Black Flagged Redux

by Steven Konkoly

  The gun started to swivel, and Daniel aimed through his scope, barely beating the turret. He squeezed the trigger, punching a 5.45mm steel jacketed projectile through the soldier’s Kevlar helmet, just as a grenade flew from the building into the Tiger. The rocket’s detonation penetrated the Tiger’s armor and exploded it from the inside, catapulting the body in the turret several feet into the air. When the explosion settled, Daniel noticed that all he could hear were sounds of small arms fire on the street and in the distance. He couldn’t help but wonder if the last grenade had attracted any attention from the soldiers engaged in battle near the Katayev Prospekt.

  “Breach team needs to move fast. Have Malyshev monitor communications. The last RPG blast might have attracted some attention,” he said.

  “Understood. We’re accessing the MBT. Keep the infantry off the vehicle,” Farrington said.

  Daniel leaned over the edge, searching for more targets. He saw a soldier firing from a position behind the remaining Tiger and snapped off a quick shot at his head. He saw the soldier crumple to the street, his helmet spinning in the snow on the pavement. He spotted another soldier creeping between the Tiger and a partially shattered glass storefront window, trying to approach the BTR. A short burst from Leo’s assault rifle knocked him back through the remaining glass. The firefight died on the street after the last burst.

  The lead Tiger burned furiously, sending a column of superheated smoke and sparks skyward. There was little chance of the ambush going unnoticed for very long, and he suspected a few of the vehicles’ soldiers had disappeared into the neighborhood, headed back to the infantry company deployed less than 1000 meters away. Sabitov had told them that his soldiers would expend most of their remaining rockets to provide a diversion for the ambush. There would be no second volley to distract the battalion. Daniel scanned the air for what they all feared the most. He spotted one of the Havocs hovering less than a mile away firing cannon shells into one of the center buildings, which now burned brightly. Every building in the Katayev Prospekt apartment development had caught fire at this point, illuminating the area around the buildings.

  He heard motors rumble in the distance, and a Havoc helicopter suddenly appeared from behind a tall building down the street.

  “Leo, get the RPGs to the roof, but stay in the stairwell. Yuri, get Malyshev on the BTR’s cannon. We have a Havoc moving up the street, fifty meters above the buildings. It’s moving slowly. Scanning.”

  He dashed back to the stairwell and ran inside, closing the door behind him. The sound of the rotors grew thunderous as the Havoc drew within a few buildings of the wrecked vehicle formation.

  Leo and Major Sabitov raced up the stairs with loaded RPG launchers. Daniel reached out to take Sabitov’s.

  “Ready?” he said.

  Leo stared at him with an incredulous look and nodded.

  “Is Malyshev on the gun?”

  “Affirmative. He’s very familiar with the BTR,” Farrington said.

  “We’re going to try and hit it with a double RPG salvo. You pound away with the gun. We have to get the Havoc to withdraw. More vehicles are inbound.”

  “We just heard on the radio. Let’s get this over with,” Farrington said.

  “Roger. Here we go,” he said and cracked the door open.

  The only thing he cared about was the direction of the 30mm gun. It was aimed down the street and to the left, so he pushed the door open and stepped out far enough to make room for Leo. He aimed at the Havoc’s center through the crude sight and depressed the hand trigger. The rocket’s booster detonated, shooting the projectile out of the launcher. Less than a half second later, the rocket’s motor fired and propelled the 85mm high explosive grenade toward the Havoc at nearly one thousand feet per second. Daniel heard the second RPG fire and ran back toward the door, pushing Leo and Sabitov down the staircase.

  The first rocket missed the Havoc’s right weapons pylon by less than a meter and struck the helicopter’s rotor blade arc, failing to detonate or cause any disruption to its flight stability. Leo’s rocket struck the underside of the helicopter, just behind the landing gear, bucking the helicopter, but causing no structural or mechanical damage that would end its flight.

