by D S Kane
The group moved in single file with Shimmel last, down the hall to baggage claim. Wing was already there, reading an ebook version of DS Kane’s Bloodridge on his cell. He looked up and nodded. They waited for their bags and talked. Just above a whisper,
Wing said, “He’s not at the airport. At least as far as I can tell. I waited until every male except the staff at Starbucks had gone, so there’s no way he could have heard when I asked the manager if he’d seen a Caucasian using the rent-a-computer. It’s been almost a year since the last time I saw him and, I guess that I can’t remember his face as well as I should. Anyway, they gave me his description: about five-foot-eight, hundred-fifty pounds, no facial hair, bushy brown hair, brown eyes. He was wearing a blue pinstriped business suit and white shirt, no tie, black shoes. They offered no knowledge of facial structure, just the info needed to tell the customer when his café latte was ready for delivery to the computer when he didn’t come get it.”
Wing shook his head, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I seem to remember his face was angular and he has a sharp chin and a broad forehead. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. I’m still monitoring his email and he’s received nothing since you arrived. But he may have sent a few messages before I got here, since I had to turn off my Internet connection while landing.”
Shimmel nodded. “Now we wait. Is there a restaurant?”
“Nothing I like. I’m surviving on Starbucks pastries.” Wing shook his head. “At least I won’t gain any weight.”
They all went to Starbucks and waited. Jillian stood watch, just inside the door, acting as lookout. The others sat at a table and ate a modest meal of pastries.
At 10 p.m., Watson still hadn’t appeared. Shimmel said, “We know he has almost no money. If he left the airport, he must still be in Dubai. And if he managed to get some money, he’s no longer in this emirate. I’ll call Sashakovich.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket and dialed her number. “Sashakovich. It’s Shimmel. No sign of Watson. We’ve waited at the airport for over eight hours and Wing says he hasn’t used Gmail again.”
* * *
Cassie held her cell delicately, as if it might save her life. But, the news wasn’t good.
If they continued waiting, it would just cause everyone’s level of frustration to rise. But she had to have Watson remove that call for her death from GrayNet. She slammed her fist into the wrecked couch. The Hawaiian morning should have felt hot, but she shivered as if death was already claiming her.
“Okay, then, Avram. I’ve got another problem. I wired the funds to Misha yesterday and he paid the Russian mafiya. But Misha says they haven’t delivered him documentation of payment, and now they deny they ever received the payment. Misha thinks they changed their minds. They want twice what we agreed to. I can’t wait here and diddle with them. With what I’m spending I can’t afford any more.”
She could imagine his dour expression. So much was going wrong. “Can you steal the subs? Please organize a mission to get them from the mafiya, in Siberia, ASAP. Leave your team in Dubai to find Watson. Have Wing lead them. He’s the only one of us ever saw Watson. Have him report directly back to me.”
* * *
Shimmel felt his eyebrows rise. “The Russian mafiya?” Sashakovich, they’re professional thieves. You want me to steal from armed robbers? You should have guessed that whatever you negotiated, once they had the cash, they’d want more.”
Remembering her face, he saw a vision of the wife and daughter he’d lost to a car bomb in Tel Aviv a few years ago. Cassie and his wife were so much alike. Willful, arrogant, smart. He imagined his young wife smiling at his young daughter as she started the car’s engine. The explosion had burned both to ash.
A tear formed in the corner of one eye.
The chances of Cassie’s survival were negligible without the subs. But this mission was almost impossible. And there was no time left to plan something better. He thought how to organize it. “They probably have better security than the Russian military.” He paced the coffee shop. “Of course I can steal the subs. But we may lose some mercs. We’ll need to kidnap the two submarine crews or we’ll never get the subs out from the harbor. Very dicey. I will need more than half the mercs you now have. We’ll have ongoing missions in Dubai, Maui, and Vladivostok. Bad for coordinating force levels and logistics. Can you survive with half your current force?”
“I’ll have to. But without the subs there’s no evac plan.” She paused momentarily. “Avram, it’s the only way.”
