**
Goran pulled the curtain as far as he could bear and moved toward the bedroom doorway. He heard another scream filled with Serbian expletives, followed by a female voice speaking Serbian.
“Smile for your uncle, Josif. He doesn’t want to see unhappy faces in prison.”
“Fuck you, you miserable bitch. I’ll carve your eyes out for this and force your husband to eat them!” Josif yelled.
Goran realized that she hadn’t heard the curtains. He had tried to be as quiet as possible, which was quite a feat given the amount of slippery blood on the floor. Fuck, this was perfect. He would kill Zorana and rescue Josif on camera. Nothing could solidify his future with Srecko more solidly. He hated to deprive Srecko of the fun they had planned for Zorana, but they needed to get out of here immediately. The neighborhood would be crawling with police in a few minutes.
“Did you hear that, Srecko? Your precious nephew is somehow going to cut my eyes out. Doesn’t he look so cute strapped into this thing? I know this wasn’t the video you were expecting, but it’ll have a few things in common. I’ll just leave out the rape and sexual defilement, though some of the toys they brought along might spice up the show for you.”
Goran stepped into the room, leading with the pistol. The sight of Josif writhing in the harness momentarily distracted him. Josif’s white coveralls and undergarments were sliced open and pulled away from the center of his body to expose his entire torso. The act of splitting the clothing down had left numerous slashes extending from the top of his chest to his penis.
“Kill this fucking bitch!” Josif screamed.
Goran tried to aim the pistol at Jessica, but she had already ducked behind Josif, placing her knife across his throat and jamming her head right against his. He wasn’t a good enough shot to hit the sliver of her face that remained exposed.
Goran saw her pistol on the bed and knew he could make this work. If he could get close enough to her, he could shoot her through the head. She would never cut Josif’s throat and sacrifice her only leverage. Unfortunately, he didn’t dare venture any further into the room with a sniper watching the apartment. He’d wait for the rest of his team and charge her while someone else closed the curtains.
“Jovan, Predag…let’s go!” he yelled and looked back.
His men emerged from the hallway and he knew this would be over quickly. Jessica crouched behind Josif, and Goran hoped she’d go for her gun. She wouldn’t make it halfway across the room. He glanced back at his team and found it odd that they had all slipped and fallen at the same time. The thought was interrupted by a sudden, intense pain at the top of his neck. What the fuck? He reached up, and his left hand hit something solid. None of it made any sense. He glanced toward Jessica and saw her crouch back down next to Josif. I’m gonna kill this bitch!
Movement in his peripheral vision brought his attention back to the other room. A stocky Latino guy dressed in jeans and a dark blue windbreaker stood near the foyer, aiming a silenced submachine gun at his chest. Goran heard a staccato popping sound and was hammered to the floor in front of the bed. He watched helplessly as Jessica leaned over him and pulled the knife out of his neck. She grinned as she wiped the blade clean on her red skirt. His attention drifted to the thick black cylinder that hovered inches from his face.
**
Munoz changed the selective fire setting on the TMP to semiautomatic and pulled the trigger once, putting the Serbian out of his misery.
“We need to go, right now,” he said, glaring at her.
“I just need a minute alone with him,” she said.
She looked half crazy, and Munoz wondered how in the hell they were going to pull this off. She needed immediate medical attention, as far as he could tell. Her left hand was mangled, showing bone through the torn flesh on at least two of her fingers. She pressed the bleeding hand against her breast, thoroughly soaking her white blouse down to her abdomen. Not that he could be sure this was the source of the blood stain. Cuts and abrasions across her neck slowly seeped dark red streams down her upper chest. If that wasn’t enough, she had taken a massive blow to the face, which had cut her right cheekbone and left a swollen, red mark the size of a baseball on the right side of her face. He spotted something that might help them get her out on the streets without attracting too much attention.
“We need to be on the street in less than a minute. Melendez is packing up and expects us to be walking south on Loyola. Change your shirt. Something black. And wipe off as much of that blood as possible from your arms and legs,” he said.
