Skystorm (Ryan Decker)

by Steven Konkoly

  “There’s always something going on over there,” said Decker, getting a few laughs.

  “Very true, but this feels different to me. I’m starting to think that APEX’s back is up against a wall, too. A financial wall. And whatever they’re cooking up right now is their version of a financial rescue package. By my estimation, our little partnership has cost them billions of dollars over the past few years. I have reason to suspect APEX stood to make money from the whole Mexican drug cartel plot. Combine that with the two billion that literally went up in smoke, and I’m starting to wonder if they didn’t put all of their rotten eggs in a basket somewhere in Texas. It could be their Achilles’ heel.”

  Or just another opportunity for Steele and Decker’s crew to dig a deeper hole for themselves. She’d let them decide if they wanted to proceed and fully support whatever course of action they chose—with every resource at her disposal. She owed them that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Harlow wanted to scream at the laptop sitting on the RV’s foldable table, but she’d resigned herself to more or less going with the flow after speaking her mind. What choice did they have, really? Her life had been reduced to sleeping on a four-inch-thick mattress in an RV, waking up what felt like every fifteen minutes to listen intently for the noise she thought had woken her up in the first place.

  Decker barely slept at all. He spent most of the night either tossing and turning on the couch in the salon or walking the meadow’s perimeter. He’d put Riley in the over-cab bunk with her so she’d “feel a little more insulated and safer.” Harlow didn’t have the heart to tell him she was smart enough, and now had the real-world gun battle experience, to understand how bullets worked. She was doing everything in her power to keep the peace under the circumstances. They’d barely been here longer than twenty-four hours—with no conceivable end in sight.

  She’d listen to Senator Steele’s proposal with an open mind. As open as possible crammed into an RV that looked to be her new home for the foreseeable future.

  “Before we start down this path, I want to make it clear that I will support you with every resource at my disposal, no matter what you decide. That goes for everyone individually. If you choose to vanish and weather out this storm, you can count on me to stand behind that decision financially and with whatever else I can muster.”

  Harlow glanced around the RV. Many of the faces looked like they’d be happy to take Steele up on that offer before hearing whatever plan she’d concocted. Most of them would be crazy not to. APEX had no real grudge with anyone here beyond Decker, Brad, and maybe herself. She’d always be at risk because of her relationship with Decker. Same with Decker’s family. The rest of them could take the money and run, risking very little—yet there were no immediate takers. We’ll see in a few minutes.

  “With that on the table, I’d like to review what we know and talk about possible solutions,” said Steele. “I’ll very briefly summarize what our FBI contact told us.”

  Harlow found it interesting that she didn’t use Reeves’s name. The still-silent entity on the conference, represented by the initials BF, was clearly not privy to that information. She also assumed that Steele had opted out of displaying video to protect BF’s identity. Some of Steele’s vast fortune and a one-way flight to Bali were sounding better by the minute.

  “In Los Angeles, the FBI confirmed a number of identities, many of them former Athena Corp employees, the company the FBI connected to the Alderpoint operation. Athena Corp was never formally linked to APEX, but we all know that was the case.”

  “It’s a nice deniability move,” said Decker. “Use twice-removed assets in case something goes sideways. APEX knows we have our sources.”

  “Correct. But they made a mistake with the ambush at Ezra Dalton’s town house. Dalton is the senior director at APEX I mentioned earlier. Not only did they similarly underestimate their targets, but they also left people behind. The big difference being that they desperately tried to clean up the scene. My associate’s counterambush didn’t give them the opportunity.

  “The FBI identified one of the men almost immediately, because he was a former FBI agent. Jeff Donnelly. Hostage Rescue Team leader turned kidnapper. He was killed in the process of trying to grab one of our surveillance techs. Donnelly is an employee of Cerberus Global, which looks remarkably like Athena.”

  “And will disappear tomorrow,” said Harlow. “Like Athena.”

