Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Choke Point (Tom Clancys Ghost Recon)

by Peter Telep

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Kozak. ‘You’re done. Get out of there.’

  30K took a deep breath.

  ‘Just got a call from the boss,’ Kozak added. ‘He wants us back. Come on … get out of there.’

  Half-assed wasn’t the way he rolled, but if planting the listening the device meant creating a diversion and possibly blowing his cover, then his little brother was right. Gritting his teeth, he slipped back, out of the hangar, and met up with Kozak outside.

  ‘This sucks. I only got the tracker on the plane.’

  ‘That’s good enough.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Stuff at the warehouse. I’ll tell you on the way back.’

  They jogged away from the hangar and were breathless by the time they reached their pickup truck. 30K seized the wheel and tore off, rumbling back on to the highway and toward the port.

  He checked the rearview mirror, where dust clouds whipped behind the truck. For now, they were the only car on the desert highway.

  But within five minutes they were passing several other shipping trucks heading back toward the airport, along with another motorcycle carrier.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The truck driven by the C-212 pilot arrived at the Fadakno warehouses at sunset. Ross was frustrated because they’d failed to capture a distinct image of the man before he’d slipped into the main office, remained there for about ten minutes, then left in a car belonging to one of the employees.

  Two of Darhoub’s men, along with Pepper, followed the pilot to the posh and updated Hotel al-Massira, and Maziq went to work accessing the hotel’s computer system, although Ross suspected that their pilot had fake credentials and had checked in under a false name.

  One of Maziq’s local operatives, a man who worked at the refinery, was sent out to keep tabs on the delivery boy, who turned out to be the son of a local restaurant owner, the place famous for its lamb and seafood, Maziq reported.

  Their NLA observers, along with Maziq’s men, had nothing to report from the trawler. CIA agent Tamer was either still there or had found a way to leave the boat without being seen.

  Now, with everyone back at the church, Ross assembled the team in the basement and made an announcement: ‘We’re going in tonight. The warehouses are protected by motion trackers and surveillance cameras – nothing too difficult for a localized power outage to bring down. We’ll use an EMP strike to fry the cameras and trackers. We go in light, just pistols with suppressors. I don’t want a single shot fired. Not a single shot.’

  Maziq lifted an index finger. ‘I assume Tamer will be out of the equation by this time.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘How?’

  Ross smiled, then glanced over at Kozak. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  Ross then faced Maziq. ‘Okay, bro, here’s how.’

  Deploying the MUAV back at the airport hangar was, according to Ross, a stroke of genius, because it gave him an excellent idea of how to conduct reconnaissance inside the fishing trawler and pinpoint exactly where Tamer had set up his command post. Kozak was more than pleased with that assessment (most particularly the phrase ‘stroke of genius’), and for his part he now was seated inside a car parked outside the marina and piloting the Dragonfly above the trawler and toward one of the open portholes on the ship’s starboard side.

  However, before he directed the drone inside the boat, something caught his attention, and he pulled up, steering the Dragonfly into a wide turn, then banking around to spot the restaurant delivery boy Ross had mentioned. Kozak was wearing his Cross-Com and issued his report.

  ‘He’s right on time. Good boy,’ said Ross. ‘See how close you can get, and patch me in to the signal.’

  ‘Roger that.’ Kozak then called out to his buddy: ‘30K, you’re good to go.’

  ‘Roger, bro, on my way.’

  Kozak watched as the boy pedaled to the end of the pier, then got off and leaned his ride against one of the moorings. He removed a small box from his bike’s rear basket and hiked it up the gangway.

  Tamer, a bony man probably in his thirties with a bald pate, a closely cropped beard, and an unfortunate nose, came on to the gangway and accepted the package. He handed the boy a stack of blue, red and green dinar notes.

  Kozak brought the Dragonfly down to the railing, just above and behind them, and with the waves lapping softly at the trawler’s hull, the drone’s buzzing wings went unnoticed.

  ‘Thank you again for dinner. What else do you have for me today?’ Tamer asked in Arabic.

  ‘I heard them talking about the pilot, and a new shipment going out in the morning.’

