Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  His eyes were flinty. "Go on."

  "First, the means. Mariyah had the Ipatiev chest, and you knew where she kept it. Who else could have substituted the file? It meant when the house was burgled, all they stole was the fake file which you'd inserted to fool them."

  He shook his head. "That's crazy, why would I do that?"

  "Why? Because the file was doing nothing hidden in Mariyah's house in that chest. You wanted to light a fire, to panic Putin into giving your pals what they wanted over Ukraine, without actually having to hand anything over. Nothing crazy, like Svoboda or Pamyat were looking to do. All you did was switch the files. It meant you'd have him over a barrel for the foreseeable future."

  He was shaking his head. "It's a fascinating story, but that's all it is, a story."

  Raider ignored him. "As for motive, you were involved with Malenkov, weren't you? Exporting Mexican coke to Eastern Europe."

  "You're crazy. I'm a lawyer, not a drug dealer."

  Raider noticed Paul Vann give a subtle signal to the four men guarding him, and he smiled to himself as they closed around him. If he needed any confirmation of his suspicions, it was enough.

  "Why does anybody deal drugs? To make them very rich, very quickly. What was the plan, Paul? Buy out a rival law firm, or enter politics? A Senate seat doesn't come cheap. A couple of million dollars a month for moving coke from Mexico to Eastern Europe would come in mighty useful."

  The man was still shaking his head, but the expression on his face said it all.

  "Maybe you wanted to buy a desert island and develop a luxury golf resort. I don't care. What I do care about is you putting my family a risk. When you switched that file, you put in motion a chain of events that almost got my daughter killed. It also got a lot of other people killed, some of them innocent."

  He thought of Elena, and right then he wanted more than anything to put a gun to this man's head and pull the trigger.

  "You've got it wrong," the lawyer was still shaking his head, "It just didn't happen."

  "No? What about opportunity? It came when Mariyah told you about the file when she was worried about its security. You saw the chance to put the Putin file into play. Then it all went wrong, and once Svoboda and Pamyat got wind of it, it became a real war, a shooting war. A lot of men are dead, all because of you."

  His face was drained of color, but if it wasn't true, Raider wondered why the four bodyguards had their machine pistols pointed at him.

  "We're leaving now," Vann said, "This is a ridiculous story, and I won't hear my good reputation being torn apart by some washed-up Navy SEAL. Tell Mariyah I'll send the corporate jet back for her and her daughter."

  "You're not planning on offering us a lift home?"

  Vann's stare was fierce. "I'll offer you a lift into hell, Raider. And if you breathe one word of what you've just said to me when you get back to the States, I'll drag you through every court in the land and see you ruined."

  He watched the elegant man stalk out, flanked by his guards. After a few minutes, Waite and Al came in from outside.

  "We just saw Paul leave. He didn't look happy. Was there a problem?"

  He grimaced. "That's one way of putting it, Al. I'll tell you about it later."

  Mariyah emerged from the emergency room. She rushed over to him, and for the first time since their separation and divorce, she hugged him.

  "She's okay, thanks to you. Suffering from shock and some dehydration, but they've put her on a drip, and they'll keep her in overnight. Where's my dad?"

  "He had to rush off, said he had some business to attend to."

  She looked disappointed. He explained the jet would be back to pick her and Abigail up for the return journey to the United States.

  "You're coming with us?"

  "Not yet. We still have business to attend to."

  They stayed at the hospital overnight, and by morning, Abigail was awake. To her delight, they conveyed her and her mother to the local airport in the Rolls, and he saw her onto the aircraft.

  "You're not coming with us, Daddy?"

  "Not this time, darling. I'll be home in a few days."

  They swapped hugs and kisses, and even Mariyah hugged him again.

  "I don't know what to say. You've been wonderful. If I could ever do anything for you, just say the word."

  "Sure. You'd better get going. Have a safe journey."

  He waved them onto the aircraft, and the door closed. The Gulfstream soared into the clouds of Southern Russia, and only then, when she was safe, did he explain what he planned.

