by Ty Patterson
‘What do you think?’ Meghan retorted and jammed her phone in her pocket when the first cruiser rolled up.
* * *
Late evening, back in their office.
Zeb stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, a coffee mug in his hand.
Traffic snailed below, the city back to normal. Nothing fazed it. Nothing stopped it.
He winced as he felt his side. That bullet had come close, but those suits, they had hit him hard.
They were pros. They knew how to hurt. Hurt? They were out to kill.
The cops had questioned them for much longer the second time. Two attacks on the same day, within a short span of time, was unheard of. What was even more concerning was that none of the men had any identification on them.
He looked up when he felt a presence. Beth and Meghan, flanking him.
‘That was no coincidence,’ the younger woman stated. ‘Werner ran facial recognition on them. No matches.’
‘How many people know who we are and what we are?’ he asked.
‘Thirty, maybe forty?’ Meghan frowned.
He nodded in agreement. That sounds about right. The heads of a few intelligence agencies know about us. They know how to contact us. The security firm, it has some of our faces, but there’s no connection to the Agency, what we really do.
‘How many people can organize such attacks?’ he turned, leaned against the window and addressed them. ‘Find us so quickly, get pros.’
It was the elder sister who made the connection first. Meghan sucked her breath sharply. ‘You mean…an intelligence head is behind all this? Someone we know?’
‘I can’t think of any other explanation. The timing, those men…’ he shook his head. ‘But I don’t think it’s someone we trust.’
‘It’s someone they know,’ Beth whirled on her sister. ‘That clip, we never showed it to Zeb.’
‘What clip?’ he asked.
In answer, she caught his elbow and led him to her screen. Typed furiously and brought up a video.
‘We found this in one of the Chernihiv’s drives,’ she explained as she typed furiously and selected a folder. ‘Remember, they had CCTV cameras around the house?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, we went through those recordings. We found nothing out of the ordinary. That place had very few visitors, all of whom we were able to track down. A plumber from town, a window-repairers. Tradespeople that you would expect. Except for this man.’
She played a video and sat back.
Zeb watched over her shoulder as a car drove up the farmhouse’s drive. It reversed and parked against the wall. It cut out of view as the front door opened and Andrei came out. Looks like Beth and Meg spliced the video from several camera feeds. Zeb figured as he watched Andrei look at the arrival. Came down the steps, crunched over the gravel and then the focus shifted to the car as a man climbed out.
Hat on his head, face turned away from the camera, left shoulder hunched up as if to further conceal his face, dark suit on his body.
‘Hello,’ he greeted Andrei in English.
‘Him,’ Beth’s eyes bright, sparkling with excitement. ‘We couldn’t identify him. No facial match. No other sighting of him.’
‘How old is that?’
‘Five months ago. Well before the killings started.’
‘Tverskoy moved engineers from MIBC to Chernihiv.’
‘Yeah, but that isn’t Tverskoy. It’s no Russian agency head. We checked.’
‘That isn’t what Zeb’s getting at,’ Meghan told her. ‘You’re thinking this man visited when Sebastian’s team moved?’
‘Yes,’ Zeb said. ‘But we don’t know when they shipped out of Moscow.’
Could that be some agency head we haven’t heard of? How’s that possible? He argued with himself. We know of every sizeable intelligence agency in the world. We cooperate with some of them, keep tabs on the others.
Do you really know everyone out there? An inner voice challenged him.
‘Send that video to our circle. Thompson, Gurtin, Andropov…all of them.’
‘Done,’ Beth replied after a moment.
‘Now, let’s get to Indonesia.’
Chapter Fifty-Seven
‘Your men failed,’ Smith accused Williams over the video call.
‘Yes,’ the Europe man acknowledged. ‘Carter and his people reacted so fast; they took my teams by surprise.’
‘Your men could have anticipated that. After all, you yourself, said this American is very good.’
‘Enough,’ Leslie nipped the argument before it could escalate.
The three of them weren’t equal in their relationship. The Asia man had come up with the idea. He had then met the Europe man at a security event and the two men, over drinks, had bonded.
Their countries weren’t friendly and that gave them the best cover. No one would ever suspect that the two men would or could work together.
Williams had grasped the enormity of Leslie’s idea immediately and had promised to provide the engineers. The two had then sought out Smith, again, a perfect foil, because it was unimaginable to the world that the three men could agree on anything, let alone collaborate.
Smith was wary initially, but when the two men explained the plan to him, he became an enthusiastic supporter. He brought money, lots of it. He provided the North American centers where the List and Content teams were housed. But he was an inferior partner. Leslie and Williams were in control and they subtly let Smith know that, time and again.
‘What’s done is done. It’s behind us,’ The Asia man carried on. ‘We’ve all been in the game for a long time. We know every mission isn’t successful. There are setbacks. This is one, but it doesn’t change anything.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Williams assented.
‘Except that Carter’s alert now,’ Smith replied defiantly. ‘He’ll know these attacks aren’t a coincidence.’
