by Brad Taylor
Because Monaco had no real CIA station to speak of, our guy had been pulled in from Turkey, where he was apparently hip-deep in a lot of Syrian intrigue. Some James Bond–type who had deep-cover penetration inside the Assad regime, and could vet any intel we brought him regarding Syrian threats. I thought it was bullshit to begin with, but when the director of the CIA had deferred to Taskforce control, he’d also stipulated that we coordinate with this asshole. Pardon me, I misspelled “asset.”
Representing our team were Jennifer and me. From the other team, Carly and Axe. Which was potentially a bit of a problem, because I had no idea how Carly would react to seeing me after she’d quit selection. She knew I’d worked very hard to get her a shot, putting my name on the line, not to mention all the work Jennifer had done getting her ready, but now wasn’t the time to have any emotion interfere with our mission. It was complicated enough.
Carly had been thrown into a mission with my team a few years ago, when she was still in the CIA. She was a little bit of a hothead, who executed what she thought was right, regardless of what anybody else said. Which is to say, we butted heads a lot, but I truly respected her. She had talent, but I knew her VW from selection might make her hostile or awkward when she saw me, possibly affecting our mission. She was just built that way, and I understood, because I probably would have reacted the same damn way.
I knew a guy who was one of the best in the world as a Ranger, having served for a decade in one battalion or another. He went Special Forces, and couldn’t take the perceived lack of discipline. It just wasn’t for him. He quit, but not because he wasn’t worthy. Because it wasn’t for him. I was sure Carly’s situation was the same. She just didn’t want to be Jennifer, and there was nothing wrong with that.
At the end of the day, she was the CIA case officer, and the natural choice to lead the meeting. As for Axe, I knew him very well. He was Johnny’s 2IC, and he’d asked for Carly on the team after he’d found out she was attempting selection, and when she had thrown in the towel, he’d asked for her to come anyway because of her CIA knowledge. Kurt had agreed because it placated the D/CIA’s decision to defer to Taskforce control. Something he’d never done before.
We’d met the CIA guy on the wharf, right next to the harbor, at one of the ubiquitous outdoor eateries overlooking the expensive yachts, and my first impression wasn’t good. He’d immediately asked if our “backtrail” was clean, and if I was an idiot for walking right to his table. Yeah, he was playing the tradecraft card like he was deep inside Moscow.
I said, “Backtrail is good. But I’m wondering about this location you’ve chosen. I didn’t see any reason to duck and dodge when your table has a clear view from about four thousand different vantage points.” I flicked my head toward the harbor and said, “You check all of those houses for telescopes, cameras, or directional microphones?”
He started to say something and I cut him off, “Stop the dick measuring. You’re meeting us because I’ve killed more men on surveillance operations than you have just watching. It’s why I’m here. I’m the chosen one, not you. And trust me, if I thought this meeting was compromised, you wouldn’t have seen my face.”
Jennifer grabbed my arm, seeing I was going into asshole mode, but he deserved it. He started to stand, and I said, “Sit the fuck down, before I kill you as well.”
I gave him my pirate stare, and he sat down. Because, when push came to shove, that damn scar on my face paid dividends.
He said, “I’m not talking until the CIA liaison arrives. As far as I’m concerned, you aren’t cleared.”
I pulled out a chair and said, “Fine by me.” I stuck out my hand and said, “Pike Logan, and this is Jennifer Cahill.”
He reluctantly took it, and I said, “Look, we’re on the same team. I have my mission, and apparently you can help in that. I’m not trying to be an asshole.”
Jennifer said, “He’s really not. It just comes naturally.”
I scowled, and he chuckled. He said, “I’m David Periwinkle, and I don’t work here in Monaco.” Which was his way of saying he was much more important than to be stationed at a backwater like Monaco.
I said, “I know. We’re trying to stop the passing of the Chinese penetration of OPM. Hell, your name might be on that list.”
He shook his head and said, “No way are the North Koreans selling OPM data to the Syrians.”
