by D S Kane
“Dubai? It will take at least two days to get there. Same for William. And this must be completed rapidly. I have to return here by the time the subs arrive in Lahaina.” She watched him calculate the probabilities. Close to a minute passed. “Okay, Sashakovich. The planes leaving Maui are empty. You’re the one they’re looking for and you’ll stay here. I’ll take a few mercenaries with me.” With that he turned and left.
Major Alister McTavish met Shimmel at the door and they exchanged a few words she couldn’t hear. Shimmel returned and shook his head. “Another twist. It seems that the Yakuza own this hotel and they also own most of the news media in Hawaii. So no news of your problem here has found the airwaves as yet. Maybe that’s for the better, because it would act as a clarion call for hitters. But it seems they also own the law enforcement on the island. So here, it’s us against the mafiya. Trust no one from the hotel.” With that, he was gone.
Sometime during the morning a squad of mercenaries went shopping and bought food and supplies from the local ABC Store in Kihei. One of them brought the general manager of the hotel to Cassie’s room. She told him, “I claim total responsibility for all damage. I’ll pay to have it all fixed, but only if I live to sign the checks. Is that clear?”
The general manager looked around. “This is going to cost a lot of money. Well,” he sighed staring at the armed mercs, “I’ll do what I can to improve security on this floor.”
“Wait. Before you go, can you tell me why no one’s tried to stop the violence?”
The man turned away. “Uh, the new owners are the Japanese Building Society. All the employees hate them. They’ve put a clamp down on all communications in and out. All the other hotel visitors were evacuated the day after you arrived. And, Yakuza own the local newspapers, radio, and television stations. Not to mention the local government.”
She grimaced. Now she had confirmation of what Shimmel had told her. “You mean the Yakuza has me trapped here and unable to get word out?”
He frowned. “Yeah. We hate them, but they pay our salaries.” Then he smiled. “Say, you can always use your cell phone. Maybe you can raise some help that way. Oh, and I noticed an Internet news article that mentioned you being here and the attacks. So, it’s not so secret anymore. If you do get to the outside world, have the authorities get us out of here.” He seemed oddly detached from the situation. “We can’t leave either.”
She took a deep breath and tried to relax, looking out the smashed window. One of the mercs had a bullhorn and was telling the hitters to disperse or die. Some began to leave the premises. Cassie went to the master bedroom and righted the bed. She wondered if she was better off with news leaking out or not. News meant more hitters, so maybe not. She lay down and fell asleep within seconds.
Lester said to JD, “She’s got the right idea. Let’s get some sleep while we can. I think after dark, things won’t seem so rosy.”
William Wing hated travel. As a hacker, he feared exposure, and the potential dangers of recognition. Travel meant being meticulously careful. So much more than anyone else had to do. He hated time zone travel especially, because his body functioned poorly when his sleep cycle altered. He hated being stupid and time zone travel made him just plain dim-witted. This time, he was so anxious he’d forgotten to pack his toothbrush. He sat in one of Dubai’s terminal waiting areas, looking outside through a window and frowned. According to the thermometer, it was 115 degrees Fahrenheit. Getting crisp, he thought. He looked at his wristwatch. Less than an hour until Shimmel was scheduled to arrive. Then, time to boogie.
He’d filled his tote satchel with electronic devices, voltage travel converters, patch cords and a few changes of clothes. Jetlagged, he felt woozy as he staggered off to Starbucks for a cup of coffee. William’s eyes never strayed from the entrance. He’d met Watson once and was ready to cover his face with the cell he held in his left hand. He couldn’t let their target recognize him. But over the hour he sat there, he didn’t see anyone that even looked remotely like Watson.
His cell phone started to vibrate, and he answered it. “Wing here. Where are you?”
Shimmel waited his turn to leave the jet. He spoke into his cell, “On my way to the ramp off the plane, along with five men. We checked luggage containing plastic .38 caliber handguns, non-metallic ammunition, and ceramic cutlery. Where should I meet you?”
“I’m at the airport Starbucks right now. But this is where our man was for a while, so let’s not meet here. Safer at baggage claim. Wing out.”
The group of mercs included Shimmel, two other men, and three women.
The men were from Germany and Italy, the women were from France, Germany, and Great Britain. Shimmel had worked with each before when he served as a consultant to NATO. The Germans, Horst Frankel and Gretchen Wierstein, were both experts in Martial Arts. Sylvia Orley, from France was an expert in small arms, and so was Alphonso Gerelli from Italy. But, for this mission, the gem of the group was his specialist in interrogation, Jillian McCain, a Britsh citizen. McCain was actually Jewish, born in Tel Aviv. Lester Dushov had trained her in the use of chemical agents and counterterrorism psychology.
