by Brad Taylor
-You still there?
Clyde hesitatingly put his hands back on the keyboard.
-Yes.
-Is there some way to highlight him? Just shine a light on his death? It’ll turn into a press story, I promise. He was a player in something deep.
-How? I don’t have that capability, and I’m not going to risk my entire company on your request because of Brazil. I’ve done what I said I would.
Even as he typed it, he was thinking about a friend of his. Someone who was a firebrand about “American imperialism” and “unjust covert action.” Someone who had grown up with the luxury of protesting in the United States even as his parents paid for his education. Clyde, having fled the Soviet Union as a child, and then scraped his way to the pinnacle he was now in, had no illusions about the world. Everyone was fair game—either getting played or acting as the player—and he wasn’t averse to leveraging the relationship.
-Think about what I’m saying. I’m not asking for YOU to do anything. I’m asking if you have any contacts. You work with everyone. You have political clout. You have no one?
Clyde hesitated yet again, then typed,
-How much are we talking about?
-As much as the entire contract for Brazil. That’s how much.
Clyde’s eyes widened. Whoever Kurt Hale had been, he was clearly an important man. And a threat. He typed,
-I have a friend who is a staffer for a senator on the Intelligence Committee. My old college roommate. I could pass it to him and have him start an inquiry. Would that work?
-Perfect. Let me know when it’s complete.
-Before I do, why? Why am I doing this?
-Spare me the theatrics. Because you want to make some money. Like you did in Ukraine, Brexit, and Myanmar. Like you’re doing in Brazil.
Clyde leaned back, a little ashamed.
Because the man was right.
Chapter 20
Amena repeated, “Come with me. We can stay together. All of us. Me, you, and Jennifer. You don’t have to go do this.”
I started to reply then heard, “Nephilim! I thought we were brought here for our skill. Not just sitting in a hotel room.”
Shit. Bad timing.
Shoshana entered my office, all smiles, trying to look like a woman on vacation, even as she dragged in a bit of danger behind her like a rotting bridal train. A lithe woman without any voluptuous curves at all, she was more like a lanky teenage boy than the predator she really was.
Once an assassin for the vaunted Mossad, she’d been trained to kill at an early age, and because of it, she’d never learned what it meant to be normal. The operations she’d been forced to conduct had once twisted her into something beyond human, but she was mightily trying to rectify that now. Much to my chagrin, because she was always trying to emulate Jennifer—and she just couldn’t pull that off. She was one of the best killers I’d ever seen, but had trouble operating like a normal human in civil society. She kept trying, though. I’ll give her that.
We’d met under bad circumstances, and like Nung, I’d somehow become someone she trusted. A couple of years ago, I’d leveraged the entire United States arsenal to rescue her husband, Aaron, in Africa, and that was the favor she owed me. I’d be lying if I said I’d done it for that purpose alone, though. I’d done it because I loved her, in a family sort of way. She and Aaron. And maybe that was why she returned the favor.
She took one look around the room, seeing Jennifer, Amena, and me. She said, “So there’s more going on than just the hotel room.”
Shoshana had some weird skill at reading people. I would say it was borderline psychic, like you see on street corners with palm readers, but I don’t believe in that shit. Even as a part of me did. She could just tell what someone was about. See into their soul. And she was reading us now.
Amena looked at her and drew into me. She said, “She’s a killer just like the others.”
Which brought me up short. Maybe Amena had the same skill.
Shoshana snapped her head to the child, sucking up her essence like she was breathing incense. She went from Amena to me and said, “She’s with you?”
I smiled and said, “Yup. She’s with me.”
Shoshana nodded her head, now intrigued. She said, “She’s a fighter. Where is she from?”
Amena looked at her fiercely and said, “I’m from America.”
Which brought a smile. Shoshana clearly knew that wasn’t the case. She walked over to her, putting a hand on her cheek, then looked at me, saying, “She is not wanted here. Is that it?”
I pulled her hand away and said, “Cut that out, Shoshana. We don’t need it now.”
Shoshana squinted at me, reading me. Aggravating me.
Amena stared at Shoshana, seeing something inside her, and because of it, she believed what she’d just heard. She said, “Is what she said true? I’m not wanted here?”
I started to protest, pushing Amena behind my back like I was protecting her, when Shoshana squatted down to her level, took her hands and said, “No. That’s not what I meant. I meant I see your pain. I have not been wanted as well. But I’m wanted here.”
Shoshana looked at me, and I swear I thought I saw her eyes well up a little. Which would have meant hell had frozen over. She locked eyes with Amena and said, “It’s the ones who really want us that matter, not the ones who want us discarded.”
Amena heard the words and understood them at a level only Shoshana could reach. She nodded and said, “I get it. I’m like you.”
Shoshana grinned, seeing something nobody else could, and said, “Yes, you do understand. But you’re not yet like me. And hopefully you never will be.”
She stood and said, “So, you have a Syrian refugee you’re hiding. What else are you not telling me about this mission?”
Amena’s eyes grew wide, and mine about slammed shut. I pushed Amena to the door and said, “Why don’t you go wait outside for Veep.”
