Midnight Sun by Basil Sands (books to read as a couple TXT) 📗

the page.

“He’stheoneTonywascallingabout,” shesaid. “He’sgonerogueorsomething.”

“Yeah.Andhe’soutforrevenge.”

“Well,withallthesecuritywe’vegotonthatpark,Ican’timagineanyonegettingashotoff.”

“WhenIwasinAfghanistanthesecondtime,therewasastorysomeoftheSpecialForcesguystoldaboutaguynamed Seirim AlGul. ThenamemeansHairy Demon.HewassupposedtobeaCIAplantwhomadeitallthewayupthechaininoneoftheal-Qaedasplintergroups.Hewasknowntoappearallasuddeninthemiddleofagroupofsoldiers,givethemsomereallyusefulinformation,thenvanishwithoutleavingatrace.Onetime,hepoppedinto the FOB—that’s a Forward Operating Base—unannouncedandleftapackagefortheSFcommanderthendisappeared.Whentheyopenedthebox,itwastheheadofoneofthetenmost-wantedTalibanfightersinthecountry,withanotesaying‘HappyYomKippur.’”

“HappyYomKippur?”

“Yeah,thecaptainwasJewishanditwastheholiday.”

“Soyouthinkthe Hairy Demon isthissameguy?”

“WhenIsawthepicture,Iimmediately thought of him,” Warnersaid. “ThatguysurelooksliketheimageIhad from their description ofAlGul.”

“Well,if that’s what he still looks like,” Toniaheldoutthepictureandcircledhisfacewithherfinger, “itshouldnotbehardtofindhiminacrowd.”

“Let’shope.”

Chapter26

DelaneyParkStrip

DowntownAnchorage

Thursday, June 23rd

5p.m.

AllalongtheDelaneyPark strip area, maintenance workers labored to clear the park in preparation for the following morning's gathering under the watchful supervision of highly visible members of the Anchorage Police, Alaska State Troopers, FBI, Secret Service, and National Guard Military Police. Atthewestendofthestrip,agroupof young men who looked like collegestudentsallwearing thigh-length soccer-style shortsandmatching neon green T-shirtswithblack-and-redletteringdeclaringtheirgroupastheHornetscomplainedtoapoliceofficer.

“Comeon,dude,” said one of the young men. “You'veseenusoutherepracticingonthesamedayeveryweek.ThecitywideUltimateFrisbeetournamentisnextweekend,and weneed to be ready. The guys we're up against are killers!”

“They've got a pro from New Zealand, and two dudes from Hawaii on their team,” said another of the jersey-wearing men. “We really need the practice to beat these guys.” Several of them held up their professional-grade Frisbees and nodded vigorously as punctuation to the statement.

The officer held his hands up, palms forward in placation of their complaint. “Sorry, fellas, nothing I can do. Thestripisclosedsowecangetreadyforthepresident'svisit.TryKincaidParkorValleyoftheMooninstead.”

“ButTeamThorispracticingatKincaid,ourrivalswiththeblokefromNewZealand.Wecan'tpracticeonthesamefieldasthem.”

“Try Valley of the Moon park,” the officer said.

“Valley of The Moonistoocrowdedwithlittlekids. It’s notsafeforusto flingthesebadboys around civilians, man,” Hehelduptheheavy-dutyprofessionaldisc.Noticeablylargerandthickerthanakid'sFrisbee,thrownfroma strong player'shandsitcouldbreakachild'sbonesorcausean evenmoreseriousinjuryifithittheminthehead.

“NothingIcando,fellas. Playelsewhere—I’m notmakinganyexceptions.Unlessyouwanttobringituptothoseguys.” Hepointedtothetopofanofficebuilding.TheplayersglancedupandtheirmouthsdroppedopenastheywatchedanFBIsniperteamsettheirrifleonitsbipodandscopeoutthearea.

“Whoa,dude,” saidoneofthem,squintingtowardthe shapes moving on the roof, “isthatfor real?”

“Youreallywanttofindout?” askedtheofficer,asmirkonhislips.

“JustlikeCallofDutyUrbanWarfare®,” another said.

“Yeah,” theofficer said, “exceptthisain'tagame,andifyouscrewup,there'snorespawningforado-over.”

“Let'stryWestHigh'sfootballfield,” theirleader said. “Itshouldn'tbetoobusy.”

“Goodthinking,” theofficersaid withawink.

AstheyoungmenmadetheirwaytoaJeepparked in one of the spaces that ringed the periphery ofthegrassypark,theynoticedforthefirsttimejusthowmanypoliceofficers,doghandlers,andmeninblacksuitsandsunglasses milled around, checkingandre-checkingseeminglyeverycornerofthefield,thehousesandbuildingsnexttoit. One of them pointed to a pair of officers coming out of a small brick hut that led totheundergroundaccesses.