  “Quite possibly, but they piled body on top of body to get their people out of there,” said Steele. “Cerberus might bear fruit if we can get a look inside before they fold up their tents.”

  “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree,” said Decker. “They wouldn’t have left this Donnelly guy if he could be linked to APEX. You should be looking as closely as possible at the group piling body on top of body into the vehicles.”

  “Interesting. That’s what my associates said.”

  “Can we get an introduction to our mystery guests?” said Harlow, getting a cross look from Decker.

  She shrugged at him.

  “I was about to turn this over to them,” said Steele.

  The BF square activated.

  “Hi. I apologize for the brevity of this introduction, but the clock is ticking. My name is Rich. The original team provided to the senator consisted of myself, another tactical operative, and two surveillance operatives. We’ve just added four tactical operatives to the team in light of the circumstances. I’ve worked closely with nearly everyone on this team for more than a decade. We’re good at what we do. Surveillance. Countersurveillance. Counterterrorism. Direct action. Espionage. Counterespionage. We don’t advertise. We don’t draw attention to ourselves—usually. That’s it.”

  Some muffled laughter erupted from Rich’s audio.

  “What? This isn’t share-and-tell hour?” said Rich, and pretty much everyone else laughed.

  “I like this guy. Doesn’t run his mouth all day like someone I know,” said Pam, looking over at Decker.

  “Funny,” said Decker.

  “Shit. Sorry about that. I thought my colleague knew to mute me at that point. I should have known better after a decade,” said Rich. “Anyway. Here’s what I propose. Bernie can fill in the details as we go along. Is that good with you, Bernie?”

  “Works for me. I don’t have much to say.”

  “Once again, pardon the brevity. I think Senator Steele’s assessment that something may have seismically shifted at APEX holds merit. I don’t know if I’d call it desperation, but we triggered what I’d consider a disproportionate response under the circumstances. They had discovered our surveillance of Dalton’s town house, a fact we did not know. They could have shot down Bernie’s plane and waited to move on our decoy stakeout location. Admittedly, I didn’t think twice about approaching Dalton’s town house—even after learning that the flight had been taken out.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have waited?” asked Harlow. “Give it some time to cool off?”

  Decker looked like he wanted to answer but thought better of it.

  “I probably should have, but at the time, the two events had no observable connection. Shooting down an aircraft on the verge of exposing APEX’s latest multibillion-dollar scheme didn’t strike me as unusual. In fact, it encouraged me to go ahead with a surveillance change at Dalton’s town house. We had planned to move one of the cameras to better support intelligence collection.”

  “They were waiting for you?” asked Decker.

  “Yes. But I believe the plan to kidnap our surveillance operative was in place well before they knew we’d be flying a plane over their heads that morning,” said Rich. “Long story short, they decided to neutralize the entire stakeout instead. Just a few hours after the plane went down. They had no idea we were planning to move one of the cameras that morning. They were in a hurry to bury any evidence of SKYSTORM, which is their name for whatever operation they’re running in Texas.”

  Bernie’s square illuminated. �
��I think I know what they’re up to. The aircraft that took down Quincy’s bird—”

  “Hold on. This wasn’t a surface-to-air missile attack?” said Decker.

  “No. Wait until you hear this,” said Bernie. “Quincy was hit by either twenty- or twenty-three-millimeter gunfire. She described the plane as boxy looking with a single propeller.”

  “One of those converted Thrush planes?”

  “Gun pods on the wings. Possibly a two-seater. Hard to tell, hanging from a parachute,” said Quincy. “Definitely a Thrush.”

  “I thought that program was dead. As in the State Department shut it down.”

  “The program under Eric King ended rather unceremoniously. I know, because the people running it asked me to consult on the project. I politely declined. A private company refitting and arming civilian aircraft for the military without government permission didn’t sound like the best career move at the time—or ever.”

  “How much money can be made on these?” asked Rich.

  “I heard that King had arranged a deal with South Sudan President Kiir to provide two planes for three hundred million dollars. That included pilots, armaments, logistical support, and an airbase. Everything the president needed to swat away a growing rebel insurgency.”

