by Brad Taylor
Nikita squeezed his eyes shut, experiencing the weird feeling of one orb working naturally with his body while the other felt like a marble in his head, his eyelid still registering the sensation of sliding over it. It was something he never grew used to, and it aggravated the hell out of him.
He said, “Tell me you know where they went.”
“Yes, of course. They have a house nearby at a place called Sullivan’s Island. But they aren’t the threat.”
Nikita said, “That’s true, but they can contact the threat. Get the men and get those two under control. We won’t need to find the target. He’ll find us.”
He hung up, sat in the chair looking at the phone, and heard a knock on the door.
What now?
He said, “Come in.”
Maksim, the team leader of the men targeting the ombudsman, entered the room, looking hesitant. Which wasn’t a good sign.
Nikita said, “What’s the problem?”
Maksim’s team was the one Nikita had switched out with Simon and Luca. Originally dedicated to the lawyer in the Amazon, he was now leading the primary team against the ombudsman. And he was failing in his duties. Nikita had little patience for whatever was going to come out of his mouth.
Maksim said, “Latest surveillance report. I think we have an issue.”
Nikita read the report, the silence growing pronounced, then said, “So you think the commander will not obey?”
“Sir, he’s making the daily contacts as instructed, but he’s surly on the phone. He’s now outside our influence and on the edge. I’m not saying he won’t obey, but I believe he needs an extra incentive.”
Nikita glared at him. In truth, he didn’t like Maksim. Thought him weak. He’d taken on the ombudsman mission, and had so far done nothing but provide excuses, even sending his second in command, Alek, to report failure. It was cowardly. Simon and Luca had taken out Maksim’s target in the Amazon, and this man was doing nothing more than giving him another reason for failure against the original target.
One screwup after another.
Nikita laid the report on the table and said, “So you think he’ll hold his duty to his badge above his own family?”
“I believe so. Without further encouragement, he very well may.”
Nikita leaned back in his chair, rubbed his face, then said, “So we go Ukraine here. I don’t get the issue. Show him the pain he’ll get.”
Maksim shuffled his feet, seeing the stray eye stare at the ceiling and wanting to be anywhere but here. He knew the extreme pressure Nikita was under, along with his propensity for violence. He said, “Okay. If you think that’s best.”
Nikita sprang up, snatched the man by the throat, and said, “If I think it’s best? Is that what you said? Because I’m the one who fucked this up? Seriously?”
Maksim remained compliant, not even raising his arms at the attack, having seen what Nikita was capable of.
Nikita began to squeeze and said, “I’m sick of this incompetence. Luca and Simon had no trouble with your original target, and you have nothing but mistakes against a woman.”
Maksim coughed, and Nikita threw him against the wall, saying, “You fucking sicken me. Give him an incentive. Do I need to tell you that?”
Maksim ignored the pain his shoulder took against the wall, straightening up and simply nodding. It took every bit of human effort not to rub his throat, and thereby show weakness. He stood, mute. He saw Nikita’s wayward eye stare off into space, then the good one fixate on him with a fury Maksim didn’t want to confront.
Nikita said, “Play hardball. Just like Ukraine. You know what that means?”
Maksim nodded. He hadn’t been with Nikita in Ukraine, but everyone on the Global Engagement payroll had heard the stories. He knew exactly what Nikita meant.
Nikita turned to the expansive window overlooking the bay, gazing in the distance as if he could actually see the hijacked ferry. He nodded, then turned back around, saying, “Yes. Give him a reason to continue. But no nipples this time. Just a finger. Deliver it to his operations center. We’ll save the nipples for later.”
Felipe stood in front of the sink in his small bathroom, staring into the mirror. Wanting the man staring back to give him an answer.
They’d set up a command center in the Second Naval District Headquarters building a mere stone’s throw from the ferry launch point on Salvador, a decision Felipe was now regretting. The headquarters itself was perfectly situated for the mission—a stately two-story building, with an ornate garden out front, old anchors and other artifacts across the grounds, and an open access to the sea at the back tied into the Salvador harbor. On the plus side, it had the communications infrastructure, planning space, and the ability to launch an assault if they so chose, but it also had a problem: it was a naval headquarters, and the commander of the Combat Divers’ Group was using that fact to great effect. He’d stormed into the headquarters and immediately began circumventing any and all attempts by Felipe to control the situation.
Which meant controlling the outcome.
Felipe could see the commander had glory in his head and didn’t really care about the outcome. They’d had an initial discussion about overall command, and immediately the navy man had started talking about amphibious assaults involving submarines and over-the-horizon naval infiltrations. It was incredible. It was like the man was trying to justify his budget, and wanted to use every single crazy idea they’d ever rehearsed.
A submarine? Really? Felipe knew through experience that the crux of any assault wasn’t the infiltration, but the last five feet to the door. How would a submarine help with that? They’d still have to exit, get in a rubber dingy, and advance. Something they could do very easily from the base he was in right now. But the navy men were adamant about pulling off a Hollywood movie.
The plan was insane. Felipe had been involved in no less than seven hostage-barricade situations—some with the very group they now confronted—and the navy men seemed to think that the theatrics would enhance the mission. He knew they were wrong.
