Hostage Zero

Jonathan eased quietly out of his rucksack and laid it on the ground to make himself smaller and quieter, then dug into the thigh pocket of his trousers and removed his Leatherman multipurpose tool, one of God’s greatest inspirations. Opening the tool, he folded back the handles and revealed the needle-nose pliers and wire snips. Out of another pocket of his ruck, he removed a coil of detonating cord, from which he removed a four-inch length with a slice of his KA-BAR. Then he cut the four-inch strip in half again. Yet another pocket produced two electronic initiators and a roll of black electrician’s tape.

“A grenade would be easier,” Boxers quipped.

And if they hadn’t needed a delay in knocking out the power, he might have done exactly that. As it was, stealth trumped everything. He made sure he had both their attentions when he said, “Keep an eye out, but don’t discharge your weapon unless there’s no other way.”

He got nods from them both, then went on with what he had to do. A distance of about twenty-five feet separated the periphery of the jungle from the nearest side of the fence. Pressing himself on his belly, as close to the ground as his vest and extra ammo would allow, Jonathan belly-crawled like a lizard through the open space, and then aligned himself with the wire wall, hoping that by keeping the lines of his body parallel to the lines of the fence he could remain invisible to all but those who would know what to look for.

He started at the bottom of the fence, peeling the lowest edge out of the ground to expose it. Using the snips on the Leatherman, he cut ten of the one-inch hexagonal links vertically, and then another ten across, forming a kind of sideways doggy-door for himself. He bent the snipped panel out of the way and rolled onto his back so that he could guide himself past the sharp edges of the mangled wire. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the thrumming noise of the generator to mask his activities.

Shoulders and head were always the most difficult. Pressing himself into the moist ground, he wrapped his leather-palmed fists over the sharp protrusions with his hands joined thumb-to-thumb above the bridge of his nose to protect his eyes. He flexed his knees, dug his heels into the ground, and pushed. Conditions cooperated, and with relatively little effort, the top half of his body was free and clear, inside the enclosure. From there, all he had to do was sit up and draw his feet in.

Jesus, it was bright in here. With light streaming in from every angle, there weren’t even any decent shadows to hide in. He moved quickly. Keeping low, he duck-walked past a collection of stacked buckets, funnels, troughs, stir poles, and piles of accumulated drums of diesel fuel to the generator, which itself was situated near the front gate. It was a monstrous old thing, about the size of a big desk on a trailer platform. His mind conjured images of the team of workers it must have taken to haul this bad boy all the way from the road to here; then he wondered if maybe they didn’t get help from a helicopter.

From here out, speed and luck would play a big role. He steadied himself on the unseen side of the generator, taking a deep breath through his nose and letting it go through his mouth. Then it was time to go.

At a deep crouch, he peeked to make sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, then swung himself around to the front of the machine and pulled open the front panel to reveal the controls. There were two basic parts of the machinery: the generator itself and the diesel engine that drove it. Each part got its own little bomb, the latter with a charge around the fuel line, and the former with a charge around the main outgoing electrical line. Det cord made the life of a demolition expert a piece of cake. All you had to do was insert the detonator and tape it around what you wanted to destroy. He was using radio-activated detonators tonight, but he’d used all kinds of initiators in the past, including OFF-old-fashioned fuse, the kind you see in cowboy movies where they light the bomb and throw it-and det cord had never once let him down.

“Someone’s coming your way,” Boxers’ voice said in his ear.

Jonathan dropped to his haunches and drew his. 45. Two seconds later, he’d scooted back around to the far side of the generator and the limited shelter it offered.

With his back pressed to the noisy generator and his weapon at the ready, he pressed his mike button. “Did he see me?” Jonathan whispered.

The answer was slow in coming. “Hard to tell,” Boxers whispered. “He doesn’t seem spooked, but he’s by-God coming right this way. Maybe he needs to refuel the beast or something. He’s got an AK slung, but the muzzle’s down. I think we’re okay. Did you get done what you had to?”

Jonathan gave a thumbs-up, knowing that Boxers had an eyeball on him.

“Then get the fuck outta there and come back to daddy.”