Time to Kill: A Sniper Novel

16

The sky above the airport was cloudless in the predawn darkness, and it seemed to Kyle that every light at the facility must be turned on. Corridors of illumination outlined the runways. Stars and planets were still bright in the heavens, and in sharp contrast to that galactic display, a straight line of blinking lights was moving closer, stacked one above another into the distance: planes descending to land.

Wearing his Egyptian-style clothing, he was hidden in the deep shadow beside an air-conditioning vent on the roof of a gasoline station about a mile from the main gate. From the top of the square cinder-block structure, Kyle had a wide field of view for his binos; he saw the soldiers steadily pushing outward and estimated the perimeter would extend to cover the gas station within thirty minutes. Tianha Bialy was crouched nearby, also with binos, watching for patrols.

Back on Hotel Row, they could still hear chaos, but at the airport, everything seemed in order, another sign that the military was in charge and commands were being obeyed. The terminal building was a simple long rectangle with bay windows beneath metal awnings across the front, and the structure opened in the rear directly onto the parking apron for the planes. Dozens of figures moved purposefully about, most with weapons, but many of them also obviously airport staff doing their normal jobs, although under new management. Soldiers were establishing a strongpoint in the long, bare parking lot out front: a machine gun on a tripod and some RPGs — rocket propelled grenades — behind a concrete barrier. A beefy Jeep with a mounted automatic weapon was parked near the roadway entrance. He could not make out the exact types of the weapons at this distance but assumed they were all standard military issue and nothing exotic. The soldiers were showing good discipline, he thought; they were probably members of the elite Quds Force.

Swanson shifted position only slightly when Tianha quietly said, “Omar’s here.”

There were soft footsteps, and Omar Eissa squatted beside them. “I’m still alive.”

“That will be counted as a plus,” Swanson joked. “How’d it go?”

“Easier than anticipated. I followed another hire car right up to the gate, and we both raised hell about everything being closed. The other guy turned away immediately, but I recognized one of the security guys and slipped him some cash. I told him that I had clients who were desperate to get out of town on the morning flights, and he thumbed back over his shoulder toward the Iranian soldiers and told me the airport will be off-limits to all civilian traffic for a couple of days. I obediently turned around and drove off. Here I am.”

“What is your assessment?” Kyle swung his binos back to the sky. The first plane was on final approach.

“This group is spread pretty thin over such a very large area, but they are showing no nerves because there is no doubt that they are in control.”

Kyle scanned the airfield. The troops were indeed moving slowly. “Adrenaline dump. They were all riding a high sense of alertness for several hours before landing and getting out here, all keyed up and ready to fight, only to discover it was a walkover. They burned a ton of energy and now they are thinking, OK, we’ve got time to breathe. Combine that with this early morning hour, and their leaders are going to be busy kicking the troops to make sure they stay awake.”

Tianha said, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go report to London.”

“Make sure they pass it straight to Washington.” He did not move the glasses and could now see the first plane swoop down with its landing gear extended like talons, a Boeing 707. It touched down about a hundred meters from the north end of the runway, the great tires squealing and smoking against the tarmac as the engines roared into reverse as it sailed past a squat yellow fuel truck parked beside a concrete turnout.

“Of course they will, but I will remind them nonetheless.”

“Your mission, looking for that Pharaoh guy, is in real jeopardy now, Dr. Bialy,” he said and swept his arm toward the airport. “They should consider pulling you out right away.”

She crossed her arms. “In my opinion, it is now more important than ever for me to find the Pharaoh and get him to supply us with information. I won’t give up.”

“Look. This has turned into one ugly morning, and the arrival of Iranian combat troops means that all bets are canceled. All three of us will be lucky to survive until sundown.”

“I’ll wait in the car while you debate some more,” Omar scolded and hustled away.

Kyle felt the sting of starting to lose his temper again. “I’m sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to start barking. But it is best that you go with Omar and bring our bosses up to speed,” he said in a gentler tone. “I’m going to be busy out here for a little while longer. Get yourself into some regular Egyptian clothes and take the opportunity to stuff some food down your throat, because we don’t know when we will have a chance to eat again. I will join you guys at the safe house just as soon as I can. Omar told me where it was.”