  ‘What about Delgado? Did you hear the name “Delgado”?’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘This new shipment. Did they say what time it will go out?’

  ‘No, just in the morning.’

  ‘And where is it headed?’

  ‘Sudan.’

  ‘Anything else I should know?’

  ‘Not that I can remember. That’s all I heard.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Your dinner is getting cold.’

  ‘Bady, is there anything else you want to tell me?’

  The kid shrugged.

  ‘You’re certain that no one else has tried to talk to you?’

  ‘No.’

  Tamer’s voice grew menacing. ‘Why are you lying to me, Bady?’

  The kid took a step back.

  ‘Come on, inside the boat,’ said Tamer. ‘We need to talk about this.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Bady answered. ‘I have to go.’

  Ross and Pepper had met up with the boy at his father’s restaurant, and they had explained to him and his father that he could no longer work for Tamer, that it was much too dangerous, and that they would offer him one final payment to deliver Tamer his dinner and then never come back.

  The boy’s father was ready to beat him because he had known nothing of this, and Ross and Pepper defended him, saying that this was very common, that the boy was only trying to help his father with the extra money, and that they were here to help.

  Bady, crying and scared, agreed to make the last delivery, and Ross figured this would be the break they needed. The kid would delay Tamer long enough for Kozak to get the Dragonfly inside and help guide 30K to his destination.

  But now, as Ross crouched on the church’s rooftop and watched Bady step back from Tamer, he knew the plan had suddenly and irrevocably gone south.

  30K was floating soundlessly in the water at the trawler’s stern. While Tamer was talking with the kid, 30K had tossed up a line and hook that had caught the gunwale with only the slightest thump since the hook was coated with heavy rubber.

  Kozak had just given him the word, so he’d ascended the rope, come over the gunwale, and shifted across the deck to crouch down beside a ladder attached to the docking bridge.

  He was waiting for Kozak to guide him directly to Tamer’s computer while the man was distracted with the kid outside. To be even safer, 30K had changed into his Ghost fatigues with the Velcro patches removed so he’d have access to his optical camouflage and avoid the more cumbersome blanket. The camouflage was active, and he’d faded into the shadows. Clutched in his right hand was his familiar and reliable FN Five-seven with attached suppressor.

  ‘Kozak, what’s the delay, man? Come on, I’m ready.’

  ‘Wait, dude, something’s wrong.’

  Kozak was losing his breath as Tamer took another step toward Bady.

  ‘There’s no reason to lie,’ said Tamer. ‘I know some other men came to you. They’re my friends. Come with me now.’

  ‘I told you I can’t.’

  ‘What did those men say?’

  Bady was panting now. ‘They … they told me I can’t work for you anymore. They told me it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Captain, are you hearing this?’ Kozak asked.

  ‘Yeah, stand by.’

  �
��So, Bady,’ Tamer said. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me about them?’

  ‘I was afraid.’

  Tamer glanced up, his gaze scanning the marina and surrounding buildings. ‘Are they watching us now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Tamer seized Bady by the wrist and began to drag him up and on to the deck. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  Kozak spoke quickly into his boom mike: ‘Tamer must’ve had an informant at the restaurant. He knows we’re on to him.’

  Up on the church’s rooftop, Ross glanced over at Maziq, who said, ‘Send in Darhoub’s troops.’

  Ross gave the order, then switched to the team net: ‘30K? Get the boy! Now!’

  ‘On my way,’ the man answered.

  ‘Oh my God!’ cried Kozak.

  Ross craned his head, and what he saw through his night-vision lens stole his breath.

  TWENTY-NINE

  30K charged across the deck and toward the gangway.

  Meanwhile, on the shoreline, the NLA troops burst from their observation positions and came rushing toward the trawler, rifles raised.

  Kozak would later say that the blade in Tamer’s hand seemed to come from nowhere. It flashed once in the dim light before the agent plunged it home in the boy’s chest. The kid was falling back as Kozak screamed and Ross gave 30K the order to move in.

  30K gritted his teeth. The rules of this game had suddenly changed. Tamer had committed a crime, and the Ghosts were now free to assist the NLA troops in capturing him.

