Part 25 (1/2)

Nimec licked his lips.

”My feeling is they could be,” he said. ”The satellite pictures will tell us more.”

She shook her head in anxious disbelief.

”What now?” she said. ”We need to ... are you going to contact the State Department?”

Nimec saw her hand trembling on her armrest, and took hold of her wrist.

”Annie--”

”It can't be allowed to happen again, Pete,” she said. ”It--”

”Annie.”

She looked at him.

”We'll handle this,” he said. His grip was firm around her wrist. ”I promise.”

TWENTY.

WESTERN BRAZIL APRIL 23, 2001.

UNMARKED, GHOST-GRAY, THEIR PROP/ROTOR WING-TIP nacelles tilted at 90deg angles to their fuselages in full vertical-takeoff-and-landing mode, the pair of Bell-Boeing V-22 Ospreys left their launch platforms in the ISS compound's helipad area at 7:00 P.M Brazilian Daylight Time, rising straight and straightaway through layers of purple twilight at a speed of 1,000 feet per minute. nacelles tilted at 90deg angles to their fuselages in full vertical-takeoff-and-landing mode, the pair of Bell-Boeing V-22 Ospreys left their launch platforms in the ISS compound's helipad area at 7:00 P.M Brazilian Daylight Time, rising straight and straightaway through layers of purple twilight at a speed of 1,000 feet per minute.

In the starboard pilot seat of the lead Osprey's gla.s.s c.o.c.kpit, Ed Graham glanced out his rearview mirror and saw his wingman slot into formation off his port side. He had on a modular integrated display and sight helmet that allowed for day-or-night heads-up flight and resembled nothing more than the headgear worn by rebel star-fighter jocks in Star Wars. Star Wars. Beside him, the upper half of Mitch Winter's face was also hidden under a MiDash helmet. Beside him, the upper half of Mitch Winter's face was also hidden under a MiDash helmet.

Although they had spent many hours training in the Osprey, and proven their skill and teamwork at handling the Skyhawk chopper under fire, this would be their first offensive mission in the tiltrotor craft.

Six minutes into their ascent, Graham used the thumb-wheel control on his thrust lever to graduate the nacelles down 45deg to their horizontal positions--at which point the Allison T406-AD-400 turbines behind their rotor hubs began to perform like the engines of a standard high-speed turboprop, bearing the Osprey on a westerly course toward the Chapadas as it rose to its cruising alt.i.tude of 26,000 feet.

Ferried in the s.p.a.cious personnel/cargo hold of each Osprey were complements of twenty-five Sword operatives in indigo battle-dress uniforms and ant.i.terrorist gear. They wore ballistic helmets with face s.h.i.+elds, night-vision goggles, and digital radio headsets beneath the helmets. They wore Zylon soft body armor and load-bearing vests accessorized with baton and knife holders, incapacitant spray pouches, and other special-operations rigs. Their weapons included WRS automatic rifles, Benelli Super 90 12-gauge shotguns chambered to accept 3-inch nonlethal rounds, FN Herstal Five-Seven sidearms fitted with laser grips, and an a.s.sortment of incendiary, smoke, and phosphorous grenades. The strike team in the wing craft also wore padded knee guards, and had rappelling ropes and pitons on their web utility belts.

It was almost one week to the day since they had been taken by surprise and forced to do battle on the defensive; since their home ground had been invaded and torn apart with mines and plastic explosives; since fifteen of their friends and brothers-in-arms had been killed or wounded by a then-unknown invasion force.

Now they hoped to turn the tables.

Pocketing his aviator gla.s.ses in the waning daylight, Kuhl felt a cool breeze drift across the plateau and dry the perspiration on his dun colored head scarf. He heard the Lockheed's turbines powering up on the airstrip behind him, turned from the partially evacuated camp in the ravine downslope, and watched as the last and most important items of payload were carried aboard the transport in plain wooden crates.

Despite how well things had gone, he was mildly ill at ease, and could not quite put his finger on the reason why. Perhaps it was just the precise and demanding timetable to which he'd needed to adhere, coupled with an impatience to get on to Kazakhstan. There was always a tightness within him before he made his finis.h.i.+ng thrust. Yet this unsettled feeling had a somewhat different quality, and he wondered if the almost too too smooth progression of events thus far--the absence of any outward sign that Roger Gordian's people had made substantial headway following the trail of their attackers, or were pursuing it with the aggressiveness one might expect of such an estimable force--might not be the cause of it. As a hunter, Kuhl knew the advantage of circling in silence. But he also knew that there were circles smooth progression of events thus far--the absence of any outward sign that Roger Gordian's people had made substantial headway following the trail of their attackers, or were pursuing it with the aggressiveness one might expect of such an estimable force--might not be the cause of it. As a hunter, Kuhl knew the advantage of circling in silence. But he also knew that there were circles within within circles. That a hunter at the edge of the smaller circle could all too easily become prey at the center of the larger ... circles. That a hunter at the edge of the smaller circle could all too easily become prey at the center of the larger ...

A pair of men in khaki fatigues with Steyr AUG a.s.sault rifles slung over their shoulders--the FAMAS guns already on their way to Kazakhstan--approached him from outside the plane's cargo section.

”We've been told everything is ready for your takeoff,” one of them said.

Kuhl motioned toward the retrofitted DC-3 further down the ramp. It was still being packed with freight conveyed by the lines of jeeps and trucks moving between the airfield and the gully below.

”I want the decampment to continue without holdup,” he said. ”Make sure the pilot of that plane knows he's to leave here no longer than half an hour after we've gone. And stay on top of the loading.”

The man who'd spoken to him nodded. Before he could turn to begin carrying out his orders, Kuhl took note of the bandage around his upper arm.

”How is the wound, Manuel?” he asked in Spanish.

”Esta mejor, it is much better.” it is much better.”

Kuhl made a fist and struck it to his heart.

”A lo hecho, pecho, ” he said. It was an old expression he had picked up somewhere along the way. ”To the chest, that which is done. Accept gladly all you have accomplished.” ” he said. It was an old expression he had picked up somewhere along the way. ”To the chest, that which is done. Accept gladly all you have accomplished.”

Manuel looked at him in silence. Then he nodded again and strode off toward the DC-3 with his companion.

Kuhl lingered for a brief while afterward, his back to the runway, staring out into the shadows as they rose from the lowlands like the waters of some dark, swollen river that had begun to overflow its banks, spreading across the lofty, sand-blown table on which he stood.

At length, he went to board the waiting transport.

Graham cursed, gazing out his windscreen into the distance. He had spotted the taillights of a plane ascending through the gloom at twelve o'clock.

”Got to be the Lockheed, from the size of it,” Winter said, scanning the FLIR readouts on his helmet visor. ”Of all the stinking breaks.”

”Yeah.” They were back down at just over six thousand feet, preparing to tip the Osprey's rotors to their vertical positions as they swooped toward the plateau only two miles up ahead.

”I can see the other one on the strip,” Winter said. He pointed slightly off to starboard. ”The G.o.dd.a.m.n DC-3.”

Now it was Graham who checked his HUD's sensor imagery.

”You catch its IR signature?” he asked.

Winter nodded. ”Engines are cranking. It's getting ready to fly.”

He cranked his head around, shot a glance portside and aft. He could make out the wingman's face close behind them, his dismayed frown communicating that he'd also seen the L-100 take off.