Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  This would be a lot easier if we were just eliminating those with guns.

  This time however not only did you have to make sure the person was armed and a threat before shooting, they had to make sure that threat wasn’t the target they needed alive. The room quickly fell silent as the last enemy was eliminated.

  “Everyone okay?” he asked.

  A round of affirmatives set his mind to rest.

  “Let’s finish this.”

  Kane rushed through the door, took a quick glance toward where the gunfire was, and went in the opposite direction. Dawson’s team could handle themselves, and the rest of this end hadn’t been cleared. The last thing Dawson’s team needed was three more guns with an unknown number of hostiles possibly coming from the rear.

  They advanced to the next door and Kane stood to the side, then knocked.

  A burst of gunfire tore apart the center of the door. Kane grabbed a flash-bang off his belt, pulled the pin, then punched his fist through the weakened door, dropping the grenade inside then backing away as he covered his ears.

  The roar was deafening and was greeted by several screams from inside the room. Kane kicked open the door and pushed inside, shooting two guards as they tried to reach their weapons, a third merely sitting up in his cot, his hands up, this apparently a sleeping area for the peons.

  “Check him then secure him,” ordered Kane. Sherrie quickly patted the man down as Jimmy cuffed him with a zip tie. Kane turned to Sherrie. “Watch him.”

  Sherrie nodded, taking up position so she could not only watch their prisoner, but was out of sight of both the window and the door. Kane nodded in approval.

  She’s going to make a great agent.

  They advanced to the final door in the hall, Kane noting the weapons fire had ceased at the other end of the house. He knocked.

  Nothing.

  He tried the door and it was locked.

  Stepping in front, he kicked it open then fell back to the side, Jimmy advancing.

  “Clear!” he heard Niner call as Atlas and Niner entered the hall from the kitchen, everyone outside dead. He motioned for Niner to join them as Kane entered the room, its size and grandeur indicating it was the master bedroom. A king sized canopy bed, hand carved furniture, Persian rugs, silk wall hangings, erotic paintings, soft lighting and dozens of pillows.

  Niner entered the room and whistled as he made his way to the bed.

  “It’s a Soviet hump chamber,” said Niner as he pushed some pillows aside, making sure the bed actually was empty and there wasn’t a bevy of honeys in hiding. He seemed disappointed.

  “All clear this end,” came Dawson’s voice over the comm.

  “Clear here as well. We have two prisoners we’re going to interrogate.”

  “We have one. I’ll bring him to you, then we’ll set up for our arrivals.”

  “Roger that.”

  Kane stepped out into the hallway and saw Stucco and Casey hauling a wounded man toward them. Kane pointed to the master bedroom. “Put him in here. I don’t want them talking.”

  Stucco and Casey complied, then ran back to the other end of the house.

  “Overseer, Bravo One. ETA on our new arrivals, over?”

  “Bravo One, Overseer. Three minutes out. Be advised satellite is now out of range of target, new bird ETA five minutes, over.”

  Kane stepped into the room, Niner and Jimmy standing on either side of them, their NBC hazmat suits looking menacing, the wounded man clearly scared. Kane turned to Niner. “Make sure the other doors with our prisoners are open, then every time I inflict pain, open our door. I want them to hear him so they can start thinking about what’s going to happen to them.”

  Niner nodded and stepped out into the hallway, returning seconds later, closing the door to the master bedroom.

  Kane knelt down, his masked face staring directly at the man.

  “We’re going to do this the easy way, okay?” he said in Spanish. “I’m going to ask you questions, you’re going to answer them truthfully. Every time you lie to me, I’ll hurt you, and I’ll get the truth anyway. Understood?”

  The man nodded, his eyes wide, his entire body trembling, his fear obvious.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Carlos.”

  “Carlos. You’re Cuban?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  The man said nothing, instead looking away.

  “No answer is a lie, Carlos, so I will have to hurt you.” Kane pressed his thumb against the gunshot wound in the man’s shoulder as Niner opened the door behind him.

  Carlos screamed out in pain, his face going pale, and Kane stopped, not wanting the man to pass out before they could get any intel from him. The man’s breathing was rapid, but as soon as Kane stopped the torture, his color began to return and his panting slowed.

  “I’m really sorry about that, but you must understand that your boss knows about the virus that is spreading throughout the world. You’ve heard about it, of course?”

  “Yes,” gasped the man.

  “Good. Now, are you a religious man?”

  The man nodded.

  “So you believe in God?” Nod. “And Heaven?” Nod. “So when you stand in front of God, what do you want to tell him about this moment of your life? Do you want to tell him you did nothing, and let mankind die from a virus, or do you want to tell him you helped by giving me the information I needed, and helped save mankind?”

  There was silence, but the man’s eyes darted to the left for a split second, then returned to Kane’s. As soon as Kane looked to where the man had glanced, then back at the man, his prisoner could no longer make eye contact.

  Bingo!

  “Is there something over there I need to see.”

  The man swallowed, but nothing was said.

  Kane motioned to Jimmy.

  “Take a look over there. Hidden door, panel, transporter pad.”

