There were no extras on the wag now approaching their hiding place, and the wag was in poor condition. The paint was nearly gone along the sides and front, revealing the thick armor plating that secured the passengers within safely. One side rack of headlights was shattered, a reminder of a past collision.
“Hotspur Hussar Armored Land Rover,” J.B. breathed. His keen eyes quickly took in the superficial damages to the battered wag. “Seen better days. I’d say she’s going about thirty miles per hour. Driver will have to slow up at the curve. I’d take the shot then.”
Ryan nodded and raised the SIG-Sauer.
Originally Mildred had been the one chosen to make the shot, until Shauna had stressed the need for silence for her plan to work. Mildred’s aim with the Czech target revolver was uncanny, but the blaster was explosively loud. Ryan had offered the SIG-Sauer to her, but she declined. It wasn’t that complicated a shot, and Ryan’s familiarity with his own blaster would make him the logical shooter.
The plan was indeed a simple one: take out one of the Land Rover’s enormous rubber tires and make the men inside believe they were the unfortunate recipients of a blowout. With luck, they would all leave the wag to change the tire, eliminating the need for a firefight that would probably end up with casualties and a damaged, possibly inoperable wag.
Ryan wanted the wag intact. He wanted the way inside to Poseidon.
“Trojan horse,” Doc had said when told of the plan. “A proved winner for centuries, Ryan. I see no reason why it should not work again.”
As the wag rumbled past, Ryan took careful aim between the armored flanges protecting the rear right wheel well, and squeezed off a single silenced 9 mm shot. He was rewarded with a loud popping sound, not from the pistol, but from the rubber tire exploding as the bullet hit home.
“Hope they brought a spare,” Shauna murmured.
“Hell of a good time to bring that up,” Ryan whispered.
“Here they come,” J.B. said. “Side door’s sliding back.”
The blown-out tire had achieved the desired effect. Two sec men, their rifles down, stepped out of the wag onto the packed dirt and gravel of the road. They were dressed in identical mirrored sunglasses, steel blue helmets and what appeared to be old-style bulky exterior bulletproof vests.
“What’s with the uniforms?” J.B. asked.
“Sec teams that go off the base usually suit up,” Carter whispered. “Intimidation and safety.”
“No chest shots,” Ryan said tightly. “Aim for the faces.”
So far, the two sec men had no reason to suspect an ambush. In their minds, at least for now, this was only an inconvenience, not the beginning of an assault.
“What do you think?” Carter whispered to Ryan. “Hit them now?”
“I think we should let them go about their business of changing the tire,” the grim man replied.
“Sure you want to wait that long, Ryan?” Mildred asked. “What if they find the bullet?”
“They won’t. Not unless they’re looking and not until they have the wag jacked up. I figure might as well let them do the work for us.” Ryan checked his gun. “Once the wag is off the ground, we’ll introduce ourselves. No way they can get rolling again before they put on the spare.”
“How many you think are inside?” Mildred asked.
“Don’t know. Those Land Rovers are big bastards. They can hold eight men in the rear,” J.B. mused.
“Not this one,” Shauna countered. “That thing could seat twenty and it wouldn’t matter. Poseidon keeps them lean. He’s got to have ample room for the food he takes back.”
“Like I said last night, my guess is four men. That was typical standard operations back when I ran with his men,” Carter agreed. “It’s also the same lineup as the last three times Poseidon’s sent a transport out here by land. A driver and passenger up front, two others in the back. A pair to stay alert and watch for trouble, and a pair to use their backs to help load up the booty.”
“So let’s find out,” Ryan said, watching as a third man joined the duo in removing the blown tire. “But whatever you do, don’t let them get back inside the wag.”