Area 51: The Mission-3 (36 page)

to be doing something other than chasing drug runners for once, even though the plan looked half-assed at best.

The four men were dressed similarly, all in black, including black balaclavas that left only their eyes exposed. Night-vision goggles hung around their necks, and each man wore a headset for communication among the team and with the other elements. They wore combat vests with the various tools of their trade hanging on them.

The single turbine engine started to whine as Corsen began his start-up procedures. Gillis glanced at his watch just before getting in and taking the left front seat, next to the pilot. Since the OH-58 was the slowest aircraft involved in the operation, it would leave first, even though it was two hundred fifty kilometers closer to the target than the Eagle element currently in the air. Just a few hours earlier they had received a real mission tasking and the Delta Team had worked out a rough plan with them over the radio. The plan depended on split-second timing from the various elements involved.

As soon as Corsen had sufficient engine speed, the blades started turning and the aircraft began rocking. Gillis looked over his shoulder at the two men seated in the back. Shartran and Jones both gave him a thumbs-up. Their guns were between their knees, muzzles pointing down.

Gillis pulled out the acetated map with their flight route on it. Written in grease pencil along the route were the time hacks for the various checkpoints on the way in. A stopwatch was taped to the map. Gillis checked his watch. Corsen lifted the aircraft to a three-foot hover. When his second hand swept past the twelve and the watch indicated 5:41, Gillis indicated "go" and clicked the stopwatch. Corsen pushed forward on the cyclic and they were on their way.

322

Four powerful turboprop engines drilled the night sky, pulling the Combat Talon troopship. Inside the cramped cargo bay, Mickell sat as comfortably as his parachute and equipment would allow on the web seats rigged along the side of the aircraft. He wore a headset connected by a long cord to a SATCOM radio nestled in among the electronics gear in the front half of the bay. The other members of his team were spread out in the rear half.

They had an hour and forty-two minutes to their infiltration point. Since they were coming in over the ocean, the Combat Talon was going to rely on something besides its terrain-following ability for this flight. The electronic-warfare people in the front were sending out a transponder signal indicating that the Talon was a civilian airliner en route to Rio de Janeiro. The aircraft would fit this profile except for the brief one-minute slowdown over the infiltration point for the drop.

Mickell's ears perked up when he heard the radio come alive.

"Eagle, this is Hawk. I have lifted and am en route." Mickell checked his watch: 8:44. The HH-53 Pave Low helicopter had lifted from the USS Raleigh off the coast of Panama on time. All the pieces were moving.

Turcotte waited at the base of the tree with Yakov and Kenyon.

"We are wasting time." Yakov was sweating, his hand rubbing back and forth along the muzzle of the MP-5.

"We're only going to get one shot at this." Turcotte understood the Russian's anxiety. With every passing minute people died and the Black Death spread farther. On a more personal note, the more time passed, the

323

more the virus infiltrated their own bodies. "We have to do it right."

Turcotte stared at the old prison below. His adrenaline was starting to flow.

He forced himself to calm down. They still had a while to go before things started happening. Another hour and twenty-five minutes.

At Area 51 Lisa Duncan looked at the latest imagery forwarded from the NSA of South America. There were now eight villages that were cold, all downriver from Vilhena. The next six were hot, indicating the disease was raging in those towns. The one farthest from the site where the satellite had gone down was on the Amazon. She knew that meant the disease would be down the river to the coast in the next twenty-four hours, if it wasn't already. For all they knew, carriers, fleeing the disaster, had reached some of the major cities on the coast.

Focused on China and the shuttles, the media had not yet caught on to what was really happening, although some scattered reports were beginning to trickle in.

She knew by the time the media was aware of the story, it would be far too late for anyone to do anything to stop the Black Death. The most chilling aspect of it all was that there appeared to be no survivors in the affected areas.

She turned to Major Quinn. "I'm going to Devil's Island on one of the bouncers.

You're in charge here. If we don't succeed in getting the cure, do your best to get someone to try to quarantine South America."