I waited until she was out the door, then snapped, “Stop that shit in her presence. She is on thin ice, and she doesn’t need to know it. As far as she knows she’s good to go. Don’t get her worrying about what might happen.”
Jennifer stepped between us, saying, “Hey, let it go. Pike, she’s just being Shoshana.”
Taken aback, Shoshana raised a hand and said, “Wait. I didn’t mean anything.”
I glowered at her. She continued, “I’m sorry. I just saw the connection. And the conflict. I meant no harm, Nephilim.”
Jennifer broke the tension, saying, “Shoshana, we’ve had a significant event. And we could use your help.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Aaron entered the room, sensed the tension, and smiled, saying, “I see nothing’s changed.”
I sank into my desk chair and rubbed my eyes. Aaron caught the reaction, and his smile faded.
Jennifer said, “It’s a little different this time. What did you find out from the target room?”
“It was a suite, but not a lot there. Some luggage, nondescript clothing, no documents or other pocket litter. They were thorough. There was a laptop, but no other electronics. We bypassed the screen lock, drained it, went back to our room to make sure it transferred, then came here.”
“So you found something?”
“Yeah, but it’s all in Russian.”
“No issue.” I shouted, “Nung!”
He appeared, took one look at Shoshana and Aaron, and said, “So you do have another team.”
Shoshana glanced at him, then said, “You called another before us?”
“No, Nung was the one who came to me with the threat.”
“How long have you worked with him?” Meaning, Should I trust him?
She talked like he wasn’t standing right next to her. He took it like he wasn’t standing right next to her, saying nothing. Because that guy just didn’t give a shit.
I said, “Since before I met you. Don’t worry, he’s just as deadly as you are, but he has a skill you don’t.
He speaks Russian.”
I turned to Aaron and said, “Bring it up. What did you find?”
Aaron placed a laptop on my desk, booted it, and said, “We found a trove of emails off a Proton server that were stored on the computer hard drive. But it’s all in Russian.”
“Nung, can you translate it?”
He approached the screen, saw nothing but Cyrillic lettering, and said, “I can’t read that.”
Confused, I said, “But you speak Russian.”
He said, “I speak it. But I can’t read it. I can use Google Translate, if you want.”
“Are you kidding me?” I scrolled through the find and saw it was large. I said, “There are like a hundred emails. Google Translate isn’t going to work for that. I need more precision than that.”
He shrugged and said, “I cannot help here. I’m sorry.”
I exhaled, then said, “Yeah, well, it was worth a shot.”
Aaron said, “I might have some connections who speak Russian. Someone discreet, but I’ll have to send it to them.”
I knew he was talking about Russian Jews who were now employed by the Mossad. It was tempting, but also risky. Anytime you involved Israeli intelligence, it was asking for interference. They would help, but they’d also stick their fingers in and swirl around to see if they could get something out of it—and that was something I didn’t need.
While I was mulling it over, Nung said, “My flight leaves in three hours. I need to get packed.”
That took me by surprise. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”
“I told you I couldn’t stay. Father wants me home before I’m compromised with your mission.”
“You mean before you’re smeared by my actions with some Russians that your father might want to work with again? Because it could affect future business?”
He smiled and said, “Now you think like me.”
I shook his hand, saying, “I didn’t mean that. Thank you for coming, even if it was too little too late. You didn’t have to, and I would have no thread without it. I owe you one.”
He waved that away, saying, “That last payment will work for a decade.” And I knew he was talking about twenty-five million dollars in Bitcoin I’d inadvertently given him the last time we’d worked together. Jennifer stood on tiptoe, giving him a peck on the cheek. She said, “Thanks for the help in the restaurant.”
He simply nodded, and walked out without another word.
Shoshana watched him go, then said, “I like your friend. He should stay.”
I looked at Jennifer, wondering how our friend group had shrunk to a robotic half-breed Asian and a psychotic Israeli assassin. At least we had Aaron. Someone who was somewhat normal.
I said, “If you like him, you’ll love the mission.”
Chapter 21
Shoshana took a seat in another chair, put her feet on the wall, and pushed, sliding it across the floor on its casters like a child. She said, “Which is what, exactly? You’ve flown us here like the world was on fire, then had us sit in a hotel room doing nothing.”
Without preamble, Jennifer said, “Kurt Hale was murdered. Killed with a car bomb at our house. The Taskforce is no help. They’re all on stand-down.”
I saw Shoshana’s eyes widen and said, “It’s true. He’s dead, and the man that killed him was trying to kill me. I got most of them last night, but one escaped. He was staying in the hotel I had you watch last night. He poses a threat to us, and we want to find him.”
I saw a little of the darkness I fight inside her, too. She said, “You should have called us earlier, instead of Nung. We would have come.”
I said, “I had no idea. This whole thing just split open in the last forty-eight hours, and Nung brought the first thread. I didn’t know what I had. Shit, even the Taskforce doesn’t believe me. Nobody does. Outside of this room, that is.”
“So what are we doing?”
“We’re going to find that bald guy—if he’s still here and not back in Russia—and wring him out.”
Aaron said, “I’m sorry about your loss.”
