Jason lays out the plan again as a quick reminder.
It's a simple enough assault.
They are expecting some basic firepower, a handful of armed guards. Nothing too crazy. Although the estimate of numbers is just that, an estimate. And it's coming from foreign analysts from the SIRP assigned to work with them through this process so he trusts it even less. There could be more, and they will just have to deal with it if there is. They will also have the ERT team of the local police on standby a block away to assist with containment once they breach. A luxury they don't often get and a perk of actually being in a country with permission for once.
The only slight complication is how to is how to do the assault in a timely enough fashion to secure the hostages before they have a chance to start killing them.
In a perfect world they would have a bit more information about what to expect on the inside, especially given how long the operations team has been forced to sit around been sitting around twiddling their thumbs. But they don't and that's just how things are. He's learned a long time ago to pick his battles, sometimes its worth pushing back for more information, sometimes it isn't, and sometimes it's just not even possible.
Given the already long delay, additional information is unlikely to come with more time. If they weren't able to get a clear picture of what goes on inside in the last three days, four is unlikely to be any different. But that extra time could be costly on other fronts. So at this point it's just on them to figure out a way to get the job done. It's why they pay them the big bucks (except not really), to operate in the dark, to work in undesirable situations, to overcome odds. And hell sometimes Jason will admit he likes the extra challenge.
They long ago decided on a simultaneous breach from back and front of the building. Classic, no need to reinvent the wheel. As far as they know their presence is unknown, and unexpected so it should work.
He quickly reviews the new information, there really isn't much more and nothing that jumps out at him as a reason to deviate from what they already drew up.
Across the table an irregular movement registers in his peripheral vision. He glances briefly up from the diagrams and catches Clay shifting uncomfortably in place also staring thoughtfully at the diagram and area maps with a slight frown forming.
He finds himself watching his acting number two for a second. Something pinging on his radar as being not quite right. Spenser's mannerisms are off from what they normally are pre-mission. Usually Clay is the picture of confidence and composure pre-mission, brimming with excitement and raring to go. Now Clay's brow furrows as he reviews the data in front of them and he chews on his lip, something Jason knows well to be a sign that something's all stuck up in the kids craw. It's usually a telltale sign for him that he needs to have a heart to heart with the kid about something, or better yet convince Ray to do it for him.
Thinking more about it the kid's been somewhat quieter than normal over the last few days as they have been planning and preparing. Hasn't offered as much into the discussion as normal. No questions, no ideas, no playing devil's advocate. Actually come to think of it, there has been less of that in general since he stepped into the number two role which is strange because Jason would have expected that pendulum to swing the other way with the temporary promotion giving the kid a little extra confidence and a lot less filter.
It couldn't be the same as Ray, he knows that, nor should it be. He and Clay have been figuring out their dynamic through trial and error over the last few missions to find what works and it hasn't always been completely smooth although it's gone well enough. But for his part he knows the changes and the learning curves are necessary even if they aren't necessarily comfortable or easy. And yeah, he's self aware enough to realize that with Ray's presence on this mission he's been drifting back to the allure of the known and the regular and maybe relying on his longtime friend more than he should be. His relationship with Spenser is strong, and growing stronger everyday but it is still miles away from the easy give and take and the strong foundation of trust that can only be built through years and years of having to rely on each other. Jason can put the pieces together and realize that some of Clay's quietness is probably his own fault. He's not completely oblivious to the fact that he could have done a better job at making sure Clay was still being included even when Ray was also involved. He was just a bit in his head, tunnel visioned on getting the op greenlit. On saving the mothers and daughters in that container. He's sure Ray is saving up a good lecture for him later. Because even while he was acting in a new role, Jason is sure he still noticed.
Clay raises his head sheepishly, almost as if he knows he is the current object of Jason's scrutiny. Jason holds his gaze and lifts an eyebrow in question, offering him the chance to say whatever is on his mind. Clay studies him, glances down at the map, and then back up at Jason. Waging some kind of internal battle that now has peaked Jason's curiosity.
Clay opens his mouth and then closes it.
And now it's Bravo one's turn to frown. He's never never known the kid to hesitate to share a criticism or question and finds it strangely disconcerting. He can appreciate the irony of wishing Clay would speak up after they spent so many months and drank so many cases of beer back at the beginning trying to teach him to do the opposite. To think before he spoke and to find the right time and place. But he is a long way from the greenie now, a long way from Bravo 6 the rookie, and this is the right time and place. If there is something to say the kid needs to say it, especially as Bravo 2. Jason wants all the information, any possible problems on the table before it's too late to fix them.
