Maggie watched as Santos and MacMurphy cleaned, checked, and loaded their weapons.
“Boys and their toys,” she said to no one in particular.
“Men and their tools,” said Santos without looking up.
“Those assault rifles look heavy,” said Maggie.
“Actually, the rifles are pretty light,” said MacMurphy. “It’s the suppressor, scope, and especially the ammunition drum that adds the weight.”
Thinking Maggie was actually interested in such things, Santos added, “It’s a trade-off. These drums carry one hundred rounds of ammo. I’d much rather carry a little more weight than have to change thirty-round magazines in the middle of a firefight.”
“Hmm, I guess that makes sense,” she said and returned her attention to CNN news on the TV.
MacMurphy removed their communication gear from a box on the bed and flipped one of the cigarette-pack-sized units to Santos. “Let’s check these out before we leave. They’re fully charged. I don’t think we need call signs.”
They slipped them into their shirt pockets, adjusted the earpieces and attached the mics to their lapels. “Let’s use channel two,” said MacMurphy. “Testing, testing. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” said Santos.
“Got you too,” said MacMurphy.
They turned them off, removed the earpiece and lapel mics, and stuffed them back into the box. “I think we’re ready,” said MacMurphy.
“Let’s go over the checklist one more time,” said Santos. “I’ll read. You stuff the duffel.”
MacMurphy smiled and set a large, green duffle bag by the bed. “Shoot.”
Santos read from their list. “POF assault rifles with full Beta C-Mags, suppressors, scopes with infrared lasers, night-vision gear with head mounts, commo gear, Spetsnaz ballistic knives, MK23 .45 caliber handguns with two extra mags each, leg holsters, binoculars with night vision, and Kevlar vests.”
MacMurphy sounded off “check” as he placed each of the items in the bag and then said, “You forgot something.”
Santos checked his list one more time. “What?” he said.
“Our camouflage: the black beanies and black man-dresses Maggie bought for us.”
“Of course. We don’t want to go out there without making a fashion statement.”
Maggie shook her head. “Boys . . .”
They pulled up in front of the apartment buildings at exactly nine o’clock in the evening and parked. The neighborhood was dark and quiet. Several dim street lamps illuminated the sidewalk in front of the buildings.
They spotted Kashmiri’s car parked a few spaces in front of them. Kashmiri, still wearing his Mullah garb, drifted out of the shadows, and approached their vehicle.
“Bless you, my sons.” He hesitated a moment after looking into the Land Cruiser and added, “And daughter.”
“You frightened us for a moment there,” said MacMurphy. “We thought you were a member of the religious police.”
Kashmiri quipped back, “If I were, you’d be busted. Cover up your head back there, woman.”
Maggie scrambled for her hijab and wrapped it around her head. The men were wearing their black dishdasha robes and kufi hats. Maggie wore a black burqa.
Kashmiri smiled. “Now that everyone is decent you can follow me. Things are pretty quiet right now but let’s try to get up there without being seen.”
They scrambled out of the Land Cruiser and retrieved their bags from the back. Santos, the strongest of the bunch, carried the duffle bag. They followed Kashmiri up the walkway to building five. They took the stairs two at a time to the third-floor landing and stood there, huffing and puffing, while Kashmiri unlocked the door. Once inside they closed the door and dropped their bags on the floor. Santos and MacMurphy hurried to the rear of the apartment to check out the view.
Both bedrooms were identical. They were small with two twin beds, a night table and a dresser with four drawers. Bright, flowered curtains covered the single window looking out over the field and junkyard.
The apartment was clean and neat, albeit sparsely furnished. It smelled of disinfectant, an indication that the young women took pains to clean it thoroughly before their renters arrived.
Santos looked over to MacMurphy. “Looks pretty good to me.”
“Yeah, we couldn’t do much better than this. Looks like about one hundred meters to the back of the house. If we have to shoot from here it would be an easy shot with the Lapua and certainly doable with the POF.”
Santos looked at him quizzically. “You’re not thinking about a sniper op, are you? We didn’t bring the Lapua. We are not going to be shooting from these windows. We’re going to assault that rathole and kill those assholes up close and personal.”
“Just thinking aloud. Alternatives . . . you know.”