“This guy is still somewhere out there,” the other man said.
“Why don’t we interrogate her?” Don asked.
“We’re spying on her twenty-four seven hoping he makes contact,” Johnny said.
“No contact. As far as she knows, he’s dead,” his colleague added.
Don nodded. These boys knew a lot. He used to be one of us. The colonel left that out.
“Got someone to take care of her?” Don asked.
“There’s this guy,” the young agent said.
“What guy?” Don asked interested.
“Show him, Johnny.”
The computer nut switched images on the screen, flipping through a database of pictures they had taken in the course of their surveillance period. One man showed up multiple times. Johnny stopped the picture and zoomed in on his face.
“That’s her new guy?” Don said.
“Who knows,” the youngster said. “But there’s a connection. Used to be in the same Special Forces team as her hubby.”
Don looked into the empty paper bag, crumpled it in between his palm and wiped his fingers on the paper.
“Special forces, huh? Got a name?”
The young man had his gaze still fixed on the screen as he replied.
“Yeah. Name’s Hunter.”
“So let’s hunt him,” Don said. He came on a routine checkup, left with a new lead. Let’s see if Hunter leads me to the one who I am hunting. The colonel is demanding results.
***
Fort Bragg, The United States of America
Don saw Gabriel Hunter standing in the Major’s portable trailer of an office. The air was dry and stale, with the conditioner coping to resist the Fort Bragg heat. Hunter must have heard the steps long before the office door opened. Yet, he only turned when addressed, facing his superior with Don close on his heels.
Don knew he stood out in civilian clothes.
“Captain, this is agent Blake Griffin, CIA,” the Major introduced Don as he walked past Hunter to his desk. “Mr. Griffin is here to ask you a couple of questions.”
Hunter eyed the secret agent.
“Always a pleasure to work with the CIA. How can I be of service?” Hunter said.
Don admired Hunter’s lush facial hair. The full beard made him look like a civilian. It kept him from being suspected as an elite soldier on first glance.
Don took a half seat on the backrest of a chair next to Hunter, across the table.
Hunter remained standing.
“At ease, Captain Hunter.” Don addressed him by his rank. “Joint Special Operations Command, is that right? I understand it you are a real American hero then. Delta Force first and now this. Multiple tours with the same squad. Unity and familiarity come in handy. Are you familiar with this person?”
He handed Hunter a picture where half of a face could be seen. It belonged to a Eastern European man. He was smoking a cigarette in a leather jacket, taking a seat in a Parisian cafe. “Not that I remember, sir,” Hunter said. “And I rarely forget a face. Can I ask of what interest is he to the CIA?”
Don exchanged glances with Hunter’s superior.
“We call him the Dog of Paris,” Don said. “Ever been to Paris, Captain?”
“Yes,” Hunter answered.
Don knew he would remember that cafe. He most probably would remember the man on the picture. He was there when Kerrie Carter wanted to meet Nigel, the reporter he’d questioned before.
Don nodded. “That’s what I heard too, Captain. Tell me everything.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TO THE METAL
“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.” - Mikhail Lermontov
Vienna, Austria
A whole wall of the war room lit up bright white-blue, a supernova in the dark. It was as if a portal had opened to the Caucasus region, through which Rose and her closest staff looked down onto the Earth.
“Verkhniy Lars, at the Russian-Georgian border,” Rose said.
Roads were hewn into solid grey rock. Tunnels and overgrown hillsides led to tight checkpoints between countries. She was well-acquainted with the number of arrivals and departures per minute.
“At 22:40 hours, an unusually high number of vehicles passed through without being searched,” Rose said. She turned to Bekkend.
“Border traffic cams are blacked out,” Bekkend noted. “Just like Tanya told Olga to do.”
Rose nodded. “They were undoubtedly told to stand down by FSB authority and let the trucks pass. The bomb is probably on one of them. I have a bad feeling about this, but it's now in the hands of the Russians.”
Rose turned around to face her team.
“So Olga has chosen Plan B. They let the bomb into the country. Now it’s up to the FSB to stop it. Our job is to find out who is behind it. Follow The Treachery of Images and see who gets it. If they use the same route as the bomb, then we are a step ahead.”
The image on the wall zoomed out and then back in to focus on the freighter, which Antoine followed. It had moved through the Danube and was now heading out into the Black Sea, toward Georgia. It would be there in another forty-eight hours. Possible destinations were the port city of Poti and the seaside town, Batumi. There was only one place within easy striking distance of both.
“Make the jet ready for Tblisi,” Rose said. “You’re going to need some wheels.”
***
Tblisi, Georgia
“Well, can you please walk me through the plan again,” Jason said as they disembarked in Tblisi. “It's been a while since I worked with a team.”
Antoine led them on, their bags full of enough weapons and ammunition to start a small war as well as Priya’s tech equipment to win it.
“We drive. We intercept the truck,” Kovac said behind him. “That’s all”
“We capture Khabib alive,” Rose answered through the earpiece. “We expect he's escorting the painting personally.”
“And if we fail?” Jason asked.
