At 02:50 Kadan signaled the men. "Make final in-oxygen check. We'll depressurize in five minutes."
Sam nudged Jonas with his foot. "Wake up there, circus man. Your snoring has been keeping me awake."
Jonas opened one sleepy eye and glared at Sam.
"In-oxygen check," Sam said. "Get on it."
"On it," Jonas conceded.
Kadan said, "02:55. Depressurizing mask up."
Sam kept his eye on Jonas. He appeared to be asleep again, but he obediently put his mask in place.
At 02:59 Kadan was on his feet. "One minute . . . thirty seconds. First jumper in the door."
Sam took a breath and looked out into the night. It was a damn dark, moonless night. The engines roared as the wind clawed at him, trying to jerk him out of the plane. Adrenaline poured into his body along with that familiar tug of fear. The cold bit at him, the temperature at that elevation was about minus fifteen. He could smell the jet fuel and felt the sting of the wind on his face. The aircraft was traveling around a hundred and fifty knots and he was about to fling himself into that night sky.
"Go!"
At the command, he dove, and in a flash everything changed. The wind hit him hard, buffeting him, pulling at him, and he fought for control. He was carrying two hundred pounds of gear. His rucksack hung between his legs, straining his movements. Then, just like that, there it was. He realized the roar of the engines was gone and he was soaring through the sky, freefalling, the feeling euphoric, his heart racing with the love of the jump.
Sam pulled his chute and abruptly went from one hundred and twenty miles an hour to about twenty. The opening shock hit his body and then he was flying, the wind rushing by, his helmet muffling the sound so that he was flying in a peaceful, surreal world. For a few moments there was freedom and absolute peace as he dropped through darkness in silence. He was very aware he was suspended by a sheet of silk in a commercial air traffic space, and the thought of splattering on the window of a passing jet was there in the back of his mind.
He went in and out of the clouds, a bad fog, and then he could see the ground rushing at him. The jungle appeared nothing more than a green sea spreading out in front of him. Jumping without a strobe was always a tricky business. He could tell the difference between trees and grass by the shades of green. Thirty feet out he flared his chute, slowing him down.
He landed with a light jolt, much like jumping off a single step, reeling in his chute fast. He had the same reaction he often did--thankful to be in one piece, and ready to go again. He glanced at his watch. 03:02. Everyone should be down.
Kadan was a few feet from him. Nico a meter away. Jonas had his back to Sam and was pulling in his chute as fast as possible.
"Get coms up, Jonas; bury the chutes, Sam; and, Nico, you're on security," Kadan said.
"Chutes are good, Bishop," Sam replied to Kadan.
"Okay," Kadan said. "Let's get the hell out of this clearing. GPS has us thirteen klicks southeast of Kinshasa. This will be our RP if we get separated."
The rally point was a good one--plenty of cover but easily found should they need it.
Jonas spoke into the radio. "Valhalla . . . Valhalla, this is Reaper One. Do you copy? . . . Over."
Fort Bragg command answered immediately. "This is Valhalla, Reaper One. We have you five by five, over." A five by five was a signal report, telling the team how well they could be heard on a scale of one to five of strength and one to five of clarity.
Jonas responded. "Valhalla, Reaper One. We are up and on the hunt. Reaper One out."
"Let's recon," Kadan said. "We'll make a four-leaf clover pattern working counterclockwise. Be back here in fifteen minutes. If one of us doesn't make it back in fifteen, the others will wait five. If they're still not back and we can't make radio contact, we'll start looking for you. I have 03:30. Any questions?" When they all shook their heads, Kadan gave the go signal.
The jungle was hot and oppressive. The forest was made up of several layers, trees bursting toward the sky--the emergent level--anywhere from seventy to two hundred and fifty feet high. The canopy was sixty to ninety feet above him. If necessary, Sam could go up and run along those twisted branches that formed a highway far above the forest floor. Most of the birds and wildlife resided in the canopy. Flowers wound their way up the tree trunks toward the light, and moss and lichen crawled up the bark and over branches as well. Great ropes of tough vines dropped like snakes from above and hung in tangled twists and turns of grooves and crevices and elaborate loops.
