CHAPTER 13
Two hours later, Kyle’s phone beeped.
“Monroe,” he answered, head dizzy from exhaustion.
“Forget tonight, leave town now. Find another hotel,” Cafferty said.
“Roger. How soon is now?”
“Don’t run, but walk fast,” Cafferty advised.
“Got it. Wade, wake up.”
Wade rolled and stood. “Ready,” he said. “What?”
“Stand by,” Kyle told him. “Go ahead,” he said to Cafferty.
“There are Romanians digging through the castle now, and I mean “digging.” Someone found the boxes, reported a suspicious individual in camouflage and they responded. So they’re likely inside the mountain now, and you brought all the documents. They’ve got bodies, explosives and radios.”
“Oh, shit,” Kyle said.
“Very,” Cafferty agreed. “We need observers and don’t have any.”
“We’re observers,” Kyle said. “We can get up there tonight.”
“Kyle, they’re all over that mountain,” Cafferty said.
“Yes, and we’re trained for exactly that mission,” Kyle told him. It wasn’t false confidence. Intel gathering near the enemy was exactly what they were trained for. “We can get within a hundred meters if we have to, but we can do plenty from farther back. Photos, descriptions, report.”
“You’re really sure?” Cafferty asked.
“Positive. My cover was fine in daylight, improvised, until that dog sniffed me. Wade stayed hidden. Nighttime with prep, no one will know we’re there. We train against people who expect us and we still get through. This is our mission, Mick.” Better than trying to play spies in town, he thought.
“Okay, I’ll trust you,” Cafferty agreed. Kyle respected people who didn’t try to overrule experts in their own fields. Mick seemed like a decent guy. “But you better slip for now, hole up and come back later.”
“Will do,” Kyle said. “We’re rolling.” He clicked off.
“I only caught half of that,” Wade said.
“We’re hiding now. There’s locals on site who were tipped off. We’re going back tonight to observe.”
Wade seemed to process that, and said, “Roger that. I’m packed, you need to grab your personal items, and I’ll warm the car while you check us out.”
“Got it.”
Wade added, “And as the token black man around these parts, there are so many reasons I’m glad it was you who got seen and not me. No offense.”
“None taken,” Kyle said. He’d have to dig through that to figure out which of several ways Wade meant it.
Meanwhile they were still groggy and tired. Brasov was the nearest major town, but was far too close for comfort. The best bet was to drive to Sighișoara and get a room there. It wasn’t too great a distance, but should be safe enough. It was also a tourist trap, and had Vlad’s house, now converted to a restaurant.
“Shish kebab for dinner?” Wade asked.
It took Kyle a moment. Meat. Stick. Funny. “Right,” he replied. “Turkish style?”
“I’m sure they’ve heard it.”
“Probably sometime in the last six hundred years.”
The town was old, and looked it, but in a picturesque way. It had winding cobbled streets, old buildings in stone and stucco, brick and board, with shuttered windows, and a cemetery on a hill. The whole town was quiet and slow paced.
“Looks good, let’s find a room,” Kyle said. Once again they let themselves be ripped off as tourists, not really caring to haggle over the rates and wanting to maintain the “dumb Drac hunters” image. Wade secured the room and Kyle found a small shop and bought bread, cheese, meat, and fruit for dinner later. He could feel the bags under his eyes swelling, trying to shut them. He pushed on to a shop that was like a miniature 1950s U.S. hardware store, and bought two brown canvas work shirts, two fishing-style hats and a roll of burlap. Another little place had sturdy thread and needles and shoe dye in brown, black, and tan. He didn’t get gouged too badly, and the proprietors seemed happy to chat with someone who almost knew their language. He tried to be charming and bumbling, with talk of needing an extra shirt to look around in the mountains, burlap to pack his cameras, and did they know the best way to apply shoe dye, and did he need polish afterward? His shoes were a mess and he might be going out to dinner with friends.
Half an hour later, he was back in the room with tactical supplies and food.
“We’re going to have trouble with the car again,” Wade said when he entered.
“Yeah. Hold on.” Kyle dug out his phone.
“This is Sam.”
“Monroe, Sam. We’re wondering about visibility and the car tonight. Any chance you can run us by?”
“If you tell me what you need, yes,” Sam said.
“Okay, pick us up here at 2130. You’ll have to wait several hours for us,” he advised.
