Black Ops Bundle: Volume One

by Allan Leverone

  The fact that the CIA had been the agency that had requested his records shouldn't have surprised him, and yet it did. It was the first official evidence he had that the people who had conspired to kill Kafni and were trying to kill him were part of the American government. He had built his dreams in America and he believed wholeheartedly that it was very much the land of opportunity, that anyone from anywhere with any background could come and, if he was willing to put in the time, build a better life for himself and his family. The whole idea that the government of the United States was involved in covering up the presence of a Chechen terrorist who had a lengthy record of terrorist attacks and more blood on his hands than a butcher during cookout season, seemed farfetched, despite the events of the last five days, but apparently that was the case. Someone, somewhere within the bloated bureaucracy in Washington D.C., had a reason to kill and hopefully the man they were going to see could shed some light on exactly who, and perhaps why.

  "What's this?" Gordon said as the Range Rover's headlights fell over a parked vehicle. He slowed the SUV to a stop and craned his neck to look at the others in the car with him. "Some tosspot's gone and left his car here with the doors wide open."

  "No, I don't think so," Declan said from the back seat, his face mirroring the same concern as Shane and Lord Allardyce. "What do those license plates mean? They're not the same as the other cars we've passed."

  "They're diplomatic plates," Shane said. "It means the vehicle's been set aside for use by a foreign organization. The 274 means it belongs to the United States and the X means it's for non-diplomatic staff. The CIA station chief would have such a vehicle, maybe more than one."

  Declan pushed open the door and stepped out.

  "Here," Allardyce said, "you might need this." He handed over the Glock pistol Declan had surrendered the night before.

  "I'll turn the lights out," Gordon said as he reached for the knob beside the steering wheel.

  "No," Declan said as he took the pistol. "If someone's watching and they see the lights go out they'll know something's up. Once I'm out, back the car up to the end of the road and make like you're leaving. Drive a short distance and turn around, this time entering with the lights already off. And stay off the brakes. Use the clutch." He closed the door slowly, quietly allowing it to latch. He had a bad feeling that he wasn't going to like what he was about to find and if someone was watching or listening, he wanted to avoid tipping them off if he could. He released the magazine from the pistol and checked it before pushing it back in and chambering a round.

  He heard Gordon shift the car into reverse and begin backing away as he approached the black Range Rover, his pistol aimed at the passenger side door that was standing open. Rounding the door as he reached the vehicle, he saw exactly what he was expecting. Two bodies, each clad in a black suit and hunched over in the front seats. It was clear from the blood covering the upholstery and the driver's side window that they'd been shot from about the same place he was standing, and recently.

  "What have we got?" Shane asked from the passenger side window as Allardyce's vehicle returned, now shrouded in darkness.

  "Whoever they are, they're dead, shot from the looks of it and not very long ago."

  "Good heavens," Allardyce said, from the backseat. "What do you think is happening?"

  "If you ask me, someone's tying up loose ends and Mr. Simard is one. We need to get to the house, now!"

  Declan reentered the vehicle and Gordon shifted through the gears, shooting the Range Rover forward as Declan closed the door.

  "Stop here," Declan said, as a graveled motor court came into view fifty yards ahead, a Tudor farmhouse beyond it. "I don't want you all out in the open. We don't know what we're running into."

  "We've been doing this kind of thing for a long time, Mr. McIver," Allardyce said. "Go on, Tom, pull to the right of the house under that overhang. It'll provide some cover."

  Gordon obeyed and skidded to a stop beside the house, the vehicle covered from the left by the structure and only exposed on the right. Declan didn't like it, but he wasn't in a position to argue. He opened the door and stepped out, breaking into a run as his feet hit the gravel. He ran to the arched front door, his eyes darting around looking for assailants, his pistol aimed in front of him. On the other side of the motor court sat a tan Land Rover, its front doors wide open.

  The front door to the farmhouse was ajar and he entered, finding himself inside a stone walled kitchen. Next to an oak island in the middle of the kitchen was another body dressed in a black suit. Clearing the doorways, he reached down and checked the young man for a pulse. He was dead.

  "That's not Simard," a voice said from behind.

  Declan sprang upwards and around aiming his weapon. Lord Allardyce threw his hands up. "It's me, Dennis!"

  Declan let out a deep breath.

  "Sorry," Allardyce said. "I guess it's been longer than I realized."

  "Go back to the truck. I can't protect you in here."

  "I didn't ask you to," Allardyce said, producing his Walther PP from his inside coat pocket, "and you have no idea what Simard looks like. You'll need me."

  "Stay behind me and cover my back." Declan relented, unwilling to argue about whether an aged member of the British aristocracy should be inside a house with the likelihood of armed gunmen present. Should Allardyce be injured or worse, killed, then the only lifeline that was keeping him out of the hands of the British police and consequently the hands of the men trying to kill him would be severed.

  "Lead the way."

  Declan moved through the kitchen and into the home's living area. The house was completely dark without even a faint glow from a digital clock. Clearly the power had been cut and the assault had come quickly, as there were no signs of a struggle. The furniture was upright and with the exception of the three dead men, the house was in perfect order. He cleared a dining room off the main living area and moved to a staircase. Listening as he moved up, he swept right and left as he arrived at the top of the stairs.

