Piranha

42

The first shimmer of dawn peeked above the hills now denuded of the thick forest that Linda had seen in Gunther Lutzen’s photos of the area in 1902. The vegetation that had sprung up in its place was a thicket of small trees and bushes that covered the gullies and ridges around Lake Péligre.

From their prone position on a rocky outcrop, she and Eric had a clear view of the cement plant five hundred yards to the east where it abutted the coastline. There was virtually no breeze to ruffle the water reflecting the scattered clouds being illuminated by the morning sun.

They had left the PIG a mile away and hiked to this spot through uninhabited country. Linda scanned the vista with a pair of Steiner 20×80 military-grade binoculars. There was enough light now for her to see the gravel road coming in from the west and paralleling the power lines from the nearby hydroelectric dam. She could make out several men on security detail and others walking between buildings.

“What’s the force projection?” Eric asked.

“I count at least ten so far, but those buildings are big enough to house a regiment. How is the PIG looking?”

Eric tapped on his control pad, then looked at his watch. “Everything checks out, but I can’t drive and operate the weapons systems simultaneously. If Hali and MacD don’t get back soon, you’re going to have to switch between observing the factory and firing the weapons.”

A bush rustled behind them, momentarily sending Linda’s heart rate into the stratosphere. She whipped around, bringing her assault rifle to bear.

“Our ears were burning,” MacD said. Hali was right behind him.

Linda lowered her weapon. “Did you get the package set?”

MacD took up position next to her with a Barrett.50 caliber sniper rifle. “We put it where no one will spot it even if they’re standing on it.”

“The tracker is activated,” Hali said as he lay down. “The Chairman shouldn’t have any trouble finding it.”

“From down there,” MacD said, “this ridge looked almost like it did in Lutzen’s picture. Except for the whole clear-cutting thing.”

“Without any other fuel source, the residents have stripped the forests bare for firewood,” Linda said. “With few trees to hold the soil, the lake is filling up with silt and causing the dam to lose power.”

“Looks like they have plenty left over to light up that cement factory.”

“And power the neutrino telescope,” Eric added. He swept the area with the thermal scope. “I’m picking up excessive heat signatures pluming off that building next to the dome.”

Linda raised the binoculars and saw what he was talking about. In the growing light, she could see crude vents cut out of the roof.

“That must be where the diesel backups are. They wouldn’t be depending solely on the power from the dam, not when it’s so spotty. According to the CIA, the turbines can go down for hours at a time.”

“So that’s target number two?” Hali asked.

“Yes.” Linda looked at her watch. Seven a.m. on the dot.

She lifted the radio to her mouth. “Dragonfly, this is Groundhog. What’s your position?”

“Dragonfly here, Groundhog,” came the Chairman’s reply over the sound of the MD 520N’s pounding rotors. “We are right on schedule. The mission is a go.”

“Copy that, Dragonfly. The package has been delivered.”

“Understood. If you haven’t heard from us in forty minutes after landing, abort the mission.”

Not only was that a lot of time to keep Bazin and his mercenaries occupied but the Chairman’s margin of error for his part of the mission was razor thin. Linda glanced at her team. MacD actually shook his head. She shared the sentiment, but she was also an officer. “Acknowledged, Dragonfly.” It was bad luck in the Corporation to wish someone good luck, so Linda signed off by saying, “Happy hunting. Out.”

“Okay, Eric,” she said, “start the fireworks.”

He nodded to Hali, who had his own control pad and screen at the ready. Eric pushed the stick forward and the camera showing the view from the front of the PIG slewed around until it was aimed dead center at one of the power line poles.

“Fire one,” Hali said, and tapped on the control pad.

A rocket shot out from the PIG’s launcher and blew the pole apart. The lines came down in a shower of sparks. The boom followed a few seconds later.

“And the light switch turns off,” Hali said.

Linda trained the binoculars on the cement plant. The lights flickered off for a moment and then came back on. The few mercenaries who were visible milled around in confusion.

“Proceed to next target,” Linda said.

Eric jammed the stick forward and the PIG’s 800 horses propelled the truck at breakneck speed. Linda shifted her view to the road and spotted the PIG emerging from behind the hill.

“I’ve got target lock,” Hali said.

