Edge of Reason (EDGE Security Series Book 2) (21 page)

Shuffling the cards was repetitive and usually relaxed him. This time, the tension didn’t leave him. He hadn’t been able to relax since Dani had told him of Cat’s plans.

Why the hell didn’t she ask me to come?
 

He’d listened a dozen times to the voicemail she’d left him, but he’d gotten no answers there.

He thought he’d proven himself to her. Didn’t she trust his skills? Or was it him she didn’t trust? Either way, he was going to get to the bottom of this and figure out where they stood. No way was he going to let her play hot and cold with him.
 

He needed to make sure she was okay. He knew she had skills, but this was almost a suicide mission. There were two hundred men in that camp and she wanted to evac twenty hurt and frightened girls?
 

Why didn’t she ask me?

A hand gripped his shoulder. Jake stood in front of him. Rhys pulled his ear buds out.

“Your head on straight?” Jake asked.

Rhys let the cards play through his fingers. Two, jack, nine. “Five by five.”

Jake sat next to him. “We’re gonna catch up to her. She’s not stupid and won’t rush in without a plan.”

He nodded. Two, eight, king.
 

“We’ll find her, Lucky.”

He clenched his jaw and kept flipping over cards. Red four. Black nine. He paused. Queen of spades.
 

The Black Hawk touched down, the wind from its rotors flattening the tall grass. The half-moon gave off just enough light for Cat to see the empty clearing where they’d landed before. She grabbed her ruck before the blades had started to slow and jumped off. Her team followed. They had a lot of work to do before dawn.

She and the others kitted up while Dylan lifted his NVGs and spoke to his copilot and aircrew before jogging to catch up to them. They’d leave them behind to guard the bird. Cat took a quick GPS reading and did a final check of the mag on her rifle.

“Locked and loaded?” she said.

“Roger,” came the replies.

“Move out.”

The rotors hadn’t fully stopped before they left, jogging into the darkness. Their fifth-gen NVGs had been developed by Q and Gears, and were less cumbersome than most goggles. Cat could see everything clearly with a slight green cast, including the aardvark sitting under a leafy bush about ten meters away. Its pig-like snout sniffed the air as it watched them walk by.

They reached the bridge over the Yobe River within thirty minutes. Sweat ran down her back. The humidity of the air made it thick and almost tangible. The wet season meant days that started bright and sunny and ended in torrential downpours.
 

One guard sat on the other side of the bridge, leaning against a stunted palm tree, smoking. From the way he held his breath when inhaling, she suspected it was ganja, the local marijuana.
 

They hunkered down into the grass, easily hidden from the guard’s sight. He had no NVGs and looked like he was almost asleep.

Cat signaled to the others and they drew close. “I’m going under to set the charges. Zach, keep sights on the guard. Marc, you’re with me. Sarah, you’re overwatch.”
 

“Copy that,” they said.

She slithered through the grass to the edge of the bridge. The guard’s eyes closed and his hands lay slack on his rifle, his ganja cigarette forgotten beside him.

She nodded to Marc and then slid down the slope to the river below. The bank was muddy and slick from the rains. Its dark waters rushed and covered any noises they made. Cat took off her ruck and slid out the small pack of specially designed explosives that Q had given her. She tucked it into her webbing, slung her rifle over her back, and then gripped the beams underneath the bridge. She swung out and worked her way across the water. Near the far side she hooked her legs over a beam and used that to steady herself while she set her charges.
 

Q had taken typical C-4 and mixed it with an explosive accelerant to create a malleable agent, safe to transport, but ten times more combustible than normal C-4 once detonated—meaning Cat didn’t have to carry pounds of it to demolish a single bridge. She hung upside down under the bridge, hidden from the guard but also from her team, except for Marc. The river raged beneath her. She focused on her task, refusing to dwell on what waited below.
 

Damn, she hated dark water.

