Lady Death

by Brian Drake

  “Hold still,” Raven said. He slung his rifle and pushed her onto her back. She coughed and her body jolted, then settled. “Help is on the way.”

  She breathed hard and fast, but at least she was breathing. Raven wiped blood from the corners of her mouth with his thumb. “You’ll be okay.”

  Her eyes moved up and down his face, but she didn’t respond.

  “Let me through, sir.”

  Raven stood up as one of the CIA shooters with a medical kit took his place. Two other CIA medics tended to the other wounded shooters. Hayden had moved to the landing between the first and second floors. He held his phone to his ear but wasn’t talking.

  Raven went over to Horn’s prostrate form. He’d fired the rounds into Horn’s back, and the little holes had opened up big holes in his front. The carpet beneath him was drenched in blood. And his eyes remained opened.

  Whatever he knew had died with him.

  Raven turned as the commotion continued. The remaining CIA crew from outside began carrying the wounded down. Hayden stood to the side to let them pass, then ran to Raven. Color had drained from his face. Raven knew the next words he spoke would contain bad news.

  “Just talked to Wilson,” Haydon said. “We were too late, Sam.”

  Too late.

  The echo of the words in Raven’s mind drowned out any other commotion.

  Every news network had cameras at each disaster scene.

  Deputy Director of CIA Operations Christopher Fisher sat in his office. His number two, Layla McCarthy, sat in front of the desk. He felt numb all over, and Layla sat forward in her chair with her eyes locked on the television screens.

  Fisher had three wide screens mounted on the wall to the left of his desk. They were always muted, each screen showing a different news network. Fisher often forgot they were there until a disaster happened.

  Like today.

  The attacks had occurred within minutes of each other. As anchors reported the first, the second took place, and the third. Reporters, stunned at the incoming information, struggled to keep up.

  In Los Angeles, a truck bomb detonated outside a local television station. The explosion vaporized a chunk of the building, exposing every floor bottom to top. Debris and bodies covered the street and sidewalk as emergency crews arrived.

  And then the ambush began.

  Three gunmen emerged from hiding and opened fire with automatic weapons. They cut down the cops and firemen and any straggling civilians nearby.

  In New York City, a subway car exploded as it pulled into Bay Parkway station. As steel and glass debris mixed with fire and flame, gunmen opened fire on anybody still on the platform.

  In Chicago, the terrorists hit the Cloud Gate structure. The bomb blast lifted the silver ball off its base, cracked it in half, and opened a crater in the plaza in which it sat. Another mass shooting followed the blast.

  Fisher watched as the news cut back and forth between each city. He didn’t have the sound on. He didn’t need to hear the large volume of conflicting information. His job wasn’t to explain what happened. His task was to stop the attacks. Since he’d failed, his job was now to find those responsible.

  He exchanged a look with Layla. Her usual pale features were more so now.

  He wasn’t sure what to do but wait for Sam Raven’s report.

  A knock on the office door stirred him from his stupor.

  He called out, “Yes?”

  His secretary opened the door and leaned in. “Clark Wilson to see you.”

  “Yes, please, hurry.”

  The secretary stepped back and Clark Wilson entered. A flush of red filled his face and sweat dotted his forehead. He carried a notepad.

  “Tell me you have something, Clark.”

  Wilson stopped before the desk. He took a moment to catch his breath and consulted his notes. “Horn is dead.”

  Fisher cursed. Layla rested an elbow on the edge of Fisher’s desk and covered her forehead.

  “Any good news?” Fisher said.

  “Our second strike team captured John Yarvis alive.”

  “Which one was he?”

  “Horn’s number two, sir,” Wilson said. “He gave us data we can use.”

  “What is it?”

  “Longitude and latitude coordinates,” Wilson said. “Heinrich and I checked them out. They point to an island in the North Atlantic, south of the Azores.”

  “Who’s on it?”

  “Our satellite scan shows somebody who built up a fortress and has plenty of troops.”

  “Tanya is there?”