  He cleared two small bedrooms and then moved left, entering a study. On the floor near a picture window that overlooked the motor court was another body, this one holding a gun. Declan kicked the gun loose from his hand and reached down to check for a pulse, though he knew the man was a goner.

  "That's not him, either," Allardyce said. "From the looks of it, I would say these men are his transportation team. They drive him around London and provide security. He arrives at Downing Street every Wednesday morning with them."

  Declan stood, but before he could form a coherent thought, several gunshots from outside interrupted it. Followed by Allardyce, he moved out of the room and down the stairs two at a time, blazing through the kitchen to the front door.

  "Where's Shane and Gordon?" he asked as he arrived at the Range Rover and found it empty.

  "I sent them to cover the back."

  He ran quickly around the house, where he found an empty deck surrounded by a knee high rock wall. As he approached, he saw Shane stand up from behind the wall with a gun aimed towards a row of trees lining the back of the house.

  "What happened?" he asked, as he arrived next to Shane. Tom Gordon stood up from beside the rock wall.

  "We moved around the house as Lord Allardyce suggested and saw someone run out," Shane said. "Two men came out after him and opened fire on us."

  "Simard," Allardyce said. "He must be trying to get away from the attackers."

  "Stay here and cover the house to make sure they don't double back," Declan said to Gordon. "Shane, go around that side of the hedge. Dennis, come with me."

  The three of them fanned out with Shane soon breaking off to the left as they approached the six foot wall of shrubbery twenty yards from the back doors of the farmhouse.

  "What's this building for?" Declan whispered, as he and Allardyce reached the right side of the hedge and began making their way down the side of the square barrier it formed.

  "Stables, I'm sure. The hedg
e creates a naturally fenced in riding arena. There's probably a gate not far ahead."

  He was right. Declan spotted a break twenty feet ahead of them and approached cautiously. The green metal gate was closed, but with the increased visibility it gave him, Declan could tell the stable door was wide open. Which way had Simard gone? Had he jumped the gate and ran for the stables or had he continued on into the dark fields? It was a fifty-fifty shot and the outcome could mean Simard's death at the hands of whoever was after him. Declan rolled the dice that the property owners wouldn't have just left the stable door open when no one was home. Aiming his pistol around the clearing inside the hedge, he hopped over the gate using one hand as a brace.

  Allardyce was slow to follow, but made it over the gate as Declan reached the stables and rounded into the doorway. Empty horse stalls were all he could see. He turned back to Allardyce as he arrived. "He must've run into the fields, dammit!"

  As the words came out of his mouth a gunshot sounded from behind the building followed by a painful cry. Declan ran for the side of the building as fast as he could, audibly crushing clumps of grass as his feet pounded over the ground. He rounded the building in a wide circle with his pistol raised. As he reached the back of the building he made out the shadows of two men holding assault rifles standing over a third . One turned as he approached and he responded with two shots center mass, knocking the man backwards onto the ground before firing again and dropping the second man with a head shot. The man quickly collapsed and lay still. Declan reengaged the first man who he could still see moving on the ground and fired a fourth round into the man's head, snapping it back with a crunch as the back of his skull hit the ground.

  Keeping his gun aimed, he leveled it at the man on the ground between them.

  "Thought I was a goner, mate," Shane said from the ground as he gripped his knee, blood oozing between his fingers.

  "Where's Simard?" Declan said, looking over the black-clad men he'd just killed. They were dressed in fatigues and wore bulletproof vests. It was clear from their weapons and appearance that they were professionals and had shot Shane in exactly the right spot to bring him to the ground without killing him, probably believing him to be Lane Simard.

  "Didn't see him," Shane said, as he grimaced in pain. "These two rounded the building just ahead of you."

  "Help him up and get him back to the house," Declan said to Allardyce. "Simard must've run into the fields or doubled back. He can't have gotten too far."

  As he scanned the area in a circular motion for a good direction in which to start his search, a bright light shot out from around the side of the house and a mechanical grinding sound followed.

  "The other Land Rover!" Declan yelled, breaking into a run as he made for the house. Simard must've doubled back and was trying to escape in the tan Land Rover that had been parked in the motor court. With the two assailants down, Declan ran furiously for the gate and jumped it, landing in a run on the other side. He ran the fifty yards between the stables and the house, feeling like his feet were barely touching the ground as he moved. He cleared the side of the house and moved into the motor court where Tom Gordon was standing by the driver's door of the black Range Rover they'd arrived in.

  "Here," the older man said tossing him the keys. "He's getting away!"

  Declan looked towards the edge of the motor court where the tan Land Rover had just pulled onto the one lane driveway and was moving towards the road, its driver grinding the gears as he attempted to shift the manual transmission. Sliding into the driver's seat of Allardyce's Range Rover, he started it up and shifted it into reverse as he stomped on the accelerator. The vehicle shot backwards and Declan turned the wheel sharply as he shifted the vehicle into gear and moved after the tan military-style SUV.

