Chapter Eleven
The White Knight's Gambit
110 South Pointe
Twenty minutes later Salem was ready to move out. He carried his spotter's scope, the Barrett, broken down, his Galil, and the little Makarov. He also wore a pack with five gallons of water, energy bars, Gatorade, his med kit and various other items he might need. Despite the Feds saying that as soon as Salem was in place they would green light the op, and he could take his shot, they'd packed for a long wait. From the time Elliot moved out until he executed the shot he'd be on his own. No one would be able to re-supply him. It was an odd situation, an ironic situation. Although, he was in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world he had no way to replenish his supplies. No one would be able to safely creep out to him without the risk of compromising the mission.
The temperature on the roof hovered at 105 degrees Fahrenheit, and was about ten degrees warmer under his camo. To prevent becoming 'snow blind' from the brilliant white glare of the roof he was wearing dark polarized glasses. Finally, ready to begin, Salem sighed, and slipped out of the elevator tower. He paused, crouching down for a long moment, and checked the buildings to the north and the south. He still had the tingly sense of danger about being on the low ground. All of his training taught him to avoid the low ground, and now, having to traverse it, set his hackles off despite the intell that the other two buildings were clear. He was a Sniper, and it takes a Sniper to find a Sniper. He glassed the two buildings with a well trained eye, and finally after fifteen long minutes he felt comfortable enough to move out.
"Green Giant to Sprout, you have me on your HUD?"
"Roger that."
"Moving now, Sprout. Kellogg gimme something."
"Green Giant, objective is below decks, repeat objective is below decks."
"Roger that GG out."
Downstairs in the lobby command center Alice was explaining the information streaming across the three 40 inch lap tops spread out across the buffet tables that the team had commandeered to use as a work station. Gathered around the diminutive woman were several Federal agents, several Dade agents, Art and Detective Smith. Yarborough and his team were also present but had their own set of smaller monitors.
"What you are looking at is a real time read out of Green Giant's GPS position, here." She pointed to a satellite image showing the area from an elevation of 650 feet. On the image was a blinking green triangle. "That's Green Giant. As you can see he is moving. This is a more refined image as seen through Green Giant's mask cam. Sprout can also see this image, and Green Giant can see an image of Sprout's twenty. This is useful if they need to separate in battle. They can switch the image through, regular, Night Vision, and Inferred."
She paused allowing the group watch, through his helmet cam, as Salem slipped away from the elevator tower wall, and began moving toward the first of the large air handling units. The view was bright due to the white roof surface. She adjusted it slightly, and the picture was easier to make out. He walked in a low crouch, rolling from his heels to his toes staying toward the north side of the unit. This obscured his activity from the objective. His steps were so soft and smooth that the video barely jounced as he walked. When he reached the unit he slid in behind it, and squatted down with his back against it.
"I would like to remind all of you that Green Giant is carrying ninety plus pounds of gear. The Barrett alone is forty pounds. He is also toting five gallons of water and several quarts of Gatorade. He is only pulling about 175 pounds right now. In these temps he will be losing fluids rapidly, and he did not have time to take on extra hydration pre-mission. He is notoriously…"
"Green Giant hold your twenty, objective is on the deck." Giddy's voice cut in.
"Copy that Kellogg, objective on deck. Can't we just call him the target? He is my target?"
"Negative, Green Giant." Murray snapped. "You will refer to him as the objective."
"That's a fuck of a lot of bullshit. Sprout, you have eyes on the objective?"
"Roger that. Six-one, dark skinned, yellow ball cap, tan shirt and blue jeans and boots. The hostage, no hat, dark curly hair, Caucasian, red shirt, tan shorts, no shoes."
"Roger that. Objective target described as follows: Six-one, dark skinned, yellow ball cap, tan shirt and blue jeans and boots."
"Roger that."
"What about weapons?"
"Appears to be an AK, Green Giant. An AK with a scope. An ACOG. He came prepared."
"Roger that. An AK doesn't have the balls to hit at 650, Sprout; so what the fuck'd he hit the Swatty with. Moving."
"Roger that, let me see what I can find out. Drink first Green Giant."
"Don't start with me, Sprout. I've only been out here thirty fucking mikes. Green Giant fucking out."
"As I was saying," Alice continued, "He is notoriously bad about not drinking and eating on ops."
"Does he say the f-word enough?" One of the Feds asked.
Alice turned to the woman, whose face was flushed with embarrassment, and smiled.
"If a bit of language throws you off Agent Dempsey, then I highly suggest that you change careers."
"It is simply not professional."
Before Alice could respond further, Rios broke in.
"Delta base, Sprout. I need confirmation on the distance of the objective from the roof edge when the officer was hit. Copy?"
"Roger that Sprout hold one." She clicked off the connection and faced Detective Smith.
"You heard that?"
"Yea, but I don't have an answer. Why's it so important?"
"You were listening to the team's chatter?"
"Yes."