"Piss or get off the pot Spenser."
Spenser hesitates again and Jason tries to decide how much he wants to push this.
The decision gets made for him when Blackburn enters the room and announces "Vans are here"
The time for hesitation or discussion is past, its wheels up so to speak.
It's a short drive to the target and they are in position in less than 15 minutes, crouched in the shadows approximately 50 meters back from the main entrance of the warehouse.
"Havoc I pass Aspen"
The streets are quiet and the building looks abandoned save a few trailers parked in loading docks overnight. There is no activity around them. No unloading. No security that he would expect. It looks thoroughly abandoned for the night.
Strange.
They hold their position. Watching carefully. Trying to pick the right moment. Although if there is no outer patrols that moment is certainly going to be a lot easier to find.
Clay's voice in his earpiece startles him slightly "You think they all went home for the night or what?"
His number two's tone is light and casual and he's tried to make a joke of it even though the underlying concern in his question is plain as day and heard loud and clear. Even without with Clay and Brock camped out around back at the rear of the building Jason easily picks up on the uncertainty.
To his left Sunny chimes in with a barely hushed "Kids got a point."
And Jason has to admit, he's starting to have a few questions about this all as well. Number one is where the hell are all the people. He is almost ready to key his comms and demand to know if Intel sent them to the wrong damn building when Clay breaks the silence to answer his own question.
'Never mind. Hold, we have two approaching from the southwest corner. Appear to be doing a perimeter sweep."
There is a pause and then he follows up.
"They are coming your way, should be in view for you any second."
Sure enough two tangos appear at the eastern side of the building and come around in front to re-enter at the main entrance. Their paths are a little too purposeful, their eyes a little too alert and their their low back a little too bulky to be innocents who just happen to be there or your regular rent-a-security gaurd making a mandated lap before going back to nap in the car. Clay is right this has every marking of a pair doing a security patrol.
The first tango enters the building quickly but the other turns and surveys around standing pat in entrance way. The muted street light illuminates his skin almost painfully white in their nods and they can see every feature. The man stands for another second scanning the streets. crouched behind a building Jason shrinks back slightly into the darkness and feels his team do the same as his gaze sweeps in their direction. As the man turns his head from side to side Jason's focus is drawn to the heavy scar that runs from jawbone to chin. He keeps searching the area for another minute although Jason isn't sure what he expects hopes to see the dark street with the naked eye, and then finally he turns and follows his buddy inside.
Jason eyes around him checking to make sure everyone is ready. Now is as good a time as they are going to get. Before another patrol can get sent out.
To his left and right Trent and Sonny give grim nods, tightening their holds on their weapons of choice. This moment has been too long coming for most of them.
"Two you set?"
"Rear team in position" Clay's confirmation comes immediately.
He is already up and moving as he keys his coms.
" Execute. Execute."
The team moves seamlessly into position to breach.
Trent prepares the charge and then steps away, giving Jason a nod and holding in position waiting for the "go".
Jason waits one, just to be sure Clay and Brock have had ample time to do the same and then calls it.
"Breaching in 3-2-1. Execute"
Trent blows the door and Sonny is pushing through the opening in almost the same instant. Jason follows closely behind with Trent falling in at the rear.
They clear room by room as they sweep, working their way inwards and meeting minimal resistance. The one or two fighters they find almost feel perfunctory and are quickly dispatched with complete efficiency. He hears a tight grouping of shots ring out in the rear suggesting Clay's team is doing the same.
It almost is going too smoothly. Within less than a minute they've cleared the front offices, and most of the main warehouse and trailer bays. He hears Cerbs bark first and then seconds later Clay unnecessarily announcing their arrival from the back access and storage rooms they just swept.
The two teams meet in the middle and then branch off to sweep the last few rooms and then his team begins opening the few containers and trailers stacked in the heart of the warehouse.
Watching Trent pull out his bold cutters and start cutting off locks Jason's gut churns with anticipation. And yet he fears he already knows what they will find.
That was too easy.
This is too empty.
Something doesn't feel right and he is no longer optimistic that they are going to find what they are looking for.
Sure enough within a matter of seconds he hears his team breach the last of the containers. Clay and Sonny wrench the last set of doors open causing the painfully abrasive sound of metal grating against metal and cement.
Clay calls "clear" and Jason hangs his head.
It was a pristine, textbook assault.
They couldn't have run it any better in a controlled training scenario.
The problem is that very much like a training scenario there is no real jackpot at the end here and in real life there is supposed to be.
