Knife (9780698185623) (20 page)

“To start. That was indeed sugar in the fertilizer bags from the Lion1 raid. Intel's been digging through the finds from the SSE for the past week, night and day. Most of the e-mails they've breached are written in code. They've been able to break some, take good guesses on others, and are working on the rest. We didn't think he had anything to do with al-Ayeelaa, but he did. From what Intel can gather, they think Lion1 and his caravan made a deal with al-Ayeelaa. They might have agreed to provide a hundred pounds of fertilizer in a remote compound in the hills in exchange for safe passage out of the country. We didn't find an ounce of fertilizer, but we did find enough sugar to supply a small bakery for weeks. Add in the fake documents, the money, the packed bags, and shoot-it-out firepower they had, and I'd say that's a pretty good guess. Lion1 was probably planning on giving al-Ayeelaa a final
Fuck you
before you guys ruined it for him.”

There were more operators in the room than there were during any other brief thus far, and the teams seated around the tables seemed to notice. They kept looking around the room at one another while they listened to the brief. Shaw couldn't help but stare at the images tacked to the whiteboard. They showed a compound nearly a block wide dropped into the middle of a cluttered neighborhood of dust-colored shanty homes, small storefronts, and narrow alleyways. It was the same quilted spread of urban patchwork as the night with the rocks, only spread over a larger area. Shaw thought of the boys and the rocks he threw at them and wondered how they were doing. If they were good boys or bad, and where he'd draw the line between the two. He wondered if they were still alive.

The CO said multiple correspondences had been traced from the zip drive they found to a single IP address originating in the compound pictured on the whiteboard and printouts. Frequent contributors to a jihadist website had the same IP address.

“We also have two different numbers that have popped hot in the compound today. Both were recently dialed from phones in the Lion1 compound. The phones have popped in the Scar network as well. We're attributing the numbers to a Pike1 and 2. The compound is formerly a school. It's not anymore. Sources on the ground can't verify a specific use, and based on its size it could be a lot of things. It could be a bomb factory. It could be a meeting or housing area. It could be a damn daycare or an urban training ground—we know they're not using the mountain camps anymore like bin Laden used. Or it could be nothing.” The CO shrugged and opened his hands. “But take the IP address and the two phones and it's worth checking out. If Lion1 was dealing with someone in the compound, they're likely a big fish. Even more if the Scars had anything to do with them. Any FAM should be taken in for questioning. All tech devices are to be bagged, no matter how big or outdated.”

Shaw thought of the maze of classrooms his schools had had in his childhood. There were lots of blind corners, open spaces, and places to hide. The room seemed to tense and hold its breath the longer the CO spoke.

“You all know the laws around here,” he said. “One weapon per household, and there's a hell of a lot of houses. The GMVs make the most sense. It's too risky to bring birds into the neighborhood, so we'll drive out and hope the whole city doesn't decide to come out and mess with us. They shouldn't, they're smart enough. Intel's received hits within the past three hours, but they haven't gotten one in an hour and a half. We're not hauling until we know they're still there. Expect a 1 as long as it's still dark out. The objective's barely an hour away.”

He asked if there were any questions and there weren't.

“Stephens.” The CO swallowed, his Adam's apple rising and falling sharp in his throat. He ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek. “We're sorry about Dom.”

Ohio rubbed Stephens's shoulders and Stephens stared straight ahead, nodding along slowly. He didn't blink or look like he'd heard a single word the CO had said.

•   •   •

A
fter the CO left, the teams stayed in the briefing room to plan movements and flow patterns. The compound looked to be at least two stories high, maybe more. Cooke was squatting and wringing his hands, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“There's probably a basement, too,” he said. “Places like this always have a lower level.”

Every wing of the compound would be neutralized by one of four different assault teams, while the same number of perimeter and sniper attachments would try to keep any potential combatants from entering the compound. After a while the planning got redundant. The scenario on the ground would likely blow all the plans to hell, so they agreed to keep their flow patterns flexible with an emphasis on section isolation and containment. They figured they'd settle the rest out on the objective. Then all the teams split up and went their separate ways. Hagan got up and wiped stray flecks of dip off his pants after packing his lip.

