Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  "What are you thinking?"

  I gestured at the wharves. "This. The normal world."

  "It's what we fight to protect," she murmured." I didn't reply, and she continued, "But the war is over, maybe it's time to start planning for the peace."

  "You know it's not that simple."

  A pause. "I know. What are you planning?"

  "Jeffs. I'm going to hunt the bastard down and kill him."

  She grimaced. "It's illegal in the US."

  "So is parking on a hydrant. He has to pay, you know that."

  "You're sure it was him across Alexandria harbor?"

  "I'm sure. Every step of the way he's been there, screwing with us, trying to extract revenge for Afghanistan. He blamed me for messing up his career, but it wasn't like that. His stupidity cost scores of lives, and he had to be removed."

  "All that happened is his stupidity turned to fury," she said, "It became an insane desire for revenge, which meant scores more lives were lost."

  She didn't say Sabrina, but I knew she meant it, and she knew I knew. There was also a message she was trying to convey. Revenge kills. She was right. Revenge did kill, and that is exactly what I intended to do. But revenge is a dish best sampled cold. I didn't want to toss the idea around right now while we were standing in the French sunshine, even if it was Marseille.

  "Have you been in contact with Smith?"

  "I have. I called him as soon as we came within range of a cell tower. He said he's been tracking the progress of the ship, and there'll be a car waiting to collect us. They're taking us straight to the airport where we are booked on a local flight to Paris. He’s arranged for first class tickets on a United Airlines Boeing 757 flying to Washington. Because of the time difference, we’ll be home in time for dinner tonight." She gave me a shy grin, "I know a nice restaurant. I thought we could enjoy meal together, kind of a welcome home celebration."

  "How many tickets?"

  She looked puzzled and then it clicked. "Oh, yeah, three tickets, of course. Isra is coming with us, all the way."

  I was glad. He'd saved our lives back at Alexandria, but something was bothering me, and I couldn't put my finger on it. Only that it was something bad. I couldn't work it out. Finally, Isra joined us on the deck. We shook hands with Captain Nakos, and Elena Nakos embraced her friend warmly.

  "Isra, make sure you keep in touch," Elena smiled, "We should meet up again soon."

  "I'll call when we reach the States."

  Captain Nakos smiled at their friendly farewell, but then he looked at us with a puzzled expression. "Isn't that a male name? Isra?"

  Winter replied with a poker face, "I've heard that people named Isra could be either a boy or a girl."

  It must've been a sudden swirl of dust that made me hold the rail to stop myself from choking. He seemed satisfied, and we walked down the gangplank where a man was waiting with a hand written sign. 'Winter Moss'. Smith had been as good as his word, and our ride was waiting for us. He took us through the squalid streets of the Marseille dock area, packed with people of every nationality, color, and culture. The predominant mode of dress was Islamic. France was clearly storing up a mountain of trouble for itself in the near future. The driver was CIA, and we handed him our weapons in return for the tickets to Paris before we climbed out of the vehicle to check in at the airport. One hour after takeoff, we began the descent for Paris Charles de Gaulle. Three hours of utter boredom in the raucous departures terminal, and we were boarding the wide-body Boeing for the transatlantic flight.

  An hour after takeoff, Winter put her head close to mine.

  "Is there any way I can persuade you not to do this?"

  I thought for a few moments before I replied. "Then what? Jeffs is some kind of a psycho. Smith won't listen because of their past relationship, which means Jeffs will keep going until one or other of us is dead. He's that kind of guy. It's the way his head is wired."

  She looked thoughtful and then inclined her head. "I accept what you say, but please, Schaeffer, let me help." I started shaking my head but she went on, "You'll need me because I'm on the inside. Otherwise, he could come at you from any angle and hit you before you realize it."

  "It's been tried before."

  "Tell that to Brad, Manuel, and Niall," she shot back.

  My stomach churned but she was right, and I nodded. "Okay, together it is."

  She smiled. Women are like that. They like to be right.

  "Where do we start?" she asked after a few moments.

  "We need to be certain he is back in the States. Although, I'm pretty sure he is."

  "Why?"

