Spooky nodded. “Better to clear both small buildings first. Probably living quarters, separated from main building. Main building has no windows and this,” he tapped a photo, “look like NBC filter.” He meant nuclear-biological-chemical, a containment system. “See, negative pressure system to make sure nothing leak out. Maybe jail cell in there, but nobody normally want to sleep in dangerous laboratory.”

This was an unusually long monologue for Spooky, so Daniel knew he was concerned.

Zeke asked, “Anything else? All right, everyone start making your personal prep. We’ll meet back here at six, go over it in detail. I’ll order pizza.” He slapped his shrinking gut again and smiled.

-12-

Since returning to the island Elise had been unable to sleep much, or well. Most of her time was spent puttering around the lab, until the wee hours of the morning. Durgan was putting more and more pressure on her for results and the stress was keeping her on edge. He wouldn’t believe her that it simply couldn’t be done. Not by three researchers with this tiny lab.

She was glad they didn’t lock her up but Durgan constantly threatened her with the possibility. Her mind knew the threat was empty but her brain still reacted with worry.

She had the run of the facility but the ankle bracelet tracker they’d fitted kept her from even thinking about escaping. Not that she could swim very far. She didn’t even know how to drive a boat and it’s not like they left the keys lying around. No, she’d missed her best chance already.

***

Zeke’s men spent the evening going over the op plan. Then going over it again. Then again, ad nauseam. That’s the way to succeed at special ops: meticulous planning, perfect execution.

They went aboard their boat at about 2300 hours, eleven p.m. They figured it would be suspicious to go out much later than that. Skull took the conn again, threading their way among the moored and anchored boats toward the Chesapeake.

Vinny had kept watch while they went over the details, and had reported that the same four people had returned to the marina around sundown, on the boat. That meant one or two more of the shooters, and at most two civilians there, plus Elise, if their chain of reasoning was correct.

Vinny stayed in the motel room, monitoring his cyberware and the team’s tactical voice network. They were using the latest frequency-hopping radios with self-generated encryption keys. Vinny said nothing short of the National Security Agency or a full-blown signals intelligence unit would be able to even find them, much less break the encryption in time.

The team took a wide course that slowly circled Watts Island to come in from the northwest. It gave them time to do their final preparation.

Larry kept fidgeting with his mask, trying to get it fit to his satisfaction. He did the same with his body armor. He was wearing a full rig, head to ankle including the skirts, which was usual only for a full breach urban scenario. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him outfitted in a bomb suit, thought Daniel. He must have been carrying a hundred pounds of gear. Good thing they only had to move a quarter mile. Daniel prayed Larry wouldn’t fall off the boat.

The big man carried an AA-12 automatic shotgun. It took someone Larry’s size to really use one of those effectively. It could spray an awesome amount of firepower at short range. The recoil would also pound your shoulder to a pulp if you didn’t know what you were doing.

Spooky was all in black, and as they slowly wended their way toward the island he wiped camo onto his face in a tiger-stripe pattern, black and green. He repeatedly adjusted his web gear, everything carried and fastened to him, until he was satisfied. He walked fore and aft on the tiny deck, jumped up and down and then grunted, satisfied. No rattles, no clinks. He carried a suppressed P90, which was very good for a little guy like him – handy, lots of short-range firepower in a small package.

Skull was using a venerable HK91 7.62 NATO, night-scoped. Daniel had talked him out of the Barrett, because they didn’t need that kind of range, and a .50-caliber rifle bullet tended to kill with one shot to any body part – it could tear a limb right off a target. Daniel had insisted they limit casualties. The HK was also a lot handier in a general firefight, if Skull had to move from his position.

Zeke and Daniel both had their old standbys, M4 carbines. These were descended from the M-16 family that was first widely used in Vietnam. Daniel’s fit his hand like it was made for him. Old friends. The serpent stuck his nose out of his hole for the first time in a while, flicked his tongue. But Daniel had a surprise for the old snake, and anyone else who got in his way. He had a workaround for his conscience’s killing problem. Maybe.

He had his aid bag in his ruck, along with extra ammo and all the usual stuff any grunt carried – tape, zip cuffs, parachute cord, protein and granola bars, water, the list went on and on. Never knew what you might need. He also had his trusty XD on the thigh rig and his XD compact was in a holster on his left inner ankle. His right calf was taken up with a wicked-sharp KA-BAR combat knife that had gone with Gramps to Iwo Jima and back.

Waiting was difficult. Most of them dozed, with the thoroughly ingrained ability of every combat trooper to sleep anywhere, any time. But even the longest wait ends.

Coming up on 0300 hours they made their last commo check with Vinny and each other on the small tactical radios buckled high on their chests. Each of them had an earpiece in his shooting ear and a slim mike extending from it, snugged on the same-side cheek. The earpieces not only connected to their tactical radios but contained high-tech noise suppression circuitry that kept them from being deafened by their own weapons. A tiny counterpart was in each man’s opposite ear, so they could hear as well or better than normal, while maintaining sonic protection from the violence they were about to cause.

They motored slowly and quietly up to Watts Island, approaching from the north, out of sight of the buildings. Daniel lowered the anchor when Skull told him to, then watched as he filled a six-man rubber boat from a compressed air tank. They loaded from the dive deck off the back. Once they were in, they paddled the short distance to the rocky shore.

They startled some sleeping seabirds on landing. Daniel saw a Great Blue heron fly off, skimming up the shoreline like a living hang-glider. Other than that, they got in nice and easy. They carried the boat into the scrubby tree line, then locked and loaded weapons.

Despite the many missions under his belt, Daniel’s heart still thudded in his chest. It had been several years since he had been on a real, deliberate combat operation, not counting the bizarre actions that started this whole thing off. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but something in him was still sick at the thought of killing.

He’d never been this way before, and he was starting to wonder about it. The XH had improved him a lot; it had stilled the serpent and healed his body, but it had also made him different in some way. He had been trying to ignore it, to wish it away, but it was really making itself felt right now. He was starting to worry he couldn’t do the job. Only his choice of ammo was letting him function right now.

Daniel tried to imagine himself treating combat trauma, visualizing the blood, the pressure bandages, the IVs, the pain and the screaming. Nothing. But visualize shooting someone, and suddenly he felt sick. It was not too bad if he thought about shooting an arm or a leg. Deliberately recalling his execution of Jenkins, a wave of nausea and regret almost overcame him. He pushed it out of his mind as they moved through the low dense woods. He couldn’t indulge in thought experiments right now, or he would screw something up.