Hunter Killer

by Brad Taylor

  Jennifer did one more lap around the crowd with the drone and didn’t earn a positive response. She said, “I’ve got nothing. The drone doesn’t recognize anyone, and I can’t see anything suspicious.”

  Shoshana said, “The candidate is on the second cable car. He’s on the way up. Maybe we’ll see a signature when he arrives. Focus on changes in the crowd.”

  Jennifer banked the drone over the throng one more time, the computer furiously trying to identify the images they’d given it.

  She said, “I’m afraid that will be too late.”

  She desperately wanted to call Pike for advice, but knew he was fully committed. She’d been the one to suggest this course of action and asking him for help would potentially screw up both missions. She felt impotent and hoped at least he was having some success.

  Then she felt her Taskforce phone vibrate in her back pocket.

  She stuck out her butt, still flying the drone, and said, “Shoshana, my phone is ringing!”

  Shoshana pulled it out, and Jennifer kept one eye on the tablet, one ear on the conversation. She heard Shoshana say, “You’re complete?”

  Jennifer heard Pike shouting. Shoshana said, “Wait, slow down. The attack isn’t at the rally?”

  A pause, then, “The cable car? It’s almost here.”

  Shoshana leapt up, slapped Jennifer’s arm, saying, “Where? Where is he?”

  Frustrated, Shoshana said, “I don’t have the diagram you’re looking at. Just tell me where to go.”

  Shoshana looked at Jennifer and said, “The other mountain. He’s on the other mountain. Arm the drone.”

  Jennifer did so, then flew it across the valley, saying, “We have less than five minutes of flying time.”

  The UAV reached the far side and Jennifer started scanning the small crowd next to the cable car stop on Morro da Urca. She got nothing. Shoshana saw a flash of light on a shelf at the edge of the cliff, like a signal mirror beckoning her. A piece of glass attached to a rifle.

  She said, “On the edge, on the edge. Come toward the edge.”

  Alek couldn’t believe the explosive charges had failed to detonate. He pushed the button again and achieved the same lack of results. Kolva said, “What’s happening?”

  “This fucking thing isn’t working.”

  Alek looked at the cable car and saw it had passed the halfway mark. It began to climb higher, the small blob of explosives growing smaller and farther out of reach.

  And then he remembered the ferry.

  He kept jamming the button, holding the transmitter in the air like it would help, and shouted, “Shoot the explosives! Just like you did in Salvador.”

  Kolva said, “What?”

  “Shoot the damn explosives. Quickly!”

  Kolva got down behind his rifle, seated a cheek weld, and began scanning. Alek hissed, “Hurry! Before it gets to the top. We need to drop it before it goes into the dock.”

  Kolva released a breath and said, “Stand by.”

  He squeezed the trigger, and the rifle spit fire. He said, “Shit. Missed.”

  Alek cursed and Kolva took in another breath, lining up the crosshairs. Alek focused on him, willing the bullet to reach, and then he heard a buzzing in the air. A vibrating noise.

  Alek made the mistake of looking up, into the lens of the suicide drone, the machine making a thousand calculations a second, then settling on one. Making a match.

  Alek saw the thing streaking toward him, said, “What the fuck?”

  And was obliterated.

  Chapter 77

  The sky was cold and gray, the leaden clouds threatening to open up, which was about perfect for a funeral at Arlington. A bright and shining day would have been unfitting.

  The crowd included most of the available Taskforce personnel, along with a smattering of Kurt Hale’s former unit members. I saw Kurt’s sister on the edge, Kylie holding her hand, but didn’t go over. I was unsure how she’d receive me after losing her uncle, and didn’t want to cause a scene on this hallowed turf. She had Veep next to her, which was good enough.

  I just stood in the back with Jennifer, feeling her hand in mine on the left, and Amena’s on the right, wanting to be invisible. Both of them jumped when the rifle salute began, each round puncturing the air on command. The mournful notes of Taps floated out, and I heard Jennifer sniffle. The flag was folded, then taken to Hale’s sister, and Jennifer began to cry, the tears flowing freely.

