The Forgotten Soldier: A Pike Logan Thriller

by Brad Taylor

  She was Taskforce. And she was deadly.

  He stumbled backward, reaching the open door. He went through it, staggering into the street, looking for shadows to hide within.

  43

  I started the car immediately, jumping through traffic to get to the cross street at the base of the park. The area was blanketed with pedestrian-only thoroughfares, but the street below the park cut through them all. Where my team was currently running like hell to reach me.

  Knuckles worked the radio, a hodgepodge of calls that only fleetingly told us what was going on. Two men down, then three men. Nick and Brett assaulting an armed waiter, then Jennifer eliminating another waiter shooting at Guy. Then all of them sprinting like looters into the park, panting on the radio for pickup.

  I raced down the lane, seeing a fountain to my front. The park.

  I hammered the brakes, causing the car behind me to honk. I ignored him, staring up the hill. I caught movement. Between gasps for air, I heard, “Almost out—you guys staged?”

  I couldn’t make out who the caller was, but Knuckles said, “We’re in position.”

  I scanned up the hill and Knuckles said, “There. There they are.”

  Three figures broke from a tree line, skipping down the slope in a loping run. Knuckles opened the sliding doors to our minvan, and I kept my eyes up higher. Looking for a follow-on force giving chase. I saw nothing.

  They leapt inside, and I hit the gas, moving out of the kill zone and getting back into the flow of Crete traffic, away from the cloistered neighborhood streets. I let them get some adrenaline out before I began questioning, knowing they’d start talking among each other.

  Nick said, “What. The. Fuck. Why did you smack that guy? What did you see?”

  Brett said, “He was keyed on Guy. From the moment I entered. When Guy stood up, he started forward. Guy went inside, then I saw him put a hand on a gun.”

  “There was no gun. I mean . . . there was no way you could see a gun. How did you know?”

  I looked in the rearview and saw Brett wink at Jennifer. He said, “Sometimes you just know. Thanks for helping out.”

  Nick said, “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  Brett said, “Welcome to the Taskforce. You did fine. Although maybe you should have helped out Jenn instead of me. I had no trouble.”

  Jennifer said, “Don’t do that. I was fine. If he’d have come to me, you wouldn’t have been able to handle that third threat.”

  I finally cut in, “Okay, enough of the lovefest. What the hell happened?”

  Brett said, “Someone is hunting Guy. Someone besides us, and it wasn’t a bunch of Arabs. They were inside the café. They infiltrated the waitstaff. It was a planned ambush, and they were gunning for Guy.”

  “Who is it?”

  “No idea, but it wasn’t a target of opportunity. They led him there with the man he was following. Led him into an ambush. If we hadn’t been there, he’d be dead instead of on the run.”

  I turned onto the main east-west road and said, “Jenn, what about that? Where is he?”

  “He fled out the back. No way could I have followed. He had a pistol and was looking to kill. But there was something else.”

  “What?”

  “He was drugged. He was staggering around. Brett’s right. They knew he was coming, and they infiltrated the waitstaff with a complex plan. It wasn’t the Arabs. Or if it was, they have incredible reach.”

  I said, “Why, though? Why go to that trouble? Why not just kill him on the road? If they had that fidelity of where he was?”

  Knuckles said what I was thinking. “Because he’s onto something. They needed to take him alive for some reason. Find out what he knew and who he’s working with. They think he’s operating with sanction.”

  I shook my head. “Shit. That’s not what I want to hear.”

  We rode in silence for a moment, all of us tumbling the information. Finally, Knuckles said, “What’s the next step? What do you want to do?”

  I pulled over, putting the van in park. I said, “I’m thinking we brace him on the ferry. We know he’s getting on it because of the credit card purchase.”

  “How will we find him?”

  I turned to Jennifer. “You burned?”

  “I don’t know. He stared at us hard, before the fight, but I think it was just because he’s paranoid. He didn’t get a look at my face during the fight. He was too busy escaping, but he’s Taskforce. He might remember both me and Nick.”

  “Brett?”

  “No. I’m completely clean.”

  “Okay. We go to the ferry.”

  I pulled up the ferry company website on a laptop, getting an amenities list. “There are only two places serving food. A restaurant inside, and a fast-food vendor on the deck. Sooner or later, he’s got to get some food or drink. We stake out those two. Jennifer, you mix it up a little bit. Change your hair, put on glasses, something. You’ll go with Brett as cover to mix up the profile. Nick, you go alone. You get the outside deck. It’s cold out, so wear a hoodie to hide. Take a corner seat and just drink coffee. Look like a hippie backpacker.”

  Jennifer said, “What are you and Knuckles going to do?”

  “Sit in a room until you call. He sees either of us first, and he’s liable to go lethal.”

  44

  Guy felt a hammering in his skull and finally awoke, disoriented in the darkness. He sensed movement, his body feeling as if it were shifting, and tensed for the vertigo.

  Then he remembered.

  He’d made it to the ferry. That’s what he was feeling. He was on the ocean. He lay back in the small bunk, staring at the ceiling in the gloom, trying to collate all that had occurred. He leaned over the bed, seeing his small knapsack. He slid his hands down the rail and found the 6P9.