  “Her father owns the island,” Wilson said. “He bought it fifteen years ago. Yarvis says if she vanished after we lost her in Paris, she’s probably there. It’s where the rehearsals for Operation Triangle took place.”

  “What does Raven want to do?”

  Wilson shrugged. “Go there. Him and Hayden.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” Fisher said.

  Layla looked up. She said, “Can we talk the president into sending bombers? A two-man crew isn’t going to do the job.”

  “You read my mind,” Fisher said. “But I’m thinking of a carrier strike group out of the Med.” He picked up the phone to call the Director of Central Intelligence. They had to move fast.

  14

  Tanya Jafari stood on the beach, hands in her coat pockets. Waves crashed on the shore with more ferocity than daytime. Their thunderous soundtrack calmed her racing mind. Cold wind whipped at her face, but her heavy coat kept her warm.

  Operation Triangle was a success. Hundreds of dead civilians and America terrified and confused. She could not have imagined a better outcome. The plan had carried with it a lot of risk. Her father’s connections with Ben Doyle, Stavros Stathoti, and Dante Horn made it possible. And the Americans kept looking in all the wrong places for clues. Icing on the cake.

  But it wasn’t a victory. The United States would be out for blood. Her blood. And the blood of anybody associated with the Islamic Union. Wiping out the CIA agents in Damascus had sent a message, but others would soon take their place. The new crew, motivated by vengeance, would hunt her people to the ends of the earth. Somebody would talk about the island. Tanya Jafari figured she could count the number of days left to her on both hands. The island sanctuary, set up by her father decades ago, wasn’t going to remain so very long. They’d find her. Only a matter of time.

  The success of Operation Triangle didn’t bring back her father. The death toll wouldn’t change Hannah’s mind either.

  No plan survives the first five seconds of its implementation. Operation Triangle had been no different. Successful, yet unsatisfying.

  What had started so innocently as her and Francesca falling in love with two Muslims turned into nothing but pain. Operation Triangle had been an attempt to relieve the pain, avenge their fallen husbands, and Francesca too, who hadn’t been able to live with the loss.

  I’ve been dedicated to righting injustice.

  She didn’t regret her chosen path. The west needed to pay for how they treated people like Ahmad and Tamal.

  But what has it taken from me?

  The only answer was everything. Tanya had lost all that was dear to her in pursuit of her goal. She hadn’t planned on losing everything after already losing so much. But she had. It was a reality she needed to face.

  No amount of spilled blood changed the situation.

  But she had Omar Talman on the island with her. If she were entering her final days on earth, she’d spend it with the man she loved. She’d never expected to love another man again, but Omar had surprised her. Maybe life had other surprises in store as well. One could hope.

  She tried not to find an analogy between her thoughts and the darkness into which she stared. The night sky met the pitch-black ocean. There was no way to tell where one ended and the other began except for twinkling stars. And even then, she wasn’t sure of the divide.

  Tanya turned around. The main headquarters building sat
a short distance away. Only a few lights lit the exterior perimeter, and no lights shined inside. She was awake well beyond “lights out” and only a minimal security force remained awake. Sleep had eluded her, but not Omar, so she’d taken a walk. Right now, she needed solitude more than company.

  Tanya glanced up as the echo of whipping rotor blades grew louder. One of her patrol choppers passed overhead. She wondered if the crew saw her. Besides the pilot, four troops rode in the cabin, ready to jump out and engage intruders while the pilot radioed for reinforcements.

  She’d probably have to increase the number of patrols. During the day she had two flying, one at night. Maybe three daytime and two at night would be better.

  Tanya moved to a nearby rock and sat. The chill of the stone bled through her jeans. She stared into the dark some more. Darkness was everybody’s final destination. She had no idea what she’d encounter once she arrived, but it wouldn’t be as peaceful as the darkness she looked into now.

  It was time to savor however many moments she had left.

  A fast-moving arrow cut through the choppy waters of the North Atlantic.