“I can get a room, and I have a book to read.”
“Good. Thanks a bunch, and we’ll see you then. Out.” He turned back to Wade. “I really hope that’s the end of the prep. Five hours of sleep is going to feel really good.”
“Yeah. Check out this news report,” Wade suggested. He’d brought up a news website for Romania in English.
“Let’s see,” Kyle said, swinging it around. Then he started reading. It was a rather sobering report.
An incident this morning has drawn attention to the historic castle in Bran, Romania. Tourists reported seeing “a man in camouflage clothing with his face painted” hiding in brush near a hidden entrance that is often called the escape tunnel. Meanwhile, backpackers found crates stacked in a hole dug on the mountain to the east, near the entrance to what might be another tunnel. The crates are reputed to contain explosives.
Often called “Dracula’s Castle,” Bran Castle was originally built in the 14th century and added to six times since then. The “escape tunnel” exits in a park at the foot of the castle, and was used as an alternate exit by Queen Marie in the 1920s. At one time, an elevator descended inside the mountain, but it had been reported as non-operational.
Authorities have secured the two locations and are investigating. Cameras, climbing equipment and generator-powered lights were seen earlier today, along with Army soldiers. The castle remains open for tours, although some of the grounds are inaccessible. There is also a guard mounted at the top of the elevator shaft, just off the central courtyard of the castle.
Reporters were chased away from the scene late this afternoon, but some witnesses say they saw what appeared to be “shroud-wrapped bodies” and more crates like those said to hold explosives being removed through the rear tunnel.
“Yeah, we can do it,” Kyle said. They’d observed under tougher conditions. Still, he was having doubts. He’d hate to be fingered as a suspect in this. “I suppose we can check again after we sleep.”
“So stop talking and start sewing,” Wade suggested. They’d have to work fast to get any sleep.
The burlap tore into strips and left dust in the air. They placed them in three piles on the newspapers and started dyeing them.
“We’ll have to wash the chemical smell out,” Kyle said.
“Yeah, I have an idea,” Wade replied.
In the meantime, they used the needles and thread along with scrap pieces of leather as thimbles to tack-stitch the strips to the hats and shirts. They stripped to T-shirts and underwear to do it, because the dye residue was rubbing off. They were both dirty and dusty in short order.
But the process was familiar, and the ghillies began to take shape, or rather, lose it. When they were done, both outfits were formless piles of black, brown, and tan that should be ideal on forest floor.
“So what’s your idea?” Kyle asked.
“We wash them in the tub with several handfuls of dirt,” Wade said. “Should kill the smell.”
“Good,” Kyle agreed. He dressed quickly and stepped out to grab a bagful of earth, carefully scraping it from a flowerbed near the quiet back entrance to the building. When he returned, Wade had the tub filling and the ghillies soaking, excess dye bleeding out and running off. When the colors stabilized, they added the dirt and agitated it, rinsed, then laboriously separated the tangled strips. They looked old and smelled musty when done.
“Got to get them dry, or at least mostly so,” Kyle mumbled. “Think there’s a dryer here?”
“Dunno.”
The hotel did not have a dryer. There was likely a laundromat nearby, but that brought up visibility of both them and what experts would recognize as camouflage. They settled for squeezing the suits, shaking them and hanging them up on the open closet door to air dry. Then they had to clean the tub, using T-shirts to sop up the mud, which they wrung over the toilet and flushed from time to time. Eventually, it was merely grubby, not as filthy as a flowerbed.
“Damn near dinnertime,” Wade said when they were done. “Or nap time for us.”
“Yeah.” Kyle pulled his jacket up over his shoulders like a blanket and lay down. It was a way he’d found of taking a nap that was comfortable and easy. Wade rolled under the covers still in his clothes. Shortly after that, they were unconscious.
Waking at 9:00 p.m., much refreshed, Kyle called Cafferty.
“Anything new?” he asked.
“I’m looking,” Cafferty said. “They’ve got tech crews there. They’ve confirmed identity on the bodies, and so have our people. So it’s official now: Nice job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You deserve it,” he continued. “As you suggested, it appears they took it up there with an ATV. Several trips. Must have had it stashed in the area.”
“That makes sense. Whoever had the ATV took off, and they figured it would be quiet enough at night in the mountains.”