"Then, detective, you should have extrapolated that an AK47 does not have legs enough to hit a target at 650 yards. Max range is about 440. The problem my team now faces is, does the objective have a secondary weapon on board? If so what is it? And more frightening did the shot come from a second assailant. Where in the vest was he hit?"
"Left side midway between his hip and his under arm."
Alice processed the info while listening to the team's radio chatter in her head set. This was what she did the best. Manage multiple situations at one time and reliably process and disseminate information to the men. She switched to a frequency which would connect her, via a secure SSC line, to Yarborough. What the feds and Dade didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Murray had learned long ago to always have a hole card, and this op was no different than any other. She turned away from the group and spoke quietly into her mouth piece.
"Yarborough, take your team, and double check the north building. Any floor with an angle high enough, and a sight line to take that shot. Be discreet. Monitor our freq. If there is a second man he may be in communications with our primary. Objective will be called the bathroom."
"Roger that."
Smith turned as Yarborough's team began, with seemingly no apparent reason, to swiftly move out. As they walked they were checking and charging their wide array of weapons.
"Where's he going?" he snapped to Murray.
"Bathroom break. How was your man standing when he was hit?"
"I don't know. Vandenberg, get to the hospital and get me that info ASAP."
"Don't bother. Sprout?"
"Go ahead, Delta."
"The Swatty was hit left side midway between his hip and under arm. The shot could have come from the north building, or just an off center shot from the boat."
"Roger that. You copy Green Giant?"
"Jesus Christ and Fuck me twice, fuck yea I copy."
Salem was now at the fifth unit. It was 16:45 Zulu. He was sweating profusely, and soaked through and through. He slid into cover, and sat down leaning the heavy pack against the air conditioner. In his ear piece he could hear the chatter between Murray and the rest of the men but he ignored it. His main concern now was the possibility of a second gunman in the north building. Kellogg had shifted its twenty to cover it, and he had to trust them. He tipped his mask up, drank from his first bottle of Grape Gatorade, and leaned his head back against the vibrating unit. After a few minutes he slipped the mask back down and studied the potential threat looming to his north. He saw nothing. Regular and inferred both showed a clear building. He sighed, and began to unpack his Barrett. This was the beginning of the hard part. Once he was in position he would have to minimize his elevation. He would remain prone and any movements he made had to be done from that uncomfortable position.
Down stairs in the bustling, air conditioned lobby Alice continued with her description of the specialized SSC gear.
"Now then, back to what we were discussing. This screen shows the real time vital signs of the men. For this op, only Green Giant and Sprout are wearing their VISAC gear, or Vital Sign Activity Collection Gear. It is DoD trademarked technology that we are testing, and fine tuning for contractual use by the Army. So far it has proven to be not only very accurate, but it also allows us to design very individualized training regimes for the men once our physicians interpret the collected data. You have heart rate, B.P., O2 absorption, etcetera as you can see there. The last is a flag if they stop moving. I can adjust the time before an alarm sounds, or just shut it down for when they sleep. This would be helpful in the event a man goes down. Each man can see the other's readout as well. Now, oh excuse me; the first column, here, is their GPS coordinate. Moving on…"
"Green Giant to Delta team, moving on final approach. Is the bathroom clear?"
"Roger that, Green Giant. You are clear for final approach."
"Roger that."
"Bathroom Ms. Murray?"
"Just a bit of team humor, Detective Smith."
As the lobby audience watched, Salem's triangle slipped out from behind the air handling unit. The sound of keyboard buttons clicking filled the air, and suddenly the group had a roof top view of Elliot, now cloaked in a white Ghillie suit low crawling, at a snail's pace, from behind his last piece of cover. If you didn't know where to look for him he was literally invisible. The men could also still observe a view through his helmet cam. Prior to his slipping from cover, the view had been from about three feet above the roof deck; now it was only inches high
"That picture is incredible."
"Yes Art. We have satellite capability with several DoD units as well as our own. It's a costly endeavor, but an absolute necessity for keeping the guys safe. This final approach will take a while. Moving slowly is a fine art, and Green Giant is very, very good at it. You would be advised to have your men pay close attention to how he works."
It took Salem three hours to crawl thirty feet. During the crawl he was in steady communication with the team. They gave him feedback on the objective's location as well as updates on activity in the north building. Finally he was in position, and needed to talk Rios into a twenty as close to his as possible on the floor below.
"Sprout, Green Giant. I'm in position. I have good visual on the tar…objective, do you copy my GPS coordinate?"
"Roger that, moving. Make sure to hydrate, Green Giant."
"Hydrate smyedrate, fuck you. I'd need a fucking IV drip to retain fluids up here."
"In place at matching coordinate to you. I have a good visual on the objective. Preparing to gauge wind distance, and try and get a handle on the swell."
"Roger that, likewise. Tide will change in three and a half hours. We'll have a bigger swell during the change then I hope we get some luck, and it drops back like now. It's fucking flat as fuck. Good thing I wasn't gonna go surfing today. Fuck me twice that would a been a waste a my valuable time."
"Your time is valuable?"
"Hell yea bro! Just think on it. How the fuck much are these boobs laying down for us to do their job today. Gonna get me that much closer to buying that truck I want."