‘He knew that already, after Chernihiv,’ Leslie said placatingly. ‘Let’s put this in perspective. One of Williams’ team escaped –’
‘They’re dead,’ the Europe man interjected. ‘No loose ends. And the second team, all of them are dead. There’s nothing to connect those men to us.’
‘Correct,’ Leslie said. ‘We lost nothing there, except a few good men. Let’s not lose sight of our goal. We need to keep the momentum going. We need to amp up the killings in America.’
‘I’ll take care of that,’ Smith replied. ‘But we need some distraction. Perhaps some lone-wolf shooters in South America and Asia?’
‘Perfect. I’ll take care of the Asia end.’
‘Your man in Indonesia…he’s on alert?’
‘I’ve two men, Keling and Zhen,’ Leslie laughed, ‘as you know. Both are alert. In fact, they are looking to set a trap if Carter shows up. I’ll send them the American’s photographs so they’ll know whom to look for.’
‘They are good men?’
‘The best. Zhen and I have worked together several times in the past. I trust him fully. Keling’s good too. The fact that very few in the West have heard of them, speaks of their capabilities.
‘Great. Tomas and Jake are alert too. They haven’t been told of anything that went down. Stay sharp, those are their orders. In any case, Williams and I can check out for ourselves when we visit those centers.’
* * *
Jakarta was a good twenty-one-hour flight, which included a refueling stop in Qatar. Their Gulfstream took off from JFK at seven pm and touched down at Soekarno Hatta International Airport at six am, a Tuesday.
They didn’t have much gear with them and cleared immigration smoothly. Tourists, that was their cover. From New York, coworkers in a well-known tech firm. They had the identity cards, employers’ credentials, everything to make their legends airtight.
Each of them was disguised. Cheek pads on Zeb to make his face look fleshier. A wig that had a balding patch on it. The twins and Chloe changed their hair color. Blonde, brunette and black. Different
eye colors. Nothing could be done about Bwana’s skin color but he was heavily inked, as he proceeded through the airport. Tatts on his face and arms. A piercing over his left eyebrow and a ring through his right ear.
No cop looked their way suspiciously, no alarms set off.
They met in the concourse and flagged two cabs at the exit.
‘The Ritz Carlton,’ Zeb told the driver when he climbed in along with the sisters and Broker. Nothing but the best hotel for them. They were very well-paid engineers. Staying in luxury hotels was expected of them.
They checked into their rooms and slept for four hours. Met at noon and had a leisurely lunch at one of the hotel’s restaurants. Any onlooker would have taken them for typical, rich, American tourists. Which was the image they wanted to convey.
That evening they checked into a rental apartment, not far from the Jalan Surabaya flea market where Yunus had fired into the crowd. They stowed their gear away. Put on armor vests beneath their upper clothing, earpieces and one weapon each. They flagged two cabs and arrived at Keling’s night club.
It was a week night but the place was happening. The throbbing of beats reached them on the street as they paid off their rides. A steady stream of cars, motorcycle taxis and the odd tuk tuk lining up to drop off patrons. English and Bahasa in the air. Several Western visitors in the crowd. Smartly dressed professionals rubbed shoulders with a more casually turned-out younger set.
‘We don’t fit,’ Broker sighed, as he surveyed the crowd, hands on hips.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Beth snarked and led the way to the entrance. She paid the fee for all of them and then they were inside.
A short hallway, a cloakroom where bags or coats could be deposited. Thick doors which opened into the main room.
Loud music, strobe lights and bobbing heads and dancing bodies. At the far end, the dimly-lit bar, at which was a crowd as the servers worked feverishly to make drinks.
They split up. Zeb shouldered his way to the bar and ordered a drink. He was jostled and shoved as the churn at the counter ebbed and flowed. A woman bumped against him, felt his Glock against her shoulder and looked at him in surprise.
‘A metal brace,’ he reassured her. ‘Recovering from an injury.’
‘You’re American?’ she flashed a smile.
‘Yeah,’ he let his accent thicken. ‘Here with some of my friends. First time to Indonesia.’
‘It’s a great country. I live here. Work in a law firm. This is where I come to destress,’ and with that she was gone. Ships in the night.
He sipped his drink and checked out the crowd. Beth’s flashing hair caught his eye as she taught a move to Bwana. Meg, in deep conversation with Roger. Bear and Chloe, slow-dancing.
This could have been our life, he thought, remembering the times with his family. They had loved traveling. Visiting distant places. Understanding people and culture and languages. He swirled his drink in his glass, watching it catch the light. I’m thinking a lot about them. The memories came more easily. There was less pain, less emptiness. All these years, I hadn’t let myself heal. Maybe, that’s happening now.
He straightened when Meghan caught his eye. It was mission time. The past went back to where it came from as he emptied his drink and asked for directions to the rest room.
No private section on that side, he discovered. He wandered back to the dance floor, discreetly looking out for cameras. There they were, high on the wall. Where’s the control room?
He went to the left of the bar where the dining section was. Rattle of cutlery and conversation. Past the tables, a turn as the music faded, and now he was at the rear of the establishment. A hallway that he recognized from the layout Beth had printed. A door, signed Authorized Personnel. He tried it. A man looked up from a screen.