  Daniel and his accomplices tumbled over each other past the second floor when the first of the 30mm projectiles started to tear the roof apart. They dumped the rocket launchers at the bottom of the staircase and pulled Sabitov out of the back door as the ceiling above the ground floor started to disintegrate in successive blasts. They turned right and ran along the back of the stores, in the direction of the helicopter. They heard the BTR’s 14.5mm gun start firing and Sabitov yelled to them.

  “One more round for the RPG!”

  The major held up one of the launchers they had dropped and reached behind him for the last rocket, which rested in a specialized munitions backpack that had been previously carried by one of the infected soldiers. Leo and Sabitov scrambled to load the rocket while Daniel rushed toward the street between the nearest two buildings. As he approached the street, he could hear the BTR’s 14.5mm rounds strike the helicopter above. The cracks against the helicopter’s metal were answered by the deafening bark of the Havoc’s 30mm cannon. He poked his head around the building’s corner in time to see several 30mm rounds puncture the BTR, exploding its fuel tanks and flattening all of its oversized tires. The Havoc hovered over their side of the street and fired another burst of projectiles into the BTR and the building behind it.

  “Over here!” he screamed back to the men.

  Leo rushed down the opening to join him, just as the Havoc moved forward above the buildings. The helicopter’s rotor wash scattered the snow between buildings, lifting it into a painful frozen mist that engulfed the small space. The helicopter slowly appeared above them, and Leo aimed skyward. The rocket’s blast instantly cleared the tight alleyway, and they saw the rocket explode behind the under mounted 30mm gun, just below the cockpit. Neither of them waited around for the result. They ran back though the alleyway and sprinted down the back of the buildings as the sounds of the Havoc droned off into the distance, replaced by the rumble of diesel engines. Daniel stopped them as they reached an open area.

  “You’re on your own, Major. Sorry it didn’t work out for you. I need to be on my way out of Monchegorsk within thirty minutes. Farrington gave me the phone, so we can still make the calls you wanted. I’ll take care of this once we’ve reached a safe distance,” Daniel said.

  “That wasn’t part of the deal,” Sabitov said.

  “Neither was losing most of my team.”

  “The deal is still on! Keep moving! Half the Russian Army just turned the corner!” Farrington said, emerging from the same opening in the alley they had used just seconds earlier.

  Farrington, Sergei and Schafer caught up to them, and the entire group sprinted across a soccer field to the next neighborhood, praying that the second helicopter didn’t make a sudden appearance. A few streets into the neighborhood, they heard several massive explosions, and Daniel turned to see the second helicopter fire dozens of rockets into the lower floors of the centermost apartment building in Katayev Prospekt. The explosive impacts lit up the night sky and showered burning chunks of debris down from the mortally damaged structure.

  A second salvo of rockets raced toward the building and exploded inside, blowing chunks of flaming orange fragments out of the back of the building. Daniel watched as the ten-story building tipped forward and slowly collapsed out of his view. The ground shook beneath his feet, rattling the buildings around him. He turned to leave and ran right into Major Sabitov, who stared at Katayev Prospekt in disbelief and listened to the hiss of static on his radio.

  “You’ve done everything you could possibly do for these people. Keep moving,” he said; his hand on Sabitov’s shoulder.

  The sound of diesel engines died out as they plowed ahead at full speed toward Grozny Prospekt. As they ran, Daniel thought about Malyshev. The sergeant had sacrificed hims
elf so they’d have a chance to escape with the data from the BTR. There was no way he was going to screw Sabitov after that.

  They’d return to the original apartment building on the outskirts of Monchegorsk, if it was still safe, and transmit the data wherever Sabitov chose to send it. At the snowmobiles they would take the time to file a report with Berg. He wished they could find another live volunteer to return with them, but he wasn’t optimistic about finding another early-stage infected civilian willing to leave.

  As they crossed another bleak, windswept street, he caught some movement a few houses away, followed by nonsensical muttering. He slowed to a walk in the middle of the street.

  “You need the PPS?” Farrington asked, several steps ahead.

  Daniel’s hand gripped the razor-sharp combat knife strapped to his leg. “No. I should be fine.”

