Long Shot
Page 29
Thompson, in response, canceled DefCon Four and resumed DefCon Two.
Pushkin declared that the situation had stabilized all along the border, even in the northern climes of the Arctic Circle. The traitorous Levchenko had been in command of that area, too. Troops were told to stand down.
“One last thing, Vladimir,” said President Thompson. “We have this defector, a colonel Ivan Strakov, who, apparently, had watched the success and celebrity of Edward Snowden and hoped to get the same treatment from us. He was working with Levchenko to take the Baltics … against your expressed policy.”
“Christopher, are you asking for an exchange: Snowden for Strakov?” The Russian was curious.
“Not at all. You can have Strakov back for free, if you want him.”
Pushkin chuckled. “No deal, Mr. President. We have no use for such a worm. Do with him what you wish.”
“Then let us get back to work, President Pushkin. I’ve got an angry Congress to deal with on budget matters.”
“Have a good day, President Thompson.”
* * *
THE COLORFUL CHANGE OF command ceremony in Brussels had gone without a hitch and Fred Ravensdale turned over his keys as deputy supreme allied commander for NATO with proper pomp and ceremony. Afterward, he was helicoptered out to the Vagabond for a few days of rest on the way home to England and his new job with CJTF 10. The yacht would cruise leisurely across the Strait of Dover, out into open water, and then up the Thames River to deposit everybody on the piers of London, and take a bit of time doing so.
The Vagabond was already swimming in deep water, headed due north, and Swanson joined the small group on the rear sun deck. Jeff and Ravensdale were side by side in high-back chairs at a long table spread with snacks and drinks for afternoon tea. Trevor Dash, the captain, was chewing a cookie and giving his passengers the current schedule. They would continue into the fringes of the North Sea overnight, then head east to London the next morning. Easy seas all the way. Should dock about this time tomorrow, he said. Kyle pulled up a chair on the other side of the table.
“Watch out for icebergs, Trevor.” Swanson dug out another beer. Afternoon tea was not his thing.
“Thank you for that vital warning, Kyle. We would never have thought about that on our own. I shall see you gentlemen at dinner.” Dash toured a lap around the deck to check details, then went up to the bridge. Privately, he spread the word for all crew members to confine their work for the next hour to the forward decks. No exceptions. If asked why, he told them to keep a sharp watch for icebergs. No one was to even look aft until further orders.
Jeff and Kyle kept the conversation vague for a while, talking about the never-ending and expensive American election cycles and contrasting them to the quick, cheap British voting rules. Cornwell looked over at his guest and asked, “Are you thinking about getting into politics, Freddie? When you retire?”
“Absolutely not,” the general replied. “No desire at all.”
“Too bad. Government needs good men.”
Kyle put his beer on the white tablecloth and leaned back, seeing that the sky was blue forever. “I have a question, General Ravensdale, if you don’t mind.”
“Ask away,” Ravensdale replied. He was in an excellent mood. It was finished. All over. Nothing had happened. His blood pressure was back to normal and last night he had slept a full seven hours. The only aching point was that Arial was not answering her cell phone. But now he was aboard a huge luxurious yacht, dressed in relaxed seagoing whites, from boat shoes to an old pair of cricket slacks and a linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was nice to just be among friends and have a good time.
“Well, when I got back to the boat a few days ago as things heated up, I had a call from a friend at our Department of State. He says that you called the Finnish Intelligence Service back when all this first began and gave them my arrival date, place and time. That started the ball rolling. Why make that call?”
He saw the lines tighten slightly around the eyes and mouth as Ravensdale coughed a little embarrassed laugh. “We have gone over all of this before, Kyle. I simply was making sure that you met with Strakov as soon as possible. You were the only person to whom he would speak.”
Swanson smiled. “Yes. That’s right. So I was thrown out of Finland the very next day to be sure I got there in a hurry.”
“Just so. And you did!” Sir Jeff took a triangle of cucumber and cream cheese sandwich as he watched the verbal exchange. “Played hardball with us, Freddie.”
“Just business.” The general shrugged.