“Well. This'll be an interesting night. I'm gonna go take a shit.”

“Poetic,” Cooke said.

Hagan looked at him and smiled. “Cooke. I love you.” Then he paused. “But, and this is a big but—Donna's wife's ass big butt—should you get your nuts shot off tonight . . .” Then he paused and took a bow. “I think the world would be a more peaceful, happier place.”

He winked at Shaw and Massey, and his voice carried him outside.

“That's my security plan,” Hagan said. “Neuter Cooke, increase the peace.”

“Low, Hog,” Dalonna yelled after him. “Mirna's ass is sanctified.”

•   •   •

T
he night stretched through endless cups of dip spit and the war room got noxious with all the gun oil and farting thrown into the air. Nicotine highs peaked and adrenaline burnt off after the hours passed. The men were bored and falling asleep. They'd passed 0200 hours, and bets were getting put down whether they'd even roll that night. Shaw put down money that they would, but was hoping they wouldn't. He reconsidered his bet after sleep crystals started stabbing the pockets and corners of his eyelids. Cooke was lying against his ruck and looked at his watch at 0245 hours and then again at 0330. Dalonna was asleep and Massey seemed to be as well. Hagan was pounding diet pills to stay awake, buzzing pretty hard. He'd yell every few minutes.

“Come on, 1. Beep, you beeper-bitch bastard!”

Then it did and the room came alive.

The operators turned into a sleep-strained mass of swearing and flailing arms and legs. Shaw jumped to his feet and knocked over a cup of spit. The thick spit and dipped tobacco got all over Dalonna's legs.

“Brutal,” Dalonna said, wiping off his pants with the backs of his hands. “Nothing worse could happen to me.”

Shaw laughed, apologized, and said he hoped that was true. He draped his kit over his head and snapped it in. Checked his watch. It was 0437 hours.

“Damn right,” Hagan said. “How much did I win?”

“Twenty-three dollars,” Cooke said. “Big winner.”

Cooke had fallen asleep in his kit and helmet, so he just stood up and racked his weapon. He gave Dalonna a towel to wipe off the spit streaking his ass and thighs. Some guys flipped down their NODs right away, while others left them up, but they all racked their weapons and stepped outside. The GMVs were motored up and waiting for them, growling on the gravel and spitting out fumes. The clouds were low and moving fast. The teams settled into the cabins and the driver and gunner keyed into the comms, asked the teams if they were good to go. They said they were.

“All right,” the driver said. “Closing the coffin.”

The gears of the doors whined and clicked, then hissed on the frame and sealed shut. Everything went black. A voice yelled out in the dark.

“The sun will be up.”

•   •   •

T
he GMVs surged forward and chewed up the roads. Shaw and his team split up with Mike's, so two carriers held half of both teams. If one carrier got separated or neutralized, members of either team would still be able to hit their part of the objective. Mike and Bear sat with Shaw, Dalonna, and Barnes. Hagan and Cooke were in another carrier with Massey and Slausen and the newbies in Mike's team. Shaw cracked his knuckles over and over again until they wouldn't pop anymore and he felt pain in the joints. Every set of legs bounced as if the GMVs were driving over rough ground even though the wheels rolled on smooth highways. The men kept checking their watches and shaking their heads.

The GMVs were armor-plated beasts, half the size of a school bus, with tires taller than a man and bomb rails lining the sides. Everything about them was loud and large. The .50-calibers mounted on the roofs saluted the sky, their thumb-sized rounds waiting to breathe. The operators sat in the cabin with sections of collapsible ladders at their feet, disconnected and ready to wear on their backs. The snipers would post up on ladders inside the wall and man the perimeters after the assault teams had climbed and entered the compound. Shaw sat next to Dalonna and Bear. Barnes sat on the other side with Mike. Bear was grinning, his hands dancing up and down the stock of his rifle. He was blowing bubbles with his gum.

“Careful or you'll get dirt in that bubble,” Dalonna said.

Bear looked at him. His eyes were milk white in the dark. “Donna, I've had dirt in my mouth for the last decade.” He blew another bubble. “I like the dirt.”