  He pulled the seven-inch serrated blade from its sheath. Maybe he could find something a little more compact to carry back to Finland.

  Chapter 38

  7:50 PM

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  Karl Berg shut his laptop and looked up at Audra, who was rubbing her temples and staring at one of her two flat-screen monitors. It was nearly eight o’clock on Sunday evening, and the two agents had been working in her office since nine in the morning. They had put most of the final touches on the package that Audra would bring to the National Clandestine Service’s director, Thomas Manning, as soon as he arrived on Monday morning. Berg would meet Audra here a few hours before the director’s usual arrival time and add the laboratory evidence they expected to receive from Finland.

  “I wish I could be there to see the looks on their faces. It’s not every day that someone delivers a cooler stuffed with a severed head,” Berg said.

  “I don’t like to think about it. Brilliant overall, considering what we suspect…but gruesome,” she said.

  “They don’t seem to be constrained by the same psychological processes that keep the rest of us in check. I don’t know where Sanderson finds these guys, but he certainly does his homework.”

  “I hate to say it, but we need people like this on our side.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. I’m calling it a night. I’ll be in at 3:30 to make sure the lab reports are available for your report. I’m keeping the team in Helsinki for now, just in case,” he added.

  The embassy in Helsinki had arranged for priority handling of the team’s biological sample at the Division of Infectious Diseases in the Helsinki University Hospital. They felt confident with Sanderson’s team moving the sample. The location of the Gulfstream’s wreckage remained a mystery, and she didn’t expect the Russians to disclose the location. Damage from an air-to-air missile was nearly impossible to hide from seasoned investigators. With the Russians playing hardball, anything was possible. The team was expected to arrive in Ouru, Finland, within three hours and would be placed on a commercial flight leaving at 11:30 AM, local time. They both doubted the Russians would shoot down a Boeing 717 flown by Scandinavian Airlines.

  The evidence gathered in Monchegorsk would be the tipping point. Audra expected their package to make its way to the White House immediately after the meeting. From that point forward, it would likely be out of their hands. Pictures of the Russian Army Mobile Battlefield feed had also been sent to Reuters in London, and nobody could predict the fallout that would ensue from worldwide exposure of the Russians’ siege in Monchegorsk.

  Russian military authorities had been careful with their wording of the orders, and Berg saw no mention of an epidemic in any of the digital images taken from the battalion commander’s MBT. The word “insurgency” was used in place of “epidemic”, and the infected were called “insurgents.” Russian military orders to shoot insurgents on sight would provoke international outrage, and the United Nations would demand an investigation, but the Russians weren’t likely to bow to this pressure. Berg didn’t think that the world would discover the true scope of Monchegorsk’s tragedy within a useful timeframe, so with Kaparov’s help, Berg still planned to send Sanderson’s team after Reznikov.

  He didn’t trust the speed at which the White House bureaucracy would react to the threat. Their only hope of quickly discovering the true implications of the Kazakhstan laboratory remained with the Russian scientist. There was little doubt that he had poisoned Monchegorsk, with cataclysmic results. At this point, Reznikov’s link to Al Qaeda was purely circumstantial and in most cases, anecdotal. They needed time sensitive information that couldn’t wait for weeks of sleep deprivation and waterboarding in a secret location. If the virus had been mass produced for Al Qaeda, which he suspected, the West might be looking at days, instead of weeks, before a massive coordinated biological attack. He needed Sanderson’s team to find Reznikov before the Russians silenced him.

  Chapter 39

  10:25 AM

  U.S. Embassy

  Buenos Aires, Argentina

  Special Agent Susan Castaneda examined her computer screen again, absorbing the details of the email sent by her lunchtime friend in the Argentine Federal Police. She had heard rumors of a particularly nasty murder scene in Palermo Soho involving Serbian nationals and had placed a call to Agent Federico Mariano. He had clearly anticipated her call because an email appeared while they chatted about their next lunch date. After opening the attached digital pictures, food was the furthest thing from her mind.

