The Viking Deception

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Acton’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s happening on the ground?”

  Dawson ignored the question. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. Just follow them. Niner and I will have your six. Understood?”

  Acton exchanged a nervous glance with his wife. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

  Dawson laughed, smacking Acton on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit!”

  Spock was already at the window, Atlas helping him with the barely conscious Karlsson. Shouts in the hallway from men who sounded like they meant business hastened their exit.

  Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. Executing Plan Bravo now.”

  55 |

  Dubai International Airport Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  Reading shuffled down the aisle of the plane, always marveling at the chaos that ensued the moment the plane came to a halt from the impatience of people desperate to get into line.

  Like his seatmate tonight.

  What was the point of standing, hunched over because you were too tall to be upright with a luggage rack over your head, just so you could eventually squeeze into a line of people barely moving, when you were at the back of the plane?

  Just sit tight, let the herd clear, then stand up, grab whatever you had stowed in the overhead bins, then stroll off the plane.

  But no, jackhole at the window seat had to be up and in the line, and with Reading’s height, there was no way the man was getting by him without Reading getting into the aisle.

  I see why Jim and Laura are always flying private jets.

  And again, he was envious.

  He was tempted to pull an asshole move and yank out his Interpol ID, ordering everyone out of his way, but it wouldn’t work. There were hundreds of people in front of him, with nowhere to go.

  Besides, he was halfway there.

  He checked his messages, finding an update from his partner Michelle informing him that his friends were not in custody.

  He froze.

  They should have arrived over half an hour ago.

  He quickly fired a text back.

  Was flight delayed?

  The reply was almost immediate.

  No, still checking. Stand by.

  Someone shouted, giving him a bit of a shove. He looked up to see the line had moved on, and was about to move when he received another poke and angry shout in what he assumed was Arabic.

  He pulled his ID and turned, inflating his chest as he did so.

  And glared into the eyes of a five foot nothing grandmother.

  He smiled. “My apologies.”

  He turned back, catching up to the line, shaking his head the entire way as he smiled at what he had planned on saying.

  Control your temper, Hugh!

  Finally in the jetway, he had some room to maneuver, and hurried past the less swift passengers, emerging in the terminal where an old colleague of his waved.

  “Hugh, over here!”

  Reading smiled and strode over to the man he had met several times at Interpol over the years, and extended his hand, heading off the cheek kisses the man preferred. “Khalil, so good to see you!”

  “You too, my friend!” Khalil Zakaria smiled broadly, taking Reading’s hand then moving in for the kiss. Reading placed his left hand on the man’s shoulder, patting it and keeping him at bay without his intentions being obvious. Denied, he grabbed Reading’s bag instead. “Do you have any checked baggage?”

  Reading shook his head. “No, I’m traveling light. I figured I’d just be taking custody of our suspects then getting the next flight right out.”

  “No! Stay the night. I’ll show you the city, we’ll have a great time. You can leave in the morning with them.”

  Reading regarded him for a moment when four heavily armed soldiers jogged by. He surveyed the area and frowned. “Is this level of security normal?”

  Zakaria frowned. “No. There’s been an explosion at the Burj Khalifa.”

  Reading’s eyes widened. “Terrorism?”

  Zakaria shrugged. “No idea yet.”

  They resumed walking, Zakaria using his ID to expedite Reading’s clearance through customs. “My partner seems to think you don’t have the suspects in custody.”

  Zakaria frowned. “No, we don’t.”

  Reading stopped, suddenly very concerned, though forced to hide it. These were suspects, not friends, as far as anyone here was concerned. “Explain.”

  “The two suspects arrived as scheduled less than an hour ago. They were supposed to be picked up by my partner and local law enforcement.” He became somber. “My partner’s body was found in a toilet stall in the main terminal about fifteen minutes ago. He never made it to the security station to coordinate their arrest.”

  Reading’s chest tightened. “Then who has them?”

  Zakaria shook his head. “We don’t know. We have footage of a team arresting them and taking them to vehicles that were in a secure area. Whoever they are, they’re very well connected.”

  “Where did they go?” Reading closed his eyes, holding up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. The Burj Khalifa.”

  “You know your suspects well. Any idea what’s going on?”

  Reading regarded Zakaria for a moment, wondering how much he could trust him. They weren’t exactly friends. They had met on several occasions, and had gotten along well—two old fogies in an agency of youngsters obsessed with advancement and power.

  Reading’s only problem with the man was that he wouldn’t hoist a beer with him. Other than that, he seemed honest and reliable.

  He sighed, a leap of faith about to be taken he hoped wouldn’t backfire. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

  56 |

  Burj Khalifa, Room 141B Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  Wind howled through the room, tossing about the debris caused by Niner’s explosive takeout of the window, and Acton struggled to maintain his balance. Laura flashed him a smile then stepped out into space, tossing her pilot chute out behind her the moment she was clear.

  Dawson slapped him on the back. “You’re up, Doc.”