  “And the deal fell apart?” asked Senator Steele.

  “It was a total shit show from the beginning,” said Bernie. “Every aspect of it was a mess. They had to water it down so far from the original concept that the final prototype couldn’t do a quarter of what they had originally promised. And you needed a team of mechanics to nurse it twenty-four seven. King kept delaying delivery because the plane sucked.”

  “How did the State Department find out?” asked Steele.

  “Nobody really knows, but rumor around the campfire is that President Kiir tipped off the State Department because King couldn’t deliver on his promise. The whole program disappeared overnight.”

  “It doesn’t sound like the aircraft that attacked Quincy suffered from any performance issues,” said Decker.

  “I didn’t see any,” said Quincy. “The whole engagement was sort of like shooting fish in a barrel, but the pilot fired two sustained bursts and hit us squarely with both.”

  “I guess that begs the question: Is the plane a one-off built to guard APEX’s newest secret, or is the plane the secret?” said Rich.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Bernie. “I’ll be airborne in a few hours to conduct a thorough aerial reconnaissance of the original surveillance area. I should have what we need by noon tomorrow.”

  Harlow glanced at Decker, who beat her to the obvious.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “What are you, my mother?” said Bernie.

  “Quincy. Can you help me out here?” said Decker.

  “It’s fine. The Thrush’s max operating altitude is around twelve thousand feet,” said Quincy. “I was flying at six thousand when I was hit.”

  “I’ll be up at around twenty. Untouchable by one of those abominations,” said Bernie. “They may not even notice me. I won’t be flying a back-and-forth search grid. We had no idea what we were looking for before, but now we do.”

  “A runway where there shouldn’t be a runway,” said Rich.

  “Connected to God knows how many buildings and hangars that shouldn’t be there, either,” said Bernie. “Hey. I have some work to do before we take off, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to sign off.”

  “Be careful, Bernie,” said Steele. “If something feels off, get the hell out of there.”

  “Don’t worry, Senator,” said Bernie. “Decker still owes me some drinks, and I’m not planning on checking out until he’s made good on that promise.”

  “I owe you a new aircraft, come to think of it,” said Steele.

  “The jet was insured. The FAA wouldn’t let me fly without it,” said Bernie.

  “The least I can do is cover the premium hike you’re looking at,” said Steele.

  “Damn. I hadn’t thought of that. We can discuss it when we settle up.”

  “Deal,” said the senator.

  “Preferably over a stiff drink or two somewhere warm. Adios, amigos,” said Bernie, disconnecting from the conference.

  “I like that guy,” said Rich. “I sure as hell hope APEX doesn’t have surface-to-air-missile capability.”

  “Don’t even say that,” said Steele.

  “Sorry, ma’am. It was a joke. At that altitude, APEX would need a Patriot Missile system to shoot him down,” said Rich.

  Harlow almost started laughing at how badly Rich had read the room. Not to mention his deadpan delivery of a morbidly inappropriate joke. Decker elbowed her and mouthed, “What?” She leaned into his ear and whispered, “That was some joke.” He stifled a laugh, which caught on with the rest of the team. Within moments, everyone was locked up, unable to make a sound without laughing.

  “Okay. Well, let’s hope they don’t have one of those,” said Steele. “Could they have that kind of capability?”

  Decker pulled himself together enough to answer. “I can’t imagine any circumstance in which they’d have access to something like that. And if they do—it’s time for all of us to strongly consider your original offer.”

  “Fair enough,” said Steele. “I suppose we should reconvene when Bernie returns, in case he doesn’t find anything.”

  “Senator. What are you and Rich thinking we can do if Bernie finds something?” asked Harlow. “I assume you’ve had time to throw some ideas back and forth. What are we looking at for options? What resources would we need? Timeline? Anything.”

  “I’ll let Rich cover that,” said Steele. “He’s batted around some ideas with the team.”

