“Ten thousand American dollars have been paid for each photograph of a dead American soldier. Akhtar would recruit locals, offer them the bounty, then if they expressed an interest, give them a phone. They would return to their village, recruit twelve people to participate, find out the time of the next scheduled American visit, then contact Akhtar with the details. Six men would show up the morning of the attack, arm then train the locals on how to use the weapons, then conduct the ambush.
“We now know that at least some of those men weren’t Afghan. Once the attack was carried out, the local recruit would take his photos, then meet with Akhtar, who would then pay ten thousand per dead American soldier, plus a one-thousand dollar per head bonus to the recruit himself. Some of these bonuses were kept by the recruit, others were handed over to the village. Some even kept all the money for themselves. We have photographic evidence of large expenditures at the villages that cooperated in the attacks.”
Tong cycled through photographs and drone footage, many in the room muttering curses at the obvious betrayal.
“After one of our operatives questioned one of the recruits, it was discovered that he had taken a photo of Akhtar for protection. After our operatives left, that recruit called Akhtar using a satellite phone that we’ve now been able to track using Echelon. In this conversation, the recruit indicated he had been visited by Americans and claimed it was our people who had his photo. Akhtar was quite agitated over this and over the phone call, no doubt because it could be traced.
“Yesterday, Akhtar and his family were found dead at his home in Kabul. Three other bodies were found at the scene that we assume were part of the team that carried out the attack. It’s our belief that he informed his handlers of the security breach, and the attack on him was part of a clean-up operation.
“We were able to identify the three men. Two were Chechens, former members of the Russian Army. The other was from Turkmenistan. All are known mercenaries. With their identities, we were able to expand the search to known associates. One of my team discovered four last-minute tickets bought on a flight out of Kabul, all ordered separately, but within fifteen minutes of each other. It raised our suspicions, so we had a team on the ground board the plane. Two of the men were killed in the takedown, and the other two were taken into custody.
“Thanks to the cooperation of our Afghan allies, this news hasn’t gotten out yet. Everyone on that plane is being held. All that those behind this will know is that their people didn’t arrive at their destination. A story has been put out that during the arrest of a single terrorist on that plane, multiple people were killed, so for now, whoever is behind this won’t know for sure what’s happened. During interrogation, one of the men broke and confirmed the disturbing details I’m about to give you.”
Leroux wiped the sweat off his forehead and took a swig of his water. This was the moment. It had been kept quiet until now. Other than his team, the Chief, Kane, and some of Bravo Team, no one else knew what he was about to say. “Once we had the phone number that Akhtar was using to coordinate the attacks, we were able to determine the phone number of his handler, and thanks to Echelon, we have transcripts of most of those calls, confirming which attacks he was involved in.
“Akhtar would provide his contacts with the locations and dates of the attacks, and then there’d be no further communication until the attack was complete and the number of photos was confirmed. That indicates that the handlers were the ones supplying the six men that would arrive before each attack, and supplying the bounty money to Akhtar when the job was completed. Also, note that Akhtar was receiving an equal amount, ten thousand a head.
“We then traced the handler’s phone number. All calls were to or from Akhtar, except for the very first call made three months ago after it was activated. And that’s where this gets very concerning.”
Those in the room leaned forward and the faces in the cameras grew.
“That first number that was called was a cellphone located in Moscow.”
Collective gasps erupted around him at the revelation.
“Are you telling me the Russians are behind this?” asked one of the faces on the display.
Morrison held up a finger. “Please hold your questions until the end of the briefing.”
Leroux continued, his confidence growing as those around him hung on his every word. “Once we had that number, we began tracing it. We’ve been able to determine that it’s a burner phone activated about four months ago. All calls to and from it, except for this one call, are encrypted. In that call, which lasted only six seconds, Echelon intercepted the conversation. In Russian, the person placing the phone call said, ‘Albatross is a go,’ and the person receiving the call, in Russian, replied, ‘Good luck.’ And then the call was terminated. We’ve been able to trace the location of this phone all over Moscow, including…” He paused as he gulped and reached for his water, then decided against it, instead delivering the bombshell that everyone was impatiently waiting to hear. “Including repeatedly on the Kremlin grounds, suggesting that this person either works there, or has near-daily contact with those who do.”
The room erupted in shock and anger. Faces disappeared from the cameras and Leroux grabbed his water then leaned back as a map of Moscow was shown on the display. Various locations they had been able to trace the phone to were highlighted, and a large red arrow pointed to a swath of Russia’s capital city with ‘Kremlin’ spelled out in bold letters, indicating a cluster of dozens of phone calls made or received on its grounds.
Morrison leaned closer to him. “You’re doing a great job. Keep it up.”
Air burst from Leroux’s lips, causing them to vibrate. “I just want it over with.”
Morrison chuckled. “Son, we haven’t even gotten to the questions yet. And if they agree with you that it’s the Russians, and they decide to go with the plan you and Kane cooked up, we could be here all day and night.”
