The Master Puppeteer
"Second recon of the island's perimeter before landing, boss?"
"Affirmative, Skydancer." Ghost replied, his voice taut with the same exhaustion affecting them all. They'd all caught naps except Skydancer -- Morgan -- and Panther, who would be remaining behind to guard the jet; but it was sleep fraught with expectation, of preparation for the job ahead.
McCall had something on the table before him that looked like an oversize laptop but Jake suspected was not. "Falcone's ship is about 27.4 nautical miles out of the northern port. Two midsize boats are 2.6 nautical miles from port, heading toward the ship -- customized Stingray cruisers with full defensive measures." He speared a quick glance at Jake, with sleeping Danny in his arms. "This is going to be ugly, boss -- and we have less than two hours to get this done."
Jake couldn't answer. Ever since dawn began breaking ten minutes before, his gaze had been glued at a screen in front of him and he couldn't make his mouth work.
This Learjet had high powered video cameras built into the under wings, relaying images to the TV screens inside. Satellite gave up-to-date information on movements of troops and rebels below. Jake kept Danny's face turned away from the screen, muttering fervent prayers that he would sleep until the jet landed and he wouldn't have to see-
Carnage.
Horrified and half-unwilling, this-can't-be-real fascination, he watched image after image flash up on the screen as the jet rode high over the island's perimeters. Bodies, hanging on trees on hacked apart by machetes, left to rot or be eaten by wild creatures, or piled high in open pit graves. People running for their lives from boys who looked no older than fifteen carrying assault rifles. Girls dragged away by the air. People begging for their lives, shot without hesitation or mercy. Buildings torched and burning. And every few moments, the silver flash of bullets from automatic weapons, and people fell down...
And Danny's father sells these weapons to terrorist groups.
But for once Jake couldn't feel personal horror, or adopt his ever-ready defense mechanism of anything to protect Danny. For he'd finally seen the bigger picture McCall tried to paint -- he and Danny were not the only ones in desperate need of protection from the conscienceless abomination that was Robert Falcone.
If I'd gone to the CIA years ago with the tape, these people down there would be alive right now.
In his frantic need to keep Danny -- to keep himself free of Falcone's obsession with him -- he'd been responsible for those deaths, and countless others in war zones and under dictatorships around the world.
"Don't blame yourself." McCall murmured for his ears alone. "You had a hell of a decision to make and a baby to care for."
Too lost in the horrors happening right below him to be surprised by McCall's acumen, he whispered. "But they are Falcone's weapons. Weapons he wouldn't have been free to sell but for me!"
A warm, strong hand cupped his shoulder. "If not Falcone, someone else. There's always another piece of scum ready to sell weapons to anyone. That's the harsh reality of life here."
"No." Jake's voice was scratchy, his eyes growing wider as the nausea threatened to overcome him. "The reality is that I am, by my decision to save myself and Danny alone, responsible for those people who just died. Oh dear God, and I called Falcone a monster. I hear about love your neighbor as yourself, but I never once thought of the people who would die while I stayed hiding in the shadows, believing I was the only victim. All the time I fought you hating you for not leaving us alone or appreciating my sacrifices, I never once realized what you said -- that others could die for my inaction." His stomach heaved; he made a distressed sound.
McCall took Danny from him. "Jake..." With his free hand he reached out to Jake.
Jake shrank away. "No! Don't touch me..." He lurched to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom.
"Right." Anson said quietly into the feed mike. "Flipper will take point from here."
In the gentle light of morning, fourteen nautical miles out to sea from Tumah-ra, McCall cursed the sunshine peeping out from behind the cloud cover he'd hoped would last. The navy ships and choppers were out of unaided sight, but even with four RIBs -- the rigid inflatable boats - heli-cast from the choppers, specially made to look as inconspicuous as possible -- they could be visible to anyone with strong binoculars.
"Our objective is to intercept and take control of the Stingray cruisers six nautical miles from meeting point. They've disguised the ship as a fishing hull, but they'll have sophisticated radar as well as Falcone's weapons. We have to get in fast, take control, find the weapons and let the navy move in. disable and disarm attack. Take all possible prisoners."
Irish and Songbird, here as medical backup, were lying flat at the back of two of the RIBs, scanning the ocean back toward the war-torn island with high powered binoculars. Both murmured at once. "Cruisers coming in sight."
McCall nodded. "Roger that. Prelim team, mask up."
Wildman, Heidi, Nightshift, Braveheart, Phantom and McCall covered their last inches of exposed skin, to protect them from the lethal box jellyfish common to the area. With a nod, he sent them all quietly splashing into water. With closed-circuit communication McCall spoke to the team as they swam full bore four feet underwater toward the cruisers. "RIB team, set it up."
Those left behind in the RIBs got out mock fishing gear to divert any watchers in the cruisers, and give the underwater team as much time as possible.
