“Braden, Riley R.” He rattled off some sort of number and then said, “I’m former U.S. Army, Tenth Special Forces Group. Now currently a part of a PMC called Cyclops.”
McCarter said, “Tenth SFG. I know it. Out of Fort Carson?”
“That’s right,” Braden said, doing nothing to hide his surprise.
“Well then, you’re in luck because we’re actually a U.S. SOG outfit ourselves,” McCarter said. “And I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. So this Cyclops… Wouldn’t happen to be headed by a guy named Colonel Jack Cyrus, would it?”
“It is. How did you know?”
“It’s part of what we get paid to know. Not to mention the fact that we were told to expect you.”
“By who?”
“Our people are in the know about these things. And we had a contact inside the CIA who gave us some information relevant to your proposed mission. We know you’re here looking for Oleg Dratshev.”
“This contact you mentioned,” Braden said. “She a looker goes by the codename Mishka?”
“Maybe.”
“No, I don’t think you see how this works… What’s your name, anyway?”
“You can call me McMasters.”
“Fine. McMasters, if you like.” Braden cleared his throat and added, “It would seem that this Mishka might be playing two ends against the middle. Maybe even three.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because I happen to know for a fact that she’s a CIA agent. This information came straight from the contractor we’re working for.”
“You mean DCDI,” McCarter said.
“I see you are informed.”
McCarter shrugged. “Goes with the job.”
“Anyway, we were put on this assignment even before Dratshev was kidnapped. When we got blown in Iowa, I realized that we had an informant on the inside. Naturally, I didn’t suspect either Colonel Cyrus or our boss.”
“We know all about David Steinham,” McCarter said. “You might as well stop being coy. And you were the ones responsible for killing a bunch of innocent security personnel?”
Braden raised his bound hands with palms facing McCarter. “Before you throw any stones, you should know those security personnel aren’t so innocent. All of them are working for Madari.”
“Ishaq Madari.”
“Right.”
“You know about him, too.”
“Of course.”
“Now you have my interest,” McCarter said, folding his arms. “Go on, mate. Might as well spill the rest of it.”
Braden shrugged. “Don’t see any harm at this point. You know, I never bought into Steinham’s plan for us on this mission. When I learned that a U.S. SOG group was involved, I pretty much determined then I wasn’t going to get in the way. I didn’t sign up with Colonel Cyrus just to fight fellow Americans. We all want the same thing, right?”
“All of us except Mishka, it would seem.”
“Yeah, except Mishka.”
“So do you have any idea where she might be right now?”
“You mean…you don’t know?”
McCarter tried his best not to let his indecision show but he knew Braden was a sharp customer and it probably didn’t do him much good at this point. “We’ve had trouble keeping tabs, although we did everything possible to keep her on a short leash.”
“We never got the chance to make contact with her.”
“Well, she was working with another guy named Carnes. I’m guessing he’s probably gone over to whatever side she’s gone over to.”
“Uh-oh,” Braden said. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“What does this Carnes look like?” Braden asked. After McCarter described him, Braden’s face paled. “There’s no question about it. That’s the guy we found parked just off the perimeter of this place. And I can assure you he’s in no shape to play turncoat with anyone. Found him in a sedan with his throat cut. We figured you guys did it.”
McCarter looked grim. “Not our style, mate. We don’t murder our allies solely on suspicion, and we’re certainly not messy or stupid enough to leave bodies around where they can be discovered by other potential sentries.”
“So Mishka killed him?”
“I’d say that’s a safe assumption,” McCarter said. “And worse, now she’s completely in the wind.”
“Yeah, but if she’s not in bed with the Russians and she’s obviously turned against her own government, who’s left?”
“The one player in all of this who’d have the most to gain from her services.”
Braden scratched his chin and looked puzzled for a minute. Finally the realization dawned on his face and he looked askance at McCarter. “You mean she’s working for Madari?”
McCarter nodded. “That’s only a guess, mind you.”
“But it’s a good guess.”
“Seems reasonable. Only she was in a position to keep eyes on Dratshev. All this businesses about the FSB—” McCarter waved in the direction of the house “—was probably just a cover to keep us occupied while she made her plans to get out of Belarus.”
“She was providing the distraction for Madari.”
“Who else?” McCarter’s brow furrowed. “Only thing I can’t figure is motive.”
“How about money?”
“Possible,” McCarter said. “But she doesn’t seem the type.”
“Maybe she has some other relationship with him,” Braden said. “Something you don’t know about.”
“Maybe,” McCarter replied. “We’ll have to get our people to dig deeper into her background to see what they can come up with.”
“I almost hate to ask,” Braden said, “but what about us?”
McCarter produced a combat knife and gestured toward Braden’s wrists. The mercenary held them up in front of his face and McCarter released them from the riot cuffs with one quick slash. He then turned to his teammates and ordered them to cut the other pair loose, as well. They did so without question.