“Right. If they’d made one more trip you could have nailed them safely and been done, but you couldn’t know and I’m not complaining about these freaks being taken apart by Romanian coroners and then disposed of as trash. We also found some stuff in the documents.”
“Oh?” Kyle had expected they would, but he was curious.
“Not much for you yet, but we found a schedule on three more shipments on their way. Our people will deal with them at sea if possible. If not, the Romanians will be waiting for them now. I told you you’d gain us a hell of an edge if you did this.”
“Okay,” Kyle said.
“Which means ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou.’ Mulţumesc. Gracias. Danke. Taki. Merci. Tessekur—”
“I get the idea, and you’re welcome.” Kyle was smiling, though. They really had done a good job under nightmarish conditions.
“Hey, this is good news. And tell Wade, too, please.”
“I will. Wade, he says ‘thanks’ in five languages. Confirmed targets, ATVs, and documents with leads.”
Wade flashed thumbs-up and a tired smile.
“So are we still on for tonight?” Kyle asked. “If you want to,”
Cafferty said. “Sam is almost up there. It’s your call on doing it. We’re happy with what we have so far, but will of course take more.”
“So we’ll get you more.”
“Much appreciated. Out.”
“Out.”
That taken care of, the snipers plotted out their return to Bran.
“I hate to say it after all that work, I’m wondering about the camo this time,” Kyle said. “Dumb tourists is how we play it. I’d rather not have the weapons at all, but we need to stash them somewhere. Maybe Sam can meet us and haul stuff.”
“That’s a good idea,” Wade agreed. “I think we should take cameras with us. Phones yes, but don’t use the radios. There’s no need to put out anything they can readily ID.”
“Okay. You’ll have the camcorder and an IR source, I can bring another flashlight. We’ll each have night vision and scopes. If we get caught, we play up the vampire legend bit, and why shouldn’t we be curious about men around the castle at night? That should get us thrown in jail then out of the country in short order, as rude, snoopy American tourist idiots.”
“Better that than the truth,” Wade said. “Rude, snoopy American sniper idiots.”
“Do you hear me arguing?” Kyle replied.
“But no camo or ghillies?”
“I’m still thinking about that,” Kyle said. “If we get caught in them, we’re rather obviously more than camera geeks. On the other hand, if we ditch them before getting caught, they’ll be almost impossible to find. On the other hand—”
“The idea is not to be seen at all,” Wade supplied.
“Exactly. Take the ghillies,” he decided.
They were both ready when Sam called and said, “Outside, waiting.”
“Roger, open the trunk,” Kyle said.
In two minutes they were in the back seat, bulky packs between them. “Weapons are in the trunk. We’ll need them again. I didn’t want them left in a hotel,” Kyle said.
“Reasonable. I’ve got them taken care of,” Sam said. “We’ll meet back up in the car or I’ll swing by wherever you check in next.”
“Okay. We need to be dropped along the north side,” Kyle said.
“Sounds good. You’ll bail out moving?”
“Yes, but not too fast,” Kyle said. “We want to be discreet, not put our dicks in the dirt.”
Sam laughed. “I was Airborne, I know what you mean.”
The road curved all the way around the castle and the hill. There was one oncoming car, so Sam slowed. They wanted it past and no witnesses when they departed.
The car whipped past, he eased off the accelerator to avoid bright brake lights, and said, “Go!”
Wade was on the right and shoved the door open. He stepped out, holding onto the door and went to a full sprint before letting go. As soon as he was clear, Kyle kicked out the rucks and hopped over himself, then jumped out running.
It worked fine until his foot caught a hole and he stumbled. He bruised and abraded his knee and shin, jammed dirt into the heels of his hands and jarred his whole body, completing it with a bang to the left shoulder and head on a downed branch.
Wade was alongside at once. “You okay?”
“Superficial, hurts, help me get hidden,” he said, teeth gritted. Damn, it was painful.
Wade helped him limp up behind growth so he wouldn’t be seen from the road, then walked back to get the rucks. While he was doing that, Kyle’s phone vibrated.
“Monroe,” he answered.
“Sam here. Looked like you fell. Are you okay? I can turn around if need be.”
“Minor, I can make it. Thanks for checking.”
“Not a problem. Still looking at oh five hundred for a pickup?”
“Not much after that, so yes,” Kyle said for clarification. “Night is safer than daytime.”