“Then a few days later, when my team was down in Kaliningrad, I watched the Russians reposition their big guns until all were pointing south, toward Poland,” said Kyle. “No firebase would ever bet all of its firepower on a single azimuth without good reason, and our girl Anneli mentioned there was a rush of last-minute orders that she could not understand. Then the guard was doubled on our escape route and a BTR-80 was activated. At first, I thought they were just showing off for the arriving two-star, but I was wrong.” He looked directly at Ravensdale. “They knew we were coming.”
The man shifted his position. “We must never underestimate the Russian’s intelligence network. As I recall from our earlier conversation, you worried that there were a lot of unknown parts to that job. They moved quickly, but not fast enough. You still got your man; good for you.”
“Thanks. I had help. Then a short time later, the Russians kidnapped our spy, Calico, down in Narva. I got to thinking, which is never good for a jarhead marine like me, and is why I leave that stuff to officers. Anyway, Anneli had accidentally dropped the code name of Calico during the quick briefing I gave aboard this ship. Coincidences add up, General Ravensdale.”
“Kyle, are you saying that I am responsible for these situations? Preposterous.” The general was feeling an angry heat rising at the base of his neck.
Swanson got up from his chair and drank some beer. “Let me continue before you get too high and mighty. Before coming out to the Vagabond, I had a final meeting with Ivan Strakoff.”
“Excellent. Did he provide more information on the northern situation? I would be interested in anything he said.”
“Not exactly.” Kyle smirked. “I told him the decision had been made in both Washington and Moscow that he was a worthless piece of shit, and had no information that we wanted. The man was a master manipulator, and just as he had pretended to be a sniper to infiltrate my sniper course many years ago, he was now flying a false flag to masquerade as a cyberwar expert. He had been trained by computer experts just enough to be dangerous, but Colonel Markey nailed him right away on the technical stuff.”
“The man was nothing but a fraud,” said Sir Jeff. “He was trying to maneuver us into a full war to take the Baltic States.”
“Thank God we stopped that.” Ravensdale could not stand up because the table was in the way.
“Anyway, I had the pleasure of telling Ivan that the good news was that he was not going to go rot in Guantánamo. We’re a bit overcrowded down there and President Thompson wants to close the place. So I informed Ivan that we were turning him over to Turkey, where he would be kept in a dungeon for the rest of his life.”
Ravensdale was fighting to remain calm. “That is a fitting punishment for his kind,” he said. “Another good job by you, Kyle.”
“But Ivan didn’t give up easily. He said that he had something else to trade, something really important. At first, I thought he was just blowing more smoke, but I told him if it was worthwhile, we might still get him into Guantánamo. And guess what? He earned his orange jumpsuit and a ticket to sunny Cuba instead of rotting in Istanbul!”
Ravensdale was very quiet. He politely lifted the china teacup with its saucer and took a sip.
“He gave up you, General Ravensdale.”
“What poppycock! Cornwell, are you just going to sit there and listen to this man spew insults at an old friend?”
“Actually,
he brings up some interesting points,” said Sir Jeff. “Kyle, please continue.”
Swanson was ready. “So investigators questioned some of your NATO compatriots, who said you continued pushing hard to transfer troops to the north even after the danger to Estonia became obvious to everyone else. Even when your boss ordered everything to remain in place!”
“That was my new job, you fool!”
“The final straw was when your staff members revealed your new German mistress. Even a quick look at her finances and background by the computer boys and girls turned up links to the Russians. Arial Printas was arrested last night and, just like Ivan, made a deal to save her own ass.” Swanson paused for a breath. He could hardly believe this trail of facts that showed how a man of impeccable reputation had sold out.
“I barely know the woman!” It was a poor and obvious bluff.
“She had the whole thing on video, General. She handed it over.”
Ravensdale finally fell silent, rooted in position by his guilt.
“You were the mole all along, Freddie-boy. You have been in Moscow’s pocket for years. God only knows how much damage you have done. I should kill you right where you stand.”
Sir Jeff gave a sharp grunt. “No, Kyle. Leave him alone. Freddie has been my friend for many years, and we will deal with this. Leave us for a few minutes. Please?”
Swanson stalked off to the stern, propped against the rail with his back to the dark waters of the North Sea, and watched the two older men still sitting there, drinking fuckin’ tea and talking as if nothing unusual had just taken place. He opened a storage box.