  "Because he knows I'm on the way back. He'll want to keep tabs on me and look for some way to kill me."

  "But surely he won't go that far, not on home turf?"

  "Maybe, maybe not," I muttered.

  I didn't want to spell out the reality for her, not yet. We were sitting on wide, luxurious leather seats; the backs reclined, and with our every wish for food and drink catered to. The carpet was thicker, the soundproofing more efficient, and the cabin attendants more attentive. Even the lighting in the bathroom had a soft glow. What more could you want? But everything comes to an end, and in this case, it was when the huge tires touched the tarmac at Reagan National Airport, Washington DC.

  In truth, I had no idea what kind of reception Jeffs would have waiting for us. He was no fool, and Smith would have told him of our activities in Egypt. He'd know the flight we were coming in on, the vehicle sent to collect us from the airport, and the hotel they had booked for us. I turned it all over in my mind, and it came down to a simple mathematical equation. Liam Schaeffer on the loose spelled trouble for Joseph Jeffs. Liam Schaeffer dead spelled no trouble for Joseph Jeffs. Solution, easy; kill Liam Schaeffer.

  Which meant I had to locate and kill the CIA supervisor before he did the same to me. Once again, I would be doing the job I'd always done best. Maybe I was the last of the Hunter Killers, but if I went out, I'd make damn sure it was with one helluva bang, unless Jeffs struck first. He'd gone too far to step back. He'd have to try to finish what he'd started. The question in my mind was where would he strike? A long gun, a sniper shot across a crowded street, another fake murder rap? No, that was too complicated; a bomb maybe, hidden in the hotel room? I’d need to check and double check every possibility. Even though deep down, I knew it may not be enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  Reagan National Airport, Washington D.C.

  The car was a black Ford Explorer and the driver an ageing, slightly overweight guy with a cheerful smile anchored to his face.

  "Call me Chuck. Let me help you toss your luggage in back, and we’ll head into the city. Nice to see you, Miss Moss, and you Miss," he said to Isra, who'd repaired his hair and makeup several times during the flight and looked like a catwalk model. Well, almost. They climbed in back and I sat next to Chuck.

  "I'll bet you've had some fun with the young one," he murmured, leaning close to me so the passengers in back couldn't hear, "She looks a real firecracker."

  "Looks can be deceptive," I replied.

  He shook his head. "Not with her. She’s a babe."

  I gave him a polite grin. "Suit yourself. Where are we going?"

  "You're in luck." He gave me a sickly grin, almost enough for his false teeth to drop out, "They've blown the budget out of the water. Your party has a suite reserved at the Hay Adams. You must have heard of it? It's opposite the White House, on Lafayette Square. Jesus Christ, it's one of the most prestigious hotels in in downtown D.C."

  Who hadn’t heard of the Hay Adams? But I was uneasy. It reminded me of those nutjob Roman emperors, was it Caligula or Nero? All booze, broads, and blood fests! Whatever, they used to outwit their intended victims by giving them a huge feast before sending them to the execution block next morning. I had a strong suspicion that whatever else their faults were, these guys had studied that piece of history very closely.

  We reached Lafayette Square, and C
huck escorted us to reception. He made sure we checked in and received our keys without any fuss. After all, we weren’t exactly carrying a heap of Louis Vuitton luggage. He was a friendly guy and didn't know he was playing the part of Judas, putting us into the firing line they’d prepared for us. Whatever that was. We shook hands.

  "If there's anything more I can do for you, you just let me know."

  I should have asked him to whistle up a platoon of Navy Seals to mount guard. He pressed a card into my hand and I thanked him. We watched as he left the hotel with a friendly wave, and then we walked toward the elevators. Our suite was on the sixth floor, and Winter went to press the button. I stopped her and pressed the button for the basement.

  "What's going on?" She gave me a puzzled glance, as the car arrived and I hustled them inside.

  "We're not staying at the Hay Adams."

  "We're not?" Isra asked in astonishment. I almost laughed. He sounded so appalled at the prospect of his dreams of a millionaire vacation going down the crapper, "This is one of the finest hotels in Washington. It'll be wonderful after everything we've been through. Anyway, I was looking forward to..."

