Target Deck - 02 (25 page)

“So what? You needed someone who can conduct low visibility operations? Work clandestinely in denied areas? What the hell was I doing in Afghanistan and Iraq for eight years? You could have sent me to do that job.”

“I didn't think of it that way, I felt that it was my responsibility.”

“You are not working singleton operations anymore Deck, this is the big league, totally different than a five man Delta assault team or anything else we are used to working with.”

“I know.”

“So why are you out running around like some Corporal in Ranger Battalion? I heard about that stunt that you pulled when you hit the submarine base. What the hell were you thinking running out there by yourself like that?”

“Someone had to stop the submarine from getting away.”

“Who cares about one submarine? What if you got killed, then what would happen to this operation? You need to start thinking about the big picture and stop acting like somebody with a death wish.”

“I don't have a death wish, I just want to win.”

“Bullshit, everyone here wants to win but we haven't been doing the same stupid shit you have. Frank told me you haven't been the same since that shit went down in the Pacific. We lost a lot of guys out there, I get that but we're going to lose a lot more out here if we are not smart about how we handle this.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“We've got our ducks in a row. Now is the time to make sure everything we do is wired tight.”

“With a little luck we can close this deal out in a few days. Wear Jimenez down and corner him.”

“Aghassi is working it. Cody has narrowed down the location of a few more repeater systems and the prisoners have given up some information that helps flesh out our target deck.”

“Good,” Pat said, finishing his sermon. “And thanks.”

“For what?”

“For hiring me to do this job.”

The sound of rotor blades beating the air thumped, growing closer each second.

“America should thank me,” Deckard said. “I'm running a jobs for vets program out here. Although, I'm surprised that I managed to lure you away from Delta.”

“Things are changing. Lots of guys getting fired or quitting the unit these days. Delta isn't really the place to be anymore, it's turning into a stepping stone to various commercial interests.”

“Like Samruk?”

“We'll see,” Pat laughed as the helicopter neared.

The two mercenaries lifted their prisoner to his feet as they spotted the inbound gray colored Eurocopter.

“Most of the Delta dudes I knew are going to work for these guys,” Pat pointed to the helicopter. “Big money in CIA contracts but that isn't for me. There are some good dudes doing those contracts but also lot of tools that just want to sit on the base or some cushy safe house end up there too. It's a mixed bag.”

“Doesn't sound like that is the life for you.”

“Nah,” Pat yelled as the helicopter set down fifty meters in front of them. “There are some real dildos shooting designer steroids and banging horrendously ugly Kurdish prostitutes on some contracts. I like to be at the forefront which is where Delta was, but now the war is winding down and everyone is looking for an exit strategy.”

As the Eurocopter touched down it blew out of wave of dust around it that washed over the Samruk mercenaries before the rotors brushed the loose dirt away. The door opened and a muscle bound contractor jumped out wearing a plate carrier and a short barrel
HK 416
slung over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up to display numerous tribal tattoos which almost overshadowed the five hundred dollar Oakley sunglasses he wore.

“Big money, huh?” Deckard egged Pat on but the former Delta operator just shook his head.

Deckard looked back at the Kazakhs manning the perimeter. With the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq coming to a close many American Special Operations soldiers would end up taking high dollar security contractor jobs. But what about those like Pat, those .0001%'ers who could care less about the money and wanted to go back into combat.

Where were they going to end up after the smoke cleared?

Nikita eased the selector switch on his new
Heckler and Koch 417
rifle from safe to fire.

“My contact is right around the corner,” Aghassi's voice sounded in the earbud that the sniper wore. “I'm sending him out now.”

The sniper settled into position, getting as close to the ground as he could and remaining still. He could hear voices around him, probably just some kids playing. When he was sent out to meet up with Aghassi on short notice, the intelligence handler made it clear that their mission had to be conducted at a certain time and place. Unfortunately, it had to be during daylight and there weren't any better sniper hide positions available so he was left hanging out in the open, watching a string of haciendas from a distance of eight hundred and fifty seven meters according to his laser range finder.

He had been trained by the best, a former South African Recce commando named Piet who Deckard had hired to train all of Samruk International's snipers. Nikita knew how to construct an appropriate hide site by digging in if he had had some time to insert early and construct the hide during periods of darkness. As it was, he'd just have to rely on a few new toys to keep him concealed while the children kicked a soccer ball around right next to him.

