Chasing the Lost (14 page)

“You’re gonna have to kill the guards,” Gator said. “Not like they’re gonna let us walk in and walk out with the package, as you call him.”

Chase ignored that.

Riley spoke up. “We’ve got to send in a recon element to make sure Cole is there, before we go in guns blazing.”

Chase agreed. “I factored that in, and that will be your job. We’re going in via three different infiltration methods,” he continued. He pointed as he indicated who and how.

“First, Staff Sergeant Gator will infiltrate at this point using Chief Riley’s Zodiac. Kono will pull the Zodiac to this position, and then you will cast off. You will use an electric trolling motor into your overwatch position on this shell reef, enforcing noise discipline. You will provide initial covering fire, if needed, with your long rifle. Upon order, you will join the assault team via the Zodiac. You’ll be in position to give Chief Riley cover by 0200.”

“Roger that,” Gator said.

“Second, Chief Riley,” he said, using his last rank from the Army, “will infiltrate the water here,” he pointed at a location offshore, and on the opposite side of the island from where the Russian dock and camp was located. “He will high-speed cast from the
Fina
, and conduct a surface swim and beach infiltration. You will come ashore fifty meters to the south of the dock. Time in the water is zero-one-hundred. Time on target for recon is zero-two-thirty.”

“That give you enough time?” Gator asked.

Riley nodded. He pointed with his own pen, tracing a route. “I’ve checked the hydrography and the tides with Kono. I can make it. I’ll radio in once I complete the beach infil, and then again once I get eyes on target and give you a sitrep.” He looked at Kono. “Just don’t dump me on an oyster bed, or I’ll be sliced to ribbons.”

Kono laughed. “Good deep water right in that spot. You be fine. Tide coming in when I drop you, and keep coming in for four hours, so it help you, too. We be done by then, or we be dead.”

“What about alligators?” Sarah asked. “I’ve seen them by the water all over the island here.”

Kono shook his head. “No gator likely in salt water unless he displaced by construction.” He tapped the screen. “No construction in that area around here. Worry more about Russian bullets than gators.”

Chase tapped the screen again. “Third, I will infiltrate directly into the Russian compound via high-altitude, high-opening parachute drop. I will be feet on the ground at zero-three-twenty. I will secure the package”—he paused with a glance at Sarah, who grimaced at each use of the word—“sorry, Cole, with the aid of Chief Riley, and make extraction off this dock. As needed, Gator will assault or exfil. If it’s exfiltration, then we will rendezvous with you out here on open water.”

“What if I don’t locate Cole by that time?” Riley asked.

Chase took a deep breath. “If you’re certain Cole isn’t there before my ‘go,’ I won’t jump and land with the plane. If you’re certain he’s not there after I exit the plane but am still in the air, I can divert and do a water landing near the
Fina
, any time until I hit four thousand feet. Once I go below four thousand, I’m landing on that island, and we’re committed.”

“How is he gonna be certain the kid isn’t there?” Gator asked. “I saw someone getting dragged. I think we commit to this now, not try to switch saddles in mid-stream.”

Chase shook his head. “That’s the Ranger way. Go in with everything, guns blazing. It works in the Infantry, and in direct-action missions. This is different. We need options. We don’t know what we’re going to find on that island.”

Gator frowned, but didn’t argue any further.

“And me?” Erin asked.

“You and Sarah will be on the
Fina
with Kono,” Chase said. “He’ll position it here. Erin will take the con, and hold the boat in place while Kono provides supporting fire from the dual fifties in the bow. We’re counting on that firepower to nullify the Russians. If necessary.”

“Kill them,” Gator said.

“No killing unless we have to,” Chase said.

Kono and Gator exchanged a glance. Erin lightly punched Gator on the arm. “You heard the man. No killing!”

“Right,” Gator said, with little enthusiasm.

“What about Rollins’s man, Mikey?” Riley asked.

“He’ll be with you on the boat,” Chase said. “Whether he cares to provide support or be a spectator is up to him.”

“Emergency rally point?” Gator asked, going back to his Ranger School basics.

“ERP is here. Due west, just about a mile. Barbour Island Airport. It’s unmanned, pretty much unused from what Kono tells me. Basically, it’s just a dirt strip hacked out of the woods that hunters use once in a while, and we’re off-season now. But you’ll be able to find it. Kono will put the
Fina
at this small dock, fifty meters from the airstrip.” He took a deep breath. He’d given a lot of operations orders in his day, and this was pretty much about the lamest one, short of having no plan. “Questions, suggestions?”

