The Devil's Footprint (48 page)

Kathleen smiled faintly.
 
"I'm
not sure I understand, Edgar.
 
What does
she want me to see?"

"An execution," said Rheiman.

19

It was an aspect of the operation that had given Fitzduane more concern
that almost any other.

The Japanese Koancho agent was still inside the Devil's Footprint.
 
When the assault team went they were going to
be racking up the bodies.
 
It would be
dark and they would be programmed to kill without hesitation.
 
The agent was going to be chopped liver
unless he could be contacted in advance, kept out of the firing line in some
way, and then pulled out with the team.
 
A dangerous complication for an already hazardous mission.

But the man deserved a special effort.
 
Hori-
san
's courage and
initiative were extraordinary.
 
He had
put together an intelligence operation of daring and at direct risk to his own
life.
 
Reiko Oshima was inarguably the
most dangerous terrorist currently at large, and for every second of every day
Hori was under her control.
 
This was a
man of special courage.

Further, he was Chifune's colleague and Fitzduane was in Chifune's
debt.
 
Hori's fate could not be left to
chance.

The problem lay in balancing risks.
 
The linchpin of the success of the mission was surprise.
 
Sending someone into the terrorist compound
in advance risked premature discovery.
 
One slip and the operation
was
blown.
 
To save Hori, was it worth it?

The situation with Kathleen was different.
 
Her location was known and there would be no
difficulty in identifying her.
 
Hori,
even though his picture had been handed out, in the split seconds available was
going to appear just like another terrorist, especially if he was asleep with
his face in the pillow or wearing the black balaclavas many wore at night when
on guard duty both for camouflage and against the chill of the desert air.

Chifune had sworn she could get in without being discovered.
 
A rough mockup of the terrorist camp had been
set up in an obscure corner of the
National
Training
Center
,
and six times in a row, despite the sentries' being alerted that she was
coming, and despite the fact that they were outfitted with both night-vision
equipment and thermal detectors, she had managed it.

But Fitzduane was still uneasy.
 
The compromise was that she would go in only ten minutes in
advance.
 
That way, if something did go
wrong, they could still go in hard and heavy and achieve their objectives.

But he did not like it.
 
Total
surprise was his objective.
 
Anything
less could compromise the mission.

The right thing would be to let Hori, brave man though he was, take his
chances.

The ‘right thing’ or ‘the most effective’?
 
Who was to know?
 
Fitzduane had thought of involving the entire
unit
in
 
this
particular dilemma, but had then decided otherwise.
 
There were some issues that had to be an
individual burden.
 
You made a decision
and you took the consequences.

At that stage choice did not enter into it.
 
Nor did right or wrong.

Occasionally, Fitzduane wondered if morality or ethics or values or
whatever you wanted to call such thoughts ever counted, or if they were some
unreal set of notions fostered by academics
who
were
not at the bleeding edge.

It did not help him much.
 
He
believed in Camelot.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

The air base was south of
Laredo
,
Texas
.

Fitzduane did not ask the name of the base or inquire exactly where he
was.
 
It did not seem the protocol, it
was not important, and he had other things on his mind.

Dusk was approaching.
 
The two
unmarked C130s were loaded, and now it was a matter of checking and checking
and checking again.
 
The checking was
mostly pointless, but it passed the time.
 
It was when you had nothing to do that fear started to play with your
soul.

"The SAS have an expression," said Fitzduane.
 
"‘The Seven Fucking
Ps!’"

"What are they?" said Kilmara.

"Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss-Poor
Performance," said Fitzduane.

"That sounds more like the Fitzduane family motto," said
Kilmara.
 
He smiled.
 
"Or maybe that is:
 
‘Let life not be dull!’"

Fitzduane laughed.
 
"Sometimes
I'd settle for dull!" he said.

General Kilmara contemplated his friend.
 
"How is Cochrane shaping up?"

Fitzduane was thoughtful.
 
"I
can't fully read him," he said.
 
"At first, he was trying too hard.
 
The Eternal Soldier in the making and having a hard time taking orders.
 
After Zarra and Dan Warner got killed and I
invited him along, he changed.
 
Now he's
a team player and he has become very good indeed.
 
God help the enemy."

"I doubt he will," said Kilmara.
 
He took his time continuing, and when he did
he was smiling.
 
"You don't deserve
it, but I think he's going to help you."

Fitzduane was about to make a cutting riposte, but there was a certain
air of anticipation emanating from Kilmara.
 
"Which particular angel has he designated for the task?" he
growled.

"I told a mutual friend," said Kilmara, "that you were a
little strained, a little stressed, about to do something decidedly dangerous,
but I thought you could succeed with help.
 
The friend, as unlikely an angel as I ever have seen — he is rather
bulky and has a mustache and a Bernese accent you could cut with a knife —
volunteered.
 
He's commanding the second
C130 instead of Cochrane.
 
It seemed to
make some sense to have someone up there watching over you.
 
Better yet, more than one.
 
God, as they say in Bragg, is ‘Airborne.’"

"The Bear," breathed Fitzduane.
 