“Yah. But we’ll be badly fragmented and won’t have critical mass for any of these three. Probability of mission success on all three will be low.”
“Enough! Just do it.”
He shook his head. “I’ll head to Siberia immediately.” He sighed and faced Wing. “William, you’re in charge of this mission.” Then back into the phone, he said, “Sashakovich, I’ll need to speak with Major LeFleur to arrange troop and matériel logistics.”
William had overheard the conversation. His face reddened. “But I have no experience doing field operations work. I’m just a hacker!”
Avram waved his arm and faced Wing. “Jill will be in charge of logistics for you and she’ll help out when you need assistance.” Shimmel put the phone back to his ear. “Just where in Vladivostok will I be going?”
“They have the subs at the warehouse pier,” said Cassie. “Can’t seem to get any private jets for the next two days, so it’ll be commercial flights this time. I’ve just purchased tickets for your flights. From Dubai to Abu Dhabi to Frankfurt, and then on Air France from Frankfurt to Vladivostok. There is no direct flight from the US or Great Britain. LeFleur says he can send thirty mercs. They’ll meet you at the airport in Frankfurt.”
Shimmel sighed. He’d visited Vladivostok, and thought it a pisshole of a city. “Understood. Send the electronic voucher information on all the tickets to my cell phone and I’ll be leaving immediately. Please let me talk to LeFleur. Now.”
“Major LeFleur here.”
Avram faced away from William and covered his other ear. “Jacques, send me an assault team. I’ll meet them in Frankfurt.” He thought for a few seconds about the logistics of the mission. “Give me four in explosives, four snipers, two med techs, sixteen small-arms specialists, and four communications specialists. Make sure one of the mercs has skills in interrogation, just in case. Have Sashakovich book rooms in the Hotel Visit and have her send a complete battle weapons load-out there via express shipment.”
“Oui, General. Consider it done.”
Shimmel terminated the call. He nodded to Wing and picked up his satchel. As he headed toward the ticket counters at the front of the airport, his cell beeped with an incoming message containing his travel docket. He stopped and viewed the screen.
Thousands of miles away, Major LeFleur began shouting orders. Cassie listened. With so many of the mercenaries now leaving, she’d have a force of just over thirty remaining with her. Against over a thousand hitters.
She wondered, would that be enough soldiers? Not bloody likely. Once again, she shivered in the heat.
CHAPTER 25
October 29, 11:46 a.m.
Frankfurt am Main Airport,
Germany
The overlarge man marched from the plane into the airport in Frankfurt. He walked in a stagger, jet lagged. Flying first class allowed him to sleep on the flight, minimizing the temporary damage. He strolled slowly, looking for a place to sit and rest, until he found Sportsbar, a restaurant where he could watch Israel play France in the soccer semifinals. Avram Shimmel ordered a cheese sandwich and cup of coffee. He’d be waiting over two hours until the remainder of his team arrived. He sat and munched on the vegan sandwich. Israel was losing 4 to 1, and Shimmel began to drift with jet lag. His thoughts wandered from soccer to other games of territory, from American football to basketball to war itself. He fell asleep.
Jolting from his seat, he yawned and raised his head off
his arms. Shimmel didn’t know how long he’d slept. No one had bothered him while he occupied the table near the bar. He thought, ach, how civilized Germany has become. Looking at his watch, he noted only five minutes left to go. It had worked out perfectly. He dumped some money on the table, rose and headed for baggage claim.
As he arrived, the mercenaries began to drift in, and within five minutes the entire group gathered together. Shimmel compared his ticket to each of theirs. They were all perfect matches. All were booked on Air France direct to Vladivostok in ninety minutes.
He smiled at Major McTavish, one of his direct reports, and said, “Okay, then, Alister, round them up. Let’s go to the departure gate. In eighteen hours we’ll be in Vlad.”
* * *
Gilbert Greenfield picked up the telephone before the end of the first ring. Caller ID told him it was POTUS. He sighed, picking up the receiver. “Good evening, Mr. President, how can I help you?”