  He was safe.

  The movement back to his hotel, then to the ferry port, was a blur. Like a blackout drunk from his younger days in the Army. Only this one had deadly implications. He had vague recollections of packing, of checking out—the woman looking at him in concern—and staggering to the ferry. He’d arrived right after they allowed boarding and had managed to talk his way through the process. There were no customs or other law enforcement, the only gateway being a ticket agent and two stevedores. He’d moved inside the cavernous ship, walking by the trucks and other transport being loaded, and received his room key. A single bunk in a claustrophobically small closet.

  He remembered removing his shoes, then nothing.

  Rubbing his face, he realized he could see the ceiling. There was light coming through the small circular window. He looked at his watch and saw it was dawn. He’d been asleep for twelve hours—almost the entire journey.

  He felt his stomach rumble and sat up, the rapid movement bringing on a remnant of vertigo from the drug. He steadied himself, praying it wasn’t something that did permanent damage. The feeling passed, and he put on his shoes. By his watch, they would be landing in less than an hour, and he had a lot of thinking to do. Decisions to make.

  The attack at the café had been well planned, and it hadn’t been done by a bunch of Arabs. Whoever had done it had connections in Crete. Enough so to co-opt the staff and prepare an elaborate attack. It was amazing it hadn’t succeeded, and had all the hallmarks of a Taskforce operation.

  But he’d been saved by the Taskforce. The woman from Decoy’s tape. Clearly, they were tracking him. Had somehow found him, even with his precautions. They were a threat, but it wasn’t they who’d set the plan in motion. Somehow, the false waiters had known he’d be in that café. But why had he been in that café?

  Because he’d been following a target. Someone under the control of the killers from Qatar. They’d manipulated him to arrive, but even they wouldn’t be able to take over a café with that elaborate plot in twenty-four hours. No. It had to be someone local. Ni
kos. And that fucker would pay. One more for the target deck.

  He stood, putting the 6P9 in the small of his back and testing his legs, finding them strong. He left the room, moving up the two decks to the cafeteria. He reached the open space of the deck, away from the narrow gangways, stepping over folks in sleeping bags, too cheap to fork over money for a cabin. He entered the cafeteria and took a quick survey, seeing families and loners all waiting to dock. He bought a pastry and a cup of coffee, wolfing down the first before touching the second.

  He stood at the counter and methodically went over the room, searching for danger. He found it next to a black man in the corner.

  A Caucasian woman sitting beside him, making small talk, dark glasses on her face and a scarf over her head. She made no outward show of even acknowledging Guy’s presence, but he knew who she was. It radiated off of her like heat from an open stove, a connection he’d found on a tape detailing a death that punctured his core.

  It was the woman from Decoy’s video. The one who’d saved his life. She looked nothing like she had last night, but he knew. He had no idea how, but he felt it.

  She was here, on the ferry, which meant the man she was talking with was a killer as well. Taskforce, with a skill equal to his own.

  He considered his options. He was on a boat that might be blanketed with Taskforce Operators. It wasn’t like he could escape on the open ocean. The woman was already talking on a radio, alerting the team of his presence, of that he was sure. But she hadn’t done anything against him. On the contrary, she’d saved his life. And she’d killed that fuck who murdered Decoy.

  He was sick of hiding. Tired of running. He was doing what was just. It might not have started that way, but he was sure it would end in his favor. He wanted absolution, and he was looking at the only entity that could give it to him.

  He made his choice.

  He strode right up to their table, seeing the black man’s eyes go wide. He raised a hand, saying, “No. Don’t.” The man relaxed, his hand at the small of his back, waiting. Guy turned to the woman and said, “Jennifer Cahill, right?”

  She looked confused and said, “I’m sorry. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  He said, “No. I’m not. I’ve seen your work. Decoy was my friend. I’m hoping you are as well.”

  45

  Sharif al-Attiya held a finger up to the Skype call and said, “Don’t say another word. Shut up.” He turned away from the screen, feeling the beginnings of a throbbing headache. “Tarek, get in here!”

  He waited for his assistant to arrive, giving his son nothing to indicate how incredibly angry he was. Out of habit, he awoke early every morning, but the time was usually his own, before he began his day with the investment authority. This morning had been different, with him waking up to three missed calls and an urgent text message for him to Skype his son. He had, and heard nothing but disaster.

  Tarek entered the room, taking one look at Sharif’s visage and becoming subdued. He’d seen the volcano Sharif could become, and knew whatever was happening, it was not good news.

  Sharif turned back to the screen and said, “Okay, idiot. Continue.”

  Haider stumbled for words, then said, “Do you want me to repeat what I told you?”

  “No, you donkey. Just keep going.”

  “Yes, sir. . . . Nassir is missing, and we’re sure he’s dead. We missed capturing the American, but we’re searching Crete. Nikos has men at the airport and is combing the hotels. He has a lot of penetration. A lot of help. We’ll find him soon.”