  ‘30K, we need Tamer alive,’ Ross reminded him.

  ‘Understood,’ he spat, then swore under his breath.

  Not two seconds after Tamer killed the boy – and seeing that the NLA troops were moving in – the little runt scurried back across the deck, through an open door, and disappeared into the navigation bridge.

  30K was only a few heartbeats behind.

  A dark passageway lay before him.

  Then a sound from above, someone scaling a ladder just a few steps away.

  He seized the rungs, rushed up –

  Arriving breathlessly in the trawler’s bridge, dimly lit by several battery-powered lights.

  And there, near the main controls, was Tamer, initiating a rapid-fire sequence of keystrokes on his computer.

  ‘Hold it,’ 30K said in Arabic.

  Tamer did not turn back.

  Two more NLA troops rushed in behind 30K, along with Kozak.

  ‘Get your hands off the keyboard!’ screamed 30K.

  Tamer kept banging away.

  ‘I said stop!’

  Tamer typed even faster now.

  Well, the boss had said they needed Tamer alive. There had been no mention of unharmed.

  30K shot him in the leg, and when the man whirled back to face 30K, he had a pistol in his hand.

  But it wasn’t pointed at 30K.

  Tamer lifted the weapon to his own head, and 30K practically leaped toward the man, shouting, ‘No, no, no!’

  The gunshot was deafening inside the bridge, the windows sprayed with blood as though from a powerful hose. 30K caught the agent as he was collapsing to the floor, his limbs twisting at improbable angles.

  Kozak rushed around 30K and went directly to the laptop. ‘He’s erased the entire drive, all the files, the whole nine.’ Smoke began pouring from the keyboard. ‘Holy shit, acid bomb, too,’ said Kozak, beginning to cough.

  30K checked Tamer for a pulse – a formality to be sure. At least the little bastard was proficient at suicide.

  ‘This guy …’ Kozak began, thinking aloud. ‘He’s gotta be dirty, killing the kid, man … He’s in bed with Delgado probably. He didn’t bolt because he wanted to question the kid, see how bad his own leak was. Shit …’

  30K stood and backhanded something off his cheek. Blood. ‘What a mess,’ he grunted.

  They stood there for a few seconds, just collecting themselves and staring down at Tamer until 30K took a deep breath, cleared his throat, then shared the grim news with Ross and Pepper.

  ‘Clean it all up and get out of there ASAP. Do it now,’ snapped Ross.

  30K looked to Kozak. ‘Get me something to wrap around this bastard’s head so he doesn’t bleed all over me.’ Then 30K regarded the NLA troops and added in Arabic, ‘Get outside and get the boy. Get him back to the church.’

  The two troops nodded and rushed off.

  ‘This was going to be so beautiful,’ said Kozak. ‘We’d hack into his computer, send him misinformation, order him out of here, and keep him in the dark the entire time. It was going to be sophisticated and high-tech, not a friggin’ bloodbath.’

  ‘Like you said, he had people watching that restaurant like a hawk. You can have all the toys in the world, but they don’t beat a pair of eyes on a target – and there’s no way to tell which set of eyes was watching. Could’ve been anybody in or around that restaurant. It was a calculated risk. They took it. And now look at what we got.’

  ‘Well, our hands are clean. I got the boy’s murder on video. Nobody can say shit,’ said Kozak.

  30K regarded Tamer’s body. ‘What about his suicide?’

  ‘Cross-Com got that.’

  ‘So then yeah, I guess you’re right,’ said 30K. ‘We’re clean. And our CIA leak has been plugged for now. But man, that poor kid …’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kozak, his voice cracking now. ‘I can’t get him out of my head.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  Back in the church’s basement office, Ross asked for a moment alone as he pulled back the blanket and stared down at the boy’s face, now cast in a deepening pallor.

  His first thought hadn’t been how they’d cover up this mess; it’d been how they would tell the boy’s father. Ross felt responsible and wanted to do that himself, but Mitchell would never allow that.

  The boy, like many others during wartime, would simply vanish, and his father would mourn silently and avoid seeking help from the authorities because he’d fear retribution. When he’d learned for the first time what his son was doing, Ross had seen it in the old man’s eyes: the impending danger, the thought that maybe my boy is already dead. A resignation.