"Underwater teams, divide in two." McCall uttered tersely when the churning of the water let him know the targets were in range and they had taken the bait. They switched direction to check out the RIBs more thoroughly before meeting the ship.
All six prepared their spear like grappling hooks for deployment. Heidi, Wildman and Braveheart detached from the other three, heading toward the second cruiser.
"Prepare hooks. Submerge and wait for the signal."
The six swam deeper underwater and waited for the cruisers to pass them.
Beneath, McCall waited. Three. Two. One.
The boats came over their heads at medium speed, slowing to approach the ribs. They are not in full throttle, McCall thought. And he wondered why.
"Deploy."
"Where are we going, Daddy?" Danny asked as Jake led him away from the safety of the jet.
Jake gave a quick, fearful glance backward. The sight of Morgan, whom he now knew as Skydancer, following them, his weapons hidden with an understanding smile while panther and another three Nighthawks -- he'd forgotten their code names -- guarded the jet, reassured him.
Morgan said this area was as secure as any in Tumah-ra could be. The government controlled the village, and he had Danny were completely safe so long as they didn't leave its boundaries and always had a Nighthawk with them. But if he'd learned anything in the past week, it was that safety and control were as shifting as sand in the wind, illusory terms that meant nothing when faced by true strength, or real evil.
This morning, Jake had felt terrible, crying need for help -- for forgiveness. Brendan and his teams were about to risk their lives to rectify his mistakes. To intercept a shipment of arms that wouldn't be on its way here if he'd had the courage to speak out. To save people he hadn't even considered in his fears for only himself and Danny. And as the jet circled the village of Makanra just on sunrise, preparing to land, he'd seen the sign.
Its denomination was uncertain, its western roof and wall partly burned, its bell tower bordering on decrepit, looking as if it had been ransacked more than once, but it was still a church. And when they got news that Brendan and his aquatic team was about to board the boats of the gunrunners, Jake felt anxiety bordering on panic. He needed strength and peace now.
"We are going to church, buddy." He whispered back to Danny. "We are going to pray for Brendan and his friends, okay? But you have to be very quiet, stick close to me and watch where you're going. There are some bad people around here."
Danny, who was as sensitive to his feelings as he was to the atmosphere, merely nodded and said softly. "Okay, Daddy." He walked subdued at Jake's side instead of in his usual hop-skip fashion, smiling with open uncertainty at the people staring at his fair skin and round eyes. "Brendan said to call him Dad since you guys got married." He remarked, his little voice shaking.
Yes, Danny felt it as much as he did, felt what was coming to them. He could smell it even. Danger...
God bless him, his son was trying to distract him, to make him think happy thoughts. "Really, buddy? Wow, huh?" Though he tried to follow Danny's lead, he kept casting worried looks right and left, clutching Danny's hand. He scurried toward the church, his apprehension growing with every step he took. Seeing shadows moving where none should be. Finding specters in silence and evil inside the stares of children who were only fascinated by his blue eyes.
"But I can't do that yet." Danny said.
They had passed the strange looking Irish pub -- what a crazy place for it -- past a school that looked long closed and had almost reached the tiny church, but suddenly his knees shook, his stomach seized and the hair on the back his neck lifted. He wheeled back, making Danny yelp as he yanked him around. "Hurry up, buddy. We have to get to the church..."
Then the shadows beyond the trees at the end of the village gelled into human forms -- forms bearing guns. The villagers scattered without a word and Jake didn't need Morgan's sudden presence right behind him or his quiet whisper of "Run for the church," to know that they were all in grave danger.
The SAR-21S amphibious assault rifles he'd specifically modified acted as one when the team hit the release button. Six spear like objects shot out from above the sights, blossoming into four-clawed grappling hooks with a steel-tip center, laser sharp and magnetic. Even if the shots were high enough, hitting the boat ensured grip. Four seconds later, the synchronized thuds told the cruises' crew that they were under attack. "Seven seconds to deck." McCall said tersely as he heard shouts from the bow of their cruiser.
Seven seconds later, the team was on deck. Twelve seconds, fins off and hooks detached from the SAR-21S, up and ready to intimidate -- to shoot if necessary. "RIB teams U-Team One and Two. Board cruisers at will."
"Roger that." Anson and Irish reported back. "Seems quiet."
Yeah -- too quiet. McCall frowned. His fighter's instincts were up and screaming at the continued silence. Gunrunners and their buyers were notoriously paranoid; crew of up to twenty should be here by now, fully armed and ready to fight. Yet no one had arrived on the stern, thirty seconds after they had hit deck...
McCall was a man who listened to his gut instincts; it had saved his ass too many times not to. "This stinks, boss. Sniffing a setup here. Call in the navy, stat. Send them to the mother lode with all firepower."
"Roger that."
"Go teams." He said, feeling as if they had walked into a trap.
"Get down, Jake. Keep out of sight, but check the back for possible points of entry and barricade them, any way you can."