“Gil, we need Encryption-Lok for this call.” Greenfield heard the familiar buzz of encryption engagement and flipped the corresponding switch on his phone. “Gil, what about Ainsley and Sashakovich?”
“Nothing new. She’s apparently being hunted by contract hitters in Maui and he’s not yielding any valuable intel.”
“Maybe we need to raise the stakes. Make her an easier target to acquire.”
“Sir, she’s probably dead by now. If not, she will be soon. What could raise the stakes?”
“Her daughter.”
Greenfield was speechless. Finally he mustered, “That’s kidnapping. It’d become very public before it could do you any good. No leverage there.”
“Shit, Gil. I want the whole family dead,”
Greenfield held his breath, trying to think of some way to get his old friend to think. The dumb asshole! “Sir, let’s see what happens in Maui first.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before the President responded. “Can we get feet on the ground in Maui to watch and report? Anyone free at your end to send there?”
“Sir, if you insist, I’ll find someone. But this will impact our other operations.”
“I don’t care. And another thing. Can you implant a Bug-Lok in her daughter? Terminating the girl would really be sweet after all the shit her mother rained down on me.”
Greenfield’s jaw dropped. Ann Silbee was a noncombatant in the little feud his boss had with the former covert agent. “Sir, wouldn’t that make our role more visible? Is it worth risking your freedom, not to mention your legacy?”
“Let me think a while about that. It’s getting hot around here, what with that idiot Dillworthy and his piece of shit oversight committee. I’d really like him dead too.”
“Please, sir. If he died in any untimely way, it would only ensure you’d be tried for treason. Bug-Lok poison can be detected in a thorough autopsy. And Dillworthy’s death in the middle of a treason investigation would ensure that.”
“Yeah, well, maybe. But get someone to Maui and report back ASAP. I want someone following the Silbee girl, too. Tell me everything she does.”
The connection terminated. Looking out the window onto K Street, Greenfield saw his reflection, face red with anger. When he hung up the receiver, his hands were slick with perspiration.
* * *
Lee shifted, restless, on the living room couch. The television blared in the background at low volume He worried about Cassie as he watched her unfolding story on CNN.
Once again she fought armed killers struggling for her life, while he sat safe at home. He watched the television for word about her and his heart ached.
Ann came bouncing down the stairs. As soon as he heard her bound off the last step, he tried to hide his expression, but she saw. “There are new men outside, patrolling the house, Lee. What’s wrong?”
He thought hard, wondering how much should I tell her? How to tell her? He carefully crafted his reply. “Ann, remember when we told you what mom and I do?”
Ann said, “Sure I do. I never forget anything.” She sat in an armchair across from him and Gizmo bounced into her lap, purring.
He looked away. “Mom’s in trouble. We have the entire company of mercenaries out in Hawaii now, trying to help her. I’m not sure what will happen next, but I’m hoping for the best.”
Ann’s face froze.
* * *
Inside, Ann screamed silently. When she trusted herself to speak, she sat on the couch next to him and demanded, “Tell me everything.”
Lee slowly faced her. As he told her what had happened since Ann had returned from her vacation with Cassie, the teen felt her stomach roiling in agony. Gizmo jumped from her lap as she twisted. When he finished, she asked him, “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Probably not. All we can do is pray.”
She nodded and went silent for some time. “Will the people that are trying to kill mom try to kill us?”
Lee shook his head. “Not likely. Still, it’s possible. That’s why we have bodyguards covering us 24/7. Listen, I want to teach you more of handguns and martial arts, so you can protect yourself. I’m okay with firearms but not good at martial arts. Michael, our bodyguard excel at both, so I’ll schedule most of the training to be done by him. Cancel all your after-school stuff. We’ll do this in the late afternoons, before dinner every day. Okay?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to learn how to kill.” But she could see where it might be good for her to know how to defend herself.
