Gates of Dawn (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 12)

by Trevor Scott

  The shore inched closer, so Jake cut the power even more, almost to an idle.

  He watched the screen closely, seeing that his son’s location was in a grove of thick trees in the center of the north part of the island.

  As his eyes went back to the outer edge of the island, he saw that he was just feet away now. He pulled the throttle back, through the neutral point and into reverse. Then he set the throttle to neutral and let the boat drift inward until it finally slid into the shore. Luckily he didn’t hit any rocks.

  He turned off the motor and went to the bow. Stepping ashore into high grass, Jake pulled out the tie-down rope and hefted the boat onto the shore. He considered tying off the boat to something, but there wasn’t anything here to use.

  Glancing at his phone again, he saw that he was about a hundred meters to his son’s location. Assuming he was still there.

  Jake turned off his phone screen and went dark, waiting for a few minutes to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he slowly moved in the direction of his son, taking it nice and easy, quietly picking his footing. The ground was like a floating bog in some places. Suddenly he would lose one of his legs in a hole and have to pull it up carefully so he wouldn’t lose his hiking cross-training shoes—which were entirely inadequate for this terrain.

  After Jake had traveled at least 75 meters, he stopped and listened carefully. He was about to quietly call out Karl’s name when something hit him solidly, knocking him off his feet and into the spongy surface.

  Jake took a glancing strike to the left side of his head and he realized a man was on top of him. “Karl,” Jake yelled. Then he grasped onto the man and hugged his torso tightly.

  “Captain Adams,” Jake said. “I’m a friendly.”

  The man in his arms suddenly stopped struggling and Jake pulled away, sitting into the soft, wet moss. He found his small flashlight in his jacket pocket and clicked it on, shining the light first at his son, who was dirty and more resembled a wild beast than a human. Then Jake shone the light on his own face.

  “Dad?” Karl said to Jake.

  It was the first time Jake had heard his son use that term, since they had only met at Toni’s funeral and one other time since then.

  Karl collapsed into Jake’s arms and he held on with all his might. His son was dirty and cold and wet. But he was alive, and that’s all that mattered.

  Jake’s phone buzzed and he looked at the text. It was from the Air Force colonel in Tallinn. The message read, ‘Get out!’

  That’s when, through the wind and the rain, Jake heard the sound of a boat approaching.

  “Are you ready to move?” Jake asked his son.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Because the Russians are coming.”

  Jake pulled on his son’s arm in the direction of his boat. If the Russians found their boat, they would both be toast—rotting in a Moscow prison for years. Or worse.

  11

  Jake rushed through the darkness, tripping and stumbling occasionally over underbrush and boggy sinkholes. He could hear his son keeping up with him, his footfalls just behind him.

  When Jake stopped suddenly, Karl nearly knocked Jake over. Then Jake stooped low in the grassy marsh near the edge of the island. He had pulled his boat ashore, but he knew the stern was still visible to any passing boat.

  The patrol boat cruised slowly by the island about a hundred meters away. Only a small white light was visible at the bow of the boat. Luckily those aboard the boat had not turned on a spotlight.

  Moments later and the boat disappeared around the southern point of the island.

  “Now what?” Karl whispered.

  “Hang on.” Jake pulled out his phone and texted the Air Force colonel. Almost immediately he got a response.

  “You texting your girlfriend?” his son asked.

  “Not quite. Our friends in the Air Force have a surveillance drone overhead.”

  “Outstanding. But we have to get to the Estonian coast.”

  “I’m working on it, kid.”

  “Why are you alone?”

  “Because this island is on Russian soil. It’s not like our military can send in a chopper.”

  “I know,” Karl said. “I was about to make a swim for the Estonian coast tonight.”

  Without looking at his son, Jake said, “You should have done that last night.”

  “The patrols were constant,” Karl explained. “But no excuses. You’re right, dad.”

  Jake wasn’t used to anyone calling him that. Truthfully, he didn’t deserve the title. Not yet. Sure, until two years ago he didn’t even know he had a son. But what was his excuse during the past two years?

  “Are you armed?” Karl asked.

  Jake laughed and said, “Of course. I’m never without protection. I have a Glock 17 with two extra mags.”

  “Fifty-one rounds. Nice.”

  “Fifty-two, with the one in the chamber.”

  “Right. Anything for me?”

  He looked at his son and could barely make out a smirk on the younger man’s face. It was like looking in a mirror from his past. “I’ll get you one,” Jake finally said. “Let’s go.”

  They moved quietly through the high weeds until they reached the bow of the boat Jake had acquired. Jake pushed the boat out part way. As he helped his son into the boat, Jake realized that the young man was starting to shiver. He guessed Karl had been moving toward hypothermia. He was probably dehydrated and starving, Jake guessed.

  Once his son got aboard, Jake gave the boat a final shove and then jumped in.

  “Get down low,” Jake ordered his son as he got behind the wheel.

  Karl hunkered down in the stern near the motor, wrapping his arms around his trunk.

  Jake turned the key to start the motor and the beast wouldn’t start. It simply sputtered a couple of times and spewed smoke. Damn thing had to be Russian made, Jake thought. He cranked it over again and got the same result.

