Lucas - Anne L Parks

by Special Forces - Operation Alpha

  The man on the couch chuckled as he watched her drink the entire glass, not letting a drop remain. “It’s good, no?”

  She nodded her head. The man was older than she was, or maybe it was just the long, hard winters in this part of Russia that enhanced the deep lines and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

  “My men tell me you have requests, Dr. Black. What is it you want?” he asked, refilling her glass.

  “Fresh water, more food.”

  “You are not getting food?”

  She took a sip of the vodka. “We are, but not enough. We are expending a great deal of energy trying to generate our own heat in the barn, so the little bit of food we are eating is being used at a higher rate because we are attempting to stay warm.”

  He nodded towards one of the guards, apparently acqueiscing and giving an order to provide more food.

  “How do you know my name?” Lettie asked.

  A smile tipped up one side of his mouth, but it was not warm or the least bit endearing. “How do you Americans say—I do my homework.”

  “So, you targeted me and my colleagues?”

  “Yes.” No further explanation.

  “What is your name?”

  He stared at her for what felt like a year, and finally said, “Konstantin Orlov.” He refilled his glass and took another drink. Sliding the glass onto the table in front of him, he sat back and looked at her. “Was there anything else you needed, Doctor?”

  “We could use some supplements—vitamins. One of the men is sick, so antibiotics and other medication. Also, we need warmer clothes and more blankets. And more fuel for the fire.”

  He narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down. A shiver coursed up her spine. The look wasn’t lascivious. More like he was sizing her up for a coffin. After a moment, he met her gaze. “Done.” He waved his hand, and the men grasped her elbows and pulled her from the seat. She dropped her head to the glass in her hand and tried to drink the remainder of the alcohol there. It slopped over her chin and down the front of her blouse and settled between her breasts.

  The men yanked her toward the front door. She glanced over her shoulder at the man as he continued to sit on the couch, smoking his cigar and drinking his vodka. Her stomach twisted in a knot. Anger flooded her veins. The gaul of this man—acting as if providing basic necessities was somehow a recommendation for sainthood. The vodka in her stomach churned, providing her with bravery she didn’t possess.

  “How long do you plan on keeping us as your prisoners?”

  “Shut up, bitch.” One of her guards yanked her arm so hard it felt as if it had been popped from the socket.

  The man on the couch held up his hand. “That all depends on the next move.” Lettie stared at him waiting for further explanation. “We made the first move. Now we wait to see what the counter move is and decide on our next move at that time.”

  The idea that her life, and the lives of her colleagues, hung in the balance and this man considered it nothing more than an elaborate game of chess using humans as playing pieces, made her want to rip his limbs off and toss them into the fire.

  “So this is just a game to you?”

  “Life is a game, Dr. Black.”

  “We’re human beings—doctors—not pawns in your stupid pissing match. We save lives. We saved many Russian lives. How dare you use us and take us away from our work in order to see who has the biggest dick to wag!”

  The blow came from nowhere, striking her in the side of the head. She lifted her hands too late to block the second blow that landed on the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes and covered her face. The third punch hit her in the stomach. She doubled over in pain, the air rushing from her lungs in a loud hiss. She dropped to her knees, still being held at the elbows by the armed men on either side.

  Orlov sat forward. “We do not need you here—do not want you invading our hospitals and communities with your corrupt western ideals. We are strong—more capable than the French and English. More determined and robust than the Americans. You are a nation that has grown soft. You have no sense of history or traditions. Fighting amongst yourselves like children about issues that are inconsequential. Meanwhile, Russia grows more invincible, and the weakness of the west will succumb to your lack of courage.”

  Lettie wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. “We don’t lack courage, or empathy. We see suffering and try to help. But know this, if one of us dies, you will see firsthand how mighty and united we are—especially against bullies who take innocent people on a humanitarian mission and kill them.”

  Chapter 4

  Lucas followed Mick into the war room and dropped into a chair. No one seemed to know what the urgent brief was about, but when the “all hands” notification hit his phone, Lucas turned off the ball game he had on tv and headed for the door. He only lived about a ten minute drive from the Naval station in Newport, RI, but once on the grounds, he had to drive down a long road that ran north of Coddington Cove, past the Undersea Warfare Center, and deep into an area where only fifteen people were currently authorized to be—the headquarters building for The 13. Known to all the members as simply, “the office.”

  The 13 was a highly covert unit made up of twelve special operators from each of the four military branches. And while, at first, they all tended to gravitate towards their own, now everyone had seemed to shed what originally branded them to their respective services, and they were just a team. A high-functioning, kick ass, take-no-shit-from-terrorists team.

  Riley Bray was the only member who was not military. She was a spook from the CIA who had spent as much time in hellholes around the world as most of the rest of the team. She was in charge of communications but knew how to put an op together better than anyone Lucas had met. And she cared about all of them and would do everything in her power to make sure each of them came home—safe and secure. Her track record was phenomenal, although, everyone on the team had heard about a snafu that had taken place in Syria. One of the SEALs on her team was killed. It hadn’t been her fault—there had been a leak within the company, and she and Lance had figured out who it was. Riley had personally taken care of the asshat. But sadness tinged her green eyes, making it evident that she still blamed herself for the SEAL’s death.

