9:16 A.M.
EAST RIVER
NEW YORK CITY
Kouros was tucked in between two pallets stacked with bags of cement mix. It was a temporary dock used for maintenance and repair and was fastened to the river bank. The wood was weathered and a small crane sitting on top of the piers was rust-covered. It looked as if no work had taken place for years.
A month before, Kouros had hidden firearms here, including three handguns and an assault rifle. He also left several candy bars on the front seat of the crane. The firearms were expendable. Kouros was trying to figure out if anyone actually used the docks anymore. He knew that if workers were there, it would be a bad location for the surface-to-air missiles. Two days before, he’d come to the docks again, in the middle of the day. It would be much easier to explain the trespassing if he was caught. No one was there when he returned. The firearms were untouched, same too with the candy bars in the cab of the crane.
Now, Kouros was positioned between the crane and the wall of shoreline, tucked in and out of view. Strapped across his shoulder was a missile launcher. He was smoking a cigarette.
Just a few hundred feet downriver, columns of smoke barreled out from the ground just above the waterline.
Kouros heard the helicopters before he could see them. He’d tracked choppers already but these were ones he recognized, Sikorskys, UH-60 or some variation thereof.
He put his eye to an infrared optic and spied the two inbound helicopters. He locked in on the first chopper, knowing that he needed to fire and reload fast. When a green light flashed in his eye, he knew the Strela had acquired the target, and he fired. His shoulder and body kicked backward, and he quickly reloaded, loading another Strela, locking the second chopper in, and he fired again.
Kouros watched as the two Russian-made missiles pirouetted into the smoldering, smoke-crossed sky.