A large snake wrapped around a branch above his head moved slightly to take a look at him. Monkeys clung to the branches and watched him in silence as he passed by. The air was heavy with moisture and rang with the steady drone of crickets and cicadas. Mosses and vines hung heavily over ribbons of water. Tangled ferns grew almost as tall as small trees, and on the floor thousands of insects moved rotting leaves and vegetation. The understory was an impenetrable, inky blackness. Tree frogs called to one another, hundreds of different sounds as various species vied for space on the airwaves.
Sam mapped out his assigned area in his mind, keeping an eye on the time. He made it back to the designated spot to find Kadan emerging from tall ferns. Nico was already waiting, but there was no sign of Jonas.
"There's a slight depression about twenty meters to the southeast, but other than that, it's all the same, trees, bugs, monkeys, and snakes," Sam reported.
"I've got the same shit," Nico said.
Kadan looked around him, clearly concerned that Jonas wasn't there. "It's the same to the north. There are a couple of small hills, that's it. We'll see what Jonas found and go from there, but from what I see on the map, I think that the depression would make a good hide site. We can use it for our patrol base. It's 03:50." He looked around again, and swore under his breath. "Where the hell is Jonas?"
Sam's heart dropped when only silence answered the question.
"Jonas, Jonas, this is Bishop, you copy? Jonas, do you copy?" Kadan spoke into the com.
This isn't good, Sam said, already starting to thread his way back through the jumble of downed trees and hanging vines. Anything could happen in that absolute darkness, surrounded by hostiles, and switching from speech to telepathy seemed a much better idea.
We'd better start looking, Nico agreed.
You two move clockwise. I'll go counterclockwise. Be back here in fifteen.
Sam nodded. Fifteen minutes, check.
Jonas pushed his way out of the jungle. "Hey, where are you heading?"
Kadan spun around, relief on his face. What the fuck, Jonas. Where the hell have you been?
We were about to go looking for you, Sam said. Your fucking radio broken?
Jonas flashed a small self-deprecating grin. Yeah, actually it is. I tripped on a tree root and broke the battery case. The batteries won't stay in now. I can fix it once we get into a hide.
Kadan let out his breath. Well, glad you're good. I was afraid we'd have to hump your gear and your dead ass out of here.
Jonas indicated back into the jungle. The creek that's set as the meet point isn't far from here. I set my claymores up in case we need to "pop smoke."
To pop smoke was to leave quickly, and given the circumstances, Sam was very much afraid that was exactly what they'd have to do.
The claymores are set on the edges of the creek. The first two are about three meters this side of where we expect the face-to-face to be. They can be popped as the team moves. I've got the detonator on remote. If needed, there's a second set ten meters farther, on a time delay. Stop, pull the ring, and haul ass.
Kadan flashed a small smile, the only indication that Jonas was forgiven for taking ten years off his life. Okay. Good. Did you find an over watch position?
Jonas nodded. Yes, there's a small hill about twenty meters to the south. I think we should have adequate visibility from there.
Kadan nodded his approval. Good. We found a hide. Let's move. Fix your radio, genius. We'll ca
ll for the second team's insertion and then we'll settle in for some rack time. One of us on guard at all times. Everybody good with an hour rotation? He didn't wait for an answer. Good.
Once settled in their hide position, Sam made the call. "Valhalla . . . Valhalla, this is Reaper One."
"Reaper One, this is Valhalla. Good signal. Ready to copy, over."
The voice at the other end of the radio always gave Sam a sense of being connected. "Valhalla, Reaper One . . . mission is a go, over."
"Copy. We have a green light for Team Two's insertion. Valhalla out."
Sam never had a problem sleeping anywhere, anytime. One got used to taking every opportunity because often, you could go days without a safe place to catch a few minutes of sleep, but this time, when he closed his eyes, he saw his foster father's face. The general was genuinely at a loss as to who was selling him out and why. He couldn't conceive of such treacherous behavior as burning a single soldier, let alone an entire team.
