Endwar: The Hunted

by David Michaels

  “Ghost Lead, this is Hawk’s Honor, thirty seconds ...”

  You’re too late, Brent wanted to tell him, but a wave of dizziness was taking hold, the ground listing to the left as though he were on a boat.

  He knew if he stared hard enough at those flames in the distance he’d see Villanueva, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “Ghost Lead, they’ll have missile lock in five, four, three, two ...”

  The Snow Maiden glanced back once more at the soldier who’d tackled her. It had been years since she’d encountered a man so fiery-eyed and determined. He seemed obsessed with her, and she took that as a true compliment. She thought of ordering the Russians to grab him, capture him, but she couldn’t explain why.

  She climbed into the transport, and as they began to lift off, she shoved her pistol into Haussler’s neck and fired two rounds, whispering, “I’ll never go back to Izotov. Never.”

  As he started to drop, she slid him aside and tossed him out of the chopper. His body tumbled and slapped across the asphalt, limbs twisted at unnatural angles as the troops standing beside her looked dumbfounded.

  She pushed through them, put her pistol to the back of the chopper pilot’s head, and shouted: “Okay, now you’ll take me where I want to go.”

  Just then explosions like tiny orange novae woke in the night sky, and the radio traffic from the gunships grew frantic.

  “The Americans are here,” cried the pilot.

  “Good,” she said. “Take me back to the airport.”

  One of the troops jammed his rifle into her back. “Lower your weapon,” he cried.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll kill him! And then we all die, unless you know how to fly this helicopter.”

  He thought it over, then complied, and in one fluid motion, she turned, put her pistol to the trooper’s head, and shot him point-blank. The trooper beside her grabbed her arm.

  But before he could get closer in an attempt to seize her weapon, the chopper suddenly pitched forward, and cannon fire tore into the bay. Alarms blared from the cockpit, and the pilot cried, “I’ve lost power!”

  EPILOGUE

  Sheikh Zayed Road

  Near Mina Jebel Ali

  Two Hours Later

  A SEAL team had flown in from the Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group, and Brent had already been examined by the medics. He was about to be airlifted back to the ship when Juma shifted forward with his cousin. “Brent, I’d like you to meet Sheikh Hussein Al Maktoum. The ruler of Dubai.”

  The boy, who was still wearing an environment suit identical to the Snow Maiden’s, extended his hand. Brent took it. “Thank you, sir, for recovering the gold and helping my country.”

  “You’re welcome. I do wish we could have gotten her.” He glanced up to Juma. “Any word yet?”

  Juma shook his head. “Her helicopter went down near Al Lisaili, but there’s still no sign.”

  The boy released Brent’s hand. “Captain, if there is anything I can ever do for you?”

  Brent took a long breath. “Hold that thought. I may come looking for a favor sooner rather than later.”

  Hussein nodded. “Anything you need. Just let me know.”

  Two crew members from the chopper lifted Brent’s long backboard and carried him away. At his request, they placed him beside Lakota in the helicopter’s cramped bay. He reached over, took her hand, then raised his voice over the droning engines. “You did good, kid.”

  She sighed. “You, too!”

  He raised his head and spotted Voeckler and Schleck seated across from him. They were ragged, red-eyed, exhausted.

  He took a deep breath. The rest of his team who’d been riding in the pickup truck was coming home in body bags. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

  The guilt burned.

  And burned. And burned.

  Moscow

  Four Days Later

  The Snow Maiden stood over his bed, watching him sleep. He was a pathetic old man swollen with greed and with a terrible lust for power that had blinded him to the atrocities committed by his government. He had been schooled in the rules of success by a war hero father who’d taught him to crush those in his way, so even from the beginning there had been no hope for him. He was a schoolyard bully with a war machine at his disposal.

  Her breath grew shallow as she considered shooting him. Ending it quickly. No words. Just instant gratification. Revenge served coldly, as it should be.

  Instead she nudged his head with her pistol until he jolted awake.

  She flicked on her penlight and shone it on her face, illuminating herself like some night creature.

  “Viktoria, is that you?” he said, lifting his hand and squinting.

  “Yes, General. Heinrich said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “We assumed you were dead. Like him.”

  “Another friend gave me a ride, although she’s no more trustworthy than you.”

  “If you’ve come to kill me, then be done with it. I’m sixty-two and much too old to be insulted by you.”

  “You’re fat and ignorant. And even with a gun to your head you still think you can give orders?”

  “Viktoria, we didn’t kill your husband. Or your brothers. You’ve constructed this fantasy and turned us into murderers, when we are anything but.”

  She jabbed the pistol into his forehead, and he groaned sharply. Then she climbed on top of him and began pressing the muzzle deeper and deeper into his flesh. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  She began to tremble.

  “Just shoot me!” he cried.

  “I should,” she gasped, beginning to pant, her face warming with the desire to finish him now. “But I won’t. I can’t.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  He stifled a laugh. “You’re going to kidnap me?”