  Acton stepped up to the window, peering down below, relaxing slightly at the sight of three good chutes, including Laura’s. “Here goes nothing.” He stepped forward then pushed off the lip of the window frame, shoving away from the building as he arched his back, throwing his pilot chute behind him. Moments later, he felt a tug and he looked up to check for a good chute, finding everything in order, the black material above him camouflaging him against the night sky, though not against the bright lights of the massive building he had just regurgitated from.

  He grabbed his toggles, velcroed just above him, and got his bearings. He took a bead on Laura’s chute and adjusted his path to follow her. He didn’t care where Spock and Atlas were heading, he would land wherever she did, though fortunately for everyone, it appeared she was on target.

  Why would you expect any less?

  She never ceased to amaze him. After everything they had been through, after everything done to them, their relationship continued to grow stronger. He couldn’t imagine life without her, and though it was tempting to sometimes consider cocooning in Maryland and avoiding the big bad world they so often found themselves in conflict with, he knew they’d both become bored.

  Though he couldn’t imagine they’d become bored with each other.

  He frowned at the sight of scores of flashing emergency lights below them, police, fire, and paramedic vehicles swarming the area. He was impressed with their response time, and it was easy to forget the wealth contained within this tiny oil-rich nation.

  And he had no doubt the Burj Khalifa was a priority target. The first hint of anything amiss would demand a swift response to keep the foreigners calm.

  But Spock was guiding them away from all that, the height they had giving them enough time to put some not insignificant space between them and the scene of the crime.

  He sighed, looking down at Laura’s chute. He had been a
fool. They should have immediately gone to the Swedish authorities. This was too big. What had made him think they could deal with this themselves? Yes, they had threatened Karlsson’s life if they did, but why was it their responsibility to get involved?

  You’re going to get her killed one of these days.

  A burst of frustrated air erupted from his lips. While it was easy to blame himself, she was just as eager to help, and she didn’t even know Karlsson.

  She’s an amazing human being.

  It was one of the many reasons he loved her—she, like him, couldn’t just stand by and see innocent people suffer.

  The devastating thing was that while he would hate to lose her, he would hate even more to see her defiled like she was about to be, gang-raped by filthy men for days on end.

  He’d rather see her die, and that selfish thought almost brought him to tears.

  A sound overhead had him looking up. He cursed as one of the chutes above him flared, the diver rapidly losing lift and dropping toward him. The operator lifted his arms, his chute refilling with air as he reached Acton’s altitude.

  It was Dawson.

  “Look down at your three-o’clock.”

  Acton did, spotting the emergency vehicles, and was about to question what Dawson was concerned about when he cursed. A long line of flashing lights was leaving the Burj Khalifa, and heading their way. “Are they for us?”

  “Looks that way. Somebody obviously spotted us. They’re going to try and beat us to our LZ.”

  “Do they know where that is?”

  “No, but they just need to follow us. When we land, get out of your chute and into the vehicles. Whatever you do, do not open fire.”

  Acton’s eyes widened slightly. “And what if they do?”

  “They’re local cops. They’ve done nothing wrong. Just hit the deck and surrender if you have to. We’ll sort it out later.”

  Acton frowned, staring at the Delta operator. “You guys can’t be caught here.”

  “You let us worry about that.”

  57 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  “Locals have spotted them by the looks of it.”

  Leroux cursed as he watched footage from their micro-drones deployed earlier by Sherrie and her local contact. “Do the math. If they guess right, who gets there first?”

  Child responded. “Our guys do, but by a hair.”

  “And our convoy of assumed bad guys?”

  Child tapped his keyboard, footage of the six-vehicle convoy shown from overhead.

  Blasting past the Burj Khalifa.

  “Well, they clearly have someone on the inside.”

  “You have a gift for stating the obvious,” retorted Tong. “An Interpol agent is dead at the airport, the professors are collected by men wearing police uniforms, driving police vehicles allowed in a secure area, and the locals knew nothing about it? My ass. They’re so corrupt, it’s a wonder there’s any law and order there.”

  Leroux had to agree. The locals were definitely infiltrated, and that could cause complications they hadn’t considered, depending on how deep the penetration went. If the locals caught up with Sherrie and the others, several unfortunate outcomes could result. Delta, the CIA personnel, and the professors, could get into a gunfight that they could win or lose, either way causing an international incident. Alternatively, they could be simply arrested, and under normal circumstances, that could prove awkward for Delta, but they’d be alive and eventually handed over.

  Yet these weren’t normal circumstances. If these police were corrupt, they could hand them over to those in that convoy, to never be seen again.

  Their only hope was to get their feet on the ground and reach the extraction point.

  But deep down he knew that was impossible. The Dubai authorities had access to the same traffic camera footage they had tapped into, and they would follow Sherrie with ease.

  And there was one thing his training told him.

  You can’t outrun a radio.