  The motorboat was standard SOCOM issue, a Combatant Craft Assault boat. The forty-foot craft tapered at the bow to resemble an arrow. An apropos description. Sam Raven and Joe Hayden stood at the controls of an arrow fired at the heart of Tanya Jafari and her organization.

  They’d flown to the area of the North Atlantic, south of the Azores, where “Jafari Island” as Raven called it, in a C-130. When the plane reached the designated drop zone, the load master launched the boat first. Parachutes guided the CCV to the water. Raven and Hayden parachuted into the ocean behind it. After a few tense moments of climbing aboard and getting the engine going, they steered for the island.

  Hayden drove. He had the experience necessary from his days as a Navy SEAL. Raven monitored the radar screen next to the pilot seat.

  Both wore black combat suits, prepared for war with all the associated gear and weapons. If the island had radar capability, the CCV’s composite body wouldn’t show up. Enemy boats and planes not similarly designed would flash on the radar screen.

  Another screen showed their progress to the island. Another fifteen minutes.

  Raven bounced in his seat as the CCV cut across the rough water. He constantly wiped spray from his face. The cold water chilled his skin. The chilly temperature bit through their combat fatigues. He let his thoughts wander to take his mind off the discomfort. The fate of Misty Watson filled his mind.

  She’d live, but Horn had hurt her badly. Her recovery would not be short or easy. But at least she’d live to fight another day in whichever manner she saw fit.

  The hectic exit from Antwerp was behind them now. At least one of the two raids ended in success. Horn’s number two, John Yarvis, had proven his value under interrogation. Raven doubted if they’d have found Horn as cooperative. Knowing what criminal charges he faced in the US, and how his previous blackmail scheme wouldn’t save him this time, he’d have been tough to crack. But Yarvis didn’t have the same baggage and wanted to save his neck. He sang like a canary.

  Raven’s mission of prevention and revenge had simply become revenge. And he felt defeated going into the final battle. His only recourse was to make Tanya Jafari feel the same sense of dread. Make her pay for what she’d done, and the lives she’d destroyed.

  Raven hadn’t bothered listening to any news of the Operation Triangle disaster. He didn’t need to see the suffering or know the death toll. He’d failed to stop the attack. Tanya had won again.

  And while she might have achieved victory, Raven would have the final word. Any sense of triumph she now enjoyed had a short time limit.

  Raven and Tiger Joe studied several satellite shots of Jafari Island during their flight. The island looked like a mutated T, with one side of the T jagged and diagonal. All the facilities were at the top of the T, with everything south jagged rocks and hills with a little bit of grass. A cove at the southernmost tip might provide a suitable spot to leave the CCV and begin their infiltration. They wouldn’t know for sure until they arrived. If the cove didn’t work out, they’d improvise. But nothing was going to stop them from getting onto the island.

  Nothing would stop them from showing Tanya Jafari the meaning of payback.

  15

  The crescent-shaped cove looked about two miles across with no beach in which to run the CCV aground. The cove ended at a cliff face 50 feet high. Raven and Hayden did not have climbing gear. To the left of the cove was a rough patch of ground leading up to the top. They’d get a workout but there was no other way unless they found another entry point.

  Ocean waves entered the cove at several angles. The waves rocked the boat to-and-fro as Hayden steered left. As the port bow bumped against the edge of the shore, Raven leaped out. He tied a nylon rope around a large boulder. Didn’t matter if it held. They wouldn’t use the CCV for escape. They only needed the rope to hold a few moments.

  Fisher had arranged backup. Within four hours they wouldn’t be the only Americans on the island. The USS Abraham Lincoln, from the US Sixth Fleet, was on the way from the Mediterranean. The carrier not only had F-18s on stand-by, but also two Black Hawks full of SEALs.

  Raven and Hayden had a simple task. Locate Tanya. Terminate when the cavalry arrived. Hayden jumped off the boat and joined Raven. Each man carried a US M4 rifle, with suppressor, along with a combat harness containing a variety of grenades and spare magazines. Wireless com units fitted into their right ears. Spare magazines, combat knives, and their personal pistols completed the rig. Small packs on their backs carried more ammunition magazines. The packs also contained their night vision gear. Shedding the packs, they removed the Sinister 509 XL6s Hayden had scrounged before leaving Antwerp. The goggles fit over their eyes like a diver’s mask and amplified the starlight. The darkness took on a greenish glow.

