The Icarus Prediction: Betting it all has its price by RD Gupta Read Free Book Online

Province.
    He scanned the terrain with his night vision binoculars. Being from Texas, he thought he knew something about wide-open vistas, but this territory was staggering in its desolation. He found it hard to get his brain around how vast it was and thought the dark side of the moon must be something like this. He didn’t see a natural beauty in the mountains but felt they had an “in your face” arrogance to them.
    He peered down and saw the captain’s kill team linking up with the Pashtun delegation. He wondered whose side they were on. The Americans’ spent chutes were now concealed, and the riflemen took positions behind various boulders—some as big as trucks—that dotted the roadway.
    And “roadway” was a charitable term, for it was a cratered path with boulders that were only slightly smaller than the giants on the roadside. It would be extremely slow going here. All the better for an ambush.
    Redigo travelled along the lip of the mesa to where it came to a widow’s peak overlooking the plain. Through the greenish hue of the night vision binoculars, he saw the ribbon of roadway coming out of the plain to a point just below the widow’s peak. Then one path went east around the perimeter of the mesa toward a pass, while the other fork hugged the western face that led into the kill zone before it snaked up to another pass.
    The muffled footsteps of the Observer came up behind him as she labored under the weight of the radios. She came close and offered him the handset.
    Redigo took it and pushed the transmit button. “Torch Road Leader, this is Vaquero One, do you copy, over?”
    “Roger, Vaquero One. We read you. Everyone’s in position.”
    “Does your Pashtun cohort understand your Pashto with a Texas twang?”
    “Roger that. He’s from the southern part of the province.” Redigo allowed himself a rare smile and pushed the transmit button. “OK, remember our mark is supposed to be in the open truck, but nobody walks away from this one.”
    “Roger. Understood.”
    “We’ve got a long view from up here, so we’ll give you plenty of warning. Just hang loose until I give you the word.”
    “Roger, Vaquero One. Will comply.”
    As Redigo handed the mike back to Sarah, she asked, “Where does the call sign Vaquero One come from?”
    Redigo was surprised to see the Observer actually talk to him. “I’m from South Texas. Grew up on a ranch. How about you?”
    “Boston. By way of Georgia.”
    “Whereabouts? Atlanta?”
    “The Black Sea kind of Georgia. Second generation American for my family.”
    “Really? Then how about we call sign you as the Georgia Peach?”
    She didn’t respond, but only surveyed the distant vista with her night vision binoculars.
    Redigo grunted. “OK, maybe not.” Then he pulled out something akin to a brick with a breadstick attached. He punched in a text message that read “Argyle,” meaning the team was down, safe, and in place. Then he hit the send button on the satellite phone that bounced the signal off a network of orbiters before it came down at Bagram air base in Afghan country. He waited a few moments and received “###” in reply, meaning message received.
    The major holstered the phone and said, “Now we wait. Got an hour before dawn. Did you bring a deck of cards?”
    “Left ’em on the plane.”
    “Well, damn. Guess we have the sat phone. Maybe we could send out for a pizza.”
    No response.
    More than a little frustrated, the major said, “Listen, I’m sensitive to that ‘need to know’ bullshit and all that, but it’s just you and me up here right now, and I confess I’m more than a little curious. Just who the hell are you? What are you doing here? What is going on off camera that would make the CO of Delta cave in and let a woman on a joyride like this?”
    Not taking her eyes off the binoculars, she said evenly, “You have your orders, Major. I suggest you follow them.”
    Redigo grunted again. “Thanks for the enlightenment.”