Reaper: Drone Strike: A Sniper Novel

by Nicholas Irving

  “You can do both. You can save the soldier and accomplish the mission.”

  Harwood nodded. “I guess that’s right. Now, let’s go finish this mission.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Jasar Tankian

  Tankian shouted at the pilots, “Take off!”

  With the police chasing them down the Thessaloníki runway, they scratched into the sky, banked, and headed northwest over Germany and France, following the route to the United States.

  Using his satellite phone, he called Wolff.

  “Update, please.”

  “The sniper got Nolte,” Tankian told him. He could have hidden the fact that Nolte had been sprung from his captivity, but Tankian had found that it was always best to give bad news early and deal with the consequences.

  Wolff sucked in a deep breath, similar to what he had done when Tankian first told him he had secured Nolte.

  “Easy come, easy go, right?” Wolff said. He chuckled, but his voice had a sinister pitch to it.

  “Nothing easy about this. But I’m telling you directly.”

  When Wolff finished laughing, he sucked in another deep breath and exhaled into the phone speaker before saying, “That you are. Details, please.”

  “Nolte was unconscious with a weak pulse. We had no medical personnel on board. No IVs. Nothing. If I’d had even the most basic medical supplies, I probably wouldn’t have landed. Your instructions to me were to keep him alive at all costs. A one-hour diversion to a hospital to get him treatment was, I thought, a wise move. We just took off from Thessaloníki and are back on schedule for Chicago with the containers but no Nolte.”

  Wolff was silent for so long that Tankian almost hung up.

  “Nothing changes,” Wolff finally said. “You will go to Chicago and deliver the containers and meet with the woman I tell you. You will tell her that you still have Nolte. I doubt the Americans will be quick to announce that he was captive or that he has been secured. I have men in Thessaloníki, and I’ll send them to capture both of them. I can get his location from the GPS of the SUV. I’ll send my plane down to pick them up, and they’ll meet you in America. If I change the airport. I’ll let you know once I have the new location confirmed.”

  “Understand,” Tankian said.

  “And, Tankian?” Wolff hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “It appears I wasted my money,” Wolff snapped.

  “I can still execute,” Tankian said.

  Wolff paused. “Okay, but if you don’t execute this part correctly, there will be no further payment.”

  Tankian ignored Wolff’s comment and focused on the man he had just fought, the man who had all in twenty-four hours destroyed his home, his entire workforce, and possibly even his future.

  “Is Nolte’s partner this Reaper you mentioned?” Tankian asked.

  “Going for revenge?”

  “Maybe. Not something I normally do, but I can make an exception.”

  “He has rather dismantled your entire operation.”

  “Has he?”

  “Yes. As I texted you before, he is a notorious Army Ranger sniper they call the Reaper. Victor Harwood. He lives in Columbus, Georgia. Has an adoptive daughter named Monisha, who stays with the parents of his command sergeant major. When you are done with this delivery, I’ll provide you the details, should you … need them.”

  “If you capture him, I want him. He cut me,” Tankian said.

  “We’ll discuss once we get to that point. Right now, get those containers to the new airfield and execute. I may have my own plans for the Reaper if you don’t handle him.”

  Wolff hung up. Tankian stared at the containers. Two Sobirat drones and ammunition all masked by two automobiles. Wolff told him that the ammunition was for the Hunter drones he had shipped a month ago. Last week, at Wolff’s instructions, his men had backhauled a load of ammunition from Syria. He wasn’t clued in to Wolff’s plan other than he was originally supposed to deliver the captive soldier to a woman. The woman was going to ensure customs clearance of the two containers, and they were going to be loaded onto trucks and taken to a ship. The same ship, he presumed, that had departed from Tripoli a month ago.

  What he didn’t understand was the need for these two containers. The Hunter drones he had transferred from Latakia to Tripoli included a container full of ammunition and other supplies.