Even as he argued, he thought about his mission. His new mission. At one point, with the insanity at peak level, he thought about just acquiescing, because the assault was guaranteed to fail. But he didn’t, because he needed to control the outcome. A failed assault didn’t mean the men on board would kill the hostages.
He looked in the mirror, searching for an answer in the reflection. Wanting a solution to what he’d been given. His choice was impossible. Kill more than twenty innocents to save his family, or kill his family. He knew what the right thing was, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would have gladly given his life on an assault to save innocents, and now he was being asked to give his family’s life.
He ran the water in the sink and splashed his face. He made his decision. He would control the assault, and he would save everyone on that boat. Every. Single. One.
He heard a knock at his door, and turned from the bathroom, hesitatingly walking into the small atrium of the apartment.
He opened the door, seeing nobody on the outside balcony. But there was a package on the floor. He picked it up, seeing it was leaking something.
He opened it, and then sank to his knees.
Chapter 23
The plane lifted off from Charleston, circling around the air force base before putting in the power, throttling out over the Charleston Harbor. I watched my city fall away and wondered if it would be the last time I saw it, because I might be fighting an extradition treaty after what I was about to do.
Once we were out over the ocean at altitude, Shoshana approached my seat, Aaron right behind her. She said, “I must say, you Taskforce guys always fly first class. Are we going to blow this one up, too?”
We were on a Gulfstream 650, an aircraft ostensibly leased to Grolier Recovery Services, but in reality owned lock, stock, and barrel by the Taskforce. Hidden inside its walls was every manner of death and surveillance capability I could envision, givin
g me a very healthy capability for violence. The last time Shoshana had been on such an aircraft, we’d destroyed it over the ocean, with her very narrowly avoiding death in a parachute.
That had been in Brazil. And now we were going back.
I laughed at her joke and said, “I sure hope not. I damage this one and I’m pretty sure we’ll be using a Greyhound bus for future transportation.”
The bird itself looked like something Bill Gates or a rock star would use—which is the reason everyone in the Taskforce jealously called it the “Rock Star” bird—with large leather seats facing each other two-by-two and a table in between. Shoshana took the window seat across from Jennifer and Aaron sat down across from me. Jennifer smiled at them but kept banging away on her laptop, doing her usual research for where we were going.
Shoshana took a sip of water from a bottle, then said, “What’s up with the little girl?”
I grimaced and said, “Not your concern. She’s just a distraction at this point. Probably a bad decision.”
Shoshana waited a beat, and when I didn’t say anything else, she said, “You know that’s a lie. I could see it before you even opened your mouth. You hide your emotion behind some body of armor because you’re afraid.”
Jennifer tried to pretend she was engrossed in whatever bit of history she was studying, but briefly glanced up from her computer at the exchange, and Shoshana caught it, saying, “Even Koko knows. We all know.”
I wanted to tell her to just shut the fuck up, but I knew it would do no good. Ever since she’d married Aaron, she was convinced she’d reached a level of emotional maturity that I just did not have. Because of it, she was always lecturing me like she was a trained psychotherapist, instead of just plain psycho.
I leaned back and said, “Amena knows what she means to me. I don’t need to prove it to you. I proved it to her.”
I paused a beat, then said, “Just like I proved it to you two, once upon a time. If you remember.”
Shoshana snapped back at my words. She’d felt she had the upper hand and wanted to delve into Amena because of it, but I was the one who’d saved Aaron solely because she’d asked. No questions, no waffling, I’d done it because I thought it was right, and I hadn’t staged a bullshit touchy-feely interrogation after.
Jennifer saw the fight coming and was well versed in it, because it always happened between Shoshana and me. To anyone looking from the outside it would appear as if we wanted to slit each other’s throats, but it wasn’t like that. It was more like two siblings fighting over a worn-out toy in the toy box. Neither of us wanted it, but by God, we were going to bitch if the other one got it.
Jennifer raised her hand and said, “Pike, stop it. Aaron and I have better things to do than listen to you drive Shoshana into a rage.”
I said, “Hey, wait a minute. She started it!” And that broke the tension, with Aaron and Jennifer laughing. Shoshana, having never had a childhood, didn’t get the joke, but she smiled anyway, wanting to understand.
Aaron took Shoshana’s hand and said, “You spoke the truth about Africa, and I’m here because of it. But I need to know just what it is you’re asking of us.”
I exhaled and said, “It’s helping Knuckles right now. I can’t ignore his beacon.”
Aaron took that in, then said, “The beacon hasn’t moved. It’s been on that island since it started broadcasting.” He left unspoken why that mattered: if the beacon hadn’t shifted location at all, the odds that Knuckles still had it were not good. Or if he did, it was because it was on his dead body.
I said, “Yeah, I understand. We’ll see what’s happened with the beacon, but I’m more focused now on the clues you guys brought back from the laptop in the hotel room. We have at least two Russian phones we can track, and I have no doubt that his missed contacts and that beacon are because of whoever owns those phones.”
