Black Ops Bundle: Volume One

by Allan Leverone

  "Who's Kemiss?" Declan asked.

  Simard looked up. "Senator David Kemiss, a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee in the United States."

  "Jesus," Shane said from the sofa, where Gordon was helping him keep pressure on the gunshot wound near the top of his knee, "a bloody politician?"

  "He called me earlier this afternoon and said he had sent a gift to my London residence to thank me for helping him get information on you. He asked to forward it here and a few hours later those men showed up. That son of a bitch, he tried to have me killed."

  "So he sent those men to kill you because you knew who he was, because he'd asked you directly to get information from Her Majesty's government?" Allardyce asked. “Information that he then released to the press."

  Simard nodded. "Yes. I met with him at his request earlier this week while I was in Washington for some meetings. In my position you don't say no to someone who sits on the Intelligence Committee without a damn good reason. He said he'd been asked to help by someone in the Richmond Field Office of the FBI."

  "Castellano worked in the Richmond Field Office," Declan said. "He's the lead investigator that led me into the ambush by Baktayev's men while he was supposedly transporting me to jail."

  "The same one they accused you of killing?" Allardyce asked.

  Declan nodded. "He was shot during the initial ambush. I tried to save him, but I couldn't. He died behind a dumpster where we were both ducking for cover."

  "Why would a sitting politician in the United States want to help a Russian terrorist commit an atrocity against his own country?" Allardyce asked, though it was apparent from the look on his face that the question wasn't directed at anyone in particular.

  "I think we need to ask him," Declan said.

  "Please," Simard said loudly. "I need to find out if my family has been harmed!"

  "Get the man a phone," Allardyce said. "He's earned it."

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  "They're okay," Simard said, as he hung up the phone. His voice cracked as he spoke. "They never left London. My youngest boy had an asthma attack during ball practice. My wife's been at the doctor with him and they've been trying to reach me. But they're okay."

  Declan, Allardyce, Gordon and Shane were now seated around the dining table and nodded their approval.

  "I thought for sure those men had shown up at my house and that my family was dead," Simard said, as he took a seat at the table and handed Shane's phone back to him. "I don't ever want to feel like that again."

  "The feeling like you'd do anything to have them back. To undo all the wrong you'd done in your life and suffer the worst fate imaginable just so they could go on living. I know all about it," Declan said.

  Simard looked down and nodded, examining his hands which were now folded in front of him on the table. "I uhh...I don't know anything about what's happened to you. I'm sorry."

  Declan nodded though the words were of little comfort.

  "I don't wish the feelings I was having moments ago on anyone," Simard said, "but I don't understand. I was told that you were a terrorist and that you had set up the entire attack against Kafni using your influence as a member of his security detail. Now you all are telling me that all of it was a lie?"

  Everyone at the table nodded. Allardyce was first to speak. "A damned lie, apparently, and I'm sorry for the role I played in allowing it to be perpetuated. Had Mr. McIver not had the courage to come to me and explain the situation, despite the intense danger he faced, I'm afraid he'd be dead by now and our American cousins would never know about the horror that was about to befall them."

  "They still don't know," Declan said.

  "That's true," Allardyce said, with a grimace.

  Simard looked from person to person as if he was expecting someone to elaborate. When no one did, he said, "I'm sorry, but how do you all know any of this is true? I saw the files the Security Service has on this man. He has a list of terrorist offenses as long as my arm!"

  "If you'd bothered to read that file," Shane charged, "then you'd know that Declan was never actually convicted or even arrested for anything! Was he involved with the Troubles? Aye, just as me and a significant part of the population in Northern Ireland were. Those were terrible times that you can't even begin to understand unless you lived through it."

  "Shane, it's grand, it's grand," Declan said holding up his hands. "He's asking the same question that you or I would have if we'd just met me in this current situation."

  Shane ceded the point with a wave of his hand, but finished with, "Declan's never turned his gun on anyone that wasn't a thieving, raping, murdering, madman!"

  "And what of this Black Shuck thing?" Simard continued. "An attack on London designed to bring down the city's infrastructure, assassinate and kidnap its leaders and throw the entire British society into disaster?"

  "Black Shuck," Shane said, "was a planned operation that never materialized, in large part because Declan McIver had a change of heart and helped to stop it before we all took a nose dive into a very dark abyss that would have plunged Northern Ireland into a cycle of violence that it never would have returned from!"

  "Enough!" Allardyce said, pounding his fist on the table. "While Mr. McIver's past certainly holds things that we may all, understandably, take issue with, the point is that it was a very long time ago under extremely dubious circumstances. As part of the British government in Northern Ireland during those days I can honestly say that we weren't always the upstanding men we claimed to be either. Today, right now, is what we are concerned with. My country has been used to obtain information on this man under false pretenses so that this Senator Kemiss could vilify him in the media and frame him for murder. The very fact that Kemiss sent assassins to kill you, Mr. Simard, should be evidence enough for you that what Declan McIver is saying is true. He has been framed for crimes he didn't commit to cover up the real intentions of Kemiss and whoever is working with him. Am I correct?"

