Robert Doherty - Section 8

Foster confirmed it immediately.

"The recon element has pinpointed Abayon's location and found a way into the complex."

"Has the rest of the team been alerted?" Royce asked as he scanned the short message.

Foster nodded.

"The message was forwarded to the AST."

He glanced at the clock.

"Wheels up for the infiltration aircraft in four hours."

"How are they going in?" Royce asked.

"Low level Combat Talon. They're parachuting at three hundred feet right on top of the mountain. Rough terrain suits. The recon element found a tube that goes right in."

Royce pondered that. There was a very good chance the Talon flying low over the mountain would alert the guerrillas. On the other hand, it was fast.

"How are they getting out?"

Foster frowned.

"They've requested Fulton Recovery right off the top of the mountain by the same plane that puts them in. The general isn't too happy about it. He wants them to walk away from the mountain to an open field five kilometers away."

Generals always wanted people to walk, Royce thought.

"Approve the Fulton Recovery. Send me the contact information with the Talon and the code words for recovery."

"I'm going to have to lay on an in-flight refuel to allow the Talon to stay on station that long and – "

Royce stared at Foster and he fell silent.

Orson looked at the prisoner, then issued an order to the two military police who had brought him.

"Uncuff him. Then leave."

The two MPs glanced at each other, but they had their orders. They removed the cuffs, then departed the isolation area. The prisoner looked around the room, noting the maps and satellite imagery, then returned his gaze to Orson. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit that had seen better days. His head was shaved and his skin pale and sallow from little time spent outdoors. But he appeared to be in shape and he had the right background, which was all that mattered.

Orson briefly read the paperwork the MPs had brought with the man, then looked at him.

"Clarret, Gregory, former staff sergeant in the First Special Forces Group. Convicted of arms trafficking and sentenced to twenty years awaiting transportation back to the States and a long stay in the big house at Fort Leavenworth."

Kasen and Sinclair were silently watching the exchange.

Clarret didn't say a word.

Orson tossed the file in the burn barrel.

"You're coming with us on this mission. When you get back, it will be as if none of this happened. You can't go back in the Army, but you'll have your freedom. Roger that?"

Clarret nodded.

"Roger that."

Orson pointed toward what had been Hayes's locker.

"Uniform and equipment are in there. Get out of that. We're wheels up in a little over three hours."

"How are we going in?" Sinclair asked.

"LALO."

Low altitude, low opening. He looked at Clarret.

"According to your records you are certified LALO, right?"

The former sergeant nodded.

"But it's been a – "

"Don't worry about not being current. Gravity will take care of things. Be happy. That certification got you out of prison."

Sinclair was still looking at Orson.

"How are we getting out?"

"Fulton Recovery system."

Sinclair blinked.

"But we don't have the rigs or the balloon."

"Don't worry," Orson said.

"They'll be on the plane."

The C-141 cargo plane did three passes over the runway before touching down on the fourth. It rolled to a stop and the back ramp slowly descended until it touched the ground. A half dozen men dressed in bright yellow contaminant protection suits awkwardly waddled down the ramp.

They went directly to the tower. They entered and saw the body immediately. While two of the men began deploying sensors, another went to the body and checked it out. Within two minutes the sensors confirmed their worst fears: there were traces of ZX in the air.

Checking the blueprints they'd brought with them, part of the reconnaissance element pinpointed the bunker where the ZX had been stored and made a beeline for it. Another element headed toward the main compound to confirm what was already becoming apparent: that there was no one left alive on the island.

When they arrived at the bunker, the holes in the fence, the doors open, and the lack of the containers that the manifest said were supposed to be inside confirmed this was not an accident. The team leader grabbed the satcom radio and called in his report.

Rogelio Abayon stared at the IV in his arm for several seconds, then looked up as the door to his office opened. Fatima came in, her lips tightly pressed together, and Abayon knew she brought bad news. But that was part of the plan.

"Ruiz is dead," she said without preamble. Abayon nodded.

"I expected that."

"You expected him to be killed?"

"I expected him to betray us and in the process get killed."

Fatima tried to digest that.

"You had him – "

"No," Abayon stopped her.

"He got himself killed. He contacted our enemies and tried to broker a deal for half of what he took with him to Hong Kong. They took the deal, then they killed him, because they do not make deals."

Fatima sat down.

"What is going on?"

"A plan many years in the making is being implemented," Abayon said.

"Ruiz was one part. He accomplished what was needed, by bringing the Golden Lily back into the public spotlight. It is in the news, which is good for us and bad for our enemy."

"And my father?"

"He goes to strike a blow for us. A powerful blow."

"And us?" Once more she was thinking some steps ahead.

"You are to take our organization and move it as we discussed to our alternate location."

"The emergency plan? But – "

"The emergency is here," Abayon said.

"Issue the orders and get everyone moving."

"I'll get the nurse – " Abayon shook his head.

"I am staying here."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick folder.

"This is all the information I have on our enemy. It is yours now."

He slid it across the desk, but Fatima did not pick it up right away.

"And you?" Abayon reached down and slid the intravenous needle out of his arm, dotting the small drop of blood with a piece of gauze.

"I am staying here."

He held up a hand as Fatima started to say something.

"I am old. I am tired. I do not want to do this again," he said, indicating the dialysis machine.

"It is your time now."

Fatima reluctantly turned toward the door.

"There is one more thing," Abayon said, causing her to turn back, tears in her eyes. She waited.

"We might not be alone."

Fatima frowned in confusion.

"This battle against our unknown enemy – I think there might be others out there also opposed to them."

"Al Qaeda and – " Fatima began, but Abayon raised a hand, silencing her.

"Not other groups like us. I think there might be a group, or groups, as secret as our enemy in the world who fight against it."

"Why do you think this?"

Abayon shrugged, tired beyond belief.

"I should not have mentioned it. But there have been times over the years when I received information or heard things that made me think there was a force in place opposing the enemy and trying to manipulate me in this battle. I mentioned it because if there is, you must be careful."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Fatima quoted.

"Not necessarily," Abayon said.

Vaughn checked his weapons one more time, while Tai slumbered uneasily next to him. Waiting was always the hardest. And most of his time in the Army had been spent waiting, in one form or another. They even had a saying for it: "Hurry up and wait."