Nash took his eyes off the road. “Sticking my nose in it… I’m up to my neck in it. Al-Haq wants to strike a deal with us. I had him convinced to come over. You guys need to send me back over there so I can push this thing over the goal line.”

“No, and I’m not going to argue with you about this. Irene is adamant. She wants you as far away from this other thing as possible. It will be handled.”

“By who?”

“None of your business. Now put it out of your head. She wants you to go see Stan this morning.”

O’Brien was referring to Stan Hurley, a retired spook. Nash thought about the crass old operative and his unconventional ways. “Do I have to?”

“Mike, put yourself back at Officer Candidate School. I’m your DI. Look over here at me and imagine I’m wearing that ugly green Smokey the Bear hat and I’m about to bite your head off if you say another word. You’re not working for Microsoft. This isn’t a debate club. There’s shit going on here that she isn’t telling me about and she sure as hell isn’t going to tell you, so I’m handing down an order and I expect you to carry it out. Do you understand me?”

Nash stared straight ahead. “Yes, sir.” He wasn’t so sure, based on his current mental condition, that he could handle the notorious Hurley. “Where is he?”

“Bethesda Naval Hospital. I saw him yesterday.”

“Is he all right?” Nash was surprised.

“He’s fine. He had his hip replaced when you were over in Afghanistan.” O’Brien checked his watch. “He’s expecting you. Drop me back at the main door. Oh, and one other thing. The Intelligence Committee wants someone up there at two. I’m sending you.”

“Come on…”

O’Brien looked at him sideways. “Are you done pissing and moaning, Major?”

Nash knew the use of his Marine Corps rank was intended to remind him that a chain of command was still in place. “Yes.”

“Good. And no arguing when you get in front of the committee. Keep your temper in check. Don’t give them a reason to hate you any more than they already do.”

CHAPTER 26

TRIPLE FRONTIER

THE men moved into their final positions thirty minutes before the assault was to begin. So far the morning had gone according to plan. The noises of the jungle masked their movement. Exotic birds sang and chirped, rodents scurried and scratched and a whole host of things living in the trees made the most bizarre noises of all. After more than six months, Karim was finally used to it. Maybe he would miss this place after all. As if on cue, a mosquito landed on his exposed wrist and began drawing blood. No, Karim decided, I will not miss this place.

After breakfast, which consisted of energy bars and some salty peanuts, he’d given them one more chance to pray. No one complained about the food. They’d grown used to it. They’d packed four days of light rations, just in case something went wrong. Water was the main thing, though. They had plenty of that and purification tablets if they ran out. After breakfast they did a weapons check, and then Karim spent a moment with each man, asking him to recite his duties for the raid. All seven knew what was expected of them.

The planning session the night before had been brief. They were, after all, using the same plan they had already practiced several months earlier. It was a variation on a simple L-shaped ambush. Technically, it was a raid, since they were attacking a fixed position, but the men kept referring to it as an ambush, and Karim saw no sense in correcting them. It was fairly straightforward, with the assault force of four men providing direct fire, and the support force of three providing indirect fire. The only real deviation he made was to position Ahmed three hundred meters down the runway and slightly up the rise, so he could provide cover with his long rifle should anything unexpected occur. He didn’t like the idea of retreating, at least not here, for it meant failure, and if they couldn’t execute this simple plan, maybe they deserved to die here in this inhospitable place.

As Karim looked through his Trijicon Reflex Sight he wondered yet again if this would really be a test or simply a slaughter. If it went according to plan it would be the latter, and Karim saw no reason why it wouldn’t. He was far more nervous about the other part of his plan – the one involving their transportation. It was by far the biggest risk he was taking. There would be dozens of assets waiting for him to make his journey to Mexico City, and he was about to not only disappoint them, but not even tell them what he was up to. Karim had decided the organization had been penetrated and he had neither the time nor the assets to figure out where. The choice was actually simple. Just disconnect himself from the entire organization. The al-Qaeda leadership would have to learn of his exploits in the paper.

With his camouflage-striped M-4 carbine leveled, he looked through the sight at the bunkhouse, a mere thirty meters away. He had one man on his right and two more to his left. They were spaced five meters apart; each man lying on his belly at the edge of the jungle. They’d all applied black and green face paint for the assault. With their camouflage uniforms and floppy hats they were all but impossible to see, even in broad daylight.

The bunkhouse was almost identical to the one they had lived in for months. It was elevated a meter or so off the ground and covered with screens along the sides. The big difference was that these men had sheets along the perimeter of the sleeping area so they could block out the sun. Karim never allowed his men the luxury. They awoke when the sun rose and slept when it went down. Just as Karim had figured, it was almost nine and still no one had emerged to do any work.

He’d figured this thing would go down one of two ways. The first was that they would riddle the bunkhouse with bullets while the men slept. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. He’d spent the better part of a year teaching these men to carefully pick their targets. To have them simply hose down a building blindly was beneath them. He’d considered planting a bomb under the structure, but he had to balance that against his desire to keep things quiet. Not that he expected anyone to stumble upon them or come to the aid of the drug runners. He didn’t, but he wanted this first engagement to be as perfect as possible. He wanted it to last no more than twenty seconds, and he wanted it to be totally silent.

That was the interesting thing about guns. For those who had never experienced combat, the loud report of a rifle did funny things to the body. Time would stop, fear would grip the brain, and the body would be stuck in a moment of limbo that was usually followed by panic. To those who were used to the noise, though, the reaction to gunfire was instantaneous. Find the source and return fire, and good soldiers could do it within seconds. Karim wasn’t going to give them that chance. He was going to draw them out. The plane would fly over once at nine, buzzing the strip. He was confident that would wake the men from their slumber and draw them outside. With or without guns, it did not matter. Their attention would be directed skyward. They would never notice the four men concealed to their right or the other three behind them.

At ten minutes before the hour, Karim heard someone stirring within the bunkhouse. A moment later a man appeared. He stumbled down the wood steps and relieved himself right there next to the building. When he was done he walked over to the well and stuck his head under the faucet. After he’d doused most of his face and upper body with cold water, he stumbled over to the open-air warehouse where they stored their drugs. He disappeared between two pallets of neatly wrapped cocaine and then reappeared a moment later, wiping the white powder from his nose. He moved around the other side of the building and Karim lost sight of him. A short while later, he heard a churning noise. It was very mechanical. Suddenly, there was a loud rumble and a plume of dark smoke belched into the air. Then came the unmistakable rumble of a diesel engine revving. It was the tractor.