Covert Kill: A David Rivers Thriller

But Worthy remained unconcerned over an executed man, particularly one who’d been an active participant in the enslavement and rape of innocent Nigerians. His primary concerns fell not to the dead terrorist or even Tolu, but to the surviving villagers. Had the team saved them, he wondered, or condemned them?

Still, he should have been at least somewhat satisfied—the sight of those wounded civilians was horrendous, but it paled in comparison to how he’d feel if they’d bypassed the village altogether. Almost everything in Nigeria thus far had been one steady steamroll of mission creep—supporting the hostage rescue, raiding the facility in Lagos—but with the village raid, it wasn’t Duchess’s imperative that sent them into danger but the team’s own volition. Worthy was just glad the team had been as unanimous about committing to that intervention as he had felt upon finding the fleeing woman.

Other than that, there wasn’t much to get excited about. No new intel, a time delay on their primary mission in Maiduguri, a captured load of demolitions along with the weapons: two RPG-7 launchers with fragmentation rockets, a PK machinegun and its ammo, and two AK-47s. At best, the weaponry had been permanently removed from ISWAP custody. At worst, all of it would be easily replaced by the terrorist force. Regardless, only the two AK-47 rifles would be used by the team as a measure to conceal their identities—as would the van’s two new passengers.

He lowered his head, rubbing his temples in silent consideration. Worthy had been a part of some shady, under-the-table dealings in his workings with the Agency, much less during his prior mercenary time, but this was an exceptional brand of fucked-up that he was surprised even David was capable of conceiving.

The two enemy bodies were wrapped in team ponchos and laid out in the center of the cargo area. They hadn’t started to smell—yet—but Worthy suspected that would occur long before they reached Maiduguri.

He looked up then, taking stock of his team in the back of the van.

Ian was pale, and rightfully so. If Worthy felt sick to his stomach, he could only imagine what the intelligence operative was going through right now. Reilly sat in muted silence, though Worthy suspected he was mentally replaying his medical treatments in the mosque and wondering what he could have done better.

Either way, Cancer was the only one who seemed unperturbed—he had his boots propped up on an enemy corpse and was merrily puffing away on a cigarette.

Upon seeing Worthy watching him, Cancer quickly reached for the pack in his pocket and extended it to the point man. “Didn’t mean to be rude.”

Worthy stared at him in disbelief, letting a few long seconds elapse before giving an incredulous reply.

“No, Cancer. I don’t want a smoke.”

“I hear you,” the sniper said, putting the pack away. “I wish we’d gotten there in time to stop the executions, too.”

There were times when Worthy couldn’t tell if Cancer was mocking him intentionally or inadvertently, and upon seeing the sniper’s earnest gaze, he wondered if this was one of those rare moments when the man was actually trying to exude some misguided form of human empathy.

Worthy pursed his lips for a moment, then replied, “How are you cool with this?”

Cancer momentarily ruminated over the question. “Look, you can’t win ’em all. I know this isn’t ideal. But some people are born with a talent for painting, or piano, or whatever. Fucking hopscotch. Me? I’ve always been good at dealing violence to the deserving. So as for taking an hour delay off our timeline to stop a lot of rape and murder? I’d call that an afternoon well spent.”

Ian spoke Worthy’s own thoughts almost to a T. “Until the bad guys come back to the village. Either ISWAP or Boko Haram.”

“Like I said,” Cancer continued, as if Ian were making his point for him, “can’t win ’em all. If you joined this team to save the world, you were sorely mistaken. We did what we could today, and that’s enough. If we weren’t going to sleep well tonight, then we should now.”

Reilly heaved a great sigh before breaking his reverie to say, “We’re still a ways out from Maiduguri. No one’s sleeping tonight.”

Cancer looked irritated, his eyebrows furrowing as he squinted at the medic before taking another lungful of smoke and replying with his trademark indifference.

“Well, tomorrow then. And as for these sorry bastards getting cold in the van”—he waved his cigarette toward the bodies—“anyone who feels bad about them didn’t see what I did in the field.”





37





Reilly heard Cancer’s transmission with a pang of apprehension—the raid wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“Take cover, you’ve got another security patrol coming out.”

David was a few paces ahead of him, clearly visible under night vision as he ducked behind a small outbuilding and lowered the cargo from his shoulder, hoisting his weapon as Reilly closed the distance. It was unlikely they’d be spotted at this distance from the compound, especially at night—they were passing through a residential area and had yet to see their objective.

But given the hyperactive levels of guard activity ahead, they couldn’t take any chances; and besides, Reilly thought, it was a chance to get the weight off his shoulders if only for a moment. He set down his cargo, readying his HK417 and scanning their backtrail as David covered security to their front.

The muggy night air was thick with the scent of sewage and rotting trash, which mingled with the oppressive heat and his heavy cargo to ensure Reilly had sweated through his shirt minutes after beginning his dismounted infil alongside his team leader. They’d arrived in Maiduguri a few hours earlier to find that, unlike Lagos, vehicle transit was possible at speeds greater than two miles per hour.

But they couldn’t risk driving within sight of the target, so a lengthy foot movement ensued—Cancer moving to a rooftop with his sniper rifle, Worthy and Ian flanking to the north side, and Reilly and David approaching the south before kicking off the mother of all diversion efforts.

Their destination was in the northwest corner of the city, equidistant from the airport and the highway. The location was fitting for a logistics hub, though by now Reilly knew that distribution of commercial goods was only a public-facing ruse for what actually occurred in the buildings ahead.

Cancer transmitted, “Patrol is skirting the western perimeter. Four men, so probably a new team. This is the third patrol in 45 minutes—it’s like they’re expecting to get hit.”

David whispered back, “What’s your assessment of skill level?”

“Weapons at the low ready; they’re definitely vigilant. They’ve got one guy whitelighting the ground beneath parked vehicles right now, another checking their six. Everyone’s heads are on a swivel. I don’t like it.”

“Well,” David offered, “those guards are going to like it a whole lot less in a few minutes.”

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