Lynn relaxed in Clint’s grip, pointing at her offspring. “There will be blood, you know-it-all little shit.”
“I learned from the best, Ma. Calm the hell down, Betty,” Jr. sparked her with the term he’d been bombarded with ever since he was a kid, listening to his Mom bait unsuspecting Snow Whites. “We get the order. We move in and kill anything that has a male heartbeat, including any burka babes with hairy hands, reaching for weapons. Why don’t you do some knife tricks until you get comfortable, Betty.”
The only person able to make such a statement smirked while everyone around him moved away as if near a detonating mine. Jr turned back into position, weapon at the ready, even though if everything worked out as planned, the fake community would be in ashes. Quinn watched his brother in arms crouch in comfortable silence.
“Recon!”
They all heard Lucas’s term of endearment for his Godson at the expense of Clint Jr.’s Mom. Lynn chuckled. “Shut the fuck up, Ahab.”
“We’re all on the network, Betty,” Lucas jabbed her. “We know you’re worried. It’s best to do this as Jr advised – either get ready or sit it out. None of us would think any less of you.”
A chorus of grunting acknowledgements agreed with Lucas’s assessment.
“I’m in,” Lynn stated. “I’m done mommying. If there’s any more Betty digs from anyone, I’ll have my foot massage gear ready to go. That includes you, know-it-all.”
Clint Jr. locked eyes with his Mom. “Understood, Ma. We’ll be fine.”
“I wouldn’t be worried if Cheese hadn’t used up all our good Karma and luck with all his near disasters.”
“I heard that, Crue,” Harding said. “We’re flying into position now.”
Quinn gripped his weapon, ignoring any further banter. Their support aircraft were in the air, minutes from positions already decided on. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts for combat. His sister would be in a place, if things went wrong, where there would be little to shield her from harm, other than the rain of death exacted by the sniper teams. Quinn had made peace with the fact he would kill everything without thought or hesitation until he reached her: men, women, and children. Let God sort them out at the end. He knew any of them could be wearing bomb vests.
*
Johnny approached the gated community’s entrance with tired realization he would once again be forced to dredge up his Ebi Zarin identity, although he disavowed and detested every aspect of his long ago dead identity. He drove a late model BMW, steeling himself to interact with the guard in a completely nerveless manner, without any indication of what churned inside of him. He well knew one mistake could rob his children of ever seeing him and Cala ever again. Cala gripped his arm momentarily.
“It is a small thing, brother,” Cala echoed, reading his expression, with a long ago reference to his favorite movie: Thirteenth Warrior.
They reached the outer gate with Johnny patting Cala’s leg with acknowledgement of her intuitive grasp of his emotions. The guards at the gate were only armed with holstered weapons. He made an instantaneous mission decision as the guard drew near with a sneering look of animosity. Johnny knew the mosque would be the key to their report.
“Give me my MP5,” Johnny told Cala. She and Jean hid the old but very reliable silenced machine pistols under their burkas. Cala instantly slapped it into his hands from underneath her garb.
“Uncle Johnny?”
“Be ready, Viper.”
When the two guards reached the car, Johnny lowered his tinted window and shot both men in the head with two short bursts. Jean instantly disembarked from the car, running toward the guard post, but there were no more men inside the guard shack. She held ground, watching for any kind of notice. Johnny dragged the two bodies out of sight. Cala smiled at her husband as he reentered the BMW’s driver’s seat.
“I’m tellin’,” Cala joked as Jean joined them.
“No need,” John Harding said. “I wasn’t thrilled with you three trying to get past those guards and leaving them at your back either.
“We’re watching the compound,” Rachel added. “Clear so far, but you’ll have to recon fast if the guards had check in times.”
“Clear from our nest,” Benny said.
“Clear,” Casey acknowledged.
“Are you headed for the mosque, Kabong?”
“No change there, Muerto,” Johnny replied. “The guards’ body language as they approached did not look promising. We will go directly inside the mosque and need time for a thorough search.”
“Absolutely,” Nick said. “All snipers’ nests have a viewing of the mosque entrance. We will maintain a clear escape zone even if we have to let the ‘Ghostrider’ loose on everything around. You copy that, Laredo?”