by Joshua Hood
Renee was frustrated as she sat in the Jeep, waiting for Joseph to join her. There was no time to waste; she had a job to do. When she was gone, Joseph could go back to domestic life, but right now they needed to move.
Renee had tried her hand at balancing work and love, and she’d failed miserably. During her first deployment, she had been naive enough to think her relationship with Jonas was the real thing. But the reality quickly became obvious. He had wanted her to be two people, an equal during the day but subservient at night. Their relationship had died before they ever left Kuwait, and Jonas had gotten himself transferred to another unit by the time they landed in Iraq.
Joseph worked for the Department of Defense, and according to his file, he had requested to come back to the States five times in the last two years. Being an operative wasn’t exactly conducive to having a family, and Renee understood, but he still had a job to do. The fact that she’d wasted so much time driving out to his house annoyed her the most. Personal issues were a by-product of the job, but Joseph was coming with her one way or the other.
“Sorry to take you away from meatloaf,” Renee said when he finally got into the Jeep.
“Just shut up and drive.”
“There, there, little bear, national security comes first,” she laughed as she backed out of the drive.
“Women,” he huffed. “Since I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, you mind telling me what the plan is?”
“Help me figure this out. Jim Green is the chief of station, right?”
“We don’t call them that, we call them the agent in charge,” he replied.
“Okay, well, as the agent in charge, why is he pulling your surveillance package? My guess is that he doesn’t like taking orders from a girl, but I could be wrong.”
“But the Riyadh transfer was legit. Hell, he signed off on it.”
Renee had learned the hard way that men had a huge problem taking orders from a woman. As a member of Task Force 111, Renee was the tip of the spear when it came to tracking high-value targets for the military, but the job came with more than its share of bullshit. The Special Operations community was an all-boys club, and they felt that women were being forced on them. Since she had the dubious honor of being the only operational female in her unit, Renee was seen as the enemy.
The government had long ago cracked the network of accounts that rich jihadists used to finance terror cells, and the large amount of cash was cause for concern.
“I wouldn’t think Jim Green would jeopardize his career for something so juvenile,” Joseph said. “He can’t wish to be the assistant agent in charge his whole life.”
“Yeah, well, some people have a hard time seeing the whole picture. I’ve got someone working on the phone issue. The doctor might have shut off his work phone, but he doesn’t go anywhere without being able to talk to his mistress.”
“That’s pretty slick, Renee.”
“I try.” Her phone rang, interrupting the conversation.
The caller ID read “Blocked number,” which told her it was coming from a secure line. She knew immediately it was her contact in the NSA, a fellow Southerner whom she’d first met in Somalia.
“What’s up, Sammy? Tell me you have good news.”
“Yeah, I have the phone. He’s on the freeway heading for the airport.”
“I need to know where he’s going.”
“Well, I can’t tell you that, I’m not a mind reader. Hold on.” The muffled rustling on the other end told her he had placed his hand over the phone. Despite his attempt to block the receiver she could hear someone else talking in the background.
“Renee, he’s getting a call on another line. We’re trying to triangulate it right now.”
“I need that phone.”
She could hear a flurry of keystrokes and then another muted voice was talking in the background. “All right, I’ve got audio, just stand by for a second.”
Renee pulled onto the freeway and headed toward the airport.
“Okay, he’s off the phone and headed to 976 Mayweather. It’s a parking garage just south of the freeway.”
They were ten minutes out from the meet-up. Renee pulled over on the side of the road and had Joseph take the driver’s seat so she could get her camera ready.
Renee plugged the address into the SUV’s GPS and Joseph followed the red line right to a bunch of warehouses behind the airport. No matter what country she found herself in, it always seemed to get shitty around the airports. Renee checked the focus on the camera’s lens as Joseph pulled onto a side street about a block south of the parking garage.
She got out and stood on the corner of the street. Through the camera she could clearly see the entrance. But once the targets went inside she’d be blind.
“I need a better spot,” she muttered.
The target had picked a perfect place to conduct countersurveillance, and it was impossible for her to see anything from where she was. The parking garage dominated the high ground and had an excellent field of view of the only access road. Renee knew that if they left the concealment of the side street, they’d be caught out in the open.
There wasn’t any time to move the Jeep.
“Do you want me to move or not?”
“Just hold on,” she said.
Joseph was keyed up. Maybe it was the fight with his wife or maybe he was just tired, but the usually implacable agent was on edge. Surveillance was a passive art and required patience and proper positioning. His boss’s chicken-shit move had cost them the positioning, and Joseph was straining her patience.
“There’s Dr. Keating’s car,” Joseph said as a black BMW pulled into the lot.
Renee lifted her trusty Nikon and snapped a few shots of the car and the plate as it flew into the garage. The camera’s sturdy black housing was dinged and scratched from countless operations around the Mideast, but it was still as functional as it had been the day she bought it. It was her safety blanket and one of her only real possessions.
