Rivers of Gold

by Adam Dunn

  “No, Reza, disagreeing with me is a mistake. Let me put it in terms you can understand. This problem with the other club owner, the one who won’t back down? This is not a problem. This is why I sent you Baby-fata, to keep you on schedule.”

  Reza involuntarily glanced over at Baby-fata, who even sitting down was enormous. As always, he had a lollipop stuck in his mouth. Raspberry, this one smelled like. From the line of his massive shoulders upward, he looked to be about nine years old. His soft brown eyes had long lashes and his hair was very fine in the manner of mongoloid children and brushed forward from the back of his head. Reza blinked away the memory of what Jan had told him, about how Baby-fata worked, up close, which tools he favored.

  “Her organization is simply an obstacle to be cleared away, with whatever usable elements absorbed into our operations. De ce a faci o mare treaba din asta?”

  Reza knew his next words were vital, but must be chosen with care. Delicately, he said: “Four dead cabdrivers in as many weeks brings unwanted attention from the police.”

  “De la poliţie?” roared the Slav in his ear. It took a few breathless moments for Reza to realize he was laughing. “They can’t even afford to buy themselves guns! They’re almost as bad off as the ones we have at home. They’re nothing to worry about.”

  “But—”

  “Reza, shut up and listen. You think Prokhorov took over Renaissance by dragging his feet? No. He wasted no time seizing his opportunity. That is what you are there for: to secure our opportunities. The only difference is, I’m not screwing around with banks or financial firms, at least not beyond the necessary footholds. I am an old-fashioned guy. I relate to older, more well-established values. Like land. Land is power, it always has been, see? Long before paper money, credit, and blestemat securitized debt, there was land. And it will retain its value long after the worthless idiots who went broke speculating on it are dead. Land, and the intelligent and enduring uses made of it. Look at the Park Row Building, Reza, a timeless masterpiece. Wouldn’t you feel more secure owning that than some worthless investment portfolio you can’t even touch? And that could become worthless overnight? Like that moron Deripaska. Is that what you take me for? Nu?”

  Reza swallowed hard. He tried not to look at Baby-fata, who seemed interested in nothing beyond his lollipop. “Desigur, nu.”

  “Good. Then you understand my point, that things must be accelerated. We are not the only ones interested in owning New York, Reza. The very institution through which we conduct our overseas financing is looking to consolidate its position in New York. In fact, the Arabs are investing in a number of upgraded legitimate business projects around the city. They’re even backing some new kind of taxi garage, would you believe it? They’re letting some fucking Pakistani cabbies run it, who knows, maybe you even worked with them once.” The Slav unleashed another salvo of awful laughter in Reza’s ear.

  “So you see, Reza, time is running out. New York is for sale, and despite the economic turbulence, there is no shortage of potential buyers. I do not intend to be late to the auction, nor will I be outbid for the choicest items that go under the hammer. I am the hammer, Reza, and you would be wise not to forget it.” The connection was severed and the line was empty, save for a few whorls of dissonance as the scrambler and satellite link faded out.

  Baby-fata—Babyface—reached out one massive paw, and Reza gingerly placed the secure cell phone into it.

  Acest lucru nu o sa se termine bine.

  DATE:

  TO: NID, /JSOC, /DoD

  FROM: /

  SECURITY CLEARANCE: DARK SECRET

  RE: Domestic deployment of HUMINT/SCAR asset MORE, EVERETT NMI (hereafter “Subject”)

  BACKGROUND: Subject born on or around mid-April 1980 in Shoshone, Lincoln County, ID. Official birth certificate missing. Subject’s mother identified as Loretta Grace More; father unknown. Mother’s medical records indicate multiple treatments for complications related to alcoholism; no record of Subject’s treatment for fetal alcohol syndrome.

  Little data available RE Subject’s early years. Mother worked as waitress/barmaid at Cal’s Bar & Grill on District Hwy. 24. Mother had multiple citations for DUI; one for solicitation; one arrest for D&D, no charges filed. County records show Subject attended school in . Subject first applied for library card in 1987; state library records show Subject renewed card until enlistment in USMC in 1997. (NOTE: lack of personal data suggests possibility Subject falsified age to meet enlistment requirements.)