Gator spoke up. “Rogers’s Rules of Ranging, number one. Don’t forget nothing.”

Riley nodded. “Everyone double-check and triple-check your gear. We’ll do equipment inspection prior to heading to the airport to drop Chase off.” He pointed at the two women. “Once you put everything on, jump up and down and make sure there’s no noise. If there is, tape it, tie it, or get rid of it.”

“Do I get a gun?” Sarah asked.

Before Chase could answer, Gator pulled a pistol from a holster under his loose shirt. “For the pretty lady.” He stood close to her and quickly showed her the important parts. “You’ve got fifteen rounds in the magazine. Shouldn’t need no more than that with me on the Barrett and Kono on the dual fifty. And these old fellas and their pea-shooters,” he added with a nod to Riley and Chase. “Safety is here. Flip it and fire. There’s a round in the chamber, so don’t flip it unless you mean to fire it.”

“Flip it and fire.” Sarah nodded, looking grim and determined, which didn’t quite seem to mask anxious and fearful. “Got it.”

“And don’t fire it unless you mean to hit someone,” Gator continued. “And if you’re going to shoot them, shoot them twice. And I’d say go for a head shot, ‘cause like us, there’s a chance they’ll be wearing body armor, but unless you’re a great shot, go for center of mass of the body. Better to hit them than try to kill them and miss.”

“Right.”

“What about you?” Chase said to Erin.

Gator was reaching under his shirt for something when Erin’s words stopped him. “I’ve got a pistol.”

Gator looked like someone had stolen his Halloween candy. “Where’d you get a gun?”

“I’ve always had one.”

“Well.” Gator was at a loss for words, which everyone appreciated for the moment.

“And I know how to use it,” Erin added.

“How many guns do you carry?” Riley asked the ex-Ranger.

Gator shrugged, staring at Erin as if he didn’t know her. “Never enough.”

“Commo?” Chase asked, looking at Kono.

“Prick one-fifty-twos.” He grabbed one of the plastic cases he and Gator had carried in from the
Fina
, which was moored at the end of Chase’s dock. Opening it, he started passing out handheld radios and headsets. “I’ve already preset the freqs and encryption, and all the batteries are fully charged,” he said. “They also have a whisper function,” he added, nodding at Riley. “You might find that useful.”

“I might. Waterproof?” he asked without much hope.

“You’ve been out of the business too long, old man,” Kono said. “Two meters watertight for thirty minutes minimum. Keep dry unless you absolutely need it, but the radio can handle a dunking, probably better than you.”

“Roger.”

Kono gave a quick lesson on how to operate the radios. He added, “They also have an embedded GPS receiver, so if need be, we can find you.”

“I don’t like that,” Riley said. “Means other people can find me.”

“Man,” Kono said, “they can find you by your cell as you stand here right now.” He hefted one of the radios. “These bad boys just getting fielded by your Spec Ops buddies. They encrypted and frequency modulated. Unless we be having the NSA after us, we be good.”

“Still,” Chase spoke up. “Everyone stay off the radio unless it’s absolutely critical. There’s a good chance the Russians are frequency-monitoring all traffic in the area. Odds are pretty low—”

“Damn low,” Kono cut in.

“Given the number of possible freqs to cover,” Chase continued, “but let’s not be taking any chances.”

“They also transmit to the radio on my boat,” Kono said. “I’ve got pretty long range with that, but only on maritime frequencies.”

Erin raised her hand. “I understand how important this is”—she glanced at Sarah—“I truly do. And Gator explained to me why you can’t go to the police. But we’re carrying guns, and I’m pretty sure the Russians are carrying guns, and isn’t there a good chance someone’s going to get hurt? Maybe even killed? What about the police then?”

Chase nodded. “We’ve checked on that locally and with the Feds. This is off the books as long we don’t involve civilians, outside of those of you here, and we don’t make the news.”

“What does ‘off the books’ mean?” Erin asked.

“Whatever happens,” Chase said, “never happened, as far as officials are concerned.”

“How can that be?” Erin pressed.