Sam looked up at the branches swaying high up in the canopy, the movement soft and subtle. As a rule he would let the gentle wind lull him into at least drifting so his brain would slow down and relax, but it was impossible. He knew the president had been asked for aid--to send a covert unit into the rebel held territory to wreak havoc and hopefully break the back of the rebel army by destroying munitions and vehicles as well as targeting the two men who vied for leadership of the ragtag rebels.
Someone knew of those orders and had sent the plea to Whitney. Whitney had his own agenda and had someone in his pocket in the CIA with enough clout to make a deal with one of the rebel leaders. The deal was to put Ekabela in power in exchange for the diamond. Along with a clear path to leading the rebels, Ekabela wanted a GhostWalker to pay for his brother's death. Whitney had selected Sam and in doing so, had tipped off the team that there was a double cross coming.
Had Whitney chosen Sam with the idea it would alert the team prior to the mission? It was entirely possible. He liked to play games. And if so, how far would he go? If the CIA was in charge of the operation and was deliberating operating out of Fort Bragg, what would they do when the team followed their orders to the letter and destroyed everyone, taking the package instead of turning it over to Whitney's man in the field?
Sam tasted anger in his mouth. They'd get burned. No doubt about it and they'd be left in hostile territory, a hell of a long way from home after stirring up a hornet's nest. He linked his fingers behind his head. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened.
He must have fallen asleep after all because he jerked awake when the radio came alive.
"Reaper One . . . Reaper One, this is Reaper Two."
Tucker's voice had never sounded so good. "Reaper Two, this is Reaper One, go," he answered.
"Reaper One, we're twenty mikes to TOT, over."
The team was twenty minutes to time over the target. "Roger that, Reaper Two, you are twenty mikes out from TOT. DZ will be marked with IR strobe, over." The drop zone would be marked with an infrared strobe.
"Reaper Two copies DZ marked with IR strobe."
"Happy landings," Sam said. "Reaper One out."
Ten minutes later Kadan addressed them in his hushed voice over the com. "All right, boys, team two will be here shortly. Is everyone in position?"
"In position," Jonas affirmed.
"See, Boss," Sam said, laughter in his voice. "I told you he'd get that piece of shit fixed. I'm in position. IR strobe is active."
"I'm looking at him, Bishop, right through my scope," Nico said, "and he looks like he's falling back asleep. I'm in position."
"All right, girls," Kadan said, "cut the chitchat and keep your ears and eyes peeled."
Tucker's voice broke into their coms. "Good evening, kiddies. How are we tonight? Warm, I hope. I still can't feel my damn toes. We're coming in from the south, southeast. I have the strobe in sight. We're at two thousand feet. See you in a second."
Kadan answered. "I'm at your seven o'clock. Knight is at your ten o'clock, Nico, your three o'clock, and Smoke at your five."
"Roger, we're on the ground. Rally at strobe," Ryland ordered.
"Glad everyone made it in one piece," Kadan said when all four men were down. "Let's get to the hide."
Chutes were buried and they moved quickly back to their hide, where Tucker called Fort Bragg.
"Valhalla . . . Valhalla, this is Reaper Two."
"Reaper Two, this is Valhalla, over." The disembodied voice came over the radio.
"Valhalla, we are in play and one hundred percent up." They let Joint Special Operations Command know they were ready to carry out their mission and everyone had made it into the field.
Kadan took over immediately in his no-nonsense way. "Okay, everyone, around the map. The creek is here." He jabbed the spot with his finger. "The expected meet site there. Here, about ten meters from the meet site, and here, another fifteen meters, we've set up claymores. The first two are on remote. The other two are on a time-delay fuse."
He indicated another spot with his finger. "There is a hill here that we'll be on for over watch." He hesitated a moment and then looked directly at Ryland. "I can go in with Sam, Rye."
Sam winced for him. Kadan was treading on thin ground asking, but Ryland had a bad habit of placing himself in the hottest spot.
Ryland's gray gaze settled on Kadan's face. "Are you implying I'm slowing down with old age setting in?" His voice was mild, but there was nothing mild about those steel gray eyes.
"No, sir," Kadan said.
"We'll stick to the original plan. Keep going."