  “Yes. I need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “With killing the president. With bringing down the motherland. And then we will stand back and watch it burn.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, Viktoria, whatever you say. Whatever you want me to do, I will do.”

  She pulled the pistol from his head and set it on the night table. “First you’ll satisfy my needs, then you pack. We have a long trip ahead of us.” She shoved her tongue down his throat and tore at his pajamas.

  SinoRus Group Oil Exploration Headquarters

  Sakhalin Island

  North of Japan

  Six Days Later

  Igany Fedorovich rose from his desk as the Snow Maiden and Izotov strode into the room. Patti entered from a side door, and all four of them took seats around a small conference table.

  “Please forgive the weapons search,” said Fedorovich. “But it was necessary. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I hope this will be brief,” said Izotov.

  The side door opened again, and the Snow Maiden lost her breath as in stepped Colonel Pavel Doletskaya, along with another woman, smartly dressed and at least ten years younger than Pavel. She seemed strangely familiar.

  The Snow Maiden bolted from her chair and crossed to her old colleague and lover. His eyes were already glassy. He rushed to her, took her into his arms, and clutched her tightly, whispering, “There is nothing we have to say. We are together again, that is enough. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment ...”

  Patti cleared her throat, and slowly, they broke their embrace and returned to their seats.

  Fedorovich introduced the younger woman as Major Alice Dennison of the Joint Strike Force. She was the Ganjin’s mole, nurtured from birth and controlled while her birth parents never knew what was happening.

  “My God, woman, what have you done? She works for you?” asked Izotov, his jaw hanging open.

  “And so do you.”

  He recoiled.

  “Our plan is to bring a peaceful end to the conflict, on
e which will be mutually beneficial to us all. We will cut the power lines of corruption in Washington, in Moscow, and in Paris in order to better stabilize the world’s economy and foster the health and welfare of all human beings. And when we’re finished, the world will, indeed, be a better place.”

  Izotov began to chuckle. “Good luck with that. I’ve never heard a more ridiculous and naïve plan.”

  “When your surgery is completed, you will believe in it as fervently as we do,” Patti said, raising a welltweezed brow at him.

  Izotov’s smile vanished. “Surgery?”

  “It’s painless ... and completely undetectable,” said Dennison, her eyes eerily vacant. “And when it’s over, you’ll feel a sense of freedom you’ve never felt before.”

  A chill woke across the Snow Maiden’s shoulders. Dennison’s tone was unsettling, and the Snow Maiden wondered if Patti and Fedorovich were already controlling her and that everything she’d done this far was part of their master plan and that she’d never had free will. She’d been their instrument from the beginning. No, that couldn’t be true.... Could it?

  “All right, let’s talk now about Dubai’s oil reserves,” Patti began.

  The Liberator Sports Bar and Grill

  Near Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Two Weeks Later

  It was about five P.M., and Brent sat alone in his usual corner booth. He’d been released from the hospital the day before. They’d kept him a bit longer than Lakota to perform a second surgery and had finally removed a piece of shrapnel that had been lodged in his back. He was scheduled to meet with Colonel Grey tomorrow morning, but the meeting was a formality. He was being reassigned to the JFK School, and his days in Ghost Recon were over. That news had come through the grapevine and was no surprise. He told himself he was all right with it.

  Thomas Voeckler had been nursing a beer at the bar and finally came over to sit across from Brent. “Didn’t see you here.”

  “And you call yourself a spy?”

  Voeckler grinned. “Half-assed. My brother would tell you.”

  “No, you’re top notch. What you did for me was harder than anything your brother ever did.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Did your brother ever finish a mission, knowing that he’d just lost you?”

  Voeckler thought about that and shook his head.

  “Point made.”

  Voeckler sighed, sipped his beer, then said, “It’s okay that you lied about Haussler being in Dubai. I know why you did it, but you didn’t have to worry. Haussler got his anyway, huh?”

  “Yeah, and I’m sorry about that.”

  “Like I said, it’s all right. The bastard’s dead.”

  Schleck arrived in the doorway and caught Brent’s gaze. The lanky sniper steered himself over and took a seat. “Who do I kill to get a beer?”

  Brent shook Schleck’s hand. “Hey, man, thanks for coming.”

  “Are you kidding?” Schleck drew his head back, dumbfounded, then wiggled his brows at the waitress and ordered his beer.

  “Where’s Lakota?” asked Voeckler.

  “On her way,” said Brent. “Oh, there she is now.” He rose and rushed to the front door, holding it open for her as she hobbled into the bar, favoring her right leg. She’d refused to use crutches, but Brent gave her no choice when he grabbed her arm and helped her over to the table.

  “Hey, guys,” she said with a grin. “You clean up nice.”

  Once they’d dispensed with the pleasantries and each had a beer, Brent got down to the business at hand: lifting their glasses to fallen comrades. His voice cracked. But that was okay. The beer was cold, the sentiments honest. Nothing else mattered.

  After an hour, Schleck and Voeckler bid their good-byes and good lucks.