“Good enough. Call if you need anything.”
He pulled up his pants leg to examine the wounds. A bare flash of his light showed cut and torn skin and oozing blood, but it could manage without a dressing tonight. It would just be stiff and ugly tomorrow.
Wade came back and stacked the rucks, then added a few weeds to break up the silhouette. “Rest a few?”
“Nah, I’m ready,” Kyle said, shaking off the effects. His ankle and knee ached, his shin, knee, and hands burned and stung, but he was ready to go.
They made sure no oncoming lights were visible, then darted across the road, Kyle favoring his left leg and dragging a little. In seconds they were concealed on the other side and working their way through the trees.
It was just after midnight when they reached their insertion point, far up the hill. From there, they planned to hike down and move more slowly and cautiously as they approached the castle. Eventually they’d sneak into positions and hole up, watching, taking notes, and recording. They’d exfiltrate around 0500 the same way and be picked up. Sam would take the memory sticks, tapes, and their notes, and they’d go catch more sleep, unless leads indicated a change of location.
It went as planned at first. They hunkered down in some brush and donned their ghillies. On their faces, ears, and hands they smeared camouflage grease from a compact. After checking each other over, they flowed down the hill, shadow to bush to depression to tree, always in the dark and hidden. Kyle was slightly ahead, the shape of his face broken by a black “branch” of camo paint and several brown splotches. The small ruck on his back contained his supplies for the operation, and his garb for under the ghillie was drab brown, sturdy working clothes Sam had picked up for them.
Behind and to the right, Wade had a more traditional makeup of “dark on the high areas of the face, light on the low.” The layman often thinks that dark-skinned people don’t need camouflage, but skin is skin and it shines in light from oil and seat. Wade had the additional burden of the camcorder, which had a duct-taped adaptor to fit the day/night scope. The IR capability was good for only a few meters, and they needed to be much farther away than that. The hope was that the enhanced monochromatic image, thrown through the lens gap and focused by the camera would still be good enough to be subject to analysis by experts. If not, their observations and memories would have to do.
The trees were largely evergreen, with budding deciduous scattered throughout. It smelled fresh and earthy, unlike the dank, musty smell in the tunnels. Woods were scary to a lot of people, but Kyle and Wade lived a good part of the year in them. There was no artillery or armor here, the risk of being shot at was small, and they’d had a brief chance to familiarize themselves with the area the night before. All told, Kyle was quite confident despite his aching leg and figured Wade was too.
But these woods were rather sparse, and the undergrowth wasn’t much. They’d have to be careful on the approach and keep concealment in mind for the exfiltration. If they had to depart in a hurry, it was better behind brush than sprinting across open ground.
Kyle sank carefully to his knees to avoid exacerbating his injury further or making any noise. Wade dropped down next to him and watched the other way. They took turns pulling their ghillies out of the rucks and donning them. While coats in front, the backs were bulky and thick with fabric. But that tangle of dark and earth tones was what would hide them from almost any observation.
They stayed on their knees and crawled downhill. The castle was visible now and then through the trees. They crawled through spiky dead needles on the forest floor, around branches dropped by bushes, and through damp spots in depressions, methodically and quietly. Every few trees, Kyle or Wade would rise carefully, easing around it to judge their approach.
They could hear and see quite a bit of activity. There were four pickups and two cars, and a bank of lights attached to a generator illuminating the hole. There were people present, but no numbers were certain.
About a quarter mile back, they dropped to a low crawl, slithering along like lizards. They moved in uneven zigzags, never leaving a straight line toward the site. Straight furrows were a dead giveaway, with an emphasis on dead. Both men were far too experienced to make that mistake.
Kyle gingerly wiggled around a dead branch, not wanting to disturb it and make any noise. It wasn’t just the humans below who were a concern, who were behind noisy equipment and wouldn’t find them easily; any spooked animals might rip straight past an observer and alert him to the fact that something was out of place. Terrain involved more than just ground and plants.
Once around the branch, Kyle crept up on a slight rise. If he had figured correctly, it would give him a good view.
It did. As his eyes broke the crest, he could see the vehicles again, and easily observe the people among them. Wade wasn’t visible but should be several meters away and on a different lay of land, so discovery of one wouldn’t reveal the other in close proximity. He had been to Kyle’s left, and a careful search showed his hand, left out for Kyle’s benefit. Kyle made a very slow wave back, and both pulled in under their ghillies, becoming effectively invisible.
