Long Shot

by Sgt. Jack Coughlin

  Ivi Pran tried to struggle, but Kyle whispered for her to be still. Her husband could not hear the promise that she would not be hurt. Her eyes remained wide in fright as the man in the black mask stood back and studied his work.

  Satisfied, he went into the backpack again and found a pencil-like device that he held for them both to see. “Mr. Mayor, that material around your wife’s neck is a powerful plastic explosive called C-four,” he said, then wiggled the pencil. “This is a detonator. I am setting it to go off in exactly one hour.” He adjusted the detonator and showed the mayor a little screen that said 60:00, then pushed it into the plastic necklace on his wife.

  “There is only one way to stop this from blowing up.” He moved to the mayor and knelt before him. “You will get in your car and drive to wherever you are keeping Jan Hollings, the American. You will bring her back here to me. Understand?”

  Konstantin shook his head, thinking, If I can only get out, I will get the police.

  Swanson knew what he was thinking, because it was natural. He walked slowly around the room and gathered the framed photos of children and adults. Christmas, beach scenes, new babies, teenagers and friends. “You should know that I am not the only one working tonight. Friends of mine are tracking all of these people even as we speak. Do you understand me?”

  The mayor was horrified and jerked at his bindings. His children and grandchildren were being threatened.

  “You have crossed a mark. You have begun toying with war, little man, and that is not allowed.” Swanson dumped all of the pictures at the feet of the man, and then he ruthlessly crushed the glass and frames beneath a thick black boot. “Not only is your wife at risk now, but if Hollings is not standing here within the hour, all of these other loved ones of yours will be murdered tonight or tomorrow. I will burn this house. We will kill your brothers, sisters, parents, friends and in-laws. Your line will come to an end. If you try to bring in the cops and the military, I will not be able to call it off. Still understand me? It will be wholesale slaughter. Just like you guys did to the Disappeareds.”

  The mayor was pleading with his eyes. He flinched when Swanson jerked the duct tape off his mouth. “Wait, sir. Please,” he gasped.

  Swanson casually reached for the detonator and started it, so the mayor could see the little numbers begin to count down … 60:00 became 59:59, then 59:58. “I suggest you leave now, Mayor. You will have to drive yourself because your guard outside is dead. Go, you fat bastard. Bring me my friend.”

  * * *

  KONSTANTIN PRAN DROVE AS a man possessed, barely noticing other cars or people, pushing his old green Volvo hard as he retraced the route back to the town hall while counting seconds in his head. So much was at stake that nothing mattered but retrieving that woman spy from the basement cell. There was no time to call out the guard, or summon any other kind of help, because he believed in his soul that the madman back at the house would carry out his threat and not give it a second thought. Pran would worry about possible repercussions to his career later, but right now the only way to save his entire family was to do as he had been told.

  When he reached the Raekoja Plats, light were shining from the spire of the Town Hall, which had been closed for the night. It had taken almost ten minutes to drive there and he looked at his watch in panic. Less than fifty minutes left. He stopped directly in front and leaped from the car with his chest pounding so hard he thought for a moment that he might be having a heart attack. That slowed him. Dying meant the deadline would be missed. He did not stop, but slowed and swallowed big bites of air as he went up the stairs. The place, so familiar to him, now seemed like an evil castle.

  The double door was locked, which forced him to ring a bell and shout and pound and wave at the security camera to get the attention of the night watchman. No one else was in the entire plaza and the sounds he made stirred only sleeping pigeons. Seconds of waiting stretched to minutes. He is asleep! The watchman is asleep! He was about to leave and try to break through a window when a voice whined out from the intercom speaker on the wall.

  “Who is it? The town hall is closed.” The voice was accusatory as the night watchman showed his authority.

  “It’s Mayor Pran! Let me in immediately!” Konstantin demanded, sounding as mean as he could.

  “Why?”

  The mayor thundered, “Why? You don’t question me, you fool! Open up now or I will have you fired and arrested. I am on official business that is of no concern to the likes of you.”

