One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [162]
LUCAS WAITED ON HIS MEN outside of the Sarajevo customs area, where he was the first to make it through. The team didn’t have to worry about anyone in customs searching their bags—they were using black diplomatic passports secured by Harold Standish through contacts inside the National Security Council.
He hung up his cell phone for the third time. For some reason he had no contact with Mason at all. The phone simply rang and went to voice mail. He chalked it up to a sorry cell network. He watched the first team member come through the customs hallway, carrying his duffel bag covered in military patches. Way to go, 007. Real inconspicuous. He reflected again on the fact that he was dealing with the second tier. They were all special operations guys, but not the cream of the crop. They were good enough at executing simple missions, with specific instructions, but would not do well at contingencies or thinking on the fly. They sure as shit aren’t as good as Mason’s team. Why won’t that guy answer the phone?
96
On final approach to the Sarajevo airport, I could see a flurry of activity on the tarmac. Instead of airport workers in yellow vests, I saw a bunch of guys in business suits casing the place. Getting on the headset, I asked the pilot what was going on.
“Some sort of ceremony in town today. They got dignitaries coming in from all over Europe.”
Knuckles cut in. “That’s great. Should make our illegal exfil with a captured terrorist that much easier.”
I grinned at him. “Come on. What’s the point of living on the edge if you don’t lean over a little?”
He just shook his head.
The pilot said, “Might work out better for us. We’re being directed to land at the old military side of the airport—away from all the security. Should be able to come and go freely from this end.”
The Taskforce team exited the Bell 427 while the rotors were still turning, the whine of the engines slowly growing weaker. I was itching to get started. “We need some vehicles. Anyone know anything about this airport?”
One of the pilots responded, “Yeah, there’re a couple of car rental places inside. The terminal’s small, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
I wanted to start barking out orders but held back, waiting on Knuckles.
“Okay,” he said, “pilots stay here, ready to move. Keep the helo on strip alert, because we’re probably coming back fast. Be prepared to flex to Tuzla. If I see the security’s too tight, we’ll exfil from there with the package. Retro, you and Jennifer go find a couple of rental cars. Something big enough to carry up to two more men than we have. You know what we’re looking for.”
Jennifer and the man called Retro had started to leave when one of the pilots shouted, “Wait. I’ll go with you.” Jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Knuckles, he said, “He always wants ‘strip alert,’ but we usually end up sitting around for days, begging for food from anyone who passes by. I’ll get a car for us as well.”
After they left, Knuckles asked me, “Well, what do you think? What’s the play? Go in hard right now?”
He was doing all the right things, taking input from everyone, making me a little proud for no reason whatsoever.
“No. I think we should get the cars and conduct a recce to get a feel for what we’re dealing with. From there we can make a plan.”
Knuckles nodded. “Yeah, I agree.” He started giving orders. “Break out the visor cams. We don’t have a lot of time to go pure clandestine, so don’t worry about a deep install.”
Jennifer and Retro returned in two beat-up sedans within twenty minutes, with the pilot right behind them. No sooner had they exited the cars than four men began rigging one for clandestine surveillance. Using four cameras the size of lipstick tubes, they hid them in the upholstery and fed the lines into a digital recording device. The