  The mood around the room was jovial. No doubt shit was about to come down and they would be sent on an op after the briefing. But no one knew for sure, and so no one had to think about it yet. It was time for bullshitting before getting down to business.

  Lance stepped inside the room, his sights locking onto Lucas. “Black, follow me.”

  A chorus of “oo’s” filled the air. “Lucas is in trouble,” Colt sang.

  Lucas smiled at him and shot him the bird. Once outside the room, he followed Lance into the Skif to Riley’s office. Riley and Col. Holt waited for them to take seats.

  “Lucas, when was the last time you heard from your wife?” Holt asked.

  “Lettie?” Lucas shrugged. “She emailed me a couple of weeks ago. Why?”

  “Where is she?” Riley asked.

  Ah, Jesus…Had Mick talked to them about my marriage? Was this some sort of test to see if Lucas was emotionally unable to go on an op because his wife may or may not be leaving him?

  “Indonesia.”

  Lance leaned forward. “I thought she was finishing up a mission in Chechnya and then coming home?”

  “Uh, yeah…she decided to go to Indonesia for three months to help out with the tsunami relief efforts. I guess they are short on people with medical expertise who can provide care, and long on the number who need help.” Lucas cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t know what Mick said to you, but I’m fine. Lettie emailed me and let me know what she was doing. I was upset at first…” still am…”but I understand she’s trying to help others in need.” Total lie. “Once she gets home, she plans on staying. I think this is just her way of making sure she helps where she thinks her medical skills are needed the most.”

  The three
exchanged knowing glances, leaving Lucas to feel like a man in the dark. “What the hell is this all about?”

  Riley exhaled and slid onto her desk chair, leaning her forearms on the desk. “She never made it to Indonesia. In fact, we have reason to believe she never made it out of Chechnya.”

  What the hell?

  “We’ve received word from the Russian government that four doctors were kidnapped from Grozny and are being held in Chechnya,” Lance said. “At this point, the Russian government is indicating they have no idea who has taken them or why.”

  “And you’re sure one of them is Lettie?” Lucas asked, his wife’s name catching in his throat.

  Riley nodded. “We have video confirmation.”

  “I want to see it—I want to see her!”

  “The video is que’d up in the war room.”

  “So this is the op?”

  “Yes,” Holt said, his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “We’re going to get her back, son.”

  The mood in the war room was still as jovial as when Lucas had been summoned away. But the light that flooded the room from the overhead fluorescents did nothing to brighten the dark cloud that shrouded Lucas. And the laughter from his teammates grated on his last nerve. He wanted to yell at them to shut the fuck up. So much had changed in the ten minutes since he had been in this room yukking it up with them.

  Lucas had come to terms with his wife being gone for another three months. Had even tried to accept that she was most likely going to ask for a divorce when she did finally return. But this? Taken hostage by some fucking terrorist organization in Russia.

  His gut twisted into a knot and he had to force down the bile that rose in his throat. Lettie. Beautiful. Smart. Kind. Was he going to have to add the word deceased to that list?

  Riley and Lance stood in front of the whiteboards that took up the entire wall and doubled as projection screens. Lance glanced at Lucas and gave him a slight head nod indicating things were going to be okay. He knew that’s what Lance believed, but Lucas wasn’t convinced.

  “Okay, settle down,” Lance said. “We have an op that is time sensitive and will decrease our usual work up time.”

  “Uh-oh,” Ben Wells sat opposite Lucas, a wide grin on his face. “What high ranking asshole has gotten himself into trouble and needs us to save his ass?”

  Lucas’s left hand balled into a fist. He was seconds away from jumping to his feet and slamming Ben in the face.

  Riley clicked a button on her remote and the screens came alive. “Approximately ten days ago, four doctors involved in a humanitarian mission in a Chechnyan tuberculosis hospital in Grozny, were abducted.” Riley clicked the button and four pictures filled the screen. “Among the doctors was Scarlett Black.”

  The room fell deadly silent and felt as if it dropped about twenty degrees as the name of Lucas’s wife sunk into the men’s brains. Ben swiveled in his chair to face Lucas. His eyes were dark but drooped, and Lucas read what they were conveying. A mix of I’m sorry and We’ll get her back. Ben was one of the few men that knew what Lucas was feeling. His fiancee, Mia, had been kidnapped twice—once by the Russian Revolutionary Army, an up and coming terrorist cell, and recently by her violent ex-boyfriend turned stalker. Lucas had the kill shot on the fucker, but not before he had tried to shoot Ben and Mia jumped in front of him. Mia survived, but lost so much blood, it was touch-and-go for a while.

  “Here’s what we know,” Riley said, pulling the attention back to her. “The Russian government has confirmed that a group of military aged armed men entered the hospital in Grozny and kidnapped Scarlett and her three colleagues. The armed men requested the doctors specifically.”

  “Are all four doctors from the US?” Mick asked.