  The chaplain said a few more words, and the service ended. We stood still for a second, and then the group of mourners began to break up. I turned and started walking through the expanse of grass to our car, the solemnness of the grounds overwhelming me. Amena said, “Does everyone in America get to be buried here?”

  I chuckled and said, “No. Only the special ones.”

  She looked up at me and said, “Are you special?”

  And it almost made me weep. Jennifer saw the flood of emotions, squeezed my hand, and, while looking at me, said, “Yes, he’s special. One of the few.”

  Amena sensed the shift in my emotions and said, “What did I do?”

  I said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  I faded back from the crowd, pulling Jennifer and Amena with me, not wanting to talk to anyone. In truth, I hated these things, but went out of duty. I had almost made it to the car before George Wolffe found me.

  Shit. Here we go.

  He shook my hand and said, “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after the Oversight Council meeting.”

  I said, “Sorry about that, sir. But at least the meeting paid for the per diem here today, so I guess that worked out in the greater game of bullshit in D.C.”

  He grimaced and said, “It’s not like that, Pike.”

  I said, “Oh, yeah it is. Last night was proof.”

  We’d wrapped up the operation in Brazil in about thirty seconds, which is to say, I’d made the call to do absolutely nothing to cover our tracks. In the past, I would have stayed, doing some sort of cover development, getting Willow into a hospital with a story of a mugging and making up other tales to allow us plausible deniability for the mess we’d left behind, seeding my wake with receipts and digital bread crumbs.

  But I had grown weary of the dance. I’d received no help from the Oversight Council at the outset, then had been called on to save the day. If it hadn’t been for Wolffe a great many people would have died, but even he had warned me about a flaying upon my return, even though I had, in fact, saved the day. So they could deal with the mess I’d left behind.

  We’d evacuated the house, leaving all the bodies and taking Willow and her boy on the boat with us. We’d raced across the lagoon and tied up the boat at a dock that wasn’t where we rented it, then fled to the airport like a group of high school kids who’d taken a joyride in a car then left it in a ditch.

  Of course, we weren’t a bunch of high school students, and we hadn’t just taken a joyride. We’d killed a bunch of people, and we had the living proof of Willow and her son as evidence.

  While we waited for Jennifer and Shoshana at the Rock Star bird, I’d had Brett, our designated medic, replace the hasty combat trauma patches of the wounded with more precise medical care. Aaron had been hit the worst, but even he was healthy enough to fly once Brett was through with him. Nobody needed to see a doctor here, which was good, because I really didn’t want to explain a gunshot wound to a Brazilian emergency room.

  The wait took a little longer than I expected, but luckily nobody at the executive airport dared to bother the “important people” with the expensive jet. Growing anxious, I’d called Jennifer, and it turned out those two had gone out of their way to accomplish the mission by scaling Sugarloaf like it was Everest. Shoshana had answered Jennifer’s phone, and she was panting coming back down the mountain. She told me what they were doing, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was scared.

  I’d said, “Where’s Jennifer?”

  “She’s at the bottom of a clif
f. She seems to think this is fun. I’m only halfway down, and I’m really pissed she made me do this. If I make it to her, you might not see her again.”

  I’d laughed, then asked, “How is she?”

  I knew Jennifer was the one who’d targeted the Russians with the suicide drone. It was a tough, unforgiving call because nothing about that piece of equipment is 100 percent. The potential to turn it loose on the wrong target was there. You ceded control to a damn computer algorithm instead of human intuition, and I didn’t want that eating at Jennifer. The presidential candidate was alive and well, so I was positive they’d hit the right men, but I wasn’t sure she felt the same way.

  Shoshana said, “She’s fine, Pike. Give her a little more credit.”

  “Okay, okay. I just don’t want her second-guessing the decision.”

  “Before we exfilled from the top, we took a look at the strike zone with binos. There was a rope dangling down the cliff for their escape and a sniper rifle next to the bodies we shredded. She’s not second-guessing anything. We killed the right men.”

