“What does it say?”
“It says, in Russian, ‘Albatross is finished, or you’re next.’ Sir, what does it mean, what is albatross?”
“Stand by.”
Dead air filled his ear then there was a click. “Do you recognize my voice?”
Gridnev froze, his heart hammering as his entire body broke out in a cold sweat. He reached for the wall to steady himself, for he did indeed recognize the voice. “Y-yes, sir.”
“This is what I want you to do.”
48 |
Sheremetyevo Alexander S. Pushkin International Airport Moscow, Russia
“There’s another one. Two o’clock.”
Kane sat beside Sherrie at gate D-32. He directed his gaze slightly to his right, spotting the new arrival. “That makes six.”
“I think you’re forgetting about the other twenty.”
Kane shook his head. “No, those are all uniformed. They’re at every gate because of the lockdown. These six are here just for us.”
“And you still think this was a good idea?”
“Yes. It’s the only way to know for sure if the message was received.”
“Wouldn’t the fact the attacks stopped be all the confirmation we’d need?”
Kane leaned back and put his arm around her, still in character. “Maybe this time. But what about next time? We delivered a message today. We told him to never do it again. We have to know if they agree, and what happens in the next few minutes will tell us.”
He glanced over at the large display showing all the flights canceled. The moment they were finished at the hotel room, they had checked out with an excuse that would be so memorable that when questioned, the desk clerk would tell the investigators exactly what Kane wanted them to hear. They had taken a regular cab to the airport, and had arrived just as the flights were canceled. No one was allowed to leave, but they were letting people in, probably under the hopes the assassin would attempt to escape by air. It was a reasonable hope. After all, most assassins didn’t leave a clear trail behind them. They would come here and simply wait for the authorities to do whatever they were going to before reopening the airport.
But with half a dozen plainclothes officers now surrounding their gate, it was clear the Russians had received the message and followed the obvious clues. He and Sherrie were unarmed, and there would be no point in fighting if they were arrested. If they were, typically they would be disavowed, and the government would claim they were acting on their own. He wondered what Washington would do this time. The message had to be delivered. Would the American government stand behind them and say it was retaliation for what the Russians had done, perhaps claim that General Utkin was behind everything, and they trust that the Russian president was in the dark? Yet none of that mattered, for he was convinced his plan would work.
Cheers erupted throughout the terminal as the boards updated, all the flight statuses changed. The soldiers slowly receded into the background, and everyone seated around them eagerly stared at the staff at the check-in counter for any indication they were about to board.
“Ten o’clock,” whispered Sherrie.
Kane glanced over at a man in a poorly tailored suit that failed to conceal his shoulder holster. “This is it.”
The man wasn’t happy, the thin smile forced as he sat beside Kane. An announcement was made, indicating their flight would begin boarding, and those around them sprang to their feet.
“Well, I guess that’s us,” said Kane as he rose.
The man held out his left arm, slightly blocking him.
“If you would wait a moment, it would be appreciated.”
This was it. The question was whether this man was waiting for the innocent to vacate the area before they were taken down, or was he merely waiting for a little more privacy. As the passengers were quickly processed through the gate, the half-dozen plainclothesmen that had arrived earlier closed in, no longer attempting to blend, forcing Kane to reassess what might be about to happen.
As the last of the passengers disappeared through the doors to the jetway, the man finally spoke, staring directly ahead. “I’ve been asked to give you a message.”
Kane’s heart couldn’t help but race. “And that is?”
“The albatross is dead.”
Kane suppressed a sigh. “Then I assume our business is done.”
The man rose then stared down at them. “You and your friend are free to go.”
Kane rose, as did Sherrie. He extended a hand and the man took it. “Until next time?”
The man glared at him, clearly not pleased with the situation. “Don’t push your luck.” The man let go of Kane’s hand, then turned on his heel and walked briskly away, the other agents following.
Sherrie breathed a heavy sigh. “Well, that didn’t go the way I expected.”
Kane chuckled as they headed toward the gate. “You should really know by now that I’m always right.”
She gave him a look. “You and I both know that’s bullshit. You’re wrong plenty of times. It’s just that in the end, things always seem to work out for you.”
They showed their boarding passes and passports, then were ushered through, the staff clearly nervous, having just witnessed the exchange. The doors of the jetway were closed behind them, and as they stepped onto the plane and took their seats, he smiled with the knowledge that not only had his message been sent and received, it had been accepted. The Russians would think twice before targeting American soldiers.
Otherwise, America might be forced to send its messenger once again.
49 |
Sarwani Residence Kabul, Afghanistan
Mo sat cross-legged, puffing on his hookah pipe, still decompressing from his brief mission with Kane as he gripped his phone in his spare hand. Part of him wanted it to ring with Kane on the other end telling him he had to evac because they were leaving. But another part wanted it to remain silent, for it would mean they were safe, that no one was after them.
Yet they weren’t safe.
Even if that phone didn’t ring, it was just a matter of time. So many people like him would soon be dead. He was certain of it, as were others he had spoken to that worked for the Americans and their NATO allies. The moment the government fell, they were targets.
He couldn’t understand why the promises made hadn’t been kept. Fortunately, he had saved most of the money he had been paid, the amounts generous when compared to the average Afghan income. If need be, it should be enough to get them across the border, but he had to make those arrangements himself, and he didn’t know where to begin.
His wife walked into the room, a smile on her face as she hummed a lullaby she loved to sing to their children. She paused. “What’s troubling my husband?”
He forced a smile. “Nothing.”
She motioned toward the cellphone. “Are you expecting a call?”
He grunted. “Not so much expecting as wishing for.”