Leroux’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I’ve got nothing but an empty home to go to, so I might as well stick around.”
38 |
Sheremetyevo Alexander S. Pushkin International Airport Moscow, Russia
Sherrie White stood outside the arrivals area, her cover that of an excited Canadian tourist waiting for her boyfriend to arrive. She was relatively new to the spy game, but because she spoke fluent Russian, Russia was one of her assigned zones. She wasn’t exactly sure what the mission was, except that she was here to assist Kane. When the Chief had called her into headquarters, her boyfriend was there in Morrison’s office, where she was told almost nothing. They were sending her to Moscow to rendezvous with Kane, though the operation hadn’t yet been approved. The meeting to decide that was starting in half an hour. They wanted her in the air just in case it was approved so she’d be in position to assist.
She knew Leroux well enough to know he was nervous, that whatever this was, was serious, and Morrison was concerned too. Normally meetings like that had him behind his desk, but instead, the three of them were in the seating area of his office where there were several chairs and a couch.
“This mission could be extremely dangerous. If it’s approved, Dylan will fill you in on the details.”
“So, you can’t tell me anything?”
Morrison shook his head. “No. If the operation isn’t approved, the fewer people that know we were even considering it, the better. There’s only a handful of people who know what’s being considered. Even in the meeting we’re about to attend, once it’s agreed that certain parties are involved, most will be excused from the meeting to discuss our response. Trust me when I say, if we don’t go ahead with this, you don’t want to know about it, because if it ever leaks, a clean-up might be conducted, and I wouldn’t want your career impacted.”
She glanced over at Leroux with concern. “What about Chris?”
Morrison chuckled. “He could be as screwed as I could be, but I’ll try to protect him as much as I can. I’ll insist that I had him and Dylan come up w
ith the plan under my orders.”
She wanted to know what the plan was, desperately wanted to know, but they had told her nothing. Even in her private goodbye with Leroux, he refused to reveal anything.
“When you find out what’s going on, you’ll understand.”
“And if I don’t find out?”
“Then be happy you didn’t.”
It had driven her crazy on the entire flight to Moscow, and the three-hour wait in one of Moscow’s finest hotels. The first indication the operation was a go was the tap at her hotel room door 90 minutes ago. It was a coded knock that had her both tense and at ease. Adrenaline momentarily fueled her, but she quickly got it under control and opened the door. A blond woman with model good looks pleasantly smiled at her.
“We found your missing luggage.” The woman pushed a large suitcase into the room. “We regret the inconvenience.”
Sherrie returned the smile, pulling the suitcase deeper inside. “Not a problem. These things happen. At least I got it before my plans for this evening.”
“Enjoy your stay in Moscow.” The woman smiled then walked away, nothing else said. Sherrie closed the door then heaved the heavy suitcase onto her bed. It was obviously a delivery from Langley, as she wasn’t missing any luggage. She dialed in her personal three-digit code on the tiny lock holding the zippers together, then yanked at it. It opened and she tossed it on the bed, then unzipped the suitcase, flipping the lid open.
And gasped at what was inside.
An M24 Sniper Weapon System.
It could mean only one thing. They were here to assassinate someone. But what didn’t make sense was why this particular weapon? It was American. Any forensic analysis after the fact would determine the type of weapon used. Why wouldn’t they use something Russian, something Chinese, something that at least had some chance of deflecting suspicion away from America?
She growled. She had no idea what was going on. With so little information, all she could do was guess, and that wouldn’t help anyone. She had searched the rest of the suitcase, finding it packed with the tools of the trade including fake IDs, passports, and a travel itinerary for a flight leaving in six hours. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. She took a little comfort in the knowledge that she might be safely out of the country before the day was over, or dead, and her worries would be over.
A small comfort.
This was the job. She could get killed on any mission. She had accepted that life, but she had accepted it before she met Leroux. Now she had someone she cared about, someone she loved, someone she wanted to have a family with, grow old with. But she also didn’t want to give up her job. She was too young. Barring injury, she had a minimum of 15 good years left in her, though it would be pushing the upper limits of an active agent. Forty-year-old legs simply couldn’t outrun a 25-year-old opponent. But lots of agents switched their roles as they got older to less active missions, to things more covert rather than overt. Perhaps when she made that switch, then they could have a family.
Kane stepped through the arrival area doors and beamed a smile at her, which she returned, in character. This wasn’t the first time they had played boyfriend and girlfriend, and because they were good friends in real life, not to mention the fact he was gorgeous, it made their bit of play-acting that much easier. She just hoped Leroux wasn’t watching on a hacked camera, because she knew how she’d feel if the roles were reversed—insanely jealous. But if this operation were as covert as she had been led to believe, there was no way Langley would risk hacking anything they didn’t absolutely need to. Kane’s safe arrival could be easily confirmed with a lookout.
Kane let go of his luggage cart and grabbed her in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor before planting a kiss on her that had her weak in the knees. “I missed you.”