  “No, only Scarlett and Dr. Adam Berkley, from San Francisco. The other two,” she used the laser pointer to circle the pictures of the other two doctors,” are both French—Durant Brodeur and Clovis Laurent.”

  “Any idea where they are?” Ben asked.

  “I’ve been in contact with some assets in Chechnya and think we have narrowed it down to an area south of Grozny.”

  “Whoa—south of Grozny?” Jake asked, wagging his head back and forth. “That’s all remote mountains.”

  “Correct,” said Riley. “The intel I’ve received points to the Sharoi region.” She clicked the remote and a map of southern Chechnya filled the screen. “Specifically, we are interested in the area around the village of Kiri. Now, Kiri only has about a dozen houses. The community is small. And tight. They have been hit hard over the years—reports of nighttime abductions, people being shot by rebel fighters believed to be from Georgia. But if you ask the residents, they believe the Russian military is behind it. So far, there has been no evidence to the contrary, although the military denies the incidents have even taken place.”

  “Of course not,” Colt said with a low, humorless chuckle.

  “My assets state that the people of Kiri have recently noticed new neighbors in the mountains outside of the village.” A satellite picture filled the screen. Tall trees clumped so close together it looked as if someone had spilled ink on the photo. In the center was a clearing with a farmhouse and a barn. Five tents dotted the land to the west of the house. “The drone picked up this farm. We believe there are around twenty military aged men on the compound, but because they are all wearing black tactical clothing, it’s been difficult for my guys to distinguish one from another.”

  “If they were taken from the hospital in a van—where is it—or any vehicles, for that matter?” Gabe asked.

  “The van was found at the edge of the forest. We have found hair consistent with Scarlett’s but waiting for confirmation that it is hers. For the time being, we are assuming it is. There was also some blood found, and we are awaiting results on that, as well. Unfortunately, we can’t wait around for the lab to get to our samples. Time is of the essence and we have to move with the current intel we have.”

  Chapter 5

  Scarlett placed her hand against Dr. Berkley's four head. From the amount of heat coming off of him, she believed he had a fever ranging from one hundred and four to one hundred and five degrees.

  "I just can't get warm,” said Adam. He shook with chills. He wrapped his arms across his body and huddled against the draft blowing in through the gaps in the walls of the barn.

  Lettie placed the round end of the stethoscope against his chest." Take a deep breath for me."

  Adam dragged in a ragged breath that started a series of chest rattling coughs. He placed his hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, Lettie could see bloody mucus smeared across his palm.

  Not good.

  She grabbed a rag and wiped the mess away. Forcing his fingers to curl, she flipped his hand over in hers and checked the beds of his nails. Shit! They were as blue as his lips. She slid her fingers to his wrist and checked his pulse. It raced faster than a car on the Indie 500 track.

  His lack of energy and inability to eat were just the added evidence she needed to come to a diagnosis. Pneumonia.

  And if they didn’t get him out of this barn and into a hospital, she worried he wouldn’t make it much longer.

  She rose and moved to the door, pushing against it. It was locked—she already knew it would be—but opening it wasn’t her main objective. She just needed to rattle it and get the guards attention.

  The shuffle of feet moved closer. She backed up, not wanting to get hit by the door when the guard slammed the butt of his rifle against it. She had made that mistake before, and still had the bruise on her forehead from where the door hit her.

  Before the guard could yell at her in Russian, she said, “I want to talk to Orlov.”

  “Ето мные до хуыа,” the guard cursed at her in Russian. She had been able to pick up on some Russian while in the country, although not enough to understand people when they spoke quickly. But she was pretty sure he had told her that he didn’t give a fuck.

  “You will if this man
dies. More importantly, Orlov might care if he has one less bargaining chip.” She inhaled deeply and let the rage inside heat her. “Tell Orlov I need to speak with him. Now.”

  The conviction was forced, but she was not going to allow the guard to think she was begging for anything, or that she was weak. Too many years of being in a predominantly male career had taught her she needed to stand up for herself or get trampled.

  “Блиатз.” Bitch. That one she knew well.

  “Пидарас.” Asshole. She had learned to speak a few words, too.

  The butt of the rifle hit the door again, but she heard him huff and his boots shuffle through the snow.

  Here’s hoping he’s giving the message to Orlov, or Adam may not make it through the night.

  Lettie was escorted into the living room, shoved toward the couch and told to wait as her guard walked through the dining area and into a room at the back of the house that she assumed was a bedroom. Off to the right, tucked into a corner of the dining room, a table was filled with computer monitors, but she wasn’t able to see the screens. A man wearing a headset stared at the screen, unaware she was there, or just not interested in her presence enough to look at her. She had no idea if the mini-communications center had been there on her last visit to the house, or if she had just been so nervous she hadn’t noticed it.

  A fire roared in the fireplace, the heat melting away the layer of ice traversing through Lettie’s veins. She had never been so cold. Yes, she had endured one winter in Chechnya, but the cold wind that blew in the mountainous area, rattling through the slats of the barn, was a biting cold she had never felt in her life. The initial feeling of being cold had long since frozen, replaced with a new layer, in which she was sure she was going to lose her toes and possibly a couple of fingers to frostbite.