“I’m not done with the video. This piece of shit hasn’t put on his best performance for the camera,” she said.
Munoz watched in sheer amazement as she turned her back on him and walked toward the writhing figure strapped into some kind of sadomasochist bondage harness. He figured this contraption was meant for her and could understand her anger, but they didn’t have time for this. He gripped the TMP with both hands and lined the sights up on the man’s forehead. The weapon coughed twice, and a large red stain hit the wall behind the man’s head.
“What the fuck? I wasn’t done with him,” she said.
“If you want to see Daniel again, we need to be out of here in sixty seconds. I can hear police sirens. You need to make a choice, Jessica. One way or the other, I’m leaving in sixty seconds,” he said.
“All right. Let’s get out of here,” she said.
She placed her face in front of the camera. “You’re a fucking dead man, Srecko,” she said and ejected the small tape in the camera.
Munoz found a few packets of Celox powder among the supplies spread out on the floor next to the bed. Celox was used on the battlefield to stop bleeding and could even be used to treat a severed artery. He’d have her wash as much of the blood off her skin as possible before she applied the powder. With a change of clothes and some makeup, they should be able to pull this off. When he turned to check on her, she grabbed the Celox packets out of his hands and pointed to the bedroom door.
“A little privacy,” she said.
Munoz walked through the door, which slammed shut behind him. He glanced at his watch and swore to himself that he’d walk out the door in forty-five seconds.
**
Melendez spotted them hopping down from a wall on the left side of the street, fifty meters ahead of his van. He had parked and vacated the driver’s seat while they worked their way through several yards and alleys. From the back of the van, he watched several police vehicles form a roadblock at the corner of Avenida Loyola and Avenida Rual Scalabrini, which was one hundred meters back down Avenida Loyola. On his police scanner, he monitored the most active police channel he could find and determined that the police had found the murdered doorman. Once they found the apartment, the entire police department would swarm the area. The sooner they got out of here, the better. He pulled the van onto Avenida Loyola and cruised over to pick them up. Once Munoz and Jessica were in the van, they would call General Sanderson. He imagined this wouldn’t be a pleasant phone call.
Chapter 35
2:17 PM
Nuequen Province
Western Argentina
Terrence Sanderson stood on the covered deck of the headquarters lodge and shook his head. This was exactly the kind of publicity he had strived to avoid for the past two years. He opened the screen door and walked inside. Parker looked up from his array of three laptop computers, which were stationed around one end of the large conference table.
“Parker, we have a problem.”
“Shit. Don’t tell me the Russians know they’re coming?” Parker said.
“No. Possibly a bigger problem.”
He placed his satellite phone on the table and sat down next to Parker, exhaling for dramatic effect. Parker raised an eyebrow and stayed silent.
“The Serbians found their apartment in Buenos Aires…”
“Daniel’s?”
“Exactly. They grabbed Jessica in the apartment, right in front
of Munoz and Melendez. Jessica is fine, but she needs medical attention. We have ten dead Serbs in what Munoz described as a slaughterhouse. He said he’d never seen this much blood in one place, ever. The Petroviches kept the apartment sanitized of any identifying documents, so we have no concern there. The apartment is leased through a dummy corporation in Panama and has been prepaid for three years. All untraceable.”
“Cameras?”
“That’s the real problem. Daniel chose the apartment because of its security. The key cards are changed upon request and the place is loaded with cameras. The doorman was shot dead, so maybe the cameras were disabled when the Serbs broke into her apartment. Either way, I’m sure the police will have pictures of Daniel and Jessica very shortly. Probably Munoz and Melendez, too. Eventually, they’ll figure out the ballistics, and locate the hotel room across the street. Once the pictures hit circulation, the Argentine Police will be able to identify them. Their cover identification will be ruined, and it won’t be easy to move them around.”
“Maybe we should move them out of the country now,” Parker said.
