“No worries.” Roger picked up the Sig Saur 552 Commando and rammed a magazine home. “I’ve been a field agent for a long time. I think I can keep my head low.”
“This isn’t about your field experience, Roger. This is about abducting a bad guy on his own turf.” He jabbed a thick finger at him. “Word for word, you do what you’re told.”
“Got it.”
“I mean it. Or I’ll shoot you myself.” Bridger grabbed a face mask and slipped it over the top of his head, leaving the painted skull face folded under his boonie hat. He grabbed another mask and tossed it to Roger. “Don’t pull the face down until we’re in position. We can’t risk some Haji seeing us en route.”
“Copy that.” Roger opened the mask and saw a grinning Joker face staring back at him. The eyes had been cut out just above the nose and he slipped it atop his head.
“BDU’s are in there. Gear up.” Bridger pointed to the door leading to the next room.
Roger stepped inside and began rifling through the stacks. He pulled a MOLLE tactical vest and a drop leg holster from the wall and began stuffing the pockets.
When he stepped back out into the room, Bridger had handed off the USB to Gregg. “This is what he used to save the files from their servers. See if all of the files were transferred. Maybe there’s some scrap that can help decrypt the rest of them.” He turned and did a double take. “Seriously? Going ‘geardo’ on me, Roger?” He snatched the tactical vest from Roger’s hands and began digging through the pouches. He pulled out flash bang grenades, a smoke grenade and two fragmentation grenades. He held the vest up and hiked a brow. “You said you’d stay in the car.”
“Gear is like condoms, Bobby. Better to have it and not need it than—”
“Just get dressed.” He tossed the vest back to Roger and placed the grenades back on the shelf. “We muster in five minutes.”
Karachi, Pakistan
* * *
JIM MCDOUGALL DROVE the PTCL van slowly through the city streets. The sun would be rising in less than an hour and they hoped that al-Abadi wouldn’t want too much lead time on the demonstration he had planned.
He drove into the parking garage and began the slow lazy circles to the floor where Muhammed kept his Range Rover. He glanced across the street to the building where he knew Viktor Teplov had a sniper nest set up. He knew he wouldn’t see the man, but he searched regardless.
He slowed near the Audi A8 that Ryan and Marcus had procured for the operation and were currently sitting in, waiting and watching for activity.
“Tell me you brought coffee.” Marcus stated wearily.
Jim smiled and motioned to the back of the van. The sliding door opened and Jay stepped out in coveralls with the PTCL logo across his chest and back. He handed Marcus two steaming cups and Ryan sighed as the roasted goodness hit his nose.
“Head down near the entrance and park next to the other car. Ryan, have that other car ready for us. In fact, keep the motors running. Odds are we’ll be turning and burning when we leave here.” He glanced toward the elevator door that exited to the garage floor. “Anything?”
Marcus shook his head. “All quiet.” He sipped at the coffee then pressed the button for the ignition. He slipped the car into gear and held it with the brake. “Stay frosty, brother. Head on a swivel.”
“Copy that.” Jay slapped his hand across the top of the car and Marcus pulled out slowly.
Jay watched the black sedan pull away and took a deep breath. He turned to his crew and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Langley, VA
* * *
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you called Ingram about shutting down the op.” Colonel Nelson’s voice barked through the phone and Darren Chesterfield cringed. He had prayed that the assistant director would keep their conversation to himself. He should have known better.
“I just thought that maybe—”
“That was your first mistake. You tried to think!” Nelson breathed heavily into the phone. “You do understand that shit rolls downhill, don’t you? Technically, Ingram is above me so when his shit hits me, it’s going to roll right over me and all over you.”
“Look Colonel, I was trying to implement what you told me to—”
“Did I tell you to call the assistant director for the NS-fucking-A and whine to him? Huh? Did I? NO! I didn’t.” Darren slumped in his chair and let the man vent. “You did that on your own.”
Darren didn’t know where the voice came from; it sounded like him, but he listened in shock as words poured from his mouth. “No, you didn’t. Instead you told me that the mercs our scapegoat ran to for help were honest to god badasses that would burn the government down just to see the fucking flames. You were the one who said we were messing with the wrong guy and that I didn’t have a clue just how much damage they could do if they ever discovered who set them up. You dropped all this shit in my lap and expected me to deal with it. You planted the fucking seed, Colonel then you bailed and left me sitting here with nothing but my dick in my hand. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Cancel the op? Find another patsy in less than three hours? Fly to fucking Pakistan and tell the operators on the ground that we changed our minds? In case you’ve forgotten, we’re past the deadline and they’ve gone radio silent!”
He stared at the phone wide eyed and swallowed hard, knowing that his entire world would soon be collapsing around him.
“You done?” Colonel Nelson’s voice was calm and even.
Chesterfield had to force himself to inhale. “Yes.” He wished his voice had sounded a little more confident, if these were to be his last words.
