Hunter Killer

by Brad Taylor

  They were empty words. She sensed no empathy from him, and understood he would have been happier if she had died in the night.

  He said, “I promise, this will be over today. I’m sorry we had to inconvenience you, but it will be over soon.”

  “I want to see my son.”

  He said something in Russian on the radio, and a man-mountain entered, bristling with muscle, a ponytail down his back and veins bulging out of his forearms. He was the one who’d killed her head of security, right in front of her. She recoiled in the bed, and Nikita said, “Don’t worry. The violence before was necessary for our goals.”

  He flicked his good eye at the rotting body on the floor and said, “If he hadn’t resisted, he’d still be alive. We don’t execute violence just to do so. Bring in her child.”

  The mountain of muscle left, then returned, leading Beau. He broke free of the man and sprang onto her bed, hugging her fiercely. The muscle advanced and Nikita held out his hand, stopping him.

  She wrapped her arms around Beau, kissing him on the head.

  Nikita said, “Okay, you know he’s alive.”

  She put her hands on her son’s head and looked into his eyes. She said, “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, glanced back theatrically to Nikita, then returned to her. She said, “What?”

  He said nothing, sliding his hand under her leg. She felt metal. Nikita said, “Okay, enough. Get him out of here.”

  She said, “Wait, wait. Please.”

  They ignored her, jerking him off the bed. Nikita said, “We have a busy day today. Sorry.”

  She said, “Don’t hurt him. Take me, but don’t hurt him.”

  Nikita said, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to harm either of you, if you behave.”

  He left the room, leaving the tattooed man in his chair. She leaned back, then felt the bulge under her leg.

  She slid her hand down and felt the metal of the folded knife her son had left for her. She curled it in her hand, feeling the tears well in her eyes.

  Her son thought she could use it like the man on the boat. She could not. They were going to be killed because she didn’t have the skill to fight back.

  She thought about the man from the ferry. The predator.

  And wondered if he would come calling, like he said he would.

  Chapter 69

  George Wolffe looked at the transcript from the hotel and said, “Are you sure about this? No fuckups? No bad translation?”

  “No. That’s real.”

  He opened a folder and said, “And this is from the computer?”

  “Yes, sir. Not much there besides a repeated reference to something called Operation Harvest. They have something big going down in Brazil, but their operational security is pretty good. We couldn’t decipher what it is, and they never spell it out. Something to do with oil, but that’s about as far as we could get.”

  Wolffe looked at the transcript, seeing a break in the words. He said, “Why’d we lose the comms here?”

  “We think he left the room. Went out on the balcony or something. The listening devices weren’t powerful enough to pick up what he said. We just heard unintelligible garbage. When he comes back in, he puts the phone on speaker.”

  Wolffe read,

  Unsub one—Okay, sir. I have Pushka here. Where are we going?

  Unsub two—Come here to Rio de Janeiro. We have a new safe house. Luca and Simon figured out where the ombudsman is living. She was discharged out of the hospital and went home. I’m now sitting in it.

  Unsub one—So she’s dead as well? We only have one more target?

  Unsub two—No. Not yet. When we leave here, it will be a murder, and I’m hoping she succumbs to her wounds first. In the meantime, we need to kill the next target just like you killed the last, as an accident.

  Unsub one—Okay, sir. Okay. Since the contact is dead, do I need to replace the weapons?

  Unsub two—Yes. We fulfill our obligations. If no one retrieves them, it’s not on us.

  Unsub one—Got it. No issues. Do we know the final target’s pattern of life?

  Unsub two—Yes. He’s going to an event on Sugarloaf Mountain. We have a plan, and it’s a little bit like yours. A little crazy, but once we get rid of him, our chosen candidate will win. There’s nobody else even close in the polls.

  Wolffe set the transcript down and said, “I suppose we have no idea what this is about, either. A candidate for what?”