“I missed you more. Did you get all your luggage?”
He patted the cart. “Yeah.”
“They lost one of mine,” she said as they headed toward the doors. “But they found it. It arrived a little over an hour ago.”
“Well, that’s good. We can’t exactly see the sights if you’ve got nothing to wear.”
No looks were exchanged, no winks, no secret handshakes. There was no doubt there were cameras on them. The question was, were the cameras on everyone, and the footage of them would be looked at after the fact, or were the cameras already on them specifically, because the Russians knew what was coming?
They walked over to the taxi stand and the cabby loaded Kane’s bags in the trunk. They climbed in and were soon underway. The fact they had made it this far meant nothing. If they were under surveillance, the Russians would want to catch them in the act, catch them somewhere with their target in their sights, their American weapons in hand.
And the propaganda coup would be massive.
In fact, it might just save their lives.
Kane took her hand and squeezed it, still in character. “I love this city. There’s just something about it that we don’t have back home in Canada. There’s so much history here.”
The cabby glanced in the mirror. “You’re from Canada?”
Kane nodded. “We both are. Ottawa.”
“I would love to visit Canada someday. I have relatives there in a place called Winnipeg. Have you heard of it?”
Kane smiled. “Of course. Capital of Manitoba. Flattest city you’ll ever find, and winters that’ll make you miss Siberia.”
The cabby roared with laughter. “So, are you two here for the parade?”
Kane’s grip tightened slightly, indicating she should remain quiet. “Not specifically, but we’ll probably check it out. Nobody puts on a parade like the Russians.”
The cabby agreed emphatically. “As soon as I drop you off at your hotel, I’m done for the day. I’m going to pick up my wife and children, and make sure we get a good spot along the route.”
“I’d like to get close to the grandstand if I can. See the president and all those generals with their ribbons. It’s impressive.”
The cabby chuckled. “It’s very hard to get anywhere close to that. You usually have to be connected. And don’t be too impressed by the ribbons. The Russian Army loves to give them out. My father says some of those generals got a ribbon for being able to shit in a hole, and a second one for remembering to wipe.” The man roared in laughter at his own joke.
Kane and Sherrie joined in as they pulled up to the hotel, leaving her wondering if Kane’s mentioning of the grandstand was significant. Could their mission be to assassinate someone who would be standing there today? She suppressed the urge to gulp. Could their target be the Russian president himself? Her heart raced into overdrive at the implications.
If that were the case, there was no way they were getting out of here alive.
39 |
Magdanly, Turkmenistan
Dawson had interrogated prisoners before but was always bound by strict rules that prevented him from beating the living shit out of someone to get the information he needed. He usually had to rely on intimidation and pretend that he’d unleash Atlas on them if the prisoner didn’t cooperate. Atlas would then growl, flex his upper-body muscles, and most would spill if they weren’t highly trained. If they were, more often than not, he would hand them over for further interrogation, where if it were outside of Gitmo, they would break them through standard techniques that were still permitted. Some would never break, and too often, those who did were simply spouting whatever the interrogator wanted to hear.
In this case, he and Atlas had stood behind Kane, still masked up, Atlas’ arms, chest, and shoulders bulging as he glared at the one who had reacted in the chopper. Dawson merely delivered his thousand-yard stare, boring into the man’s soul, while Kane sat across from the man with a tablet computer in his hand.
“Your name is Zura Shishani. You were born in Grozny, Chechnya on September 23rd, 1985. You joined the Russian Army in 2004, served for eight years, seeing a lot of action in Chechnya, then was honorably d
ischarged, and within a year was a gun for hire.” Kane wagged the tablet. “I know everything about you. I know you’ve got family, and I know you do the Russian government’s dirty work. And I also know you’re just a foot soldier. Bounty programs that pay ten thousand a head for each dead American soldier aren’t set up or even run by people like you. So, here’s what’s going to happen. In less than twenty-three hours, everyone on that airplane will be released, including you and your friend. There’s going to be footage released to the media showing me shaking your hand, thanking you for your cooperation, and you’ll be walking out of here without a mark on your face. That footage is going to get back to Moscow within minutes.
“Within two hours of that, they’ll have picked up your family, your friends, everybody that’s important to you, because they can’t risk this operation being traced back to them. You know the implications. If it became officially known what was happening, it could lead to war, and your taskmasters can’t risk that. That’s why they hired people like you to do their dirty work, and you hired locals. So, you’re going to tell me everything you know. I want names, places, dates, phone numbers, how you were recruited, how you were paid, where was your first point of contact, where did you get resupplied, how did you get your money to pay off the bounties. I want to know everything, and if I feel you’ve told me all you know, then your name will be added to the list of the dead from that attack. We’ll get you out of the country, and you’ll at least have a fighting chance, and your family and friends may just go untouched. Don’t cooperate”—Kane leaned forward with a smirk—“and I’ll let you live.”
The Messenger - Special Agent Dylan Kane Series 11 (2021) Page 16