  58 |

  Southeast of Burj Khalifa Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  Sherrie stood beside her idling vehicle, peering up at the sky, her locator beacon in hand as she watched the six chutes rapidly approach, the sounds of too many sirens in the distance.

  “Here they come,” said her local contact, standing by the second vehicle.

  Sherrie frowned, pointing to the flashing lights that were too close for her liking. “Yeah, and here they come.” She activated her comm. “Control, Coyote-One. We’ve got company closing in on our LZ.”

  “Copy that, Coyote-One. Just recover them and head for the evac point.”

  Sherrie shook her head. “I don’t think we’re going to make it. Like they say at the farm…”

  She could almost hear her boyfriend frown. “You can’t outrun a radio.”

  “Exactly. I think it’s time for Plan C.”

  “Understood.”

  Acton flared his chute, killing his speed just before his feet touched the ground. He spun around, hauling it in as he checked for the others. Dawson landed beside him, shrugging out of his harness instantly with a chest thrust, letting the chute blow away, time clearly of the essence here rather than proper policing of the equipment.

  Acton did the same, mimicking the motions of the experienced operator as the wail of uncomfortably close sirens in the distance continued to become not so distant.

  “Let’s go people, they’re going to be on top of us at any moment!”

  Acton recognized the CIA Agent, Sherrie White, who was evidently in command on the ground. They exchanged quick smiles, and Acton rushed over to Laura, already standing by Sherrie’s vehicle.

  Sherrie pointed at the back seat, the door already open. “Jim, Laura, get in, quickly.”

  They jumped in, Spock joining them in the back with Dawson in the front. Niner and Atlas, along with Karlsson, were in the second vehicle, and within moments, both were underway, Sherrie hammering on the gas as if Laura were driving.

  Acton turned in his seat, staring out the rear window at the flickering lights of the police in the distance, sighing with relief as they turned a corner, putting them out of sight. “I guess now we see who’s the better driver.”

  Sherrie killed his spirit. “Not a chance. Even Dale Earnhardt can’t outrun a radio.”

  Dawson apparently agreed. “Plan C?”

  “Yup.”

  Dawson activated his mike, announcing it to the other vehicle.

  Leaving Acton to wonder what Plan C was, and how many more there might be.

  59 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Leroux’s heart pounded as he watched Sherrie expertly navigate the streets of Dubai, Tong providing her with updates and guidance as they monitored the actions of the locals. Fortunately, for now, there appeared to be little ahead of them, though there was no way they were going to reach the extraction point.

  They were going to be caught.

  There was no doubt of that.

  The question was who would catch them.

  Honest police, or those on the payroll of the man pulling the strings, a man they assumed was in the convoy of SUVs.

  We need to know who he is.

  “Any luck tracing that phone?”

  Child shook his head. “It’s a burner. Unfortunately, they didn’t get stupid on that front.”

  Leroux cursed. If they knew who he was, they could perhaps apply leverage, yet until they did, they were powerless to do anything but hope Plan C worked.

  “They’re almost in position,” said Tong, covering her live mike.

  Leroux rose, stepping closer to the displays, the locals finally getting their act together, deploying other units in a bid to cut off the fleeing suspects of what they were treating as the first terrorist attack on their pride and joy.

  The Burj Khalifa.

  His eyes darted over to the pulsating icon indicating Sherrie’s destinat
ion. It was tantalizingly close, though several police units were about to get in their way. He turned to Tong. “Do you see that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get them around it.”

  “I might not be able to.”

  Leroux spun toward Child. “Can they redeploy?”

  Child shook his head. “It’s too late.”

  Leroux cursed.

  Come on, sweetheart, you can do it!

  60 |

  Outskirts of Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  “Coyote-One, you’ve got two vehicles approaching from your left, one from your right. Your path ahead is about to be blocked.”

  Sherrie cursed as she leaned forward, spotting the vehicles on her left racing toward the intersection she was about to cross. “Check right!”

  Dawson frowned. “One vehicle. Small. Is this company issue?”

  Sherrie nodded. “Yup.” She cranked the wheel to the right, skidding into the intersection and sideswiping the first police vehicle arriving ahead of her. Its driver lost control, careening into a street light, collapsing its bumper, the airbags deploying.

  But that was the past. Sherrie gunned it directly toward the oncoming compact car, her massive SUV’s engine roaring in anticipation.

  “Umm, you know you’re playing chicken with someone who thinks he’s getting seventy-two virgins if he dies in the line of duty?”

  Sherrie ignored Acton’s observation from the back seat, instead focusing on the car ahead of her, watching for any telltale signs of what the driver was about to do.

  And by all outward appearances, he wanted his virgins.

  He swerved, hopping the curb and putting his front end into a glass-fronted shop closed for the night.

  Dawson whooped, slamming his fist on the dash. “Balls. Of. Steel.”

  Sherrie grinned as she took a sharp left, getting them back on track, their final destination less than a mile away. “Never discount lady balls.”