Unknowntothemastheymovedawayfromthe Delaney Park Strip andleft fortheWestHighSchoolfootballfieldwastheconsternationofthoseincharge. The Frisbee team glanced back toward the open space and noted a group of men in suits and uniforms near the half acre rose garden. The seriousness of their demeanor seemed to mar the quiet beauty of the manicured green bushes, their red flowers making the team leader think of blood. One of the men in the group was pointing at something then turned his head and shot a look at the team. The tall red-haired man’s expression seemed to be a not so subtle encouragment to keep walking.

Caufield and his Secret Service and law enforcement counterpartsstood around a table next to the rose garden. Birds chirped and sang from within the thorny tangles that walled off the semi-private area of the park. The area was frequently used to host weddings, formal parties or other ceremonies. Today it was their temporary command post as the park was being setup for the President. The men and women in the group wereacutelyawareofthethreatand all of them were equallyfrustratedby theirseeminginabilitytoturnupanyclueastoitsembodiment.Noexplosiveshadbeenfound.Nounexpectedelectricalsignalsappearedonscanners.Nosuspiciousradiofrequenciescameupinthetests. Were it not for the fact that the mere presence of both Kharzai and Farrah were evidence of a likely and imminent threat on its own strength, Caufield would have dismissed the whole thing as ludicrous. As he listened to a National Guard captain detail the positions of Military Police stationed around the outer perimeter of the field, Caufield’s eyes followed a large, bright yellow butterfly as it fluttered past, landing on a rose flower and extending its proboscis into the center of the Everything seemed just too peaceful.

Sniperteamsandcountersniperteamssettledinresidenceonthetallestbuildings,viewingthevastmajorityofthearea.Thankstotheopenlayoutofthethoroughlymoderndowntown Anchorage landscape,fewareaswereoutoftheirview,andthosethatwere alsounusablebyapotentialshooter.  Theteamswouldstayinpositionuntilthepresidentandhis guestsweresafelyoutoftheareathenextday.

TheyoungmenwalkedpastapregnantAsianladywhostrolledintothepark from whichtheyhadjustbeenevicted.

“Theyprobablyain'tgonnaletyouthrough,lady,” oneofthemsaidtoher. “They'rebeingrealjerksaboutitallbeingofflimitsforthepresident'svisittomorrow.”

“Thanksforthewarning,” Lonniereplied, “butI'vegotapass.” Sheflashedherbadgeatthem and kept moving until she came up to Caufield’s group.

The group acknowledged her presence with a few greetings and pleasant smiles, then turned back to their work. That work, no matter how much she worried about it, was not hers. Not this time. The mission was in other people’s hands.Lonniesurrenderedtothefactsofhercondition. While a part of her wanted to be deeper into it, she knew her part was done and she needed to step out of the wayofthosewhosejobitwas.Marcus split off from the group.

“Don’t you need to stay here and work with them?” Lonnie asked.

“No, they’ve got it under control,” He said. “Besides, its not my job. I’m just a civilian here, remember?”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Let’s get back to the hotel and get some rest,” He said.

Shedidn'tprotest.

***

Marcusglanced out the hotel window toward the Park Strip and buildings around it.He caughtsightofthesniperpostsonthe roofs of buildingsnearerthepark, shooters and spotters settling into their deadly task.Hismemory flared with images of thecountlesstimeshehadbeensittinginjustsuchaposition himself,highonabuilding,onamountainside,oronaflat-roofedtwo-storybuildinginanurbanIraqialley.  Hethought back to thefearandtension that he’d always felt in the hours before a mission went live,anervousenergythat curled tightly, deep in his gut.  It came from knowingthatsoonyou'dbecalleduponto perform an act thatwasveryunnaturalformankind—to killanotherhumanbeing. As the moment drew near, the shooter would descend into the battle zone within their psyche. The feelingsettled  intoalowthrumofenergycoursingthroughthebodyasthesnipercalmedandemployedthewell-practicedbreathingexercises,focusingonscanningthe target area,brokenintoquadrants,sections,segments,and positions, the mind seeing the battle space as if overlaid with grid lines. He had sometimes compared the image to a life-sized game of Battleship—only he could see over the opponent’s board and knew where he'd placed his ships.Andwhenthebattlecame, asurrealquiet descended, like a physical forceebbingthroughthebodyatamolecularlevel.Everyounceofthesniper'sbeingslidintoanetherealexistenceofmanagainstman.Andthenit was over.Justlikethat.Thingsgot packedup,theshooterexfiltrated,slinkingthroughcitystreets,jungleundergrowth,orashatteredbuilding.Thedangerneverended untilyou were backatthebarracks.

UnliketheFBIand SecretServicesharpshooters, when Marcus set out on a mission there was almost near certainty he would be killing men. Luckily for these men, most of them would never see the face of the dead in their rifle scopes. The majority of law enforcement sharpshooters spend their entire career training to deliver personalized death to a suspect, only to retire without ever firing a shot to end another man's life. Marcus prayed thiswasgoingtostaytrue today.