"Green Giant this is an open comms line, I repeat this comms line is open."
"Fuck 'em Murray. They need to have a thick skin. Only way to get schooled in this business is to watch the masters, or die trying. They won't even die trying today. Their all safe and sound in a comfy air conditioned lobby. Sprout gimme your twenty again, and the relevant info."
"Jesus Green Giant have a bit of tact! Truck; you have two. Now what truck?"
"Fuck tact Sprout. Oh a Raptor, red, all tricked out with that super awesome fake mud splash stuff on the sides. It's rad man. They can fly dude. Saw a video of one jumping like sixty feet."
"You do not need a flying truck."
"Says who?"
"Me and I'm your accountant. Now listen up. I have him at 650, elevation from my twenty at 85, light wafting breeze out of the northwest. Real light though barely negligible. Taking it off the flag on the stern, and his anemometer is barely turning."
"That's a fucking accurate calculation Sprout. Barely turning? Barely negligible…Jesus Christ and fuck me twice! Gimme a minute to calculate wind speed you fat dope."
"Fat dope, fat dope, how do you propose to get a better wind speed?"
"Off the anemometer of course. Let me school you, Tubby."
"Tubby? I'm gonna kill you when we are done with shit."
"So you always promise, but lo and behold here I still breath. So listen up, and take notes oh ye of little faith. Just a wee bit of math that Old Mother Hubbard taught me."
"Old Mother Hubbard. Oh no way Green Giant don't even start. We are not playing the Nursery rhyme game today. Don't even try it."
"Wouldn't think of it. Now first you just figure out the diameter of the vane, this one's a pretty standard Inspeed model, with a cup diameter of six inches; so you get the circumference with Pi times six and that'd be 18.88. Then, just divide that by 12 to get feet, so that's 1.573 feet, ok so now I just…"
"Kermit what in holy fuck are you going on about?"
"Shh, Sprout do not disturb the genius at work."
"Genius! I ain't never seen you do this shit before."
"Sucks for you big guy. Now I just take the feet 1.573 and divide that by 5,280 to get my secret number for miles, and that's 0.0002979797979, and now multiply that by our very slow RPM's which will take a minute. I have to count so shut the fuck up if you can possibly find it in your being to do so Mr. Chatty Cathy."
"What'd you just call me?"
The line went quiet except for the sound of Salem counting the excruciatingly slow rotation of the boat's anemometer. He ignored the chatter in his headset, and focused on his counting. The only voice he processed was Kellogg telling him that the objective had come on deck. Three minutes later he piped in again.
"Best of three; so our wind speed is 46 RPM, plus 58 RPM, plus 55 RPM, and add them up for…159 total RPM. Divide 159 by three to get a happy, happy average of 53 RPM…humph that's a weird number. 53 RPM. No, guess not 59 has a nine, and 3 has a 3 so yup, it'd be an even divide. Threes and nines are cool that way. Still's weird. Now divide 53 by 60 for MPH and you get .8333 and a bunch more threes, so less than a mile an hour. See, now how fucking hard was that Sprout! Fuck of a lot more accurate than barely turning."
"Green Giant you are so full of shit. Seriously .8333 miles per hour!"
"Just saying. Now can get back to business. I want dope on this shot, and it's almost my nap time."
In the lobby the group could only stand and listen to the men's inane banter.
"Ah excuse me Detective Smith." One of the Dade men finally broke in.
"Go ahead, Timmons."
"While he was, well, figuring. I contacted the Life Guard tower about a thousand yards north of here, and they have, have had all morning, an average breeze, out of the Northwest at .845 MPH."
The lobby went quiet, and the sound of Salem laughing evilly came across the comms link.
"Thanks Timmons. I owe you one, man. Beer's on me after this fuck fest is over. God I am fucking good."
Rios Residence
18:33 Zulu Time
One by one the women Mimi, Heck's wife Zoe, Giddy's wife, and Brittany's dad trickled into the family room to watch the live news coverage. Only Pedro's wife and children were missing. Samantha was the last to show up, and the kids that had been playing in the pool were settled in the kitchen with lunch. The adults sat quietly watching the reporter talk while a helicopter fed live footage of the roof tops, and of the boat anchored just off of the beach bobbing in the light swell. Except for the gravity of the situation it was a beautiful day to visit the ocean.
"Good afternoon; I am Leslie Radcliff, and we are here at 110 South Pointe where this hostage scenario is moving into its ninth hour. Chopper One is in the air, but is being kept, by Federal authorities at a distance of two miles, and we will talk with Hal Justin in a few moments.
The information we are able to obtain is very limited. The authorities, for matters of security, are letting very little information leak out about the scope of their actions to rescue these poor hostages. What we have uncovered, through confidential sources, is that a highly specialized hostage recovery team has been brought in. The vehicles, that two hours ago, entered the secured area bore the signage for Security and Strategy Corporation. A much maligned private military contracting company based here in Miami; SSC, as it is called, is often in the headlines for what some, in the military complex, consider highly questionable operations in countries all over the world. We did ask why this team was being called up, since Dade county, and the local Federal authorities do have their own hostage recovery teams. The answer we were given was vague. They have apparently been contracted, because of the delicacy involved. Apparently, despite the funds spent on training our local agencies, they do not possess the skill set, as the information officer called it, to successfully carry out this hostage recovery. We will now cut to Hal in Chopper One.
