87

WADI AMLAH, YEMEN—22 MAY

They no longer had the cover of darkness.

But the plan was built around the premise that no one at the camp was anticipating an American raid at dawn. Or at all.

Jenny, Geoff, and Callaghan headed up a mountain range to the right. Colonel Malik—carrying a light machine gun with a sniper rifle and tripod slung over his back—led Marcus to the left, down a narrow ravine, with Pete and Noah following. About two hundred yards in, they began climbing a steep path to a craggy mountain ridge that ran along the southern side of the wadi.

Roughly halfway to the top, they came to a fork. The colonel motioned for Pete and Noah to take the left path while he took Marcus to the right. The sun was now fully up and blazing hot. By the time they reached another fork, twenty more minutes had elapsed, and Marcus’s shirt was soaked through. This time, they took the path on the left and soon they were sneaking up to an outcropping that gave them a commanding view of the facility the Saudis believed belonged to Kairos.

Marcus pulled a pair of binoculars from his backpack and surveyed the compound. It was comprised of three buildings. The main house was a simple two-level structure built out of cinder blocks with a satellite dish mounted on the roof, positioned between rusted strands of rebar sticking out of the concrete, evidence that someone had once hoped to build a third level. He could see two guards standing watch, stationed on the back porch, one at each corner.

To the left of the house and running perpendicular to it was a long, squat, single-story rectangular building. It was also built of cinder blocks but had no rebar on its roof. Marcus assumed it contained offices or was a bunkhouse of sorts, but he saw no movement inside. The final building was a weathered wooden structure that appeared to be a barn or garage. In the center of the dirt courtyard created by the three buildings was a single metal flagpole. There was no flag flying. But at the pole’s base was a pile of soot and ashes, clearly the remains of a bonfire.

Just then, the colonel tapped him and pointed to the near side of the barn. There were three shallow graves, both apparently recently dug. Even in the heat of the early morning, Marcus felt his blood run cold. The Saudis were right. This was it. Marcus was certain.

For the first time since they had split up, Marcus adjusted his headset and spoke over the whisper microphone. Once he had established that everyone was in place, he reminded them that they were here to gather intelligence, not exact revenge. They would take out the guards and kill anyone who presented an immediate threat, but they needed hostages, people they could interrogate. Still, he admitted to himself that it was going to take all the discipline he could muster not to kill everyone inside.

“Hold tight, and wait for my command,” Marcus radioed the team. “I’m moving into position.”

“Copy that,” came the response from Callaghan. “On my way as well.”

As the colonel set up his tripod and sniper rifle, Marcus took a swig of water, then retraced his steps down the path until he once again reached the fork. This time he took the other path. This one was steeper and narrower, but in time it led him down to the floor of the wadi. From here, he was just a stone’s throw from the back side of the wooden barn. Hugging the mountain and crouching in the shadows, Marcus double-checked his Kalashnikov. Then he radioed the team to make sure neither of the guards on the porch of the main house was looking in his direction.

When he received the all clear, Marcus sprinted across the wadi, reached the barn, and pressed himself against the back wall. Sixty seconds later, Callaghan radioed that he was inbound and not to shoot. Once he, too, got the green light, he came sprinting in from the north side.

“We’re going in,” Marcus whispered to the team. “Cover us.”

Callaghan slowly pulled the back door open and took a quick peek inside. Shaking his head, he confirmed what the drone coverage had revealed—there was no one there. Marcus nodded and headed in first, weapon up and sweeping to the left, just in case. Callaghan was right behind him, sweeping his Kalashnikov to the right. Inside they found the chassis of a rusted Toyota 4x4 with no tires, mounted on cinder blocks. Car and truck parts were everywhere. They did not find any members of Kairos.

Approaching the smudged windows near the front of the barn, Marcus peered into the courtyard while Callaghan watched their six. Marcus could see the two guards on the porch, roughly fifty yards away. They were young, wiry men, probably in their mid- to late twenties, with full beards and thick mustaches. Both were wearing filthy T-shirts, tan camouflage pants, and combat boots, but no balaclavas or kaffiyehs.

A door opened, and another man—an older one—stepped out onto the porch and handed both men steaming mugs of coffee or tea.

This was it, Marcus thought. It was now or never.

He radioed to Jenny and learned there were two more guards posted at the front of the building. She had one in her sights. Pete confirmed that he had the other. Marcus checked in with Geoff, who confirmed that he had the guard on the right side of the porch in the courtyard in his sights. The colonel confirmed he had the other.

“Noah, you good?” Marcus asked.

When Noah said he was, Marcus gave the order.