His arrogance was insulting. How the hell would he know more than everyone else?
I said, “Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. That’s why I’m here. To figure it out.”
He nodded, then said, “I’m not talking until the liaison arrives.”
Jennifer, whose sole purpose was to sit back and record what I missed—mannerisms, offhand comments, reactions while I was focused on the conversation, all things that I would use later—touched my arm, and I turned, seeing Carly and Axe walking up from the harbor. Carly was a short girl with a bob cut. Axe was about six foot four, with a bald head and a beard. She looked like a surfer. He looked like the character you’d choose on Call of Duty.
They turned in, and then Carly caught my eye. I saw the hesitation. A split second of shame. I stood up, wanting to get to her before the asshole at the table could overhear. I heard Jennifer’s chair slide back as well. I went to them, fist-bumping Axe, and then turned to Carly. I wrapped her in a hug and then, when I was close to her ear, said, “I heard. Makes no difference to me. You’re still Carly, and I’ve seen your skill. Your choice. Not mine. Yours.”
She pulled back from me, and I saw the relief. She was doing what she wanted, and appreciated my approval. She turned to Jennifer, which was an approval much greater than mine, and got the same response. But unlike me, Jennifer treated her as a friend, without any stigma of selection. Just hugged her like she missed her. Which, given Jennifer, was probably the best thing she could have done.
Axe said, “What’s the story with the spook?”
I said, “He’s an asshole. He’s waiting on Carly.”
Carly turned to me, and I said, “Yeah, you heard that right. He wants to talk to you. Won’t talk to me.”
She smiled and said, “I can’t imagine why.”
Jennifer said, “I can. You should have seen the initial meeting.”
Carly started walking, saying, “I don’t have to. I’ve seen it before.”
I poked her in the shoulder from behind and hissed, “No fucking around here. The guy is a class-A dick. Jason Bourne, as far as he’s concerned.”
She turned around and said, “I deal with class-A dicks all the time. Trust me.”
Axe scowled, and she said, “Present company excluded. I was talking about Pike.”
He laughed, I frowned, and Carly smiled. And I knew we were good. I said, “Just work your CIA magic.”
We sat down at the table, and Mr. Pencildicker, or whatever his name was, began telling us what he knew. Which wasn’t much. He apparently had a source inside the Syrian Air Force intelligence section who was highly placed, and who said that no such transfer was going to happen. As far as Pencildicker was concerned, it was a waste of time. But he did offer to stay and validate any photos we got of the Syrian. Passing it up the chain and figuring out who he was. Typical.
We’d left there, letting Axe and Carly go first, then went back to the hotel room for Jennifer to do her presto-chango thing again. While I waited, Knuckles showed up. He banged on the door, I let him in, and he said, “So?”
I said, “So about what you would expect. Nothing. He’s willing to help when we get something, but nothing proactive.”
“So the B and E is still on?”
“Yeah. We get eyes on him, and you punch the room. Get anything you can.”
Jennifer came out of the bathroom, looking yet again like a heartbreaker, and Knuckles said, “You know, you’re much better at the breaking and entering than I am. And I’m
much better-looking than you.”
I grinned and said, “Nice try. I’m going to the casino.”
Jennifer walked over to him and said, “Help me?”
He zipped up her dress and said, “You know I’m the man for this mission.”
She glanced at me and said, “Last time we did this, you tried to drown me. I’ll take my chances with the Neanderthal.”
He laughed and said, “As long as you guys keep eyes on the target. I don’t want to be surprised.”
I said, “No issues there. We need to go. Asshole agent man made us late.”
He turned serious and said, “No, really, Pike. Veep’s good, but he’s not you. Don’t let that guy or his security get back to the room without telling me. The protocols for ripping through his laptops or whatever else is up there will take an hour.”
I nodded. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll have plenty of warning.”