Dalonna and Shaw laughed.

“When does the sun rise?” Barnes asked.

“Soon,” Mike said. He chewed a granola bar slowly and cracked his neck. “We'll be out in the light unless we turn back.”

After a while the gunner opened the top hatch and fresh air flooded into the GMV from outside. A soft light lit the cabin. With the hatch open it was easier to figure out where they were, and the traffic and city noises gave way to silence soon enough. They'd cleared the limits of one city and were racing toward another. The vibration from the wheels marked their speed and progress—slowing down meant less bouncing but larger bumps, while speeding up was more bouncing but smaller bumps. Shaw felt the changes in speed in his ass and face. Air started moving around inside the cabin and he thought he could smell some plant life. Then someone took out some dip and he could only smell Copenhagen. They bounced along and Shaw turned to Dalonna.

“How're the little lady and the littler ones?”

Shaw spoke soft, didn't want to put Dalonna in a tough spot. If things with Mirna were rocky and he didn't want the whole cabin knowing about it, Shaw would feel like a dick.

“You know,” Dalonna said. “Not bad, not great.”

Dalonna looked at his wrist and smiled. His girls had made him a pink bracelet and he had it wrapped around his watch.

Bear leaned in.

“I hear you got some sausage cooking in that oven finally, Donna.”

Dalonna smiled. “You bet. And finally is right. Now I'm done. Cut my tubes.”

“Congratulations,” Mike said. “Little dudes are the best. I love my girls, but the little guys are just fearless. It's awesome to watch.”

“Good for you, Donna,” Bear said. “Congratulations.”

He offered his gum and Dalonna and Shaw shook their heads. Barnes spoke up and said he'd take a few. Bear handed him a couple pieces and Barnes unwrapped them all at once and chewed them all together. Then he took out a pouch of his tobacco, grabbed the gum out of his mouth, and wrapped the gum around the plug.

“Barnes,” Bear said. “You're fucking up my gum.”

Barnes smiled and shook his head.

“Nah, just making it work a little differently than it's used to.”

Mike laughed quietly and shook his head and soon the only noise was the rumbling of the engines, the slides of the mounted .50-caliber scanning the road ahead. The moon's pale light came softly through the open hatch, casting shadows and hard angles on the men's faces. Their faces appeared sharp and blackened. They looked like ghosts in the dark.

All the men were fidgeting. Shaw ran his gloves together. They used to be a deep glossy black but were bleached ashen by all the sun and foreign earth over the years. They fit better than any pair of socks he ever owned or ever would and formed so well to the grooves and contours of his hands he could see his own ribbed veins and enlarged tendons in the fabric. Notches in the fingers of the gloves allowed for airflow and a hard plastic ridgeline spanned the length of the knuckles. The ridgeline was good for bracing against concrete and keeping the knuckles fresh, although some guys just liked it because it delivered a hell of a blow to anyone who needed a little push along.

After a while
Five mikes out
came over the comms and elbows flared out and gloved hands fingered straps, tightening buckles and fasteners. Velcro straps loosened and then sealed shut, spreading dust into the air. Shaw refastened his gloves, cracked his knuckles, and made sure he had a round in the chamber and fingered the safety. He turned on his NODs and the world turned green. Then he turned them off. A mag clicked into its well and Mike and Barnes checked their comms. Bear, Dalonna, and Shaw did the same on their side.

“Good to go?” Shaw asked.

Everyone gave a thumbs-up.

Mike looked around, holding onto the straps of his kit with his hands.

“The Cowboys play tonight.”

“The Cowboys suck,” Bear said. “And you're from Alaska. Why the hell do you care? Who're they playing, anyway?”

“Alaska isn't exactly a desirable sports market, Bear, and we don't suck. We're focusing on the future. And I don't know. The Falcons, maybe? Cardinals? Some shit poultry.”

The whole cabin laughed.

“It's Dali's birthday,” Dalonna said softly, looking at the floor. He smiled. “She's three today.”

“Happy Birthday,” Shaw said. He clapped Dalonna on the knee with his gloved hands.