  Which was a relief. I said, “Good. Really good. Get your ass down the mountain. I’m ready to go home.”

  She said, “What I’m second-guessing is this damn cliff and her talking me in to this.”

  I started to respond, but she’d hung up. Letting me know she wasn’t pleased. Two hours later, they both showed up, sweaty and disheveled, but pretty proud of what they’d accomplished. But not as proud as I was.

  On the aircraft, leaving Brazil’s airspace, I shacked up a message to George Wolffe, sending it through Creed, and I hadn’t held back on the cowardice I’d felt from the Oversight Council. By the time I’d landed, it had caused quite a stir, not the least because my top secret aircraft held an American citizen and her child, who had been marked for death. I should have just turned her loose at a Brazilian hospital, but I didn’t think that was right, or safe.

  The Council had lost its mind, but Willow was my hole card. I knew they would want to bury her somehow, and that would take any heat greater than an ass chewing off of me, which was good, because I still had one more mission to execute.

  We’d landed and immediately been met with a phalanx of officers from the Department of Homeland Security. They camouflaged their actions as a customs review, but I knew why they were there: to get my planeload of people through immigration control without a record.

  I’d been separated from the rest of the team, a man saying, “Which one of you is Pike?”

  I’d raised my hand and he started to lead me away. I pecked Jennifer on the lips, said, “See you soon,” and let him take me. Knuckles stepped forward and gave me a fist bump.

  Willow said, “Wait.”

  The agent stopped and let me walk to her. I leaned over, getting a kiss on the cheek.

  She’d said, “I still don’t even know your real name, but I greatly appreciate it. If I can help with any trouble for what you did, I will.”

  I said, “Just remember what we talked about on the plane. You stick to that story, and that’s thanks enough.”

  She nodded, then looked at Knuckles, saying, “I was really, really lucky being on that ferry. Anywhere else, and I’d be dead.”

  I said, “No, you were just unlucky in your job. But you were lucky to run into that asshole.”

  Knuckles grinned at me and the Homeland Security guys began to lead me away. Shoshana broke from the pack and left the ring of officers, coming toward me. They stiffened, like they were going to put her in cuffs. Which would have ended badly, given who was walking.

  I said, “Hold your roll there, commandos. She just wants to say good-bye.”

  And they did. She came up to me, her eyes bubbly, and said, “Looks like Jennifer was right about that message you sent.”

  Jennifer, of course, had told me to tone down my report. And, of course, I’d refused.

  I said, “It wouldn’t have mattered what I sent. This was going to happen.”

  She smiled, then said, “We’re working on that computer. You get done over there, and we’ll clean up the rest.”

  I nodded, and she said, “It’s close. I can feel it.”

  I said, “What’s close?”

  “You and Jennifer. It’s close. Something’s going to force it.”

  I looked at her like she was crazy, which, of course, she was, and was led away. We left Dulles airport in a caravan of black SUVs, and I wondered how much money the U.S. government was paying for vehicles.

  The meeting was much ado about nothing, with Secretary of State Amanda Croft standing up for me, National Security Advisor Alexander Palmer and the rest wanting to roast me, and the president of the United States ending the whole damn thing by asking about the breach of the Taskforce and GRS. It was surreal. I’d been running for about forty-eight hours without sleep, and would have said I was hallucinating like I was a candidate at Ranger School, but it was just the government at its finest.

  In the end, the Taskforce had foiled a Russian operation to take over control of the new Lulu oil fields in Brazil—which potentially would have given them sway over the government itself, putting a near-peer enemy in our backyard—and I was being grilled about the manner with which I’d accomplished the mission. It aggravated the hell out of me, and after Kurt Hale’s death, coupled with the subsequent waffling of the men at the table, I had little patience for the circus.

  The only plus from the event was President Hannister himself saying that my actions proved the worth of the Taskforce. He mentioned the GRS stories being published, saying they were something to watch and a reason to keep the Taskforce on stand-down, but I knew that threat would end tonight.