“What are you going to do?”

When he did not answer, she left without further comment, apology unaccepted.

Kyle returned his binos to the airport in time to watch the newly landed plane run to the far end of the runway, turn, and roll off to a taxiway that brought it back toward the terminal. It stopped, and the door opened, with wheeled ladders pushed into place at the front and rear hatches. Moments later, a line of uniformed Iranian soldiers with weapons descended out of the plane and shuffled into formation. A little tractor hooked to the nose of the airliner and hauled it off toward the hangar area, just as the second plane nosed out of the gray morning sky. This operation was running like an efficient assembly line, everything happening right on time.

He stuffed the binos back into the case and stood still and alone on the rooftop for a moment as his subconscious formulated a plan using both facts and logical supposition. An unknown number of large transport aircraft were ferrying in troops, probably hundreds of soldiers, and he could hear an increased volume of gunfire and explosions back at the hotels. He did not know what was happening back there. From a deep pocket of his loose, dirty white trousers, Swanson removed his satellite phone and thought of hitting the button that would link him to Task Force Trident in Washington, but he was running short of time. He was not quite sure who was killing whom, but Kyle could report that one thing was certain: Iran had just invaded Egypt. Tianha would be giving the same thing to London, of course, which would immediately share it with Washington. It would take time for him to explain everything that was happening, and right now minutes were in short supply.

He could talk or he could act. The darkness was already giving way to faint early-morning light, the planes were coming in at precise intervals, soldiers were fanning out as more arrived, and if Kyle wanted to somehow screw with their efficient plan, he had to move right now. He dropped the phone back in his pocket, slung the rifle over one shoulder and a backpack over the other, and struck out at a slow trot through the shadows, headed for the north end of the runway.

At the command of First Lieutenant Taghavi, almost a hundred Iranian commandos rose as one from the sloping shelf of sand bordering the large hotel and spread into a long line, with a squad trailing in reserve. They had waited as still as statues, except for the one incident with the overzealous guard, while the sounds of automatic rifle fire, the quieter pops of pistols, and the occasional explosion resulted in the screams of trapped tourists being slaughtered in the rooms, in the hallways, and around the outside. Although the soldiers suppressed any feelings of humanity until they were told to move forward, they were eager to surge into the melee. The horde of gunmen had worked themselves into a frenzy of bloodlust, but they were so disorganized that they had posted no sentries and never saw the Iranians coming. The gunmen might have been dressed like Egyptian soldiers, but they were just a mob.

Brilliant streaks of red and white flares darted skyward, some going off like giant fireworks while others drifted back to earth beneath small parachutes that painted ghastly white or scarlet red shadows that stretched and danced. Taghavi’s Iranians advanced almost in step, easy on their triggers but mowing down any armed opposition. Smoke grenades burst to cover the advancing troops; then stun grenades were bounced into the lobby and other ground-floor entrances to detonate with sudden crashes that immobilized everyone inside.

The flanks circled the hotel, with the opposite ends closing together almost shoulder to shoulder, and when the raiders realized that they were now the ones under attack and tried to escape, there was no hole to be found in the security cordon. They were killed one by one, or in small groups, and those who tried to jump from windows were shot when they hit the ground.

The Iranians took control of the ground floor within four minutes, then went through the hotel room by room, methodically clearing the spaces and taking down any gunmen they found. Their orders had been clear: Once the hotel was recaptured, the soldiers switched into a friendly mode toward the surviving civilians. Medical personnel rendered first aid until emergency services ambulances arrived and were allowed to enter. Even the few police cars that showed up were given protection, and the cops were allowed to take over crowd control. Several photographers were escorted into the hellish scene to document what they found.

During the counterattack on the Blue Neptune, the raiders at the other hotels stopped shooting and fled into the night, so that by the time the rescue parties of Sharm police accompanied by Iranian soldiers arrived, little fighting was encountered, although still more flares zoomed skyward, smoke grenades loosed clouds of color and weapons were fired to maintain the façade of fierce fighting.