Quinn stared at her in disbelief, but Duncan didn't have time to discuss impossibilities as she hurried for the elevator.

324

Gillis looked at the fuel gauge. They were down to less than a third of a tank. He checked the map as the

helicopter whizzed over a small lighthouse. "Checkpoint fifteen, on route and on time."

Corsen nodded but didn't speak.

Gillis checked the map again. "Turn right. Slop turn." He peered ahead through his goggles. "The route goes slightly to the left."

Corsen made the slight adjustment and the aircraft steadied on the new course.

Gillis checked the time again. Another forty-five minutes to target.

Mickell looked up in dismay as he verified the abort code word. The other members of his force were still in their positions. His ops officer was looking at him strangely, wondering what the long conversation was about. Mickell gestured for him to come over. The man waddled over awkwardly and threw himself on the adjacent seat. He yelled in Mickell's ear to be heard over the roar of the engines. "What's up?"

"I just got an abort over the SATCOM from the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

The ops officer rolled his eyes. "Damn! It's a little too late for that. Tiger element is already past the point of no return. They don't have enough fuel to make it back to Grenada."

Mickell had talked personally with Lisa Duncan several times over the past two days, and he knew what was at stake. The fact that Mike Turcotte trusted her was more than enough for him, but someone in the Pentagon must have gotten wind about what was going on and wanted to pull the plug. He keyed the mike.

"NSA Seven, this is Eagle Leader. Over."

He heard Duncan's voice. "This is NSA Seven. Over."

325

"We've received the order to abort from the Pentagon."

There was a short pause. "Colonel Mickell, I've told you what the threat is. I would be lying to you if I told you I had authorization from higher for this mission. But I also believe that we would not get authorization until it was too late—if at all—given the fact that there have been compromises in security throughout our government.

"We just lost two space shuttles, one of them because of treachery within our own ranks. We don't have the time to play games. Latest imagery shows the Black Death has reached the Amazon and is going downriver.

"I'm on my way to your location on board a bouncer and should be there shortly after you attack. I will take complete responsibility for everything that happens."

Mickell looked down the cargo bay of the Combat Talon. His men were ready. Two helicopters were en route, one without enough fuel to get back. He had Mike Turcotte on the ground. Then there was the matter of his duty to his chain of command and his career.

"NSA Seven, this is Eagle Leader. I am having radio problems. You are the only station I can receive. Over."

"I understand," Duncan said. "Good luck. See you shortly. NSA Seven out."

"Let's go." Turcotte took off the SATCOM headset. He had the plug for the FM

radio on his vest in his left ear, a boom mike in front of his lips.

Together, Yakov, Kenyon, and he made their way downhill, staying under the cover of the jungle until they were as close to the wall as they could get.

There was about ten feet of low scrub between the edge of the jungle and the ten-foot-high brick wall.

Turcotte was looking at the guard who was walking

326

along the top of the wall, when there was a loud humming noise and his goggles blanked out. He ripped them off his face and saw the cause: lights had been turned on inside the compound and the glow had overloaded the light enhancement inside the goggles. The guard was clearly silhouetted now. Lights were also on at the docks.

"Time's running out." Yakov brought the MP-5 up and sighted on the guard.

"Wail." Turcotte gently laid his hand on the Russian's arm. "Just wait another couple of minutes."

A caution light appeared on the console of the OH-58. Gillis stared at it in concern. "What's that?"

Corsen kept his attention fixed ahead. "Fuel warning light."

"I thought you said we'd have enough fuel to make it to the target. Are we going to make it or not?"

"We should."

"Should!" That answer didn't please the sergeant.

"Relax. All that light means is that we're low, not that we're out. We should have about twenty minutes left. We'll make it. And if we don't," Corsen added mischievously, "I'll just autorotate."

"Just great," Gillis muttered to himself. "Checkpoint twenty-four. That's the last one before we hit our final reference point." He looked at the stopwatch.

"Right on time."