  Subject underwent basic training at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, CA. Early evaluations indicated aptitude for endurance; Subject underwent SERE training at NAS North Island facility as well as Camp Pendleton scout/sniper training programs; Subject qualified for Coronado BRC training program in 1998. Upon completion, Subject underwent ASC at USMC Quantico, VA. From Quantico, Subject attended eight-week USMC Combatant Diver Course, followed by three-week (Ground/Tower/Jump) airborne qualification at USAAS Ft. Benning, GA. Upon completion, Subject TRUEX-qualified.

  Subject’s first combat post was with , Kosovo, 1999. Subject returned to USMC Pendleton in 2000. (NOTE: Subject did not go home while on furlough, instead volunteering for intensive language studies and advanced communications/TGO training.)

  Upon initiation of Operation Enduring Freedom (fall 2001), Subject selected for advance insertion with 3/75th Rangers and 23rd STS as part of an ITG FORECON contingent for securing FOB “Rhino” following Operation Crescent Wind, October 2001. (NOTE: Subject should be considered at this stage a “Green Side” operator.) Subject witnessed firsthand the friendly-fire mishap between USMC gunships and USN SEAL recon team during local area operations. (NOTE: While no casualties were suffered, the incident undoubtedly had a pronounced effect on Subject’s inclination toward FAC [Forward Air Controller] training.)

  Following the establishment of Rhino as a FOB for 15 MEU(SOC) and 1 SASR, Subject was involved with push on Konduz. Due to CJSOTF requirements, such as , Subject accompanied SASR on at least one and perhaps more long-range reconnaissance patrols, which often took him near or in some cases across the border into Pakistan. (NOTE: This period saw Subject building extensive contacts in the SOF community, particularly among US ODA SOF TACPs, as well as SASR and NZSAS units.)

  Upon hearing of the friendly-fire accident involving ODA 574 on 5 December (NOTE: An inadequately trained TACP caused a JDAM to be dropped on his own unit’s position, resulting in at least 25 killed or wounded, including a near-miss for soon-to-be-installed President Karzai), Subject immediately requested transfer to JSOTF-N (TF Dagger). Request denied.

  Subject returned to LRRPs, staying out for longer and longer periods with mixed SOF units; longest patrol recorded was 41 days. Upon returning to base, Subject volunteered whenever possible for training in local area languages (e.g., Pashto, Dari, Punjabi, Urdu, etc.) before resuming patrols.

  Subject’s activities eventually attracted the attention of OGA / . When approached, Subject formally requested TACP (or FAC in USMC parlance) training. Upon completing his first Afghan tour of duty (late 2002), Subject did not go home; instead, Subject was promoted and transferred to the Udairi Ridge TACP facility in Kuwait. (NOTE: Udairi not a formal facility, nor exclusive to any one branch of service. Other attendees present from USMC, as well as USAF/STS and OGA units.)

  Subject returned to Afghan theater in late 2003, assigned to . Subject returned to long-range patrols, often involving mixed personnel and equipment. (NOTE: During this period Subject’s unit patrols grew longer, with a rate of engagement well above most JSOC units. Cross-border incursions became deeper and more frequent.)

  Subject’s unit ambushed on in . Although seriously wounded, Subject nevertheless called in a JADAM-equipped B1B (NOTE: How Subject was able to raise this specific aircraft, with these specific munitions, all the way from the airbase at , is unknown) and guided in a “danger close” airstrike. Enemy force completely destroyed; Subject’s unit exfiltrated to and successfully extr
acted by joint SOAR/MWSS airlift. Subject MEDEVACd to Rhine-Main, Germany.

  During his convalescence, Subject was visited several times by and , as well as / throughout early 2004. (NOTE: Subject declined to have family members notified; no inquiries from Subject’s family were recorded as to his condition or his prolonged absence.)

  Following an unexpectedly early release, Subject did not go

  home. Subject (promoted again) reported to USMC Camp

  Lejeune, NC, where he remained throughout 2004 and into

  2005, with several brief details to Washington for

  During this period Subject literally learned to fly: Subject trained and was solo-certified for fixed-wing flight in , and . Subject also temporarily detailed to for cross-training with members of and in both reconnaissance and tactical deployment of UAVs.

