21

T-Minus 32 Hours

Anyone on a beach on the West Coast of the United States was able to witness a purely stunning sunset. With the sparse cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere, colors of pink and gold were almost neon. Crystal-clear air, which was highly unusual for this time of year, only enhanced the colors.

Marvin Styles noticed none of it.

He had left his motel heading south on Interstate 205 and then got off on State Highway 213. The property he was looking for was about five miles outside the small town of Mulino. He had been able to locate a fire road that was only about two miles from Ryyaki Ali's estate. He turned off and proceeded a half mile up the road and found a good spot to hide his Jeep. He pulled off and parked. Styles was dressed in full camo, and he now went about applying flat camo face paint. When he was through, standing still, he was all but impossible to discern from the woods surrounding him. He decided to leave his AR-15 assault rifle, complete with silencer, hidden behind a tree ten feet from the Jeep. He'd decided that for tonight, his suppressed .40-caliber Berretta would be sufficient.

The map of Ali's land and buildings was imprinted firmly in Styles's mind. He set out on his hike through the woods. It was an enjoyable difference after thousands of hours in the sand. He knew that he would come upon the enclave of cabins first. It took him less than half an hour before he came upon an eight-foot security chain-link fence. He studied it carefully. He walked alongside for possibly a hundred yards. He saw no sign of any type of detection devices. Still he decided not to climb the fence. Instead, he looked for a tree that had a nice limb that spanned over the top. He spotted one immediately and noticed that fifteen feet away, he had the exact same situation. In and out. In less than two minutes, he was standing silently on the far side. From here on in, he would be in silent mode. He started forward, wanting the darkness to fall faster. He had night-vision gear with him. He knew that the cabins would be two hundred yards off to his right. He began his advance. The woods were very quiet. The leaves were still on the trees, rather than on the ground, making it much easier to remain silent while walking. In the distance, he could hear a vehicle start and a door slam shut. He could tell by the noise of the exhaust it was probably a pickup truck with an automatic transmission. He kept going.

By now, darkness had fallen, and he could pick up lights scattered through the trees. He was able to discern where the woods ended and the area opened up. He slowed, stopped, and got down on one knee and just listened. Two different voices could be heard. He smelled cigarette smoke and the odor of food being cooked. He made a quick check of his gear. He always secured it so that it would not move at an inopportune time and make noise, possibly alerting his presence to anyone. Very cautiously, he kept moving. Arriving at the edge of the tree line, he found a tree with a nice V in the trunk and stood behind it. He could now clearly see the eight cabins. He was opposite the sixth building, counting from his left. All the cabins appeared alike — small rectangular structures, each with a nice, covered, full-length porch on the front. A paved driveway ran up to each. Styles realized the entire road system was paved. That cost someone some bucks. Two trucks, a full-size van, and a newer BMW were parked. He decided he wanted to check the back. He slowly made his way around the end unit. Security seemed unusually lax. Probably a hell of a lot different up at the house. Arriving at the rear, the tree line was only fifty feet from the buildings. It was interesting that the tree line followed the curve of the buildings. Or probably the buildings were built to follow the natural curve of the tree line.

In his camo and paint, Styles was virtually invisible. Only with light at his back producing a silhouette would he be seen. There was still no sign of any real security measures. Weird. He watched the cabins for a full half hour. Three were dark; five had lights on. He started with the end cabin on his left. Proceeding in that direction would keep him on track to the main house. Though the cabins had blinds on the windows, none had been pulled. The first two cabins, lit, showed men eating dinner. Two in the first cabin, three in the second. Styles moved on. Cabin number three was dark. Cabin number four was lit. Suddenly, Styles froze. Light spilling out of the window revealed a set of rungs leading to the roof. Guard platform. He studied the roof for ten minutes. He scanned the roofs of the entire complex with his night-vision goggles. No sign of anyone. He waited ten more minutes and then cautiously continued. Cabin number four had a woman sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. Dressed pretty nice to be reading a newspaper. Cabin number five also had lights on. Styles eased his way over toward it. He froze.

Standing less than twenty feet from him was Rijah Ellhad, former captain in the Iraqi Republican Guard. He was standing in front of a mirror in his bedroom. He was brushing his hair. Getting ready for a date with the girl next door. Styles decided to wait, which wasn't long. Within five minutes, the light switched off. Next, the kitchen light extinguished. Then he heard a door open and shut. Twenty seconds later, a knocking was heard, and then voices, both male and female, and then the sound of a door closing. Seconds later, a vehicle door opened and closed. Styles thought hard. Has to be the dark BMW. Then another door opened and closed, and he heard the sound of a car starting. Definitely the BMW. He heard the car back out of the driveway and then proceed down the long drive that had to have led to, and past, the main house. Styles went to Ellhad's bedroom window. It wasn't even locked. Slowly, he raised it and climbed in. He put on his night-vision goggles and navigated the cabin with ease. He placed a self-stick listening device under the front edge of the kitchen countertop, next to a wall-mounted telephone. He placed another one in Ellhad's bedroom, behind the mirror that Ellhad had just been using. Styles quickly searched the cabin. The only item of real interest was four boxes of nine-millimeter ammunition, but no gun. He thought for a second and then went into the bathroom and retrieved his cell phone. He texted Starr, "Strong possibility Ellhad heading to restaurant with date. Armed. 9 mm. Don't be spotted. Driving new BMW." Replacing his cell phone, he headed back to the window through which he'd entered. Easily slipping back out, he left it as he'd found it. He made his way past the next two cabins, which were dark, coming upon the last building, which was lit. He checked to be sure there was no light behind him to cause a silhouette. Satisfied there was none, he carefully looked inside through the bottom left corner of the kitchen window. He saw four hard Middle Eastern men whom he clearly heard celebrating the death of the American president. It took all Styles's self-control not to shoot the men. Later…

Having checked the cabins, it was on to the main house. Through his earpiece, he could hear a double squelch, the signal that a conversation was desired. He walked past the tree line into the woods.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"Phillips found something. She thinks there's a strong possibility that Ryyaki Ali may have also been involved with the death of the president. A credit card that tracked back to him was used at that camping store and also at a gas station an hour outside Baltimore," Starr said.

