Tom Clancy's Op-Center: God of War by Jeff Rovin

Author:Jeff Rovin [Rovin, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250209252
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2020-08-04T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

USAFRICOM C-21, Atlantic Ocean

November 11, 10:30 P.M.

It was dark outside the windows of the giant aircraft, and both Williams and Breen were asleep in their seats.

Grace and Rivette were not. They were sitting together, studying maps of the two islands where they were bound, and checking stats about temperatures—both air and water—winds, and poisonous flora and fauna. Grace downloaded the digital images and data into her smartwatch. Yemen had been an on-the-fly operation against loosely organized bands. Prince Edward was a mission against the Chinese military. She wanted to be thoroughly prepared.

With some regularity, they would receive updates from the Defense Logistics Agency, no sender ID, but very little that pertained directly to their assignment. They were mostly interested in up-to-the-minute weather reports and temperatures. Since both martial arts and marksmanship were not well served by ice or other slippery substances.

“Couple of unoccupied sheds on the tiny island, military outpost on Marion,” Rivette said.

“We should reconnoiter the outpost first,” she suggested. “It would have communications the Chinese would have to control.”

“Agreed. What kind of landing party would they use?”

“A large one, which is why we should approach with caution. They’re not making a secret of their presence so they’ll probably have lookouts.”

“In those temperatures? That wind?”

“They’ll fight for the privilege,” Grace said. “Manhood, nationalism—they’ll want to show ‘face.’”

“Like a goddamn gang back in L.A.,” Rivette said. “Well, at least we’ll get to see the countryside,” he joked.

“Have you ever been to South Africa?”

“Not even ancestrally, far as I know. Pretty small percent of Cajuns have that. We’re from North Africa via France, I’ve been told. You been there?”

Grace shook her head. “Nor the subantarctic.”

“You did cold-weather training, though.”

“Alaska,” she said.

“Same here. Probably not the same as what they got down south.”

“Wondering how they plan to get us over,” Grace said.

“Way we barged into Trinidad, I don’t think they’ll want to chute us in.”

Grace smiled. “I liked that, though.”

“You hit the deck butt-kicking,” Rivette pointed out. “A big-ass island, that’s something different. They’d see us coming.”

“My guess is they’ll put us in with the civilians working on the wreck. If anything else is happening on that island, the perps will want to avoid the investigators.”

“True. We also have the toxin to worry about,” Rivette went on. “Working with gas masks is a pain.”

“And it’ll be dark,” Grace said. “Most of the glass in those things is tinted. We’ll probably fall into the sea.”

“I swam with seals at the San Diego Zoo once, so I’m good with that,” Rivette joked.

Grace looked at him. “Was that something you were supposed to do?”

“Nah. Good training for this though, right?”

He had a point. Grace had never played by rules other than her own. Growing up in New York’s Chinatown, she used a devastating roundhouse kick to make her way into the male-centric world of kung fu. As a girl she would insert herself into the pick-up-style competitions in Columbus Park, getting thrown and leopard-punched—and learning, from that, how to fall. Then she figured out how to use her smaller size and speed to avoid being hit.

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