  "Forget it. We're not staying here. We’re not staying in Washington. We'll hire a car and head north."

  Winter was shaking her head. "North! Canada, Alaska, where? What are you up to, Schaeffer?"

  "I'll tell you where we going when we're on the way."

  They fell silent as the elevator descended, taking with it their hopes of a luxury stop-off in the nation's capital. I could see the attraction, restaurants, galleries, museums, parks, and plenty of upmarket stores; as well a snipers lurking on rooftops, and sneaky bastards planting bombs under your car. Everything has a price. I managed to hire a car, a Jeep Wrangler, perfect for the conditions we could encounter as we drove up toward the Canadian border. I intended heading for Rockport, my shack close to the beach. Home turf advantage. Whatever Jeffs planned to try, I had a better chance of seeing it coming there, than from the gilded trap of a hotel room in Washington.

  It was a ten-hour journey to Maine, and we drove through the night, Winter and I taking turns at the wheel. Isra offered to do a stint, but there was the little matter of a valid driving license and I refused. I finally gave them the news about our destination and told them where we were headed.

  "Is Rockport a big city, somewhere I can do some shopping?" Isra asked.

  I laughed. "I've known bigger."

  As dawn's light began to light up the sky, we stopped at a diner for breakfast. We were exhausted, since we'd traveled almost non-stop from Marseille and needed as much strong coffee as we could physically pour down our throats. The television was switched on and tuned to the early morning news. One banner headline caught my attention, and I called the waitress over.

  "Could you turn up the volume?"

  She looked at the screen. "You have folks in Washington?"

  "Nobody special."

  She increased the sound, and we heard the newsreader's grave tones.

  'Police are still investigating the cause of the explosion. Early indications are it was caused by a strange and unexpected leak of butane gas, although terrorism can't be ruled out. The suite was almost completely destroyed, as well as several of the surrounding rooms. The Fire Service and Bomb Squad are still investigating, and so far they’ve not given us a figure on the number of fatalities. Metro will be making a public statement shortly. This is…'

  Winter raised her eyebrows. "Good call, Schaeffer. I should have seen it coming."

  "It's difficult to get used to the idea that the people you work with are trying to kill you."

  She grimaced. “I hope you have some weapons at your place. It looks like we’ll need them. I only wish I could contact the Agency and ask them for help. I’m worried the moment I mention anything about Jeffs trying to kill us, they'll think I've totally flipped."

  "The only way forward is to handle this ourselves," I told her, "We’ll be ready for him, and when he comes, I'll kill him."

  I thought of Sabrina. Mukhtar’s people pulled the trigger, but Jeffs gave them the means, the motive, and the opportunity.

  "You think he'll turn up in Rockport?"

  "No question."

  * * *

  Rockport, Maine

  We left the diner and two hours later were pulling up next to my shack. I hadn't been away for long, but even so the place looked forlorn. I guess I was looking at it differently, no longer through the clouded eyes of a falling down drunk. I was different and saw everything with the clearer vision of a man on a mission. Not 20/20, not yet, but I was working on it. I opened the door, and we went into a scene of total chaos. They’d wrecked the place, and my stuff was strewn like it had been hit be a tornado, at least, what was left of it; clothes, books, even foodstuffs, cutlery and dishes from the kitchen. Isra looked around doubtfully.

  "Maybe you need someone to help you keep the place tidy."

  “Thanks for the suggestion, Isra,” I smiled, "If we're going to stay here for a few days, I'll need a hand to clean up."

  Winter was surveying the devastation. She looked at me, her eyebrows raised.

  "Jeffs?"

  I nodded. "Jeffs."

  "We need weapons," she said, leaving no room for doubt, “Lots of them.”