She peeled off the packaging from the explosive and then pulled bits apart and molded them into the shapes she needed. She used the adhesive to stick them to the joints and trusses of the bridge. Next she placed the radio-controlled detonators into the plastique. The controller was tucked safe into her webbing. She took a last survey and nodded.
 

This would go boom very nicely.

She made her way to the far side of the bridge and up to the sleeping guard. He snored and she ignored him, scanning the tall grasses and stubby trees beyond, her rifle up and ready.

She made a hand signal and her team came across the bridge. Marc handed Cat her rucksack. They made their way silently past the sleeping guard and toward the Boko Haram encampment.

At their running pace, it only took them about an hour to reach it.

It was about three-thirty in the morning local time. Dawn was just over an hour away. They needed to work quickly.

Thankfully, the encampment was quiet. Some men slept sprawled in the dirt by a dying fire. Three men stood at different points on the perimeter, but their rifles were slung, not at the ready. One smoked, and Cat knew the flaring of the cigarette would wreck his night vision. The other swayed where he stood, either close to sleep or under the influence of drugs.
 

 
She signaled Sarah to move to the high ground on the north side to be their overwatch. Sarah would be their spotter with binoculars and let them know via their secure comms the movements of the enemy.
 

Even though she only had one more team member than before, their mission directive was different. Now it was the girls they had to rescue. They no longer had an American civilian as the highest priority, and Cat had come prepared to blow the shit out of everything.

With that thought in mind, she and Zach snuck into the encampment, easily avoiding the guards. Marc and Dylan covered them from the stubby trees just outside the perimeter. Zach had become a demolitions expert from his time in JTF2, making him her perfect partner. They separated once inside the perimeter and slunk through the shadows of snoring men and cement buildings.

From their previous mission, they knew the layout of the buildings. She crept to the armory she’d found with Rhys previously. She set her explosives so the building would implode. Zach did the same with the barracks. Next, she crept to the building where the girls slept. The main room had its window open but lay dark. She moved quietly along the outside to the next room. The window to the girls’ sleeping room had another lock on it. She placed a tiny bit of plastique on the back of the lock and a small detonator that Q had given her for this situation. She hoped to be able to get the girls out the door, but it was always best to be prepared.
 

Once they had the explosives in place, she and Zach made their way back to Marc and Dylan. They all had their game faces on, their eyes serious and focused. This was a Hail Mary plan with the ability to SNAFU at any moment. Had she been right to drag them into this, because of her need to do the right thing? What if her brother was killed because of this mission?
 

She breathed deep to calm her nerves, so her team wouldn’t see her worry.
 

“Dawn in thirty minutes. Take cover. Minimal radio contact.”

“Copy that.” Marc and Zach moved off, but Dylan gripped her arm and squeezed. “Don’t worry, sis. We’ll do this.”

She squeezed his arm back. Her brother could always tell when something was up with her. She didn’t bother denying her anxiousness. “Stay safe.”
 

She crept to her position at the northern compass point. The rest of them took up observation posts at the other compass points around the encampment. They settled in for the rest of the night and the long hours ahead. She wanted as much intel as possible before they went ahead with their plan.
 

She knelt in a good position, on a slight hill where she could see most of the encampment, and took precious minutes to dig a narrow trench about six inches deep. The ground was soft because of the rains. She burrowed in and pulled her ghillie suit over her, the suit more of a net with a hood made of a burlap-like material. Before they’d headed out, she’d covered it in some of the native grasses so she could blend in better. Last, she set her rifle sights for the targets below.
 

Sarah was somewhere to her left. The woman had had more time to dig in and Cat couldn’t see her position. With her NVGs she could see Marc farting around near a small bush, spreading the dirt he’d dug. Zach had taken position far from the road and trucks, so no one would run over him, but close enough that he could see that side of the camp. She couldn’t see Dylan at all, but trusted him to be in position.
 

“Spooky,” she said in a low voice. “Get in position. The sun is coming up.”

“Trying. Damn aardvarks,” he said. “My first position was compromised by one.”

