Blood Sport (Breed Thrillers Book 9) by Cameron Curtis

Author:Cameron Curtis [Curtis, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2024-06-26T00:00:00+00:00

I’m covered in dirt and scrub, crawling toward the airport. My AK-74, ammunition vest and jeans are dark colored. In broad daylight, I’d stand out against the tan soil. At night, I don’t need to do much to reduce my profile.

Low grass, scrub, and scattered acacia trees cover the quarter mile of flat ground between the forest and the airfield. Floodlights on the roof of the terminal building cover the strip with a brilliant glare. White light washes over the surrounding ground for a hundred yards.

That’s a clear limit to how close I can approach. Did cadre light the place up because they expect infiltration? Maybe it’s business as usual when a flight is expected. I advance in a low crawl.

The important thing is to avoid features in the landscape that are obvious hides. If I were standing in the control tower, sweeping binoculars over the surrounding ground, where would I look? The acacias are prominent. I would look there first. Any ditches next to approach roads are next. Look any place a man might hide, especially if he is looking for both cover and concealment. Concealment hides you from view. Cover stops bullets.

I’m gambling that concealment is my best cover. If the enemy can’t see me, they can’t shoot me. Big gamble. Reconnaissance by fire can be deadly. All the same, I decide to stick to the low scrub in the open field. It’s all over the place. If I flatten myself down in that, there’s nothing to draw a sentry’s eye.

I stop a hundred yards from the tower and lie with my chest on top of the AK-74. The human eye is drawn to straight lines. Anything straight and hard-edged in a natural environment looks man-made. It’s a dead giveaway.

Take a breath, study the airport.

Two-story terminal building, three-story control tower. The glassed-in tower is lit from within, but all I see are the shadowy shapes of air controllers. I work my phone out of my pocket. I’ve dimmed the screen till it’s barely visible. Plugged in a single earphone.

I punch Stein’s speed dial.

“Breed.”

“I have eyes on the airport,” I tell her. “Where’s the plane?”

“On its way, maneuvering onto its glide slope.”

“Are you in contact with the tower?”

“Yes. All in order so far.”

My eyes sweep the field. The single runway ends right in front of me, a hundred yards away. Two parallel lines of runway lights extend straight north for two miles. The builders of the airport didn’t have to skimp. No shortage of flat land around here. This airport can easily handle Boeing 737s and 787s. The terminal building and tower are on the left, with wheeled boarding stairs.

To the right are hangars and maintenance buildings. I see a parked fuel tanker truck and a fire truck.

Far in the distance, three bright lights in the shape of a triangle flick on. Landing lights. One on each of the wing roots and a third below the nose. The one on the nose appears higher than the other two because the plane is starting to flare.

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