The Cardinal of the Kremlin - Tom Clancy [224]
He heard a sound. His left hand went up, and all four men dropped behind cover. Something was moving over to the left. It kept going left, away from their path. Maybe a kid, he thought, a kid playing in the woods. He waited to be sure it was heading away, then started moving again. The shooter team wore standard military camouflage clothing over their protective gear, the woodland pattern's blend of greens and browns. After half an hour, Paulson checked his map.
"Checkpoint One," he said into his radio.
"Roger," Werner answered from three miles away. "Any problems?"
"Negative. Ready to move over the first ridge. Should have the objective in sight in fifteen minutes."
"Roger. Move in."
"Okay. Out." Paulson and his team formed line abreast to get to the first ridge. It was a small one, with the second two hundred yards beyond it. From there they'd be able to see the trailer, and now things went very slowly, Paulson handed his rifle to the fourth man. The agent moved forward alone, looking ahead to pick out the path that promised the quietest passage. It was mainly a question of looking where you walked rather than how, after all, something lost on city people who thought a forest floor was an invariably noisy place. Here there were plenty of rocky outcroppings, and he snaked his way among them and reached the second ridge in five minutes of nearly silent travel. Paulson snuggled up next to a tree and pulled out his binoculars-even these were coated with green plastic.
" 'Afternoon, folks," he said to himself. He couldn't see anyone yet, but the trailer blocked his view of where he expected the outside man to be, and there were also plenty of trees in the way. Paulson searched his immediate surroundings for movement. He took several minutes to watch and listen before waving for his fellow agents to come forward. They took ten minutes. Paulson checked his watch. They'd been in the woods for ninety minutes, and were slightly ahead of schedule.
"Seen anyone?" the other rifleman asked when he came down at Paulson's side.
"Not yet."
"Christ, I hope they haven't moved," Marty said. "Now what?"
"We'll move over to the left, then down the gully over there. That's our spot." He pointed.
"Just like on the pictures,"
"Everybody ready?" Paulson asked. He decided to wait a minute before setting off, allowing everyone a drink of water. The air was thin and dry here, and throats were getting raspy. They didn't want anyone to cough. Cough drops, the lead sniper thought. We ought to include those in the gear
It took another half hour to get to their perches. Paulson selected a damp spot next to a granite boulder that had been deposited by the last glacier to visit the area. He was about twenty feet above the level of the trailer, about what he wanted for the job, and not quite at a ninety-degree angle to it. He had a direct view of the large window on its back end. If Gregory were there, this was where they expected him to be kept. It was time to find out. Paulson unfolded the bipod legs on his rifle, flipped off the scope covers, and went to work. He grabbed for his radio again, fitting the earpiece. He spoke in a whisper lower than that of the wind in the pine branches over his head.
"This is Paulson. We're in place, looking now. Will advise."
"Acknowledged," the radio replied.
"Jeez," Marty said first. "There he is, Right side."
Al Gregory was sitting in an armchair. He had little choice in the matter. His wrists were cuffed in his lap-that concession had been made to his comfort-but his upper arms and lower legs were roped in place. His glasses had been taken away, and every object in the room had a fuzzy edge. Thai included the one who called himself Bill. They were taking turns guarding him. Bill sat at the far end of the room, just beyond the window. There was an automatic pistol tucked in his belt, but Gregory couldn't tell the type, merely the unmistakable angular shape.
"What-"
"-will we do with you?" Bill completed the question. "Damned if I know, Major. Some people