The ramp opened and air swirled in with a roar, Colonel Mickell pushed himself up tight behind the jumper in front of him. One minute out from drop. Mickell kept his eyes fixed on the glowing red light above the ramp. He took a few deep breaths. The light turned green and the ten men shuffled off the ramp in formation.

327

Mickell felt the plane's slipstream grab him and buffet him about. He spread his arms and legs and arced his back in an effort to get stable. He had barely achieved that state when he pulled his rip cord. His chute blossomed above him and he oscillated under the canopy.

Quickly getting his bearings, Mickell spotted the other members of Eagle spread out below him. He dumped air and caught up with them.

The target island appeared on the low-light-television screen on the helicopter console. Corsen raised their altitude for the final approach.

"The prison is lit up big-time," Corsen said.

Sergeant Gillis's headset crackled as he heard Turcotte for the first time over the short-range FM radio. "Tiger, this is Wolf. I can hear you coming. Situation at target as briefed. LZ inside the south wall has one chopper on the pad and room for you to the east. Over."

Corsen swung the chopper around in a left-hand bank and they approached the island from the south.

The muted buzz of the inbound helicopter reverberated through the air. Turcotte pulled a double-edged commando knife from the sheath on his combat vest. Holding the blade, he stood and threw in one smooth motion. He sprinted for the wall while the knife was still in the air.

The point hit the guard in the neck. The guard's hands went to his throat, dropping his weapon. He staggered, went to his knees, then used one hand to try to steady himself as the other grabbed the handle of the knife protruding from his throat.

Turcotte reached the wall and jumped, grabbing the

328

guard's left leg and pulling him down on top of him. Turcotte was surprised when the body was lifted off of him as if pulled by a string. Yakov had the guard in his large hands. With a quick twist, he finished what Turcotte had started. He tossed the body into the bushes.

Turcotte stood and, with great effort, boosted Yakov up on the wall, then reached up and grabbed the Russian's hand. Yakov reached down and pulled Turcotte up with one quick heave. He did the same with Kenyon.

They lay on top of the thick prison wall, getting their bearings. The main building was only twenty-five feet away. It had an administration center and two long wings of cells.

Turcotte spotted a guard on this side of the building, inside the wall. The man held a submachine gun in his hands.

Turcotte slithered over the wall, followed by Yakov and Kenyon. There was the sound of helicopter blades coming from the south, drawing the guard's attention.

The inbound helicopter not only drew attention away from the wall, but it covered up the slight noise Eagle Force made as it landed on the roof of the main building and kept anyone from looking up and possibly seeing the black parachutes against the lit sky. One by one, the parachutists touched down, their chutes collapsing.

Mickell was the trail man in the airborne formation. He could see the canopies from the other jumpers draped all over the top of the roof. He braked and felt his knees buckle slightly as he made a perfect landing in the center of the roof. Two of the first jumpers were already at work, prepping a charge on a locked door that barred their way down.

Mickell looked up as the OH-58 swooped in from the

329

south, its bright searchlight blinding the guards on the ground as it settled in toward the landing pad. The man in charge of the demolitions gave Mickell the thumbs-up. Mickell signaled for him to wait.

The skids of the bird settled on the concrete landing pad. Two guards were moving forward toward the aircraft from the front, trying to identify it. Corsen suddenly twisted his throttle to flap the blades. The two guards bent their heads even farther and covered their eyes at the sudden onslaught of wind.

As they did so Jones and Shartran leaned out of the open back doors, one on either side, and gunned down the guards, using their silenced MP-5s.

"Tiger, two down LZ," Gillis reported over the radio as he got out. Jones and Shartran started sprinting for the front door, their weapons at the ready.

Corsen rolled off the throttle and waited, weapon at the ready . . .

Mickell signaled. There was a flash and hiss as the charge ate through the lock. The door swung open and the ten men slipped in, Mickell in the lead. They halted at the foot of the stairs and the team split. Four men headed toward one wing, while the other six began work on (he other.