“I expected you to use a secondary fall guy.” The colonel’s voice was even and emotionless. “You’ve been trained to always have a Plan B. You should have had everything in place to utilize a different patsy in the event something happened to your original. That’s basic.” He waited to ensure that Chesterfield wouldn’t interrupt. “What if your chosen one had been killed or ended up in a coma? He couldn’t very well have planned and carried out your diversionary action if he wasn’t physically capable, now could he?”
Chesterfield groaned inwardly. “Colonel, there wasn’t time to implement a secondary—”
“So you’re telling me you fucked up.” He waited for Chesterfield to respond. When he didn’t, he continued. “Instead you called Ingram and he called me.”
“Colonel, I’m sorry that—”
“I’m not finished, Chesterfield.” Colonel Nelson took a deep breath and Roger braced himself for an ass chewing and possible firing. “You dropped the ball then panicked and ran to the wrong people. That started a shit storm that I think I have contained. For the moment, anyway.”
Darren swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. “The op will go as planned. If you can’t possibly find somebody else to blame for our diversion, then we have no choice but to run with your original choice.” Darren stared at the phone, unsure that he was hearing what he thought he heard. “But make no mistake. There is nothing tying the rest of us to this screw up. If things go south, and they probably will, you and only you will be left hanging out to dry.”
Darren tried again to swallow and found his mouth dry. “But, sir, I—”
“I’m not finished, Chesterfield.” He paused for a moment then continued. “If I were you, I’d put together a team of trusted operatives and find a way to plug a secondary target into the system before this op kicks off. Personally, I think it would be better to manufacture the evidence as the events unfolded rather than go with a plan that you know will come back to kick you in the ass. But that’s just me thinking aloud.”
Chesterfield found himself nodding as the man spoke.
“Regardless of what you decide, Chesterfield, know this. If you ever speak to me in that tone again, I will personally throw your chair out that fifth floor window with your dumb ass still sitting in it. You understand me?”
Darren nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry si—” He heard the
click of the phone as Colonel Nelson hung up on him.
He sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Where in the hell am I supposed to find another fall guy for this?”
He sat up suddenly and picked up his phone again. “Gather everybody who isn’t in the middle of something and meet me in the conference room in five minutes.” He hung up and glanced at his watch. “Please, god, let there be time…”
Al-Abadi Residence,
Karachi, Pakistan
* * *
MUHAMMED AL-ABADI stood in front of the full length mirror and adjusted his kameez so that it draped fully. Like most traditional men of the region, he wore the salwar kameez when he was expected to make a public appearance and this demonstration would be very public. It had to be.
He turned to one of his body guards and nodded. “You are ready? The insurgents will be expecting me to be there. You have a proper excuse?”
“You have political dealings in town that require your presence.” The man bowed his head slightly.
Muhammed nodded. “I’m most certain they heard of this protest today.” He exhaled hard and stared again at his reflection. “If they give you any trouble…”
“We will take our weapons and leave. They forfeit their deposit.”
Muhammed smiled slightly and nodded. “Excellent.” He turned and snapped his fingers at the other body guard. “Prepare the car.”
“The Mercedes?”
“Of course the Mercedes. Wahid will be at the weapons trade in the Rover.” He shook his head and wondered why he ever hired such an idiot to protect him. Qasim was thick in the head but he was large and strong. He was an intimidating figure when they were out in public. “Bring the car down and meet me at the elevator.”
Muhammed turned slightly from side to side and stared at his face. Should he wear a smagh or a traditional turban? He held up the pre-tied turban and placed it on his head. He continued to stare at his image in the mirror. He wanted to look regal for the cameras, but not opulent. He didn’t want to appear over reaching or give the impression that he was acting above himself. He replaced the turban with a blue smagh and studied the image. He shook his head. Definitely the turban.
He strode out of the room with purpose. He donned his sunglasses even though the sun had just broken the horizon. He wanted the masses that collected for this demonstration to remember him for years to come. He had to strike just the right poses for the cameras and his speeches were committed to memory.
Today Muhammed al-Abadi would forever be remembered.
14
Karachi, Pakistan
* * *
ROGER WATCHED AS the lights above the elevator lit up and he studied the doors. He absently reached up to his face and pulled the mask down over his nose and chin. “We got activity.”
Jay nodded and pulled his own mask into place. “Look alive people.” He keyed his radio and whispered into it, “We have movement.”
“I’m watching,” was the only response.
Steve Gibbons sat poised at the side door of the van, ready to pull it quickly open so that Deric and Bridger could grab al-Abadi while he and Gregg laid down cover fire if need be.
The Russian had been unusually quiet during the ride over and now that he was set up in his cozy little nest, he smiled to himself as the doors to the elevator opened. He focused on the figure that stepped out and immediately made for the Range Rover.
“He’s alone,” Jay whispered to the others. “Stay ready.”
He watched as one of the body guards started the Rover and pulled out of the space. Jay cursed silently and keyed his coms. “Ryan, follow the Rover.”
“Copy that.”
Roger sat low in the seat and stared out the window at the retreating vehicle in the side mirror. He caught movement through the windshield and craned his neck to see what vehicle was working its way down from the upper decks. “Incoming.”
