Deep Black

38

Karr clicked through the different magnifications of the photographs, though he was no longer paying any real attention to them. Most of the vehicles that had been at the base yesterday were gone, which probably meant that the bulk of the troops that had been located there had left with them. The question was, Had Martin?

There seemed like only one way to find out — go in and look. But that wasn’t going to be easy.

The bug that had heard Martin had landed between two low-slung buildings near the northwestern perimeter of the base. Two guard posts were situated within fifty feet of the buildings along the fence line. Even if there was no surveillance equipment to supplement them, their sight lines not only overlapped but also were visible from another set of posts farther away. Because of the way the buildings were arranged, Karr doubted there were mines between them and the fence — but since the satellite archives showed there were minefields just to the south, it would be difficult to be sure without checking.

Less than a hundred yards from the buildings sat a small airstrip, probably intended solely for helicopters. Six Helix and two Hip choppers were dispersed around it. The strip was heavily guarded. A pair of ZSU-23 antiaircraft guns were set up in shallow revetments at either end of the field; there were at least two other netted areas south of the helicopters where 23mm guns might also be hiding. Mounted on tank chassis, the weapons were primitive but deadly, and not just against aircraft. Farther to the south, just off the main road into and through the complex, was an SA-6 missile launcher with its associated vans and radar. The air defenses could hold off a pair of F-16s, let alone the Hind.

A bit of a knot, but probably doable.

“So what do you think, kid?” asked Charlie Dean, leaning in the truck window. He smelled of the rotgut he’d been pretending to drink.

“I think we need a clandestine insertion, a major diversion, and a Marine division.”

“No high-tech miracle force multipliers?”

“Actually, all we need is a pair of pliers.” Karr pondered the image, then clicked the handheld’s keys and had the computer conjure a simple outline from the photo. He knew they could get in; the plan to do it was hovering somewhere in the back of his brain but just hadn’t come forward yet.

“We’re not getting in,” said Dean.

“Sure we are,” said Karr. Something in Dean’s sarcasm finally coaxed the idea into the conscious part of Karr’s head. “We slip across here, come right over the road, then find our guy. We need a serious diversion down on this end at first. Then again at the end.”

Dean looked at him as if he were insane. “This looks like a minefield.”

“That’s because it is.”

“How do we get across it?”

“Fly,” Karr joked.

“The chopper will be a sitting duck.”

“I’m kidding, Charlie Dean. Man, you’re a lot of fun, but sometimes you’re way too serious.”

“I’m always serious where my life’s concerned.”

Karr laughed. “Listen, I want you to come in with me. We’re going to need Princess out here in case we get nailed, and besides, watching her butt while you’re getting through a minefield is extremely distracting.”

“You’re out of your fuckin’ mind.”

“That’s what they tell me.” Karr gave him a fist to the shoulder. He liked the geezer; working with him kept him on his toes. “Let’s go find some food. All this thinking makes me hungry.”

On the one hand, Dean agreed that they had to rescue their man, no matter the odds. He admired that; it was, after all, the Marine Corps way. On the other hand, what Karr had sketched out barely deserved to be called a plan.

They’d been ambushed at the junkyard because they put too much stock in their high-tech gizmos, but at least that plan could be defended based on the available intelligence. This one couldn’t. Forget the satellite photos. Even just driving around it told Dean it wasn’t going to be infiltrated. Best to go in there with a couple of companies and serious firepower.

As in six or seven tanks.

They drove back to the gypsy camp, Karr bopping up and down to some tune only he could hear, Dean trying to come up with some kind of alternative plan.

There weren’t any.

Nor were the gypsies or whatever they were at the building. Instead, a black car sat in front of the building ruins, a man in a suit sitting with his arm out the window, smoking a cigarette. Karr kept a steady pace as they passed.

“What’s up?” asked Dean.

“Looks like the police pushed them on,” said Karr. “So much for a cheap meal.”

“It cost me a decent pistol,” said Dean.

“Lia’ll bring you another; don’t worry. Couple of nice little hideaways in the S-1 pack — these little Glocks.”

“Plastic.”

“Strong and light.”

“Still plastic.”

“You only like six-guns, right, Wyatt Earp?”

“I’m not against technology. When it’s appropriate.” Dean leaned against the dashboard as he turned toward Karr, bending his head so that it was almost in his face. “You don’t really think we’re going to get in and get out alive, do you?” he asked. “Even if most of the soldiers are gone, the perimeter is well protected.”

“Nah. That minefield’s wide open.”

“How do we get across it?”

“Pogo sticks.”

“Very funny. You’re going to have to lay it out for me, step by step. Otherwise I’m not coming.”

Karr turned to look at him. The look that crossed over his face combined disgust, anger, derision — and fear. Then it dissolved in a laugh so hard the truck shook.

“You’re a lot of fun, Charlie Dean. Truly.”