  With the official formation of MARSOC in 2006, Subject returned to Afghanistan. (NOTE: Subject should hereafter be considered a MARSOC operator.) Subject (now commanding a mixed SOF/AMF unit with unconventional equipment, such as SASR Parenties and RSOVs, as well as “Gator” and “Prowler” ATVs, even using retired “Chenowth” DPVs and M1030M1 motorcycles, all modified for communal JP8 fuel) resumed cross-border patrols throughout northern Pakistan, at least once traversing the entire country, crossing the LOC and infiltrating the Jammu-Kashmir region between Pakistan and India. Subject’s unit achieved unprecedented engagement and enemy kill rates, while setting new standards in CAS efficacy.

  However, allegations of repeated engagement with Pakistani forces eventually forced the recall of Subject’s unit to base in late 2010; following surge of conventional forces in-country that year, Subject’s unit was disbanded. Subject concluded his fourth Afghan tour in Kabul, studying languages and new airlift applications for combat vehicles. (NOTE: Studies of comparative combat weights of a surprising array of vehicles, such as IAVs, LAVs, Bradleys, and UK Warrior APCs, including classified rubber-track combat fitments, were found in copies of his personal computer files when he returned Stateside in 2010.)

  Subject did not go home. He is presently assigned to based at . Subject currently holds the rank of ; he has been awarded the Navy & Marine Corps Commendation Medal, three Combat Action ribbons, two Purple Hearts, the Bronze Star and the Silver Star.

  COMMENTS: Two themes recur throughout the Subject’s career, namely, his continual striving for self-improvement, and his focus on optimizing CAS. Subject was clearly set on Force Recon from the beginning. His burgeoning interest in CAS, from the ground and eventually above it, should come as no surprise, given his long-term immersion into the SOF community, particularly among TACPs and LRRP groups. Likewise his early sniper training proved to be complementary to the FAC role, a blending of skill sets seen elsewhere among SOF TACPs/FACs deployed in both Afghanistan and Iraq.

  Such a remarkable degree of achievement within the given time span warrants mention of the fact that the Subject lacks all semblance of a normal home life which can conflict with the demanding long-term mission requirements of SOF life. Subject’s fitreps, while impeccable, indicate a solitary personality, though one not incapable of functioning within and supporting a larger unit. (NOTE: In basic training, Subject showed disdain for typical hazing measures taken against new recruits, e.g., tattoos, branding, etc. Several incidents of injuries of cadets within Subject’s training platoon on record as arising from such alleged activities; no charges filed against Subject, nor did Subject report any complaints, or for medical treatment, for any injuries sustained.) This is not to imply that the Subject is incapable of unit solidarity or that the Subject was reckless with the men under his command; according to debriefings of those in his unit ambushed at , firsthand accounts confirm Subject refused extraction until every man in his unit was accounted for and the remains of those KIA were recovered for burial. Such behavior is consistent with the highest aspirations

  of the USMC for its recruits.

  Subject’s psychological evaluation suggests a highly systemic thought process, combined with a shallowness of affect and a degree of self-discipline almost frightening in its intensity (a conclusion supported by the Subject’s ability to assimilate new languages even well into adulthood). Subject’s ability to blend into new environments and fluid situations recommend him highly for this mission.

  EQUIPMENT/WEAPONS QUALIFICATIONS: Subject is well versed in the following communications systems: AN/PRC-150; DCT; AN/PRC-148; MPLI and MBITR; AN/PRC-117F; AN/PRC-138. Subject is also trained in the use of the following surveillance/TGO systems: SIDS; AN-PVS-14;AN/PVQ-4; ANP/PEQ-1A SOFLAM;MS-2000(M).

  Aside from advanced unarmed combat training, Subject has displayed an unusually high degree of proficiency with the following small arms: 5.56mm M4A1 (all SOPMOD configurations); 7.62mm M40A1 and M40A3; 7.62mm M14 Mod 0 and Mk 11 Mod 0; 12-gauge JSCS; 9mm M9; and .45 MEU(SOC). Subject also qualified with M82 and M107 long-range .50 caliber sniper rifles, as well as the 25mm M109 AMPR. (NOTE: Subject also became familiar with a number of undocumented weapons systems while serving in mixed SOF units in Afghanistan.)