“The emails also detailed some other targets the Russians are interested in. Are you looking to interrupt the execution of those missions as well?”
“Maybe. It depends on what we find. First on the deck is Knuckles.”
Aaron nodded, toyed with his water bottle, then said, “And second on the deck is vengeance for Kurt?”
I felt my expression harden against my will. I said, “Let’s deal with Knuckles.”
Shoshana leaned forward, penetrating me with her gaze. She said, “Is Kurt going to affect you on this?”
“No.”
She squinted her eyes and said, “Liar. I can see it. You’re boiling, just like I was in Africa. You’re on a suicide run, wanting to destroy them.”
I bristled and said, “It’s not like that at all. Knuckles is the priority right now, and Kurt’s death won’t do anything to alter that mission.”
Jennifer raised her eyes from her computer, and Shoshana caught the look. She said, “You see it, too.”
Aaron said, “Pike, I owe you my life. It’s why I’m here, and I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need to know what you’re asking.”
I said, “Because it might upset your business like Nung was worried about? Because your ex-Mossad contacts in the corporate world are hip deep with Russia, giving them cyber capabilities to hack our infrastructure?”
I saw the disgust form on his face, and immediately regretted the words. Shoshana said, “I misjudged you in Africa. Misjudged your motivations and your loyalty. Don’t do the same with us.”
Before I could answer, Aaron said, “Pike, I’ll give you my life if it’s required. I just want to know what the mission is, and right now, I don’t think even you do.”
He was right. I could operate on an even keel, I knew, but just below the surface was a need for vengeance. A darkness in my soul that I constantly fought to keep under control, and the loss of Kurt was making that very, very hard. Left unsaid was what would happen if I learned the Russians had killed Knuckles.
Even I had no idea what I was capable of if that came to pass.
Jennifer said, “Pike, I think I found out why that beacon is seventy meters off the coast of the island.”
From the time the beacon had been initiated, it had sat just offshore of Itaparica Island, never moving. Since I knew Knuckles was heading there the day he disappeared, we all surmised that the grid was just off a bit. The beacon operated on the cell network, using a GPS chip that was reporting a grid close to the location, but with a greater circle of probable error. Happened all the time.
I said, “What’s that?”
“There has been a hijacking of a ferry from Salvador. It’s been taken over by a criminal gang, and they’re threatening to kill everyone on board. It’s making national news in Brazil and becoming a flashpoint for the presidential election. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“And? What’s that got to do with Knuckles?”
“The ferry is offshore of Itaparica. I think Knuckles is on it.”
Chapter 24
Knuckles leaned over and grabbed yet another banana, smelling the fetid sweat coming out from under his shirt when he did so. An animal odor that he’d usually experienced while in a hide-site for a week, not when he was supposed to be enjoying a paid vacation. He leaned back, peeled the banana, and glanced at the guards.
They were still diligent, rotating on time and, outside of a few arguments, not showing the deterioration he had feared.
Brett said, “Same ol’ same ol’. You think that beacon did anything?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure there’s some turmoil going on in D.C. because of Kurt, so maybe not. But we need to be ready. Even if it’s some Brazilian JV team that assaults, an assault is coming.”
He looked around at the passengers slouching in seats, and caught the eye of one man. One who had looked at him with interest in the past, but not like he was trying to signal anything. More like he was reading the captors for a possible threat, like he was looking for something or someone. He was definitely suspicious.
Knuckles leaned back in his seat and whispered, “I don’t think th
ere are four terrorists on this boat. I think there’s another one planted in the passengers.”
“The guy with the shaved head?”
“Yep. You’ve seen him, too?”
“Yeah. He keeps looking at us, and not like he’s concerned about his welfare. Like he’s concerned about what we might do.”
Knuckles said, “I know,” and continued glancing around. He caught the eye of the woman with the child, now leaning against a bench. She was rubbing her hand on her son’s back, and appeared to be waiting on his eyes to reach her. When they did, she squinted, then slightly nodded at him.
Knuckles said, “Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Keep your eye on the starboard guard. I’m going to talk to that woman.”
“You move, and you’ll get slapped again.”
Earlier, Knuckles had made the mistake of walking to the stern, where the water bottles were located. He’d done so without a buddy, as was required. One of the guards had freaked, running at him and yelling. He’d stopped, raised his hands, and received a butt-stroke to his gut, bringing him to his knees.
Knuckles said, “Just moving one row over. I’m going to squat down, below the chairs. Tap me when the guard’s looking away.”
Brett said, “What about the hyena?” Meaning, the guy they’d both identified as a possible false flag. Knuckles glanced at him and saw his eyes closed.
Knuckles said, “Now better than later. Just keep an eye on him and see if he wakes up.”
Brett nodded, and Knuckles sank below the guard’s view. He glanced over at the woman and found her staring at him. He winked, and she nodded.
Brett tapped him on the shoulder, and he scuttled down the row, going over the other passengers on his hands and knees. He reached her and took a seat next to the boy. She sat up, then leaned over, whispering closely. “Are you American?”
He nodded, surprised at her words. Not because of what she said, but because her accent clearly indicated she was American as well.