Riley cut in. “It just is.” He sighed. “It’s the way the real world works. There’s the reality most civilians live in, and then there’s another layer to everything. We’re going into that other layer tonight. There are a lot of people who won’t shed any tears if we hurt Karralkov, both official and unofficial. Actually, there will be a lot of people quite happy to see his outfit taken down a peg or two.”

“How come none of those other people are here?” Erin asked.

“They view it professionally,” Riley said. “We’re taking this personally.”

Chase put the iPad down and looked at the team. Time for a dose of reality. “Those of you who have been on a live op know we’re pulling this out of our ass.” He glanced at Sarah. “But it’s the best we can do in the time we have. We get Cole tonight. We’re not going to get a second chance. Clear?”

“Mikey, get in the back of the Jeep.” Chase said it calmly, with no threatening gesture, simply depositing his bag of gear on the tarmac, the muzzle of his HK assault rifle poking out of the top.

Mikey appeared to be ready to protest, but then Gator got out of the back of the Jeep and folded his arms, glaring at the shorter man. Erin’s Volkswagen was behind the Jeep, and both she and Sarah exited.

“Mister Rollins said I was to stay with the plane,” Mikey finally said, but he was already moving to the Jeep, and Chase ignored him.

Riley got out of the driver’s seat and pulled the parachute out of the back as Mikey took its place.

Rollins’ plane was parked in a hanger on the private side of Hilton Head airport. This late, the small terminal across the way was shut down, the last commercial plane from Charlotte having landed over an hour ago. Rollins’ pilot was kicked back, lying on a cot, resting, as they weren’t taking off for a while. He seemed accustomed to making strange trips with strange people in the middle of the night. A few security lights flickered around the airstrip, but otherwise it was deserted.

Riley handed the chute to Chase. “When’s the last time you did a jump?” Riley asked.

Chase shrugged as he took the chute. “I don’t remember. But falling is easy. Gravity works.”

Riley chuckled. “It isn’t the fall that’ll kill you, it’s the landing.”

“Like riding a bike,” Chase said.

“When’s the last time you rode a bike?”

Chase held the chute, hefting its weight. “When’s the last time you’ve fired a weapon?”

Riley’s face tightened, but then just as quickly, he relaxed. “You bring up a valid point as team leader. Years.”

“You don’t practice?” Chase asked.

“For what? Taking on a bunch of Russian gangsters?” Riley asked. “Wasn’t in my plans. I’m retired.”

“You run a side business,” Chase noted. “Doesn’t that get tough sometimes?”

Riley laughed. “What, break some guy’s kneecaps because he hasn’t paid up on time? That’s only in the movies. It’s counter-productive. Client has to keep working in order to make money in order to pay me. The most damaging thing you can do to a degenerate gambler is cut him off. Put out the word he’s a deadbeat, and he can’t place action anywhere. That motivates them to pay.”

Chase nodded, but his mind was on the team. “Are you up to this?”

Riley got serious. “I don’t know. But it’s not like you have a big pool to fish from here.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the team. “Kono is solid, from what I’ve seen, but he’s got a chip on his shoulder as big as a boulder. Of course, seems like he’s always had a chip on his shoulder.

“Gator. Roid rage is touchy stuff. Erin, you know her, I don’t. She seems okay for patching people up, but I don’t see her putting rounds down-range. Sarah’s too personally involved to be of much use. It’s the hand you’ve been dealt.”

Riley rubbed his hand over the graying stubble on his chin. It had been years since he’d been on a live op. A man who didn’t feel some fear was either a sociopath or a psychopath, and Riley had known a few in his time in service. They were dangerous people to be around. But it was more than just the pending action causing him anxiety.

“An extraction is a tough mission,” Riley continued. “A successful one where the package lives is even harder.”

“I know,” Chase said.

“I noticed you said the two ops you were on with Delta went well, which kind of leads me to believe something else didn’t.”

Chase stared past Riley into the darkness along the edge of the airfield. “We’ve all had ops that didn’t work perfectly.”

“Yeah, we have,” Riley said, dropping the subject. He glanced over his shoulder at Gator, who was leaning against the Jeep, waiting. “It
is
an interesting team you’ve put together, to say the least.”

“Best I could do on short notice, and with people I trust.”

“This thing goes hot,” Riley said, “there’s going to be a lot of blood.”