Jake nodded to Morgan, dropping to his hands and knees. "Danny, there are bad men out there. I want you to hide." He whispered. Jake couldn't chance Danny's safety on the bet that the threat wasn't Falcone. "Come with me toward the back and when I tell you, climb the bell tower. I'll join you as soon as I can, but I need to help Morgan now."
Danny, wide-eyed but well trained in his fear of bed men, nodded and crawled beside Jake toward the ragged altar.
"Nighthawks Team Three, Skydancer needs urgent assistance at Mankara village church. I repeat, urgent assistance, stat with all available firepower. Request SAS backup!"
"Roger that Skydancer," Panther snapped. "ETA two minutes."
Jake crouched over, ran with all speed toward the presbytery and nave at the back of the long-abandoned church. Peering over the edge of the broken windows, he saw young men, dressed in secondhand-store army fatigues, belly crawling toward the door. They looked like kids playing dress up, barely older than Danny, except for the assault rifles in their hands...
"Danny, go." He whispered. And with one terrified look, Danny took off running for the bell-tower stairs. Grabbing the half-blackened but sturdy chair, Jake shoved it against the doors, and then slammed the partly rotten wooden bar into place between the old fashioned twist-up handles.
It might hold them for a minute or two. Jake pulled out the Glock that Brendan had given him before he'd headed out. "Just in case." He had said with a short, serious look and a hard kiss.
Morgan started firing his rifle through a hole he had punched into the locked front doors. Turning to him and seeing the gun in Jake's hand, he yelled. "Hold them off until back up arrives!"
He nodded with his stomach rolling. Brendan, I need you now! What do I do?
And then, as the belly-crawling kids came closer, he whispered a brief prayer, took careful aim and started firing out the hole in the nave window.
Oh, yeah, this reeked of a set up...
Only two people on board each cruiser and only the most basic handgun for defense? And hell, they had given up in two minutes flat without more than one shot fired. If these guys were in the arms trade, he was a raw recruit. So what did that make the people on the ship? What was really on that ship?
As they neared the small ship, more like a barge than anything else, McCall knew he was about to find out, but he had a gut feeling that he was going to hate the answer.
"What's the status on the Hardwicke, boss?"
For answer, Anson cocked his head toward the eastern horizon. "Two, three miles max. Keeping out of sight but, ready to go full stream. It can get its chopper there within two minutes."
Not close enough. McCall's gut was churning, the pain behind his eyes like a fire; his every instinct screamed danger. "Call in the choppers from the Hardwicke, boss." He said softly.
Anson only glanced at him for a moment, then he nodded. "I already prepped them to coincide with our arrival. This stinks. I feel it in my gut." He pressed send on his paging device.
McCall smiled grimly. He hadn't realized how much he depended on Anson's having the same deep-gut reaction and forethought.
As the two cruisers approached the ship, McCall saw fifty men on deck, but among them was a face he recognized. Nobody important, just a lackey, a beefy no-brain brawler -- but a faithful one. Two choppers lifted off from the back of the ship -- big, shiny Apaches, built for speed, heading for the island.
Suddenly he wanted to puke. For he knew who was behind this elaborate scheme; including ordering Skydancer to fly a convenient jet. He'd been had -- all of the Nighthawks had been taken for a ride. Big time. The rogue had struck again.
"There are no arms in that ship -- it's Falcone, boss. He's after Jake and Danny -- and our jet he wants to get them all back to Minca bel Sol. Get that ship here fast, and every chopper -- and clear two of all but the crew. I need them." McCall yelled. "We have to get back to Makanra -- now!"
Jake felt like the painted red bull's eye on a dartboard. A ring of furious kids with assault rifles surrounded them. All four of the Nighthawks and a single SAS team tried confusing them, to draw their fire, Mark time until the rest of the team returned. "We need to find out what the hell's going on." Morgan yelled grimly.
So Jake kept shooting, one careful bullet at a time, aimed just before or beside one soldier, to stop their advance toward the church. Yet closer they came. And while Morgan and the others had to doge bullets everywhere, none came near Jake. No one attempted to burn the church to smoke them out. As it they had been told to keep the people inside safe.
Dread pooled in the pit of Jake's stomach. There are no arms on that ship. It was a decoy to get me where he could take me.
As if in answer, the soft whump whump of rotor blades came to him, growing louder as they came closer. A chopper... no, two of them...and bile rose in Jake's throat. His deepest instincts told him it wasn't Brendan.
Falcone was here.
And the boy soldiers moved a little closer.
Time to stop playing. And he used all his skills to shoot now. Stifled screams came from the kids one after the other as he shot rifles out of their hands, or hit their fingers when he couldn't manage to hit the weapons. He couldn't make himself seriously hurt these kids or even kill them.
He shuddered and kept firing to disable and to disarm as many as he could and prayed desperately for Brendan and his team of angel-rescuers to come back to him.