The 13: Fall (50 page)

“Six, this is one. We’re on the other side of the building. What’s happening?”

“Ah, looks like they’re loaded and ready to fly, one. What’s the call?”

Keene thought for a minute. “Can you take out the plane?”

“I can shoot at it,” Jenkins said. “But I don’t know the aircraft well enough to know if I can disable it or even damage it. But one thing’s for sure: if I take a shot, they’re going to know we’re here.”

“Roger that,” Keene said. “Hang on.”

Just then Foust came on the radio. “One, this is five. Contact made with air support. ETA, two minutes.”

“Roger that,” Keene said smiling. Then to the others, “Okay, boys, let’s light ‘em up! Once the building blows, take out anything that moves.”

Keene and the others stayed low in the grass and went around to the front side of the building. The air strike was coming any moment now, but the H-8 had already started to taxi out onto the runway.

“Six, can you take out the pilot?” Keene asked.

“I’ve got a three-quarters view,” Jenkins said. “He has to turn to make the taxiway though. I can hit him then.”

“Do it,” Keene said. Then, “When six takes the shot, blow the building. Five, you keep that target painted. I don’t care if the pilot is out or not. I want that H-8 grounded.”

“Affirmative,” Foust replied.

Keene watched as the huge bat-looking aircraft slowly made its final turn out onto the runway. Jenkins came on the radio. “And … in three, two, one …”

Keene watched as the stealth bomber suddenly jerked to the left and stopped. Then, slowly, it began to roll off to the side of the runway, into the grass. He lifted his wrist mic.

“Now!”

The small terminal never had a chance. The charges that Keene and his men had placed around the perimeter did more than their job. The entire place exploded in a giant fireball. Gunfire immediately followed as Chinese soldiers sprayed fire in every direction, not even knowing who or what they were shooting at. Keene and his men were being given perfect cover, as the flames from the building lit up the night sky around it, revealing the Chinese soldiers. It was, Keene thought, almost like target practice.

Every few seconds Keene would see someone else go down, like he’d been hit by an invisible linebacker. Jenkins. The sniper was now concentrating his fire on soldiers. Keene called for the men to pull back. The air strike was coming any second.

Just as he’d given the order, he heard the whistling, screaming through the sky. He turned to see the H-8, a hundred yards away, go up in a giant plume of smoke as two F-35 Lightning combat jets streaked by, five hundred feet above the deck. Foust had succeeded keeping the laser on the H-8. It was now nothing more than a smoldering heap of twisted metal.

As Keene and the men continued to advance on the terminal, Keene began to notice something. At the far end of the terminal, the only place they hadn’t bothered to set charges—the angle of the building made it non-essential, though Keene was rethinking that now—a group of men were loading into three SUVs that had been parked at that end of the parking lot. With the majority of the gunfire concentrated at the other end of the building, they were going pretty much unnoticed. Except for Keene. He noticed. And though they were fifty yards away, the men were being well lit by the flames from the far end of the building. Keene stopped short and focused his stare. He knew the man at the center of the group who was being hurried into the car. And he was about to get away. No way Keene could allow that.

He keyed his wrist mic and yelled to the other men, “Kirkpatrick, see to it that you guys finish this. Foust, soon as the area’s secure, you get to that nuke and disarm it. Got it?”

“Where are you going?” Ramirez shouted over the gunfire.

Keene was running to the parking lot now. The SUV had already sped out of the terminal. There were several cars parked. Keene opened the door to the first one he came to, a Ford F-150 pickup truck. He checked the console and the visor. No keys. He was about to jump out when he noticed the keys were in the ignition. He cranked the starter and spun the tires.

“Keene,” Kirkpatrick said again, “we’ve secured the terminal.”

“Good, get to that nuke and make sure it’s not on a timer.”

“Roger that. Where are you going?”

He fishtailed the truck off of Aviation Road. The SUV was already half a mile ahead. “To catch the man responsible for all of this.”

   CHAPTER 77   

K
irkpatrick signaled for the others to approach slowly, as they made up the last fifty yards back to the terminal. The air strike had done more than its job. It had taken out the entire front of the terminal and anyone standing within a twenty-yard radius. The few men that had been left had either scattered or had stupidly tried to fire back at them. All of the five men Givens had assembled for Keene, however, were expert marksmen. The remaining soldiers never stood a chance. In less than a minute after the strike, the only sound that could be heard was the roaring of the flames pouring out of the building.

Kirkpatrick held them up as they got within a few yards. He wanted to make sure that there wasn’t anyone hiding somewhere thinking about a last-ditch effort at being a hero. He pulled his wrist mic up and called to Foust and Jenkins. “Six, five, this is two. All clear?”

Both men gave an affirmative.

“Okay. We’re holding here. I’m still not sure if anyone is holing up somewhere waiting to take a potshot at one of us. Make your way to our position.”

Again, both men acknowledged.

It took two minutes for the two men to meet up with the others. Once they were there, Kirkpatrick laid out the procedure.

“Ramirez, you’re the techie here. How much time do you need to disable that thing?”

Ramirez shrugged. “If it’s not already set to detonate, five—maybe ten minutes.”

“And if it is?” Foust asked.

Ramirez shrugged again. “Then however long is left on the timer.”

“Nice,” Kirkpatrick said.