“You’re letting us go?”
“Hardly,” McCarter said. “But I can’t very well lock you up here in Belarus, even if my people could get it arranged. And I don’t want to take the chance of just cutting you free and clear where you might get in our way down the line. Not to mention that you’ve been cooperative so I see no reason to be punitive.”
“So what’re you going to do to us?”
“For now, you’ll stick with my team. But I’m in charge, see? You do what I say and when I say, and you don’t do anything else without my say. Understood?”
“I guess,” Braden said.
“Come again?”
“I mean ‘yes, sir.’”
“That’s better.” McCarter smiled. “You see, I figure you’ll probably strike out on your own and continue your mission to find Oleg Dratshev.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You seem to have a work ethic. You wouldn’t just deviate from or drop a mission unless it was either absolutely necessary or compromised the safety of your team. Therefore, I figure it’s better to keep you nearby where I have eyes on you rather than risk us ending up on opposite sides next time we meet.”
“I wouldn’t want that, either,” Braden said as he rubbed his wrist.
“So, truce?” McCarter stuck out his hand and Braden took it with a nod. McCarter turned to the rest. “We’re all working together now. I expect everyone to get along and play nice, just like the professionals I know you are. Now that we got that dispensed, we need to figure out our next move. It’s obvious that ‘Mishka’ has betrayed us all. I think she’s connected with Madari somehow, so if we get eyes on her then she should lead us right to him.”
“And if we find him,”
Manning interjected, “then we find Dratshev.”
Encizo nodded. “And the EMP prototypes.”
“Wait a minute, hold on,” Braden said. “You’re telling me these blasted things are…they’re live?”
“Near as we know,” McCarter replied.
“Of course, we only have the word of a former terrorist on that account,” Encizo said.
“Madari?” Braden shook his head. “He’s a lot of things, pal, but not a terrorist.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Calvin James countered. “Let’s see, we have kidnapping, extortion, murder and auction of stolen and untested property to multiple countries. I think that qualifies.”
Manning added, “To make no mention the guy’s a former a security expert for the Libyan government.”
“That’s the whole thing of it, though,” Braden noted. “Madari was ousted from Libya because of his democratic views. They raped his wife and daughter and then killed them. Madari tried to keep his position quiet but when the regime found out about his collusion with the rebels, they murdered his family and exiled him from the country.”
“Just figures that there are more problems and complications now than before,” Encizo said.
“Possibly,” McCarter agreed. He jerked his thumb at Braden. “But the major here does have a good point. If Madari’s doing this to help bring a fully democratic government into Libya, you can hardly fault the guy.”
“Except for the fact he’s been colluding with our enemies and paying our own intelligence people to betray us,” Hawkins said with a snort.
“So what?” Braden said. “Look, guys, I’m not saying I agree with what he’s done but you got to admit that Madari isn’t a U.S. citizen. He has no reason to be loyal to America—or any of the other countries he’s exploited up to this point, for that matter. The guy’s only going to look out for his own interests. He couldn’t care less about the rest of it.”
“Regardless of his motives,” McCarter said, “he’s a threat and we need to neutralize that threat. We’re going off point anyway, mates. We’ll carry out our original mission thoroughly and professionally. Let the politicians debate the good or bad, the moral or amoral—we’re not in that business. Now, does anybody have any ideas about how we reconnect with Mishka?”
Braden raised his hand slowly. “Uh, we may be able to help with that.”
McCarter nodded. “How so?”
“Well, Mishka still thinks she’s got Steinham fooled. And she wouldn’t have any reason to think we’d be able to put it together exactly what she’s been up to. If anything, she strikes me as pretty cocky.”
“Agreed. But how does that help us locate her?”
“All I have to do is reach out to Steinham. He knows how to track her every move.”
“And how exactly did he manage that?” James inquired.
“Dunno,” Braden replied with a shrug. “But I do know he’s got eyes on her twenty-four-seven. I’m betting if we contact him and tell him she didn’t make the rendezvous at the scheduled time that I could get him to tell me where she is.”
“Well what are we waiting for then?” McCarter said. “Make the call.”
“With pleasure.”
* * *
Washington, D.C.
IF THEIR ENCOUNTER with the terrorists had done anything, it was to put Carl Lyons in a fouler mood than the previous one. The guy they’d taken alive refused to talk, immediately citing his rights when the cops arrived and demanding legal representation. Lyons had thought about overriding his protests and taking him into personal custody, but to do so would have raised a lot of eyebrows and spurred a lot of uncomfortable questions he didn’t want to answer right now. Worse, it would have required the Farm to jump through hoops and maybe even required the Oval Office to run interference.
Able Team didn’t need that kind of distraction so they turned the guy over to the local authorities with a story and the backing of their credentials enough to hold the guy until federal authorities could take over. The weapons charges alone would take the guy out of the picture long enough for Stony Man to get the rest of the situation wrapped up.