Lee started to object, pointing his finger. She cut him off. “Okay. But what about my English composition tutor? I’m supposed to meet her after school.”
He nodded. “I’ll talk with her. I think it may be possible for you to do both. Leave the rescheduling to me.”
She silently shook her head, thinking, what can I do to help Cassie?
CHAPTER 26
October 29, 6:22 p.m.
The Al Bustan Rotana Hotel,
Muscat, Oman
William Wing sat on the couch in his room at the hotel in Dubai, watching CNN. The Al Bustan Rotana Hotel’s name translated to “The Lost Camel” in English. A fitting name, given the chase for their prey, he thought.
Situated near the airport and a few minutes taxi ride to Deira, the city center shopping mall, the hotel had over 250 elegantly decorated, medium-sized rooms. Wing was reminded of his days as an independent hacker, when his father had demanded he visit Beijing to help the CSIS, the Chinese Secret Intelligence Service, defend itself against hackers and he stayed at the Oriental Bay International Hotel in Beijing, instead of staying with his father at the family compound. Although it avoided a potential conflict of interest problem for his father, it also had three excellent restaurants. “Ah, the good old days,” he sighed.
Wing looked with jealousy at the mercs, sitting around a table by the kitchen. For the first two hours, the mercs each cleaned and recleaned their weapons. William watched them while he set up the notebook computer and scanned for traces of Watson. By watching the mercs, he had learned how to disassemble and reassemble several types of weapons. He’d rarely touched military hardware.
The mercs got bored. Horst pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and flashed a predatory grin. He dealt the cards. William saw they were playing Texas Hold ’Em poker. It finally occurred to him what caused his jealousy: they were having fun and he wasn’t.
His electronic equipment continued to search for a signal that wasn’t there: email he could use to backtrace Watson’s location. The computer program worked without his assistance. All he had to do was wait until the notebook beeped. And then he could run several utilities he’d stolen from DARPA to perform the backtrace. He was tethered there, unable to leave except to run quickly to the loo.
When Horst had snatched the last dollar from Sylvia, she called him a cheat. He simply shrugged and handed her back a stack of bills. But this turned out to be a sign that the mercs had bored of straight poker. They now played strip poker in his sui
te.
Gretchen was winning. She poked her tongue smugly at Horst, a grin spreading across her face. She wore Jillian’s bra over her blouse and had Horst’s underpants on her head like a hat. The rest of the clothing she’d won from the others was piled all around her.
Jillian shivered, naked except for her panties. “The air conditioning is set too cold.” William glanced back at her and smiled, seeing what the chilly air had done. Jill’s erect nipples were almost as big as the end joint on William’s ring finger.
Horst’s expression showed his dejection as he sat naked. He’d lost all his clothing and shook his head. His oversized penis drooped over the edge of the chair, seemingly unaffected by the air conditioning.
Alphonso was about even; so far he’d only lost his boots and socks. He copied Gretchen, wearing Sylvia’s panties on his head, like a hat.
When Sylvia lost, she had chosen to take off her blouse first, then her trousers, and now her panties instead of her bra. William agreed with her decision. She sat profile, angled toward him, and when she took a card, her legs opened. Her breasts looked too big and saggy; not very attractive. But her crotch was perfect, as far as he could tell, dark bushy hair like a wild field of tall grass. Her clitoris was large enough to play peek-a-boo through the hairy crown of her crotch.
William could feel his arousal, painful against his pants leg. He knew that Cassie would call him soon and after almost an entire day he didn’t have anything to tell her. He sighed, thinking he’d failed.
Another hour passed. As Wing waited for something—anything—to happen on his computer, his frustrations—both physical from his erection, and psychological from his failure to detect Watson’s location—grew.
The mercs teased each other. When Alphonso reached for Jillian’s breast and tweaked her nipple, she screamed, “Stop!” Wing stared as Alphonso rose from his seat and motioned to the door. They dressed and left the room together. William saw the look they exchanged, as if a deal had been brokered. He guessed they hadn’t gone for coffee.
