Choke Point

THIRTY-THREE

The weapons report, schematics, world inventories and accompanying videos Ross showed the team were dark reminders of what they were dealing with:

The SA-24 Igla-S MANPADS (man-portable air defense system) was a shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile (SAM) fielded by the Russian Army since 2004. Dubbed the SA-24 Grinch by NATO, the 1.57-meter-long launcher unit fired a missile with a 1.17-kilogram warhead at a speed of Mach 2.3 via the solid fuel rocket motor. The Grinch had an operational range of nearly six kilometers and could kill its targets with a direct hit or by proximity fuse. The system was the equivalent of the US Stinger missile and currently regarded as one of the most lethal air defense systems ever made because of its sophisticated high jamming immunity provided by a dual-channel optical homing head with logic unit for true target selection against clutter.

If you were an Islamic terrorist, a Colombian rebel, or perhaps a Mexican cartel leader seeking portable firepower against air threats or a powerful weapon to carry out Allah’s will against infidels, then the Grinch was, in Ross’s humble opinion, the most bad-ass launcher of them all.

He took a seat at his desk as the team gathered around.

‘So as I was saying,’ Kozak began after the weapons briefing. ‘Do you know what this means?’

‘It means we ain’t going home,’ Pepper said. ‘Not anytime soon …’

‘Right,’ Kozak agreed. ‘But check this out.’ He began reading from his own tablet computer. ‘The Russians have been selling these Grinch launchers to Venezuela, and the State Department has been worried for a long time that those launchers could find their way into the hands of the FARC. They, in turn, might sell them to the Mexicans. You know how that goes: Here’s a few bricks of cocaine, and with every order over five hundred grand, you get a free rocket launcher. Worse thing is, terrorists trying to get into the US through Mexico could get their hands on one of those puppies.’

‘So why are these FARC guys shipping the launchers overseas?’ 30K asked. ‘Are they selling them?’

‘These launchers don’t come from Venezuela,’ said Kozak.

‘Okay, now I’m confused,’ said 30K.

‘He’s right,’ Ross interjected. ‘During the civil war here in Libya, the warehouses in Tripoli were raided, and thousands of these Grinch launchers, along with the older SA-7s, went missing. Both sides stole them for their own use. I remember seeing pictures of civilian cars loaded with cases.’

‘So are these babies going back to Colombia then?’ asked Pepper. ‘Meaning the FARC have found another source for their weapons?’

‘That’s possible,’ said Ross. ‘If they’re not headed back there, then maybe Hamid’s new terrorist group is taking possession. Maybe he made a deal with the Libyans who stole them.’

‘Or better yet, maybe they’re splitting them up,’ said 30K. ‘Send some from Libya to Colombia, then send the rest to Mr Hamid’s house. Weapons, money, drugs all flowing in multiple directions.’

Ross slapped his palms on his knees, about to stand. ‘Well, this, gentlemen, is why they pay us the big bucks.’ He turned to Pepper. ‘Make sure your motorcycle’s got a full tank.’

‘Roger that.’

Ross glanced to the others. ‘We’ve got observers on the hotel and the warehouses. We’ll rotate out on watch. Everyone, try to grab a few z’s. We have a big day tomorrow.’

Ross had his arm draped over his eyes and was lying on his back, the support poles of the bed digging into his spine. He’d been fading in and out of sleep for the past hour, his thoughts rising in explosive clouds then dissipating before he could fully grapple with them:

His first date with Wendy at the Abbey Road Pub in Virginia Beach, how the ketchup bottle exploded …

Taking her to the beach that night and proposing, on his knees in the sand, the half-carat diamond small but the best he could afford …

Her calling him in Afghanistan to say they were going to have a baby, her voice cracking and making him cry …

The birth announcement card welcoming Jonathan Taylor Ross into the world, 10 pounds, 3 ounces …

Him telling Wendy at Jonathan’s first birthday party: ‘I can’t wait. I’m going to teach him how to be a man.’

And then, 14 August, the sunburn on Jonathan’s nose, his swimming trunks hanging loosely from his bony waist …

‘Dad? It’s so hot outside. Can you shoot us with the hose?’

Ross didn’t realize he’d been shaken awake and fallen on to the concrete floor until 30K was grabbing his arm and saying, ‘Captain? Are you okay?’

He glanced around, disoriented for a few seconds then realizing what had happened. ‘Oh, man, yeah. Thought I was back home in my own bed.’

‘You were yelling something.’

‘No, I wasn’t.’

‘Yeah, you were.’

Ross sat up and stared hard into 30K’s eyes. ‘No, I wasn’t …’

30K just looked at him, shook his head and headed back across the basement to his own bed.

And there, in the dim glow of his tablet computer, was Pepper, just staring at him.

‘Sorry, guys, I’m cool. Back to sleep.’

Kozak was up on the church’s roof, watching as the guards at the Fadakno warehouse were checking the backup power status of the cameras and motion detectors. They had, he assumed, replaced the backup batteries and checked the fuse boxes, only to discover that all of the cameras and sensors were still not functioning. They might attribute the problem to a power surge, and that would put Kozak’s mind at ease.

About ten minutes later, 30K arrived on the roof to relieve him. ‘Thanks, buddy,’ Kozak said.

‘Hey, Sinbad had a nightmare. He fell right off his bed.’

‘Are you talking about Captain Ross?’ Kozak asked darkly.

‘Yeah.’ 30K began shaking his head.

‘Don’t go there,’ warned Kozak. ‘It’s just stress.’

30K smirked. ‘Whatever you say.’