“There’s already blood,” Chase said. “They cut off the kid’s finger.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking bodies. You sure we’re covered with the Feds? Who did you talk to?”

“A guy named Cardena,” Chase said. He gave Riley his cell number. “Just in case something happens to me, call him. Not that he’ll help you unless it fits his scheme of things. He’s a fucking black hole.”

“How black?”

“Invisible.”

Riley considered that. “You know—” He paused.

“What?” Chase prompted.

Riley shook his head. “Nothing.” He sighed. “I thought I left all this behind when I retired.”

“You’re not the only one,” Chase said.

Riley stuck his hand out. “Good luck.”

“You, too.”

“See you on the drop zone,” Riley said, and went back to his Jeep.

Erin came up and gave him a hug. “Stay safe.”

“I will.”

“Promise me,” Erin said.

Chase smiled. “I promise.”

“That was a fun summer,” Erin said.

Chase smiled. “I wasn’t sure how much you remembered.”

“I remember every moment, Horace.” Erin nodded, seemed about to say something else, then swallowed hard and went back to her car.

Sarah came up and wrapped her arms around Chase. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing.”

Chase felt awkward with everyone watching. “It’s what anyone would do.”

“No,” Sarah said, letting go of him and stepping back. Her eyes glistened. “Not anyone would do it. You’re the one. I don’t know what I’d be doing without your help. You’re a Godsend.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and her fingers squeezed tight. “Thank you.”

Chase could only nod as she went back to the Volkswagen and got in. The two cars drove off into the night, leaving Chase to wait for his departure into the night sky.

He’d never had an op that was starting out like this one.

Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen.

* * * * *

Riley’s F-470 Zodiac was tied off to the left side of the
Fina
. The dual .50s were in their mounts, Gator in the hatch, arms draped lovingly over the guns. They were belt-fed, and Gator had switched the feed on the right gun so that ammo came in from that side, along with the charging handle.

Locked into the pintles on either side were M249 Squad Automatic Weapons, which fired the same round as the M-16, 5.56mm, belt-fed. Every fifth round on the belt was a tracer. Where Kono and Gator had gotten the illegal weapons and the ammunition, along with all the other military supplies, was a secret they obviously didn’t want to share.

Gator, Kono, and Riley were geared-up, ready for combat. Gator had given Erin some body armor, which she practically disappeared inside of, and then admonished her never to lift her head much above the metal-and-Kevlar shielding bolted around the boat’s cockpit when she had to keep the boat in position. The windshields wrapping around the cockpit were made of bullet-resistant glass.

“Remember, it’s just resistant,” Gator warned her. “Nothing is completely bulletproof.”

“Especially not the human body,” Kono added as he turned the wheel, pointing the patrol boat to the south and their objective. The lights of Hilton Head Island were fading away behind them and to the right there was a glow in the sky, which indicated Savannah, 20 miles upriver from the Atlantic and almost due west of Hilton Head.

Sarah also had a vest Gator had given her, along with strict instructions to not poke her head above the cockpit wall.

Riley finished packing and waterproofing his rucksack. He had a line tied off to it. He wore a wetsuit, and had smeared his face with camouflage stick. The real point of the camo wasn’t to change the color of his skin, but to reduce the reflection of ambient light off of smooth skin.

Mikey was belowdecks in the small cabin, opting out of the action, even though his mere presence on board insured he would be part of it.

“‘Bout hour out from first cast,” Kono said. The
Fina
raced through the Atlantic swell, the nearest land a little over two miles to the west. He kept his running lights on, because even with them off, his wake and silhouette could be spotted from the edge of the low country by an observer with night-vision equipment. And he could definitely be spotted if someone was using thermal observation, given the amount of heat the engines gave off.

It was a clear night, which in the military way of things was good news and bad news. Pretty much everything in the military way of things was similar. The good news was, they had clear visibility for Chase’s parachute drop in a few hours. The bad news was, there was clear visibility for any guards who might be on duty and actually observing.

Kono was watching his GPS and also checking to the right. They were now well south of the entrance to the Savannah River and the glow of the city, which was several miles upriver, beyond Fort Pulaski and fronted by Tybee Island.

“Air Force lose bomb here,” Kono said, shouting to be heard above the roar of the twin engines.

“Air Force has probably lost a lot of bombs,” Gator said.