  "First, we need to locate Dragan. He's in trouble. Malenkov took him, and he had a dacha at Novorossiysk before he built that new one in Gelendzhik. I reckon he must be there. Where else would he stash him out of the way? It had to be somewhere comfortable, acceptable to Dragan. When the action died down, he could then make deals with him. He would have convinced him it was for his own security, or some crap like that." He looked at Joe. "How long will it take to get us to Novorossiysk in a Rolls Royce?"

  They set out almost immediately. It was a journey of about forty klicks, and they reclined in the soft leather upholstery as Joe lovingly guided the big old car along Highway E97. When they drove along the narrow lane leading to the dacha, they almost ran down a familiar figure walking along the track. Alexander Dragan. He stared at them, astonished.

  "What...what's going on? What are you doing here?"

  "We've come to give you a ride to the airport."

  "I don't understand. How did you know I was here? Last night I was guarded by Yuri Malenkov's men. This morning when I awoke, they'd gone. Cleared out. I was hoping to find a cab."

  "No need, we have something better, the Rolls."

  "Yes. I still don't understand. They told me you were dead, killed in that assault on the Aleksey Arakcheyev Museum."

  "Reports of our death were premature, Dragan."

  He managed a smile. "Obviously. Is there any news of Elena?"

  "She's dead."

  To his credit, Dragan screwed up his eyes, as if he was about to shed a real tear. "I really liked her, believe it or not. What happened?"

  He explained how she'd met her death, including her bravery at the end. Then he described the attack on Malenkov's compound, and the way the Russian had deceived him.

  "Yuri was two timing me? I don't believe it. He protected me after I was arrested by the FSB near the museum. He was hiding me here to stop Putin's FSB thugs from putting a bullet in me. He said he was getting me out of the country in the next few days."

  "He was holding you to stop you finding out about his real business dealings."

  He was still shaking his head in disbelief.

  "There's one thing you haven't told me. If this is true, what's it all about? Who is behind it, do you have a name?"

  "Paul Vann. He was running a drug supply chain with Yuri Malenkov. They transported some of their product using Dragan International aircraft."

  He almost toppled and fell. It was as if he'd suffered a minor heart attack.

  "Paul! He's my best friend, my legal advisor. To put his own family at risk would be the act of a lunatic."

  "It's the act of a desperate man. A desperate man making himself rich with illegal narcotics."

  He was still unconvinced when they climbed back into the Rolls and headed back to the airport. By the time they arrived, he'd begun to understand. Dragan summoned one of his aircraft, and they waited in the departure lounge for its arrival. They were tired, exhausted after the past few days. And Dragan was still stunned by the enormity of the betrayal. While they were resting and trying to come to terms with what they'd been through, two armed policeman confronted them. Unlike the cops, they were all unarmed. Carrying weapons into an international airport was not best practice.

  "You are John Raider?"

  The man spoke passable English, and Raider knew instantly; the arrest warrant had surfaced.

  "I'm Raider."

  "You will come with u
s. We have a warrant for your arrest."

  "Now wait a minute!" Dragan got to his feet and confronted them. They hadn't seen a multibillionaire when he got real angry. They were seeing one now, "This man is a friend of mine. There's no way you're taking him anywhere, not without full and proper legal representation. Show me the warrant?"

  The man handed him a crumpled piece of paper, and he quickly scanned it.

  "This is nonsense!" He tossed it back at them, "I need ten minutes."

  "What for, Sir?" the cop asked. His tone was not quite so dismissive.

  "To contact the Kremlin and get them to cancel this piece of rubbish."

  While they waited, he used his satphone to make the call. He spoke in fluent, rapid Russian and appeared to transfer from one person to another. Finally, he straightened, almost at attention, and his voice was different. The authoritative, bullying tone had changed. Now he was friendly, a businessman making a deal. As far as Raider was aware, there was only one man in Russia able to command such respect from Alexander Dragan.

  He spoke for several minutes, and then passed the phone to Raider.

  "He wants to speak to you."