“We still have the artwork and hope to find the rendezvous point somewhere either in Khabib’s phone or the truck’s GPS,” Priya answered.
“So we can get to the buyer who is behind it all,” Kovac said.
“We are winning now,” Jason said. “If we get that truck, we will actually be ahead of the game.”
Priya got into the driver's seat of the first of two black Land Rovers that Salim had supplied.
“Jason, you are riding with me,” Priya said. “We've got a lot of catching up to do and we need to catch that truck before it reaches the border crossing. It’s heading into the mountains to North Ossetia. That’s where Khabib grew up. He will know the streets. I wouldn't be surprised if he has local support.”
“I guess it’s you and me again buddy,” Antoine said looking at Kovac.
“How come I always get stuck with you and not the gorgeous brunette?” Kovac protested.
He got in anyway.
Priya hit the pedal and let the wheels spin. She and Jason took off before Antoine got his bag into the car. Kovac slid behind the wheel, shifted to first and sped after Priya, pressing Antoine back in his seat.
The rising mountain road outside of Tblisi awaited them. The Caucasus was famous for this. The road went along canyons and grey rocks that caught the first rays of the rising sun. On the other side, a ravine fell, dropping a couple of hundred meters. Priya raced on, the sun at their backs.
“What is our destination in case we lose you?” Antoine asked.
“No destination,” Priya replied. “Just get after Khabib’s truck until we can stop him. Rose, send the GPS coordinates to guide us.”
Antoine ducked down in his seat as he saw an overhanging rock formation coming closer. They were swallowed by darkness, into a mountain tunnel. The Rover shot out the other side like a bullet through a gun barrel.
“Okay, never let it be said that women can’t drive,” Antoine said to Kovac, muting his comms first.
&nb
sp; They drove on at high speed. The craggy Kazbegi mountain rose in front of them. Antoine looked into the rear mirror. Apart from Priya ahead of them, they were alone on the road.
***
Georgian Military Road, Georgia
Kovac focused on the red tail lights in front of him. The speakerphone kept Rose in constant communication with her team on the ground.
“Is that Khabib’s truck?" Rose said. "The high definition camera is not responding. I can’t get a clear view.”
Neither driver answered. Staying on track demanded one hundred percent of their attention. Anything less and they would crash into rock or get fishtailed off the road.
“You have to stop it,” Rose said, “before it reaches the border.”
Another long drawn curve made Antoine clench his teeth as they drifted into the oncoming lane, ignoring speed limit signs as if they were mere decorations.
“I'm on it,” Priya managed to say.
Being on a mission was like riding a bike, Antoine thought. Mind, body and soul were all working together for a purpose. Rose set that purpose and directed the two cars towards the GPS tracker.
They reached the riverbank of Chkheri, at an elevation of over two thousand meters.
Kovac pointed out the windshield.
“There’s the truck.”
They got closer to the truck and to danger.
Rose's voice carried into their earpieces. “If the Russian border guards see us trying to high-jack a truck, they will open fire. I thought I should state the obvious.”
Kovac looked at Antoine, and armed himself with an assault rifle. “Lock and load.”
The truck swerved about, trying to keep ahead of them.
***
With the headlights turned off, Kovac used the cover of the tunnel to bring Antoine closer. Antoine unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the rim of his open window. Walls rushed past him. With his rifle in an underarm sling, he edged up onto the car door. He was ready to pounce. The truck was nearly within reach. Antoine leapt. He was a second in mid-air, then crashed against the back of the truck. Clutching the back door’s handrail, his legs dangled. The wind whipped his face. Antoine made his way hand-over-hand along the truck’s length, up to the driver cabin. He ripped open the door and swung himself inside, grabbing the man behind the wheel.
The truck ploughed into stone. It spun out of control, flipping tail over end before slamming into solid rock.
Antoine heard the screeching of tires and felt the impact as he was flung to the roof of the truck cab.
Antoine got thrown forward as something crashed into them. He smelled burning and gas. He opened his eyes. Bright sunlight fell into the tunnel exit, engulfing them. He was tossed around as helpless as a rag doll.
He fumbled for the door handle and ripped it open. Bright sand and rocks blinded him.
The truck ground to a stop upside down on the edge of the ravine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
END OF THE LINE
“Rest in pieces.”
In the wide canyon, two gunshots rang out. Priya swerved her car to a stop and jumped out. She and Jason rushed to the truck, adrenaline pumping and the sun hot on their backs. Her knees were weak and shaking.
Priya came closer with her gun drawn. Kovac had left his car and approached from the other side, ready to shoot Khabib. Antoine’s arm came out of the front window, then his head and the other arm, pistol in hand.
“Antoine,” Priya said, squatting besides him. “Are you alright?”
“I’ve been better,” he said. His bleeding gums turned his teeth pink.
“I heard shots,” she said.
“Shot the airbag,” he said. “Rest in pieces.” He smiled despite his split lip.
He climbed out and turned back.
“That was close,” Antoine said.
“It’s not over yet,” she said.
Priya stood with her gun out and aimed at the truck driver. Her breathing was fast. She was trembling but focused.