  Shifting the gears smoothly as the vehicle picked up speed, he gained quickly on the other driver who was clearly unfamiliar with a manual transmission. The tan Land Rover lurched over the gravel drive ahead of him and just before he nearly rear ended it, he pulled to the right, driving around it and stomping on his brakes as he cut in front, bringing the SUV to a dead stop as it collided with his left fender.

  Leaving the cab, he rounded the front end of the Range Rover and aimed his gun at the driver of the tan SUV.

  "Don't shoot," the man said slowly raising his hands from the steering wheel. "Don't shoot."

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  "Please don't kill me," the man said, as Declan motioned for him to exit the Land Rover. Beads of sweat rolled down his narrow face and his hands shook as he held them up, palms open. "I haven't done anything to you."

  Declan could tell by the way Lane Simard's eyes were locked on him as he pushed open the door that the man recognized him. He lowered the pistol as Simard exited the vehicle and it became evident that he was unarmed.

  "I'm not going to kill you," Declan said, "but that's more than I can say for those commandos that were chasing you."

  He quickly patted Simard down for any weapons he might have hidden and then pushed the man forward along the gravel driveway towards the farmhouse, staying several feet behind him in case the veteran CIA man decided to try an attack. While the man's fear seemed to be genuine, Declan was sure that the agency training in deception was top notch.

  "I need to get to London," Simard said, turning partially around as he pleaded. "My family was supposed to be here by now and they haven't shown up. I need to know they're alright."

  Declan didn't respond. He wanted to but he didn't know exactly what to say. He knew all about concern for his family and Simard's role in threatening them would determine whether or not he had any sympathy for the man's plight. He waved Simard on and they got to the front of the house as Allardyce and Gordon were helping Shane around towards the front door.

  "Lord Allardyce?" Simard said, as he took note of the three men.

  "Mr. Simard," Allardyce said, with a grimace.

  Simard stopped walking and turned, looking between Declan and Allardyce. "What's going on here?"

  "We'll be the ones asking the questions, Mr. Simard," Allardyce said. "Now get inside."

  "I'm not going anywhere until someone—"

  Declan grabbed the CIA man by the shoulders and shoved him through the front door. As the man recoiled and attempted to throw a right-handed hook, Declan effortlessly blocked the punch and drove his fist into the man's stomach. "That's for helping to set me up," he said, as Simard collapsed to the floor and struggled to draw breath. "Your answers to my questions will determine just how much more pain I inflict on you."

  "Setting you up?" coughed Simard. "You murdered dozens!"

  Declan jerked him upwards by the collar and shoved him through the kitchen and into the farmhouse's living area where he pushed him into an armchair. "We both know I've never murdered anyone. Now I suggest you start talking or what those goons lying dead out the back had planned for you is going to look like a walk in the park!"

  "Steady, now," Allardyce said, as he and Gordon helped Shane onto a sofa. "He may not have had anything to do with setting you up. Requests made to the Committee follow a strict procedure, which he adhered to. I'm not sure how things work on the other side of the Atlantic, but I'm sure Mr. Simard will tell us all about it."

  "I'm not telling anyone anything until I know my family's safe! I have a wife and two boys en route from London!"

  "And my wife and I have been on the run from assassins and the police agencies on two continents for a week!" Declan said. "So far you're not tripping my sympathy meter."

  "'Please, everyone, calm down," Allardyce said, as he stepped between Declan and Simard, his eyes moving between both men. "Now, Mr. Simard, we have as much interest in your family's safety as you do. We haven't done anything to harm them and we never would. Why don't you take a deep breath and then tell us what's happened here tonight versus what was supposed to happen."

  Simard's eyes bored into Declan for a moment. "I'm here for a vacation with my family. I arrived early, as I a
lways do, for security reasons and all. My family was supposed to arrive after my boys were done with their weekend football games. They've never shown up."

  "And who were the men chasing you?" Allardyce asked.

  "I don't know. I saw a pair of headlights coming down the drive, assumed it was my family, and the next thing I know the agent that was positioned outside came running through the door followed by those men, who then shot him. Another agent and I ran upstairs but they followed too quickly for us to get away. They killed him and moved me to the back room there," Simard said, nodding his head towards the dining room. "They said they'd called in London for me and had been told I wasn't home. They were about to kill me when another vehicle came to a stop outside. They were distracted so I took the opportunity to run."

  "That would have been us arriving," Allardyce said, looking at Declan. "Sounds like we arrived in the nick of time. What happened then?"

  "I ran out the back door and they chased me. I lost them when I doubled back around the hedge surrounding the horse barn. That's when I tried to leave and this damn terrorist caught me."

  "He's not a terrorist, at least not anymore," Allardyce said. "From the sound of it, you two have a lot in common. Assassins have come several times for him in the last few days, too. Luckily his experiences in life have helped him stay alive. Now you're telling me that you have no idea who those men were or who could have sent them after you? They simply showed up here, in a house that you don't own and where no one should have known to look for you, to kill you?"

  Simard stayed silent for a moment, his eyes darting around the floor as he apparently thought over the entire situation. "Kemiss," he finally said, "that son of a bitch."