Jay leaned back and peered around the door of the van as a black Mercedes pulled alongside the elevator and parked. “Shit. He may be using a different car.”
Roger shook his head. “If he’s using that car, we’ve got three tons of steel between us and the target.”
Jay keyed the coms. “Stand by.”
The elevator doors opened and Muhammed al-Abadi stood in the open doorway, his eyes down to the phone in his hands. He stepped out slowly, his fingers tapping something as he walked.
Jay cursed then keyed his coms. “Now!”
The side door to the van slid open and Bridger and Deric Bundy stepped out, weapons up and at the ready as they advanced on the target. Gregg Soares rolled out and brought his own weapon to bear as Steve jumped out and went wide.
The four operators converged on the idling Mercedes and Gregg held the driver at bay with a green dot that painted the windshield and the man’s chest. Muhammed al-Abadi glanced up at the motion and froze, his eyes wide and unsure what to do next.
Bridger pulled a hood over his face while Deric bound his hands with flex-cuffs. They dragged the man toward the van as Jay started the vehicle and threw it into reverse.
Muhammed al-Abadi grunted and yipped as he was tossed unceremoniously into the van and the four operators crawled in over him.
“Go, go go!” Steve called as he pulled the van door shut.
Jay was on the coms as they squealed the tires leaving the abduction area. “Change of plans Marcus! We can’t all fit in just your transpo.”
“On it.” Marcus put the Audi into gear and watched for the van that came down from the upper levels far too quickly. “Time to sacrifice a perfectly good ride.”
He waited until he saw the Mercedes then accelerated. He pulled into the car’s path and slowed, waiting for the collision that he knew was inevitable.
The Mercedes collided with the rear quarter panel of the Audi and rammed the car into the center concrete divider that separated the entrance and exit. Marcus was thrown against the driver’s side window so hard that he almost saw stars. Although the window held, the rear and passenger windows shattered, covering him in fragments.
He could hear the horn of the Mercedes echoing in the lower level of the garage and a quick glance showed him the body guard draped over the steering wheel.
Marcus groaned as he tried to open the driver’s door, only to find it held fast by the concrete divider. He slid over the console, into the passenger seat and forced himself through the window opening. Another quick glance at the Mercedes told him that the driver wouldn’t be coming to any time soon, so he carefully extracted himself from the wreck and stepped out of the parking garage.
He glanced to the building where he knew Teplov was watching from and waved as he keyed his radio. “How about a ride?” He gave a weak smile then leaned against the hood of the Audi’s remains.
Karachi, Pakistan
* * *
JAY SLOWED THE van as they entered the main street of Karachi and weaved in and out of traffic. His eyes darted in every direction to ensure they weren’t being followed. He reached over and pulled Roger’s mask up. “Not in public.”
Roger stared at him wide eyed and nodded absently. “Sorry. It’s my first kidnapping.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Steve responded. He reached across Roger and picked up Jay’s radio. “Baba Yaga, Vulture three. You got Marcus, over?”
The radio sputtered back, “Affirmative. En route to beta point.”
“Copy.” Steve tossed the radio back to the console and leaned back. “No fatalities. I’d call that a good day.”
Jay grunted as the van weaved through traffic and made its way to the rendezvous point. Once the vehicles had been ditched and torched, they’d make their way to the warehouse where they intended to hold al-Abadi.
Teplov pulled into the abandoned yard just as Jay finished pouring the diesel fuel onto the vehicles. “I can watch over this while you make your escape.” He reached for the lighter.
“The first sound of response vehicles, lights out. Make yo
ur way to the warehouse.”
Marcus stepped forward. “I’ll watch from the street. Hurry up and get out of here.”
Jay clapped the man on the back then turned for the old 4X4 truck they had stashed the previous day. “Keep his head down.” He pointed to Jim and Deric, who held al-Abadi below the line of site of the rear windows.
“I demand to know—” Muhammed exclaimed just before Deric jabbed a pointed finger into his solar plexus, shutting him up.
“You’ll speak when we tell you.” He pushed the man harder into the floor of the truck as Jay started the engine and pulled out onto the deserted street.
The men rode in silence as Jay navigated the industrial part of the city. He pulled the truck into the parking area of the warehouse they had chosen and Bobby jumped out to open the large, sliding doors. He waited for the truck to clear, then shut them.
Jim and Steve were pulling al-Abadi from the back floor of the truck as Deric placed a metal chair in front of of four spotlights that were set up in the middle of the warehouse. The pair unceremoniously dumped their captive into the chair then cut his flexcuffs. They reattached his hands to the arms of the chair with fresh zip-ties. Jim nodded to Deric, who flipped on the lights. When he was certain that al-Abadi couldn’t identify the men, he pulled the hood from his face and watched as the man squinted his eyes and tried to turn his face from the searing whiteness.
“W-what do you want with me? I am just a simple man. I have no—”
“You’re a terrorist and an arms dealer. We both know that is true.” Jay shouted from behind the lights. He stepped into the circle and allowed himself to be silhouetted, his face in shadows. “My question is, why would the Americans want to assassinate you?”
Flags of The Forgoten Page 13
