of my .308 boat tail and caught that round instead of your lover boy. How cool is this, Court? Last Christmastime you capped the ex-president of Nigeria, and I just bagged me the sitting president of the Sudan. Give us time, and you and me just might clean up this shit-assed continent, whaddya say? Wait a sec. Scratch that. You aren’t going to live long enough to whack anybody else. Either the infection is going to get you, the thousands of GOS chuckleheads on your tail are going to get you, or I’m going to get you.”
Court continued to lie there and shake, as if from extreme cold, a near complete physical and mental breakdown. His body and clothing were caked with matted bloodred sand. He gulped air for a long moment before saying, “You had . . . one chance to stop me from killing you. I was in your sights, and you made your choice. You chose badly, Zack.”
There was a pause on the line. Court sensed concern on the other end. “Whatever, dude. You just need to stay in that hole and die. I’ll be out of the country before you can pick Abboud’s brain matter out of your teeth. And if you do make it out of the Sudan, Denny has already told me I’ll be leading the task force set up to hunt you down.”
“I’ll save you some time. Come on down here right now. I’ll be waiting.”
“Love to, brother, but I think I’ll get out of here before Johnny Law shows up to see about that dead president smeared all over your shirt like pizza sauce. But I won’t be far. Milo and Dan and the rest of the guys on the Hannah have already hitched a ride out of the theater. It’s just me and you now.” He chuckled. “Oh yeah, plus the five hundred thousand members of the Sudanese Armed Forces.”
“And I will burn through each and every one of them to get to you, Zack. Six out.”
Hightower spoke up as Gentry made to end the call. “Court, Sierra Six was one of us, and you are no longer one of us. Your code name is no longer Sierra Six, it has reverted to Violator. You’re the enemy again. Just in case you’re keeping score. One out.” Zack hung up the phone.
Court was sick as a dog, half-dead in a ditch, out-manned, outgunned, and outplayed. He had failed. He lay in the sand as the full sphere of the sun appeared between the bungalows on the water. Slowly he made it to his knees and began crawling towards the resort, head low in case Zack was still peering through a rifle scope up on the plateau.
FORTY-EIGHT
The moon had gone for the month; the Red Sea caught and amplified the light of a million stars, but it was not enough illumination for Gentry to see the Hannah in the distance. He squinted to the southeast, following the direction indicator of the GPS beacon locator in his hand. He was less than a mile out, so he cut the engine of the four-man rigid inflatable boat.
His GPS also told him he was four miles offshore now, but he could not see the land in the dark. With the engine off there was all-encompassing nothingness, dark in all directions but up, and up was untouchable infinity.
The ocean was not still. It rose and lowered silently, no breakers or whitecaps out here, just gentle surges that lifted the Gray Man and his boat a few stories into the air and then let him back down again. It was more felt than seen in the darkness, but an occasional reflection off the water’s surface showed him hills and valleys all around, hills and valleys of black water that undulated with the undercurrents of the Red Sea.
It had been a long day. After making his way to the dive resort, he’d found it empty except for the husband and wife owners of the establishment. The few Western guests had all been rounded up and trucked to Port Sudan for lengthy interviews, a fishing expedition by the NSS for the kidnappers of the president. Court did the greatest favor he could imagine for the Dutch couple. He leveled his Glock at their heads and tied them up in the dining room of the establishment. He knew the Sudanese would find the president’s body close by, and he knew these two senior citizens would be questioned. If Court had, in