"What can you see Hal? We know that you are a ways off, but Chopper One has sophisticated observation equipment on board."
"Not much Leslie. We have a perfect view of the roof top of 110 South Pointe, where as you know a Dade County Swat team officer was shot early on in this operation, while trying to set up a firing position."
"Yes, and for our viewers, the officer is currently at the hospital for treatment, but will be fine. His bullet proof vest did its job, and all he has purportedly suffered are some very bruised ribs."
"Yes Leslie, so that's a bit of good news amidst what looks like is going to turn out to be a very long day for local law enforcement."
"Hal, as you know, SSC has been brought in on this situation. We don't know if they are only advising, or are taking an active role. We have seen little or no activity from them since they arrived several hours ago, and entered the lobby of 110 South Pointe. We did observe some of them moving into the building north of 110 with what seemed to be a wide array of weapons. The reappeared forty-five minutes later and disappeared back into the command center. Did you manage to see what they may have been doing?"
"No. As I said we have seen nothing. About three hours ago we saw what appeared to be three men looking out of the elevator tower door. They spent several minutes seeming to recon the roof top, and then disappeared back inside. Since then we have seen zero activity either on the roof, which my sources tell me provides the best vantage point should they decide to try to eliminate this guy with a sniper, or on the balconies and windows of the eastern façade of 110 South Pointe. We have no visual clues as to what the authorities are planning. Nothing has even moved on the adjacent buildings to the north and south. Whatever is going on is definitely not visible from our vantage point, and as you and our viewers can see we do have a very good high resolution video feed of the areas in question. If they are planning on trying to position a second sniper on this roof top, I clearly do not see how they would manage it. This man has already wounded one officer; so he clearly does not have any reservations about shooting first, and asking questions later.
Some have suppositioned that any attack on the boat would come from a water born assault team, thus explaining why have had no visuals. Possibly scuba divers of some sort. What we do know is that the likely hood that this man's demands will be met are slim to none. He is requesting the release of twelve men from the Guantanamo facility, and unfortunately for these hostages that is probably not going to happen, and their lives are subsequently in the hands of whatever extraction team is sent to retrieve them."
"Thanks Hal. Ok, well, we are going to leave the air for a moment. Apparently there is going to be a briefing so the view you will see is from Chopper One, and I hope to have something more when we return."
The scene changed from a close up of Leslie's face to one of Chopper One's cameras scanning the roof and beachside face of 110 South Pointe. The group watching the television settled back slightly, and studied the screen as the cameras panned across the site. There was nothing to see. Nala took the break to open another Grape soda, and sipped it through the mouth of her mask.
"I hope Dragon One is remembering to drink. It's probably 110 degrees in his camo on that roof. He's bad about that, remembering to drink."
"On the roof, Nala?" Brittany's father asked, frowning at the girl's remark. "There's nobody on the roof Nala. Look its clear. The helicopter clearly shows it to be empty."
"Oh, Dragon One's on the roof Frank. He's up there; you just can't see him."
The room grew quiet, and the rest of the kids poured in to watch the coverage.
Zoe corralled them, as only an elementary school teacher could do, and made the small group sit on the floor in front of the big television.
"Sit. All of you sit. Just sit here, be quiet, and do not touch any of Nala's gear. Is that understood? Nicky?"
"Yes mom! Geeze. Don't touch little Miss Mercs stuff. It's the rule. I know."
"Don't try me, Nicholas." Nala snapped at the boy, who was her nemesis. They were only days apart in age, and he was terribly jealous that when they played mercenary with the Air Soft equipment she always out shot, and out foxed him."
"Don't try me Nicholas. Don't try me Nicholas. You know Nala, someday I'm gonna be bigger than you, and when that day comes none of your fancy Judo's gonna be able to save you."
"Size is a non-issue turd for brains. Just look at my Dragon One. Now shut up and watch the show."
"Your Dragon One? He is not yours, bigger turd for a brain. And tell her mom; it's the news, not a show. And my dad's there somewhere too. So take that and…"
"Yea, Nicky, and he's probably at a twenty, inside, in the A.C., pulling an overwatch for Dragon One."
"Yea and where's your dad, Miss Merc? No way he could hide his fat ass…"
"Nicholas that's enough!"
"But mom! Everybody calls him that."
"No, everybody doesn't call him that; only Salem and Salem gets his butt handed to him in a sling for it on a regular basis. Now both of you, that's enough. No more bickering."
"Yes, Nala, and Nicky's right. This is not a show. See mom; that's exactly what I am talking about. She plays with those two, and she thinks this all a game. Nala didn't you hear what the lady said. A man, one of your Grandfather's men, was shot this morning."