  Subject is combat dive- and jump-qualified, FAC-certified, E&E-driving certified, and fixed-wing solo pilot certified for both

  and aircraft. (NOTE: Subject’s flight certification is civilian.)

  MISC.: Any references to the unit known as “More’s Machine,” or to the Subject’s alleged nickname “Ever,” are wholly unsubstantiated.

  P A R T III

  (agnikand)

  C O N F L A G R A T I O N

  “P U T S O M E T A L C

  I N Y O U R T A I N T”

  Santiago felt like he’d been dropped into a mobile switchboard manned by speed freaks. More was working his phone, calling in air surveillance on the chase car behind them, while telling Santiago to call the Traffic Ops dispatcher to get some uniforms to block downtown Second Avenue traffic at East Sixtieth Street, on the Manhattan side of the Queensboro Bridge, and then to position some ALPR cars along the Sixtieth Street corridor between Second and Fifth avenues in case the stationary cameras mounted on the traffic signals at key chokepoint intersections missed the tags on the chase car.

  “Identifying your target’s as important as taking it out,” More explained in his command voice. “The ALPRs are for backup in case whoever’s behind us gets away. Maybe the computer guys can dig up something from the fake plates. But I’ve got a faster way to find out who’s in that car.” He outlined his plan in broad strokes as they rolled toward the city.

  Santiago listened, thinking it through. When he could visualize More’s plan, it brought a smile to his face.

  “Hell, yeah,” he said half to himself, the radio mike in one hand, his phone in the other, grinning like a kid being let in on a devious prank. “Oh hell, yeah.”

  They used the highway time coordinating between Aviation, Traffic, and other NYPD units. Santiago started wondering exactly what the fuck More was up to when More told him to raise Central on the radio and have them scramble a surge patrol from the Police Academy on East Twentieth straight up Third Avenue. Surge patrols were blocks-long motorcades of police cruisers cobbled together from various precincts in a mass emergency CT response. It was mostly for show and a pain in the ass for all other drivers; even the cops hated them. After having a shouting match with the dispatcher on the radio, Santiago got McKeutchen on the phone. Wherever More was taking this, Santiago wanted his ass covered.

  He noticed More using his left-foot braking while simultaneously goosing the gas, expertly weaving the old taxicab in and out of traffic along the expressway. He held his speed to about fifty and used his signals. Santiago noticed two more things as they took the Northern Boulevard exit off the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway: More was driving like he hadn’t made the tail yet; and one of Aviation’s birds, an Agusta A-119 Koala in NYPD blue and white, popped up over Long Island City, hovering over the Costco on Vernon Boulevard. The first part of More’s trap was in place.

  Wherever More had learned to drive, he
was no slouch. He hit every light on the green or yellow, never stopping as they sailed down Northern Boulevard to Thirty-sixth Avenue, then cut left down Crescent Street. It took them a little out of the way, but also kept them out of Queens Plaza gridlock; Santiago saw the speedo creeping towards sixty as they headed for the entrance to the lower roadway ramp for the Queensboro Bridge.

  The lower roadway?

  “Yo, why you takin’ the lower roadway, it’s commercial, it empties onto—OH, SHIT!” Santiago put a death grip on his overhead safety strap.

  If More noticed the red light at the ramp entrance on Queensborough Plaza, he paid it no mind as he put the cab into a perfect forty-five-degree drift from the outer left lane on the street all the way onto the inner right lane of the ramp access, tires shrieking. Santiago cursed More in two languages as he struggled to lock in his seatbelt, his knees bouncing up into his chest as they climbed the ramp onto the bridge, accelerating between a cable company van and a UPS truck.

  “Feet wet,” More quacked as they soared out over the East River.

  Juggling the radio, his phone, and constant checks of both mirrors, half-blinded by the dappling sunlight hammering in on them through the bridge’s massive steel latticework, Santiago realized that More had now cast off any semblance of stealth, hitting the siren and lights masked in the cab’s grille. Their taxi was the bait, and the tail was the prey. It was a car chase in reverse. Santiago cursed again. Why did shit like this have to happen to him? Being trapped in a dirty fucking taxicab piloted by an ESU psycho, barreling across one of the busiest bridges in the city, toward one of the worst intersections in midtown Manhattan during mid-morning traffic? It was almost like—