She frowned. “For the Americans to call?” She harrumphed. “You would think that after everything you’ve done for them, they would keep their promise.”
“I’m sure it’s complicated,” he said. “I have no doubt—” The phone vibrated in his hand with a text message, and he nearly soiled himself. He checked the display.
Five minutes.
He gulped then scrambled to his feet.
“What is it?” asked his wife as he rushed into their bedroom.
“We’re leaving in five minutes. Ready the children.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Five minutes!”
“Ready them for what?”
“We’re leaving the house. Permanently.” She followed him into the bedroom as his heart raced with fear and joy. He grabbed her by both arms. “The Americans. They’re coming for us!” She jumped for joy then gave him a quick hug. He pushed her away. “Get the children, now. Four minutes!”
He grabbed the bags he had prepared for them the moment he had got home from the mission,
tossing them onto the bed. He took one last look around the room. There were things he would take if he had time, if he had room, all memories of the difficult life he had shared with his wife and family. His heart sickened at the thought they were about to leave without saying goodbye to their family and friends, though once in America, once he gained his citizenship, perhaps he could gain their freedom as well.
He checked his phone. Two minutes. He gathered up the bags and headed for the front door, dropping them in front of it as the children scrambled to put on their sandals and his wife carefully fit her chador in place, making certain no hair was visible. The sound of vehicles pulling up outside was followed almost immediately by three quick raps on the door. He opened it to find an American lieutenant and several soldiers with him.
“Mr. Mohammed Sarwani?”
Mo nodded.
“I’m here to take you and your family into protective custody. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll ask you to hurry.”
Mo stepped outside to see two Humvees, one with the rear door open, a sergeant beckoning them toward it. He urged the children forward, his wife following, herding them like sheep. He stepped back inside and grabbed their bags, taking one last look at his home of so many years, and at a life he would never see again, men like him no longer welcome in their own country.
And as he closed the door for the last time, he prayed to Allah that he and his family would be welcome in their new country, and that his wife and children would finally find peace now that a promise had been kept.
THE END
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DYLAN KANE WILL RETURN!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I first read about the Russian bounty program to target American soldiers in Afghanistan, I was as outraged as anyone. And a little skeptical. Though as more evidence came out, including testimony that payouts could be as high as $100,000 a head depending on the seniority of the soldier killed, my doubts waned. Yet you have to consider who would be behind it.
Russia today is far more powerful than the Soviet Union, not due to military might, but through economic power and the impunity under which it can now operate. This pretender democracy, whom only the most naïve would claim their leader is legitimately elected, charges around the world stage, assassinating rivals, backing dictatorships, supplying insurgencies, and invading sovereign countries.
Why not a bounty program that targeted Americans?
Every single action Russia has taken over the past decade has gone unanswered, beyond rhetoric. Russia’s oil and natural gas are simply too important to Europe. America has lost interest with the Cold War “won,” and a generation has no idea the horrors the Soviet Union committed. Most in the West are content to sit behind their screens and ignore the fact that we are entering into or are already in Cold War 2.0, because of the distinction that no one worries about Russia invading Western Europe or North America. And while that might be true, can we allow a country to assassinate people on our own soil simply because they spoke out against the leadership? Russia is out of control, and the world once again needs to make a stand.
A message needs to be sent.
But not by me. I’m a lover not a fighter.
I often take little tidbits from my life and throw them into my books, and this one is no different. I remember when I was in Moscow, staring through the scope of my—wait, I forgot, I’m a lover not a fighter. What was the little anecdote from my life?
BD’s Renault “Le Car” story.
I miss that car, and I’d take it over my Jag any day.
As usual, there are people to thank. My dad for all the research, Ian Kennedy for some terminology info, and Brent Richards for some weapons info, and, as always, my wife, daughter, my late mother who will always be an angel on my shoulder as I write, as well as my friends for their continued support, and my fantastic proofreading team! Also, a special thanks to these followers on my Facebook page who helped name some of the characters: Sam Koski, Becca Salinas Franco, Don Woodie, and William Mauk, as well as Jon Fraser for picking Spock’s new ride and Chris Kalle for some Aussie insight.
To those who have not already done so, please visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com, then sign up for the Insider’s Club to be notified of new book releases. Your email address will never be shared or sold.
Thank you once again for reading.
DYLAN KANE WILL RETURN!
NEED SOME HISTORICAL ACTION?
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In an age before detectives, one Templar Knight is called upon to deliver justice.
When wounded Templar Knight Sir Marcus de Rancourt receives word that his sister is dying, he returns to a home he hasn’t seen in twenty years, only to find his sister dead, and her children orphaned. Sir Marcus decides to take on the greatest challenge of his life and remain behind to raise the children, his loyal sergeant and squires insisting on joining him to work the land at his side.
And it all starts with a simple murder, witnessed by a little boy, who swears Templars killed his parents.
Now it is up to Sir Marcus and his men to determine who committed the gruesome murders, and clear the good name of the Templars, before the very balance of power in the region shifts in favor of someone who should never possess it.
From USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy, comes the first in a new series, The Templar Detective, packed with pulse-pounding action, intrigue, and humor, guaranteed to keep thriller fans awake into the late hours.
Get your copy today, and be among the first to meet a new band of war-weary heroes, struggling to reintegrate into society, who are called upon once again to serve their Order, their Church, and their God.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
With over one million books sold, award winning and USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is a full-time writer and the author of over fifty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers. He’s married, has an adult daughter, and is likely hard at work on his next book.
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The Messenger - Special Agent Dylan Kane Series 11 (2021) Page 19