"That's because he was a civie, Swatty moron mom. You can't just walk on out across a roof, with no cover, and expect to not get shot. Stupid Swatty amateur."
The room grew quiet for a bit, and then Mimi spoke up.
"Nala, you seem to know a lot about how this is going to work. So, you really think that Elliot is out on that roof; waiting to shoot the man in the boat."
"Yup, Gram. He's probably out to just where he can see the boat. He'll wait for the civie morons to green light the hit, and he'll take him out. It's the only solution. Dad and Uncle Elliot say nobody's getting cut lose from Gitmo for any reason. They're all too dangerous. That, and if they do they're just gonna have to go out, and catch them all again. Which, Uncle Elliot sometimes sees as a good thing; 'cause he'll make good bank. But, dad tells him there are better ways to make a buck than doing a job twice. So yup, he's there 'cause the civies can't make that shot. Plain and simple. Its 600 maybe 700 yards out, on a moving boat. It'll damn sure take his fifty with that new supersonic ammo to pull it off. That and remember that picture they keep showing, how the baddie is holding that kid so close. It's a tough shot. Dragon One hates when kids are involved too. Just hope he keeps his damned head down, and that remembers to drink. Fuck-n-A."
None of the adults even attempted to correct her language. They all sat staring at her, trying to fathom how she'd become so learned about what the guys did. When the reporter came back on screen Nicholas got up, disgusted by the whole situation, and said he was going to play video games in the playroom. Several of the other kids traipsed off with him, and the remaining folks returned to trying to find Salem on the bright white roof.
110 South Pointe Miami Beach
22:23 Zulu Time
The group in the lobby was getting restless. No ground had been made toward getting the objective to release the hostages, or back down from his demands. The tide had come in, and the swell had settled back down. The elevation change was two feet, and Salem and Rios reworked their calculations to accommodate the change. They felt lucky that three hours later as the sun began to set the light breeze remained just that, light. Salem had been languishing in triple digit temperatures for over seven hours. The previous five in the prone position not moving his torso up or down more than fractions of an inch.
"Green Giant, Snap." Giddy cued up.
"Go ahead, Snap."
"Your temp's climbing a bit buddy. 101.6. I really need you to be sure to hydrate."
"Roger that. Working on the Gatorade. Getting fucking drowsy though. I need to snap out of it. Thanks."
"Roger that."
"Sprout, nothing Bro? The talkie guy's not getting anywhere?"
"Negative. You cramping? You sound a little rough."
"Nope, just bored to fuck. Sunset's here bro. I can take this shot after dark with a ninety percent chance, but fuck…I really don't want to be up here all night. I gotta piss like a fuckin' race horse too. Even losing juice like I am I still gotta go, and fuck it's not running any fucking where on this rubber roof."
"Roger that. I feel for you man. Just hang in."
"Yea hang in. Well, here goes, pissing in place. Oh holy fucking joy."
In the lobby there was a collective groan as the men considered what Salem was suffering through.
"Green Giant, Delta comm. You're doing fine; just stick with it."
"Murray, really. Like this is my first rodeo. Just make that talkie fucker talk a better game of getting them to green light this fuck for all."
"Roger that."
"Hey Crackle." Salem called out to Heck.
"Go ahead, Green Giant."
"This little piggy went to that market. This…"
"No! No, no, no. Sprout make him stop!"
"Can't, just ignore him."
"No seriously. Armor piercing round will penetrate the light weight roof deck, and you are right below the insane mother fucker. Please for the love of god save us Sprout!"
"It's rude to interrupt me, Crackle. This little piggy went to the market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy blew the next little piggy, while the last little piggy watched porn. That sucked.
Old mother Hubbard lived in a cupboard, and she'd mothered too many fat kids. So she hung out a shingle, and wiggled and jiggled till she sold her fat ass to all the king's horses and all the king's men. Ooh! Humpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again; so the fried him up nicely, and ate him with ham. Am I the nursery rhyming bomb or what? Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet. What the fuck's a tuffet Tubby?"
"Call me Tubby again, just go ahead you insolent little ass bitch!"
"Oh, don't be angry 'cause you don't know. Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet eating her curds and whey. Along came a fox, and he ate her for lunch, then he burped for the rest of his days. Just goes to show eating women is bad news."
"Sprout, pleeease make him stop."
"I'd have an easier time breaking those bitches out of Gitmo, Crackle. Kermit come on man we're all tired, and this is mixed company. Have a bit of couth."
"Couth, smouth. Yes, but we all aren't par broiling away are we. It's like that commercial. This is your brain on drugs. Well this is my brain broiling. It like to rhyme things. What's the one about a stitch in time? No that's not it. Man it's really cool to have you guys to talk to while I waste away. Maybe they should let me serenade the tarjective with my rhymes. Maybe I'd drive him to cave.