Styles could feel every hair on his body stand on end. "Got it. This is recon only. Out." He paused to think about what he'd just been told. It was obvious this Ryyaki Ali not only had money and connections but one hell of a network. Breaking that would be as important as anything else. Suddenly he found himself thinking about how easy it was when he was just a sniper. At least at that particular moment it seemed easier. He started moving, following the paved road. After ten careful minutes, he started to see lights through the trees.

Another double squelch. Once again, he retreated back into the woods.

"Yeah."

"Phillips has security info on Ali's house. You name it, he has it. Apparently no dogs, though. But figure on everything else," Starr passed along.

"Got it." From here in, he would become a ghost. Throughout his career in the Middle East, Styles had become familiar with the manner in which security measures were employed. He suspected motion detectors, pressure plates, and even lasers. His night goggles would pick any laser beams up; it was the pressure plates that he would have to be careful with. He estimated he was two hundred yards from the house. He figured that the serious security would start about a hundred yards out. He carefully made his way until he was within fifty feet of what he considered no-man's-land. He got down on all fours. From here in, he would crab and crawl. He took out a dimly lit magnetic compass. Every sensor plate he'd seen was comprised of metal. If he approached one, the needle on the compass, being magnetic, would react. Simple but effective.

Ever so slowly, and silent as a cat, he proceeded. He was eighty yards out when the needle on the ever-so-lightly-glowing compass swung counterclockwise to Styles's left. He held it at a ninety-degree angle, and the needle pointed at a severe angle down. Styles estimated the device was possibly two feet to his left. He carefully moved sideways a foot and then continued. He saw the compass needle react as he crawled away. He made a mental note of its location. He came across two more sensor units before he came to the edge of the tree line. Surprisingly, there was no fence. He did see two guards with assault rifles slung from their necks on either side of the drive, one hundred feet from the semicircle that pulled up to and past the massive front doors. The entire area in front of the entrance was covered to protect guests from rain.

He took his binoculars and switched off the night-vision option. He glassed the house carefully. He caught sight of two more guards on platforms on the roof. He carefully flanked the two guards' positions, which brought him behind the one guard who could potentially see him. The second roof guard was now out of his line of sight. He wanted to get close to the house but didn't want to be discovered. That was imperative. He used his binoculars to carefully search for motion detectors and found four under the eaves. He easily spotted the searchlights that the detectors would trigger. He studied the exact positioning of the motion detectors.

Fuck. No matter how he approached, there was no area that wasn't overlapped. He knew that Ali would have the best, and he figured they would probably sense out at least seventy-five if not one hundred. They were only about fifty feet apart. No way to approach without setting them off. Keeping one eye on his compass, he circled the entire house, taking almost two hours to do so. Every fifty feet was a motion detector. He counted six satellite dishes installed on the roof. He also noticed two more guard platforms on the roof at the rear of the house that were currently unmanned. Frustrated, he decided to head back. He wanted to try to plant some listening devices on the windows but knew the odds of him being seen were too great to make the attempt. He had wanted to place video cameras, but to place them in a good spot, he faced the same problem. Grudgingly, he began his retreat. He made it back to the cabins without incident, carefully retracing his steps.

As an afterthought, he decided to bug the cabin he'd seen the girl in since she was still out. The window, as in the cabin next door, was open. Slipping inside, he placed a transmitter in the same locations as in Ellhad's cabin. Then it was out the window, replacing it as he'd found it, and back into the woods. Traveling at an angle, he made it back near the first pressure detector when he froze and strained to listen. He was picking up on an extremely faint noise in the distance. Had there been much wind, he'd never have heard it. Two seconds later, he knew exactly what it was, and it could potentially prove to be a bigger threat than the guards. He had to find a place to hide, and quick. Not an easy task at night in the woods. He had an idea. He took two hasty strides over to a large tree and scrambled up. Ten feet up was a large branch, easily twelve inches in diameter. He clasped his hands and arms and hung under it, keeping as much of the branch as possible between himself and the sky. The noise increased. To someone unfamiliar, it would be unlikely it would have been heard. Even if it was, no notice would be paid to it. To Styles, it was a serious threat. Baby drone. And he knew it would be shooting film, both night vision and infrared. It was his heat signature he did not want it to pick up. If it only detected his hands and wrists, it was likely they would be read as an animal in a tree. The baby drone made three passes around the property and then left the area. Styles climbed back down out of the tree and made his way back to his Jeep he'd left almost seven hours earlier.

Climbing back in, he got Starr on his cell phone. It was just past three o'clock, Sunday morning.

"Yeah," a sleepy voice answered.

"Wake up Phillips. Tell her the CIA is in the area."

"What?" Starr blurted out.

"A baby drone just made a couple of passes over Ali's house."

"How do you know it's the CIA?"

"Too quick to be anybody else. I wonder if the FAA is having a shit fit. There's something in the air, and they have no clue what it is, because you know the CIA sure as hell isn't letting anyone in on what they are doing. From what I know, there is still a big stink going on over regulation of drones. See if Phillips can find out how much they know and what they're up to. If they're in the same game, we need to know, and I'm guessing they're damned close."

"On it." After disconnecting from Styles and before he could punch in Phillips's number, Starr's own phone rang. Through the speaker, he heard Phillips's voice.

"We've got a problem."

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