Free Task Force by Brian Falkner

except for a speedboat about halfway along—the boat that brought the change of shift to the island. That meant both the previous security detail and the new shift were still on the island. But Chisnall could not wait for them to leave. There simply was no time. He switched his attention to the vehicles, two Land Rovers that were hurrying down the winding road from the top of the island.
    “We’re not going to take any chances,” he said. “What’s your status, Wilton?”
    “Angel Four in position,” Wilton reported in. He was lyingon the roof of the bridge, in a shadow by the radar mast. His coil-gun might have been loaded with only puffers, but at that range Wilton would be able to put one on the breastbone of any enemy soldier he wanted.
    “Tsar, Barnard, keep your weapons out of sight but within easy reach,” Chisnall said. “I’ll play captain and talk to the Pukes when we dock.”
    “I’ll talk to them,” the Tsar said. “I kind of have a knack for this stuff. Then if it starts getting hairy, I can say I have to check with my captain.”
    Chisnall hesitated. He wasn’t sure he trusted the Tsar. But he also didn’t want the Tsar to know that.
    “Are you sure?” he asked.
    “Too easy,” the Tsar said. “I once …”
    He launched into a story about a past mission. A perilous trek through the Chukchi Peninsula, evaluating the military buildup there, right under the noses of the Bzadians. Chisnall smiled in all the right places, but he wasn’t really listening. He was watching the Tsar. Evaluating
him
.
    He seems confident
—too
confident
, Chisnall thought.
    Monster noticed it, too, and caught Chisnall’s eye. Not for the first time, Chisnall wondered about Hokkaido. The details of the mission were sealed. But they were about to find out what the Tsar was really like when bullets started flying.
    “Okay, do it,” Chisnall said.
    Barnard stood on the rear deck, pretending to inspect some equipment. She seemed calm and collected. If one of them was a traitor, they would have to show their stripes soon.
    Chisnall went inside and sat at the controls of the Bushmaster. He used a joystick to position a target indicator on the first Land Rover and locked it in as “Target A.” The second Land Rover became “Target B.” The weapon station would hold those targets even if they moved.
    Monster, true to his word, brought the ship close up alongside the jetty. He ran the engines in reverse until the ship came to a complete halt a few yards away.
    “A little closer might be better,” Chisnall murmured.
    “Not finished yet,” Monster said, and pressed a few buttons on the controls.
    A mild humming sound came from somewhere belowdecks and the ship began to drift closer to the wharf.
    Chisnall raised an eyebrow.
    “Magnetic mooring,” Monster said. The ship came to a halt with a small thud that vibrated through the deck.
    “Smooth as baby’s bottom,” Monster said with a grin.
    Chisnall nodded. “Okay, what happens when you want to leave?”
    “Reverse polarity of magnetic field, and it push you away,” Monster said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked, “How is Price doing?”
    “I’ll find out,” Chisnall murmured, and keyed his comm. “Price, how are you doing?” There was no answer. He tried again. “Price?” Still nothing. He said, “Tsar, delay them as long as you can.”
    The Tsar, wearing the first mate’s uniform, was still out onthe small top deck, his coil-gun concealed beneath a canvas tarpaulin by his feet.
    Ten soldiers were standing on the wharf, while two more manned the heavy machine guns on the Land Rovers. Along with the drivers, that made fourteen. There were sixteen more guards somewhere on the island.
    The Tsar saluted the waiting soldiers in the Bzadian way, with a clenched fist to his shoulder. He flashed his award-winning smile. “Thank you for allowing us to land.”
    He seemed relaxed but not too much. Just about right for the first mate of a boat