However, none of it set well with Brognola and Price. They’d been working in the dark on most of this, and at the moment Harold Brognola wasn’t having any difficulties expressing his frustration to Price and Kurtzman. They sat in the War Room, having moved there for a dinner break from the Annex. The conversation had started pleasantly neutral enough, but as happened with far more frequency, it inevitably turned to shop talk.
Brognola wolfed down the last few bites of his open-faced hot turkey sandwich before launching a tirade. “You know what burns my ass?”
“A flame about three feet high?” Kurtzman joked.
“You’ve been hanging around Gadgets too much,” Price quipped.
“What burns,” Brognola said, “is the fact we can’t seem to pick out the good guys from the bad. It’s like we’re fighting this thing on six different fronts.”
“Pray tell,” Price said.
Brognola ticked the points off on his fingers. “We got Phoenix Force up against a surgical team sent by Steinham. They, in turn, have also had to fight FSB operatives—which from what McCarter has told us may not have been FSB at all. At this end of the globe, Able Team is up against more of Steinham’s people, or maybe not, and then there’s Steinham himself.”
“None of which adds up when you consider the predicament of Dr. Dratshev and this bold move by Madari,” Price concluded.
Brognola produced a heavy sigh. “Right.”
“We’ve been operating off some assumptions, though,” Price said.
“Such as?”
“Well, we know—or at least we’re confident—Mishka is a traitor.”
“Ah, yes,” Brognola said. “The elusive Muriel Stanish.”
“Not that elusive,” Kurtzman said around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. “I did some digging after we spoke to McCarter. Stanish thinks she’s smart, but she was hardly experienced at covering her tracks. But I’ll get into that in a minute. We should let Barb finish.”
“Thanks, Bear,” Price said with a sweet smile. She returned her gaze to Brognola and said, “There’s also no logical tie we can place between Madari and Steinham. It would appear for all practical intents and purposes that David Steinham might have obtained some of his DoD contracts through less than legitimate means, but then what contractor do you know who hasn’t greased a senatorial palm now and again?”
“Yeah, it’s tough enough we have to fight the terrorists of the world without also having to watch our backs with the criminal element right there in Wonderland,” Brognola said. “But go on.”
“It actually appears as if David Steinham is more interested in acquiring the EMP technology in the interests of the United States government. Our profile tells us Steinham is a staunch patriot. His company has developed a lot of promising technology for the military over the years, and it’s his tenacity in pursuing better weapons and electronics that has saved the lives of many service personnel.”
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t be bought?”
Price laughed. “By whom, Hal? Steinham is already a very rich man. He has a family and there’s nothing in his background, social or educational, that would suggest tendencies toward radicalism. He’s also a former serviceman with an impeccable record. The guy has never even had so much as a parking ticket.”
Brognola sighed. “So what I hear you trying to say is you think he’s on our side.”
“Yes. I think he truly is.”
“Then how did he know about Dratshev’s disappearance? And if he has no affiliation with Madari, why would he be digging up information from an NSA vault in Iowa, the location of which was supposed to be—at least allegedly—a national secret. And what about his apparent affil
iation with our CIA friend, Mishka?”
“That’s where I think Bear can help us.” Price looked at him. “Aaron, you want to fill him in on what you dug up?”
“My pleasure!” Kurtzman took a long drink of ice water before diving into his report. “I did a very thorough background check on Muriel Stanish. It would seem she’s had a long-term, sexual relationship with Madari. Although, she filed the relationship with her CIA contacts as being one Iradam Qahsi, who she claimed was a businessman from Dubai. The cover checked out—probably all of it put in place by her in the first place—so the CIA never went further with their investigation. A month ago, in her last major report to her case officer, she claimed the relationship had ended on good terms and she never planned to see him again.”
“But apparently that was all bullshit,” Brognola said.
“Exactamundo.”
The Stony Man chief sighed again. “Okay, so it looks like we have some reason to believe that maybe we’re not up against the odds I originally thought. But none of what you’ve discovered, and I should insert here I think you’ve both done an excellent job researching this, but…none of what you’ve said explains who attacked Able Team and why.”
“Could have been someone sent by Madari,” Kurtzman said.
It was Price who countered him. “No. They knew nothing of Able Team or their mission. And there wouldn’t have been any point.”
“What about Jack Cyrus and his mercenaries?” Brognola asked
Price shook her head. “Same thing, again. Not to mention that they’ve have no motive other than protecting Steinham.”
“Which means?” Kurtzman asked.
“Which means—” Price tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “I don’t know what it means. And I don’t know how to answer that question. At least, not yet.”
“Well, we’d better come up with some answers soon before whoever attacked them tries again,” Brognola said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Greek Isles
A balmy Mediterranean breeze whipped at Mishka’s hair as she stepped off the special jet Ishaq Madari had sent to the airport in Athens. She moved easily across the makeshift tarmac, weekend bag slung over her arm.
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