  The crime scene photographs had taken her breath away, along with her appetite. Agent Castaneda had never seen that much blood and carnage in one place, even in the movies. Dark red blood covered most of the white marble floor in the living room, sprayed against the walls and kitchen cabinets. She counted at least eight bodies crumpled in various positions on the floor. The bedroom was the real shocker, and she couldn’t help but gasp and stare at the pictures, trying to make sense of them.

  The bright white bedspread was splattered with dark red clumps and brighter blood stains. A body lay slumped on the floor in front of the bed. It took her a few moments to figure out what had happened to the other body. A half undressed, badly slashed man had been strapped into a steel and leather harness contraption that suspended him a few feet off the floor in an extremely vulnerable, belly up position. His unsupported head tilted back and downward, above a pool of blood. She didn’t envy the coroner’s job on this one.

  She finished reading Agent Mariano’s assessment and dialed Agent Sharpe.

  “Special Agent Ryan Sharpe,” he answered.

  “Ryan, it’s Susan Castaneda from the embassy in Buenos Aires.”

  “Hi, Susan. Great to hear from you! Thank you again for the information you passed along. I can’t go into details, but it proved to be extremely helpful.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that. I miss investigative work. Not much in the way of that down here. Hey, I ran across something this morning that might interest you. A bunch of Serbian immigrants and a few Serb nationals were found dead in a high end condominium high-rise yesterday. Strange circumstances to say the least.”

  “Another sponsored attack like the others?”

  “My contact doesn’t think so. I just sent you an email with all of the details and some pretty nasty crime scene photos. The condominium was owned by an Argentinian couple. Security cameras in the lobby show that the wife was staying there alone this weekend. The lobby is occupied by a security concierge twenty-four/seven and the night shift guard confirmed that she was alone. The day guard was killed during the attack. Bottom line, we have ten dead Serbs in the apartment. Federal Police are investigating the possibility that a sniper fired into the condominium. A few of the windows facing a hotel across the street were shattered and at least two of the men were hit by rifle caliber projectiles. Weapons found in the room fired 9mm. Security cameras caught a man and woman leaving through the back lobby door shortly before police arrived.”

  “You have pictures of them?”

  “Yes. The last six pictures were taken
from the security cameras and the pictures labeled ‘Russo’ were taken by security for visual identification reference. The building had decent security. Nobody gets in or out, unless their identity is confirmed.”

  “Sounds like a lot of unauthorized people got in that day,” he said. “Here it is. Russo.”

  The line went silent for several seconds.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “Uh…yes. Susan, do me a huge favor and keep these photos out of circulation. I need to make an urgent phone call. Thank you again. Sorry to be abrupt…I have to go.”

  The line went dead in Susan’s ears.

  “That was strange,” she muttered.

  She opened the digital pictures of the Russos and arranged them side by side. Natalia Russo was stunningly beautiful, but not really her type. Glamour girl for sure. The earrings looked like they could cost more than her entire outfit. She liked the confident expression on Natalia’s face, though. Almost cocky. Susan liked women with attitude. Dario Russo was handsome in every traditional way, but in a different league than Natalia. Still, they made an attractive couple. She studied Dario Russo’s picture for a few more seconds. For some reason, he looked familiar to her. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

  “No way,” she whispered.

  She navigated through the FBI intranet on her second monitor for several seconds, until a face filled the screen. She compared the two images.

  “No shit,” she said out loud.

  Dario Russo’s picture identically matched Daniel Petrovich, also known as Marko Resja. Wanted for several counts of murder and domestic terrorism? She scanned a list of known associates and saw the name of his wife, Jessica Petrovich. Her picture appeared on the screen and she compared it to Natalia Russo. Another exact match. She was wanted for assaulting a federal agent and conspiracy to commit murder. She was also classified as a domestic terrorist. No wonder it sounded like Agent Sharpe had swallowed his phone. She’d give Sharpe some time to formulate his own response before she passed the discovery on to her boss back in D.C. They’d make the call on what to do with the information.