The men moved quietly but quickly toward the H-8. It was less than a hundred yards to the plane. Jenkins and Foust walked backward, keeping an eye on the terminal behind them, just in case.

The H-8 was still smoldering as they approached. The entire nose of the plane had been bent sideways, leaving the rear of the plane sticking up into the air. The left side of the aircraft’s wing was completely torn off, exposing the wiring and fuselage, though there was no threat from it. The strike had been a direct hit. Any fuel left in the plane would have already burned.

The good news was the underside of the plane was fully exposed. The bomb trap, though, was wedged shut. Horn quickly dug through his bag and pulled out two pry bars. He handed one to Foust, and they got to work.

The bad news was they no sooner had started to pry the trap open when they heard the screeching of tires as vehicles turned onto Aviation Road and Administration Building Road, the only two ways in or out of the airport. The Chinese weren’t done. It was obvious the other soldiers from the checkpoint stations would’ve heard the goings-on. They just didn’t know how many to expect. Keene had thought that, other than the few checkpoints, the majority of the manpower would be centered there at the airport. Keene had been wrong. Kirkpatrick raised his night-vision glasses to see at least four trucks heading their way. And two of them had .50 caliber machine guns mounted on them. Jenkins already had his rifle propped against the wreckage and was taking aim.

“Take out the gunners first,” Kirkpatrick ordered.

“Roger that,” Jenkins said as he squeezed the trigger.

He quickly repeated the process four more times, taking out both gunners and the drivers of the trucks. The vehicles all stopped two hundred yards out, immediately returning fire.

Just as the first rounds whizzed past them, the trap popped open. Ramirez and Foust quickly reached in and pulled the housing down. It was stuck at first, so both men used a leg against the belly of the plane for leverage. Kirkpatrick, Horn, and Jenkins continued to lay suppression fire. The men in the trucks were all scattering and moving out to flank them.

“How much time?” Kirkpatrick yelled over the gunfire.

“I’ll have it loose in two minutes,” Ramirez yelled back. “The air strike pretty much did all the work for us.”

“Make it one,” Kirkpatrick yelled back.

Kirkpatrick, Foust, and Jenkins all began to advance on the terminal again, each one heading out in a different line. Jenkins went straight south, Foust went east, and Kirkpatrick went west.

Some months earlier, Oakley, the well-regarded sunglasses company, had secured a government contract to make a military-grade, night-vision version of their famous sport line of glasses, and every member of the US military was issued two pair. Each man on the team had his on and could see the ground ahead like it was daylight. The Chinese soldiers had nothing of the sort. Once again, Kirkpatrick and the men were able to eliminate the attackers efficiently and quickly. In just over three minutes, all twenty or so Chinese soldiers had been neutralized.

Kirkpatrick took out his final target and said, “Clear!”

Jenkins and Horn came back also, “All clear!”

The three men retreated back to the mangled H-8. Ramirez and Foust had the nuke out of its housing and lying on the ground. The bomb was approximately three feet long and fourteen inches round, in the shape of a tube. It had wires coming out of it and a display screen on the front. The timer had been activated. It had twenty-six minutes on it.

Kirkpatrick reached inside his backpack and grabbed a small blanket out and laid it on the ground. “Give me a hand here,” he said. The four men picked the heavy tube up and set it on the blanket. He zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We need to move,” he said. “No telling how long we have before more of them show up. Ramirez, you can start on this thing when we get in the boat.” The four men each grabbed a corner of the blanket and hoisted the bomb up. In two-by-two formation, they took off running back to the bank of the Racquette.

They had just gotten back in the water when three more vehicles carrying more Chinese soldiers raced by them, heading into the airport. The five men used their paddles to push off and away from the bank. Foust started the little engine and twisted the throttle sticking out of the back of the engine. The inflatable quickly sped away.

Ramirez went to work immediately on the bomb casing. He traded his night-vision Oakleys for a headlamp and handed two flashlights to Foust and Jenkins. The timer read fourteen minutes.

“How long, once you get it opened?” Foust asked.

“Only a minute or two,” he said, continuing to work. “But I’ll need to be still. Can’t do it on this water.”

“We’re almost there,” Kirkpatrick answered.

Another hundred yards and the small inflatable came to rest on the bank again. Again the four men grabbed the blanket and hoisted the bomb. They made their way out of the boat and up the bank to County Road 40, where they had left the truck.

Ramirez tossed the keys to Foust, who popped the tailgate of the big SUV so the men could set the bomb inside. Kirkpatrick ordered the others to stand around the truck with him, watching for anything approaching. For the most part the county road was deserted anyway, but they couldn’t take any chances. Particularly now. The display read ten minutes.

“Got it,” Ramirez said, lifting the main faceplate. “Now I just need to—uh … this isn’t good.”

“What?” everyone said in unison.

“Anyone speak or read Chinese?”

“C’mon!” Kirkpatrick yelled between clenched teeth. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not,” Ramirez said seriously.

Kirkpatrick reached inside the vehicle and grabbed one of the sat-phones. The number had already been programmed in, in case something happened to Keene and they needed to call in. He hit the call button and waited.

“This is Jennings.”

“Director Jennings, this is Lieutenant Kirkpatrick.”

“Where’s Jon Keene?” Jennings asked with a worried tone.

“I have no idea, sir,” Kirkpatrick answered. “But we have a bigger problem right now!”

   CHAPTER 78