Objective. What and intriguing word. Object, objective, objectify, Objectivism. Objectivism; is that a word Snap? I find it objectionable to have to refer to my target objective as an objective on the grounds that being that objective simply objectifies the reality of my objective which is to eliminate that objective with a cold hard objective disdain for my possible, well not in this case, objection to the elimination of my objective. So, I now object to objectifying any future targets of elimination by or with the term objective. That will be my form of objectivism. So I object to performing objectionable tasks unless my objective is an actual target. Or, well I might possibly compromise, and we can call it the Tarjective. So was that a good object lesson. Wow, my rhyming tongue is an objet d' art. Wanna try it out some time Murray? It is, in fact, a marvelously loquacious, limber and sensual appendage that is rivaled only by Shakespeare. Or maybe the Grimm guy from the fairy tales.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to buy a rock of Crack. Jack got cranked, and Jill got spanked, and the three little pigs came chasing after them. A stitch in time saves me having to objectively eliminate objectives. What's an oblation? Oh, I know I know, it's what the Swatty's are gonna give to me when I complete my objective of eliminating the objective tarjective. Beer's good guys. Beer and a nice bottle of chilled Stoli. Then, maybe I can write his obituary too. Make it so Murray."
"Ms. Murray does he have a dictionary up there?"
"No Timmons, just a photographic memory. Green Giant really?"
"Wow ma'am, because he's like going through the O's perfectly. I'm looking at it online."
"Just hope he stops, Timmons."
"Are the same little piggys that go to the market the same little piggys that the big bad wolf eats? Inquiring minds need to know. And if pigs could fly would they be able to see me up here? Fuck no! 'Cause I'm the stealth bomb, from stealthy hell. I heartily object to pigs being allowed to fly. Oh, no. Not all pigs. All except that guy who flies for, well I can't say, but he's definitely a pig. Stinks to fucking high heaven, but fly… the man's an aeronautical genius. Remember that guy Sprout. Down in Cameroon. Fuck me twice it was a ground hugging, pants pissing good time. Now Cameroon. I had a fever in Cameroon; remember Sprout? I got the Cholera. I…"
"Green Giant you have never had Cholera."
"The hell I didn't you fat fucker! Tell 'em Snap. It was the Cholera. I was a barfing shitting human waste excreting machine."
"Wasn't Cholera Green Giant. Just a virus."
"I Object! If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning. I'd hammer all evening all over this land. I'd hammer on objects. I'd hammer on tarjectives. I'd hammer on Hump-ty Dumpty all the little piggy's, Yankee Doodle an the spider that ate little Miss Muffet. Man she really was a sweet girl, and damn sure didn't deserve to be eaten by an ugly scary spider. All she wanted were her curds and whey. Hard Tacks a damn sight better, but, well, it is a hard sell. Get it hard sell? You think the three bears Papa, mama and the cute little baby one, do they know the big bad wolf? Sprout?"
"Yea, Kermit?"
"Gonna knock for a few hours now. Wake me up when these civie fuckers get their asses in gear."
"Sleep good, Kermit. Sprout out."
Down in the lobby the group released a collective sigh of relief.
"My god is he always like that. He's insane." Detective Smith asked.
Murray smiled, and studied Salem's VISAC readings. He was already out. It amazed her how the guys, Salem in particular could just shut down.
"Ah, he is a handful, but he is more than worth the trouble as you will see if they would ever green light this thing."
"He's really going to sleep?" Art snapped at her, pressing in toward the monitors.
"Yes. He's tired, and for now there is nothing going on. As you can see his heart rate has already dropped to its sleeping rhythm."
"What if they flip the switch? How long for him to wake up?"
"Just moments. Trust them Art. They know what they are doing."
At one o-clock in the morning EST., 0600 Zulu time, thirteen plus hours after he'd crept out to his hide and having spent most of that time in a prone position Salem awoke to Rios' squawk in his headset.
"Roger that Sprout I'm with you. Time?"
"Oh six hundred Zulu. Tide changed, and the civvies finally gave us a green light."
"Sweet. Switching to NVG."
"Roger that. Be advised that the bathroom is still unoccupied."
"Roger that."
In the lobby the group watched as Salem's heart rate slowly picked up. His body temperature had dropped once the sun was down, and now it seemed that the good news was finally eliciting some excitement in the man.
"Sprout, I have the objective still firm at 650 yards. I have an elevation, from my twenty, of 131 feet; that's with my bipod. I have a slight northwesterly breeze still holding at .833 mph. I have a wave cycle of seven confirmed, with the forth swell being the flattest. That is my target wave Sprout. I have a clear NVG visual of the flying bridge, and a clear target lock via laser on the console."
"Roger that. I have your target lock in my sights. I confirm all other dope. The only wild card is the kid."
"Roger that. Murray, when this son of a bitch, the objective son of a bitch, yells into the hand set the boy ducks away, and forward slightly. It is a consistent move. When I get visual again, I need the talkie guy to try and irritate the objective. I want him yelling. That buys me oh say three and a half inches between him and the kid. Copy?"
"Roger that Green Giant. Consider it done. Be advised the objective is due to make contact in eight mikes."
"Copy that. Sprout you think my And-A-Half is watching?"
"Roger that. But you need to push that down."