“It doesn’t sound like Jessica would fit in very well on a commercial flight. I’m sending them to a safe location outside of Buenos Aires, where Jessica can get in-house medical treatment. Munoz said most of her wounds were superficial and shouldn’t require her to be in place for more than a few days.”
“Do you want to get word to Daniel?”
“Negative. I need him focused on Monchegorsk. If Monchegorsk is as bad as Berg suspects, then the CIA will have enough evidence to start convincing the right people that U.S. interests are in imminent danger. Berg is also working on a Russian contact that may be willing to help us find Reznikov. If we can bag Reznikov and get him to talk, we might be able to leverage the information.”
“Leverage?”
“I don’t plan to work in the shadows forever. If we can get information from Reznikov that can prevent other attacks, I think we’ll have more than enough leverage to get this group an immunity deal. It would be a win-win situation for our government. Fast results. Complete deniability. Zero cost to the taxpayer. Seamless integration with the CIA and a few other spook agencies. It would be perfect.”
“What if they say no?”
“We don’t lose if they call our bluff. Reznikov won’t be our last opportunity. The world is a dangerous place and our services can’t be ignored forever. Did Schafer arrive in Finland?”
“He met with Berg’s guy and escorted the crew north. They’re geared up and waiting in Oulu for first light. They’ll cross the border south of Salla and stick to the less popular trails. Farrington wasn’t very happy with the equipment provided by Berg’s CIA contact.”
“Will it get them to Monchegorsk?”
“He wasn’t complaining about the transport. He said the weapons were sixties era Kalashnikovs, apparently part of a Cold War era weapons cache recently discovered thanks to a former KGB defector. The night vision equipment consisted of a few civilian model handheld scopes.”
“He’s starting to sound like Petrovich. As long as the weapons function, I don’t give a shit. They’re on a reconnaissance mission and shouldn’t need weapons if they do their jobs correctly. Make sure to remind them of that. They need to figure out what happened in Monchegorsk and get the fuck out.”
“Understood. I’ll reemphasize your point.”
“Thanks. I need to get in touch with señor Galenden. He shouldn’t have any exposure to today’s events, but if Daniel and Jessica are identified as the Russos, then authorities will be able to track them back to the airport in Nuequen, which he owns.”
“We should send someone to the airport to retrieve their jeep. One less link to worry about,” Parker said.
“Good call. Galenden won’t be happy, but this is the first issue we’ve had in two years. From this point forward, all traffic goes in and out of our private airfield. Let me know when our team hits Russian soil.”
“They should be underway in about nine hours, scheduled to arrive in the vicinity of Monchegorsk roughly four hours after that. They’ll enter the city when it’s dark. I’ll keep you advised. Good luck with Galenden.”
Sanderson nodded and grabbed the satellite phone. He’d take a walk in the woods and give Galenden the bad news. He couldn’t imagine any conceivable circumstance that would cause Galenden to pull the plug on his operation, but he had learned never to make major assumptions. The Black Flag program was at a key juncture in its life cycle, and Sanderson wanted to avoid any major interruptions.
Chapter 36
11:55 AM
Outskirts of Monchegorsk
Kola Peninsula, Russian Federation
Daniel stood against a tall pine tree and programmed his GPS unit with the snowmobile hide site’s coordinates. He was the last member of the team to complete this task, and once he finished, they would set off on skis toward Monchegorsk. The hide site was located deep within the woods of a small hill overlooking the city. They were still several kilometers west of the nearest city structure, which should have been enough distance to keep the whine of the snowmobile engines from drawing any attention in the city.
Daniel confirmed that the waypoint had been accepted and placed the GPS receiver in one of the front lower pouches on his gray-white camouflaged, military style harness. Another pouch contained a digital camera capable of taking high resolution pictures and video. Most of the lower pouches held ammunition for the forty-year-old AK-47 assault rifles slung over their shoulders.
