Part 24 (2/2)

But when they hadn't reported in at the end of that time, Ransom's patience had worn thin; he'd finally had enough. ”I'm tired of waiting around for someone else to do our work for us. Do we still have them on the trackers?”

Wordlessly, Santiago spun the laptop that was sitting on the table in front of him in Ransom's direction, so that his boss could see the display. Three bright red dots marked the location of the three vehicles against a sea of green lighting.

Near as Ransom could tell, they hadn't moved much since the night before. There they were, still cl.u.s.tered near one another in the same general place.

”How fast can the chopper be ready?”

”Five minutes, sir,” Santiago replied, a hint of antic.i.p.ation in his reply.

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Ransom said, ”Let's pay them a visit.”

Santiago pumped his fist in the air in agreement.

Ten minutes later they were airborne and headed toward the rendezvous with their unsuspecting enemies. The chopper could cover the territory much faster and more efficiently than the trucks Davenport's men were using and so it didn't take long to get into position.

Ransom held the laptop containing the tracking software on his lap, providing instructions to the pilot, while Santiago cradled his rifle in his arms, making certain the weapon was ready for action when he needed it.

No more s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around, Ransom thought.

It didn't take long for their targets to grow closer on the screen and Ransom turned to be sure Santiago understood what he wanted.

”Remember what I said.”

Santiago's eyes shone with excitement. ”Yes, sir. Quick clean shots. Minimum damage to the vehicles if at all possible but collateral damage to the occupants is acceptable, even preferred, regardless of whether it is the tribesmen we hired or Davenport's team.”

That's what he liked about his lieutenant. You didn't have to spell everything out for him. He had initiative in spades.

The targets were less than a mile out and Ransom gave the signal for the pilot to take it lower. He didn't want to give them any more warning than was necessary.

The pilot took the chopper down low, and behind him Ransom felt Santiago slide open the side door and ready himself for what was to come.

Screw you, Davenport, Ransom thought. Time for this little game to come to an end.

He thought back to that day when Davenport had discovered his activities on the building project. The fool should have been happy that he'd found contractors willing to use the cheaper materials that he'd had s.h.i.+pped in when no one was looking. If they had finished the building the way he had planned, they would have saved eleven million dollars in construction costs alone, never mind what he could have done with the interior. So what if the structural engineers had claimed the building wouldn't hold together long-term; he'd have found another inspection firm who would have said the exact opposite. All that mattered was the money they were making.

But Davenport hadn't agreed. Ransom had been humiliated and now he intended to return the favor. He'd be known worldwide as the man who found the lost tomb of Genghis Khan, and Davenport would be buried in a shallow grave in the middle of east nowhere, right where he belonged.

A glance at the trackers showed their targets should be just over the next rise. Antic.i.p.ation surged in his veins.

”Get ready!” he shouted to Santiago, and the other man gave him the thumbs-up.

Like an avenging angel-one of darkness, at least-the helicopter crested the ridge and Ransom looked through the windscreen, searching for the trucks on which the bugs had been planted back in Ulaanbaatar.

At first, all he could see was brown scrub gra.s.s. Then the herd of wild horses that had been grazing on it burst into motion, surging left and right as they sought to escape the thunder of the mechanical bird above them.

”Where are the trucks?” Santiago shouted.

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