  I’d answered all of their questions, then left, meeting Amanda at the door as I exited. She’d said, “No matter what anyone thinks, I understand what you did, and I appreciate it.”

  I came close to saying, “You’d better up your game, because there’s a Petrobras chick that’ll close the deal with Knuckles as soon as she can breathe without a tube.”

  But I didn’t.

  Now walking across the grounds of Arlington, Jennifer to my right and Amena to my left, I wondered if Wolffe really wanted to talk about the meeting, or something else.

  Chapter 78

  Without preamble, Wolffe said, “There’s a tech guy with a Department of Defense contract who was found dead this morning in Crystal City.”

  So it was something else. I said, “Do tell.”

  He said, “The police did a dive on his computer. They entered it into a database to help solve the murder, and it pinged with us. We, of course, aren’t going to help solve the crime, but it turned out that his IP address was connected to the stories posted about the Taskforce. About GRS. You get in any extracurricular activities last night?”

  Truthfully, I said, “No. I had nothing to do with that.”

  Untruthfully, I failed to mention that I’d turned Shoshana and Aaron on to him from Nikita’s computer. On the flight home we’d found WhatsApp messages from Nikita to one Clyde Marion, a man who’d made a living altering election results around the world, manipulating voters by inserting messages into social media.

  His name had been archived in the traffic, and the messages had been damning. He’d conspired with the team that had killed Kurt, attacked Amena and Kylie, and almost killed me. When I’d read the messages, I’d felt the rage grow.

  Jennifer had seen the pain on my face and said, “Let it go. It’s over.”

  I’d agreed, and let the team go to sleep on the ten-hour flight. When I was sure Jennifer was zonked out, I’d awakened Shoshana.

  I knew I was going to be carted off as soon as the plane landed—not officially arrested, but separated for sure. I also knew they’d leave my team alone. There would be too many questions if they raised a stink. I knew they’d be set free.

  I’d slunk down to Shoshana’s seat and gently rubbed her arm until she opened her eyes. And then I’d asked her for one last favor. One last step int
o the abyss.

  She’d heard the request, turned to Aaron’s slumbering form, then back at me. She said, “This is a big ask.”

  I said, “I know. I know.”

  She said, “Do I have to crawl up a rock wall?”

  Confused, I said, “No. Not at all.”

  She smiled, then turned serious, saying, “The abyss waits for us both. You need to understand that. You need to avoid it.”

  I nodded and said, “You know I wouldn’t—”

  She cut me off, saying, “I’ll do it for you. Only for you.”

  I’d kissed her on the forehead and returned to my seat, finding Jennifer awake. She said, “What was that about?”

  I said, “Nothing. Just thanking her.”

  Now, hearing Wolffe’s words about the death of the computer contractor, Jennifer put two and two together, and looked at me sharply.

  Wolffe said, “Yeah, I know it wasn’t you, because you were getting grilled by us all night. Right?”

  I said, “Right, sir. Right.”

  We kept walking, the expanse of the hallowed ground of Arlington spilling out behind us, the crowd breaking apart, and out of nowhere, Kylie caught up to us, saying, “Hey, Amena.”

  Amena hugged her, and then Kylie looked at me. I said, “I’m sorry, Kylie. More than you know.”

  She released Amena and wrapped her arms around my chest, leaning into me and saying, “I know you are. I know.”

  I awkwardly hugged her back, then said, “Amena, you want to ride with Kylie to the restaurant for lunch?”

  She sensed that something was about to happen and said, “Why?”

  I said, “Because I need to talk to Uncle George here.”

  She slitted her eyes, but let Kylie drag her away.

  Wolffe said, “Thanks for that. I have to ask about the original problem. Given what’s gone on, the Council is more worried than ever about someone tracking down Amena’s admittance. She has no sponsor and has no reason to be here.”

  Jennifer and I had talked about this on the flight home, and she had a pretty good solution. She said, “We’ve figured this out. There’s an all-girls school called Ashley Hall in Charleston that has an international boarding program. They have students from all over the world, and we’re sure they’ll take a Syrian refugee. It’ll play well politically for the school.”