Kadan knew better than to sigh. "Ryland and Sam will make the face-to-face about here. Move up the creek to this spot. You should be able to see where they make their stand. The rest of you will be concealed in the tree line here. If 'Murphy'"--of Murphy's Law fame--"shows up, you'll come up on line and engage the hostiles. At that point we will have fire on them from different points. That should be enough to help Sam and Rye, making the meet, break contact and get the hell out of there. At that point, we each pop white smoke and meet up here at the hide."
Ryland nodded his head. "Looks good to me. Before we leave for the meet, we'll have to set up to draw them back to the hide. Where you do you have the ambush planned?"
Kadan circled the site on the map. "Right here, sir. We will set claymores along this line here and here, using the terrain to bottleneck them into this funnel of claymores."
"If we don't need them, we pull them out when we move out," Ryland ordered. "Ground anything you don't need so we can move fast and quiet. Unless anyone has any questions, we leave in thirty minutes. Over watch, you leave now."
Sam and Ryland and the rest of the team made their way through the tangled vines and tall fronds to the creek.
"Over watch in position," Kadan reported.
"We're at staging point in the creek," Ryland answered. "We're splitting up here. Sam and I will slip up on them using the water for concealment."
Tucker, Kyle, and Gator melted into the jungle silently.
"In support position," Tucker announced first.
Kyle and Gator echoed him in seconds.
"Heads up," Nico said. "They are accompanied by twenty armed men. All have rifles and sidearms. I see no packs, no other equipment."
"We copy," Ryland said.
"Copy twenty," Tucker said.
"All right, they set up right where we wanted them to. We are moving out. Sam, let's get this done."
They both slipped into the water, wading downstream, going into the deep, faster-moving stream, until they were fully immersed.
Ryland came up out of the water just at Ekabela's feet. He rose fast, a dark ghost, covered in black paint and dripping water as he caught the man in a tight grip, knife to his throat. He grinned savagely at the CIA operative who had orchestrated the double cross.
"I'm here for the package," he said, keeping his voice pitched low.
Ekabela had barely caught a glimpse of the dar
k shadow before his head was jerked backward, putting him off balance and exposing his throat to the very large, sharp blade sitting on his skin. Breathing, swallowing, any movement at all would result in the blade drawing blood.
The man in jeans and a light sports jacket raised his hand as if he could ward Ryland off. "Whoa, soldier. Stand down. I was supposed to meet you upriver and guide you here."
Ryland stayed perfectly still, letting his cold gray eyes say it all for him.
"I'm Duncan Forbes," the man from the CIA tried again. "Ekabela has the package for you. There's no problem whatsoever. Just put down the knife and we'll discuss this. We were told Sam Johnson would be picking it up. You're clearly not Sam."
"I am," Sam whispered from behind Forbes. "Don't move, sir. I wouldn't want to accidentally shove this knife through your kidney."
Forbes felt the tip of the blade stinging through his clothing. "There's no need for this."
"Just taking care, sir," Sam said. "We wouldn't want anything to go wrong like it did the last time one of us came into contact with an Ekabela. Give me the package and we'll complete the rest of the mission quietly. No one will know we were ever here."
"Your orders were to wait for me to guide Sam Johnson, and only Sam Johnson, to the rendezvous location," Duncan hissed. "You can't treat an important ally like this. I'll have you two brought up on charges. Put down your weapons. That's an order. Shit, you've messed up everything."
"Sorry, sir," Sam said. "I take orders from him." He brought his free hand sweeping past Forbes to indicate Ryland. "Give me the package. When it's secure, we'll go our way."
Forbes jumped a little, his eyes following the hand that pointed to the man holding Ekabela so still.
In the absolute silence of the jungle, the constant drone of cicadas and crickets returned full force. Sam felt exposed, his back to the creek, knowing Ekabela's men were ready to cut them down the moment Ekabela was released from Ryland's grip. He could feel them, more, smell their sweaty bodies as they crept into position, having been forced to shift to better protect their leader.
Ekabela was sweating and slippery, his eyes conveying both outrage and fear. He kept looking out to the jungle, trying to convey silently to his men to stay back. Forbes slowly nodded his head. Ekabela's hand crept toward his jacket.