“Because it wouldn’t go any more,” Nagano said. “Machine Gun Guy was firing when she pulled it away. A stray bullet killed the reporter. My guess is he got a few rounds into the car. Tires maybe. Engine perhaps.”
“Good news is two doors are open and there are no bodies in the street.” J. J. searched the photo for signs of a female corpse or two.
“When it hit the fan, I had our intel guys monitor the police, fire, Kyrgyzstan military frequency. As you can imagine, the airwaves are burning up with transmissions. Some patrons in a restaurant complained about a gunman running through the place. That restaurant is right here.” He pointed at the street in front of a building a few strides from the car in the middle of the street.
“Did they respond?” Jose asked.
“No. The cops have their hands full with the riots. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the two are related.”
J. J. looked at the base commander. “Do you know better, sir?”
“No, I don’t. I’m a tad paranoid, an attribute that has served me well.” He straightened but still looked like a man who had several bags of cement on his shoulders. “So here’s what we have: an Army-trained officer on the run from at least one gunman. He may have called for backup. With her is the president’s daughter. There are riots in the city that are getting worse and, I am told by my advisers, will get worse when the sun goes down. We are forbidden by U.S. law and by the locals to intervene in any way. So what are we about to do? Intervene, at least until we get our soldier back.”
“We will find her, sir,” J. J. said.
“Are you being confident or cocky?”
J. J. shrugged. “Both.”
Weidman nodded. “Okay, a couple more things: one, the cell system in the country is down as are the landlines. The intel guys think that may be more ominous than it sounds. Your communication will be like that in the field. All radio.” He looked at Pete. “You’re the communications guy, you got the gear to do that?”
“Yes, sir, and more. We have CONNIE.”
Weidman blinked and waited for an explanation. Pete pulled an electronic tablet from his gear. “Look’s like an iPad or one of those other tablet gizmos.”
“That’s what it looks like, sir, but it’s a good deal more than that.” Pete looked like a proud father. “Is the colonel familiar with the way the Navy communicates with submarines?”
“Faster and funnier, Pete,” J. J. said. “Don’t waste the colonel’s time. You new guys need to hear this.”
“Modern submarines seldom surface except to retrieve communications. Even then they just send up an antenna. Their base sends a transmission in condensed digital packets, in bursts. It takes only seconds and the sub can then be on its way undetected. This is a field version of the technology. It’s new but we had great success with it not long ago. We can receive written orders, maps, images, and even video. It comes to us by satellite feed.”
“I imagine it’s faster than carrier pigeon.”
“But not nearly as tasty.” Aliki tried to look serious. He looked at the others. “What?”
“Hence, ‘Joker.’” Nagano shook his head. “I’ve been putting up with this for a lot of years.”
Weidman pulled the conversation back to target. “I have two vehicles for you. You’ll be leaving during daylight, but you can’t be seen running around in full gear. Your CBUs have no insignias, but your weapons are clearly American as are your accents, so if you’re compromised, we won’t be fooling anyone. We’ll deny ever knowing you but no one is going to believe us. Understood.”
J. J. answered for the team. “Yes, sir. Five by five.”
“I wish we could wait until nightfall, but too much is at stake.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll be ready in ten.”
“You have five.” Colonel Weidman walked from the room.
“Okay, gentlemen, I’m going to have to say this quick and I’m only going to say it once. I expected a couple of months of drills and practice before our team was mission ready. Well, that’s not going to happen.” J. J. looked at Aliki and Nagano. “Everything I’ve heard about you is good, but I need to hear it from you. This team had to deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder problems once and it almost got us killed. You guys lost a lot of men a few weeks ago. Are you still able to function in the field?”
“Sure, Boss,” Nagano said. “The medics cleared us for duty and our psych evals are clear.”
“I know what the paper says, Mike. I need you to look me in the eye and tell me straight: You good to go?”
“Golden,” Aliki said. “Good to go.”
“Mike?”
Nagano stared into J. J.’s eyes. “You can count on me, Boss.”
J. J. searched their faces, eyes, demeanor for any tells indicating a problem.
“Anything I need to know about before we hit the streets?”
“No, Boss,” Aliki and Nagano said in stereo.
“Excellent.” J. J. looked at the others. “Gear ready?”
“Ready.” They spoke in unison.
“Okay, Aliki is the second on this mission, just like Shaq was before. Clear?”
“Clear.”
“We’ll be moving out in two civilian vehicles. Vans.” He looked at Pete. “Junior, you’ll be with me. Doc, you too—and you’ll be driving. Junior, you got maps on CONNIE?”
“Yes, Boss.”
J. J. knew a mission had begun when proper names gave way to nicks. “Joker, you lead the second team. That’s you, Hawkeye, and Weps. Don’t break Hawkeye. He’s young and fragile.”
“I’m not that young. Wait. Or fragile.”
They laughed and J. J. had no doubts Crispin was trying to lessen the tension. “Doc, introduce the new guys to the tradition.”
