Target America

80

Bworz and Tomas stood peering out through a crack in the drapes as Commander Brighton got out of the Bronco and strolled casually up the block toward where the cruisers were parked on the north side of the house.

“He has to be here for us,” Tomas said. “His truck is full of commandos.”

“They’re not commandos!” Bworz said sarcastically, slinging his AK-47. “Look how he’s dressed. Use your head. They wouldn’t send a man in sandals, they’d send the Marines. There are hundreds of them right across the street.”

“Then who are those other men in the truck? They look like Marines to me.”

“Yes, well, this island is full of military men. Rest easy.”

Brighton began to pass out of sight around the corner, but they couldn’t open the drapes to watch him for fear of being seen. “Someone check the other side of the house and see where he’s going.”

One of the men stepped into the bedroom on the north side of the house and came right back out. “There are two policemen parked right across the street. He’s talking to them.”

Everyone unslung and primed his weapon as he moved to take a firing position.

“Admit it!” Tomas said to Bworz. “They forced your uncle to talk. They know we’re in here.”

In his heart, Bworz knew it was true, but he didn’t understand why the Americans were moving so casually. “Why would they send police instead of Marines?”

Tomas shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, you fool, it does matter! You don’t send two policemen and men in sandals to retrieve an atomic bomb. You send Marines! And there are hundreds of them right across the street. Something is wrong here. Maybe Kashkin did talk, but if he did, they obviously don’t completely trust his information. So keep your wits about you — all of you!”

He closed the gap in the drapes and glanced at his watch. They wouldn’t have to hold out for long before it would be too late for the Americans to disarm the bomb. Kashkin had wired a series of booby traps and false leads into the detonator that would make it impossible for even an expert explosives technician to decipher the nest of wiring in under a half hour. Once there was less than twenty minutes or so left on the clock, it wouldn’t matter whether Bworz and his men were still alive or not.

“He’s going back to his truck!” called a man from the other room. “And the police are leaving.”

Bworz smiled at Tomas. “See? They’re unsure of themselves, and they’re wasting time. We’ll let them continue to waste time. In half an hour, we’ll be in the presence of Allah, and these infidels will be burning in hell.”

“Hey!” someone shouted from the bedroom on the south side of the house. “Three black trucks are racing up the street! They’re coming right at the house!”

Tomas glared at Bworz and threw open the door to see three black SUVs screeching to a halt in front of the house. He tore off across the lawn firing from the shoulder, followed by another Chechen gunner, and Bworz kicked the door closed after them.

Running out to meet the lead SUV, Tomas fired point-blank into the FBI SWAT team as they attempted to dismount. His compatriot raked the other two trucks until his magazine ran dry, and both men disappeared down the sidewalk to reload, leaving more than half of the SWAT team dead or dying.