9
We reached the entrance to the famed Monte Carlo Casino, and Jennifer took my hand, looking for all the world like a Bond girl. Actually, better than most Bond girls. I squeezed it, and we passed by a bunch of tourists wearing cutoff jeans and tacky T-shirts. Not what I expected to see outside this glitzy casino. I was about to learn that everything I’d seen in a Bond movie was a Hollywood charade.
We entered the casino, dressed to the nines, like we thought we needed to be, and I felt like a child learning Santa Claus wasn’t real. We walked through the ornate doors, into the cavern of the casino, and the best way I can describe it was that it was shabby. Worn down from years of use, it was basically one large room with a sparse collection of gaming tables. Two roulette wheels, two blackjack tables, and two craps pits. Outside of a bar on the left, that was it.
People turned to look at us—because the place was that damn small—and Jennifer said, “I think we overdressed.”
And we had. The actual gaming space was like a basement casino someone was running in Detroit. Where the hell was James Bond?
Jennifer asked the maître d’, “Is this it?”
He sniffed and said, “This isn’t Las Vegas.”
I thought, You got that right.
I said, “We’re going to the private rooms. Where are they?”
He pointed toward a doorway in the back and said, “Keep walking,” apparently insulted that we weren’t in awe.
We left him, crossing the room and entering an alcove with a couple of slot machines and very few people putting in coins. Vegas in a microcosm, but no James Bond to be found. To the right was a guy in a tux standing in front of a velvet rope. That was more like it. I went to him and said, “We’d like to play.”
I showed him our key card from the hotel—which gave us access, because, my Lord, that damn place was expensive—and he let us in.
He parted the rope, and we finally saw people dressed like we were. There were two active tables, one with the entourage of Koreans, an Arab guy, and a married couple filling out the seats, the other included Axe, Carly, some guy in a cowboy hat, and a fat man in a suit, leaving one empty spot.
Both tables were playing five-card draw. Another busted myth. I was expecting Texas Hold’em.
I tugged Jennifer’s arm to get her to slow down and called Brett on my earpiece, him currently eating ice cream and bored out of his mind.
“Blood, we’re in. Target acquired at the poker table.”
Like Jennifer, he didn’t allow anyone to use his callsign unless it was on the radio, because they both hated the ones they were given. All I got back was, “Roger that. I guess I’m in for a long night.”
I smiled and said, “Depends on how quickly I can lose Taskforce money. Side bet on me beating Axe?”
“No way. That guy is the worst player I’ve ever seen.”
I said, “Good call.”
“I see some of Johnny’s team out here, doing the same thing I’m doing.”
Johnny had dispersed like I had, hoping to follow the Syrian to a bed-down and search his room.
I said, “Roger that. Break, break, Knuckles, I have eyes on. You’re cleared to enter.”
I got, “Roger all. Tell me if there’s a change. We’re moving to the room now.”
I poked Jennifer in the hip, and we walked to Axe’s table. I took the one available seat, sandwiched between the cowboy and the fat guy. Axe was on the right end, with Carly behind him. I settled in to play, wondering how this would work now that there were no more seats at the table. How would the Syrian show up here? And then thought that maybe the Arab was the Syrian.
I flicked my eyes to Axe, then to the Arab, and he shook his head. He’d already thought the same thing, and had somehow ascertained that the Arab was not the droid we were looking for. Or maybe he was, and it was a Jedi mind trick. I trusted Axe’s judgment, but it paid to keep all options open.
After introductions—with Axe telling me his name was Sam, and Carly saying her name was Regina—we began playing. I knew I was pushing it by remaining in the room with the Korean, potentially burning me for long-term operations, but it didn’t really matter. According to our intel, he was meeting the Syrian within the next twenty-four hours, and so I had this one mission tonight. If it was a bust, the Taskforce would figure out what to do, and tomorrow I’d be back looking at old bones in Eze.
After thirty minutes, my earpiece came alive, Knuckles telling me they were in. They had found a laptop and an iPad, were in contact with the reach-back hacker cell, and were starting to drain both.
