passed for “Huh?”
Mason stroked him softly. “Not until I know that he can help.”
Seeing that his mind was made up, she said only, “Okay, but be careful.”
He leaned in and kissed her.
“Ten minutes, tops.”
She smiled. It was an old joke, but one that she apparently still found amusing.
“Wave us in if we can help.” Leila wrapped her arms around Bowie, and the dog immediately began licking her face. He only stopped when he saw Mason stand up and dash for the building.
The total distance was less than fifty yards, and Mason cleared it without so much as a broken shoelace. As he came to the building, he pressed his back against the concrete wall and slid forward until he could peer through the open doorway. A thick metal plate lay next to a dark hole, the topmost rungs of a ladder barely visible within.
Mason stepped into the building and inched up to the edge of the hole, doing a quick lean forward to catch a glimpse of what lay below.
Darkness.
He had to make a decision, and it was one that might well cost him his life. Going down a ladder with the light above him would provide a perfect silhouette to anyone waiting below. If it had been his team, he would have positioned someone at the bottom of the ladder precisely for that purpose. But his options were limited. If he shined his flashlight down the hole, it would likely alert the enemy, sacrificing the one thing he currently had going for him—surprise.
It took him only a moment to accept that it was a chance he would have to take.
He leaned back out the open doorway and held up a fist, indicating that Leila should stay put. There was no reason to put her at risk, and the thought of carrying Bowie down on his shoulders was not at all appealing.
Mason slipped the M4 over his head and let it rest across his back. Climbing down was going to be hard enough, no reason to have a rifle clattering against the rungs. He took one last look into the shaft and then stepped out onto the ladder, half holding his breath.
Nothing happened.
Moving as quietly as he could, he started down the ladder, quickly disappearing into the pool of darkness. Other than the bright circle of light overhead, everything around him was perfectly black. It was also amazingly quiet, which surprised him. How could three men be operating below without so much as the rustle of clothes or the rattle of gear?
His boots unexpectedly found the bottom about twenty feet down, and he dropped into a deep squat. He remained like that for several seconds, motionless, straining to hear something. Anything.
There was nothing. No breathing. No scrubbing of boots. Not so much as a whisper.
He extended his hands, finding himself surrounded by cold concrete walls. Turning slowly in place, he discovered that the shaft opened up into a narrow horizontal tunnel, no more than four feet in height. What it lacked in height, however, it made up for in length, and tiny flashes of yellow light flickered in the distance.
Cutting torches.
It was impossible to judge how far away they were without some kind of reference. As many a soldier had learned, light could give away one’s position across a vast stretch of desert as easily as it could a courtyard.
The tunnel turned a bad defensive position into an even worse one. If the soldiers turned a flashlight beam in his direction, he would be outnumbered and without cover. His only hope was to get close enough to get the drop on them.
Mason carefully retrieved his M4 and lowered onto his belly. The approach would be agonizingly slow, but one thing he prided himself on was patience. Propping on his forearms, he began to high-crawl down the narrow tunnel. With every push of his boots and slide of his arms, his enemy came into greater focus.
There were three men. Two stood in front of a miniature version of the vault door he had seen inside The Greenbrier. The third man was off to one side, working the cutting torch. The tunnel opened up a few feet in front
Mason stroked him softly. “Not until I know that he can help.”
Seeing that his mind was made up, she said only, “Okay, but be careful.”
He leaned in and kissed her.
“Ten minutes, tops.”
She smiled. It was an old joke, but one that she apparently still found amusing.
“Wave us in if we can help.” Leila wrapped her arms around Bowie, and the dog immediately began licking her face. He only stopped when he saw Mason stand up and dash for the building.
The total distance was less than fifty yards, and Mason cleared it without so much as a broken shoelace. As he came to the building, he pressed his back against the concrete wall and slid forward until he could peer through the open doorway. A thick metal plate lay next to a dark hole, the topmost rungs of a ladder barely visible within.
Mason stepped into the building and inched up to the edge of the hole, doing a quick lean forward to catch a glimpse of what lay below.
Darkness.
He had to make a decision, and it was one that might well cost him his life. Going down a ladder with the light above him would provide a perfect silhouette to anyone waiting below. If it had been his team, he would have positioned someone at the bottom of the ladder precisely for that purpose. But his options were limited. If he shined his flashlight down the hole, it would likely alert the enemy, sacrificing the one thing he currently had going for him—surprise.
It took him only a moment to accept that it was a chance he would have to take.
He leaned back out the open doorway and held up a fist, indicating that Leila should stay put. There was no reason to put her at risk, and the thought of carrying Bowie down on his shoulders was not at all appealing.
Mason slipped the M4 over his head and let it rest across his back. Climbing down was going to be hard enough, no reason to have a rifle clattering against the rungs. He took one last look into the shaft and then stepped out onto the ladder, half holding his breath.
Nothing happened.
Moving as quietly as he could, he started down the ladder, quickly disappearing into the pool of darkness. Other than the bright circle of light overhead, everything around him was perfectly black. It was also amazingly quiet, which surprised him. How could three men be operating below without so much as the rustle of clothes or the rattle of gear?
His boots unexpectedly found the bottom about twenty feet down, and he dropped into a deep squat. He remained like that for several seconds, motionless, straining to hear something. Anything.
There was nothing. No breathing. No scrubbing of boots. Not so much as a whisper.
He extended his hands, finding himself surrounded by cold concrete walls. Turning slowly in place, he discovered that the shaft opened up into a narrow horizontal tunnel, no more than four feet in height. What it lacked in height, however, it made up for in length, and tiny flashes of yellow light flickered in the distance.
Cutting torches.
It was impossible to judge how far away they were without some kind of reference. As many a soldier had learned, light could give away one’s position across a vast stretch of desert as easily as it could a courtyard.
The tunnel turned a bad defensive position into an even worse one. If the soldiers turned a flashlight beam in his direction, he would be outnumbered and without cover. His only hope was to get close enough to get the drop on them.
Mason carefully retrieved his M4 and lowered onto his belly. The approach would be agonizingly slow, but one thing he prided himself on was patience. Propping on his forearms, he began to high-crawl down the narrow tunnel. With every push of his boots and slide of his arms, his enemy came into greater focus.
There were three men. Two stood in front of a miniature version of the vault door he had seen inside The Greenbrier. The third man was off to one side, working the cutting torch. The tunnel opened up a few feet in front
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