by T C Miller
Jake’s transmission was broadcast to the entry teams and a Tactical Support Unit in the command post. He went over a mental checklist to make sure nothing was left to chance as he crept toward the entry door.
The TSU activated signal blockers to prevent normal radio and cell phone traffic in the immediate area of the warehouse. Their encrypted radios and hand signals would be the only source of communication.
Emergency services, including fire department and ambulances stood by in case of injury or fire. Chicago Police Department units established a security perimeter with wooden barricades and police vehicles two blocks away in every direction. A police helicopter circled at a distance, ready to respond if there was a chase.
Jake stood next to the door and nodded to the man behind him to move up with a battering ram. One heavy swing and the metal-sheathed door collapsed inward. Jake stepped over the mangled door and moved to one side while the rest of the unit rushed single-file into the darkened interior and took cover behind stacks of pallets and an SUV with tinted windows. The last man through the door crab-walked to the front fender of the vehicle and used hand signals to warn Jake of two subjects ahead.
Jake moved up next to him and used a hand mirror to peek around the fender. Two men dressed in jeans and turtleneck sweaters stood outside a windowed office with automatic weapons at waist level while they smoked. They dropped the cigarettes at the sound of the crashing door and brought their rifles up to firing position.
A light inside the office silhouetted a figure seated at a desk. A man across from him had his back to the window. Could either one of them be Yancy?
“Move one centimeter, and she dies,” a voice behind them said in broken English.
Jake looked back to find a stranger standing behind Susan with his arm wrapped firmly around her neck and a tactical knife at her throat.
Susan’s eyes flared with fear. “Sorry, Boss…he sneaked up on me.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of this.”
“That happens only if you do as I say,” the mercenary said. “Throw your weapon on floor.”
Jake stood up and faced the man. “Not gonna happen, Ivan, it’s against policy.”
“You joke, yes? And how do you know my name?”
“I never joke when the safety of my team is at stake, and the name was a lucky guess. I will make you a deal, though.”
“What deal?”
“Let her go, drop your weapon, and you might walk out under your own power. Otherwise, you get
carried out feet first in a body bag.”
“Brave talk. I am one with hostage.”
“True, but the building is surrounded. Your comrades are being rounded up as we speak. Surrender and spend time in a comfortable US prison, or die now. The choice is yours.”
Muffled gunfire punctuated Jake’s words, and the pungent smell of Cordite filled the air.
The mercenary looked over the truck through a smoky haze and saw his comrades going down, one by one. His hold on the young warrior loosened. Susan stomped on his foot and bent over, leaving Jake a clear shot. Jake placed a round in the center of the mercenary’s forehead, followed by two to the man’s chest. “Nice move, Susan.”
The rookie turned away and vomited.
“Where is Bocc?” One of Yancy’s mercenaries asked Vasily as he entered the warehouse office.
“Why is it you ask?” Vasily replied without looking up from the chess board in front of him.
Vasily’s opponent looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Nikita, why are you curious?”
Nikita frowned and addressed Vasily again, “Truck has leak in transmission. What should I do?”
Vasily leaned back in the rickety office chair and leisurely stretched. “I ask Bocc when he returns. Return to guard duty until then.”
“Da,” Nikita mumbled as he closed the door behind him.
“Is not often Gregori stays away for this long,” the other man said to Vasily.
“Is no concern to us,” Vasily replied in an indifferent tone. He continued examining the game board. He shouldn’t move the pawn away from his opponent’s rook, but he was tempted.
“Maybe not for you, but I work for Yancy in Seawind Bay where there is little danger. Is different now. Agents of US government search for us.”
“So? We elude them for very long time.”
“Is true, but how long? Yancy splits us into two teams. Why? Is confusing, so I am not happy. I have friends who live close. Perhaps I should go to them.”
Vasiliy picked up a pistol from the desktop. His playing partner’s eyes flared, and he put his hands out in a supplicating gesture. “I mean nothing….”
Vasiliy aimed past him at the office door window and pulled the trigger until the weapon was empty. Holes with spider-web effects peppered the window, and shattered glass made a tinkling sound as it fell to the tile floor. He released the magazine, and it fell to the floor with a dull thud, to be replaced by one from his belt. Vasily ducked below the desk after spotting a dozen black-suited figures in the darkened warehouse.
The rest of the window exploded inward, and Vasily’s chess partner pitched forward with a gaping hole in his forehead. The pawn was stuck in his eye, but he didn’t feel it.
Clouds of tear gas hung heavily in the cavernous building, and the smell of gun smoke and fresh blood filled the air. Hazy-gray smoke from numerous smoke and flash-bang grenades swirled around Jake as he strode toward Bob Onkst.
“Where’s Joanna?”
“No idea. We’ve been through the building inch-by-inch, and there’s not a trace.”
Jake kicked a truck fender and swore under his breath. “I was focused on rescuing her, and we’ve come up empty-handed.”
He kicked the fender again and slammed both fists on it. “What about Yancy? Don’t tell me he slipped away from a perfectly planned raid.”