Jose moved closer to the table, removed his wallet, something he would soon, like the others, lock away, and removed a photo of his wife Lucy, seven-year-old Maria, eight-year-old Matteo, ten-year-old Jose Jr., and two-year-old Tito. He set it on the flat surface. Pete retrieved a photo of his wife and set it next to Jose’s family photo. Unmarried Crispin set a picture of his father on the table. J. J. looked at Aliki, who seemed stunned. He withdrew his wallet and withdrew a family photo that looked like it represented three generations. Mike was ready when his turn came. His photo showed a petite Japanese-featured woman. “My fiancée.” He spoke softly.
Finally, J. J. set his picture on the pile of photos. It was black-and-gray-and-white, indistinct.
“That’s your wife, Boss?” Aliki’s brow furrowed. “Man, you married badly.”
“It’s a sonogram of my unborn twins.”
“Oh.” Aliki grinned. “I can see the resemblance.”
J. J. didn’t respond. He placed a hand on the photos. Jose followed, as did Pete and Crispin. A moment later, Mike’s hand joined the others. Aliki put his big paw out. It shook. J. J. took a deep breath. “For them, and for those like them, we do this.”
The team repeated the words. “For them, and for those like them, we do this.”
A few moments of silence passed. J. J. prayed silently, then said, “Let’s rock, gentlemen.”
J. J. Bartley led his men from the room and wondered what awaited them.
CHAPTER 9
OUTSIDE THE ADMIN BUILDING awaited two ordinary-looking vehicles: one a Russian-made delivery-style van, the other a Chinese-made van. Both looked as if they rolled off the assembly line a mere two decades before. The Russian GAZ was painted—repainted, J. J. assumed—a charcoal gray and bore injuries of years of use. The red Chinese JAC Motors looked less damaged but no one would take it for anything other than a well-worn van looking for a place to park and die.
“Choose your vehicle, Joker.” J. J. stood, doing his best not to look stunned.
“Do I have to?”
He shook his head. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
“It’s like choosing between which disease you want,” Nagano said.
“Is that supposed to be funny?” Jose stood next to the new guy.
“There’s nothing funny about those things.” He turned to Aliki. “Choose the red one.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s red? Because it’s Chinese? I don’t know. Red and Chinese seem to go together.”
“That’s your logic?” Jose said.
“It’s all I got.”
Aliki shrugged. “One bag of garbage is like any other. We’ll take the red one. Weps, you got the wheel. Come on, Rookie, you’re in the back with me.”
Crispin looked offended. “I’m not a rookie. I did tours in Afghanistan and have one spec op under my belt.”
“Of course you do, Rookie. I mean no offense. How can I make it up to you?”
“Stop calling me Rookie.”
Aliki slapped Crispin on the shoulder. “Will do, Rookie.”
“Mount up, men. We have a couple of damsels to find.” J. J. started for the gray delivery truck. “Take the wheel, Doc.”
“Roger that.”
Once in the vehicles, J. J. led them through a radio check. Once satisfied, he uttered one word: “Talley-ho!”
Jose spent the time during the radio check to get acquainted with the vehicle. “At least they drive on the right side of the road.” He dropped the car into gear and started for the front gate. By plan, Aliki’s team would leave five minutes later.
The sun touched the horizon.
THE SOUND OF BISHKEK grew louder and more ominous. Sirens wailed unceasingly. Shouts once distant were closer now. Amelia was hearing more gunfire. She had no idea the kinds of weapons being used. The closest reports sounded like handguns and a few like automatic weapons. She was certain one weapon out here was a Russian-made machine gun. That one had been aimed at her and she had no reason to believe the attacker called it a night.
Something in her gut told here there was more going on than she knew. She didn’t like the feeling.
“You still with me, Jildiz?”
“Where else would I go.” The woman’s words were weak and robed with raspy breathing. Her pace had fallen off. What a team. One wounded woman leading another woman who can barely breathe.
“Here.” The word was soft but Amelia got the idea that Jildiz was attempting to be forceful but lacked the air to do so.
Amelia stopped and peered through the darkening alley. Jildiz pointed at a rear door. A small, utilitarian sign was attached to the wood surface with screws. Apetka was painted on the sign in Cyrillic. The equivalent word in Kyrgyz was below it.
Taking Jildiz by the arm, she led her charge to a spot next to a large metal trash container. “Stay here while I scope things out.” She didn’t wait for an answer.
Amelia inched to the door. It was solid and showed years of wear. Who painted back doors anyway? A small window with bars was to the right of the door. She moved to it but didn’t look in. First, she listened for voices but heard none. She moved her head closer to the window, then peeked in. What sunlight remained poured through the front windows and the rear window she stood by. She saw shelves and guessed she was looking into the back area of the store where the pharmacist did his prescription work. The place looked empty.
She returned to the door and tried the knob. Locked. Of course. Bars on the window and a locked door. Why had she expected it to be easy? She studied the door and remembered a line from one of her Army instructors during SERE training: “Most locks just give the illusion of security.”
She returned to Jildiz. The lawyer labored to draw a breath. She needed help and help now. “I’m going to have to break in but it’s going to take a few minutes, if I’m able to do it at all. I expect you to hang in there. Okay?”