  As the plane etched a white line in the black sky, hurtling toward whatever destination Wolff finally decided upon, he thought about the man who attacked his compound and destroyed everything he had built. And now, so soon after seeing potential recovery by delivering Nolte to the woman, this man took even that away from him.

  He lamented the loss of his fortune and hated that the only path to reclamation of what he had built was through this man, Wolff, one of the wealthiest men in the world. His maxim had always been to steer clear of alliances that made him beholden to anyone. Little by little, he’d built Tankian Logistics Group. It was the one aspect of his life that gave him meaning.

  Now he would take away everything from the Reaper that he cared about.

  * * *

  After Wolff disconnected from the call, he dialed Andrea Comstock, who answered on the first ring.

  “I never purchased a burner cell phone before,” she said. “It’s surprisingly easy.”

  “I have our precious cargo inbound now to Sawyer International Airport on your home state’s Upper Peninsula.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with it, but why did you move it? Sawyer is in the middle of nowhere and hard to get to,” she said.

  “You have an airplane. Nothing is hard to get to,” he said.

  She sighed. “When can I go public with this? I’ve spoken with Senator Nolte, and it’s only a matter of time before word leaks out. I made him swear on his son’s life that he wouldn’t say anything, but Congress is the worst.”

  “The airplane is set to land in ten hours at Sawyer. I need you to get clearance for this plane. And do it secretly, or everyone will know.”

  “What do you mean clearance?”

  “This is not a normal flight. Do you think I can just put a prisoner of war on an airplane and get him there on American Airlines? I need your help. The plane is in the air. Call your contacts. If you want the credit, earn it. I’ve handed this to you on a platter,” Wolff said.

  Comstock didn’t speak for a long moment, then said, “Give me the details. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Of course. There are two containers on board the airplane. They are part of the normal delivery run and will be off-loaded first so as not to raise suspicion. Once the containers are off, you will have Corporal Nolte.”

  “A lot of moving parts. What’s in the containers?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Mercedes-Benz, of course,” Comstock said.

  “What I recommend is that you talk to the airport crew in advance and let them know that General Motors is accepting these two new prototypes, and then young Corporal Nolte will appear. Use your clout,” Wolff said.

  “I’m trusting you here, Max.”

  “And I’m trusting you. Once you are at Sawyer, you will have my request.”

  “Your request?”

  “Yes. A simple favor. Focus on your chores first. Get set and then we will talk.”

  “You’re scaring me, Max.”

  “You don’t get scared, Andrea. It’s really a small ask.”

  After a pause, she said, “I’ll do my best.”

  “And what if I said I would do my best to deliver Corporal Nolte to you? Would that be good enough?”

  “It’s going to have to be,” she said. “This was your idea.”

  “Of course,” Wolff said after a pause. “Get to Sawyer, get the plane cleared, and be there when it arrives. You will be glad you did. Then we will talk.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said.

  Wolff disconnected his call and looked at the American cable news channel playing on his television screen
. He sent a text to a contact in New York City. Ten minutes later, the chyron started scrolling with a breaking news alert that Corporal Ian “Clutch” Nolte Jr. was kidnapped and in the hands of ISIS terrorists in Syria. A male news anchor in a crisp suit and tie appeared on the television and said, “The details are sketchy, but we have a first report that Corporal Ian Nolte, the son of Senator Ian Nolte from Indiana, has been kidnapped by ISIS rebels somewhere in Syria. The Defense Department has not responded to our questions, and it seems that they are learning about this development almost on pace with our reporting.”

  He switched off the screen. That should get it rolling, he thought. Looking into the darkness, he could see the white-tipped Alps etching an outline against the black night. Contrasts, he thought. What was real? Did it matter whether Nolte was on the plane or not? He was just a prop to get Comstock to do what he wanted. As long as she believed he was on the plane, that was good enough. While it wasn’t necessary to have the two containers on the ship, it was the optimal method. To have the drones in range for all that needed to be done, they would need to be mobile. The ship was mobile.

