Dead Zero Read Online Free PDF Page B

pocket.
    Mick, happy to be shed of the weight of the Barrett for a few minutes, slipped off his backpack, unlashed its flap, and withdrew a chunk of silicon technology called a Thuraya SG-2520 encrypted satellitephone. It was what held this whole mad little trip together. It looked like any other cell of the usual dimensions, 5.5 by 2.1 by 0.8 inches, but its distinguishing feature was a kind of plastic tube on top, which, when pulled, yielded a good five inches of stout antenna that enabled it to use the Thuraya constellation of forty-eight low earth–orbiting satellites if the GSM satellite coverage was not available. Other than that, it had the usual phone shit, a screen, a keyboard, all in gray Jet-sons plastic. It was preconfigured to one number. He pushed call.
    He waited, knowing he was about to send his voice into outer space, where it would bounce off various metal orbs full of circuits and chips and nanotechnologies, until it finally beamed down to a cell phone somewhere in America (he didn’t know where) and a man humorously calling himself “MacGyver” would answer. The best thing was: the call was completely private.
    “You’re early,” MacGyver said.
    “We’re close. The issue is: should we press on in the dark and overtake or try and get around him and set up an ambush on the other side? I need to know his position and if he’s still moving.”
    “Which option do you prefer?”
    “I don’t like night action. Too much can go wrong. I’d prefer to set up and whack him tomorrow as he comes into town.”
    “Excellent. Of course you’re wrong, so do exactly the opposite.”
    “Mr. Mac—”
    “He’s gone to earth for the night. I saw him on the big screen just a few minutes ago. I can give you his exact coordinates, to the meter. I can get you close enough to smell the goats. You’ll find him conked out. Get up close, shoot him about a thousand times, and get the hadjis to get you out of there. That’s what you’re being paid way too much for.”
    Mick got out his pen and notebook and wrote down the exact mathematics of the sniper’s location.
    “Bogier, get this done. Are you hearing me?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Mick, hating the asshole, and then he closed down the transmit.
    “Okay,” he said, and drew his two white teamboys close to map it out, figure an approach, and plan the kill.

UNIDENTIFIED CONTRACTOR TEAM
    ZABUL PROVINCE
    SOUTHEASTERN AFGHANISTAN
    0315 HOURS
    At the base of the hill, the guys shed everything, stripping down, hadjis too, to pants and shirts. Even if it dropped to the thirties and froze them solid, Mick didn’t want the heavy caftans or the schemeggahs slopping this way and that, roughing up the dust, scraping rocks, catching on thorns or sprigs. The guys could shiver; he just didn’t want them to make noise.
    The map was only so helpful. It identified the major landforms, even to the degree of suggesting approaches, but not the boulders and rock faces that gave those approaches practical meaning. Far better was his own recon through the AN/PV5-7 night vision goggles. As he took each man around to his starting point, he let them on the night vision set to get a good look-see of what lay before, how the rocks fell, how the arroyos trended, where the small trees for leverage were. He reminded them of the rules: no one was to rise above waist level until 0430; if they saw anybody walking upright, blast him. It would have to be the marine, awake, continuing his journey. Other rules: Do not fire at gun flashes, as the odds decreed you would be shooting your own teammate. And watch for goats. The guy wasn’t dumb; he’d tether goats to himself, and run the risk of goat piss against the fragile restiveness of the beasts, who’d bleat and whimper at the approach of a predator. So you didn’t startle a goat. If you moved low, quiet and easy, the goats would not be a problem. Afterward, they could butcher an animal and have a nice breakfast.
    Since Mick, with the night