Campaign of Desire (CSA Case Files 4) (2 page)

“Echo Lead, Eagle Overwatch. FLIR is up. Detecting three Tangos to the east and two to the west on picket,” the crisp digital voice whispered through the earpiece, but it was impossible for Lach to fail in distinguishing who was speaking. He’d personally hired several local men who knew the area tribes well, in addition to bringing with him seven contractors from the States. One of those men was his sniper team lead Jansen, who was now providing them necessary real time information to make this operation quick and efficient. “The four lead Tangos are racked out in the main tent, located directly in the center of camp. Your target is on the east side, third marquee from the south. She’s accompanied by the three other volunteers.”

Lach lifted the large image intensifying binoculars to his face and scanned the area where he’d infiltrate with Casper and Dale to extract their target. Phoebe Dunaway. She was a do-gooder spoiled rich girl that managed to get her ass taken hostage by a mercenary group of tribesmen who valued gold coin over human life and just about everything else. She might think that she was providing a service to the people of this land with medical supplies, food, and whatnot, but he would bet his fucking future retirement that she was rethinking her newly found altruism.

“They’re reckless,” Casper replied in a low tone. He was situated right beside Lach as they used a nearby rock outcropping for its readily available concealment. The other men were deployed in two-man teams surrounding the encampment. Each pair was awaiting the go code to dispatch the roving sentries and close in on the compound now that darkness had fallen. “Unorganized amateur hour. This should be as easy as dismantling a Sig.”

“Something’s up.” Lach scanned the horizon trying to locate the source of his unease. From the intelligence that he’d gathered within the last twelve hours, Casper should have been correct in his assumption that this crew was careless and sloppy. Considering the layout of the camp that these ragtag tribesmen were using, it had Lach rethinking those suppositions. “We’ll wait another thirty minutes.”

Casper didn’t reply, but none was needed. Lach was running this operation just as he had when he’d been team leader of the Bureau’s Hostage Rescue Team. Remembering the outcome of the last task force’s assignment, he swiftly shoved the memories aside knowing they had nothing to do with the here and now. It was rare that he was given such a duty as this in regards to his employment for CSA. The cases were more mundane, although recently he’d been reconsidering that opinion. Getting shot had a way of doing that. Maybe not having usual his team members by his side was the problem. He’d gotten used to working with them—how they operated, performed, and achieved success on their missions.

“Jansen, how many threats total?”

The silence was palpable as Jansen was clearly confirming his answer before responding. Lach waited patiently, all the while scanning the area with the field glasses. To the south of them men were unloading medical supplies from the trucks that were used to confiscate the inventory that the activists had on hand. He knew the catalogue of provisions would be sold off to the highest bidder, but why exactly were the rebels keeping the Americans alive? He understood their reasoning in keeping Phoebe Dunaway alive and well, but why the others?

“Seventeen.” The ear peace went silent. “Incoming.”

Lach shifted his sights to the vehicle that was approaching the camp. His team was far enough away that he wasn’t concerned with being spotted, but the fact that they now had unexpected visitors didn’t soothe his worries that this mission wouldn’t go as planned. Unfortunately, the window of opportunity to rescue the hostages and retrieve his target had arrived.

“Hold position.”

Seconds ticked by into minutes. Lach used twenty-nine of them to watch closely as the two newcomers joined the fray. The last truck was being unloaded and that was when Lach realized what sparked his earlier agitation. There was no reason for them to unload those supplies into a tent when they should be about to be delivered to a buyer.

“They’re going to try and rob another tribe.” Lach handed over his binoculars to Casper, who then took a look at the scene before them. “See the vehicles in the back? Empty boxes are now being loaded. They’re going to use the trucks and fake a delivery. They’ll rip off the buyer they’ve lined up by taking the cash and running. We need to go in when these dirtbags initiate that transport. They won’t be worrying about the hostages.”

It only took another ten minutes before the trucks started to pull out, leaving the camp a little less populated. He readied himself and then gave the go. Casper stayed exactly ten meters off Lach’s right side and together they maneuvered toward their objective. He was ready for them when a pair of Tango sentries appeared over the top of the dune and belatedly stumbled around with the intention of firing their ancient bolt-action rifles. The suppressed HK MP5 recoiled in Lach’s grip as he squeezed the trigger. The 9mm parabellum bullets stitched his anticipated target from stem to hairline.

Casper quickly dispatched the partner on the right with equal lethality. Suddenly a rifle shot in the distance demonstrated why no plan lasted more than thirty seconds into any engagement. It was as if the resonance sounded an alarm and instantly ignited anarchy. He could hear the slugs impacting the sand as he maintained his momentum forward, along with digesting Casper’s digitized declaration that one of their men was down. He didn’t take his eyes off of the intended destination.

Multiple questions ran through Lach’s mind as he cautiously entered the slit in the fabric, Casper guarding his back. What would he find within? How easy would it be to extract Phoebe Dunaway? Would she need medical attention? Jansen stated there were four people within this specific location, yet Lach immediately accounted for only three, all of whom looked scared shitless. They had every reason to be.