She checked the images on the digital display just as a Chevy Malibu crept down the street and pulled into the target location. Renee knew she had to move or risk missing the meeting.
“This spot isn’t going to work. Keep your radio on and don’t do anything until I get back,” she told Joseph.
Something told her not to leave Joseph by himself. The man was a solid partner and had spent his time in the shit, but she had a feeling he’d gotten sloppy since coming back from the Mideast.
But Renee knew she couldn’t worry about him right now. She just didn’t have any more time to dick around. She found an alley ten feet behind the Jeep and sprinted to the first fire escape she saw. Slipping the camera strap over her head, she jumped for the bottom rung of the metal ladder. It creaked under her weight but held as she pulled herself up. She scrambled up to an open window and slipped inside.
The building’s interior smelled worse than the alley. The floors and exposed metal beams were covered in pigeon shit and a fine layer of dust, and insulation covered everything that hadn’t already been looted. But a grimy window on the north side provided her an excellent vantage point on the garage.
Making sure that her shadow didn’t flare across the glass, she took her position and brought the garage into focus. Once she was set, she slipped an earpiece into her ear and hit the transmit button on her radio.
“I’m good.”
“Okay,” Joseph replied.
The meeting was on the third level of the four-story garage. Two cars were pulled into the shadows, but the Nikon was set up for low-light shots and she could see everything despite the darkness.
She snapped a string of shots before giving Joseph an update. “I’ve got three guys pulling security, plus the two targets.”
The three men had the swagger of ex-military. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but to the trained eye, it was just another uniform. Each man wore the huge Suunto watch loved by Special Ops troops. The watches were made in Finland and had
replaced the coveted Rolexes of the Vietnam era.
Her target, Decklin, was dressed in a tailored suit and looked nothing like the Department of the Army photo that was in the database. He’d changed a lot since being bounced from the military and graduating from being a thug for hire to running his own team of ex-soldiers who sold their skills to the highest bidder.
The man got around, that was for sure, but what her boss back in Afghanistan needed to know was why he was here. Her team had lost him two weeks ago in Pakistan, and it had been a stroke of luck that the NSA had picked him up making a call in northern Mali before catching a flight to the States.
His dark beard and olive complexion gave him the illusion of respectability that his file adamantly contradicted. The man had a nasty reputation and the ability to move almost invisibly from one continent to the next. They called him the Ghost, and the nickname, like his reputation, was well earned.
Zooming in with the camera, Renee saw Decklin hand the doctor a bulging manila envelope and stand patiently as Keating counted the money inside. Zooming in with the camera, Renee saw that it was a lot of cash. He didn’t trust the doctor, and like most men in the business, he paid half at order and half on delivery.
The doctor stuffed the envelope in his pocket and then popped the trunk of his BMW with his key fob. He lifted a heavy black Pelican case out and, after closing the trunk, laid it on the car. He popped the latches and opened the lid, revealing a row of silver stainless steel tubes.
“Package is in the open.”
“How many does he have?”
“Looks like five or six.”
“That’s too many, we can’t let them leave,” Joseph said.
Renee heard the growing concern in her partner’s voice, but their orders were clear. “We’re not here for that. I need you to stay put,” she warned.
The radio was silent.
“Joseph, do you copy?”
Through the camera she could see that the meeting was wrapping up. Decklin handed the case to one of his men and was shaking the doctor’s hand when Renee noticed a subtle shift in his body language.
His posture became rigid, and his hand moved up to his head as if to tuck his hair behind his ear. It was an awkward movement and it didn’t fit.
“What are you doing?” Renee said to herself.
She held her breath and waited.
Decklin’s carefree attitude had been replaced by a military concentration. Something was wrong.
Focusing in on his ear, Renee discovered a small earpiece just as Decklin turned and looked toward where the Jeep was parked. She knew he couldn’t see anything from the garage, but somehow they’d been compromised.
Renee ducked out of the window. Had someone seen her?
“Joseph, there’s someone watching,” she said as she leaned out with the camera and began scanning the garage for a spotter.
The radio was silent.
“Joseph, I need you to respond.”
Her heart began beating faster as she scanned the top of the garage. The gray concrete whizzed through the lens like a landscape from a moving car. She was still waiting for Joseph’s reply when she found the sniper.
He was laid out on the top floor near the shedlike roof access. If Renee hadn’t been actively searching for him, she’d never have found his position. It was only the years of real-world combat experience that made her give the awkward outline a second glance.
“Sniper on the roof, northeast corner,” she called out dutifully.
It had been a good five seconds since her last transmission and still the radio was quiet.
“Say again, I dropped the radio,” Joseph finally said breathlessly.
“There is a sniper on the roof. Something alerted Decklin and the package is on the move.”
“What?”
Something about his succinct reply had a guilty edge to it that Renee couldn’t miss. “Joseph, what did you do?”