  “Dad,” Karl said.

  Jake turned and said, “Just call me Jake.”

  “Yeah, well Jake, we’ve got company.”

  He turned and saw that the boat had circumnavigated the island and was now crossing around the north east end.

  Jake cranked the motor again a couple of times. Finally, the motor started and sputtered. He gave it some throttle and tried to maintain a level just above idle. At least until he was sure the motor would stay running.

  “Jake,” his son said loudly. “Two hundred meters.”

  Turning to see for himself, Jake guessed the Russians were even closer than that. So he pushed on the throttle and the boat lurched forward, its bow rising high out of the water until Jake could trim it off and level them. Then he slowly brought the throttle up to full speed.

  Now a spotlight came on illuminating them to the Russians. Jake waited for them to demand they stop. But instead, he heard the distinct sound of gunfire from an AK-47. Bullets splashed to the right of the boat, and Jake guessed they were either the worst shots in Russia, or those were simply warning shots.

  Turning back to look at his son, Jake could see either concern or fear. Maybe a little of both.

  “Give me your gun,” Karl yelled as he crawled forward to the console.

  “I can’t let you shoot at them,” Jake said.

  “Why?”

  “You’re active duty Army. You know how to drive one of these?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep us pointed to the west,” Jake demanded.

  Then Jake swapped positions with his son and took up a seat at the stern with a view of the boat chasing them. It was a bigger boat and should have been able to overtake them without much of a problem. But for some reason they remained back at a responsible distance.

  When the second salvo of bullets shot up toward them, it seemed like they were coming much closer to their boat. That had Jake thinking they wanted them alive. They needed to use the two of them for propaganda. If the Russians caught them, they would t
urn them into a carnival sideshow. Jake couldn’t let that happen.

  Looking forward, Jake could see that they were closing in on the Estonian coast. In fact, they had to already be in Estonian waters. He turned back and drew his gun, aiming it at the front hull of the Russian craft. Then he shot three times.

  The Russian boat pilot swerved to the right and then back until they were in direct pursuit again. But when they turned, Jake could see how many men they had aboard their boat. At least four, he guessed. Maybe more.

  “Now what?” Karl yelled over his shoulder. His son was hunkered down as low as he could get in the seat and still see over the steering wheel.

  “Can you see the canal ahead?”

  “It’s to the right,” Karl said.

  “Head up that.”

  “Are you sure? It doesn’t look very deep.”

  That’s what Jake was hoping.

  “Go there,” Jake ordered.

  His son turned the boat to the right and their tail corrected course to keep up with them. Only the Russian spotlight allowed them to see anything. By now they were within a hundred meters of the Estonian shoreline and the entrance to one of the canals Jake had viewed on the map.

  Now Jake turned and saw that the Russians were content to just follow them to Estonian soil. These people were brash, Jake thought. That’s not how the old KGB used to act. There were rules and everyone knew them.

  Then the Russians started shooting again. This time a couple of bullets struck the stern of the boat and the motor. Damn it! After ducking, Jake rose up and aimed at the boat. He slowly fired until his first magazine was spent. His bullets hit their mark, taking out the large spotlight. But that hurt them as well. Now they were running blind toward the coast and the narrow canal.

  “Jake,” Karl yelled. “I’ve got no view of the shoreline.”

  First Jake replaced his empty magazine with a full one, releasing the slide and shoving a fresh round into the chamber. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small LED flashlight. He clicked it on and aimed it toward the shore.

  But by now they were extremely close. Luckily, Karl saw this and cut the motor to half throttle. Then found the canal, but just barely in time.

  Then the motor propeller hit something and Jake found himself flying forward past the console. Jake picked himself up and handed the flashlight to his son. Now he turned and aimed his gun at the Russians.

  He saw the flashes before he heard the gunfire.

  Jake returned fire, trying his best to hit center mass on the boat. After he had shot about half a magazine, the Russian boat suddenly lurched as it hit the same sandbar that they had run into. But their boat was much larger, sitting lower also with all the people. When the Russians hit the sandbar, those on the boat were thrown forward against the deep hull. One man flew over the bow.

  Now Jake and Karl continued forward until the water turned to overgrown tall grass and they too hit bottom. But Karl had slowed them enough so they barely lost their footing.

  Karl shut down the engine.

  Jake holstered his gun and said, “This way.” He climbed over the side and into water to his knees.

  His son did the same.

  Then together they headed up over the canal bank and into tall weeds, moving to the west. Always to the west.

  12

  Kadri Kask had taken over driving for Jake more than an hour ago. As soon as they had rounded a corner, her partner, Hans Vaino, had crawled forward into the front passenger seat so the Russians would probably not notice a change. Then Kadri had simply driven randomly around the city of Narva at a reasonable pace, trying her best to not let the Russians know that she knew they were there.