  Simard nodded slowly.

  "Good. Then let's dispense with this argument and get on with what we're going to do about this. Somehow the Americans have to be warned that Kemiss, for whatever reason, is using this Chechen, this Ruslan Baktayev, to accomplish a heinous terror attack that would make September 11th and July 7th look like a dress rehearsal."

  "With all due respect, Lord Allardyce," Simard said, "David Kemiss is an experienced and calculating professional politician. I guarantee that he's covered his tracks extremely well. Even with the political clout you have as a member of the House of Lords, no one in the American government is going to believe the word of someone who has been tried and convicted as a terrorist, even if it's only in the court of public opinion, without a lengthy investigation. And from what you're all telling me, there isn't time for that."

  "No, there's not," Declan said. "Baktayev could be unleashed at any moment. In fact I suspect the only reason he hasn't already been is because Kemiss has been trying to make sure he has all the loose ends tied up beforehand." He pointed his thumb at himself and then at Simard.

  "Then we have to do this ourselves," Shane said, with a nod towards Declan. "Just like Vympel taught us all those years ago, find a weakness and apply pressure. Get him to confess what he's done. Get him to tout on everyone else involved and stop this thing before it happens."

  "I don't want to be the naysayer here," Simard said, "but even if you can get to him and force him to confess, it still won't prevent the need for an investigation before anyone in the U.S. will act. A confession made under any kind of duress is not admissible in our courts and will not convince the government to act, especially when it's a seasoned member of their own exclusive club that they'd be acting against."

  "Aye," Declan said, "but politicians fear scandal more than anything else."

  "Exactly. We'll have to use the court of public opinion, the power of which you just pointed out, Mr. Simard," Allardyce said. "Tape the confession, release it to the media and anyone else that will air it, an
d hope that it rocks those involved back on their heels enough to cause them to call off the entire thing. If the very thing they are being accused of organizing comes to pass, then it will be all that much harder for them to defend themselves against it. There's no chance they'd go forward if such a confession came to light."

  "That may not stop Baktayev," Declan said. "We're making the assumption that these people have him under lock and key, but I doubt that. He's an animal. I'm surprised they've been able to control him this long."

  "It's the best we've got," Allardyce said. "And even if, God forbid, the attack does happen then at least those who are actually responsible will be identified, investigated and brought to justice instead of being allowed to accomplish whatever their goals are in committing the attack in the first place. I guarantee that an American senator isn't killing innocent people for the glory of Allah or the freedom of Chechnya."

  Everyone around the table nodded their agreement.

  "Good," Allardyce continued. "Now, what do we know about David Kemiss?"

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  "Looks like I won't be with you on this one," Shane said, as he and Declan were left alone in the dining room while everyone else fanned out around the house. Shane gripped his leg just above the knee where a bullet had passed through the flesh, narrowly missing the kneecap, but bringing him to the ground as the shooter had intended. Declan had cut his pants leg off at the thigh and had cleaned and dressed the wound with bandages from the farmhouse's bathroom.

  Declan nodded. "No, not this time, but you'll be up and at 'em again before long."

  "I want to see this bastard bleed, Dec. I want to be there when his face wrenches up in pain and he spills his deepest secrets. It's his type that's wrong with the world, ya know? It's his type that's the reason we have conflicts, the reason why innocent people have to die, so."

  "I'll take a photo for you, but first we have to get to him," Declan said. He could relate to what Shane was thinking and feeling, that same notion was why he had decided to take a stand against those conspiring against him rather than run and hide. Together, they'd seen a lot of people die because of corruption and political agendas. "It'd be hard enough if we had weeks to plan and gather intelligence. It's going to be even harder in the short amount of time we're talking about."

  "Aye, but you're up for it. You always have been. You remember that bloody bog you pulled me out of near the Amu Darya River after the Russians dumped us in the middle of nowhere? You found that shack, dragged me to it and managed to hold off a dozen heavily armed Mujahideen with a Makarov you nicked from one of the soldiers as they tossed us out of the troop carrier. I wouldn't have made it back to Ireland if not for you. You can handle this."

  Declan smiled. "Aye, you always get emotional and reminiscent when you've been shot."

  "Ah, screw you," Shane said, as his face turned red. "I wasn't shot that time."

  "No, you tripped in a hole and—"

  "Pardon me," Lane Simard interrupted, "but I've found something I think you'd like to have a look at."

  Declan nodded, the smile disappearing from his face as he stood. Shane stayed seated, his face turning an even brighter shade of red as he realized that Simard had likely overheard their conversation.

  "Hey, Dec," Shane said, just before Declan left the room. "Thanks, man."

  "Aye," Declan said with a half-smile as he walked out. "What is it you've found?" he asked, as he followed Simard up the narrow stairs to the study.

  "Kemiss seems to have been pretty careful about revealing too much about his personal life, so I wasn't able to come up with much until I found this," Simard said, as he took a seat in front of a computer on an oak desk and moved the mouse, causing the screensaver to clear and a website to appear.

