Page 45 of Running Scared
In fact….
Dean’s eyes shot open, and he and Marcus both scrambled to a squat.There was no “Did you hear that?”because if they hadn’t both heard that, they wouldn’t both be staring at the opaque sides of their little shelter, wondering if they weren’t both about to be taken out by an armed drone.
“It’s small,” Dean breathed, and Marcus gave a short nod.By now the buzzing was close enough that they had an idea of how big the thing was, as they hunkered down behind a flimsy piece of cloth, and the idea that the drone was too small to carry a weapon might be the most comforting last thought either of them ever had.
At that moment there was a zoom and a rustle at the side vent of the tent, and a dinner-plate sized object hurtled in and fell at their feet.The giant bumblebee sound stopped abruptly, and Dean went to their lookout portal while Marcus bent closer to check out the drone for explosives.
As he pulled his helmet goggles on for an enhanced view, he caught his breath.Way out—wayout on the road connecting the compound and the town—was a supply caravan, heading toward Sangrino del Corazón.
Rising up from the corner of the last truck, barely discernible at this distance even with the goggles, was a wire-thin antenna where most antennae wouldn’t be.As Dean watched, the antenna retracted, disappeared, and the last truck in the caravan was the same sand-covered canvas as the rest of the caravan, with the exception of the stowaway in a hastily soldered hidden compartment underneath.
Or so Dean surmised as he adjusted the goggles to their maximum and studied the last truck with increasing desperation.
There it was.The antenna that had steered the drone made one last retraction into the undercarriage and the betraying shadow of Birdie’s hastily improvised compartment.
“Holy moly,” Marcus swore by their tent’s entrance, pulling Dean’s attention.
“What?”
“There’s a message attached to this drone—paper.”
“Holy moly?”Dean sniped, pulling the goggles off before his head threatened to split open.“What are we, six?”
“Okay, then.Holyfuck,Dean,” Marcus retorted.“If that would help, then holyfuck.”He held up a strip of electrical tape that had obviously been peeled from their new drone.Underneath was some basic note paper, scribbled on with what was probably a ballpoint pen.
“I had no idea Bird was so hi-tech,” Dean said with no inflection whatsoever, and Marcus let out a strangled yelp of a laugh before handing the packet over.Dean pulled out the Leatherman tool that no op would be complete without and released the blade so he could work diligently on extricating the notebook paper from the tape without tearing it.When he was done, he spread out the pieces so Marcus could see too.
There were two pieces of paper—the first one had a series of bullet points.
• Bike’s at Gonzalez Wreckers.3 days before it gets wrecked.
• Family SW corner
• AAG NE—Win!
• Door by N entrance 3 a.m.
• FUCKING QUIET
Dean raised his eyebrows as he stared at the combination of intel and instructions.Next to him he heard Marcus let out a low whistle.
“What?”
“Just glad Bird doesn’t want our jobs is all,” Marcus said.“How in the hell did Bird learn all that?”
“Probably hid in a corner and listened,” Dean said.Birdie’s age and gender weren’t the only thing obscured by clothes, haircut, and a ballcap.After time out in the sun and the desert, Birdie’s ethnicity was anybody’s guess.A hunch of the shoulders, a hitch in the walk, and Birdie could be anybody’s wizened abuela, limping in obscurity from store to store.
But that didn’t mean this wasn’t a stunning piece of intel.
“The family and the antiaircraft guns are in the exact opposite ends of the compound,” Marcus said, to make sure they were both on the same page.
“Yes, they are.”
“Bird can let us in by the antiaircraft guns,” Marcus extrapolated.
“Yes, Bird can.”
“You and me have the explosives.”
