The Darkest Day

FIFTY-EIGHT

He went to continue, but Raven raised a fist to tell him to halt because —

A soft mechanical click sounded nearby.

Victor pictured a hammer cocking and a muzzle pointing his way, but only for a split second because he then heard the scrape of steel teeth against flint and the whoosh of an igniting flame.

Raven lowered herself deeper into the undergrowth as Victor did the same. He pivoted on the spot. The origin of quiet sound was hard to pinpoint amongst the background noise of rustling foliage and overhead jets.

She pointed and he saw the floating dot of glowing orange first, and then the shape of a man came into view. He stood in the shadows, almost invisible until his arm moved as he brought the cigarette away from his mouth. Rising smoke drifted through a swathe of silver moonlight.

Victor remained still and silent, watching and evaluating. Considering.

He could kill the man without trouble. A double tap of rounds from Guerrero’s SIG would be more than enough at this range, but the weapon was unsuppressed. Halleck’s people in the terminal building would hear, even with the noise of low-flying airliners to help disguise it. Raven saw him thinking and gestured to her Ruger, which was as close to silent as any firearm could get. He shook his head. She had no spare ammunition, and if there was one sentry outside there could be others. They might hear even the Ruger’s quiet bark. Victor had no way of knowing how many they numbered or their proximity to this position.

He watched her tuck the Ruger away and draw her filleting knife.

She stepped to the side, moving in a slow circle until she was four metres behind the sentry, who continued to smoke his cigarette.

Victor watched her approach, one careful step after the next, more dragging her feet along the ground than walking so as to reduce the chances of snapping twigs beneath her soles.

At two metres, Raven paused. She could see the sentry better now. The man was a fraction shorter than her. It would be simple to slap a palm over the mouth and pull the head back to slice the throat from ear to ear.

At one metre away, she stopped again, because the sentry said:

‘This is Four, all quiet. Next check-in at o-one-forty-nine. Over.’

Victor checked his watch. It had just turned 1.39. If the sentry didn’t report in ten minutes, the alarm would be raised. Ten minutes was not going to be enough time. But no password had been used.

Four light steps and Raven was behind the sentry. At the blade’s touch, blood burst free and soaked the sentry’s clothes. Her palm caught and muffled the man’s gurgling scream. In less than ten seconds the sentry was unconscious.

Raven lowered him to the ground. By the time she had finished checking his pockets and taking his radio, the man was dead. Victor approached.

Raven said, ‘Here,’ and tossed him the man’s weapon.

Victor caught it. It was a UMP sub-machine gun.

‘Ammo,’ Raven said, and threw him spare magazines.

They moved on. Victor didn’t relish the idea of crossing the open ground that lay between the woodland and the old airport buildings, but they had no choice. They would be easy prey for any kind of half-decent marksman behind a rifle. There was nothing to take cover behind for almost five hundred metres.

He allowed himself to move at a faster pace. Outside of the darkness of the woodlands the moon provided plenty of illumination. They would be easier to spot crossing the space, but on the plus side they would see any other sentries from a long way off.

He tried not to think about a keen-eyed marksman lying on the roof of one of the hangars, armed with a high-velocity rifle equipped with an infrared scope.

No shot came, so no marksman.

They crossed the runaway, leaning forward in half crouches to reduce their profile.

Concrete slabs surrounded the hangars and the terminal building. Weeds bordered every concrete slab. A rusted steel hatch covered an entrance to a tunnel that ran from the terminal building, under the apron where they loaded the plane and out to the plane, avoiding the wash from propeller blades. It was sealed shut, and if not for the concrete floor that had been poured over the hatch at the other end, would have made an excellent entry point into the building.

Victor held the SIG down by his hip for speed. There was no need to have it ready to aim now. Any enemies were out of sight and out of range. If he had to open fire before he reached the safety of the hangars it would mean certain death, caught out in the coverless ground against multiple enemies.

Speed was their best ally now. He knew they were silhouetted against the horizon, but they had no choice. If they crawled across earth to reduce the chances of being spotted it would only increase the time they were exposed. They had to trust to speed to take the place of concealment and cover.

They had been waiting in the dark long enough for their night vision to be at maximum. The men inside the airfield buildings, having spent all evening in brighter interiors, would be blind in comparison. But only outside. The moment Victor and Raven emerged into light, their vision would suffer.

The old Naval Air Station building had two above-ground levels and one half-sunken storey. At the centre of the north-facing façade a hexagonal tower protruded and rose a further level, with the control tower itself perched on top.

They approached it from the south, rounding it until they were at the north side, between the building and the aircraft hangar.

A flatbed truck was parked between the two.