  Creed fidgeted and said, “We don’t know. Clearly they’re targeting somebody, and they know he’s going to be at some place called Sugarloaf Mountain, but that’s it. What they mean by crazy is anyone’s guess.”

  “Who’s this ombudsman? The one with the house? That’s the key.”

  Creed said, “Once again, we don’t know. Could be anybody. All we know is that it’s in Rio. I know that’s not a lot of help.”

  Wolffe nodded, knowing Creed was doing his best. With the Taskforce on stand-down, he couldn’t even leverage the intel analysts who covered South America. All he had was a skill with computers and an undying loyalty to Pike.

  He said, “Where’s Pike now?”

  “He flew to Rio.”

  “Okay, thanks.” With that, he dismissed Creed from his office, lost in thought, not even noticing when the door closed.

  Wolffe couldn’t leverage Taskforce assets, but he was still a member of the CIA, with deep contacts from a lifetime of covert activity. He picked up his gray line, a secure link allowing him to talk encrypted, and dialed up a buddy of his in the Western Hemisphere mission center.

  The phone connected, and he heard, “Brubaker.”

  He said, “Hey, Phil. It’s George Wolffe here.”

  “Wolffe? I heard you’d retired.”

  “I sort of did, but they still give me a gray line. Hey, listen, do you have a handle on the elections going on in Brazil right now?”

  “Yeah, we’re tracking that fiasco. Half the people running are in prison, and the other half are nuts. Why?”

  “You hear anything about the Russian Federation doing something down there?”

  “No, not really. They’re tied up in the Venezuelan shit show. What do you mean?”

  “Keep your eyes out for something called Operation Harvest. I have no idea what it is, but it’s crossed my path over here.”

  There was a pause, then Phil said, “And where, exactly, is ‘over here’?”

  Wolffe said, “Just a different cell, but still in the game.” He shifted gears, saying, “Do you have a granular view of the current campaign down there?”

  “What do you mean by granular?”

  “Do you track campaign events? Know where the candidates are going to be on a given day?”

  “Yeah, a little bit, but it’s not like we have their schedules stapled to our wall. We just track the big movements.”

  “You know of anything happening on Sugarloaf Mountain in Rio in the next couple of days?”

  “I’d have to check. What’s this about?”

  “I honestly don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  He felt Brubaker wrestling with a decision, then heard, “You got a high-side address I can send it to?”

  Wolffe said, “JWICS or SIPRnet? What’s the classification?”

  “Either one. It’s only classified secret.”

  Wolffe gave him a SIPRnet address and then called Creed, telling him to be on the lookout.

  Thirty minutes later Creed came running into his office holding a printout. He said, “You’re going to want to see this.”

  Wolffe took one look and said, “Holy shit. Get me Alexander Palmer. We need to brief President Hannister.”

  Chapter 70

  Jennifer saw me standing in front of the sink, water running, and came into the bathroom. She said, “You okay?”

  I said, “Yeah. Just tired.”

  “Team will be up here in a few minutes. Have you made a decision on what we’re going to do?”

  After
consolidating at our hotel, we’d packed up and flown straight from Manaus to Rio, landing at a domestic airport right next to downtown, away from the giant monstrosity of the Rio de Janeiro international airport up the coast. The reunion with Jennifer had been anticlimactic because of the need to vacate the area due to our actions. There was still a police presence at the hotel, with a crime scene next to the pool, and now a police presence at the opera house down the street because of the body we’d left.

  We’d found nothing of interest on the man I’d killed, and had no other lead besides Creed saying he thought the Russians were in Rio, so I’d ordered everyone to pack up, and we’d fled, leaving a mess behind.

  The only anchor we had was the Bellmond Copacabana Hotel, which we’d boxed before, where the beacon had been, but the odds were slim that the man from Manaus—beacon boy, as Knuckles called him—had returned there. Even so, it was the one lead we had, so we’d checked in, getting a confused “welcome back” from the staff.