Renee watched the doctor’s BMW pull out of its parking space and head for the exit. Decklin was a picture of indifference as he lowered himself into his car and closed the door. His reverse lights lit up the gloomy interior of the garage as Renee lowered the camera and backed away from the window.
“What the hell did you do?” she demanded, slipping out the window and onto the fire escape.
“I can see the target’s car coming out of the garage,” Joseph said, ignoring her question.
Renee slid down the ladder and dropped the four feet into the alley. The jolt from the short fall stung her feet like a thousand needles. It reminded her of when she was a kid and had “practiced” flying by jumping off the swings at school.
Coming around the corner, she realized that the Jeep had been moved. It was almost to the edge of the alley now and they had seen it.
She hopped into the backseat and snatched up the laptop that lay on the floor.
“What the hell did you do?” she demanded as she connected the camera to the laptop with a USB cable. “Why did you move the truck? Are you out of your mind?”
“I needed to be able to see,” he said, looking at her in the rearview mirror.
Renee connected with the satellite uplink and began transferring the pictures to the secure server. She was fuming but needed to stay professional. As soon as her boss, General Swift, got the intel, her job in the States was over. She just hoped that Joseph’s momentary lack of judgment hadn’t spooked Decklin.
A small window told her the link was established, and she quickly typed out a message and sent the intelligence packet to Afghanistan. Renee was about to close out the computer when Joseph started the Jeep and put it in drive.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Looking up, she saw the doctor’s BMW pull out onto the street. Decklin’s Malibu was right behind it, but instead of following Keating, her target went left.
Joseph waited a few seconds and then pulled out after Decklin.
“Your mission is over. We’ve already had a soft compromise, do not follow them,” she ordered.
“I’ve got my own orders,” he said. “Jim just finished briefing the director, and he says that shit doesn’t leave the city.”
She wasn’t surprised that the assistant station chief wasn’t truly in charge. But this was bullshit.
The Malibu was three hundred meters ahead of them, and the engine roared as he mashed the gas to catch up. Renee held on to the headrest of the front seat. Through the windshield she watched the Malibu take a sharp right turn at the next intersection. Joseph was driving too aggressively to simply be tailing it.
He took the turn angrily and the sound of metal hitting the door drew her attention to the HK MP7 that lay on the backseat.
“You’re too close, they are going to see you,” she yelled at him.
He ignored her and lifted a radio from the center console. “We’re moving north on Seventh Street. The target is in a dark Chevy Malibu.”
“Check. We are moving to intercept.”
“Holy shit, you guys planned this?” Renee couldn’t believe it. They had pulled the surveillance package on purpose.
“Look, I would have told you, but since you guys aren’t sharing all the intel, we had to make a move. There is no way we can let that shit get out on the street. There is no way we can track a nerve agent once it leaves the country.”
“Joseph, listen to me, you do not want to fuck with these guys. Just stop the car, I can have Swift talk to your people,” she begged.
“Not my call,” he replied.
The Malibu slowed ahead of them and took the next turn gently. She knew they were heading into the industrial center by the appearance of overgrown lots and dilapidated warehouses that had appeared almost out of nowhere.
It was the perfect place for an ambush.
“He’s leading you into a trap,” she said simply.
“We have agents all over the place. Your friend Decklin is about to get his ass shot off.”
Renee slipped her pistol
out of its holster. She seriously doubted what he was saying.
“Westbound on Third Street,” Joseph relayed over the radio.
“Check, two minutes out,” the voice replied.
“Joseph, it’s not too late, just let him go.”
The Malibu suddenly accelerated, cutting wide like it was about to head southbound.
“They are heading south on—” he yelled.
He couldn’t see the sign and had to drop the radio to try to maneuver the car to continue pursuing.
“Repeat street name?” the voice asked over the radio.
Joseph hit the gas and turned the wheel, but at the last moment he watched the Malibu pull a hard left to cut back across the lane.
“Shit.”
The Jeep was out of position. Renee reached for her seat belt as Joseph hit the brakes and pulled the wheel hard to the left. The back end began to slide out from under them as he punched the gas to get traction.
Renee caught a hint of movement out of her peripheral vision and turned her head in time to see the grille of a white panel van bearing down on them.
It hit the side of the Jeep and sent it spinning across the intersection. The impact knocked her across the backseat and into the door frame. The rear window exploded, showering the leather upholstery with tempered glass. Renee’s head bounced off the passenger-side door, causing her vision to blur as the SUV was spun around a hundred and eighty degrees. She smelled cordite from the airbag deploying and heard Joseph grunt in pain. There was an overpowering smell of burned rubber and smoldering wires, and then everything went black.
She came to gradually. One by one her senses came back online. Renee smelled something burning and then she tasted blood in her mouth. Her brain told her it tasted like copper, but she still couldn’t see.
She struggled to place the persistent dinging coming from someplace outside of her head. There was a burned, caustic smell in the air; the last time this had happened she’d just hit an IED in Ramadi.