  Now, she was getting sick of escorting those Russian bastards around town while the American got to go rescue the Army soldier. Sure she had a vested interest in his return. It was her fault that Karl had been taken in the first place. Her stomach was aching with the thought of Karl ending up in a Moscow prison. She had lost way too much sleep over the past few days. Did she care too much? These were new feelings for her. She had always tried to compartmentalize her feelings to the mission. But something had changed this time. Something she was having a hard time understanding.

  “What’s the matter?” Hans asked her. Then he glanced back in the side mirror at the Russian car still tailing them.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have been my partner long enough for me to know something is bothering you,” he said.

  She turned right and headed back toward the river that split Narva with Ivangorod, Russia. This had to be at least the third time they had traveled this road.

  “They will know we are on to them,” she said, ignoring his question.

  “Russians are nothing if not patient,” he said. “Now answer my question. What has you so bothered?”

  Kadri turned to Hans and said, “Why are you not bothered? We lost our friend and asset.”

  “Karl?” Hans asked. “He is a soldier and understood the risks involved.”

  “Still. . .” She shook her head and bit her lower lip.

  “You like Karl,” he observed. “It’s obvious.”

  “I would be just as concerned if they had taken you,” she assured him.

  “Not more?”

  She shook her head. “You can be an asshole.”

  “That goes with the job.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have to be so good at it.” She glanced back at the Russians. Part of her liked to know they were still there. That meant they were not involved with Jake as he tried to find Karl.

  Suddenly her partner’s phone buzzed and he looked at an incoming text.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A police friend here in Narva,” Hans said as he typed something back into his phone.

  Kadri drove along the river toward the downtown area in light traffic. Not many folks driving around this evening, she thought. With the nasty weather, that made sense.

  “What does your girlfriend say?” Kadri asked. She gave her partner crap for his female police contacts around the country. For some reason most of the man’s contacts were women. And he never told his wife about these female friends.

  “Reports of gunfire out on the reservoir,” Hans said.

  “What?”

  “Afraid so. She heard the shots herself. She said it sounded like automatic machine gun firing.”

  She knew that Jake had only a 9mm handgun. This was not good news. Kadri glanced back at the car tailing them and knew she needed to finally lose them. She cranked the wheel hard and hit the gas, powering the rental car through the gears. The light turned red just before she flew through the downtown intersection. Then she heard sirens and knew the local police would be busy responding to the reports of gunfire.

  “What are you doing?” Hans asked, his left hand grasping his seat and his right hand grabbing hold of the hand-hold above the door.

  “Losing these assholes.” She flipped through the gears like a Formula One driver slapping shift paddles.

  “And then what?” Hans asked. “Assuming you don’t kill us first.”

  “Jake and Karl will need a ride.”

  •

  As Jake led his son through one of the most inhospitable bogs and swamps imaginable, he kept an eye on his phone GPS navigator. Once they had traveled about a mile through the snarl, Jake turned north toward a road that would vector back toward the city of Narva.

  Jake hesitated for a minute, sitting on a wet mossy pile while he caught his breath. He had to admit this stuff was hard on his old legs. Hell, it would have been hard on his twenty-five-year-old legs.

  “You all right, dad?” Karl asked.

  He looked up at his son and realized he was twenty-five and barely breathing hard at all. “Yeah,” Jake said. “Just trying to figure out our next move.”

  Karl sat next to Jake. “I take it you have a ride set up.”

  Looking at his phone, Jake saw that he still had a couple
of bars, but his battery needed a charge soon. He typed in the number for the female KAPO officer and then realized she would probably still be driving and couldn’t answer his text. So he changed to her male partner, the stork, and called instead of texting.

  “Hello,” Hans answered. “You need a ride?”

  “What’s that noise?” Jake asked.

  “My partner trying to beat the crap out of your rental car,” he said. “I hope you took out the insurance.”

  Then in the background Jake could hear the female agent say something in Estonian, and Jake guessed she was swearing at Hans. In English Kadri said, “Ask if he got our friend.”

  “Did you get the package?” Hans asked, keeping their conversation clean in case the Russians were monitoring them.

  “Yes. He’s a little drunk, though. He’ll need a ride home.”

  “Understood,” Hans said. “On our way. As soon as we get rid of some cockroaches.”

  “They can be difficult,” Jake agreed.

  Just then he could see the lights from a car driving along the road ahead. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile through the bog. The car cruised by without stopping.

  “Are you home?” Hans asked.

  “Will be in about ten minutes.”

  “Understood.”

  “Gotta go,” Jake said, shoving his phone in his pocket. Then he stood up and glanced at his son.

  “Is that the Agency?” Karl asked.

  “Not ours. Friends of yours.”

  “Kadri and Hans?” Karl asked excitedly.

  “Yep.”

  Jake pushed forward faster than before, knowing their ride was on the way. When they got to the embankment leading up to the road, they paused to catch their breath. His phone buzzed in his pants and Jake retrieved it with some difficulty, since his pants had gotten wet to his belt level. The I.D. read, ‘Joe’s Body Shop.’ He had to smile at that.

  Jake clicked on the call and said, “I don’t have a car.”

  “I’m sure one is on the way.” It was Kurt Jenkins, the former CIA Director.

  “Make it fast. My phone is about to die.”