Here they don't just reset and run it again. He isn't satisfied with just a clean run through or a perfect score on this one.
"Havoc I pass spruce. But no joy on evergreen."
There's a heavy sigh on the line and then Eric responds "Good copy Bravo 1. Passing spruce. Negative on evergreen"
Jason looks around at the absurdly vacant staging areas with only a few now open containers. He walks around until he finds the specific one he is looking for, the one whose supposed contents are what got them greenlit and led to them standing here today.
Like all the others it's completely empty and shows no evidence at all about what it might have held before. It's clearly been cleaned out, hosed down, and made ready for another run. And yet even without looking at the number identifier he knows it's was the one. Knows exactly what used to be in here.
They were here.
They were.
He's sure of it even though he can't actually prove it.
So where the hell did they move them too and how? He didn't see anything while they were entering to suggest they moved through or were held in any of the rooms he cleared.
And where the fuck are they now? Intel was confident there had been no transport out since arrival out. A few cars here and there with warehouse workers coming and going but nothing that could have moved 40 or so humans without arousing suspicion.
They were supposed to be here.
They weren't supposed to have been moved to the next facility yet.
How the hell did they somehow manage to get out of here undetected with so many eyes fixed on this building around the clock since they arrived?
Jason looks around at his men who are also exploring out around him and calls out "anybody see anything of interest on entry?"
The four answering head shakes are expected because his team is too smart and too in sync to have not already said so if they had.
So he turns to a different source for answers. One that should have had a better one in the first place.
"Havoc, what is ISR showing? Surely they didn't just vanish into thin air. How did they already get moved without us knowing about it? Or are we even sure they were here in the first place?"
The adrenaline still pumping makes his tone tight and biting and probably rude and he couldn't really care less. He doesn't even try to avoid the implication that someone fucked up because the ramifications are quickly setting in of what this means going forward.
They only came here first was because they believed they were still here. This failed mission is a massive blow to their chances of recovering the victims alive. Sure they can proceed to the other location but they may be too late. They may be long gone from there already. There also is a good chance that their entry here hasn't gone unnoticed and could spark a chain reaction of panic that further endangers lives.
He resists the urge to rush to the next location. His heart wants to pile the team in the vans and get there as fast as possible just in case, but his head says otherwise. Years of dealing with tough decisions and situations like this keep him in place and thinking through the next steps. Right now the best thing he can do is wait and find out what they are missing before they go blindly into another assault.
Eric seems to sense the brewing storm and where Jason's head is at because he hurriedly offers. "I'm looking into that right now. Lisa and I will get you whatever we can to work off of. In a meantime stay put. Local police have secured the perimeter.
Jason grunts a response that probably isn't even a word.
Sonny is more eloquent about it and mutters sarcastically "Great, I feel so safe."
Jason sighs "Alright, search it again. Everybody spread out and see what you can find that might shed some light on this cluster."
He watches his team split off following his directions and then heads after them in the same general direction as Clay and Trent, splitting off to go down a hallway into what looks like a grouping of offices.
Jason recognizes a room that he cleared earlier and splits off remembering a few boxes of interest that he wants to re-visit.
He carefully cracks open the first crate and finds an impressive shipment of firearms that is not wholly unexpected given what they know about the networks previous expertise. Hell he's willing to bet they are double dipping. Combining their old business ventures with their new. After all, many of the scumbags interested in buying vulnerable women to exploit probably wouldn't be opposed to accumulating enough guns and ammunition to equip a small country's army.
The next crate he pops is more unexpected, and has him freezing in place for several reasons.
Fuck thats a lot of C-4.
Logically he knows it's actually a very stable substance, especially packaged and secured like this. And deep down he knows that technically speaking he can't actually set it off with any sort of jolt or bump, that it would take a significant shockwave of charged energy to do that. But neither of those things stop him from slowly and very carefully easing the lid back down and backing away.
A few feet away, Jason slowly lets out the breath he was holding.
Explosives, and a lot of them at that. Yet another thing that not part of the brief.
Jesus.
He goes to reach for his radio to communicate this new finding to the rest of his team for their awareness as they continue to search through other rooms.
As he steps back to put one more step between himself and that payload and feels the previously hard cement floor give slightly under his left foot.
Jason freezes again, all movement, all communication forgotten as his mind races through the many possibilities of bad things he could have just stepped on and triggered. A pressure plate tops the list immediately both as the worst option and unfortunately also the most likely one.