He'd met the portly Swiss detective some years past in the original hunt
for the terrorist known as the Hangman.
 
Subsequently, the Bear had helped rescue Kathleen from a revenge mission
carried out by terrorists led by Reiko Oshima.
 
The Bear and Fitzduane went way back.

"The very man," said Kilmara.
 
"I know you were reluctant to ask him on account of his domestic
state in
Bern
,
but you have to remember he is on Oshima's shit list too.
 
He was there when you took down the Hangman
and does not fancy remaining a target for a revenge mission.
 
He'd like to get his paw in first.
 
Also, he's a friend."

Fitzduane turned his head away.
 
Maybe he rubbed his eyes and maybe that was just because of the
dust.
 
This part of
Texas
was decidedly dusty.

He checked his watch and headed for the briefing hut.

Shadow Team
were
gathered inside in a
semicircle.
 
Including him, the ground
element was now sixteen strong.

"Final briefing," he said.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

Kilmara watched Fitzduane's unit file into the briefing hut.

They seemed about as concerned as if they were going into a cafeteria for
a meal but were not particularly hungry.
 
This was a routine exercise, nothing more.
 
Except that it was not.
 
This was the real thing, and it was about to
happen.

Unless they were exceptionally lucky, not all would make it back.
 
There would probably be some dead.
 
There would certainly be wounded.

The events of the next few days would change lives forever.
 
That was certain.

They would kill fellow human beings.
 
That was certain too.

Kilmara tried to work out in his mind the impression that Fitzduane's
people conveyed.
 
They certainly were not
an average team.
 
They were older and
more experienced than most, even in the context of the inner circles of the
special-forces elites.
 
They also mixed
and matched the nationalities and sexes without any evidence of strain.

Either you could do the job or you couldn't.
 
It was that simple.
 
That apart, no one seemed
to give a damn if you were a man, woman, or zebra.
 
It was all about performance.
 
‘Doing the job’ did not mean getting a
passing mark.
 
It meant operating at a
level of proficiency that was rare indeed in normal life.

The one weak link could be Lee Cochrane.
 
God knows his military skills had improved over the past few days, but
he was still an amateur among professionals.
 
For an amateur he was excellent, and no one could doubt his commitment,
but enthusiasm, in Kilmara's judgment, was not enough.
 
You could train all you liked under live
fire, but there was nothing like the moment when you faced the reality of ‘kill
or be killed.’
 
Then enthusiasm did not
come into it.

It was down to basics like mind-set and skills.
 
Using night-vision equipment but otherwise in
darkness, Chifune could draw, aim, and shoot a grapefruit-size target twenty
meters away in less than one third of a second.
 
She was exceptional, but others were still close to that league.

Cochrane did not come into it.
 
At
heart he was a congressional staffer — and a very good one — but he was no
longer a soldier.
 
Vietnam
had
been decades back.
 
In Kilmara's opinion,
he was a worry.
 
Worse yet, he was a
mistake.
 
Kilmara knew why Fitzduane had
made that particular decision but regarded it as a case of heart over head.

But sometimes Fitzduane was like that.
 
He was the best combat leader Kilmara had ever seen, but his one
weakness was that he had too much heart.
 
Combat was about killing the enemy.
 
A generous nature was a debatable asset on the battlefield.

"Listen up," said Fitzduane.
 
"The operation is a go."

There was silence in the briefing room.
 
Every unit member had been through the plan countless times, but still
paid as much attention as if this was the first time.

"Operation Rapier," he said.
 
"Three objectives.
 
One:
 
to release a hostage, Kathleen Fitzduane, an Irish citizen kidnapped in
the
United States of America
.
 
Two:
 
to inflict maximum damage on the terrorist base known as the Devil's
Footprint, and specifically to wipe out the terrorist group known as Yaibo
together with their leader Reiko Oshima.
 
Three:
 
to destroy the offensive
capability they have been working on — the supergun.

"The assault team numbers sixteen divided into five Guntracks, with
Calvin up on high — as needed — in the microlight.
 
We are flying to the target in two
special-operations-modified C130 Combat Talons.
 
These will fly south initially over the
Gulf of
Mexico
at four hundred feet — effectively below radar height — and
then will make a dogleg at Waypoint Two and enter Mexican airspace from the sea
at Waypoint Three over Tecuno.
 
They will
drop us northwest of the target.
 
The
aircraft will be contour flying at this stage and will be using RAVEN
radar-suppression equipment, so we should arrive unseen at 1430 hours on Night
One.

"The Guntracks will go out first using LAPES, and then the aircraft
will pop up and drop us out from two-fifty feet.

"We hit the ground, we immediately mount up, from a combat wedge and
head for this position about a klik away" — he tapped the map —
"where there is cover we can blend into and where we will render ourselves
as invisible as only we can and wait for daylight.
 
So ends Night One.

"Daylight comes, we still wait.
 
On this mission, as we have rehearsed again and again, the approach will
be to travel and attack at night.
 
We
have thermal imagers.
 
We have image
enhancement.
 
The night is our friend.