  There was a bit of silence before the man thought it over, then replied, “Yes, sir. Right away.” He moved slowly because of the way he was being treated. Reluctantly, he obeyed, and left his post.

  Two more minutes were wasted for the mayor, who was huffing air and leaning against the wall while his feet moved in a nervous dance. The locks clicked and the door swung open. The night watchman, in a sloppy uniform, stood back as Konstantin Pran sailed past him. “You asshole,” the mayor said, and dashed for the marble stairs. Tick, tick, tick went his mental clock.

  * * *

  KYLE SWANSON WENT TO the woman and laid a hand on a shoulder. “Now that he is gone, ma’am, I can tell you not to worry about that thing around your neck. It is not a bomb, just some ordinary children’s clay, and there is no charge in the detonator. You are going to be fine, and your family is safe. I apologize for frightening you and damaging the pictures, but I had to scare your husband into doing what I wanted.”

  He saw her close her eyes in relief. She murmured something impossible to understand from behind the tape.

  “I have to leave you taped up for a while longer to be sure that you don’t scream or try to escape. You have no reason to trust me, but you can relax. He will be back soon, then I will leave. You will be fine. OK?”

  Ivi Pran stared at him, then visibly eased her posture. It was impossible for her to fight against this man.

  Kyle turned to the dining table, drawn by the aroma, and he gave the other rooms a quick search as he went. He rolled his mask up far enough to allow him to eat some chicken and potatoes while he waited, and it was delicious. He kept his big pistol on the table.

  * * *

  AT THE TOWN HALL, the guard in the basement was the same patrol officer as before and he once again snapped to attention when he recognized Mayor Pran. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening.” The mayor’s voice was a gravelly rumble in the echoing basement. “I have come to collect the prisoner.”

  “Sir?”

  “Open the door for me, Comrade Officer,” he said, falling back into the communist jargon. “I don’t have time to explain.”

  The policeman said, “I should check in with my sergeant first, sir. My orders were that after the building closed for the day, she became my personal responsibility.”

  Pran was short on patience and even shorter on time. “This is for a high-level and confidential meeting, young man. Officials from Moscow have arrived to interview this spy in a private place that has the proper equipment. Also, I am the one now giving you an order, and I outrank your sergeant.”

  “Nevertheless, she remains my responsibility, Mayor Pran.”

  That was the sticking point. Pran said, “Then you will accompany us. She will be in your presence except while being interviewed concerning sensitive information, then you and I will return her back here in a few hours. We will not awaken your sergeant. If any question arises, I will take full responsibility. I want no trace of her being with the Russians before the official transfer tomorrow. It might worsen an already delicate international problem, do you understand?”

  The policeman was satisfied. It was a thoroughly Russian operation. He was covered. “Just one moment, sir.” He reached for his keys.

  Inside the bomb shelter cell, Jan Hollings heard the scrape of metal on metal as the door was unlocked. She dropped the blanket and awaited the unknown, willing herself to remain strong, no matter what.

  31

  THE SNIPER HAD TO mak
e certain he did not eat too much. A taste of the creamy dessert and a sip of water to finish. This was the way to work, Kyle thought. All the comforts of home. It was much better than slumming around in a hole in the ground, dirty, hungry and uncomfortable, as was the case just a few days ago in Kaliningrad. Unbidden, the memories flooded back and he was running for the chopper, Anneli at his heels, while high-explosive mortar shells slammed down.

  Damn! The niggling feeling that had been itching in his brain ever since the fight, that something was off-kilter, came around again and he still could not put a finger on it.

  The sound of an automobile pulling up outside brought him back to the job at hand, and Swanson readjusted his mask, picked up the gun and checked his watch. Forty minutes had passed since the mayor had left. Moving to the wife, he tied a napkin around her eyes for a blindfold. “This is almost over,” he said.

  Swanson heard one car door close, and a few seconds later, another was shut, and then a third, which was one too many. He put away his Colt because any shooting inside would be loud enough to draw attention from neighbors. Instead, he slid a broad-bladed KA-BAR knife into his hand. He backed against the wall beside the door and waited. Footfalls on the steps, then the porch, and the door opened. Mayor Pran came inside first, calling out desperately for his wife, “Ivi!”