Up until this point, I’ll admit the fat guy had been crushing me. Well, both the cowboy and me, because Axe folded his damn cards at any call. Now, though, I was holding a full house, and I was going to drive that pot to the roof.
The fat guy was a pretty good player. He’d slowly drained my stack of chips, but then again, he was probably cheating, because there was no way he was beating me on skill. As I was about to show.
I bet, and it went around the table, everyone matching but Axe. Of course, he folded. When asked if I wanted more cards, I said no, vainly trying to channel all of the bland faces I’d seen in the World Series of Poker. I wished I’d brought my sunglasses.
The fat guy was next. He put down two cards, and I saw one of the Korean security men at the other table look at his phone, then lean into the target’s ear, whispering something. I saw the Korean’s eyes squint, then whisper back. The security man nodded, flicked his head to his partner, and left the room. Which was not good. We had the Korean as a target, but I couldn’t let his counterparts leave without keeping eyes on. For all I knew, they were the ones meeting the Syrian.
I caught Axe’s eye, and saw he felt the same way. The fat guy bit on my poker ploy, and raised the bet a considerable sum. Damn it.
I saw the other security man disappear from the room and folded, spitting out, “Take it. I have to use the bathroom.”
I pushed my chair back harder than I wanted, asked the dealer to watch my chips, and stomped off, Jennifer behind me. We entered the main hall and the Koreans were nowhere to be seen. I said, “I’ve got to go back in there. You take the security men. Keep on them and see what they’re up to. If they contact the Syrian, call me on the net, and I’ll break Axe free.”
She said, “You want me to do this alone?”
I held up a finger and said onto the net, “Blood, Blood, this is Pike, the Korean team has split in half. I still have control of the target, but have lost contact with the security detail. Koko’s going to search in here, and if it’s clean, she’s on the way out. Keep eyes on the front door.”
He came back immediately, saying, “I’ve got them. One’s looking at his phone, the other’s lighting a cigarette.”
Jennifer heard the call and nodded. On the net, but looking at her, I said, “She’s on the way out. Keep me abreast of what’s going on, but I’ll be back at the table and can’t answer.”
>
Jennifer turned to leave and, off the net, I said, “Hey, they could be meeting the Syrian, but they could be going back to the hotel room. Keep Knuckles in the loop.”
She said, “You think that’s a possibility?”
“Yeah. The timing is strange. We got the call that Knuckles was in, then they looked at their phone. He could have tripped something they set up.”
She said, “Which means they’ll be looking for the boogeyman.”
I smiled and said, “Very good, young Jedi. Keep on them, but like a ghost. I don’t want to have to come save you.”
She grinned and said, “More likely I’ll be back here telling you how to play cards.”
I smiled and watched her fast-walk out. When she was gone, I went back to the table, seeing Axe had folded again. I took my seat and winked at him, showing absolute confidence that I didn’t feel.
10
Tagir Kurbanov saw the man outside the ring, and knew he wasn’t a spectator. He was something else. Tagir tapped gloves with his opponent and the bell rang, the two tearing into each other like lions over a kill. Tagir heard the crowd shouting, all of them fighters like him, and redoubled his efforts. He was, after all, from Dagestan. A country proud of its fighters.
He snapped two jabs, threw a right cross that missed, then was wrapped up by his opponent around the waist. Hoisted off the ground, he was slammed into the canvas, his opponent trying to succeed through brute force. He broke the hands around his waist, lashed out with an elbow, and connected, stunning his opponent. Which ended up being enough.
He leapt on the man with a ferocity born from fights where the vanquished lost much more than a simple match, pounding his opponent’s face in strikes that caused a mask of blood, batting through the feeble attempts to block his blows.
The referee slapped him in the back, waving his arms that the fight was over, but Tagir didn’t quit. The man’s face began to split apart, his body lying unconscious on the canvas, and Tagir kept pounding it, trying to break bones. The referee grabbed him around the waist and forcefully threw him back. Tagir leapt up, about to attack him as well, and then snapped out of it, his conscious mind returning to the gym.
