The End: An Owen Taylor Story by James Patterson & Brendan DuBois

Author:James Patterson & Brendan DuBois
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Suspense, Thrillers, Military
Publisher: BookShots
Published: 2017-03-07T06:00:00+00:00

So there it is, I think, we’re finally on the other side of the slope after a half hour of moving through the spruces, looking down with NVGs, checking out our target. The slope falls down with nice spots to hide along the way—fallen tree trunks, brush and boulders—and then comes up against a narrow paved road.

A guarded gate lies straight ahead, with a paved driveway that goes up and makes a circular approach to a mansion that wouldn’t look out of place on Long Island’s Gold Coast. Three floors tall, with lots of bay windows, arches, and steep roofs. There’s a waist-high wrought iron fence along the road that’s decorated along the top with coils of razor wire. How cheerful.

To the left of the mansion is a metal warehouse with two roll-up doors that stand open. Pickup trucks and military trucks are backed into it. Even at this distance, I can make out metal and black hard-plastic crates filled with weapons—automatic rifles, RPGs, and heavier anti-tank weapons. Three armed men walk around the warehouse entrances, sipping cups of coffee or tea.

Between the house and the warehouse is a muddy expanse of what was probably a lawn. Things look quiet at the mansion, but there are high-powered lights on poles illuminating the joint.

Behind the house and the warehouse is a thick expanse of woods.

I lower my binoculars.

My right leg is aching like the proverbial son of a bitch, and both my lower legs are hurting and itching where dozens of wood splinters nastily peppered them.

The original plan called for us to split in a three/two approach, with two—Clayton and Sher—responsible for killing the lights and backup generators and setting up a diversionary attack at the rear of the warehouse, making the guard force think the weapons store was being threatened.

That would have allowed me, Borozan, and Garcia to break into a side entrance of the mansion—where the kitchen was located and where we figured nobody would be hanging out in the early hours of the morning—and then trot up a set of rear stairs that led to Darko’s master bedroom.

In and out, and wire cutters to the fence, into the woods behind.

Exfil point another bare rocktop about three klicks away.

Tough but doable.

Now?

Now it was time to check on Borozan.

I crawl back up the slope.

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