  The surf crashed at high volume on all sides. Raven took point up the rise. The hard-packed volcanic soil gave way to a flat top. A clear stretch of soil provided a road to follow. On the opposite side, a line of lush trees. Raven spotted tire tracks. The wheelbase was too narrow for a pick-up. Tanya’s crew used ATVs. The tracks went to the edge of the cliff and back.

  “Stay by the trees and follow this road,” Raven said.

  “Gonna be a long march.”

  “We better get started.”

  Raven and Hayden crossed the open road to the tree line. They walked upright but with a ten-foot gap between them. Raven remained point man. They’d see an ATV patrol before hearing the vehicle. The rider would need his headlamp. But they had no idea of the patrol routine or how many troops they’d encounter.

  They continued their advance. The road forked further on, the branch leading down a slope to a beach. They ignored the fork. The sea breeze ruffled the tree leaves above. It was almost too peaceful a place to have a fight. At any other time, Raven would have found the island the perfect place for R&R.

  Not this time.

  Presently a bright light flashed in the distance. “Down!” Raven said. He dropped behind a mound of grass while Hayden broke across the road to a small gully.

  The ATV headlamp became larger as the vehicle approached. There was only one with a single rider. Raven readied his M4. He poked the barrel through the top of the grass. And waited.

  The sound of the motor didn’t overpower the ocean. The rider continued his approach, and once his torso filled Raven’s gun sight, the M4 whispered once.

  He never saw the rider’s face but watched the man’s body stiffen and pitch over the side. The back wheels rolled over the trooper’s body. The ATV veered left, up a short rise, and rolled back. It stopped against the rider’s body.

  Raven ran to the ATV and started to turn it back the way the rider had come when Hayden told him to stop.

  “Got another,” the CIA man said.

  Raven cut off the motor and pushed the ATV into the trees. He dropped beside it with the M4 at the read
y.

  The second rider stopped ten yards from Raven. He turned on a hand-held light and shined it back and forth. The light stopped at the body of the first rider. He started to get off the ATV but didn’t make it. Raven and Hayden fired at the same time. The second rider collapsed and lay still.

  “One for each of us,” Hayden said. He left the gully and ran to the second ATV as Raven pulled the first out of the trees. They followed the tracks at a moderate speed.

  They had a general idea of their final destination from the satellite pictures. A cottage sat on a hill on the upper left point of the T. The cottage overlooked a cluster of buildings in a small valley. Barracks, they assumed. Over a rise behind the buildings, level with the ocean, was an airstrip. A road twisted through the landscape connecting the strip to the cottage. The road they followed also branched off to connect with the cottage. They expected to find Tanya inside.

  Bushy terrain near the cottage would hide them from the barracks in the valley. All they had to do was wait for the Navy and then kill Tanya Jafari. Two shots center mass seemed about right. Raven didn’t want to waste time talking to her. He wouldn’t miss. Hayden’s target was Omar Talman, Tanya’s lover, the man who’d slaughtered CIA personnel at the Blue Ridge black site.

  They rode for several miles until the trees thinned out. Overgrowth and open soil replaced the trees. They stopped the ATV before the end of the trees and made the rest of the way on foot. When they found the branch leading to the cottage, they moved fast through the overgrowth. The downward slope of the road didn’t slow them down, though Raven was careful not to slip on loose soil. On either side of the road, a down slope led to more grass and rocks. He stopped midway to take up a security scan while Hayden moved forward. They continued the leapfrog movement until they were twenty yards from the cottage. They found plenty of places to conceal themselves, but no solid cover.

  Raven felt his black combat uniform clinging to his sweating body. He breathed hard. They rolled into the overgrowth and looked twenty yards ahead at Tanya’s cottage.