  Then he thought about what could hamper his plans. Everything was falling into place but could easily fall apart. Maintaining order required personal energy. Tankian had gotten lazy and let one person overwhelm his compound and destroy his business.

  Wolff would not let that happen to him. He was a fighter to the end.

  He sent a text to a contact that he had pre-positioned in Columbus, Georgia, telling him to stand by.

  The best soldiers had no one with whom they were close. They would go off to war unconcerned about whether they lived or died. The Reaper, though, had Monisha, who might be useful in the future.

  His phone buzzed with a text from Hans Becker, his man in Thessaloníki.

  Package located.

  Excellent, he thought.

  Inform when package secure, he texted.

  With that bit of good news, Wolff used his MasterEye platform and flipped to the screen of the Sieg, which was still anchored in Lake Michigan. He typed a message to the sentry, who then told Sam Kinnett to pull up the anchors and turn toward Port Inland, Michigan.

  “Why Port Inland?” Kinnett asked.

  Port Inland was a private terminal for bulk and break-bulk shipment of gravel, limestone, calcium, and other aggregates. From his experience shipping cars all over the world, Wolff knew port capabilities well enough to understand that Port Inland had limited ability to move containers. Kinnett would be skeptical.

  “The arrival destination of our new cargo changed.”

  The guard’s black eyes remained fixed on Kinnett, unblinking.

  Kinnett nodded.

  “Okay.”

  There was something in the way Kinnett nodded and spoke that concerned Wolff. Part confusion and part defiance?

  Port Inland would put Kinnett in proximity to law enforcement. Wolff had done his homework. Mackinaw County had a police force, though it was small and had a large, remote county to cover. Still, Kinnett could tap out a distress signal to the police on the LTE network. Wolff thought through all the possibilities.

  On the monitor, Kinnett’s hands fluttered around the control panel. He pressed the button to raise the anchors and set a new course for Port Inland, which would have them turning around and steaming south of Summer Island and north of Washington Island with its sheer granite bluffs and stately beauty.

  The ship was en route. Wolff calculated about ten hours to the destination. He just needed this one last piece to fall into place to put Comstock on the horns of her own dilemma.

  Revenge was close at hand.

  CHAPTER 27

  Vick Harwood

  Harwood listened to Clutch outline a plan that seemed unbelievable but devastating beyond belief. Another 9/11, maybe worse.

  “You okay to execute?”

  “They don’t call me Clutch for nothing, brother.”

  Harwood retrieved his phone and saw a text: Reaper it’s Sassi.

  Suspicious, he called the number. Sassi answered on the second ring.

  “You never told me they call you the Reaper, Vick,” Sassi said.

  “You never asked. And by the way, where did you hear that? How did you get my number?”

  “I remember now. When you came into my cell, you said, ‘Reaper coming in.’”

  “That was so Clutch would know it was me.”

  The phone changed hands amid some scraping noises.

  “Sergeant Harwood, this is General Cartwright. I gave Ms. Cavezza your contact information. Where are you?”

  General Cartwright? He was the man behind all this?

  “Sir, I’ve got precious cargo, and we need to meet ASAP. Can you go secure?”

  “Not on this phone, but I’ll call you in a minute.”

  They hung up, and Harwood’s secure satellite phone buzzed shortly after.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me what you’ve got,” Cartwright said.

  “I secured Corporal Nolte, my spotter. We were on assignment in the Middle East.”

  “I know where you were. I was commanding and controlling that operation. I need to pull Sergeant Stoddard in, and we all need to link up. Patalino and Ruben didn’t make it. They were killed in al-Ghouta on a recon mission. Something is going down in the United States. Where are you?”

  He thought of Patalino and Ruben, two Ranger teammates. Something scratched at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place it yet.

  “Roger that. I’m in Thessaloníki. Once you land, let me know and we will meet you at the airport.”

  “Roger. Stay alive. Bad people out there want you dead.”

  Cartwright hung up, and as if to emphasize that point, Harwood caught a movement out of the periphery of his left eye.