‘Sorry,’ Zeb apologized. ‘Toilet?’
The man came out and pointed the way.
That’s the office. Security room’s there too.
He made a show of returning to the bar and turned back as soon as the man disappeared.
More doors down the hallway. He tried several of them. All opened into well-appointed rooms. Thick carpet. Couches to the side. Center table and chairs.
Jackpot. One of these rooms is where Keling meets. He came out and explored the rest of the hallway. There wasn’t more to it. A rear entrance, probably for the preman boss as well as for VIPs.
A security guard turned the corner and looked at him, astonished.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in Bahasa.
Zeb and his crew spoke the language, but he resorted to English. ‘I’m looking to hire one of these rooms for a private party. The man at the bar asked me to check them out. He said they were empty.’
‘You saw them?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll escort you back, sir. This section is only for special guests. Please speak to the bartender if you need more information.’
* * *
They left the establishment two hours later.
‘We can hack into the security system,’ Beth announced when they were back in the apartment. ‘It’s one we have come across before.’
‘And I found the rooms,’ Zeb replied and broke it down for them.
‘They’ll check you out,’ Beth said thoughtfully. ‘Their cameras will have spotted you.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve got my cover. I’m hosting a private party and am looking for a venue. I spent a lot at the bar.’
‘That should work, but they’ll be alert.’
‘We wear our disguises when we are outdoors.’
* * *
The next day they weaponed up.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
‘That isn’t him,’ Lot Keling said. ‘That does not look like Carter.’ He handed back the security camera photographs that his assistant provided and yawned lustily. A young girl massaged his shoulder, another held a glass of wine to his lips.
He drank, smacked his lips and snapped his fingers. A flunky handed him his phone. He dialed a number from memory and several thousand miles away, Leslie picked it up.
‘He’s not arrived yet,’ he told the Asia man.
‘Stay alert. Be watchful.’
‘Iya.’ Yes.
* * *
Zeb’s weapons contact was a former commander in Kopassus, the Indonesian Army’s Special Forces group. Victor Suharto was short, clean-shaven but for a mustache and a buzz cut.
He didn’t speak much. He shook their hands silently, sized them up and led them to a truck. He drove out of the city’s center, to the bay in North Jakarta. To a warehouse where the container ships loaded and unloaded. He rolled up its shutters and turned on the lights. Crates wrapped in polythene. He forklifted several of them and brought them to where they were. Opened them with a crowbar.
Glocks, mags and ammo in one. Sigs and Berettas in another. HK416s in yet another. Grenade launchers, teargas, the warehouse had every weapon that they would need.
‘Who are you, dude?’ Bwana asked, astonished as he fingered an HK. It was in good condition, it’s serial number filed off, as was the case with every gun.
‘Zeb’s friend,’ Victor’s lips parted briefly. He didn’t elaborate even when Meghan pinned him down with a long stare.
* * *
‘So, who’s he?’ the older sister asked, when they were back in the apartment, their bags bulging with weapons.
‘Like he said, a friend,’ Zeb replied and winced when she punched him on the shoulder. ‘We worked a few missions. He thinks I saved his life and owes me a debt he can never repay.’
‘You’ve quite a few such friends.’
‘Victor’s special. He outfits our teams, Delta, SEALS, other US black ops outfits. British SAS as well. He’s the go-to man for any operation in this country.’
* * *
‘Any sighting? Leslie asked Keling the next day.
‘No. I doubt Carter will come here.’
‘The engineers are safe?’
‘I assume
so. You know I don’t have them.’
‘Surely, you and the other person talk.’
‘Not of this.’
‘Keep me posted about anything unusual.’
‘Iya.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Thursday. Hot and muggy in Jakarta.
‘You’re sure we’re going after the right target?’ Zeb asked the sisters.
‘Nope,’ Beth said and then chortled at his expression. ‘We can’t be sure, but chances are high, Keling is our man. We’ve been digging deeper into him and he’s the cybercrime man in this region. He too is into fake news distribution. In fact, a journalist even accused him of that. She was murdered at her house. That investigation’s still ongoing.’
‘Don’t forget,’ Meghan reminded him, ‘there’s a direct link between Sebastian and Keling. Those images, those messages on that board.’
‘He’s not as big as Tverskoy, is he?’ Broker asked, doubtfully.
‘No. But he’s got to have a backer like Tverskoy had.’
‘Any luck with that mystery man?’ Zeb asked her.
She grimaced. ‘Nothing in our databases. None of our contacts have come back.’
That man’s identity could be key. Zeb started cleaning his Glock, lost in thought. That last Indonesian killing…we can sense the fear and anger, here, on the streets. There have been no more killings anywhere else…he shifted uneasily in his chair. Why do I think the worst is yet to come?
* * *
A setback at the nightclub.
They had arrived well in time. Zeb, Broker, Roger and Bwana, inside. Bear and Chloe in a dark, anonymous SUV, the getaway vehicle. Meghan and Beth looking smart in their police uniforms, riding in a white and blue Toyota SUV. ‘It’s genuine,’ the older sister told him smugly. ‘Real plates, real everything.’
