complete. And it felt deafening.
Just eighty-seven seconds had elapsed, and twelve kidnappers had forfeited their lives.
Score one for the home team, Ruby thought triumphantly as she did a quick visual check and saw that her team was intact, so lucky to have come out unscathed; losing someone always hurt. Nor did it look good on the Operational Commanderâs scorecard. That was something that Ruby, keenly aware of her double life, was always concerned about. Like Caesarâs wife, she always wanted to be above reproach.
Seconds later, the Toyota was racing away with its twin prize safely seat-belted inside. The ambassadorâs wife had stopped screaming and gone into the never-never land of shock. Ruby did not care a ratâs ass about that. She only had to get them back alive. Cuckoo or sane, didnât count.
The Toyota raced past where the children had been playing. Ruby spotted one of them staring openmouthed from around the corner of a hut; he would have stories to tell for a long time.
Or maybe not . This was Congo; he may have seen worse.
They had gone half a mile when the other five vehicles caught up. The convoy pelted down the narrow, potholed road.
âWe have them.â Ruby heard the driver bark into the radio as she replaced the half-empty magazine of her weapon and began to reload. Beside her Mark was doing the same.
âJolly good show. Right behind you,â Mission Control intoned, his Brit stoicism intact. âExtractors inbound.â
Minutes later, the vehicles pulled off the road and ground to a dust-churning halt in a flat, open field. The vehicles drew up in a wide circle; like wagons readying to meet an Apache attack. Kevlar-clad agents spilled out and took positions behind their vehicles, all facing outward. Not that they expected trouble, but security drills were what kept them alive.
The dust had yet to settle when three choppers swept in. Two of them headed straight into the secured clearing while the third, its guns ready, started circling overhead in a wide loop to ensure nothing on the ground interfered with the extraction. And, though the agents could not see them, high up in the sky, a sortie of RAF fighters ran a protective Combat Air Patrol, just in case air cover or heavier fire support was required.
The ambassador and his wife were hustled into the first chopper with Rubyâs team. She saw Chance and his sniper team jump into the next one as hers lifted off.
Clawing upward, the birds raced away.
Mission Complete!
There were smiles all around.
Ruby leaned back and let the stress drain away. Momentarily, the faces of the downed terrorists she had shot flipped into her mind. She shrugged.
The fuckers should have realized what theyâd signed up for. She shrugged again. They are wrong. I am right. Well ⦠if not right, at least on the good team. Isnât that reason enough for me to pull the trigger? Isnât it! The thought troubled her only briefly. Of course it is. That is all there is to it ⦠nothing to fret about.
Closing her eyes, she shut out the clamoring roar of the rotors.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
As the Nissan van halted again, Ruby startled back to the reality of Sri Lanka.
The man whom Ruby and Mark had traveled halfway across the world to meet was waiting when they pulled to a stop outside a seedy hotel in Vavuniya. He was one of the contacts passed on to her by Pasha; she had called him before leaving London.
Barely five feet, the dark-skinned Chanderan was roly-poly, and like most men Ruby had seen on the streets, he wore a blue-and-white-checked cotton lungi and a white cotton half-sleeves shirt, with its buttons undone almost to the midriff. He led them proudly to the reception desk, a tiny wooden table adorned by a large, thumb-worn guest register and a pink flower vase with plastic flowers sticking out from it. Like the table, both the flowers and the vase had seen better days.
âIt is all taken care
Just eighty-seven seconds had elapsed, and twelve kidnappers had forfeited their lives.
Score one for the home team, Ruby thought triumphantly as she did a quick visual check and saw that her team was intact, so lucky to have come out unscathed; losing someone always hurt. Nor did it look good on the Operational Commanderâs scorecard. That was something that Ruby, keenly aware of her double life, was always concerned about. Like Caesarâs wife, she always wanted to be above reproach.
Seconds later, the Toyota was racing away with its twin prize safely seat-belted inside. The ambassadorâs wife had stopped screaming and gone into the never-never land of shock. Ruby did not care a ratâs ass about that. She only had to get them back alive. Cuckoo or sane, didnât count.
The Toyota raced past where the children had been playing. Ruby spotted one of them staring openmouthed from around the corner of a hut; he would have stories to tell for a long time.
Or maybe not . This was Congo; he may have seen worse.
They had gone half a mile when the other five vehicles caught up. The convoy pelted down the narrow, potholed road.
âWe have them.â Ruby heard the driver bark into the radio as she replaced the half-empty magazine of her weapon and began to reload. Beside her Mark was doing the same.
âJolly good show. Right behind you,â Mission Control intoned, his Brit stoicism intact. âExtractors inbound.â
Minutes later, the vehicles pulled off the road and ground to a dust-churning halt in a flat, open field. The vehicles drew up in a wide circle; like wagons readying to meet an Apache attack. Kevlar-clad agents spilled out and took positions behind their vehicles, all facing outward. Not that they expected trouble, but security drills were what kept them alive.
The dust had yet to settle when three choppers swept in. Two of them headed straight into the secured clearing while the third, its guns ready, started circling overhead in a wide loop to ensure nothing on the ground interfered with the extraction. And, though the agents could not see them, high up in the sky, a sortie of RAF fighters ran a protective Combat Air Patrol, just in case air cover or heavier fire support was required.
The ambassador and his wife were hustled into the first chopper with Rubyâs team. She saw Chance and his sniper team jump into the next one as hers lifted off.
Clawing upward, the birds raced away.
Mission Complete!
There were smiles all around.
Ruby leaned back and let the stress drain away. Momentarily, the faces of the downed terrorists she had shot flipped into her mind. She shrugged.
The fuckers should have realized what theyâd signed up for. She shrugged again. They are wrong. I am right. Well ⦠if not right, at least on the good team. Isnât that reason enough for me to pull the trigger? Isnât it! The thought troubled her only briefly. Of course it is. That is all there is to it ⦠nothing to fret about.
Closing her eyes, she shut out the clamoring roar of the rotors.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
As the Nissan van halted again, Ruby startled back to the reality of Sri Lanka.
The man whom Ruby and Mark had traveled halfway across the world to meet was waiting when they pulled to a stop outside a seedy hotel in Vavuniya. He was one of the contacts passed on to her by Pasha; she had called him before leaving London.
Barely five feet, the dark-skinned Chanderan was roly-poly, and like most men Ruby had seen on the streets, he wore a blue-and-white-checked cotton lungi and a white cotton half-sleeves shirt, with its buttons undone almost to the midriff. He led them proudly to the reception desk, a tiny wooden table adorned by a large, thumb-worn guest register and a pink flower vase with plastic flowers sticking out from it. Like the table, both the flowers and the vase had seen better days.
âIt is all taken care
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