Page 9 of Dangerous Obsession

The two of them had hiked in to a point in the jungle about one hundred yards west of the compound. Dangerously close.

Viking responded, “Falcon one, in position.”

“Falcon two, in position,” Hawk whispered.

“Falcon three, in position.” Calliope, the other sniper on their team, checked in from her perch in a tree about one click southwest of the compound.

She was small and agile, with a perky personality overlayed with a hint of snark. At first glance, with her bright blue eyes and the way she wore her white blond hair up in pigtails, she looked like a cheerleader who should be at the top of a pyramid. In reality, she was a twenty-seven-year-old deadly accurate sniper whose rifle was almost as long as she was tall.

Calliope had learned to use her youthful, innocent looks to her advantage. A few people learned too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her. She also loved to talk smack with the guys, with her most recent target being Lucas, the guy who supplied them with a helo whenever they had an op in Colombia.

Lucas—now there was an interesting character. No one knew anything about him, not even his last name, and the guy wasn’t into sharing either. He would show up on the tarmac, hand over a set of keys, do a bit of verbal sparring with Calliope, then walk off in a cloud of cigar smoke. The guy was an enigma, and Viking got the sense he had some pretty dark demons in his past. Then again, in this business, who didn’t?

“Report.” Cole kept his voice low, in deference to their close proximity to the compound.

“Truck is on the east side of a small outbuilding located at the southwest corner of the compound. Windows on the building are blacked out and covered with bars.” Viking squinted. “Guy at the door with an AK.”

“That’s gotta be where they’re keeping the girls,” Calliope said.

“Head count?” Their team leader needed to verify how much resistance they would be facing.

“Four.” Hawk slowly swept his binoculars to the right. “One at the front gate, another covering the main entrance to the residence, one in the southeast observation tower, and a guy walking the north wall.”

“Falcon Three?” Cole checked with his other sniper.

“Five. Edge of the deck at the rear of the residence, northwest crow’s nest, guy at the back service gate, and the idiot plowing through the woods like an elephant about fifty yards from you,” Calliope said. “There’s a fifth guy near the outbuilding, but all I can see is the bottom half of his legs.”

“Understood.” Cole’s voice was just above a whisper. “Falcon One, take out the southeast tower, the guy at the gate, and the one patrolling the north side, then provide cover for Falcon Two.”

“Roger that,” Viking replied.

Cole continued. “Falcon Two, move to your forward position, remain there until the targets have been neutralized, then get to that truck.”

“Aye-aye.” Hawk flattened his hands on the ground and pushed himself up to a crouch. He stowed his binocs in his tactical vest, tapped Viking on the shoulder, then scurried into the bush, heading downhill.

“Falcon Three, take out the bogeys in the northwest tower, back deck, and the service gate. Cover us while we take care of the other two.”

“On it.” A slight rustling of leaves could be heard as she settled into position.

“Falcon One and Three, the second you see us rolling out, bug out to the rendezvous point.” Cole waited for their response.

They both replied in the affirmative.

Viking shouldered his rifle, rested his cheek against the stock, slowed his breathing, and sighted in his first target.

Cole began the count. “Three.”

Viking released a long, slow breath, and cleared his mind.

“Two.”

He curled his index finger over the trigger.

“One.”

He slowly drew it back a fraction of an inch.

“Mark.”

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