Farrington carried a similar camera and the team’s satellite radio, their only link to Sanderson and Berg. He also carried a suppressed PPS submachine gun, which would serve as their only covert weapon beyond the knives strapped to their legs. Sergei commented that the PPS had probably been produced in a Soviet factory before any of them had been born. In all reality, all of the weapons had likely been buried in Finland before any of them were born. The team had spent a few hours removing the thick storage grease that had covered the weapons, inside and out. Once the weapons had been thoroughly cleaned, they tested each weapon’s action and picked the five most reliable rifles. None of them cared to dwell on the viability of the ammunition found with the weapons.
They were all dressed in expensive, mobile cold weather clothing, covered by old Soviet Era winter camouflage and relatively modern harness gear. White wool watch caps with gray and brown camouflage specks topped each of their heads, along with simple black ski goggles. If they ran into a Russian patrol, they might actually pass for some twisted version of cold weather Spetznaz.
Once Daniel nodded, they conducted a communications check, speaking quietly and acknowledging each other. Each man wore a sophisticated throat microphone, with an invisible earbud for communication. The throat rig didn’t require them to speak above a whisper, since it absorbed vibrations directly from the speaker’s vocal cords through the neck. It also cut out almost all background noise, allowing them to talk under windy, extremely noisy conditions, like a firefight or snowmobile ride. The communications gear and cameras were the only items they carried that appeared to have been produced within the past two decades. Even their Telemark skis looked like ancient castaways, rivaling the age and condition of the snowmobiles provided by South Kola Limited.
Their CIA contact from the embassy in Helsinki had arranged everything and had stressed that they were lucky to get the snowmobiles. South Kola Limited had balked when he asked for maps of Russian trails leading to Monchegorsk and a covered sled to pull behind the snowmobiles. Though nobody at South Kola Limited’s shop would speak of it, the CIA agent got the distinct impression that they knew Monchegorsk was off-limits, and as one of the premier snowmobile outfitters in the area, had been warned not to send anyone into the Kola Peninsula. An exorbitant amount of money had secured a waiver in the form of South Kola Limited turning a blind eye. The cost of this blind eye turned out to be the shittiest equipment in their inventory. Apparently, they weren’t expecting any o
f it to return.
Gunshots echoed through the hills as the scene unfolded in the distance. The city of Monchegorsk was a stereotypical Soviet Bloc city, dominated by rows of ugly, tall, rectangular apartment buildings. Gray dominated every street, building and common area below them, all merged together perfectly by a blanket of dirty snow. A low cloud cover smothered the city and almost swallowed the tops of the several dozen smokestacks located northwest of the city. The faded red and white warning pattern painted on Norval Nickel’s vast array of spires provided the only color he could find in the city, aside from an orange blaze consuming one of the apartment complexes. The industrial plant’s tall stacks stood dormant against the sky. More gunshots drifted their way, and they searched for the source.
A dark green BTR-80 Armored Personnel Carrier raced onto one of the main boulevards followed by two GAZ 2975 ‘Tiger’ Jeeps. The Tiger resembled an up-armored U.S. HMMWV (Humvee), but retained some of the boxy features normally associated with an armored car. Gunners on each of the vehicles fired at a three-story office building as the drivers formed a rough semi-circle around the southern end of the structure. Chunks of concrete exploded from the building’s facade as 14.5mm projectiles from the BTR-80’s turret tore into the cheap Cold War era construction. The 12.5mm heavy machine guns mounted on the Tigers concentrated on the ground level of the building, shattering glass and splintering wood frames.
After several seconds of continuous heavy machine-gun fire, heavily armed soldiers wearing green camouflage uniforms and helmets poured out of the vehicles. Several soldiers from the furthest Tiger disappeared out of sight around the back of the building, and a fierce firefight erupted out of Daniel’s view. Successive explosions just out of view showered the Tiger in dust and debris. Soldiers huddled near the BTR-80 reacted swiftly. They stopped firing into the building and sprinted to the rear corner of the bullet-riddled building. From the cover of the intact corner, the soldiers fired at targets somewhere behind the building, most likely in support of the squad that had just disappeared. Through his binoculars, Daniel watched as figures emerged from the smoke.
Black Flagged Redux Page 26