  The voice on the other end of the line was just as he remembered it, almost robotic, cold, mechanical, and brooking no argument or discussion.

  "You killed Yuri Malenkov?"

  What was the point in denying it? "I did, Sir."

  He waited for several seconds before the voice continued, "He deserved it."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  "Now get out of my country. The warrant is lifted, but if you ever come back, I'm sure we can find somewhere comfortable for you to stay. A gulag in Siberia would be appropriate."

  "I understand, Sir."

  "Make sure you do. One more thing, there is a package waiting at the airport. You will collect it from security. I have given them your name. Malenkov wanted me to have it, but it's not the way I do business. Use it wisely."

  What the hell could that be? A Polonium surprise?

  A click sounded as he terminated the call. When he looked around, the cops had disappeared.

  "My aircraft is coming in from Moscow" Dragan told him, "I sent them to collect Andy Lorak. He wants to die in the United States, and I believe we can make his last days more comfortable over there. Medicine in Moscow is still rather primitive."

  "You don't say."

  He shrugged. "I suggest we get ready to board. I believe you've outstayed your welcome. We all have."

  "Yeah, I get that impression, too. I have a call to make first. I'll be there in time to take off."

  He went alone to the airport security office and knocked on the door. It opened, and a man in the uniform of a militia major looked out.

  "Mr. Raider?"

  "Yes."

  He nodded and handed him a small package. "This is for you."

  The door slammed shut. He looked at the package and tried to decipher the Cyrillic writing. Two words jumped out at him. The first was Polonium, and he almost tossed the package in the trash. The second word made him keep hold of it. It was the price of a life.

  Chapter Twelve

  They slept for most of the long journey over the Atlantic. An hour before they landed, Dragan came to sit with Raider. He ordered fresh coffee for both of them, and Raider drank it down, feeling the caffeine spurting around his bloodstream. He waited for Dragan to break the silence.

  "Andy is starting to respond to the antidote."

  "That's good news."

  There was a curtained off compartment at the rear of the aircraft, and Lorak's gurney was behind the screen, tended by a doctor and a nurse.

  "Why did Putin do it?" Dragan asked, "He could have just denied all knowledge of Polonium. It's not like him to give something away for nothing."

  "Who knows why he handed it over? He's a hard, ruthless man, no question. Although it's just possible he doesn't have a cruel, sadistic streak, not like Malenkov."

  He looked doubtful, and he pondered the puzzle for several seconds.

  "This business still isn't finished," Dragan finally said.

  "Paul Vann."

  "Paul Vann, and the Putin file," he corrected him, "That was the price for your release from the Russian Federation."

  "So that was it. I thought it was too easy."

  "Yes. Perhaps the antidote was a gesture of good faith, who knows? However, a bargain is a bargain. Your job is to track down Paul Vann and retrieve the file."

  "That's the agreement you made on the phone?"

  "It was the only way, yes. The price was the file, and Paul Vann."

  "He hasn't gone back to his law firm?"

  He grimaced. "I wish it was that simple. I made some calls while you were asleep; apparently, he's informed his company he won't be returning to the United States for the time being. His corporate practice has offices in several countries, including one in Vietnam. He's intending to spend some time there, conducting an audit and helping develop new lines of business."

  "Vietnam had no extradition treaty."

  Dragan smiled. "He's a corrupt piece of scum, but he's no fool."

  "Do we know where he is now?"

  "My people checked his flight plan, and he's not going flying direct to Vietnam. Paul is making a stopover in Mexico, and my guess is he's tying up deals with his narcotics suppliers. His aircraft landed a couple of hours ago at Abraham Gonzalez International Airport."

  "That's in Ciudad Juarez. The drug trafficking capital of Mexico."

  "Correct."

  "It's also the murder capital of Mexico."

  "Yes, I believe it is."

  He thought for a few moments. "When and where do we land, Dragan?"

  "We land in one hour. At Abraham Gonzalez International Airport in Mexico."

  The other three men were sitting nearby, listening. He glanced at them.

