Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [98]
“… Singapore cemetery. The explosive device is thought to have been an extremely sophisticated one. Singapore military bomb disposal and forensic officers describe it as the sort of improvised bomb widely used in the ongoing conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq.”
“The number of dead has grown to twenty-eight, following the deaths of two seriously injured casualties last night and this morning.”
“Officials say that several other survivors are still in a critical condition and are not expected to live.”
“More on the fatal Singapore bombing in our special bulletin next.”
The two CNN newsreaders tossed the grim facts backwards and forwards like a football, watched by millions of people around the world, including the smiling Thomas Lu.
37
We’d crossed the Mekong in the small hours of the morning three nights before. Now we were in the jungle, staked out on a small ridge. The window we’d cut in the canopy allowed us a view across a narrow valley containing rice fields and gardens. There was a compound on the far side. Tall bamboo fences, earthworks and guard towers contained men with all manner of guns. It was a place where the uninvited were definitely not welcome. We most certainly were not on the invitation list.
“Good to be back in the bush again, Daniel?”
“Fuck off!”
Sami Somsak laughed at my childish response. Jo Ankar, who was ten feet above us, sitting in the crotch of a tree, chuckled. The three of us had played this game before, many times. I used my bandana to wipe away the sweat from my brow and retied it around my head. I did love the bush, it just didn’t do to show it. I was more at home here than on the streets of any city.
The jungle, or as we call it “the bush”, is pretty much the same in Cambodia as it is on the other side of the river. Same trees. Same bugs. Same snakes and the same stifling heat accompanied by the same unrelenting humidity. It’s like living in a sauna stocked with all manner of biting pests. Oh, how I wanted to be riding along in the air-conditioned comfort of the Range Rover I was holding in the sights of the .50 calibre Barrett I was lying behind.
The magnification on the varipower scope was set at x9. It could go up to x20, but long experience had shown me that all the higher magnification did was magnify the motion of my breathing and the slightest movement of my hands. Even the beating of my heart produced a constant repeated quiver at the higher magnification. So I kept the setting under the double digits.
The Range Rover was stationary, sitting in the open gate of the compound. The distance was 700 metres. I knew this for a fact because one of our friendly overhead satellites had measured it most precisely. The centre of the broad but shallow stream that divided the valley was 300 metres away.
“Here he comes.” Jo was using a pair of high magnification binoculars. He’d picked out our target as he exited the compound and climbed into the Range Rover. “He appears to have someone with him. I can’t make them out. Going in the back seat.”
Through the scope, the rear door hid my view. Jo was able to see far more from his vantage point.
“That’s unfortunate for someone,” I responded, rolling out from behind the huge rifle and standing. We were in no danger of being seen here. Deep under the forest canopy, we were invisible. I stretched and took a few pre-game deep breaths. When the action came down, it would be short, sharp and very brutal.
The Barrett, a semi-automatic heavy hitter, was the ultimate sniper weapon. It fired a big 750-grain phosphorous bronze projectile or any one of half a dozen specialised rounds. These ranged from armour piercing rounds to those with explosive tips. The weapon could wreak havoc on any soft-skinned target. The Range Rover was soft-skinned. As, of course, were the people in it. There was no known body armour capable of stopping the enormous round.
“He’s moving,” Jo called and that was my cue to get down to business. I pulled off my gloves to push squishy earplugs into my ears. The other