." Wintersole noted then casually dismissed Lightstone's reaction. "They have pop-up reflector targets — which they can hardly hit in the daylight when they're twenty feet away — to aim at. And they'll be stumbling in the woods, about 90 percent blind, even before the first flash-bang goes off. Just stay low, maintain your cool, keep your goggles on, and you'll be fine. Probably'll have a better chance of getting taken out by a falling meteor."

"Yeah, right." Henry Lightstone shook his head in amazement. "What the hell's a flash-bang?"

"These little gems here." Wintersole reached forward with both hands and tapped the underside of the two grenades that hung from Lightstone's flak jacket like a pair of small firm breasts. "They're basically stun grenades, but they generate an extremely bright flash in addition to the concussion. You ever throw a hand grenade?"