  "Deal or no deal, Putin or no, I'm taking this bastard down, no matter what."

  "We're taking the bastard down," Waite amended.

  "Don't forget the Putin file," Dragan reminded them, "And remember, you're about to visit one of the most violent cities in the world. The kind of people you're going up against won't hesitate to send in an army to kill you, if they think you threaten their business."

  "We know what we're up against."

  Dragan hesitated for a few seconds, obviously thinking about something. Then he smiled.

  "I'd like to be in at the end. You'll need a good sniper."

  Raider grimaced. "The last time you tried something like that, they arrested you. Snipers are supposed to be sneaky."

  "I won't make the same mistake again, I promise you. I feel bad about Paul Vann. I've trusted him for so many years, and now I discover he's been using me. As well as shipping illegal narcotics on my aircraft."

  "You shipped illegal weapons to Ukrainian nationalists," he pointed out.

  "There was a damn good reason, and you know it. I didn't make any money out of it. In fact, it cost me money. A lot of money."

  "I guess so. Okay, you're in. We'll need weapons when we land in Mexico. Handguns, assault rifles, you know what kind of thing."

  He nodded. "In Ciudad Juarez you can buy anything, short of a nuclear weapon. Even that could probably be arranged, given enough money. I'll see to it. First, we have to locate Paul Vann. He won't have checked into a hotel under his own name."

  "I have an idea about that," Raider replied, "His visit to Ciudad Juarez relates to his drug empire, so he'll want to finalize deals before he vanishes into Vietnam, right?"

  "Yes, I assume so."

  "In which case, he'll need to talk to his main suppliers. I happen to know where I can find someone who may be able to help, one of the kingpins."

  "You're serious? Those people won't talk to anyone outside of their drug families."

  "This one will."

  * * *

  He lounged on the couch in his office, watching a porno flick on the giant flat screen TV. Esmeralda, his current whore, knelt at
the head of the couch, gently massaging his shoulders. She touched a recent bruise, and he flinched.

  "Not there, you fucking puta! I told you to leave it alone."

  "I'm sorry, Pablo. I will be more careful. Can I get you a drink, or anything?"

  Cuevas scowled. "You can get me a new girlfriend if you're not more careful. You'll wind up in a shallow grave in the desert."

  "Pablo, I'm so sorry. I..."

  The door swung open, and he shouted, "Edmundo, get the fuck out of here. I'm busy."

  "It's not Edmundo."

  He whirled at the unfamiliar voice.

  Fuck, a Norte Americano. Where the hell are my guards? How come they let some Gringo into my office? Who is he, DEA?

  Yet the man framed in the doorway looked familiar. Dark blonde hair, intense gray eyes, and medium height; he looked tough and competent.

  A soldier, no question! Have the Americans come for me, Special Forces?

  "Who are you? Where are my guards?"

  "The name's Raider. You'll need some replacements for your guards."

  "Raider?" He looked puzzled.

  "You remember that business with Jason Kennedy in the Nevada Desert?"

  "You! You're the man who killed my men for no reason."

  "They were trying to kill me and my employer at the time, Cuevas."

  He didn't argue the point. "What is this, revenge? Are you here to kill me, too?"

  The girl behind him squealed in fear, and he shouted at her to shut up.

  "I'm here to save your life."

  "You are? How much will it cost me?"

  "Nothing. I just need you to do me a favor."

  "A favor, that's it? And then you don't kill me, or come after me?"

  "That's right. We'll call it quits."

  He thought for less than a second. "What do I have to do?"

  Raider explained at length, and Cuevas nodded his agreement.

  * * *

  While they were waiting, he contacted Angelina, his fashion model girlfriend. She told him she was in Cancun, Mexico, and he agreed to try and link up with her when his job was finished, so they could enjoy a few days R and R. It was as good a place as any to go to ground, a beautiful resort and a beautiful girlfriend to spend time with. Besides, his travel options remained limited. He may have escaped the Russian authorities, but the Feds still had his name flagged. As long as they didn't know he was in Mexico, the Federales were unlikely to bother him.