  And now, they couldn’t even return the boy’s body because of the security risks. It’d have to be ‘taken care of’ so that no evidence remained. The NLA troops would handle all of that. Meanwhile, Maziq would have the unenviable task of preparing Tamer’s corpse for transport.

  Ross put his hand on the boy’s forehead, and he was wrenched back to Virginia Beach, to 14 August, a day he could not revisit now. Not now.

  He slipped the blanket back over Bady’s head, then left the office and returned to his men, who were waiting for him near the basement door.

  ‘We’re not sure if he called the Agency or not,’ said Ross. ‘But either way, our plans remain the same. We’re going in tonight.’

  ‘What about lunch?’ asked 30K.

  The question caught Ross off guard. ‘Lunch? It’s ten now. We’ll hit the warehouses at 2 a.m. Why are you thinking about lunch?’

  ‘I mean the kid. He delivered lunch every day to employees in the warehouse. He ain’t gonna show up tomorrow.’

  ‘Can’t worry about it,’ said Ross. ‘Getting another kid or trying to put some other Band-Aid on that could be worse. They’ll call the restaurant, the boy will be missing, and we’ll leave it at that. It’s a loose end that might be too risky to tie up.’

  ‘How ’bout some good news?’ Pepper asked wearily. ‘I’m sure we could all use it. I heard back from the guys I left at the hotel. The pilot decided to have dinner, and we finally got some good pictures of him. I forwarded them back home, and we just received the ID.’

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Ross.

  Pepper slipped a tablet computer from his armpit and read from the screen: ‘Bakri Takana. He’s a former Sudanese pilot who saw action in Darfur. Experienced combat jock overqualified for drug smuggling. He’s probably a freelancer hired by our guys.’

  Ross nodded and face
d the group. ‘All right. Let’s see what Mr Takana plans to fly out of here in the morning.’

  THIRTY

  A long raft of clouds obscured the waning moon and left the port in a deeper darkness.

  A haunted darkness.

  Few lights shone in the windows of the office and apartment buildings behind them as Ross, Pepper, Kozak, and 30K fanned out and moved down the shoreline road leading to the pier and warehouses. The Mediterranean was a sheet of smoked glass, and somewhere out there, a buoy flashed.

  With the sea’s dank scent now filling his nostrils, Ross reached the rear wall of the two-story building behind the warehouses, a nondescript facility with no security, signs, or other identifying markers of any kind, but one their intel had identified as a warehouse for medical supplies once supported and run by the old Gaddafi regime. Ross paused as the team reported in:

  ‘Ghost Lead, this is Kozak. Sensor out, in position. Contacts marked.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  Pepper and 30K reported the same.

  ‘Ghost Team, continue the sweep.’

  ‘Maziq?’ Ross called over the command net. ‘Cut the power.’

  ‘Roger that. Stand by.’

  Maziq had recruited two engineers from the NLA to cut the power to several blocks along the pier. In the past, the power was often turned off at night anyway, and both brown- and blackouts were not unusual occurrences.

  Ross shifted around the corner, and with his Cross-Com he zoomed in on the Fadakno office’s security camera mounted over the front door. The red status light winked off. And three, two, one, it returned, operating on battery backup.

  ‘Power’s down,’ said Maziq. ‘Ghost Lead? Confirm.’

  ‘Confirmed,’ said Ross. ‘Ghost Team? Everybody out of the zone?’

  The men checked in. They were.

  ‘Clear to drop EMP. Stand by.’

  Ross withdrew the cylindrical EMP grenade from his web gear, pulled the pin, and hurled it toward the office’s front door, just outside of the camera’s view as it was panning toward the south corner.

  The grenade, technically a flux compression generator bomb, was a metal cylinder surrounded by a coil of wire called a ‘stator winding.’ The cylinder was filled with high explosive surrounded by a jacket, and the stator winding and cylinder were separated by empty space. A bank of capacitors was attached to the stator, and a switch connected the capacitors to that stator, sending an electrical current through the wires to generate an intense magnetic field.