The group moved in single file with Shimmel last, down the hall to baggage claim. Wing was already there, reading an ebook version of DS Kane’s Bloodridge on his cell. He looked up and nodded. They waited for their bags and talked. Just above a whisper,
Wing said, “He’s not at the airport. At least as far as I can tell. I waited until every male except the staff at Starbucks had gone, so there’s no way he could have heard when I asked the manager if he’d seen a Caucasian using the rent-a-computer. It’s been almost a year since the last time I saw him and, I guess that I can’t remember his face as well as I should. Anyway, they gave me his description: about five-foot-eight, hundred-fifty pounds, no facial hair, bushy brown hair, brown eyes. He was wearing a blue pinstriped business suit and white shirt, no tie, black shoes. They offered no knowledge of facial structure, just the info needed to tell the customer when his café latte was ready for delivery to the computer when he didn’t come get it.”
Wing shook his head, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I seem to remember his face was angular and he has a sharp chin and a broad forehead. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. I’m still monitoring his email and he’s received nothing since you arrived. But he may have sent a few messages before I got here, since I had to turn off my Internet connection while landing.”
Shimmel nodded. “Now we wait. Is there a restaurant?”
“Nothing I like. I’m surviving on Starbucks pastries.” Wing shook his head. “At least I won’t gain any weight.”
They all went to Starbucks and waited. Jillian stood watch, just inside the door, acting as lookout. The others sat at a table and ate a modest meal of pastries.
At 10 p.m., Watson still hadn’t appeared. Shimmel said, “We know he has almost no money. If he left the airport, he must still be in Dubai. And if he managed to get some money, he’s no longer in this emirate. I’ll call Sashakovich.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket and dialed her number. “Sashakovich. It’s Shimmel. No sign of Watson. We’ve waited at the airport for over eight hours and Wing says he hasn’t used Gmail again.”
Cassie held her cell delicately, as if it might save her life. But, the news wasn’t good.
If they continued waiting, it would just cause everyone’s level of frustration to rise. But she had to have Watson remove that call for her death from GrayNet. She slammed her fist into the wrecked couch. The Hawaiian morning should have felt hot, but she shivered as if death was already claiming her.
“Okay, then, Avram. I’ve got another problem. I wired the funds to Misha yesterday and he paid the Russian mafiya. But Misha says they haven’t delivered him documentation of payment, and now they deny they ever received the payment. Misha thinks they changed their minds. They want twice what we agreed to. I can’t wait here and diddle with them. With what I’m spending
I can’t afford any more.”
She could imagine his dour expression. So much was going wrong. “Can you steal the subs? Please organize a mission to get them from the mafiya, in Siberia, ASAP. Leave your team in Dubai to find Watson. Have Wing lead them. He’s the only one of us ever saw Watson. Have him report directly back to me.”
Shimmel felt his eyebrows rise. “The Russian mafiya?” Sashakovich, they’re professional thieves. You want me to steal from armed robbers? You should have guessed that whatever you negotiated, once they had the cash, they’d want more.”
Remembering her face, he saw a vision of the wife and daughter he’d lost to a car bomb in Tel Aviv a few years ago. Cassie and his wife were so much alike. Willful, arrogant, smart. He imagined his young wife smiling at his young daughter as she started the car’s engine. The explosion had burned both to ash.
A tear formed in the corner of one eye.
The chances of Cassie’s survival were negligible without the subs. But this mission was almost impossible. And there was no time left to plan something better. He thought how to organize it. “They probably have better security than the Russian military.” He paced the coffee shop. “Of course I can steal the subs. But we may lose some mercs. We’ll need to kidnap the two submarine crews or we’ll never get the subs out from the harbor. Very dicey. I will need more than half the mercs you now have. We’ll have ongoing missions in Dubai, Maui, and Vladivostok. Bad for coordinating force levels and logistics. Can you survive with half your current force?”
“I’ll have to. But without the subs there’s no evac plan.” She paused momentarily. “Avram, it’s the only way.”
“Yah. But we’ll be badly fragmented and won’t have critical mass for any of these three. Probability of mission success on all three will be low.”
“Enough! Just do it.”
He shook his head. “I’ll head to Siberia immediately.” He sighed and faced Wing. “William, you’re in charge of this mission.” Then back into the phone, he said, “Sashakovich, I’ll need to speak with Major LeFleur to arrange troop and matériel logistics.”
William had overheard the conversation. His face reddened. “But I have no experience doing field operations work. I’m just a hacker!”
Avram waved his arm and faced Wing. “Jill will be in charge of logistics for you and she’ll help out when you need assistance.” Shimmel put the phone back to his ear. “Just where in Vladivostok will I be going?”
“They have the subs at the warehouse pier,” said Cassie. “Can’t seem to get any private jets for the next two days, so it’ll be commercial flights this time. I’ve just purchased tickets for your flights. From Dubai to Abu Dhabi to Frankfurt, and then on Air France from Frankfurt to Vladivostok. There is no direct flight from the US or Great Britain. LeFleur says he can send thirty mercs. They’ll meet you at the airport in Frankfurt.”
Shimmel sighed. He’d visited Vladivostok, and thought it a pisshole of a city. “Understood. Send the electronic voucher information on all the tickets to my cell phone and I’ll be leaving immediately. Please let me talk to LeFleur. Now.”
“Major LeFleur here.”