One of those news toys had arrived on the pallets that Deckard had flown in from the United States, a sniper variant of the HK 416 rifle carried by Delta Force, MARSOC, and OGA operators. The 417 was the same design but larger than the 5.56 model as it was chambered for the well tested and seasoned 7.62x51 that snipers utilized on battlefields all over the world. With an accurized 20-inch barrel and twenty round magazine, Nikita would be able to quickly and effectively place semi-automatic fire out to one thousand meters, depending on various mitigating circumstances including but not limited to wind speed, what the target was doing, and even whether or not he had gotten a good nights sleep.

He eyed the target building through the Schmidt & Bender scope mounted on the top rail of the rifle. It was a single story building with a small storage type room built on the roof with cinder blocks atop which sat a basin that collected rainwater. There was one barred window and a single door. A lonely string of barbwire lined the front lip of the roof.

Someone was down the street burning their trash in the middle of the road.

The children continued to bat their soccer ball around right next to Nikita. They were unaware of his presence, at least for the moment.

“It creeps me out how similar the villages and cities in this part of the world look like the kind you find in Iraq,” Aghassi said over the radio.

Nikita depressed the small transmit button that was wrapped around his non-firing hand with Velcro to reply.

“I don't know,” he said in broken English.

Prior to working for Samruk International, Nikita had like many other of the Kazakhs, been a member of his country's elite commando unit known as Arystan. As a member of Arystan he had conducted operations across the steppes and mountains, and sometimes in the cities of his country fighting Islamic extremists. Most of them were foreign fighters from Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. Some of them were linked to Al Qaeda. It wasn't until he signed on with the Private Military Company that he began being deployed abroad.

The ranks of Arystan had been composed of some of the bravest men that Nikita had ever known, but in retrospect he had to admit that they were severely lacking in many technical matters. The way Samruk International did things was much more deliberate and much more surgical.

“Heads up, here he comes,” the intel man informed Nikita.

“Blue hat?”

“That's him.”

Aghassi had been quickly establishing a network of informants in Oaxaca City and the surrounding area. Usually the art of spycraft required years to develop a ring of assets but Aghassi was throwing caution to the wind. They were working in a semi-permissive environment and there was no shortage of people who would talk to him because they had grievances with the cartels. Many of them had lost sons and daughters to the senseless narco-wars they fought. The intelligence man was ignoring normal protocols and making compromises with his personal security in order to quickly move amongst the civilian population and collect information. Having access to Samantha's long time informants did not hurt either.

He had hit a road block with one particular family. The nephew worked in the Jimenez compound up in the mountains as a general contractor. He knew specific details about the inside of the drug lord's fortress that Samruk would find useful. However, no one in the family would get involved with Aghassi out of fear. They had lost several family members to the cartels and didn't want to lose another. There was already a group of Sicarios right down the street from the family that pressured the entire neighborhood.

Aghassi had to cut a deal. He would have the sicarios put out of business in exchange for the information he wanted. They agreed. The nephew would lure the sicarios out of their safe house and then run. Nikita would provide the talent needed to complete the task.

The kid in the blue ball cap strolled right up to the front door and started banging on it. The cartel hitmen were known to be taking their siesta at home this time of day after a long night out on the town. Now the kid was screaming. Aghassi had told him to get the hit men real riled up and tell them that some left over Ortega cartel men were stealing their cars parked outside. Finally, the distraction worked. When the boy saw the Sicarios opening the door, he bolted down the street.

Nikita exhaled, his finger tightening around the trigger.

He waited an additional second for all four men to make it outside.

The range was already dialed into his scope which would allow him to fire and compensate for the bullet drop caused by gravity. With a four mile crosswind, the sniper knew he would have to hold a half mil into the wind to compensate.

The crosshairs in the Schmidt & Bender scope lined up on the first shirtless gunmen who had exited the house. Shifting his point of aim for his wind hold, he held his sights on his target let the first round fly. The bullet carved a path through the heat mirage rising off the desert sand, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake.

Crimson blossomed on the sicario's chest a moment before he collapsed in the middle of the street. One of his comrades looked over upon hearing him fall and was similarly dropped dead in his tracks by Nikita's follow up shot as he quickly transitioned between targets. The third man dropped to the ground, thinking that someone was firing at them from down the street, not understanding that a sniper had them in his sights. The Kazakh sniper frowned, having to adjust the position of the rifle by aiming down at the pavement in front of the cartel shooter. Going into the prone had been a smart move on the gunman's part as he now presented a smaller target but knowing which direction the gunfire was directed from would have been more useful.

Nikita squeezed the trigger twice firing one shot in succession of the other. The 7.26 Long Range bullets skimmed down into the street and ricocheted off the pavement before penetrating the top of his target's skull.