A snort came over the line. “Did the little animal scare you?” Zach said.

“Fuck off.” Marc finally lay down in his position. Within a minute, he disappeared to the naked eye under his camouflage.
 

“Everyone settle. Stay alert. Eyes on. Ghost is overwatch,” she said.

And now they waited.

Cat lay still in the dirt as the two men approached her position. The sun was hidden by thick clouds, but she knew it was past the zenith. Sweat dripped down her face, but she didn’t move to swipe it. They were fifteen feet away.

“Valkyrie, two tangos in my sight.” Sarah’s voice whispered in her ear over her comm, letting Cat know she had the men targeted.
 

Cat didn’t reply, but held still as the men kept walking toward her. Ten feet now. They seemed to be early twenties. One wore blue jeans and a camouflage vest, while the other wore camouflage pants and a bright red t-shirt. Their turbans hung askew and both cradled assault rifles.
 

Cat tensed but held still. They obviously hadn’t seen her yet by the way they joked with each other, pushing one another and laughing. The men came closer still, chatting in Hausa. They stopped about five feet away. She could see the way their pupils were dilated. They’d probably taken tramol, the popular opiate of the area.

A scarab beetle about three centimeters long crawled over her hand and then inched under her shirt sleeve. She could feel its legs like a feather touching her skin. She’d been trained better than to move because of a simple insect, but the bug crawling up her arm made her grit her teeth.
 

The men slung their rifles over their shoulders and unzipped their pants. They urinated while laughing about something. She picked out the words
kill
,
infidel
, and
face
. She thought they referenced someone they’d already murdered.

The men finally finished their business and wandered back to the encampment.
 

“Close call,” Sarah said.
 

Cat had pinpointed her location about an hour after dawn. She’d finally seen a slight hump that must have been Sarah’s helmet.
 

“Copy that,” Cat said. The acrid scent of the urine was still strong. She shifted her arm and pressed it into the ground, crushing the annoying beetle. “I’m radioing the major. The tangos have started to party. It’s time.”

Once she contacted Steve, it was just a matter of waiting.
 

They watched the camp. The only women were the girls they’d come for. All wore hijabs, probably having been forcibly converted to Islam. Cat only counted five of them. Two tended a large fire where they stirred a pot of clothes boiling in water. Three had gone into the building that Cat assumed must serve as the DFAC–she could still smell pungent herbs and spices from dinner. All five girls had bruises covering them. The rest of the girls hadn’t emerged from their building, though man after man entered and then, after long minutes passed, left again. Cat’s rage simmered with each male visitor to that building.
 

She would rescue these girls or die trying.

Men began to scurry and shout to each other. Most had wrapped the ends of their turbans across their faces, leaving only their crazed eyes showing. They loaded up on weapons, their shouts becoming louder and more strident. The girls rushed back into their building.
 

Good, that would make things easier.

One man emerged from the armories building wearing full camouflage, and crossed belts of GPMG ammo strapped across his chest. He waved his rifle and shouted in Hausa, but she could understand “Death to America.” The men gathered around him. He gave a speech she couldn’t hear, which was probably good since she knew it would only piss her off. The men raised their rifles as they cheered and shouted when the speaker was done.
 

This was obviously the leader of this sect of the Boko Haram. Cat put him in her sights. She hated these crazed fanatics and how they used religion as an excuse for their violence and bloodlust. A single shot and she could end him. She could save lives.
 

She narrowed her eyes, studying the man. The girls were her mission, not wiping out this insanity. Her mission couldn’t change.
 

It wasn’t long before engines roared to life and men leapt onto the backs of the pickups, flatbed trucks, and jeeps. Weapons fired into the air, accompanying the shouts and war cries that echoed across the encampment.
 

The trucks rumbled down the road. They’d left a single decrepit pickup behind. That could be useful. Cat did a scan of the area. Only about twenty to twenty-five men left in camp. The men left behind fired their weapons in encouragement before turning away. A few were already lighting up ganja and heading to the girls’ building.