  “Bogey, nine o’clock,” Clutch said. He raised the pistol Harwood had given him and fired twice. The glass shattered outward as Harwood slammed the vehicle into gear and raced from the hospital parking lot.

  He found the road, noticed a black Mercedes-Benz racing toward them, played chicken until the oncoming car veered away with the driver trying to shoot and maneuver at the same time. Harwood followed the road leading from the hospital and made a series of turns that wound around the edge of the city and into the highlands above the airport.

  “See anything?” Harwood asked.

  Clutch was leaning between the two bucket seats looking for any sign of pursuit.

  “No, but they got a pretty good make on the car,” Clutch said.

  “That doesn’t matter. They know precisely where we are because of the GPS,” Harwood said. He pulled onto a small dirt road, followed it as it cut back and forth through a series of switchbacks and parked. “We need to un-ass the vehicle and set up an ambush,” he said.

  “Reading my mind,” Clutch echoed.

  They left the SUV in a small gravel turnout and climbed a series of rock ledges. With no long rifle—that, too, was back on the airplane—they were close, maybe twenty meters at the most. The air smelled of eucalyptus trees and salt water. A light breeze rolled over their backs as they lay on the ground next to each other.

  Clutch said, “Thanks, man. I always knew you’d come get me.”

  “Bad breath and all,” Harwood said.

  They lay atop the rocky outcropping without their ghillie suits, rucksacks, or long rifles. Still, they were lethal with their pistols, knives, and most important, their minds. The night air was cool with a breeze coming off the Mediterranean Sea.

  “So, what happened to make the airplane land?”

  “I heard them talking about the compound being raided, and then when he dragged me out and threw me in the truck, I was still awake. He and his guy Khoury were bitching about what you did to their business. Like, it’s totally gone. You killed a bunch of their employees. From what I heard, it sounds like a mix between a logistics operation and a private military contractor. They do a little bit of everything.”

  �
��Yeah, but why did they land?”

  “Because I stopped breathing. I thumped on the wall of that stupid cooler and acted like I was going into a seizure. Assholes hadn’t given me any food for two days and just a little bit of water. It was possible that I could have, you know?” Clutch smiled and shrugged. “My old man was a doctor before he became a politician. He taught me how to hold my breath for a few minutes without blacking out. We used to go diving in the Caribbean and that was a useful skill if the equipment went bad. We even did some free diving. And, you know, I figured you were coming for me. When I heard the attack at the compound, well, I just knew that was you. And I kept thinking back to a couple of days ago when I said you’d lost your two other spotters, like it was your fault.” Clutch choked on his words. “I was wrong to say what I did,” he said.

  Harwood stopped him. “No. Never apologize, Clutch. Like I said, you could be playing pro ball, getting the big payday, and here you are with me scratching out a hiding place in the dirt, being chased by bad guys.”

  “I get it, Reaper, but still. This life is all about chances and choices. I had the chance to be an Army Ranger, and that’s what I chose. You did the same thing. I know our backgrounds are different, but at the end of the day, we’re both lying right here waiting for some tool to ping on the GPS.”

  Just then, Harwood’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “Cartwright wants us to move to the airfield in ten minutes. He’s inbound. General aviation.”

  “Can’t see anything coming our way. This was a narrow road, so probably an ambush,” Clutch said.

  “Probably right,” Harwood replied. “There’s a trail that goes out the back way over the ridge.”

  “Let’s give it a shot.”

  They moved back toward the vehicle and entered. Harwood brushed some broken glass from the seat. Clutch buzzed his window down and leaned out the window, scanning. Harwood drove onto a minor trail just big enough for the SUV, forcing Clutch to retreat inside the vehicle as branches and leaves slapped at his face.

  After a couple of ditches and washboard ruts that had the SUV swaying from side to side, they popped onto the main road that led to the airport with no sign of the pursuers in either direction. Harwood found the general aviation gate and buzzed in about the time headlights appeared in the rearview mirror.