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They started east, taking advantage of the sparser foliage near the water to keep their pace up. The team split at a fork in the stream twenty minutes in, Maslick taking the south branch, which would lead him to a position above the entrance to Obrecht’s escape tunnel. With his injured shoulder, he was a potential liability in a running fight. Dug in with a rifle on a tripod, he’d be close to one hundred percent effective.
The rest of them took the north fork, heading for the high point west of Obrecht’s mansion. There they’d rendezvous with Charlie Wicker and Bruno McGraw, who had been reconning the area.
Eventually, they were forced to abandon the streambed and start up the knoll. The angle of the terrain and the dense foliage slowed their progress to a seventeen-minute-mile pace. It felt painfully slow but it was roughly what Rapp had planned for.
They kept to the west, putting the bulk of the knoll between them and Obrecht’s property. Wick hadn’t found any surveillance equipment or sensors, so they didn’t have to worry about staying completely silent.
“Closing in on your position,” Rapp said into his throat mike as they crested the ridge.
“Come on,” Wicker responded.
They slowed, organizing into a single line with twenty-five-foot intervals. Gould had been solid on the climb and fell into second position, with Coleman keeping a close eye on him from behind. Rapp was pretty sure Gould was a few cards short of a full deck, but even he wasn’t crazy enough to make a move with that kind of firepower on his six.
The slope started to descend slightly, and Rapp raised a fist before coming to a stop. Something felt wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. What little wind there was beneath the clear sky didn’t have enough force to penetrate the forest. The gurgle of water had been left far behind and they hadn’t seen any sign of the deer that were indigenous to the area. Nothing but silence and the scent of pine. What was it?
His question was answered a moment later.
“On your eleven o’clock, Mitch.” Wicker’s voice over his earpiece. “Don’t shoot.”
A bush covered in wildflowers rustled about twenty yards away and then blended back into the landscape. Rapp started forward again, covering the first thirty feet to Wicker’s position in a crouch. When the roof of Obrecht’s mansion came into view through the trees, Rapp dropped and slithered the rest of the way on his stomach.
Even less than an arm’s length from Wicker, the sniper was nearly invisible. He had created a tube from woven sticks and covered it in live plants before sliding in. All Rapp could see was part of his rifle’s silencer and the vague outline of the Unertl scope the man favored. At five foot six and barely 140 pounds, Charlie Wicker wasn’t what most people would picture when they thought of SEAL Team Six. In a fight, though, Rapp considered him one of the deadliest men alive.
“What have we got, Wick?”
“Not much has changed. Twelve guards, each with a sidearm and an assault rifle. No vehicles in or out. A delivery truck comes every few days but they don’t let it inside. Supplies are passed through the small gate to the south. That’s where the servants come in and out, too, but not very often. Most seem to be living on premises.”
“Any pattern?”
“Nope.”
The Swiss banker had clearly gone to ground. He was expecting the CIA to make a play, and if he couldn’t stop it, he was going to make sure things got bloody.
Rapp pulled out a small spotting scope and scanned the property. Gould was right. The knoll they were on had an excellent line of sight. The main gate was in full view and they were high enough to be able to take in a significant portion of the courtyard. Not that there was much to see. A few fountains, some tasteful landscaping, and a handful of armed men.
“I only see four guards,” Rapp said.
“That’s the minimum. If we can choose our moment, we can probably get six. That still leaves the other half, though.”
Rapp frowned. “The plan is quiet in and quiet out—leave those guys guarding their dicks. But if we do have to start shooting, I can guarantee
you we’re not going to be choosing the moment.”
“Then I’d count on having to deal with at least eight serious bad guys.”
“You’ve been down to the tunnel from here?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s clear all the way?”
“Too much wildlife for sensors or tripwires. They’d be dealing with false alarms all day.”
“Any surprises?”
“You’ve got to be really careful in the last couple hundred meters. That’s where the guys on top of the wall have a view of your position. Because of all the animals, you could brush a bush or two on your way in, but three or four might get you in trouble.”
Rapp nodded and started slithering backward, making sure the building was out of view before standing and returning to the clearing at the apex of the knoll. Coleman had pulled a large piece of netting from his pack and was collecting plants that he’d use to build his own camouflaged position. Gould was crouched next to a tree, blending in with the gnarled trunk. Rapp motioned him over.
