Into the Storm Read Online Free
Author: Suzanne Brockmann
around—SEALs in them thar hills. If these insurgents could not just kill but capture a team of SEALs, they could parade them on al-Jazeera television and be real heroes.
Little did they realize, thanks to the simple wonder of a slow-burning fuse, that the SEALs would be nowhere near the flares. The bad guys would charge the mountain and find nothing. No one.
Well, except for Marky-Mark Jenkins. But he was small and fast and good at hiding.
The coolest part of Jenk’s little subterfuge was that he had told Yusaf that he would be sending a radio message to the insurgents—an attempt to negotiate, aka stall for time, before the additional fictional American troops arrived.
Hence, it was a given that the insurgents would pick up the SEALs’ radio signal on their DF equipment.
Izzy knew that Jenk was banking on the fact that the insurgents wouldn’t know how to use that equipment as skillfully as he himself apparently did. An important but as of yet still unknown part of the plan depended on the insurgents failing to recognize that, while sending his “Prepare to surrender” message, Jenk would also be simultaneously calling for the aforementioned airstrike.
Which brought them to goatfuck factor one. Jenk had to convince the numbnuts at command to send an airstrike now, rather than three days from now. That was important.
Once Jenk made radio contact, much depended on his ability to connect with someone back at HQ who would forgo the red tape and paperwork and actually send the help they needed.
Nah, on second thought, the goatfuck factor was handled. Jenk knew everyone. And he knew how to charm, trick or mind-control them into getting exactly what he wanted. No human on earth was immune to Jenk’s talent.
From his vantage point overlooking the enemy camp, Izzy scanned the area, searching for Yusaf. He was still back in the cave, no doubt deep in conference with the insurgent leaders, like a good little turncoat, helping to work out the details of their counterplan.
But the level of activity around the radio, the DF equipment, and an entire array of rocket launchers had increased. And, yes, slowly but surely the insurgents were moving—away from the trail down the mountain and into attack position.
Excellent.
Izzy looked at his watch.
Showtime.
Jenk sent the coordinates for the airstrike on the backup radio, then fired off his flare.
The other two flares lit the sky as he ran like hell.
Luck and the small-world factor were on their side. Jenk had gotten through to HQ, to an Air Farce colonel he’d actually met once at an airport bar. Dude was smart for an officer—he was a regular guy. He’d gotten the picture immediately.
He was getting them the air support they needed. And, instead of days or even hours, it was going to arrive in minutes.
Which meant they all had to haul ass out of this area.
Which also meant breaking radio silence.
“Seven minutes,” he informed Jacquette and the rest of the SEALs over the headsets they all wore, as he scrambled down the mountainside.
“Get out of there,” the lieutenant thundered.
“Working on it,” Jenk replied.
Jenk’s position was the most vulnerable. In working within the parameters of the worst-case scenario—the one where they’d had to be put on a waiting list for that airstrike—they’d had to make sure that Jenk was close to the radio that was sending the surrender demand—recorded and on a loop—to the insurgents. The theory was, if the baddies picked up the two different signals, maybe they’d think the second was some kind of shadow or reflection.
At least that was the theory as Jenk had described it when proposing his plan to the lieutenant.
At the time, though, he’d left out the
maybe
.
The possibility that the insurgents had a radioman who was as well trained as a Navy SEAL was still floating around out there, about number fifteen on the list with the heading “Ways that Mark Jenkins Could Die
Little did they realize, thanks to the simple wonder of a slow-burning fuse, that the SEALs would be nowhere near the flares. The bad guys would charge the mountain and find nothing. No one.
Well, except for Marky-Mark Jenkins. But he was small and fast and good at hiding.
The coolest part of Jenk’s little subterfuge was that he had told Yusaf that he would be sending a radio message to the insurgents—an attempt to negotiate, aka stall for time, before the additional fictional American troops arrived.
Hence, it was a given that the insurgents would pick up the SEALs’ radio signal on their DF equipment.
Izzy knew that Jenk was banking on the fact that the insurgents wouldn’t know how to use that equipment as skillfully as he himself apparently did. An important but as of yet still unknown part of the plan depended on the insurgents failing to recognize that, while sending his “Prepare to surrender” message, Jenk would also be simultaneously calling for the aforementioned airstrike.
Which brought them to goatfuck factor one. Jenk had to convince the numbnuts at command to send an airstrike now, rather than three days from now. That was important.
Once Jenk made radio contact, much depended on his ability to connect with someone back at HQ who would forgo the red tape and paperwork and actually send the help they needed.
Nah, on second thought, the goatfuck factor was handled. Jenk knew everyone. And he knew how to charm, trick or mind-control them into getting exactly what he wanted. No human on earth was immune to Jenk’s talent.
From his vantage point overlooking the enemy camp, Izzy scanned the area, searching for Yusaf. He was still back in the cave, no doubt deep in conference with the insurgent leaders, like a good little turncoat, helping to work out the details of their counterplan.
But the level of activity around the radio, the DF equipment, and an entire array of rocket launchers had increased. And, yes, slowly but surely the insurgents were moving—away from the trail down the mountain and into attack position.
Excellent.
Izzy looked at his watch.
Showtime.
Jenk sent the coordinates for the airstrike on the backup radio, then fired off his flare.
The other two flares lit the sky as he ran like hell.
Luck and the small-world factor were on their side. Jenk had gotten through to HQ, to an Air Farce colonel he’d actually met once at an airport bar. Dude was smart for an officer—he was a regular guy. He’d gotten the picture immediately.
He was getting them the air support they needed. And, instead of days or even hours, it was going to arrive in minutes.
Which meant they all had to haul ass out of this area.
Which also meant breaking radio silence.
“Seven minutes,” he informed Jacquette and the rest of the SEALs over the headsets they all wore, as he scrambled down the mountainside.
“Get out of there,” the lieutenant thundered.
“Working on it,” Jenk replied.
Jenk’s position was the most vulnerable. In working within the parameters of the worst-case scenario—the one where they’d had to be put on a waiting list for that airstrike—they’d had to make sure that Jenk was close to the radio that was sending the surrender demand—recorded and on a loop—to the insurgents. The theory was, if the baddies picked up the two different signals, maybe they’d think the second was some kind of shadow or reflection.
At least that was the theory as Jenk had described it when proposing his plan to the lieutenant.
At the time, though, he’d left out the
maybe
.
The possibility that the insurgents had a radioman who was as well trained as a Navy SEAL was still floating around out there, about number fifteen on the list with the heading “Ways that Mark Jenkins Could Die
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