  “You’re probably tired of hearing me say this, but I’ll keep it short. Mostly because all of this is so preliminary. Keep in mind that the mission is to deliver a kill strike against APEX. Are we all in agreement with that strategy?”

  “Yes. Assuming it can be done,” said Harlow.

  “That’s how I’m looking at it,” said Pierce.

  “I don’t see any other choice,” said Decker. “For me at least. For some of the people sitting with me, taking your original offer might make more sense.”

  “I completely agree, Ryan,” said Steele. “And that offer will always stand.”

  “But are we all in agreement that anything less than attempting a kill strike is pointless?”

  Everyone agreed, and Rich continued. “Okay. Bear with me here. I see two distinct scenarios. One assumes we find something worth going after in Texas. The other assumes we don’t. The simplest, but arguably more difficult, scenario is the latter.

  “Without a high-value target in Texas, we can focus all of our resources on tactical strikes against APEX targets here in DC. Board members, high-level group leaders, the APEX building itself, their rapid security force annex in Manassas.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Pierce. “Why don’t we just go with door number one?”

  “Because we’re talking about a near-simultaneous strike against more than a few dozen highly protected, hard-to-access targets. Given a Ranger battalion, we could pull it off—”

  “Not to spend the senator’s money, but . . . ,” said Harlow.

  Steele had a quick laugh.

  “Trust me, Harlow. I already asked. Unfortunately for us, APEX has consolidated most of the mercenary market under their subsidiary corporations around the world,” said Steele. “Very few independent groups or individual contractors will be eager to square off against them.”

  “Or pass up a twenty-million-dollar bounty,” said Decker.

  “And there’s that,” said Steele.

  “So back to scenario one,” said Pierce. “My guess is you were about to say that we’d end up doing mostly cosmetic damage. We’re not blowing up a four-story building in McLean, Virginia, which is the only conceivable way of taking out all of our targets at once, so even if we manage to kil
l most of the board, that still leaves them with the spoils of their big project in Texas, and they fill the seats with warm bodies and move on.”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” said Rich. “If it’s the only option, we’ll do our best to strike a mortal blow, but the odds are heavily stacked against us.”

  “Scenario two splits our resources, but you think the Texas side of our operation might be a little easier,” said Decker.

  “Not easier, but definitely vulnerable to the kind of asymmetric attack your team has brought to the table recently,” said Rich. “Senator Steele has briefed me on your team’s impressive exploits from Jacob Harcourt’s mansion to the Mexico raid, capped off by your most recent feat of magic outside of a warehouse in Nevada. If there’s an airfield and a hangar complex housing twenty of those Thrush aircraft, in various states of assembly, waiting to be sold to the highest-bidding banana republic dictator—I can’t think of a better-suited mission. Seriously.”

  “I’m still listening,” said Pierce.

  “Me too,” said Harlow, glancing around at some doubtful faces.

  She didn’t expect them to agree or disagree with Rich’s idea. With the exception of Pam, and maybe Katie, they weren’t trained for this kind of work. Neither was she, truthfully. Harlow had never felt more out of place than the Nevada warehouse raid—to the point where she’d considered her presence more of a danger than a service.

  With Brooklyn and Garza in the hospital, and the prospect of bringing mercenaries they’d worked with in the past dampened by the twenty-million-dollar bounty hanging over their heads, Pierce and Decker pretty much composed all they had to offer as a strike force. Rich continued with his pitch.

  “I know it sounds intimidating—”

  “More like suicidal,” said Katie, giving Harlow a break from being the voice of reason.

  “Fair enough. But the Texas side of the equation doesn’t have to be a high-explosive-focused, direct-action raid,” said Rich. “I think with Bernie’s help you could pull that off, but your best choice might be to gather rock-solid evidence and use the senator’s Beltway allies to convince the feds to take a field trip to the middle of the Texas Panhandle. Or a combination of both. Screw things up out there and send the feds in. Kind of like you did in Nevada.”