  Now we were running on fumes and coffee. Jennifer sensed that something wasn’t right with me, and it was more than just being tired. She said, “What is it?”

  I turned to her and said, “I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”

  Taken aback, she said, “This being what?”

  “Hunting these Russians. Getting vengeance for Kurt. It’s debilitating. Feels like I’m living in darkness.”

  She took my hands and said, “Whew. I thought you were talking about us.”

  I knew she was just kidding, but also that she didn’t understand what had happened in Manaus. She continued, “You’ve done all right. You haven’t lost it like I thought you would.”

  The Russian writhing on the floor flashed in my head. I said, “Jennifer, last night I thought you’d been killed. I thought you were dead, and I went from zero to a hundred in a nanosecond. I went full black. I caught that guy with Shoshana’s help, and I killed him with my bare hands, after he was under our control. I actually dropped my pistol to do it.”

  Her mouth fell open and I said, “He deserved it. I don’t feel bad about that, but I was completely out of control. I would have killed anyone who tried to stop me. I mean anyone, good or bad.”

  I turned to her and said, “I don’t want to go through that again. Doing missions for the Taskforce is one thing—we all signed up for it—but this mission is all because of me. I can’t put anyone in jeopardy for that. The team will follow me, just like you did last night, but the deaths will be my fault.”

  She let go of my hands and raised my chin. I saw a little fire come out of her. “That’s not fair. You can’t blame yourself for me getting shot, any more than you can take credit for me deciding to wear armor. In fact, it’s a little insulting, like you think the damn universe revolves around you.”

  I said, “Jennifer—”

  And she cut me off, saying, “Don’t ‘Jennifer’ me. Don’t play the martyr here. And you don’t get to search for excuses because you committed a war crime. That’s not on me. That’s on you.”

  She quit talking, her eyes locked on to mine. I said, “I know. It’s why I think we should go home.”

  “Would you be beating yourself up if it were a Taskforce mission you were ordered to do?”

  “Of course not, but that’s sort of the point. Those are just missions. This is personal.”

  She said, “Then make it a mission. Take the personal out of it.”

  We both paused, not speaking. I leaned against the sink and said, “I can’t make it a mission. Only the Taskforce can do that.”

  I heard a knock on the door to our room. I said, “Here we go,” and left the bathroom to let in the team. She came out to find them circled around me, all looking at me expectantly. I said, “We got nothing from the Taskforce. We can stay here and see if they turn up something from our listening devices in Manaus, or we can go home.”

  I went from face to face and said, “I’m leaning toward going home.”

  Knuckles said, “What about Willow?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman on the ferry and her son. What about them?”

  “What about them?”

  “I’m not letting those fucks get away with what they did.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, and you don’t want to go hunter-killer here, because if someone else gets hurt by your need for vengeance, it’ll rip you apart. Trust me.”

  He said nothing for a moment, then, “I followed you when you asked. Will you do the same?”

  I looked at Jennifer, wanting some support, but her face remained stoic. I reflected on what he was asking, and knew I couldn’t say no to my family. I said, “Yes, I will. If it’s what you want, but think hard about it. We have no sanction here. No backup, and you’re asking to do nothing more than kill someone for revenge. You’re not solving a problem.”

  “Did we solve anything last night?”

  I glanced at Shoshana, catching her eye. I said, “Yes, we did. We solved that I don’t want to go back into the abyss. But if you want to try it out, I’ll lead the way. Just be prepared for what you find.”

  Shoshana said, “No. That’s not what we’re going to do.”

  Knuckles turned to her, his fists balled, saying, “I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need your help. You want to leave, then leave.”

  I got between them and my phone started ringing on the TV stand. I said, “Jennifer, get that.”

  I turned to Knuckles and said, “I know what you’re feeling. Trust me, I know, but taking it out on Shoshana is not going to get the mission done. You want to wait here for the Taskforce, then we wait. But the odds of them finding anything are pretty low.”

  Jennifer held up my phone and said, “It’s George Wolffe. He has a mission for us. A sanctioned mission.”