Avram faced away from William and covered his other ear. “Jacques, send me an assault team. I’ll meet them in Frankfurt.” He thought for a few seconds about the logistics of the mission. “Give me four in explosives, four snipers, two med techs, sixteen small-arms specialists, and four communications specialists. Make sure one of the mercs has skills in interrogation, just in case. Have Sashakovich book rooms in the Hotel Visit and have her send a complete battle weapons load-out there via express shipment.”
“Oui, General. Consider it done.”
Shimmel terminated the call. He nodded to Wing and picked up his satchel. As he headed toward the ticket counters at the front of the airport, his cell beeped with an incoming message containing his travel docket. He stopped and viewed the screen.
Thousands of miles away, Major LeFleur began shouting orders. Cassie listened. With so many of the mercenaries now leaving, she’d have a force of just over thirty remaining with her. Against over a thousand hitters.
She wondered, would that be enough soldiers? Not bloody likely. Once again, she shivered in the heat.
Chapter Twenty-Five
October 29, 11:46 a.m.
Frankfurt am Main Airport, Germany
The overlarge man marched from the plane into the airport in Frankfurt. He walked in a stagger, jet lagged. Flying first class allowed him to sleep on the flight, minimizing the temporary damage. He strolled slowly, looking for a place to sit and rest, until he found Sportsbar, a restaurant where he could watch Israel play France in the soccer semifinals. Avram Shimmel ordered a cheese sandwich and cup of coffee. He’d be waiting over two hours until the remainder of his team arrived. He sat and munched on the vegan sandwich. Israel was losing 4 to 1, and Shimmel began to drift with jet lag. His thoughts wandered from soccer to other games of territory, from American football to basketball to war itself. He fell asleep.
Jolting from his seat, he yawned and raised his head off his arms. Shimmel didn’t know how long he’d slept. No one had bothered him while he occupied the table near the bar. He thought, ach, how civilized Germany has become. Looking at his watch, he noted only five minutes left to go. It had worked out perfectly. He dumped some money on the table, rose and headed for baggage claim.
As he arrived, the mercenaries began to drift in, and within five minutes the entire group gathered together. Shimmel compared his ticket to each of theirs. They were all perfect matches. All were booked on Air France direct to Vladivostok in ninety minutes.
He smiled at Major McTavish, one of his direct reports, and said, “Okay, then, Alister, round them up. Let’s go to the departure gate. In eighteen hours we’ll be in Vlad.”
Gilbert Greenfield picked up the telephone before the end of the first ring. Caller ID told him it was POTUS. He sighed, picking up the receiver. “Good evening, Mr. President, how can I help you?”
“Gil, we need Encryption-Lok for this call.” Greenfield heard the familiar buzz of encryption engagement and flipped the corresponding switch on his phone. “Gil, what about Ainsley and Sashakovich?”
“Nothing new. She’s apparently being hunted by contract hitters in Maui and he’s not yielding any valuable intel.”
“Maybe we need to raise the stakes. Make her an easier target to acquire.”
“Sir, she’s probably dead by now. If not, she will be soon. What could raise the stakes?”
“Her daughter.”
Greenfield was speechless. Finally he mustered, “That’s kidnapping. It’d become very public before it could do you any good. No leverage there.”
“Shit, Gil. I want the whole family dead,”
Greenfield held his breath, trying to think of some way to get his old friend to think. The dumb asshole! “Sir, let’s see what happens in Maui first.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before the President responded. “Can we get feet on the ground in Maui to watch and report? Anyone free at your end to send there?”
“Sir, if you insist, I’ll find someone. But this will impact our other operations.”
“I don’t care. And another thing. Can you implant a Bug-Lok in her daughter? Terminating the girl would really be sweet after all the shit her mother rained down on me.”
Greenfield’s jaw dropped. Ann Silbee was a noncombatant in the little feud his boss had with the former covert agent. “Sir, wouldn’t that make our role more visible? Is it worth risking your freedom, not to mention your legacy?”
“Let me think a while about that. It’s getting hot around here, what with that idiot Dillworthy and his piece of shit oversight committee. I’d really like him dead too.”
“Please, sir. If he died in any untimely way, it would only ensure you’d be tried for treason. Bug-Lok poison can be detected in a thorough autopsy. And Dillworthy’s death in the middle of a treason investigation would
ensure that.”
“Yeah, well, maybe. But get someone to Maui and report back ASAP. I want someone following the Silbee girl, too. Tell me everything she does.”
The connection terminated. Looking out the window onto K Street, Greenfield saw his reflection, face red with anger. When he hung up the receiver, his hands were slick with perspiration.
Lee shifted, restless, on the living room couch. The television blared in the background at low volume He worried about Cassie as he watched her unfolding story on CNN.
Once again she fought armed killers struggling for her life, while he sat safe at home. He watched the television for word about her and his heart ached.
Ann came bouncing down the stairs. As soon as he heard her bound off the last step, he tried to hide his expression, but she saw. “There are new men outside, patrolling the house, Lee. What’s wrong?”
He thought hard, wondering how much should I tell her? How to tell her? He carefully crafted his reply. “Ann, remember when we told you what mom and I do?”