  “You still want to hang out with a broken old warhorse?” Brent asked Lakota.

  “If you think you’re getting off cheap with just beer, think again, mister. I want dinner and a movie.”

  “At my pay grade?”

  “Yeah. And Brent, you’re not an old warhorse.”

  He snorted, glanced away in thought. “You know, I never meant to do any of this.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Truth is, I joined the Army because I thought I could take another guy’s place. I thought I could live his life and make things right. So everything I’ve done was to try to say I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter. No one really cares. And I have to convince myself that my life wasn’t his but mine. I’m the soldier, not him. I didn’t live his life. I lived my own.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yeah, I can talk the talk, but the walk is ...”

  “Maybe it’s easier if I take your hand.” She reached across the table.

  He grinned. “Doesn’t feel any different. Maybe if you take off your clothes.”

  She frowned. “Pig!”

  He busted out laughing. “Come on, let’s go see that movie. We’ll get a late dinner. You mind driving? My car’s still at the impound.”

  As Brent rose, his cell phone rang. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”

  “Brent? This is Scott Mitchell.”

  He looked at Lakota and mouthed the name. Her eyes widened and she shifted close to him, putting her ear near the phone.

  Brent took a deep breath and answered, “General, what can I do for you?”

  “I just got off a call with Sheikh Hussein. He’s in the process of having some of his oil reserves moved, but there’s an unidentified force, company size right now, moving toward Dubai. He’s concerned.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “The sheikh has asked me to appoint you as a special liaison officer for the JSF, acting in that capacity and as a consultant to the sheikh’s security forces. In addition, you’d work with his cousin’s militia, rebuilding and training that force. Interested?”

  Brent took a deep breath. He hadn’t asked Hussein for a favor yet, and the kid had already come through. Sure, Hussein had probably been influenced by Juma—you could almost hear that influence in the general’s report—but that didn’t matter.

  “Sir, I’m interested, and I’d like the opportunity to handpick my own staff, with your endorsement, of course.”

  “You want Schleck, Voeckler, and Lakota to start ...”

  “Well, sir, that would enable me to—”

  “You got ’em. Just get me a list before the end of the day. We’ll have you in Dubai by the weekend.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “We’ll be in touch, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir.” He thumbed off the phone.

  Brent’s life was about to change again, only this time the change would not be marked by swelling clouds of smoke and fire.

  It would be marked by something very different.

  He leaned over and took Lakota into his arms. Without hesitation, he gave her the longest, hottest kiss he could muster. As she hugged him even tighter, he ignored the cheers and applause from his colleagues, surrendering himself to her grasp.

  When they finally came up for air, she looked at him and whispered, “To hell with the movie. Take me home.”

  NOVELS BY TOM CLANCY

  The Hunt for Red October

  Red Storm Rising

  Patriot Games

  The Cardinal of the Kremlin

  Clear and Present Danger

  The Sum of All Fears

  Without Remorse

  Debt of Honor

  Executive Orders

  Rainbow Six

  The Bear and the Dragon

  Red Rabbit

  The Teeth of the Tiger

  Dead or Alive

  (written with Grant Blackwood)

  SSN: Strategies of Submarine Warfare

  NONFICTION

  Submarine: A Guided Tour Inside a Nuclear Warship

  Armored Cav: A Guided Tour of an Armored Cavalry Regiment

  Fighter Wing: A Guided Tour of an Air Force Combat Wing

&nbs
p; Marine: A Guided Tour of a Marine Expeditionary Unit

  Airborne: A Guided Tour of an Airborne Task Force

  Carrier: A Guided Tour of an Aircraft Carrier

  Special Forces: A Guided Tour of U.S. Army Special Forces

  Into the Storm: A Study in Command

  (written with General Fred Franks, Jr., Ret., and Tony Koltz)

  Every Man a Tiger

  (written with General Chuck Horner, Ret., and Tony Koltz)

  Shadow Warriors: Inside the Special Forces

  (written with General Carl Stiner, Ret., and Tony Koltz)

  Battle Ready

  (written with General Tony Zinni, Ret., and Tony Koltz)

  Tom Clancy’s HAWX

  Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon

  Tom Clancy’s EndWar

  EndWar

  The Hunted

  Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell

  Splinter Cell

  Operation Barracuda

  Checkmate

  Fallout

  Conviction

  Endgame

  CREATED BY TOM CLANCY AND STEVE PIECZENIK

  Tom Clancy’s Op-Center

  Op-Center

  Mirror Image

  Games of State

  Acts of War

  Balance of Power

  State of Siege

  Divide and Conquer

  Line of Control

  Mission of Honor

  Sea of Fire

  Call to Treason

  War of Eagles

  Tom Clancy’s Net Force

  Net Force

  Hidden Agendas

  Night Moves

  Breaking Point

  Point of Impact

  CyberNation

  State of War

  Changing of the Guard

  Springboard

  The Archimedes Effect

  CREATED BY TOM CLANCY AND MARTIN GREENBERG