his belt, and withdrew a heavy-duty set of wire cutters. Intelligence
had indicated that the fence was electrified, but not alarmed, and that
the Cubans lacked even rudimentary pressure sensors and motion
detectors along the perimeter.
The SEALs waited. Their luck held within a couple of minutes, a bulky
Cuban patrolling sentry came into view, his presence announced five
minutes earlier by his clumsy, stumbling progress along the
perimeter.
The SEALs held their breath, watched him pass by them on the interior
of the fence and then disappear in the dark.
They waited a little bit longer, until they were certain he was out of
earshot. Then Sikes motioned sharply Move out!
Garcia scampered up to the fence, slipping on his heavily insulated
gloves as he moved while holding the heavy wire cutters with their
rubberized handles in one hand. He crouched low, blending in with the
low vegetation already struggling to reassert its domination over the
trimmed area.
He worked quickly but carefully, snipping away the heavy strands and
finally tossing aside a semicircular portion of the fence. Grinning,
he held it aloft for a moment for his compatriots to admire, then laid
it carefully on the ground. He scuttled back to join his teammates and
resumed his normal position in the formation.
Sikes led the way, moving quickly across the open area.
Behind him, at two-minute intervals, the rest of the team followed.
They regrouped at the rear of a ramshackle wooden building. The short,
hundred-meter dash had driven the last traces of stiffness and cold
from their muscles. They paused for a minute, regrouping, then
employed the same silent dart-and-wait maneuver to move steadily across
the rest of the compound.
Their target was the open field to the north of the main cluster of
buildings, the one the satellite imagery had shown as under
construction.
0330 Local (+5 GMT) Tomcat 201
“I need altitude,” Bird Dog said as a warning. He slammed the
throttles forward, kicking the massive jet into afterburners, and
yanked back on the yoke. The Tomcat rotated in the air to stand almost
on end, its nose pointed toward the one clear patch of sky Bird Dog had
found. Rain still spattered the canopy, the drops driven quickly aft
by the jet’s wind speed to leave most of the forward part clear. Five
hundred knots of airspeed was better than any windshield wiper ever
designed.
“They’ll think you’re getting into firing position,” Gator warned.
“That’s what I want ’em to think. Let’s see if we can get him to play
our game.” Bird Dog tightened his stomach and torso muscles, forcing
blood up from his extremities into his brain to prevent graying out.
“I’m staying in search-right radar mode, so he shouldn’t have any
reason to get excited.”
“Cubans don’t need a reason,” Gator gritted.
0345 Local (+5 GMT) Fuentes Naval Base The construction churned up the
vast field to their north, raw, black dirt furrowed and rent, bearing
an odd resemblance to the sea they’d just crossed. Past the square of
disturbed earth, the field resumed its green march to the hot horizon,
low shrubbery and tall grass surrounding the construction.
Sikes nudged his partner and pointed. Black iron girders jutted out of
the ground at improbable angles. To the right, a yellow crane sat
silently waiting, poised at the edge of the disturbed surface like a
praying mantis. Just to the right of the crane, a stack of neatly
arranged metal and wooden boxes rested. The metal ones were at least
forty feet long, and bore the scrapes and gashes Sikes associated with
shipping containers. The wooden boxes were smaller, measuring merely
six feet in length. Associated equipment, he supposed. Based on their
intelligence, there was little doubt in his mind as to what the larger
crates held.
The girdered structure had the look of something almost complete, as
though the addition of a few more support members would transform the
collection into a stark, meaningful machine, one capable of handling
the missiles he was certain were nestled in the longer boxes.
He glanced to his right, and saw his partner had already extracted the
portable Geiger counter from his carryall.
Huerta pointed the probe toward the field.