Ashewatchedthemscopingthearea,sweepingtheirfieldsoffire,gettingintothegrooveofthepositionsfrom whichtheywouldquietlysitandstareforthenextfifteentotwenty-fourhours,anotherrealizationcreptintohisthoughts.TwoyearsafterretiringfromtheCorps,hestillstruggledwiththeconceptofbeingoutsidethechainofcommand.Thoseincharge,inrealpositionsofauthority,wouldallowhimtohelptoacertainpoint,buthewasnolongeramemberoftheteamandwonderedifwheneverythinghitthefaninthemorning,theywouldshovehimoutofthewayandforcehimtothesidelines.

Heturnedfromthewindowandlookedathiswife,sleepinguncomfortablyinthehotelbed. He marveled at how beautiful she was, how lucky he was to survive twenty-plus years in the warrior life to be able to come home and marry the girl he'd loved since high school. He wondered if they'd survive the day.

Chapter 27

Delaney Park Strip

Friday,June24th

05:55 a.m.

HildeandMikestayedwiththeFBIandSecretServiceteamsuntillate,makingtheirwaybacktotheCaptainCookaftermidnightforafewhours’sleep.Atfourthirty,theywerebothbackonthegreen,walking,searching,inspectingbarricadesandpoliceofficersandparkworkers.

Atthathour,everysecondpersonontheparkstripwasanarmedofficer,soldier,orundercoveragent.  Warner,dressedinjeansandacrispgreenpoloshirt,lookedlikeaTVstereotypeofanot-so-inconspicuousundercoveragent.Therewasnohidinghismilitarybearing.Evenifhe wasn’twearinganearpieceandbonemic,anyonelookingathimwouldhave automaticallyassumedhewasSecretService.Themansimplycouldnotblendin.Tonia,ontheotherhand,lookedlikeagrumpyofficeclerkwhohadbeenorderedoutside without explanationattheunreasonably earlyhourandwasverypissed.

Marcuswasstillbackatthehotel,tryingtotalkLonnieintostayinginside.Hildehadgivenheranearpiecesoshecouldhearwhatwashappeningandmonitorfromtherestauranttower,butLonnieinsistedonbeingontheground.

Thesteel-graymorningbrightenedquickly.Bysixa.m.,thecitywasbathedinsunlight.Itwasabeautifulstarttotheday.Hilde inhaled deeply, letting freshairfillherlungs,thenletoutasigh.SheandMikecrossed9thAvenueandIStreettowardthe centersectionoftheparkwhere the Veteran’sMemorialflagpolesstood at attention atop the raised concrete platform flags twisting lazily in the light breeze eighty feet upfromthe ground .9thand10thAvenueswerebarricadedseveralblocksineitherdirection,aswereallthecrossstreets,EthroughP.Thepresidentialstagewassetfacingwesttowardtheocean,withtheflagpolesframedbythebackdropofthemajesticChugachmountains.

“Thisfeelslikeamovie,” Hildesaid. “Likeitisn’treal.”

“Yeah,” Mike replied. “Iprayitisn’treal.Thatwe’reoverreactingandwe’ll allbelaughingaboutitinacoupleofhours.”

“DoyouthinkKharzaireallyturned?”

“IwishIknew.”

Toniasawthemfromtheraisedplatform,whereshewaswatchingagroupoftechnicianslayingcablesforthemicrophonesandspeakersystem.Sheleft the work and crossedtowardthemquickly,anuncharacteristicallyseriousexpressiononherface,herlipspursedandhereyeshardwithwhatwaseitherdeterminationoranger.

“Hey,” shesaid. “HaveyouseenTony?”

“No,” Hilde answered.

“He’ssupposedtoliaisewithmeduringthespeechsowecanmakesureouragenciestalktoeachother.”

Asshespoke,Tomer’shugeframelumberedaroundthestageandmovedtowardthem.Tonia’sexpressioninstantlybrighteneduntilshenoticedHilderestrainingasmile.Sheclearedherthroatandforcedherfacebacktoasternexpression.Hereyesstillsparkledasheapproached.

“Sorry,gothungupwithsomelast-minuteordersfromtheSAC.Wejustgotasetoffrequencyjammerstoblockcellphonesandthemajorityoffrequenciesusedinmosttypesofdetonators.Wetriedthemoutanddiscoveredabittoolatethattheyalsoblockthesamefrequencyasalotoftheradioequipment.”

“What?” Hilde said. “Didn’tanyonethinktocheckthataheadoftime?”

“Apparentlynot,” Tomersaid. “Any agency radios less than fiftyfeetfromthestage will be fine, but anything outside of that is likely to be jammed.We can’t jam right around the stage because we need to guarantee the security detail radios work, butourguysputtogetherthestageandeverything,andwe’vebeenmanningitfromthebeginning so I can’t imagine a bomb up there.”

“Man,ohman,” Mike said. “So you’re telling us that we