Another set of boots appeared, then another, and while I had no idea how many men there were, the tension of the moment was almost unbearable in its intensity. Our hide site was well-concealed, but at this range the slightest sideward glance could easily reveal the shadow of our entrance, the dispersion of top cover over the section of tarp appearing at odds with the rolling terrain’s natural crests and ridges. We might be able to take out one or two men, but a single burst of automatic fire would easily kill Ian and me—and with dead Americans in such close proximity to the Boko Haram camp, the rest of my team was one enemy radio call away from a comprehensive search that would uncover both surveillance positions and result in the execution of anyone who survived the inevitable compromise.
I watched a fourth man pass in front of the MSS, followed by a fifth, before the sounds of their movement faded. Impossibly, they had slipped past without pause, but our troubles were just beginning. I simply couldn’t accept that they hadn’t spotted our hide site, well camouflaged or not, and kept my focus riveted out the entrance, weapon poised for them to circle back—though if I’d noticed a hide site in passing, I wouldn’t approach it from the front. Instead I’d pass out of earshot, let the hide site occupants think they were in the clear, then circle from the six o’clock to finish them off.
And that was exactly the eventuality I braced myself for. We had nowhere to run, no means of speedy retreat that wouldn’t expose us further. There was only one thing left to do.
Turning to Ian, I whispered, “Zero everything out.”
He shook his head. “David, relax. They’re gone.”
“They know we’re here. That wasn’t random.”
“You’re right,” Ian agreed, “it wasn’t random. But Boko Haram owns the entire forest, so they don’t need to patrol it.”
“Bullshit. That was a dedicated patrol, not some new recruits on basic training. They knew what they were doing.”
Ian, astonishingly, flashed a grin. Then he squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “Don’t you get it? This is a good thing—a very good thing. It means they’re ramping up patrols on the far perimeter of the camp we were sent to surveil. You see what I’m getting at?”
I swallowed and replied, “You think the hostages are en route.”
“Yeah, David. I do.”
“You sure about this? I mean, if they come back—”
“David,” he said forcefully, “just tell the guys.”
Keying my mic, I transmitted, “Net call, be advised the MSS just had a five-man enemy patrol pass within a few feet of us. Any closer and they would have stepped on the roof of our hide site. No indication that they were looking for anything in particular, and Angel assesses they were likely part of increased security patrols in the vicinity of our objective. If that’s the case, our odds of that camp receiving the hostages just went up threefold.” I released my transmit switch for a moment, then keyed it again. “And if outside units are patrolling a full kilometer outside the target, the camp guards will probably begin some local security patrols as well. Stay sharp, and stay hidden.”
Cancer replied in remarkably short order.
“Guess I’ll put my pants back on. What do you think we’ve been doing out here while you and Ian are honeymooning at the love shack?”
I transmitted, “Don’t make me revoke your case of beer, you fuck.”
“You don’t have the balls.”
“Then push your luck and see what happens.”
After a beat of silence, Worthy added his contribution.
“We’ve got good eyes-on, Suicide, and the only way they’re finding us is if they step on our backs. Just make sure you guys stay safe at the MSS. You let Duchess know about that little complication?”
“No,” I replied, “but I’m about to. Stand by.”
Then I keyed my command radio and transmitted, “Raptor Nine One, this is Suicide Actual.”
“Raptor Nine One,” Duchess responded. “Confirm receipt of your data shot, send any further traffic.”
“A Boko Haram patrol almost walked on top of our MSS,” I replied. “From the looks of it, they’re beefing up peripheral security around the camp.”
Swallowing hard, I spoke cautiously. “We haven’t been in place long enough to say for sure, but between this and the motorcycle courier delivering a message to the camp this morning, we think things are looking pretty good for your tip on this camp location to pay off in the next day or so.”
“I hope you’re right,” she answered, then assumed a sterner tone. “Usman executed one of the hostages in a graphic video that is now circulating on international news media.”
I locked eyes with Ian, my heart sinking as she continued, “The administration is highly motivated to put an end to this situation as quickly as possible. If the remaining hostages do arrive at your target, plan on immediate approval of a fully resourced hostage rescue, with your team at the tip of the spear.”
16
Cancer felt a hot pulse of fear at the sudden noise beside his sniper position. The quiet, slithering rustle was almost indiscernible above the birdcalls yet grew subtly in volume with each passing second. Flicking his eyes right, he stared into the underbrush until he succeeded in locating the source.
A yellowish reptilian head emerged from the brush, its wide eyes unblinking as it approached and trailed a slender body. He could tell at first glance that it was a cobra; what kind, he couldn’t say for sure, though he felt relatively certain that Ian could have launched into a verbal dissertation if the sniper transmitted a basic description.
Cancer remained frozen, his blood pressure continuing to mount. In the long list of things he hated, few ranked higher than snakes—but in training, he’d once held a firing position near a red ant pile, sustaining bite after stinging bite over the course of three hours without moving. At least if the cobra sank its fangs into him, things would be over quickly.
The reptile paused, flicking a black tongue at him for a moment before proceeding, undaunted, over his rifle barrel.
He watched the snake glide in front of his face, estimating that four feet of smooth golden scales had passed before he caught sight of the tail, which fell to the ground on the opposite side of his G28 before drifting out of sight.
Cancer breathed a long, weary sigh of relief, coming to the end of his exhale when Worthy transmitted.
“Vehicle inbound from the north, can’t see it yet.”
Focusing through his scope, Cancer saw the camp guards maintain their security perimeter before he also heard the faint rumble of a large engine. A moment later, Worthy transmitted again.
“Looks like a Deuce and a Half, entering the clearing now. I’m about to lose visual.”
“I got it,” Cancer intervened, watching the large cargo truck rumble into view.
At first glance, he thought that Worthy was correct: the six-wheeled truck appeared to be of the two-and-a-half-ton, medium-duty family of vehicles that had originated from a WWII US Army predecessor before spreading in military and civilian variants throughout the world. This one was painted a nondescript shade of tan, free of license plates or identifying markings. “It’s pulling up to the dome tent now,” he transmitted. “Stand by.”