It took about an hour to clear all of the buildings. Then the Iranians stood aside and let the civilians and the medics mop up the carnage among the civilians while the Iranian troops collected the bodies of the impostors dressed like Egyptian troops. The corpses would be hauled back to the ship for disposal far from curious eyes.

Lieutenant Taghavi radioed Major Shakuri. “We’re done, sir. Mission accomplished.”

Good luck for him, bad for them. Kyle saw the pair of headlights approaching along the service road, then heard the growl of the engine, and he rolled into a ditch until the car drove past. There were two soldiers in it, the passenger laughing at something the driver had said. Swanson got out of the ditch and resumed his journey, breathing easily and watching the taillights grow smaller before they flared bright when the driver hit the brakes.

It came to a halt only fifty yards from the runway, not far from the golden glow of landing lights bordering the right side of the approach path, and that illumination compromised their night vision. Kyle slowed his pace and angled his head down and away so the glare would not affect him as much. The soldiers got out and stretched, looking around but seeing nothing of interest because Kyle had flopped back into the ditch and was crawling forward on his hands and knees while listening to them talk. He lowered to his belly, slithered even closer in a measured stalk, dumped his gear, and pulled a razor-edged knife as he waited for the roar that he knew would come.

In less than two minutes, the next big plane came settling in, angling toward the runway while the pilot kept the nose up like some prehistoric giant bird, and the sudden howl of the engines drowned out all normal sound. It was only natural for the two guards to turn and watch it land. It was just as natural for Swanson to use that moment to break cover and kill them both.

He first took the guy on the right, who was standing a bit behind the other, with his head conveniently tilted far back, looking up at the plane. Kyle snaked his left arm over the exposed shoulder and brought his forearm hard against the nose and mouth. A kick behind the right knee forced the man off balance and arched him against Kyle, who snatched up and back hard to stretch the neck even more. A single, rapid left-to-right deep tear with the blade took out the windpipe and main arteries with a ripping sound, followed by a gush of dark red blood. The sound was lost in the roar of the plane engines, but the sudden blur of motion caught the attention of the other guard.

With his surprise gone, this would have to be a scramble kill, and Kyle launched an unrelenting attack with deadly purpose. The body of his first victim was still against him, so Swanson kicked and threw it directly into the startled second soldier. He followed in immediately and hard, taking the man to the ground while stabbing wildly around the body between them, slashing the stomach and legs of the man on the bottom. Swanson violently pushed aside the first victim and mauled the second, who was already in shock and great pain, with his upper body now exposed to the assault. Swanson clamped his left hand over the man’s mouth and pushed the point of the knife deep into the stomach, up behind the ribs and into the heart area, then twisted hard and sawed and cut and watched impassively as life left the man’s eyes and the bowels and bladder let go. Kyle pulled the blade free, wiped it, and rolled the corpses into the ditch. They would be discovered easily, but that was unimportant.

By Kyle’s count, that airplane had been the eleventh big transport to land, and he had no way of knowing if it was the last or if more were coming. He could still see distant lights in the sky, though, and since Omar had confirmed the airport was closed to civilian traffic, it was logical that at least a couple more Iranian aircraft were on the way in the initial lift of troops. They had been arriving at the rate of one transport every fifteen minutes. He would proceed on that assumption and try to slow things down and let the Iranians know everybody was not playing by their rules.

Swanson understood that he was acting without orders, going on instincts that had been honed in battles of years past. One of his personal mottos was that it was sometimes better to ask forgiveness than to seek permission, and he was doing what he thought was in the best interests of his country. It was not the first time that he had run an unauthorized mission. Covert missions were run all over the world, all the time, and this one just happened to fall into his lap. The paperwork would just have to catch up. Official condemnations might erupt later, but any negative fallout would go elsewhere, while Kyle shuffled out the back door as an unseen force.

Meanwhile, he was right here, right now, with a window of opportunity, a bag full of explosives, and nobody asking questions.