His hand falls away from his radio, aborting his efforts to communicate with his team. Any call now will have them coming to his aid, something he isn't willing to risk until he knows the extent of the situation. No sense in putting more men down range and in harm's way.
They can get yell at him about it later, hopefully.
Honestly he isn't entirely surprised to find the raw explosives being moved. It's not that much of a stretch from the Intel they had about their international arms dealing. On the other hand if these assholes are actually sophisticated enough to have wired the place and booby trapped it without anybody picking up on that being a possibility then he is going to be really, REALLY pissed because thats a big fucking ball to drop.
Jason slowly crouches down, careful not to shift his weight in the slightest off of his one foot that found the plate. Whatever it is, its partially hidden beneath a rug so he cautiously lifts one corner of the fabric peeling it up inch by inch looking carefully for any wiring that could further complicate the situation. Instead he finds what looks like wooden planks and he stares blankly at them for a second before it truly registers what he is looking at. It's completely not what he was expecting. He was fairly certain that he was screwed and now his mind is playing catch up and having trouble conceptualizing why exactly this discrepancy is here if its not to blow him up.
When it finally clicks he is almost embarrassed with how long it took him to understand the significance of what appears to be a trapdoor. Leading to a cellar? No, he'd put good money on it being the entrance to a tunnel.
It's almost a waste of energy at this point to focus on the fact that this too was not on the brief or in any of the building diagrams. He has quite a list going to make sure he hits on when he gives someone an earful later.
However the more he thinks about it the more things start to slot rapidly into place. A tunnel would explain why they couldn't pin down any set pattern of movement externally between this location and the next in the chain. The smugglers must be moving their cargo down under ground rather than risking it above ground. Cargo arrives, gets unpacked, gets transferred underground to the next stop and re-distributed from there. It's brilliant, even if you tracked the container to the first stop (like they did) you would come up empty. Like they almost did. He has to admit he is kind of impressed.
It also unfortunately means they could have missed them by minutes or days. And there is no way to tell.
He should call it in, get the guys here and secure permission to pursue down the tunnel. But first he just wants to get a quick idea of what they are dealing with. He crouches down to grab at the corner and lifts carefully, just one inch at first watching carefully for any wires or signs of booby trapping. Not going to take any chances after his previous scare.
It's dark and deep.
He initially can't see more than a few inches down, nowhere near the bottom.
Jason hastily cracks on his headlamp and shines it around illuminating a ladder that extends downward in a square vertical tunnel downwards, maybe a few feet wide. At the bottom it opens up further into what looks like a large, expansive passageway heading east.
There's nothing homemade or hastily dug about it. It looks professional, ancient even like it actually predates this building if he had to guess although he has no idea why that would be.
He leans down a little closer trying to figure out whether or not there are any details, dust disturbances, footprints, anything to help tell how long ago it was used and how long they missed the transfer by.
The creak of a door quietly in the background has him returning his focus above ground a second too late. He straightens, blinks disorientedly in the bright room and belatedly tunes into the rush of footsteps that precipitates a hard, jarring impact to his side an instant later.
Off guard and off balance he goes down hard and embarrassingly easy. His head bounces off the cement he sees stars for a second, gasping helplessly for air as he lays on his back stunned and winded all at once. Before he can recover and get his bearings a weight settles heavy on top of him and a hand closes firmly over his mouth preventing him from calling out for help.
He manages to orient himself just in time to catch sight of the knife plunging down towards his chest, he counters and his arm manages to deflect a fatal blow steering down and away from his vital organs but there's too much force and it finishes it's arc only slightly deterred slicing down across his hip and then embedding high up in the side of his thigh.
Hot, nauseating agony spikes through his leg and he screams, muffled under the gag pressing relentlessly down not allowing him to make a sound even as the blade is yanked back out again.
Panting, Jason watches the knife raise again and manages to wait until his attacker is fully extended before using his good leg to swing up, kicking hard to dislodge his attacker. The weight slides partly off his chest, his assailant knocked off kilter to the side giving him space and freedom to grapple clumsily for his gun. Too soon the man is back in his personal space, pressing down and wrestling the gun out of his hands where it goes scattering away. Jason curses at himself, more angry at his failure to take advantage and gain the upper hand than he is about getting tackled or stabbed in the first place. He is not getting his ass kicked today. He is not going out on his back, overpowered and outmaneuvered. Hell no, not like this.