Jildiz nodded. Apparently talking was becoming more difficult. Amelia’s mind raced trying to form a plan she could implement quickly. The door swung in, which meant she had no access to the hinges. The lock was a dead bolt and while it looked old, it appeared sturdy. She glanced down the alley and saw another store—a hardware store.
“Bingo.”
“What?”
“Stay put.”
Amelia moved through the twilight to the store two doors down and across the alley. It had a pair of rear access doors, no doubt to allow for deliveries of materials and larger power tools. It, too, had a rear window. She surveyed the place as she did at the pharmacy. Empty. No doubt store owners felt closing down for the day to be safer than trying to carry on business as usual.
The lock on the door looked as formidable as the one on the pharmacy but there were no bars on the window. Like alleys everywhere, trash bins and containers lined the sides. Amelia went Dumpster diving and found a segment of metal electrical conduit, a hallow tube used to shield wiring. Retrieving the three-foot pipe, she returned to the window. She glanced up and down the alley, then added to the noise in the air by driving one end of conduit through the glass pane then using it to clear the shards from the window frame.
Pulling herself through the small window was difficult, her hips barely clearing the narrow opening. On the other side of the window was a wood workbench covered with catalogs only a hardware store owner would find interesting.
She pulled herself through scattering catalogs, order forms, and three-ring binders to the side and onto the floor. Quickly as she could, she finished her breaking-and-entering by finding her footing and pausing to listen for sounds of employees drawn to the clatter she just made. No one came.
Amelia allowed herself a moment to pause. Her wound burned in protest to what she just asked it to do. The wound on her forehead began to bleed again and she had to push the blood from her eye.
“Keep going, girl. You can lick your wounds later.”
The dimming daylight made it difficult to see but she wasted no time moving up and down the aisles looking for a tool to use for her next B&E. Scores of ideas ran through her head but she dismissed them all. A power tool required electricity or compressed air. That meant moving a long extension cord or an air compressor. Other ideas floated by before she fell back on a bit of wisdom she learned from her medical doctor father: “Start with the simple then move to the complex if needed.”
Two minutes later, Amelia unlocked the delivery door and emerged into the alley with a ten-pound, yellow-handled sledgehammer.
J. J.’S MIND SWIRLED as the old panel truck bounced down streets on metal-fatigued springs and shocks five years past their usefulness. The team once traveled through part of eastern Siberia by large panel truck painted to look like a FedEx vehicle. The back was equipped with seats. Uncomfortable seats, but seats nonetheless. This contraption had seats too: metal folding chairs with a backrest screwed to one of the narrow uprights supporting the sheet metal sides. J. J. never thought he would, but he missed the Siberian FedEx truck.
“The Air Force spared no price in fixing us up with these digs.” Pete studied the tablet device they nicknamed CONNIE. A GPS map was on the screen. A green dot indicated their location; a blue dot Aliki’s team. A red dot marked the street where the attempted abduction took place.
“Just remember, it isn’t the kind of vehicle that makes it military, it’s who’s in it.”
“So you’re enjoying the ride, Boss.”
“Not in the least.”
“Uh oh,” Pete said. “Just got a burst transmission.”
“Let’s hear it.” J. J. leaned closer, spreading his feet to keep from sliding off the chair.
“It’s from Colonel Weidman. The riots have spread. Intel tells him the phone system was sabotaged. Same for the cell towers.”
“So this is more rebellion than riot.”
“I guess.”
“
That’s not good. Riots are headless beasts; rebellions come with planning.” J. J. felt his gut twist.
“The colonel must have some computer jockey pulling things together. He’s sent a map showing where the crowds are and the fires.”
“Hand it over.” J. J. took CONNIE.
“There’s more than one map. Slide your finger to the left, you’ll see the ‘then-and-now’ map.”
J. J. did. “They’re still near our area of operation but the numbers seem to be further north of the street.”
“But they’re moving that way, Boss. We may have company when we get there. Weidman says the numbers are growing. There are more fires. It’s like the city has gone mad.”
J. J. frowned. “Maybe the whole country.” He wanted to tell Jose to step on it, but he was trying to avoid attention. Could that be done in a city filled with rioters? They charted a course around the edge of town to avoid the growing crowds in the downtown streets. This was taking longer than he wanted.
A pop-up announcement appeared above the map image. J. J. tapped it. As with all transmissions, he had to enter a code to retrieve the message. Unlike most handheld computers where one password gave access to all e-mail, CONNIE required the code be given every time it was activated or a new message arrived, thereby limiting the amount of information a hostile could glean from the device should it fall in the wrong hands.
J. J. tapped in the password. “Not good.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Two words I hate to hear.”
“Crowds seem to be moving closer to the base. Weidman says it’s slow but wants us up to speed in case we have to figure a new way into the base or have to hang out for awhile.”
“Or retreat to the safe confines of Afghanistan.”
J. J. chuckled at the sarcasm. The war had been winding down but Afghanistan could not be considered safe. “That’d be a far drive, Junior. There’s a whole ’nother country between here and there.”
“A long drive could be nice.”
The van rocked and bounced as one of its tires found a pothole.
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