  Jimmy stepped over to the corner where Carlos had looked and started moving things aside. Kane watched Carlos’ face as Jimmy continued to tear apart the corner.

  Suddenly Carlos’ pupils dilated slightly, just for a moment as he held his breath.

  Kane turned, holding out his hand for Jimmy to stop.

  “What did you just touch?”

  Jimmy stopped. “I’m not sure. This chest here. I tossed that chair over there.”

  “The rug,” said Niner.

  “What?”

  “You kicked the rug the chair was on top of.”

  Niner dropped to a knee and grabbed the corner of a small Persian rug sitting in front of a dresser. He yanked it aside and smiled.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  It appeared for all intents and purposes to be a trap door.

  Kane turned to Carlos.

  “Is it wired?”

  Carlos said nothing and Kane jabbed his thumb into the open wound. Carlos howled then Kane let go.

  “Is. It. Wired?”

  “I don’t know!” cried Carlos, his eyes filled with tears, a few having escaped to burn red streaks down his cheeks.

  “Was he here when we arrived?”

  “Who?”

  “Your boss!”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he in this room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where does this lead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And what is your boss’ name?”

  “Mr. Fowler.”

  Kane stood up and stepped back.

  “Scott Fowler was here?”

  Carlos nodded emphatically the greater the distance Kane put between them.

  “He just went to bed to get ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Two girls are coming from Havana for the night. Mr. Fowler picks one, we get the other.”

  Kane frowned.

  “Sounds like lose lose for everyone except Mr. Fowler.”

  Carlos shrugged then winced as the forgotten wound
made its presence known.

  “We win too,” he said with a smile, his yellowed teeth Kane was sure a welcome sight to any poor hooker relegated to satisfying the dozen other men in the house.

  “So that’s who’s coming now? Two hookers?”

  Carlos nodded.

  “Who’s with them?”

  “Mr. Fowler’s personal bodyguard.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Koslov.”

  Dawson and his team set up on either side of the gate that led into the compound and waited. The news that their target was in the approaching vehicle was a bit of a pisser. It would have been a lot easier to ambush a car with two men and two hookers. But then they wouldn’t have known Fowler was here. Kane and his CIA partner Agent White were in pursuit along with Niner and Jimmy, all who had gone down the rabbit hole in the bedroom. Catching Fowler was a higher priority than Koslov, but if Fowler got away, they might need Koslov to tell them where he went.

  And Koslov was far more dangerous than Fowler, so the decision to leave a ten man team for Koslov and send only a four man team after Fowler was easy, one of the sniper pairs now inside with them.

  The roar of an engine struggling up the lane cut through the jungle had them all momentarily tense up. Dawson shook his head from side to side, cracking his neck as he double-checked his weapon. The plan was simple, the question was whether the execution would be. And that all depended upon a very highly trained occupant of the approaching vehicle.

  A burst of static then something was said in Spanish that Dawson couldn’t make out. Stucco, who had impeccable Spanish held the radio to his mouth, lifting the mask so it wouldn’t be muffled, replied.

  “All clear, welcome back, sir.”

  Casey and Atlas pulled open the two sides of the gate, the solid wood construction keeping them hidden from the approaching vehicle. As the gate opened the headlights from the vehicle sliced through the darkness, highlighting the courtyard. A black SUV pulled through the gates, but the blacked out windows prevented them from seeing inside.

  As soon as the vehicle was clear of the gate, Casey and Atlas shoved the doors hard, closing it behind the vehicle as Dawson and Stucco shot out the tires with a single bullet to each then the four rushed the vehicle, their weapons high, Stucco shouting for them to not resist or they would be shot.

  Dawson grabbed the passenger side door and yanked on the handle. Locked. He raised the butt of his MP5K and hammered it hard into the side window as did the others. The windows shattered, revealing an empty passenger seat, the driver, terrified, his arms raised, and two screaming ladies of the night in the back seat.

  “Where’s Koslov?” yelled Stucco.

  “He left! He left!” cried the driver.

  Suddenly the entire complex erupted. Dawson spun toward the villa and saw a fireball racing skyward and outward toward them as the explosion continued to grow. He threw himself to the ground, rolling toward the back of the SUV as flames whipped around him.

  Through the roar of the initial explosion he could hear secondary explosions getting progressively louder, in a pattern too orderly to be random. He looked toward the house and saw row after row of explosions extending the entire width of the compound advancing toward them.

  “Get out through the gate! Get out through the gate!” he yelled as he jumped to his feet and yanked open the rear door. He pulled one of the girls from the backseat as Stucco did the same on the other side, then raced toward the gate as the self-destruct mechanism continued to roar toward them. Atlas yanked open one side of the gate as they barreled through, Dawson feeling the heat on his back, wondering if the half-naked woman over his shoulder was getting burnt to a crisp or not.

  Clear of the compound, he continued to run, not sure how far the chains of explosives extended, but within seconds of running toward the trees the explosions stopped and he finally heard the shouts of Red over the comm.

  “Are you guys okay? Respond! This is Bravo Two. Are you guys okay?”

  Dawson placed the girl on the ground and turned to look at the now blazing compound, his chest heaving.