With a sudden burst of rage and wave of adrenaline, Jason turns the tables and goes on the offensive. He reaches up, grabbing his attackers arms and wrestling for control of the knife managing to get a hold of the man's thumb, ruthlessly wrenching it back until the man drops his own weapon with a yell. Jason swings at it, sending it far out of reach for both of them. The guy counters, swinging fists now. Hard blows from his advantage on top. Jason takes a hard shot to the chin, then another to the temple. He rides it out and counters with a few well placed strikes to his rib cage that have the man doubling over, gasping for air. He takes some grim satisfaction there and then uses his momentary advantage to flip them, reversing their positions and pulling his own knife all in the same motion. He doesn't waste time or energy, stabbing short and compact, one, two, three times to the chest and then following it up with two hard blows to the head that make the asshole finally go limp underneath him. He takes a few uneven breaths and then pushes up, staggering off the man and limping unsteadily a few feet away where he shakily sinks back down to the floor with his back against a crate.
He stares in disbelief at the bloody mess, the evidence of the chaos and violence, trying to fathom exactly how that just happened.
First off how the guy even got into the building. Maybe he was here all along. Did they not clear it properly? Did the perimeter not hold out if they did?
The pain in his leg reignites reminding him of a more pressing problem he probably should be focusing on judging by the puddle of blood growing under his leg. His head spins and throbs unhelpfully as he tries to coordinate his shaky hands into doing something useful. eventually but he gets the tourniquet positioned where it needs to be and cranks it right, wincing at the pain the pressure causes.
Honestly it's probably well deserved because now he's moved on to kicking himself. It was a rookie move to be so unaware of his surroundings and to let the guy get the drop on him.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Trent better be able to stitch this up and get him mobile enough to finish the rest of this op. Their medic won't like it but the man usually has the good graces to plug his nose and do what's necessary and save his lectures up for later. He's got a real good one about TBI's that he recycles, and these days Clay likes to tag team that one adding in some new material and gruesome depressing facts about what the future probably holds for all of them. With any luck he can keep the pair of them from realizing his concussed state until well after the mission, or better yet never.
Jason fumbles with his radio to make contact and takes a few seconds too long to realize that part of the fuzzy head feeling is actually the static of disconnected channels playing through his comms. He hastily begins jamming loosened wires back into place, flinching sharply when wires reconnect and the low buzz explodes into something louder and more shrill in his earpiece and then finally squelches with a more recognizable sound that signals a connection.
Another familiar sound a few feet away has him looking up quickly, heart stuttering and stomach dropping down through the floor deep into the pit of the tunnels below.
He knows that sound anywhere.
The age old expression "so quiet you could hear a pin drop" well that applies to grenade pins too.
His victim's eyes are open now, flat on his back, head turned to Jason with blood streaming down from his mouth to his chin. He could easily be a dead body except his face is alive with hatred and malice and he focuses rolling eyes on Jason and smiles in satisfaction with his final act.
Jason's eyes don't need to go to his hands to know what he will see yet they go anyways.
He watches the man's hand relax, the grenade release and roll onto the ground between them, and time seems to go into slow motion.
4 seconds.
That's how much time Jason has before he dies here.
4 seconds while the spring loaded striker falls down against the percussion cap, impacting and creating a small spark that ignites a slow burning fuze.
4 seconds. Give or take. While the fuze burns through and then reaches the detonator, setting off an explosion inside the grenade that will send deadly percussive force and crippling heat combined with shards of metal in all directions.
Even if he somehow survives that which he won't, his belated calculations have him leaning against a box of several hundred pounds of C-4 that most definitely will be triggered by that shockwave and will happily finish the job of dispersing him into a fine pink mist.
4 seconds.
It only takes .5 of one for his brain to calculate all that. Another .5 to be pissed at himself for not making sure the guy was 6 feet under or at least didn't have any weapons on him. And then another precious second to worry about whether the blast will reach any of his team outside of this room.
Then in a last ditch effort he springs to his feet, fueled by sheer desperation and hurls himself back towards the hatch he abandoned earlier, his only possible chance of not going out in a fiery inferno. He takes two painful steps and dives towards the opening reaching, not knowing if he will get there in time, sliding on his stomach until his fingers grab the lip then the ladder, pulling himself down desperately head first into the cold, dark hole at an angle it was never meant to be entered.
And then time is up. A great wave of heat and pressure catches the rest of his body, still partially exposed, ramming into his stomach, legs and feet up like a tidal wave and sending them way to fast downwards after him. The force drives him downwards from above, too fast and too powerful for him to maintain any grip or control and he goes flying down and back in an uncontrolled heap until his back and head crash into the far wall of the vertical tunnel sending him tumbling down into the darkness.