"Roger that. I have a round chambered. Do we have a clear firing lane down range Murray?"
"Roger that. Green Giant I am being asked if the bomb is Semtex or C-4?"
"My opinion, after glassing it all day is C-4. Crude design. He's no bomb maker. Six mikes and counting."
At the prescribed time the objective appeared on deck, clambered up into the flying bridge, and contacted the negotiator. Salem sighted on his target.
"I have a clear visual. Objective in yellow ball cap."
In the lobby the group watched as Salem's heart rate plummeted along with his respiratory rate, while theirs to a man began to race.
"Roger that objective in yellow ball cap. Two clicks up, Green Giant."
"Copy that. Two clicks up. Ok, I like that."
"That's better, but the final call is yours. Counting the wave cycle starting now. One."
"Two."
"Three..."
"Target acquired. Once the wave hits, and the boy…"
"Send it at will Green Giant."
The crack of Salem's Fifty startled the group. It was a loud weapon, and once you heard it you didn't forget its distinctive sound.
"Objective eliminated. I repeat objective eliminated. Sprout, the boy?"
"Boy's fine. He's on his hands and knee crawling aft."
"Murray do not allow the boy to approach his family. They could be booby trapped. Copy? Murray talk to me!"
"Roger that. Relax! Hold your twenty, Green Giant as an over watch for the boarding team."
"Roger that and holding."
Salem watched the boarding team clear the bomb, and one by one transfer the stricken family into their vessel. Once the last person was on board he requested permission to stand down.
"Delta comms, this is Green Giant requesting permission to stand down."
"Stand down Green Giant, stand down and nicely done; we'll see you soon."
"Sprout are you good?"
"Roger that I'll see you in the hallway. Sprout out."
Salem stood and sighed. The early morning breeze felt great against his face so he walked to the edge of the roof, looked out across the gently rolling surf, and took a moment to enjoy it while shaking out his cramping limbs. He sipped a long drink from his camel back then turned to head for the elevator tower door, first crouching to glass the building to the north one final time. Now, in the cooler morning air, his inferred would show any potential threat. It read clear as did his NVG reading. He sighed, stood, and started forward once again.
The first round hit him square in the face, knocking his mask free, and spinning him to the left. The second round sliced across the back of his head gouging a quarter inch deep furrow into his scalp. The third round drove through his right bicep, four inches below his shoulder, just missing his Humorous, and slamming into chest, coming to stop after shattering his Scapula and a rib. The final round penetrated the thick muscle of his left thigh.
"What the fuck! Murray talk to me!" Rios screamed into his head set as the sound of the fourth shot faded away.
"Standby team Delta! Stand by."
Rios froze. The gunshots were not Salem's Galil or the Barrett. His stomach churned as he recalled Salem's concern about being on the low ground. It made no sense though. Yarborough had cleared the north building and the south building twice each.
"Murray!"
"Green Giant is not moving. The plumbers are enroute to the north bathroom. Delta move forward to the roof. I repeat Green Giant is immobile, and his VISAC is frenetic."
Rios ran. He ran, and took the fifteen stars up into the elevator tower two by two. Three SWAT team members were right behind him. As he started through the door the closest one grabbed at his tac vest.
"Slow down. If he's under fire you'll be under fire!"
"Step off! He's down, and I'm going after him. Watch my six!"
With that he launched through the door, shoulder rolled, and slid across the fifteen yards to the first air handler. The SWAT man followed his lead, and the other two took up positions on either side of the tower. He flipped on his NVG, and could see Salem sprawled twenty feet from the roof edge. What terrified him was the growing pool of blood that the heat seeking device was registering.
"Murray I need a chopper, full medevac. I need landing clearance at Ryder Trauma. Kellogg I need you now. I'm moving. He's down and bleeding heavily twenty feet off the eastern roof edge. You stay close. Plumber talk to me!" He ordered to Yarborough as he moved out crouching low, and sprinting from air handler to air handler. Shots skipped by above their heads, but Rios kept moving. "Plumber!"
"We have him. Fuck me! It's fucking SWAT guys. All assets be advised the shooters are SWAT, the shooters are SWAT."
Rios stood, and ran the final thirty feet to Salem trying to ignore the radio chatter coming from Plumber.
"You, Tanner get your flashlight on him. God damn it Kellogg, where the fuck are you?"
"Coming up the elevator now. Dade EMT's are enroute ahead of us as well."
"Fuck them."
He rolled Salem carefully over, and stripped the pack off his back. Then he tore off his tac vest, and cut through his shirt. Using his hands swiped up and down Salem's torso noting where he found blood. His right arm, right side chest, left thigh and head.
"Salem! Come on man look at me!" He ordered lifting the unconscious man up, and searching for an exit wound on his back. Finding none he tore open his med kit, and went to work.
First he packed, and taped the chest wound. The EMT's showed up, and stopped when they saw Rios rendering aid. Salem coughed up a mouth full of blood, and struggled against Rios.
"You, hold his legs, you plug that thigh wound."
"Just let us take over."
"Fuck you. Salem take a breath for me. I need you to breathe."