  Tarek’s face showed confusion, and Sharif said, “My idiot son found out that he was being tracked for his actions in Afghanistan. Instead of calling me, or leveraging whatever help we could provide, he decided to use our shahid as bait. The mission failed, and now our Syrian is compromised.”

  His face slack, Tarek said, “What?”

  Spittle flying from his lips, Sharif barked, “He put our mission in jeopardy! He tried to capture the American, and all he did was expose the Syrian. Now the American is running loose.”

  Trying to catch up without asking any more questions, Tarek said, “Is the Syrian on the ferry?”

  From the computer, Haider said, “Yes, yes. He wasn’t harmed. Father, it was the US secretary of state who told me about the plot. I decided to intervene. It should have been easy, but he had help. Someone helped him escape.”

  “So it’s a team? An American team hunting the Syrian?”

  “No, no. Father, he—they—are hunting me. Me and my friends. And they’ve killed two.”

  Sharif waved that away with a hand, saying, “What does the Greek, Nikos, know?”

  “Nothing. He only knows the documents we paid for. He’s used to working outside the law. He tried to capture the American in Athens, when he spotted the man conducting surveillance on our meeting.”

  Sharif exploded again. “The American was there two days ago? And I’m just now finding out?”

  Haider ducked his head on the screen, saying nothing. Tarek said, “Sir, let’s focus on the problem. What’s done is done.”

  Sharif said, “How do you know the man is still on Crete?”

  “He was drugged. He wouldn’t have had the capacity to purchase a plane ticket. We believe he’s either in a hotel or passed out in an alley. We’re looking.”

  “What about a ferry?”

  “It left too soon. Nikos says he wouldn’t be coherent enough to buy a ticket that quickly.”

  “What if he already had one?”

  “He was following our man because we sent a message to trap him. He didn’t know where the man was staying. He captured Nassir, but Nassir knew nothing of the plan. The only lead he had was the meeting we set up. There’s no way he knew the Syrian was leaving. He was following the man for a reason, and the shahid could have stayed for days.”

  “What was that reason? Because he wants to prevent a plot, or because he wants to kill you?”

  Haider glanced back into the room and Sharif snapped at him, “Who’s there with you?”

  “Khalid.”

  “Bring him forward. I don’t like talking to people I can’t see.”

  Khalid sat next to Haider, looking nowhere near as timid. He said, “Sir, it was my idea to capture the American. And it was a good idea. You would have done the same.”

  “Shut up. I’m not addressing you. Sit still.”

  Khalid showed no indication the words had any effect, but he remained silent.

  Sharif said, “Son, answer the question. Is the man hunting you, or is he trying penetrate our plans?”

  Truculent, Haider said, “Which one is worse to you?”

  “Don’t trifle with me.”

  “He’s after me. Khalid and me. Secretary Billings said it was because of Afghanistan. A vendetta.”

  Sharif nodded and said, “Okay. So we just have to keep you alive a little longer. Make sure he’s chasing you and not the Syrian. Maybe I should serve you up like you did our shahid.”

  “Father . . .”

  Khalid said, “You won’t be serving me up.” He paused a beat before adding, “Sir.”

  Sharif waved his hand at the screen and said, “Don’t tell me what I will or will not do. You sons of dogs have no business here anyway. Haider, what did you learn of the peace deal? Do you have a location in Afghanistan?”

  “It’s not in Afghanistan. It’s in Oslo, Norway, but I don’t know when. I have a meeting with Secretary Billings in two days. I should learn the timeline then.”

  “Oslo? Did you send the Syrian to Afghanistan as I ordered?”

  “No. He’s coming here. I thought it prudent.”

  Sharif nodded. “Good. Good. At least you did one thing right.”

  Haider let slip a tiny smile and Sharif said, “Can you continue? With this man on the loose?”

/>   “Yes, of course. He’s on Crete and I’m in Athens.”

  “Okay. Do so. Get control of the Syrian, meet the secretary of state, then report back. Is that understood?”

  Haider said, “Yes, sir.” Sharif ended the call with Khalid looking on in disdain.

  Tarek said, “That man Khalid has no respect. Especially given his station.”

  Sharif said, “Yes, but he has more courage than my own son. I almost wish he were the one in charge.” He tapped a finger to his lip for a moment, then said, “Do you think we should continue? Do you think our Syrian remains viable?”

  Tarek thought for a moment, then said, “Yes. We can continue. If the American is chasing our man, the plan might fail, but so what? All they have is a refugee who fled Libya and ended up in Crete. There is no connection between us. Let the Syrian move forward. Let the meeting go as Haider plans. There is no downside.”

  “There is one, and we need to deal with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sharif looked at his trusted confidant and said, “Start scrubbing my association. Start building everything on the back of my son.”

  The implications sank in, and Tarek said, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Don’t look at me that way. At one time, I was willing to give my life for the cause. Why would I not be willing to give my son’s?”

  46

  I heard the phone buzz through a half-conscious mind, my brain making it part of the weird dream I was having involving weapons, Knuckles, and a sociopath on the loose. Knuckles slapped me and said, “We’re on.”