  We'd had no choice but to abandon our handguns before we boarded the aircraft at Marseille Airport. Fortunately, my long years spent fighting America's enemies had left me prepared for such an eventuality. I took them outside to the small workshop behind the shack. As expected, Jeffs' goons had done a good job of leaving it in complete turmoil. Tools, cans of paint and oil were lying in a pile of wreckage. Except when I pressed a particular knot in the wooden planking on the back wall, the entire section swung open. Inside was my personal armory. A couple of Colt .45s, a Colt Junior Automatic ACP, the tiny .25 caliber pocket pistol, as well as a small selection of assault rifles. Two M-16 A4s, a pair of Kalashnikov AK-47s; and even a light machine gun, a Kalashnikov PK I'd taken from a couple of Taliban fighters who wouldn't have any use for their weapons in paradise. I tucked one of the big Colts into my waistband and handed the other one to Winter. She expertly checked it over. Isra grabbed the Colt Junior and gleefully stuffed it into his purse. He turned to me with a huge smile.

  "It's perfect. It leaves plenty of room for my makeup. Every girl should have one."

  “I’m with you there, Isra,” Winter replied.

  "Just be careful who you shoot," I admonished her, "We’re not in Egypt any more, or even Afghanistan. They take a dim view of shooting off concealed weapons. Besides, you need to keep that thing under wraps. It's illegal."

  They were both in silent. Then Winter stared at me, and she burst into peals of laughter. Isra soon joined in.

  "What? What did I say?"

  "Schaeffer, you sound like a pompous ass. We just about blasted our way out of Egypt, leaving behind a trail of bodies and destruction. Only to come back to the US to run into Jeffs and his Agency goons, who just destroyed a good chunk of the Hay Adams in Washington. We'll be lucky if we survive, real lucky. What the fuck does legality have to do with it? The best we can hope for when they come for us is we blast everything that moves, and even then I doubt we’ll survive. I don't think being careful enters into it."

  I smiled. "Point taken. But still, keep the gun out of sight until it's absolutely necessary to show it."

  Isra pulled a face, and I heard him mumble, “Yes, Grandpa.”

  We spent the morning cleaning up, and then we all went into town to buy lunch and pick up some groceries to replace everything they’d ruined. When we came out of the diner, Isra insisted he wanted to look around the little town alone. I was dubious.

  "When they find out we're here, they’ll come. Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?"

  "I'm sure. Anyhow, I don't think they want me. You're the prime target. Maybe Winter as well. I'll be fine."

  I nodded. "If you're sure. Call me when you're ready to
come back, and I'll pick you up in the Jeep."

  We left the diminutive figure, still wearing the floral dress that Elena Nakos had donated on the Adriatic Ocean. No doubt Isra wanted to check out the boutiques and buy cosmetics and other stuff. It wasn’t our business. We returned to the shack and stowed away the groceries. Before we went to catch up on some sleep, Winter wanted to take a look around. I took her down to the beach, and she stood watching the whitetops roll in. After a while, she turned to me with a smile.

  "It's beautiful, Schaeffer. Now I know way you want to live up here."

  "You don't know the half of it. I didn't come here just for the landscape. I came for the seclusion. I’d had it with people. After that business in Afghanistan, I needed to get away, and this was about as remote as I could get."

  She smiled. "I can't argue with that. Can we go back now? I'm getting cold."

  A thick fog was lying offshore on the far edges of West Penobscot Bay. It was nothing unusual, to the east was the landmass of Nova Scotia and beyond, the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. We couldn’t see far; the dark, impenetrable fog was still moving slowly down on us. Despite the wild beauty of the Maine coast, there would soon only be the cold hostility inside that threatening mass of fog. We returned to the shack, and the effects of the long night drive overtook us. We stripped off and climbed into my bed together. I sensed that Winter wanted to make love, but nothing could be further from my mind, and I gently fended off her advances.

  I was back where it all started, with the phone call from Brad Olsen. The wheel had turned full circle, but instead of returning with any kind of resolution, I'd brought my troubles back home. I fell asleep, enjoying the soft warmth of Winter lying next to me. It was something I was certain I could quickly get used to.

  It was dark when I awoke. Winter had left, but I heard her moving around in the kitchen. I climbed out of bed in my shorts, threw on a coat to ward off the chill, and went to find her. She was stirring some kind of a meat stew, and it smelt wonderful, nothing like my own efforts in the past. Despite the chill, she was dressed only in panties and a bra. I went up to her and kissed her, feeling once more the warmth of her skin.