would be another set of eyes at the target location in the morning, although he was also surprised Zack would want one of his men so close to the action. He didn’t press his good fortune by asking about it. Instead he questioned Hightower on the rebels. “The SLA is in place and ready to go?”
Zack shrugged. “Better be. Sudan Station paid four hundred thousand bucks to secure their participation. There are thirty-five rebels who will attack from the north at our command tomorrow morning.”
“Thirty-five?”
Zack nodded.
“What happened to one hundred?”
Hightower had promised Court, back when he’d been trying to get him to agree to the op, that a force of rebels one hundred strong would keep Abboud’s security and local police tied up. But Zack showed no contrition in explaining the discrepancy. He just waved his hand, like it was a minor matter. “That would have been overkill. A couple of trucks at the square, a couple more at the police station, a couple more on the road into town. We know that if Abboud’s personal security detail is close enough to the bank when the raid hits, then they are going to shove him into the bank, no matter how much or how little shooting occurs. We don’t want or need a major battle on our hands. Thirty-five rebels is the perfect amount.”
“You sound like someone sold that to you, so now you are trying to sell it to me.”
Zack smiled a little, the first time he’d been anything but furious with Court since their sat phone conversation when he was flying into Al Fashir, four days earlier. After a second’s thought, he raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah. Sudan Station told me one hundred rebels. Then they told me thirty-five. Their explanation was just as I said. It makes sense, especially after looking at the layout of the town, but I sure don’t like planning an op under one set of presumptions and then executing it under another set of presumptions.”
Court just nodded in the dark. “But you still want to go ahead?”
“Hell yeah,” Sierra One said without hesitation. “We’re good.”
The evening call to prayer came from the minaret in the mosque to the west. If everything went according to plan, Court would be a couple blocks away from that very mosque tomorrow before sunup. He looked at Zack. “You got the stuff for me?”
Zack used his thumb to press a wireless push-to-talk transmission button mounted on the side of the index finger of his glove. He spoke into a small headset angled around his right cheek. “Brad, let’s have the ruck.”
Sierra Two appeared at the top of the stairs a few seconds later. The rucksack was about the size Court had expected, roughly the same as his other pack, stowed back at the water’s edge three hundred yards to the north of this location.
“I need a fucking Sherpa.”
“Hey man, you’re officially running two ops; for that you need two sets of gear.”
Zack next handed over a small plastic box, and Court opened it. It was a C4OPS radio system, the same as the Whiskey Sierra team would be using the next morning. It was new technology, and it had everything but the kitchen sink rolled up into it. A radio, a GPS, wireless PTT buttons to mount on a glove or a weapon, earpieces that also provided noise reduction during gunfire, and a covert microphone headset that was virtually invisible when worn on a face with a beard. Zack had given him a primer on the C4OPS system back in Saint Pete, but before that Court had never heard of it.
“How’s the encryption? Any chance the opposition can pick up the transmissions?”
“I’ll show you.” Zack flipped on the device, pushed the wireless transmit button. He spoke into the microphone in a whisper. “Good evening, all you skinnies and ragheads. My name is Zachary Paul Hightower. My social security number is 413-555-1287. President Abboud sucks camel dicks.”
Sierra Two was at the top of the stairs. He turned back to Hightower. “That’s my social.”
Zack smiled. Shrugged. “Is it? My bad, Bradley.” He turned back to Court. “You can listen in on our transmissions on this. Just so you know what’s going on at our end. But I don’t want you clogging the net. Don’t transmit. If you need to talk to me, use the Thuraya. I’ll have it on at all times, wired into my headset, even if we are in hard contact.”