Kyle had the still camera, and took an initial photo from under his ghillie, through the hanging tendrils of burlap. The shot would give a good overview to try to place later closeups against. The field of view was good, but the acuity wasn’t great at this distance, in mixed light. Still, the experts could dig a lot from a picture by analysis.
He withdrew a small notepad from a pocket. The pages were waterproof plastic, not paper, and would survive fairly harsh weather. He kept a tally of the personnel and made notes for descriptions for most of an hour, alternating with picture taking. Meanwhile, he was alert for any sounds, motions, or other threats around him.
The military standard report is based on the acronym SALUTE: Size, Activity, Location, Unit, Time, Equipment. He noted each section as he acquired the information. In addition to the six vehicles, there were eleven people, nine males and two females. Two were in coveralls and handling human remains. The rest were in police-type fatigues with filter masks and gloves. Two were using laptops, one inside a car and the other across a hood. Three were photographing and examining items brought from inside the mountain. Three more were seen intermittently, bringing items from inside. There might be more in there, as a cable led from the generator through the door. Location was obvious, but he wrote it down for record as “east tunnel entrance, Castle Bran, 0123 hours” and the date.
The bushes around the opening had been dug out, as had the tunnel entrance. It had obviously been buried after being originally built and left as an emergency escape route. That combined with the hideout underneath and the secret staircase inside, plus who knew what else, made this a place needing a lot of investigation for historical purposes. But science wasn’t why Kyle was here. He made notes as to how the entrance had been partially cleared by the terrorists, and how it had been opened up since.
A careful look through the telephoto lens at the personnel didn’t help much. There were unit badges on the uniforms, but not clear enough for him to determine. Perhaps Wade was having better luck with the spotting scope.
No one inside the circle of lights should be able to see them, and that left only the two working at laptops and one of the photographers who’d chosen to stay out of the actinic glare. He noted their positions in a sketch. Soft fog was falling into the low areas, and it hindered his observations.
The crates of explosives were not in sight, so at least the six outside had been removed. Photographers were taking pictures of one of the communication devices on the ground, set against a meterstick for scale. It wasn’t a radio, and was probably some kind of encryptor or antenna booster for the cell phone, because he’d seen it attached to that cable inside. The report said the bodies had been removed, but examiners were going over several small items with gloved hands, indicating possible blood. It could also just be a precaution against bacteria, however. One woman was making notes and checking an item with a magnifying glass, turning it different ways. Kyle took a photo of that, and of each other item he could see brought out.
He had four memory sticks, so he could get 200 photos. Also, the digital camera allowed him to delete unwanted images when he acquired better, clearer ones of the same items. It kept him busy comparing and shooting. It lacked the Hollywood glamour of their last operation, but was likely as useful long term and much safer. On the whole, Kyle liked a challenge but preferred not to get shot at. It was part of the job, but not one to embrace. Soldiers who got off on that didn’t live long.
Two workers came out carrying what appeared to be a body. Kyle zoomed in closer and tried to see.
It wasn’t quite a body. It was body parts. He didn’t recognize the specific bones in question, but the blackened skull and sheared long bones, along with cracked and dusty ribs with desiccated flakes of skin still attached had almost certainly come from the pit he’d discovered. In the available light and through the camera eye, even despite the mist, he could tell this was decades old at least, more likely centuries. Which poor, forgotten bastard had that been, and who had taken a dislike to him? Likely that would never be known.
The only good part for Kyle was that above ground, outside, he had no fear of corpses. He’d seen more than his share.
A sharp sound made him freeze, even though he hadn’t been moving at the time. He went into a trained, reflexive brace and replayed what he’d heard. It had been a crack and a swish, as of someone walking through the woods. Then it came again. Patrol, he thought.
The only thing to do was stay motionless and trust his camo. The only real risk was that his boot soles might be visible. They were a paler tan and might glisten in the now condensing dew.
One of the keys to good concealment was attitude. It wasn’t a psychic power, or at least not to Kyle. He’d heard some who thought of it that way. To him it was an attitude, a sense. Being too alert caused one to quiver and stand out to an observer even if it was only at the unconscious level. To blend in, one had to be part of the scenery. So Kyle closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think like a pile of leaves.