“Where’s Phoebe Dunaway?” Lach knelt and drew a knife from his boot, quickly sliding the blade through the rough horsehair ropes that restrained their wrists and ankles. He never stopped scanning the area. Casper shifted to the front entrance. Two men and one woman scrambled to their feet, each of them rubbing their sore wrists and looking for direction. Lach stood as well, frustrated that this operation wasn’t going as planned. Fuck. He should have told Crest to give this assignment to Ethan. “I’ll ask again. Where’s Phoebe Dunaway?”

“W-we were separated this morning,” the woman replied, edging closer to him and looking toward the exit, obviously eager to escape. Lach needed her attention on him, so he stepped directly in front of her line of sight. The intelligence he’d been given stated her name was Alice. “There w-was a man here until we heard the gunshots.”

Lach cursed under his breath, knowing that the mercenary running this operation thought he was smart. Granted, this put a delay on the extraction, but it would still be executed. Having memorized the layout of the camp, yet knowing these hostages’ welfare was in jeopardy, he quickly came to several decisions.

“Take them to the rally point.” Lach walked around Casper, not looking back to see if his order would be carried out. His men knew their jobs. “Jansen, cover me. Alpha target to head shed! Designate head shed as alpha two.”

These mercenaries weren’t as sloppy as they wanted others to believe. The four heat sources that Jansen had been picking up in the central area weren’t the main leaders. There were only three Tangos and the other signature was that of Phoebe Dunaway. They were keeping her close and Lach had lost the edge when the guard that had been posted to these hostages fled. There was no time to waste.

Refusing to allow any other thought to cross his mind other than to reach his newly targeted destination, Lach used his weapon to open the tent to peer out into the night and ensure that his path was clear. Gunfire was now being exchanged openly and it was only a matter of minutes before the leader of this group retreated with Phoebe Dunaway in tow. Lach used the darkness to conceal his maneuver as much as possible to get through the camp unmolested, having only to use his weapon once to eliminate a panicked and fleeing guard. He stopped short when he came upon the target shelter to find a man holding his hostage against his chest.

Lach had a fleeting thought that Phoebe Dunaway’s picture didn’t do her justice, but he immediately pushed it away as he focused on the man’s weapon. It was an ancient British service pistol called an Enfield No. 2 Mk1, chambered in a soft nosed 38/200 round. It was more than capable of doing the job at close range. Lach had memorized everything there was to know about this man, from what he ate for breakfast to when he took a shit. There wouldn’t be a long drawn out negotiation. This wasn’t the States and this was nothing like his prior job with the Bureau. Out here it was man against beast. Lach knew his place on the hierarchy and without hesitation pulled the trigger on his much more modern weapon, knowing the double action pull on the old spurless hammer of that No. 2 would take too long to beat him to the draw.

To her credit and his surprise, Phoebe Dunaway didn’t scream in the shrill shriek that he would have expected. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t wince or that her fight or flight instinct didn’t kick in. She immediately tried to run for safety, but he was in front of her before she could gain speed and put herself in added danger.

“Stop.”

It was obvious the word didn’t penetrate Phoebe’s fright as she tried to dodge to his right and then to his left when he shifted his stance. She was no more than five feet, five inches and his six foot four frame was formidable. She came up short and stared up at him with blue eyes filled with defiance. Her blonde hair was of medium length and secured at the nape of her neck, where her skin was covered in perspiration, heedless of the cool air. Fear had a tendency to do that. Lach knew they were running out of time before the rest of the rebels realized their leader was gone. They needed to evacuate the area. Now.

“Phoebe Dunaway.” Lach could tell from the tilt of her head that he now had her full attention, regardless that pandemonium was still happening around them. “We were sent to rescue you. Follow behind with your hand on my back. Do not let go! Do what I say and we’ll get you to safety.”

Phoebe’s lips parted as if she were going to say something but just as quickly closed them. The slight nod of her head and her acquiesce garnered a little bit of his respect. However, he refused to dwell on the trivial and there was no time to waste, so Lach surveyed the area and mentally calculated the best escape route.

“Echo Lead, Eagle Overwatch. In position to cover movement to rally point Zulu.”

Lach turned and immediately felt Phoebe’s small hand in the middle of his back. He ignored her heat and did what he did best. There would be time later to lecture her on how foolish it had been to come to such an area where rebels were known to ply their trade. He knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself. He hadn’t had time to let it sink in that he’d lost men on this mission, but it would be something they would both have to live with.

Chapter Two

Eight Months Ago

Iraq

P
hoebe rummaged through her backpack once more, ensuring that she had the proper supplies for the upcoming month. Experience taught you what you truly needed and what you could do without when you carried everything you had on your own back. She’d come to realize that she didn’t need much on these missions, although it mostly came down to understanding that she’d be too busy to worry about trivial things. It was a nice change from her usual life back in the States.

Cinching up the pack, Phoebe then reached for the S&W tactical knife that would fit into her boot. Instantly her palms became damp as memories of Africa swam in front of her and she dropped her hand to her side. It was weird how tangible things and smells set off the strongest memories. She wasn’t naïve and she certainly wasn’t imprudent. She and the organization that she worked for thought they’d covered all the bases for security while volunteering their time to administer food and medical supplies to the locals. When their camp was attacked, it became abundantly clear that their efforts had been well wasted. Her group had been rescued, but some of the contractors and the local guides sent to rescue them had either been wounded or lost their lives.