Salem's eyes showed panic, and he shook his head. He couldn't breathe. Rios listened to his chest.
"Damn it! Giddy his lung's collapsed! I'm doing a chest dart. I can't wait for you he's suffocating."
"Roger that! You've got this Rios. We've trained it thousands of times."
"Here, let me I'm trained."
Rios pulled his Deagle and pressed the muzzle against the kneeling EMT's forehead. I told you what to do now do it."
Then, he dug through his kit, found the Chest Dart, and after probing Salem's chest carefully pushed it home. Salem sighed and relaxed. He could breathe again.
"Giddy he needs blood."
"Half a mike, start an IV."
Finally, Giddy and Heck were there. The Dade EMT's backed off, and allowed the team to do their work.
"I can't get a vein. He's lost too much blood."
"Do an IO. Heck, Ketamine. Hit him."
"Roger that."
"Fifty pal this is gonna hurt kiddo. You two hold his legs, Rios got him?"
"Do it. Murray where's my chopper?"
Salem screamed, and coughed up more blood as Giddy drove the needle into his upper Tibia. Then he flushed the port, and started the IV of O positive blood flowing.
"Chopper's, one mike out. He can't set down so he'll be just above the deck. I still can't get clearance at Ryder. The have a bird on the pad."
"Fuck Ryder. Tell them to move that son of a bitch, or I'll land on it."
"Rios, chopper in bound."
"Bring him in, Heck."
Rios I want to intubate him, then he'll be ready for them. Gimme a number four. Should have his name on it. He takes a smaller one so I mark it."
"Copy that."
Three minutes later Salem, Rios and Giddy were aboard an SSC chopper headed for Miami's Ryder Trauma facility.
Rios Residence
06:55 Zulu Time
"This is Leslie Radcliff. As promised we have stayed with this evolving story all through the night. It now appears that the situation has come to its fruition with the elimination of the hostage taker by an SSC operative. This operative has apparently been positioned, albeit somehow invisibly, on the roof of 110 South Pointe for nearly ten hours patiently waiting to do his job. There is a great deal of activity here now and…oh my god what was that? Shots. There has just been a series of loud concussions that can only be described as shots. We are taking cover behind a truck."
"Leslie, Hal. We are in Chopper One, a half mile to the north, and in the bright lights of our chopper we can see what appears to be a man down on the roof of 110 South Pointe. He was moving slowly toward the elevator tower, and then he suddenly spun, and staggered along with the sound of several shots. He is not, I repeat not moving. Oh, and now there are two men traversing the roof trying to get to him. They also appear to be dodging gun fire. The downed man must be the SSC sniper. Oh, and now we are getting radio talk…a chopper, medevac chopper is in bound, and we are to move back off to a two mile safe distance, to clear the air space."
"There is activity down at street level as well. Several SSC operatives are dragging, and quite brutally so, two men attired in, oh my, attired in SWAT uniforms from the building north of 110. It appears that these two are our new assailants. Wow, what a turn of events. I'm getting pushed back here, so Hal try and keep us posted."
Nala dropped the bottle of grape soda she'd been sipping from. Zoe immediately moved to her side, and wrapped her left arm around her shoulders.
"Dragon One's hit. Grandpa's men did it. Why?"
"I don't know. But your dad and Heck and Giddy are there, and the hospital is only eight minutes by chopper."
"Makes no sense. Why would Grandpa want to kill my Dragon One? He saved the day."
"Honey, we'll just have to wait and see."
"This is Leslie Radcliff again. Hal what can you see from your vantage point?"
The view shifted, and in the blindingly bright flood lights of Chopper One the group could see several men kneeling over someone. They were moving with rapid, but deft motions. Nala, well familiar with how the team moved, recognize the group."
"Yup, Uncle Elliot's down, and the guys are fixing him. Why's he always the one sent out for the gambit?"
The shot switched back as a second chopper flew into the frame, and Leslie Radcliff was again on the screen.
"The scene here is chaotic. From what we can ascertain two members of the SWAT team pushed out by the SSC team took offense, and for reasons I suppose only they will ever be able to comprehend shot, with the intent of killing, the SSC operative now being praised for saving a dozen lives with his extraordinary shot. It is an incredible shame. The man, whose identity is being kept from us, will be flown to Ryder Trauma center. We have been told that his team was able to provide adequate medical treatment on the roof for several serious gunshot wounds, and that he is prepped for surgery once he arrives on site at Ryder. There will be a news conference in fifteen minutes with the head of the Dade, the Federal agencies, as well as the CEO of SSC. We will have more for you at that event."
"Nala, I need you to change, and stow your gear. Samantha, we need to get to Ryder. Rios and the guys will need us. Mimi can you watch the other kids?"
"Oh, absolutely. Come here. Nala give me a hug, and give Elliot one when you get there."
"Sam just let her come along. It's not a battle worth fighting right now. We can assess the situation when we get there, and if necessary one of us can bring her home."
"It's ok Zoe. It's ok. Nala honey, go on now, and make it snappy."