  Calico was next in line, handcuffed. She stepped tentatively inside, guided by the hand of the uniformed policeman who was last in line. Swanson jerked the cop off balance and jammed seven inches of razor sharp carbon steel into the neck twice, and ruthlessly gouged through muscles, tissue and arteries. Another thrust went into the chest and sliced through a chunk of heart before the point stopped against the spine. The cop exhaled a long, final bubble of breath. While Swanson closed the door, blood poured from the cop’s severed carotid artery and hosed everything near it, painting the floor and the furniture crimson.

  The mayor had thought about his next move during the drive home, betting that the man in the black mask would attack the policeman. Ignoring his wife’s scream, Pran yanked open the top drawer of a small and polished table to grab a Makarov PM pistol stored inside. He stopped cold when he saw the drawer was empty. He turned with his hands in the air, and saw the invader watching him, holding a long knife that dripped blood on the carpet. “No. Please don’t kill me,” he mumbled.

  Kyle waved him to the chair across from his wife and lightly touched the arm of Jan Hollings, who had rolled away from the fighting. “You OK?” he asked softly, never taking his eyes off the mayor. Calico knew it was Swanson. She bobbed her head.

  Konstantin Pran was roughly bound with tape again until he was completely immobilized, except for his mouth.

  “I warned you not to bring the police,” Swanson hissed at him.

  “I tried. The man insisted, but we were wasting time. I knew you could handle him.” Pran’s eyes were huge in fear. He looked at the dead policeman and the quarts of red blood that were still spilling from the body.

  “Well, you made it with eleven minutes to spare.”

  “The bomb,” said the mayor, his eye catching the red numbers of the detonator of his wife’s clay necklace. They were still blinking. 9:36 … 9:35. “Stop the bomb. Don’t blow us up.”

  Kyle ignored him. A quick search of the mayor gave up the car keys, and the key to the handcuffs was on the belt of the dead cop. Swanson freed Calico. “Don’t say a word until we’re in the car. Walk normally. Let’s go!”

  The mayor shouted as they left, no longer pleading for his life, but a bellowing, defiant challenge. “You cannot stop it! Even if you kill us tonight, you cannot stop it!”

  That made no sense to Swanson, but as he opened the door, he felt Jan Hollings hesitate and look back over her shoulder. The mayor was wobbling in the chair, trying to escape. He was trussed like a trapped hog, and his screams were matched by the muffled cries of his terrified wife. “Oh, shit,” Swanson muttered, and dashed over long enough to slap strips of tape over Pran’s mouth.

  Calico was still in the doorway, with tears running down her face. She also moved to the mayor and slapped him hard across the cheek. “Yes, we can, and we will!” she hissed, then slapped again with the other hand.

  Swanson pulled her back. “Stop that. We’ve got to go, and right now! Get to the car.” He gave her a push and followed her out. Something he did not understand had just happened right in front of him, and Calico seemed to be on fire.

  * * *

  IN LESS THAN TWO minutes, the Volvo was on the move. Kyle rolled his mask off and tossed it in the back. Jan knew the roads better, but she was bent over in the passenger seat, her head between her knees and her hands threading in her hair as she hauled in great gulps of air. “Are you sick? What’s wrong, Calico? Talk to me.”

  She turned to look at him. There was effort and fright in her gaze that he had never seen before. “Kyle, do you have comms? Anything at all we can use to get in touch with somebody?”

  “No. I don’t do this sort of thing with a phone on me. No tracking allowed. What’s the fastest way out of here, back to Tallinn?” He took a corner and drove down a darkened street.

  She peeked up over the dash and got her bearings. “Take a right in two blocks. That leads to the traffic circle, then straight west on the E-20.” She still seemed on the edge of panic.

  “Calm down now. We’re safe. Comms aren’t necessary because we are only a couple of hours from Tallinn. You will be back home. Tom is worried sick about you.”

  She squirmed around to face him directly, gathering her strength. “I can’t wait to get there and be with him, Kyle, but that’s not why we need immediate communications.”