“Well, now, Freddie. It does seem that you are in a bit of jam, doesn’t it?” Sir Jeff kept his voice low. “Traitor and all that. I never would have believed it of you. I saw some of the video. Astonishing.”
Ravensdale felt some of the tension leave him as Swanson stayed far away. “I never meant for it to happen. They trapped me and I foolishly played along, hoping not to do harm until they went away.”
Jeff clapped his hands together once, a sound of finality, then put them in his lap. “Let us resolve this situation, then. You cannot escape from this yacht, and you will embarrass the queen and government if you are publicly exposed. Not to mention smearing the army and especially our beloved SAS. You really are quite a disgrace, old man.”
“Does that mean Swanson is going to kill me out here? Just dump my body overboard?”
“That really all depends upon you, Freddie. We can do it that way if you choose, but let me offer an alternative.” Jeff lifted up a Glock 17 Gen4 handgun that had been beneath his hip and placed it on the table. The weapon was loaded with a single 9mm round, a close-quarters bullet that would explode on impact and not go through the target.
“Take this and go over by the railing, put it to your head and pull the trigger, Freddie. It ends there. The official story will be that you suffered a heart attack while on the way to London and we buried you at sea. A memorial service with full honors will be held in London.”
“Swanson or myself, eh?”
“Yes. Quite. But please, let’s just get on with it, shall we?”
“Suppose I shoot you instead?” Ravenscroft had not yet touched the weapon.
“That, I fear, is not possible.” Jeff pulled out a second Glock. “This one has a full magazine.” He lost his smile and commanded, “Go.”
Ravensdale stood and brushed off his trousers and straightened his shirt. One look aft showed him Swanson standing there holding an M-4 rifle. Jeff was pointing his own pistol. The general let out a long sigh, looked around, smelled the ocean, heard the gulls and picked up the gun. It was only four strides to the rail, and he took them, then with a fluid motion, he brought up the pistol and blew his brains out.
Swanson trotted back just as Trevor Dash arrived from the bridge. Together, they picked up the body and hurled it into the passing water. It landed with a big splash, bobbed in the wake, then vanished from sight. Jeff reached for a cookie and Swanson and Dash sat beside him. A crewman came back and flushed away the bloody debris with a high-powered hose before it could stain the deck or the side of the yacht.
“So, are you ready to fly back to Washington? We’ve got a business to run, you know.” Jeff did not seem disturbed, but why should he be? Ravensdale had sold out his country and gotten the fate he had so richly earned.
“I was talking to Marty Atkins about that last night,” said Kyle. “My original mission was to take out two jihadi fools, one in Rome and the other in Egypt. I had to postpone the second one when Ivan Strakov popped onto the screen and really screwed things up. Now I want to finish that assignment. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
Jeff Cornwell closed his eyes and rested beneath the warm sky. “I understand. Get back as soon as you can.”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “I will.”
ALSO BY JACK COUGHLIN
NONFICTION
Shooter: The Autobiography of the Top-Ranked Marine Sniper
(with Capt. Casey Kuhlman and Donald A. Davis)
Shock Factor: American Snipers in the War on Terror
(with John R. Bruning)
FICTION, with Donald A. Davis
Kill Zone
Dead Shot
Clean Kill
An Act of Treason
Running the Maze
Time to Kill
On Scope
Night of the Cobra
ALSO BY DONALD A. DAVIS
Lightning Strike
The Last Man on the Moon (with Gene Cernan)
Dark Waters (with Lee Vyborny)
About the Authors
Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin was with the Third Battalion, Fourth Marines during the drive to Baghdad and has operated on a wide range of assignments in hotspots around the world. You can sign up for email updates here.
With
Donald A. Davis is the author of twenty-six books, including multiple New York Times bestsellers. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Also by Jack Coughlin and Donald A. Davis
About the Authors
Copyright
LONG SHOT. Copyright © 2016 by Jack Coughlin and Donald A. Davis. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Jerry Todd
Cover photograph © Oleg Zabielin/Shutterstock
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07295-5 (hardcover)
&
nbsp; ISBN 978-1-4668-8490-8 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466884908
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First Edition: August 2016