Page 4 of Into the Gray Zone

They each took a pistol, Kamal saying, “Remember the training. Because of the cold bore, the first round will be louder. Don’t let that scare you. Once the suppressor gets hot, the rest will be quieter. Fire two at first contact.”

His men nodded, and he said, “This is it. We’re attacking the very prison with our name. Freedom Fighter prison.”

The dock was servicing a place called the Fort Aguada Jail Museum, a prison established when the Portuguese ruled Goa. It was an infamous location where thousands of Indians were incarcerated and tortured in their fight to overthrow Portuguese rule. Liberated in 1961, it was now a tourist attraction highlighting the quest for independence from the Portuguese.

They began clambering out of the hull of the small rubber craft, climbing up the rock wall, and Kamal turned to Manjit, saying, “Be prepared to move on a moment’s notice. We’ll probably be coming back on the run.”

Manjit nodded, saying, “Good luck.”

His other men were already waiting on the dock, crouched downand facing out, toward the prison. He took a knee, saying, “Let’s hope Mr. Chin’s intelligence on Sidak’s location is better than the intel was before his arrest.”

The prison sprawled along the rocky coastline behind a seawall festooned with old cannons from the days of Portuguese rule, with only one section open to the public. The other sections had yet to renovated for display, and this was where Mr.Chin said Sidak was being held.

Kamal stood up, the tallest of the men, his broad shoulders giving him an air of authority. He went to Agam, a wispy man wearing eyeglasses that had fogged over in the humid air. He tapped Agam on the shoulder, saying, “Let’s go.”

Agam stood in a crouch, Randeep to his left, and they began shuffling down the concrete dock, reaching a single chain that was designed to prevent entrance. They crossed it and Kamal took a knee, saying, “He’s to the left. Down the pathway past the group cells. He’s on the second floor, in a funnel room.”

Mr.Chin had told them that Sadik was being held in one of the infamous torture rooms, with hooks in the ceiling and a sloping hole in the floor to wash away the bodily fluids of someone unlucky enough to be incarcerated.

Kamal pointed to the building to their front, the façade illuminated in the dim glow of a single incandescent bulb, saying, “One at a time. Get into the shadows.”

Agam sprinted across the courtyard, highlighted by the light for a split second before he was lost from view. Randeep followed. Kamal glanced at the main gate to the prison, seeing no reaction, and scuttled across himself. He reached his men and said, “Stay in the shadows.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a guard came around the corner, ambling along without paying attention. He stumbled into Kamal’s group and sprang back, grabbing at a pistol in theholster on his hip. Kamal leapt up and hammered him in the head with his Makarov, knocking him to the ground. He stood over the body and the man shouted, the sound cut short by a double tap from Kamal’s pistol.

Time stood still, the man’s scream louder than the bullets that ended it. Kamal looked at his team, the smoke wafting from the end of his barrel, their eyes wide at the destruction he’d caused, the reality of the mission settling in for the first time.

Kamal snapped, “We need to move, now. This guy was on a circuit. If they didn’t hear him shout there will be an alert when he doesn’t show up where he’s supposed to. The clock is ticking.”

Agam said, “What about the body? Should we hide it?”

“No time. He’s a hired security guard, not RAW. We need to exploit the gap in time right now. Follow me.”

He began to sidle down the wall, keeping to the shadows. They crossed an open area, then began crawling again, backs pressed against the stone, until they reached a winding staircase. Kamal halted, took a moment to get his bearings, then said, “Sidak’s up there.”

Chapter4

It didn’t take us long to get to DC, mainly because we had our own jet to fly us there. Wolffe had sent down what I called the Rock Star bird. A Gulfstream 650 that was just like the one rock stars used to fly around, only this bird was a little different.

It was leased to my company through a myriad of commercial cutouts and was really nothing more than a high-speed infiltration platform. Instead of a king-sized bed with rubber sheets, it held all manner of weapons and surveillance gear within its walls, with the compartments hidden from a casual look-through by nosy customs officials. In this case, though, it was just a ride to Washington.

We taxied to the private FBO area at Reagan National and were met by Bartholomew Creedwater, our resident computer network engineer—which is a polite way of saying he was a hacker.

We bundled into an SUV, and I said, “You’re turning into the Taskforce Uber driver.”

The last time my team was unceremoniously called to DC we’d been picked up by Creed. Hopefully this trip wouldn’t be as big a mess as that one.

He laughed and said, “Itisgetting to be a habit. Wolffe didn’t want to wait for you to get an Uber. Apparently, this is pretty time sensitive.”

“What’s this all about? Give me some skinny before I walk into the lion’s den.”

Creed glanced at me in the passenger seat and said, “I don’t know. I was pulling an all-night shift and got tasked to pick you up. I’m out of here and going to bed. All I know is it has something to do with India.”

India?That was the last thing I expected. I said, “So why couldn’t we do this over a VPN? Why did we have to fly up here?”

“Pike, I honestly don’t know. I’m just the taxi driver.”

I went silent, thinking about the implications. We drove down the George Washington Parkway to Clarendon, passing Arlington Cemetery along the way. Jennifer saw me looking at the gravestones and clasped my hand, giving it a squeeze. I knew more people underneath that ground than anyone had a right to, but no words were necessary. I squeezed back.

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