  "It's a recent article on Kemiss. Before this there's not much information on him outside of his political career, but it seems this last election cycle was particularly nasty and forced him to reveal more in an effort to hold onto his seat. He was probably trying to humanize himself or something. I found it on a site called blueridgeparents.com. It's a reprint of an article that appeared in Fatherhood Magazine in August of 2010."

  Declan looked at the picture near the head of the article. A gray-haired man with a receding hairline and thin-rimmed glasses sat on a fence in front of a large Georgian mansion wearing a dark red sweater vest over a light blue button-down shirt, trying his best to look friendly. Declan couldn't be sure if it was because of what he'd recently learned about Kemiss or if it was real, but there seemed to be a regal chill in the politician's eyes that refused to be hidden, despite the man's obvious effort.

  "It says his family has lived for two generations on an old vineyard in the Graemont area of Virginia, just north of Charlottesville. That's the property behind him in the photo and here it is on Google Earth," Simard said, as he clicked away from the magazine site and brought up a satellite image. "It's close to a hundred acres and surrounded on three sides by trees. The nearest neighbor's a mile away. It's really the only spot to hit him. Trying to get him in D.C. would be impossible."

  "Aye," Declan said, as he scanned the image.

  "There's one more thing and I'm hoping it's not an election year lie. The article says Kemiss has a traditional family night once a week that he never misses. It says the family tries to do it every Sunday night. It's not a guarantee, but if that's true, then he'll be at the house tomorrow night."

  "That doesn't give us much time," Declan said, looking at the clock in the bottom corner of the computer screen.

  "What doesn't give us much time?" Allardyce asked, as he appeared in the doorway of the study.

  Simard quickly brought him up to speed.

  "Hopefully it's all the time we're going to need, because it's all the time we've got," Allardyce said. "But there's no way you can do this alone. If you're going to have any chance of pulling this off, you're going to need help. For obvious reasons I can't be involved in this as any more than a background player. Neither can Tom, and Shane's going to be off that leg for a good long while. What about the men your wife is with? Could they help?"

  Declan shook his head. "No. I'm not getting them involved and exposing Constance in the process. She's safe where she is and I want it to stay that way."

  "I hope you've still got a few friends out there somewhere, then. I have contacts throughout the military and intelligence world, but few that would be able to help us with something like this at such short notice and without a lot of questions being asked."

  "I've only got one idea and at this point I'd say it's a long shot. I've already been trying to get ahold of them most of the week without any success. I need a phone."

  Declan took the phone that Allardyce withdrew from his pocket. This would be his fifth attempt at reaching Okan Osman and Altair Nazari, the only two men he could think of that would be up to the task before him. Allardyce was right. He needed help. He couldn't charge into the home of an elected politician, who likely had at least some kind of physical security, all by himself; at least not if he wanted to preserve the lives of the people he found inside. While he wasn't sure that he believed in divine providence, now would be the time to ask for it.

  He dialed Osman's number and waited as the call connected.

  "Hello?"

  Declan's words caught in his throat for a moment at the sound of Osman's voice.

  "Who's calling?" Osman said forcefully.

  "Osman, it's Declan."

  "Declan! Where are you? We've been trying to reach you for two days now!"

  "I've been little busy."

  "Yes, I'd say. What is going on? Where are you?"

  "I'm in England and I'd rather not say anymore at the moment."

  "I understand. Are you safe? Constance?"

  "We're fine. Where are you?"

  "In Roanoke. As I said, we've been trying to find you for two days. Nazari and I boarded a plane as soon as the reports reached us."

  "I need your help."

/>   "Name it."

  Without going into any more detail than he had to, he caught Osman up on everything that had happened since he'd left the messages for him earlier in the week.

  "And you're certain Kemiss is behind it? I've met the man in passing. Abe knew him. This is an unimaginable betrayal."

  "I know," Declan said. "He just sent assassins to kill the CIA chief who helped him locate the United Kingdom's files on my past activities. We got here just in time."

  "Then he has to be stopped. What are you planning?"

  "A forced confession. We're going to need weapons and equipment for a raid. Some kind of surveillance would be great, if we can get it. Once this is done we're going to need someone with a lot of political connections to get it into the right hands. We need Asher Harel."

  "Done," Osman said. "Harel already knows. We left Israel under his orders. He's had a team of men from the Israeli embassy helping us locate you. He doesn't believe you're guilty of this anymore than I do."

  Declan felt his mouth curl into an involuntary grin. He didn't know whether it was the divine providence he had thought of moments before or sheer dumb luck, but David Kemiss was about to go down, hard.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  11:19 a.m. Eastern Time – Sunday

  Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport

  Charlottesville, Virginia

  The two Honeywell turbofan engines howled loudly as the rented Hawker 800XPR bounced onto the runway at Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport. The howl slowed to a consistent drone as the midsize aircraft made its way north on the airport's single runway towards the private hangar that had been arranged for the arrival of Lord Dennis Allardyce. Once the plane was inside, the double doors of the hangar were closed so the plane's occupants could disembark in complete privacy.

  "It was an honor having you aboard, sir," the captain said, as he exited the cockpit. He extended his hand toward Allardyce. "I hope you'll consider Jet Plus for all of your future flying needs."