Bob Onkst stood back as Jake took his frustration out on the truck. “Yeah, right, like any raid can be perfect. There’s always a thousand variables. It ain’t humanly possible to figure every one into the plan. I have a pretty good idea how you feel, though. I’ve had serious setbacks during operations, and it’s a lot worse when it’s a team member.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, and you’re right, Uncle Bob, it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“On the flip side of the coin, we put a serious crimp in Yancy’s operation. He may not be out of business, but he’s down, out, and on the run.”
“Putting him out of business is one thing.” Jake looked at the dozen Russian smugglers sitting on the floor with hands zip-tied behind them. “But we missed the four main things.”
“You mean the BlackStar system and the last two nukes? What’s the fourth thing?”
“Joanna. Besides, the goal was to eliminate all threats, not just reduce them. Yancy still has possession of the weapons and the BlackStar system.”
Bob took off his SWAT helmet and scratched his head.“Something just doesn’t add up. How did Yancy know when we’d be here, or that we even knew where he was? Unless there’s a leak.”
“Yancy could have skipped out right before we set up, and yes, I’m sure there’s a leak.”
“But why would he desert his crew?”
“He may have learned from Rick Eichner, or even taught it to him. Eichner left as soon as he didn’t need his men anymore. Could be Yancy ran to avoid capture, and sacrificed his crew to cover his escape. We need to question his men to find out if he was ever here, and figure out when he may have slipped away.”
Bob issued the command by radio and turned back to Jake. “I talked with Johnson while I was in the comm truck, and he got the girls back to FE Warren. They’ll stay there until Sunday when you decide how to protect them.”
“That’s good news, but tell them I want double security on the girls. I wouldn’t put it past Yancy to take another stab at getting to them.”
“Breaking into an Air Force base would be a bold move….”
> “You mean like Eichner invading the Alert Pad at Mather, or the attack on Cheyenne Mountain?” Jake asked sarcastically.
“Since you put it that way, I’ll tell Johnson and FE Warren security to double all precautions.”
“Thank you. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but I don’t like it. We need to figure out what element of this whole thing we’re missing.”
“After-action reports may shed light on it, but what about the here and now?” Onkst asked.
“We leave guards on the nukes we recovered until DOE sends a courier unit to pick them up. And we’re back to square one on Yancy. Man, this guy is slippery.”
Bob nodded. “Our communications analysts are sifting through intercepts from the area, trying to figure out where Yancy might be headed. We may have put his smuggling operation out of business, but Yancy still has a couple of nukes, a BlackStar system, and Joanna.”
“And I won’t sleep until we get it all back and slap handcuffs on him. I’m still going through potential targets Yancy might hit, and there are too many to pin it down.”
Bob looked beyond Jake to make sure their team was wrapping things up. “My gut says it’ll be a matter of placement. He’ll want to spread as much terror as possible, which means either a high-value target or a densely-populated area. That opens up a whole lot of geography.”
“True,” Jake replied. “Back to the immediate situation. We need to finish interrogating Yancy’s men and write contact reports. Written after-action reports and team member assessments also need to be done. And we have vehicles and gear to be cleaned and restocked.”
Uncle Bob offered a wry smile. “The work of a team leader never ends. Don’t you love it?”
“I joined this team for the challenge, although, being a Team Leader adds a whole new layer of bureaucracy. I didn’t realize how much paperwork Bart did. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for any job in the world.” Jake stretched and yawned. “I’m feeling an adrenaline crash. Think I’ll head back to the hotel and do some of that paperwork. We’ll meet in my room tomorrow morning at 0700 hours to evaluate the raid.” Uncle Bob cracked his neck and let his shoulders slump. “You’re making me tired.”
“Which is why I said 0700 instead of 0600. I know you senior citizens need your rest.”
“You’ll find yourself in the same boat someday, sonny, take my word for it. And keep in mind, the only alternative to getting older is dying.”
***
Chapter Seventeen
Office Of The Director, NSA
“Morning, Mike. How’s my favorite director of the CIA?” John Banner said.
“Better if I didn’t have the oversight committee breathing down my neck. What’s going on?”
“The phone of the missing asset we discussed over lunch went live in Switzerland a few hours ago,” Banner replied.
“I know. I was getting ready to call you, but got summoned to an emergency subcommittee meeting on the hill.”
“Right. Anyway, we’re picking up a tone, but no voice data.”
“We built a custom circuit into the phone to track our agents without them speaking.”
“And I thought we had the best toys. What’s happening with your asset?”
“He hasn’t reported in yet. It appears he flew from the US to Europe on a business jet registered through half-a-dozen shell companies. I can’t say more without compromising still another asset.”
“Understood. Anyway, I’m glad I could help, and if there’s nothing else….”
“Actually, there is. The phone was also designed to record conversations and automatically transmit them to us by satellite.”
“We have a similar model,” Banner replied.
“Yes, but the one our asset was carrying was designed to record even when turned off. It sent packets of some interesting conversations it recorded recently.”
“Anything you care to share?”