I said, “I appreciate the sentiment, but I could really use your skills. That guy is still running around, and I have a lot of vulnerable points. The girl you saw is one. We’re another. I want to tie this off into a bow quickly.”
Shoshana said, “So it’s here only? Find that man and be done?”
I looked at Jennifer and said, “We need to find him first, but that’s not the end.”
“What does that mean?”
Jennifer raised her eyebrow, and I thought about how much I was going to say. Considering how far I would go in the description of the mission. There was a mystery in Brazil that I wanted to uncover, but in so doing, I wanted to kill every single one of those fucks. It was a dilemma. Deceive them about my true goals, or just spill it all?
And then my Taskforce phone rang with its unique tone, telling me an encrypted call was coming in.
I looked at the phone like it was possessed by a demon. Jennifer showed the same expression.
I held up a hand and said, “One moment.” I went to the table, picked it up, and said, “Hello?”
Without preamble, George Wolffe said, “What do you have Knuckles doing in Brazil?”
So they figured out my delay.
He wasn’t Kurt, but George Wolffe was an old hand from the CIA’s paramilitary division. He’d conducted more dubious operations than the rest of the Taskforce combined, and his loyalty had always been to the men, not the machine. Kurt had run a few missions with him before the Taskforce, and they’d become friends, then coconspirators determined to fix the inherent conflicts between the intelligence community and the military machine. Together they’d built Project Prometheus from the ground up with nothing but guts and sheer will. I knew he’d taken the loss of Kurt as hard as I had, and I hoped he’d listen to me.
I feigned ignorance. “Sir, Knuckles and Brett were down there for the Hezbollah mission. That’s all they’ve been working on. But before you recall them, I have information from here in Charleston that might be pertinent to their mission.”
“They missed their SITREP last night. And the night before that. Today Creed was doing maintenance in the commo room and Knuckles’s phone was giving a Prairie Fire alert.”
That was the last thing I expected. “Sir? Are you sure?”
Aggravated, Wolffe said, “Yes, I’m sure. We’ve tried to make contact with each of them. Both phones go straight to voice mail like they’re turned off. They won’t ring through, and they haven’t been back to the hotel. We checked. Now I want to know what the fuck you’re up to.”
I knew instantly what had happened. It was the Russians, and I needed to convince Wolffe of that. I only hoped that Knuckles’s Prairie Fire wasn’t too little, too late.
I said, “Sir, listen to me. I was right, and the Taskforce is under attack.”
I told him what I’d found in Charleston, explaining what I’d done, to include the Taskforce help I’d leveraged. He was incredulous, not even knowing where to begin.
He stuttered, “You . . . you killed Russians in Charleston? With a guy from Thailand? Using Taskforce assets? Jesus, Pike, this is a disaster. What the hell are you doing?”
“Sir, they were hunting me, but killed Kurt instead. No matter what those weenies in the Oversight Council think, we’re exposed here, and we need to tie it off.”
He took a moment to reflect on the meat of what I’d said, beyond the actions, then said, “You’re sure of this? I mean, positive?”
I had never realized in the past how much trust I’d enjoyed with Kurt. If I’d said it to him, it was written in stone, and the floodgates of Taskforce support opened on my word.
I said, “Sir, I’ll give you a complete roll-up later, but right now I need Taskforce help. Knuckles is in trouble, and I need to get there as soon as possible. I also need three cell phones drained and a translation of a bunch of Russian emails.”
“Pike, there is no Taskforce.
The president himself has put us on standby until Kurt’s death is safely resolved. There is no movement.”
I wanted to squeeze the life out of the phone. I said, “Fucking go tell him the situation.”
“If the Oversight Council hears what you did, it will not encourage them to help. It’ll shut us down for good. Hell, they’re liable to put us both in jail just to save their asses. It’s an old rule of D.C. The first to leak is the whistle-blower. The rest get rolled up.”
I said, “Then do it without telling them. You have the talent in the building. You just told me Creed was there today. Shutting us down doesn’t mean we can’t operate. It just means we’re doing it without sanction.”
I heard nothing from the other end, but remained quiet.
Finally, he said, “What do you need?”
“What I told you before—strictly support. I need forensic exploitation of those phones, a translation of documents. And the Rock Star bird with a package. I’ll do the rest.”
He said, “And men? How many operators? You can’t do this by yourself.”
I glanced around the room, seeing Jennifer, Shoshana, and Aaron waiting.
I said, “I don’t need any operators. I have my own team now. And they’re a wrecking crew.”
Chapter 22
Nikita walked to the expansive plate glass window to get a better signal, then said, “Has the team arrived?”
“Not yet. They get in this afternoon. But I’ve got no angle on the target. Both he and the blond girl have disappeared.”
That little nugget was the last thing Nikita wanted to hear. It could mean the man was flying here to link up with his team. He still had no idea why Grolier Recovery Services was involved in his mission, but they needed to be stopped. Wherever that guy had gone, it was necessary he be found.
“You’ve been on the house?”
“Yes. I installed some surveillance kit. The only people who’ve returned are the little girl and her nanny. They came for about five minutes and left with suitcases.”
