ringed by a low wall. The men all looked out the open arched passageway to the balcony, across the balcony, over the wall, over the road, and across a sandy runoff depression that led east to the harbor. On the other side of the depression, some two hundred meters away, was the bus station. And outside the bus station, sitting in the dirt, propped against a wall and surrounded by over two dozen soldiers, was a muscular black man, obviously wounded but obviously alive.
Sierra Five.
Through the four-power scope of Hightower’s TAR-21, the only weapon with optics left on the team, he could see that Spencer’s shirt had been removed, and he bled from the face and neck and shoulders, and blood stained his brown pants. His torso was covered in the gleam of perspiration along with the crimson shine of his blood. He’d been handcuffed behind his back, he was conscious, and a civilian man knelt in front of him, talking to him. Every now and then, he turned the American’s face towards him to ask him a question, then slapped him or punched him. Zack knew Spencer wasn’t going to say a word in response to a little rough stuff, but he also knew the harsh treatment he was now being subjected to would deteriorate in seconds into real torture.
And there was nothing he could do to save him.
“Sierra One for Sierra Six.”
“Go ahead for Six.”
“You ready to try an exfiltration?”
“Affirmative. I just need to know where you are. As soon as you find Five, let’s do it. Every second we wait is another second where I risk compromise.”
Zack relayed his exact coordinates and then said, “They’ve got Five. We have eyes on. He’s alive but unreachable.”
No transmissions came through the headsets for several seconds. Finally Court responded. “Okay. Understand you have line of sight?”
Zack nodded in the darkened room. A dingy white curtain blew in the hot breeze in front of him, momentarily obscuring his view of his man. Zack knew what Court was asking. Court was a pro among pros. Of course he understood what must be done.
Hightower flipped the safety on his Tavor, rendering his weapon hot. “Affirmative, Six. I have line of sight. He’s at the bus station just north of us.”
Gentry’s next transmission broke a short still. “I’ll do it. I’ll head down the hill and get eyes on. You just sit tight, and I’ll take care of it.”
The other three men in the room with Zack said nothing. Hightower knew that they all understood what was going to happen, but only Gentry offered to do it.
Court Gentry was one hell of a guy.
“Negative, kid. I appreciate it, but this is my job. It’s what they pay me for, I guess.”
“You sure?”
“Affirm. Just tell me you’re ready to pick us up.”
“I’ve got a diversion set up here. I’ll need about thirty seconds to be under way, and another two mikes to be right on top of you guys.”
“Roger that. Make ready. We go on my mark.”
Dan was closest to Zack, just two feet off his left shoulder. He reached out and patted his boss on the arm, gave him a sympathetic squeeze.
Hightower shrugged off the hand.
Everyone on the team knew what was about to happen. They played by a set of rules that included this eventuality.
“Goddammit,” said Zack softly. The men beating the shit out of Spencer now were blocking his shot; the aiming reticle on his Tavor was lined up on the tailbone of a secret policeman. Hightower wanted to squeeze the trigger, but killing one NSS officer was not worth exposing their position.
At this point, there was only one thing worth exposing their position: preventing Sierra Five from revealing his identity or mission to the Sudanese. He wouldn’t do it willingly, but he would do it, and there was only one way to stop it.
Just then Hightower squinted into his scope. There was a ruckus of some sort on the other side of the secret policeman. Soldiers ran forward, one fell back in the dirt, another spun away down to his knees. The NSS officer blocking Sierra One’s view was pushed aside, and then Sierra Five appeared, bloody and shirtless still, his hands shackled behind him.
“Six, execute in five seconds,” said Zack.
“Go in five, roger,” came the terse reply.
Spencer ran free of the scrum of men, showing incredible balance and fitness to do so. He head-butted another soldier and made it ten yards closer to Hightower’s position, near the edge of the