Page 60 of Freedom Fighters
Duardo had only ever seen the mine on televisionand in photographs in the news. The mine would have propped up Vistaria’s sluggish economy, so its opening had been followed by the media. Duardo was familiar with the buildings in the admin area.
The mine itself was two miles away, an open-cut operation that should have been running twenty-four hours a day.
The fence around the administrative area was so new, no rust or dullness had yet appearedon the chain-link. The barbwire on top would be sharp. The fence hadn’t been there when the media reported on the mine. It was an Insurrecto addition.
“Will the fence be a problem?” Nick asked.
Duardo shook his head. “The fence, no. It’s the number of armed guards that concerns me. Look.” He held the glasses out to Nick, who rolled onto his stomach and put them to his face.
They were lyingon the sandy dirt, a kilometer away from the compound, hidden by scrubby weeds and bushes. The bulk of the army was on the beach or the boats, another two kilometers to the south.
Nick and Duardo had crept forward to assess the situation before launching the attack. General Flores remained behind and they kept contact via cellphones using the new stealth software.
Nick frowned. “There are alot of Insurrectos there.” He handed the glasses back. “Far too many to guard a bunch of empty buildings.”
“They’re using company equipment to excavate the silver,” Duardo said, “although even that isn’t worth this scale of deployment. The only reason I would park that many men in an abandoned compound was if I knew an attack was imminent.” He looked at Nick.
“They know we’re coming,” Nick breathedand rolled back onto his side. “How?”
“They may not know for sure,” Duardo said. “Serrano may just be covering his ass. The silver mine is a critical asset. If he loses it, he’ll lose everything. He’s smart enough to know that.”
“We weren’t expecting this,” Nick said. “Is there any chance our approach to the island was spotted?”
Duardo wanted to say no. Forcefully. Only, he couldn’t.
He weightedup what heshouldsay. In fact, he hadn’t agreed with Flores’ frontal assault plan. The bay they were using as a beach head and the route to the mine compound were the most expected routes. “Even if they didn’t know we were coming, they would have been watching the best landing points,” he said, picking his words carefully.
“Because that’s what you would have done,” Nick concluded. “The Insurrectoshave demonstrated they don’t have your imagination. Let’s hope—” He broke off, looking ahead through the scrub at the compound. “I think our hopes were just killed,” he added.
Duardo eased forward and raised the glasses to his eyes once more. He was forced to turn down the light filter, for strong spotlights had been switched on, bathing the open ground between the administrative buildings andthe workshop sheds to the north. From where Duardo and Nick lay, they had a perfect view of the open area.
Six Insurrectos stood on either side of a closed door, their rifles at the ready. All wore the new gray uniform.
Duardo could feel his mouth curl down just looking at the gray outfits. A uniform didn’t make an army. The Insurrectos still lacked discipline and training and their chain ofcommand was shaky at best. Serrano didn’t understand how delegation worked. He tried to control everything. The result was a bogged-down communications system. The handful of men Serrano trusted were overworked and stressed.
The result was this ragged group of misfits holding unmatched armament, wearing uniforms that didn’t fit properly.
The outer door opened and people emerged.
“Camera!” Duardomurmured urgently.
Nick reached for the camera and telephoto lens in the bag lying next to him and brought it up to his eye. Then he swore. “That’s Carmen.”
Duardo let out his breath. “She’s injured.” Through the night glasses, he could see bandaging over her shoulder. Her arm was in a makeshift sling. She walked slowly, as if her balance was skewed, or her concentration sketchy.
“Who is thatnext to her?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know him,” Duardo said. “Caucasian. Daniel said an American led the outfit Carmen was with.” He reached for the name. “Garrett Blackburn.”
Nick took more photos as the pair stumbled to the middle of the compound. “The officer behind them,” he said. “That’s the one who executed the American girl on television.”
Duardo swallowed. “Carlos Ibarra. He must be quitemad to do what he did, then get up the next morning and eat breakfast like ordinary people.”
Nick refocused the telephoto lens. “I think the strain is getting to him. His hair is white. It wasn’t that way on television.”
Duardo studied Ibarra through the night glasses. The light amplification mechanism destroyed colors. It was hard to tell what color his hair was…except that it wasn’t black.
“Something’s happening,” Duardo said, as Ibarra halted behind the prisoners. Garrett was helping Carmen stand. The guards nudged them apart. They were each handed a flat, thin object. The guards stepped back, surrounding them on two sides. The rifles came up, aiming at them.