The footsteps were clearer now, even over the hum of the generator. He thought he heard voices, soft and low under it. They were quite close, likely within twenty meters. But there was no urgency or caution to them, as there reasonably would be if Kyle or Wade had been ID’d. The worst thing to do would be to anticipate trouble and move. That would not only reveal them, but might be perceived as a threat and earn them incoming fire . . . and not only was neither man armed, that was exactly the type of engagement they wanted to avoid. Facing nothing worse than arrest and damage to their professional pride, he knew Wade was doing exactly what he was: holding and waiting.
Movement to his left alerted him, and again he didn’t react. Boots came into view and moved down the hill. In a few seconds he could see legs, four, then torsos, two in Romanian mottled camouflage. It was the older type and likely passed down from military to police. Two men carrying shortened AKs strode down the hill, talking back and forth. They turned to Kyle’s right, the north, and kept walking. They were obviously trying to keep spectators out of the area.
Kyle heaved a slow, quiet sigh. They’d been within four meters of him and not seen him or Wade. Score 2 for the snipers. And keep them in mind during the exfiltration. He was able to get photos of the Romanians from behind and to the side. They probably weren’t relevant to the operation below as far as useful data went, but he had the opportunity and took it. Too much data could be sorted. Too little was a problem.
The guards came by about every half hour, it seemed, taking the same route. They were obviously there to chase off tourists and weren’t taking a serious look for anything. Still, it didn’t hurt to be prepared. Kyle improved his camouflage by covering his boots with a few twigs. He used enough to break up the outline, not enough to make it obvious something was covered. And he was alert every time they came by. Wade fixed his own camo, and flashed a smile as he did so, barely visible under his ghillie.
They took more photos, made notes, waited for the guards on each circuit, and ignored the cold, dampness, prodding twigs and needles, and crawling insects. It was 0347 when Kyle checked his watch. They’d like at least an hour to exfiltrate and be rolling at 0500, to be clear of any daylight or early traffic. He eased out his cell phone and punched for Wade.
It was odd to be calling someone only a few meters away, but it was safer than trying to get his attention now. He kept sight of his partner, who looked back when he felt the vibration. A quick flash of thumb acknowledged receipt, and then they were crawling back, progress measured in mere centimeters per minute.
Kyle got his NVGs back on and scanned the terrain ahead. It was clear, and they were out of line of site of the work party. A thick, spreading bush ahead of him offered good concealment. He angled cautiously around it, pausing every few movements. Even detected movement could easily be overlooked if it didn’t continue for long.
He judged the distance to be far enough and rose to a high crawl. Wade moved closer, and they took long, plodding “steps,” knees and hands lifted high to avoid disturbing growth. Another couple of hundred meters and Kyle decided it was safe to bunch up.
In moments they peeled off the ghillies, wrapped them as padding around the cameras, and stuffed them in their rucks. Securing the straps, they shouldered them and began to walk, bent low still, meandering through the trees and across contours. Kyle fished out his phone and punched for Sam. “We’re almost to our point,” he said.
“Roger,” Sam replied.
Then they were heading down toward the road, still alert for the patrol or others they hadn’t seen yet. They ducked and darted under the canopy and over the deadwood.
They were only a hundred meters or so from the road when Kyle saw movement and froze. Wade keyed off his act and likewise stopped. Slowly, they both sank down where they were, to minimize profile.
The movement was a person. Then a second one came into view. Young men, dark clothes, civilians. They were trying to be discreet as only untrained, overeager, self-absorbed teenagers could. Kyle cursed silently. His mind ran through options.
If the kids, who were obviously going up to spy for themselves, went past the snipers without seeing them, no problem. The patrol could handle them. If they saw either of the Americans, then they’d have to decide how to respond. They could act authoritative and try to bully the kids into submission, and Kyle liked that option, except he was clearly a foreigner. The kids might just bellow for help or try to fight. That wasn’t discreet.
He could try to disable them gently, say by wrapping them around a tree, or knocking them cold, or wrestling them down, gagging and lashing them. But that would make a certain amount of noise and would definitely be considered a hostile act by anyone responding.
That left one of two options, which would likely be effective but were not very military.
The boys were heading straight for Kyle, would likely pass within two or three meters of him, so the odds of them seeing him approached certainty.