  Chapter 71

  Alek felt the sweat break out on his spine beneath his backpack, his pace on the hiking trail faster than anyone who was out to enjoy the view. He turned back to Kolva, saw he was twenty feet behind, and said, “Pick it up. We’re running out of time.”

  He’d arrived in Rio at dawn, taking a cab straight to a ritzy island called Clube Dos Caiçaras on the Rodrigo de Freitas Lagoon, a small body of water in the neighborhood of Lagoa. As instructed, he’d given his name to the local guard out front and had been allowed through the gate. Following the directions Nikita had given him, he’d walked to the end of the island, passing by tennis courts, swimming pools, spas, and other workout areas, finally reaching a short drive and another iron gate with a guard shack. Behind it he could see a low-slung mansion sprawling out across the grounds, a large yard in front and the lagoon falling away behind it, the Christ Redeemer monument in the distance looking down on the water.

  Alek was surprised to find Kolva inside the shack. He said, “Nikita’s been waiting. He keeps asking what’s taking you so long.”

  Alek looked at the mansion behind the iron fencing and said, “How did you guys manage to take this down?”

  Kolva opened the gate and said, “Bribed the guards out front to let us in. After that, it was easy. We walked straight up to the front door, hitting them before they had a chance to react. And this place has some serious security. Luckily, that’s Wagner now.”

  He stepped off the pavement and said, “Watch this.”

  He walked three feet in the grass and Alek heard a buzzing. Overhead, a small quadcopter drone came circling down, hovering above his head. As he walked, the drone followed. Alek said, “What is that?”

  “It’s called a sunflower. This entire area is seeded with heat and motion detectors. When they trigger, it launches that thing in the air, which then reports back to a central control room in the house. Pretty neat, huh?”

  Alek said, “Yeah, I guess if you have someone watching. Didn’t do these people any good.”

  Kolva laughed and said, “Oh, they were watching. They just didn’t see the wolf coming.”

  They reached the door and it opened without them even knocking. Alek saw
Luca and his rippling muscles, then Simon behind him, the tribal tattoo crawling up his neck looking as ridiculous as ever. Alek shook their hands and was led into a small room full of CCTV cameras, Nikita sitting behind a desk.

  He said, “It’s about time. You need to hurry. Pedro Cardosa is headed up the mountain in a few hours.”

  Alek waved his hand at Luca and Simon and said, “What’s up with these clods? I thought they were the super team. I just got here.”

  Simon scowled and Luca made a show of flexing his biceps. Nikita barked a laugh and said, “They haven’t been sitting still. They’re the ones that set the trap. All you have to do is initiate. Look, I like what you did in Salvador. I want that same thinking here. You’ll take Kolva and head to the mountain. You two are the team. I need Simon and Luca here.”

  “Why? Looks like you have pretty tight control with that drone thing on the lawn and the guards at the front gate of the club.”

  “Because of the Americans. They’re still hunting, and they’re good. If we can take this place over, so can they. Did you see them? Any indication when you left?”

  “No, but I’ve lost contact with Pushka. He won’t answer his phone.”

  Nikita banged a fist on the table. He said, “Did he know anything?”

  “No. Other than you ordering us to Rio, he knew nothing. And that’s pretty much where I am. Can you tell me what the plan is?”

  Nikita did. Thirty minutes later, Alek and Kolva had been dropped off at the trailhead for the walk up the Morro da Urca, the smaller hill below the one known as Pão de Açúcar—Sugarloaf Mountain.

  It was an easy hike, without any technical skills needed, and they reached the top within an hour, finding the first cable car landing among a smattering of souvenir shops and snack stands. The area was oddly empty, and then Alek saw why: a hefty police presence around the entrance, preventing anyone from getting close to the cars.

  That was fine by him. He had no need to get to the gondola. That work had already been accomplished. He only needed to achieve line-of-sight radio contact to the upper mountain.