“Get the painting,” she called out to Jason.
Antoine turned around to get Khabib out of the truck’s cabin.
The driver got on his feet, a black balaclava mask pulled over his face.
Antoine grabbed him by his mask and pulled him closer.
“What are you planning?” he spat.
The man panted. Fine blood droplets sprayed into Antoine's face.
“What do you want to do next?” he said with a fake laugh. “Water-board me?”
“No, I've never been a fan of water-boarding,” Antoine replied.
Antoine propped him up against the truck and then dragged him towards the edge of the ravine.
“You have no idea who you make enemies with,” the man whispered.
Antoine looked down at him.
“We know everything,” Antoine said.
“Fool! You know nothing. You do not know who you are dealing with and now you have lost.”
“We'll see about that,” Antoine replied. “Who are you working for?”
The man gurgled.
“Who are you working for?” Antoine shouted.
The man grinned at him.
“You are not getting anything from me.”
Antoine punched him, knocking him out. He slumped down like a sack of meat, one arm around the broken truck door, his head lolling back on the smooth road.
Antoine ripped the man’s mask.
It was not Khabib.
Jason went to the back of the truck and opened the hold. He rummaged through the cargo.
He came out again, holding a small electronic device in his hands. “There’s no painting. Just our tracker.”
***
A phone rang in the silence of the mountain road. Antoine looked around. It wasn’t one of theirs. The driver didn’t have one either. It was coming from the truck cabin. He went back to it and stuck his arm through the broken window. The phone was lying on the ceiling.
It was an unknown number.
Antoine picked up the phone and put it on speaker.
“Can you pass the phone to your Slavic colleague, please,” a woman’s voice said.
Antoine stretched his hand out to Kovac and scanned the craggy slopes of the mountain chain. It was an unpeopled region as far as the eye could see. The call could be a means to keep them there and buy time or it was part of a setup.
“How do they know…?” Priya said.
Antoine waved her to silence so they could all hear what the caller said.
“Yes? Can I help you?” Kovac said.
“You may help yourself,” the female voice on the other end of the line said. “Mr. Carter. If that is your real name.”
Kovac stared at Antoine.
“I have two questions and please choose which one is most important to you first,” Tanya said. “Who sent you after my Treachery of Images? Why does Interpol have a picture of you from LeDoyen in Paris?”
Antoine swallowed. A chill ran up his spine.
“Priya, is there anything you can do?” Antoine asked. “Track the call’s source?”
“I’ll see,” she said and rummaged in her bag for something with which to try to trace the call.
Antoine gave Kovac a look that clearly stated Buy us more time.
“Why don’t you tell us how your magic trick works now that you've fooled us with it?” Kovac said.
“We found the bug on the painting and put it into a different truck. If you need me to spell it out, the truck was a decoy,” she said. “You are being watched through the truck’s cameras.”
“Call’s encrypted,” Priya said. “I can’t get through.”
Antoine closed his eyes.
“Can I get a name to go with your voice?” Kovacs asked.
“Who I am is none of your concern. All you need to know is ceci n’est pas une menace - I am not a threat. Or more accurately put, I am willing to forgive Monaco and Belgrade,” she said. “I hope you are not offended that I will not personally look into
this, but I am currently pre-occupied with bigger things. I wish you and your friends a good day.”
The line went dead. Kovac kept holding the phone out so that everyone could hear.
Priya's head sagged.
They knew nothing. They had lost everything.
“I have a bad feeling that you have just met Tanya,” Rose said with her concern in her voice.
“Our only hope is that the FSB can stop the bomb,” Antoine said. “It rests in Olga’s hands now.”
***
Saint Petersburg, Russia
Olga drew with her finger along the city map of Saint Petersburg, tracing the infrastructure and access ways to the address Tanya had given her. She had it laid out on the hood of her SUV, next to a strong coffee, a mobile radio and a set of night vision goggles. The vast garage of the Federal Security Bureau’s motor pool was filled with agitated voices, banter between the operatives and nervous laughter. Everything was perfectly timed. She knew when and where to strike, the number of opposition and the planned date of the dirty-bomb detonation.
A shout echoed through the underground parking garage.
“Ten minutes to gear up.”
A flurry of hands grabbed at weapons, equipment and hazmat suits.
Olga checked the building’s blueprint and internalized the structure. Every room, every measurement was important. What lay behind walls could be the difference between life and death.
She was ready to make the biggest bust in her career. It would change her life forever.
***
The queue was long, but tonight she jumped it. The ping of raindrops on her face stopped as she stepped under the canopy with her back stretched, shoulders wide and chest out. She strode with purpose. The bouncers raised objections and their outstretched palms against her advance. They went quiet fast. Olga was in company. Tonight the club would know a storm.
The entrance hall was a labyrinth of mirrors and red carpets over a marble floor. The men before her were tall and dressed in black. She walked underneath an arch and the metal detector went off. The door girl awaiting her ticket was left with an empty hand. Olga brought her admittance with the twelve gauge Benelli Tactical Shotgun resting on her biceps like a baby.
Love Is for Tomorrow Page 10
