Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,103
Relations with Russia are already in the shitter. This could start another Cold War, or worse, World War III!”
“Sir…” Motley attempted to interject.
“You had your chance to speak, young lady; now it is mine. There will be no presidential finding. There will be no mission. Send your men back to Bragg, or Coronado, or wherever they came from. I want NDAs signed by everyone who is in the know on this. I don’t need any of these assholes whining to their congressman about it.”
“Sir, shouldn’t the president weigh…” Rodriguez interjected.
“As far as you’re concerned, I am the president. He will not be briefed on this and any attempt to go around me and get to him will be career ending for everyone involved. Do I make myself clear?”
The two spies remained quiet but nodded in recognition.
“Good.” Pyne’s tone switched from enraged to almost effeminate on a dime. “This room is secure. Leave your OpPlan for the executive files. Now, I’m sure the CIA has other threats to our national security on which to focus. Thank you for coming and please enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He rose and strode out the door without shaking hands. He had just been passed a valuable piece of information. If he could relay it in time, it could pay dividends for him once the president was out of office. He needed to visit an old friend.
Information truly was power.
CHAPTER 59
[Redacted X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X]
REECE PEERED THROUGH THE thermal optic on his SR-25 E2, scanning the scene around the bunker structure for any sign of human activity. The Light Weapon Thermal Sight was mounted forward of his Nightforce day optic and made any living thing in his scope stand out like coal on snow. Reece was at the closest of three overwatch positions, just over six hundred yards from the target building. The only movement he spotted was from the assault elements approaching the structure from two directions. Operators moving swiftly and silently with the experience of hundreds of missions in hostile territory, they swarmed the building, masters in a deadly ballet.
Reece shifted his weapon and, using the optic, scanned behind his position to ensure that no one had moved in behind them. All clear. His overwatch function, devoid of the responsibilities and chaos of command, reminded him of the good old days as an enlisted SEAL sniper. He turned his attention back to the objective in time to see the assaulters set their breaching charges on the concrete building. Instinctively, he averted his eyes.
A violent explosion rocked the building, the lead element stormed through the openings created by the carefully prepared shaped charges. The distance and the suppressors masked the sound of gunfire but Reece knew that the engagements were swift and violent. After ten seconds that seemed like as many minutes, Reece heard Sergeant Major Holloway over the radio, “Objective clear. I pass Touchdown Dugga Boy. Touchdown Lioness.”
The operators were maintaining a perimeter around the target site, their precious cargo well protected at its center inside a phalanx of armor-clad operators. A quick glance at the screen of his chest-mounted ATAK device, essentially a smartphone with detailed mapping software configured for military use, confirmed the position of friendly forces and the location of the LZ. The lines between war and video games had officially blurred.
Reece and the rest of his sniper element were two hundred yards out when they heard the odd-sounding whine of the stealth helicopters approach. He watched as the assaulters loaded the hostage into the first Black Hawk, which lifted off immediately, spiriting her to safety. He picked up the pace to a jog, turning every few seconds to check their six. He instinctively ducked as he passed through the rotor wash and climbed inside the helo alongside his sniper team and part of the assault element. His stomach sank as the pilot cranked the throttle and the powerful bird jolted skyward. Reece’s legs dangled out the open cargo door of the Black Hawk, his rifle ready to support the crew’s 7.62mm miniguns if necessary. They were soon off the objective, skimming low over the terrain at high speed. Barring a mechanical failure or an interception threat from a Russian fighter jet, they were in the clear.
“All elements, this is ARGO SIX. Endex, I say again, Endex.” Reece heard the command element’s call over the Peltor headset that he wore under his ballistic helmet. That was the signal