  “Then what the hell are you talking about? Don’t play games.”

  “World War Three, Kyle. World War Fuckin’ Three!” She looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. “Almost midnight. We have only got nine hours!”

  Swanson struggled to stay steady on the wheel and not stomp the accelerator. Getting stopped for a traffic violation would be a disaster. The egress on a mission was critical. He kept his eyes on the road. Thankfully, there was not much traffic and in a moment, the Volvo was leaning through the traffic circle. “What happens at nine o’clock?”

  “This new city council of Narva is seceding from the rest of Estonia. At nine, that crazy mayor will go to the bridge and invite Russian troops to come over and occupy the city.”

  He couldn’t believe that. It was insanity. Such a move would mean war. “That was probably booze talking. He was almost drunk when I first found him at his house. He told you that and you believed him?”

  “The man was drinking and bragging, yes. But, Kyle, we cannot afford not to believe him.”

  Swanson pushed the button and lowered his window to allow some night air to wash through the car. She was right. “Well, we can’t use a regular cell phone for this kind of stuff anyway. If we tried a pay phone, it would take fifteen minutes, when instead we could be fifteen miles closer to Tallinn. The CIA is all set up at your house, so we can get direct links to Langley. So let’s see how fast we can drive a hundred and twenty miles,” he said as they plunged onto the E-20. Traffic cops be damned.

  * * *

  TWENTY MINUTES WENT BY before they spoke again.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly. You are very good at your job, but despite the rescue, you and I still have an unsettled debt.”

  “You’re welcome, and whatever,” Kyle responded. “We will straighten up sometime in the future. There’s something more important at hand right now, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “What bomb did the old man want to stop?”

  “Nothing. He believes I put a necklace of C-four around his wife’s neck, but it was just a roll of Play-Doh with a dud detonator. It will not go off. Even so, it will be several hours before they wiggle out of the tape, and then the mayor is going to have to explain how he lost two cops and his prized CIA spook.”

  “You have a cold, dead heart,” she said.


  “Warm and fuzzy doesn’t get the job done in this line of work.”

  They lapsed back into silence for another ten miles, letting the cool night air rush through the open windows. “Do you know anything about the status of my network?” she finally asked.

  “No. I doubt if it exists any longer. The Agency probably pulled the plug and warned them all to take off as soon as you went missing. You can ask the people at Langley.” He leaned his head back, adjusted the seat down and to the rear. The Volvo went on cruise control at eighty.

  Ten more minutes of quiet, and few cars passed in the night. No headlights loomed in the mirrors. “Tell me about Anneli.” This time her voice was softer. “What happened?”

  “You sure we need to do this right now?”

  “I know you did not personally kill her,” said Hollings. “We still have an hour on the road. Help me understand. I really, really liked that girl.”

  Without emotion, Kyle told her the story and when he was done, Calico said, “She wanted to go?”

  “Yes, it was her choice. I am glad she went because she proved to be a valuable asset. Just like when we snatched that prisoner during the war games. I really liked her, too.”

  “And she was not just another tool for you to use? I know how you are, how you put mission before everything. And your rep with women stinks.”

  “Anneli saved my life by giving her own, Calico. Do you think that I can ever forget that? When she died, something inside me went away, too. So whatever you want to do to me, go ahead and take your best shot. I don’t give a shit. Enough of that for now.”

  It was almost one o’clock, the beginning of Tuesday morning. In eight hours, Russian tanks would be on the Narva Bridge.

  IVANGOROD, RUSSIA

  A lone figure stalked the ancient battlements of the Ivangorod Fortress, looking to the west and planning the future. Valery Levchenko had arrived about midnight, and after reviewing plans with the local staff, he gave in to temptation. Like generations of generals before him, he climbed up to the highest point and peered with lust at the rich panorama right across the Narva River. The night chill invigorated the man from St. Petersburg, and his obvious confidence inspired his soldiers. It was an impure dark, with a fog hanging on the river like a gray beast, and clouds cut off the moonlight. If he couldn’t see over there, the enemy couldn’t see over here, even if they had been looking.