One of them spoke in surprise and Kyle was able to extract, “There’s a man up there!” from it. It had been a slightly louder than conversational voice, because the teen had been nervy and working at caution, so overcompensated when jarred.
Right. Stand and walk. “Stay there, partner,” he whispered, not using Wade’s name where anyone might hear it. Word of foreigners at the castle wouldn’t be that unique. A black man accompanying a white man, however, would be rather easy to find after word made the news.
As Kyle stepped forward, the other boy said something like, “Who are you?” and moved aside. That left a clear gap between them. Kyle intended to walk through, smile, and look triumphantly guilty at getting a glimpse of the castle before these kids had, and just keep walking. If he did it right, they’d stop, stare, and either walk away or get jealous and rush in to prove they were as good.
He was just between them when the second one, to his right, said something involving “camouflage face.” That was one of the keywords from the news report. Both of them tried to close and grasp at him.
In a perfectly conversational tone but with his arms thrown out and waving wildly, Kyle said, “Boogaboogabooga!”
They stepped back for just a second, gasping, and Kyle took off in a sprint.
Noise behind him was Wade, who said something like, “I veel dreenk yoor bluhd!” as he also dug in and raced. They turned parallel to the road and headed east. Kyle unpocketed his phone once more and said, “Sam, we’re blown. Pick us up on the roll,” as soon as it was answered.
“Three minutes and closing,” Sam said. “Windows are down for gear. I’ll make a pass each way, about two minutes apart.”
“Roger that,” Kyle said. “Stay on air.” He clutched the phone and resumed dodging as a dog nearby started to bark. There were houses here and there, with perhaps three dim lights showing through the curtains of early risers. He really didn’t want any more witnesses.
Behind him, he heard the youths shout in confusion, and behind them came shouts that had to be from the patrol.
Actually, Kyle thought, it might work out well. The two guards would catch the kids, and be unlikely to split forces over allegations of two men already leaving. They’d prefer to believe they were competent and that no one had gotten past them, that their captives were trying to be clever, and that all was well. They’d congratulate themselves over a simple collar and never suspect their perimeter had been broached going in and coming out.
He saw the illumination of lights ahead on the road. There was a car behind coming up the hill, and he raised the phone. “Is that you?” he asked.
“I think so,” Sam said, sounding tense and amused. “Slowing.”
“Roger.”
Wade bounded in alongside, then they were both running straight at the road then parallel along it in a rough gully. Kyle was cautious for his feet. His right leg was hurting like hell now.
“Cross over,” Sam said.
“Wade, go,” he pointed. Wade was on the other side in two seconds, and as Sam rolled past, he tossed his ruck through the rear window and dived in behind it. The car picked up speed and moved far ahead of Kyle, then over a ridge.
Kyle kept going at a run. He was doing a lot of running on this mission. He figured it would be another five hundred meters before Sam turned. Two minutes. That would put him well away from the castle grounds.
He dodged obstacles of rock, timber, clumpy grass, and holes. There were pieces of the edge of the road missing, that had tumbled off the side and into the ditch he was running through. He grimaced as his ankle twisted slightly on uneven ground and sent shocks up his shin.
But then there were lights ahead. He raised the phone and said, “Ready.”
“Wade’s in front, you take the back,” Sam advised him.
“Roger.” He turned and began running back the way he’d spent so much effort coming from, so he’d be pacing the car.
It came alongside and he shoved his ruck through. Hands clutched at it and took it, then he was diving headfirst through, hands on the ledge, then the seats, then tumbling in, his wounded leg scraping and stinging. But he was in.
“Stay low,” Sam said and gradually sped up. They rolled right past where they’d had their little dustup and kept going. Kyle took deep, slow breaths as the sweat poured off him, trying to calm his nerves and twitching muscles, aching leg and itching skin.
“Okay,” Sam said, letting out a breath of his own. “I see two men around twenty years old and two Romanian police. Is that a good thing?”
“That’s a good thing so far,” Kyle said. He explained what had happened.
Sam nodded and said, “Likely they won’t go looking. Okay, there’s baby wipes to clean up with and your spare clothes are in the bag in the footwell. Get neatened up and I’ll drop you at the hotel. Sounds like you did great until the punks showed up.”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “I think I may take up drinking again.”
“Romania does that to people,” Sam said.