“Fire,” Linda ordered.

Two mortars were fired up through the PIG’s roof opening. They flew in an invisible arc until they came down on the building housing the diesel generators. The fuel tanks must have been inside the building as well because the initial blast of the mortars was dwarfed by the explosion that followed.

The lights went out for good.

Mercenaries were racing in all directions looking for their attackers. It didn’t even look like controlled chaos. Just chaos.

As the fire raged, Linda could make out the approaching throb of helicopter blades. The MD 520N swooped along the lake just above the surface.

When it was a few hundred yards from its landing spot, Linda said, “Launch at target three.”

“Switching to smoke,” Hali replied as his fingers danced across the control pad. “Firing.”

Three more mortars thumped from the launcher, this time flying next to the plant to land on the side closest to the lake. They landed right on target and began pumping out dense white smoke.

Linda was impressed. Despite being put together using code on the fly, the mission actually seemed to be going according to plan. They had provided the perfect distraction, and now Bazin’s men would retreat to a defensive posture, waiting for an attack that wouldn’t be coming.

She switched her view back to the cement plant, where movement at one of the buildings caught her eye. When she saw what emerged from inside, she knew the mission was not going to continue as planned.

She quickly spoke into the radio. “Be advised, Dragonfly, Bazin’s got infantry-fighting vehicles and they’re armed with twenty-millimeter cannons.”

“Thanks for the update, Groundhog. Now tell us the bad news.”

“One of them is headed your way.”

Cans of Red Bull were scattered at Kensit’s feet, and the only time he’d gotten up from his seat in the last twenty hours was to open the door when one of Bazin’s men, who served as the yacht’s crew, brought him his next meal. Luckily, he had plenty of empty water bottles to make trips to the head unnecessary.

The drone jets had already taken off from Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida and were winging across the Everglades, six unmanned QF-16s escorted by two F-15 manned fighters armed with air-to-air missiles. Kensit hadn’t taken control of them yet, but the feed he was getting from the fighters’ navigation systems on his computer showed him exactly where they were at any point in time, so he didn’t need to use Sentinel.

He also knew the transponder code of Air Force Two and was tracking its movement as it flew over the West Indies. Its takeoff had been pushed up by a half hour, so his anticipated interception with the drones would now take place even earlier, at 8:30 a.m. Governor Washburn would join him to watch the destruction of the vice president’s plane.

With both sets of planes converging on one screen, he was able to follow Juan Cabrillo’s movements using Sentinel. Cabrillo, Eddie Seng, Franklin Lincoln, and Mike Trono had boarded the chopper, wearing green camouflage uniforms that matched the flora surrounding the cement plant, leaving Max Hanley and Mark Murphy as the senior staff in the Oregon’s op center. All four men on the helicopter had been heavily armed with assault weapons and several RPGs. Instead of having a close view inside the cabin where it would be difficult to listen in on the conversations because of the noise from the rotor wash, he chose to watch the helicopter from the exterior. Once it landed, he’d stay with Cabrillo to relay his movements to Bazin.

“The helicopter is headed for the eastern side of the cement plant,” he said into his headset microphone.

“I’ve got a Ratel armored vehicle going there now. But shooting him down will be difficult with all the smoke.”

Kensit sat forward. “What smoke?” Then he saw it as the helicopter spun around and flew toward the coast. Tracers from the 20mm cannon lanced across the sky, but the shots were nowhere close to the chopper.

The helicopter descended into the smoke before Kensit could close in on the cockpit. He zoomed in as it plunged into the opaque cloud spewing from the canisters.

Ten seconds later, the helicopter took off, emerging from the smoke without its passengers.

Kensit pushed his virtual camera from the neutrino telescope into the smoke, but it was like looking into a glass of milk. He occasionally saw the flash of clothing or an arm and then it disappeared again.

He rotated his viewpoint so that he was looking straight down on the landing spot, but the cloud had expanded to cover an area bigger than three football fields, all the way from the edge of the cement plant property to the lake and up the closest hillock, which was packed with enough foliage to cover a crawling person’s movements. By the time he pulled back enough to see the Ratel armored vehicle approaching the edge of the smoke, he realized that Juan Cabrillo had vanished.