  “Bravo Two, hold for sit rep, over.”

  He took a quick head count and noticed the driver wasn’t with them, but through the now blasted open gate he could see the flaming SUV on its roof, the driver most likely still inside.

  “Bravo Two, Bravo One. We’re all okay, over. Rendezvous with us at the front of the compound, keep your eyes out for our primary target, he wasn’t in the vehicle, over.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Overseer, Bravo One. Do you have eyes on our target? He left the vehicle before it entered the compound, over.”

  “Bravo One, Overseer. A new bird just came online. Your target is on foot, two hundred meters north of your position. He appears injured, over.”

  “Roger that, in pursuit. Oh, and once this op is over, send locals to this location to collect two young women who are stranded, over.”

  “Bravo One, Overseer, will do, out.”

  Stucco told the two women that they would be collected soon as Red and his men rounded the compound to join them.

  “Jesus Christ, BD. What the hell happened?”

  “Our target bailed from his vehicle. There must have been a code word or phrase and when he didn’t hear it, he jumped. He’s two hundred meters north, Overseer thinks he’s injured.”

  “Then let’s get the bastard.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Dawson with a smile.

  Dawson took point, rushing forward into the trees, not concerned with the noise he might be making. They had to cover the distance fast in the event Koslov had a vehicle or some other means of escape stashed away. He knew if this was his command, he’d have at least two escape routes set up, with vehicles and supplies.

  And there was no way this bastard wasn’t prepared.

  His mind flashed to the three prisoners who had still been in the villa when it had blown, including the woman who was most likely innocent in all this, the rest most likely locals looking for a paycheck.

  “Overseer, report.”

  “Fifty meters, continue on your current course.”

  “Roger that.”

  He continued to race forward, counting his paces in his head down from fifty, and at twenty he motioned for his men to spread out.

  “Stationary, ten meters ahead,” came the satellite analyst’s voice over the comm.

  Dawson continued forward, quietly this time, his weapon aimed low so if he were forced to shoot, he would just hit the man’s legs.

  “Remember, we need him alive,” he said quietly, the comm doing its job of transmitting the reminder to the rest.

  “I see him,” said Atlas. “Five meters to my two o’clock.”

  Atlas was at Dawson’s nine o’clock, which meant Koslov was only feet away from him. Dawson inched forward, pushing as quietly as he could through the leaves, but he knew he was making noise, and the stationary man, who would be expecting their arrival, would definitely be hearing their approach.

  “Surround his position, I will approach.”

  He could hear his men execute the order as he stopped behind a large tree.

  “Major Koslov, this is Sergeant Major White, United States Army. I’m here at the request of Lieutenant Colonel Chernov.”

  “So that’s how you found me.”

  “Major, you are completely surrounded, and there is no hope of surviving a fire fight. We want you alive. We realize you aren’t behind this, you’re just the trigger man. If you help us, I’ve been authorized to tell you that you will be granted immunity from prosecution.”

  There was a laugh, then a groan.

  “Signed by the President himself, I have no doubt.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I have it with me if you want to see it.”

  “Really?”

  Koslov was clearly surprised at this development, as much as Dawson had been when he had been handed the pardon before they left.

  “Can I come
out and show you?”

  “Yes, but no tricks.”

  “No tricks, Major, you have my word as a soldier.”

  “Then come.”

  Dawson pulled the envelope from one of his pockets, holding it up in one hand as he slung his MP5K over his shoulder. He flicked his night vision glasses up then turned his flashlight on, aiming it at the ground so he didn’t blind any of his men.

  He stepped from around the tree and walked not even five feet before he found the major sitting against a tree, his left ankle clearly giving him problems.

  “Broken or sprained?” asked Dawson.

  “Sprained I think. Hurts too much to run.” He sighed. “I’m tired of running.”

  Dawson handed him the envelope with the White House seal on the front.

  “From the President.”

  Koslov opened it, read it quickly, then motioned to Dawson.

  “Pen.”

  Dawson retrieved a pen, handing it to the injured Major.

  Koslov signed, handing the pen back, then tucked the envelope and its contents into his shirt.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where is Scott Fowler?”

  “Inside the villa,” said Koslov with a smirk.

  “He escaped through the tunnel in the master bedroom.”

  “Then your guess is as good as mine. I’m sure your satellites have picked him up.”

  “Yes, but where is he going?”

  “Tell your navy and coast guard to be ready. He will be coming very fast.”

  “And what about Dr. Urban and his wife?”

  Koslov grinned.

  “You’ll need Mr. Fowler for that. He’s the man with all the answers.”

  Kane quickly climbed the rungs of the ladder at the end of the tunnel then pushed open a hatch slightly, looking to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. Everything clear, he shoved it open all the way and climbed out, edging forward, his weapon raised, as he confirmed the immediate vicinity free of any enemies. Sherrie and the others exited the hole when Kane heard something in the distance.

  An engine?

  “Let’s go!” he yelled, racing into the trees toward the sound of the motor that if he wasn’t mistaken was for a boat. He burst through the trees and nearly found himself falling headlong over the edge of a cliff.