“They lose big one here,” Kono said, pointing down with his free hand. “Some professors from university, they hire me to take them around. With Geiger counters—1958, two planes collided and nuclear bomb was dropped here in water. Never been found.”

“Great,” Riley muttered. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the Russians aren trying to dig it up to sell the core on the black market.”

“Bomb won’t be found,” Kono said. “Bottom here is too soft. If it here, it’s very deep.”

“If it’s here,” Riley said, “someone will go deep enough to get it. Trust me,” he added, his mind going back to his trip to Antarctica and uncovering Eternity Base and its secret trove of nuclear warheads, lost by the US government during the Cold War. Sometimes those memories seemed very distant, as if he’d watched them on a movie screen, not actually lived them.

Kono shrugged. “Lots of stuff in waters ‘round here. Lots of wrecks.” The lights of Tybee faded to the rear. The coast was now dark, uninhabited miles and miles of tidal flats, small islands, and meandering inlets. They were passing wildlife refuges and islands too small and inaccessible for development.

So far.

Kono kept checking the GPS, but he was more focused on the water and the land off to the right. Sometimes it was just a mile or so away, but then a sound would open up, and the faint, dark line was almost on the horizon.

Riley sat with his back to his ruck, near the right side machine gun, trying to control his adrenaline. One of the hardest things on this kind of mission was to accept that the infiltration was just the beginning. He’d seen Special Ops guys sleeping, or pretending to sleep, on the way in to a parachute jump. He’d also seen regular airborne Infantry guys getting hyped-up just for a practice jump. It was one of the many differences between the regular Army and Special Operations soldiers.

He glanced to his left. Sarah was standing next to Kono, staring ahead as if she could see something the rest of them couldn’t. Erin was on the deck, cross-legged, lost in the body armor, looking like she’d rather be somewhere else. She had a pistol in her hand, and was holding it as if it were a live snake.

“Five minutes, Gator,” Kono called out. “Seven, Riley.” He throttled down to half-speed and engaged special mufflers, greatly reducing the sound coming from the engines.

Riley stood up. He walked forward, around the edge of the cockpit. Gator was in the deck hole, the handles for the dual fifties in his meaty fists, barrels oriented toward the distant shore. He had night-vision goggles on, and sported a wide grin under the NVGs. He gave Riley a thumbs-up. Riley returned the gesture, then checked the line attaching him to his ruck, making sure it was clear of knots and kinks. His fins were attached to the belt around his waist.

Gator lifted himself out of the front turret. He’d already loaded the Zodiac, so with another thumbs up to Kono, he hopped over the left side of the patrol boat into the rubber boat. When Kono gave the signal, he cut the rope and bobbed free in the wake as Kono kept course.

Gator went to the rear of the Zodiac and sat on the left pontoon. He lowered the electric trolling motor and turned it on. The Zodiac silently began heading toward the west, and was lost in the darkness.

Riley peered toward the west. He could see another bay coming up. Sapelo Sound.

Riley picked up his ruck and turned, putting his back toward the bow of the boat. He shifted his attention to Kono, who was keeping a steady course south-southeast. Riley took a quick glance to the left. They were past the southern tip of St. Catherine’s Island, which Gator was going to skirt in the Zodiac to reach his overwatch position.

“Go!” Kono yelled.

Riley threw his ruck out to the left, then jumped, grabbing the back of his neck, interlacing his fingers and tucking his head in to his chest.

His feet hit water, and at twenty knots, were swept under him, slamming his back into the water.

Riley lay in the water, hearing the
Fina
recede, trying to catch his breath.

Maybe he was getting too old for this shit?

He pulled his fins out and slipped them on. Rucksack in-tow on its line, he lay on his back, crossed his arm over his chest, and checked the compass bearing on the glowing edge of the device strapped to his right wrist, making sure he was oriented correctly.

And then he began finning.

* * * * *

The pilot only asked Chase for flight directions. He seemed relieved that Chase was parachuting out not too far away, and he could then come back here, and that would be that.

If only,
Chase thought as he mentally ran through the plan one more time, searching for the inevitable flaws he’d missed.

* * * * *

Kono could see the northeast corner of Sapelo Island ahead, and grinned.

“What are you so happy about?” Erin asked. She had come up next to him, hands gripping the forward shield. Sarah had remained silent throughout the trip, a sphinx to his right.