“My asset may have been detained by a person we’ve both crossed paths with.”
“Who would that be?”
“Jack Morgan.”
VIP Quarters, FE Warren Air Force Base, Wyoming
“You will not hang out with Licia Martinez anymore. Do you hear me?” Joan Jackman loomed over her daughter and waited for an acknowledgment.
Star sat in an Old West-style armchair with her elbows on her knees and stared down at the hardwood floor of the hundred-year-old Visitors Quarters.
The building housed cavalry officers when they guarded the Western frontier, according to a plaque near the door. Star felt as though she was staying in a museum. It even smelled like one, although cleaner. They would be guests until Jake Thomas returned.
Star rolled her eyes. “But, Mom, she’s my best friend.”
“Then you may need to find a new best friend. This is the second time she’s gotten you into a life-or-death situation. How much more of this am I supposed to put up with?”
“Don’t blame Licia. We were supposed to go skiing.”
“The last time you were going camping. Smugglers? Russian spies? What’s next, atomic bombs?”
She doesn’t know how close she is. “I understand you’re worried, Mom, but I can take care of myself.”
Joan sat in a chair next to her daughter and her expression softened. “All nineteen-year-olds are sure they can, baby. It’s part of growing up. At your age, I had been on my own for three years.”
“And you did just fine.”
“I got through it by the grace of God and the angels he sent to watch over me.”
“And look at what you’ve done with your life. Now I need to find out what I’m meant to do with mine.”
“Yes, but I want it to be different for you, baby. My family couldn’t have helped me if they wanted to, but I can make it easier for you.”
“Yes, Mom, but maybe struggle should be part of growing up. Look at what settlers went through a hundred years ago. Nothing was guaranteed. Why should today be any different? Only now, instead of facing a harsh environment and hostile natives, we’re facing fanatical terrorists.”
Joan sighed and slumped back in the chair with her eyes closed. She opened them after a while and tears welled up. “How did I raise such a wise young woman?”
They hugged again, and Star held her mother’s face in both hands. “Because I had you as a role model.”
“So, what is your plan?”
“I thought about dropping out of school….” Star watched her mother’s expression change to horror and dismay. “…but I won’t, at least not anytime soon.”
“Glad to hear that. I wish I had graduated.”
“I will, but I am rethinking my major.”
“What’s wrong with Business Administration?”
“Nothing, Mom, but it may not be right for me. I’m leaning toward government or law enforcement.”
“Because of what happened the last few days?”
“Maybe a little. Trained and dedicated people need to stand up to evil. Was it Winston Churchill who said, ‘Evil triumphs when good men do nothing?’”
“No, dear, it was Edmund Burke, an Irish statesman. Although, Churchill may have been quoting him.”
“See, Mom? You are really smart.”
“I’m glad you realize it. Back to your plan….”
“I’ll go back to school in Boulder.”
“Public schools may not be safe enough.”
“It will be with Licia’s friends to watch over me, and I can work out with them.”
“Doing what?”
“Self-defense things like jujitsu and firearms training.”
“Are those part of the university curriculum?”
“Well, um…”
“I didn’t think so. I’ll need to talk with the person in charge of the lessons.”
“Gwen Harding. She’s so great, Mom, you’re gonna love her.” “We’ll see.”
Former Food Service Warehouse, Lombard, Illinois
Joanna Davies searched the ten-by-fifteen-f
oot enclosure that was her prison. She examined every inch that she could reach more than a dozen times seeking a means of escape. There appeared to be none, but she looked again and again. What else is there to do?
The heavy door and push handle were the kind used in walk-in freezers. A plywood patch near the ceiling of the 12-foot high back wall was where a cooling unit might have been. A system of rails mounted on the ceiling pointed to use in the meat-packing business.
None of those items offered a clear way to escape. She was grateful her captors left two ceiling-mounted light bulbs on. The thought of being alone in the dark brought an involuntary shudder.
The metallic sound of the door latch announced the arrival of a guard wearing a black turtleneck sweater and jeans carrying a bag from a fast food place.
He stepped gingerly across a chipped floor of white tile broken only by a six-inch drain and watched her warily as he set the bag on an old stained mattress laying on a couple of pallet.
“Do not move, or he shoots.” He pointed to a second guard standing outside the door cradling an AK-47.
“I won’t move.”
The other guard also wore black.
A makeshift uniform? She needed to remember even the smallest detail. It could help track them down later. She considered the unlikely odds of overpowering them without alerting other guards.
Outside air billowed into the space and accented
the musty smell in her prison. Part of the odor came from a bucket in a corner she used to relieve herself.
Guard number one shuffled over to the bucket without turning his back on her. He retrieved it and replaced it with one the other guard handed him. He backed out and the other guard slammed and locked the door.
Except for being held captive, she was being treated well. She was not abused and awoke fully-clothed, although blindfolded, drugged, and securely bound.
Time was a mystery since they took her phone, watch, and radio. She had no way to determine where she was, or how long she had been in the stark white room. Before they brought her here, she had drug-hazed memories of bouncing around on the metal floor of a truck.
