Svetlana ordered Niko and Vladimir to drag the man’s body into a ditch along the side of the dirt road. Less than a minute later, they were back on their way toward Lewiston.
“I hope nobody finds him for a while,” Vladimir said.
Svetlana rolled her eyes. “You and your big mouth. Let’s keep it shut next time.” She recoiled and bashed him on the head with the butt of her gun. “I can put a bullet in your head, too.”
They rolled on for several hours until they turned off the dirt road and headed north along the Interstate
“It won’t be much longer now,” she said.
CHAPTER 9
SERGEANT DAN THATCHER CHECKED his coordinates as he ventured north into the Afghanistan mountains north of Lake Kowl-e Chaqmaqtin. He’d grown tired of the reconnaissance missions and welcomed the opportunity to actually take out some enemy targets. Contrary to celebrated announcements to the American public, U.S. troops were still very much on the ground in Afghanistan, acting on intelligence the military hoped would be used to weaken the Taliban and bring more stability to the region. However, as his squad neared the small village tucked in the foothills of unforgiving mountains, they saw little and heard nothing.
“What’ve you guys got?” Thatcher said as he radioed the other half of his squad approaching the village from the north side.
“Nothing, sir,” came the response.
“Be careful. This could be an ambush.”
After losing a half-dozen friends to Taliban ambushes, everything made Thatcher jumpy. If something seemed to be too easy, he always assumed it was because the bottom was about to drop out on his troops. He kept them alert—and vigilant. The last thing he wanted was to see one of his guys taken home in a body bag.
“We’ve made visual contact,” said Sgt. Bellman over the radio. “But they don’t look like a serious threat.”
“What do you mean?” Thatcher asked.
“I mean, it looks like they’re just sitting around, like they’re tired or sick or something. I can’t tell what’s going on.”
“It might be a trap. Be careful,” Thatcher said.
A gunshot echoed through the mountains.
“Did you fire?” Thatcher asked.
“No,” Bellman said. “They did.”
“At you?”
“Negative, sir. It looks like they’re shooting their own.”
Thatcher furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Proceed with caution.”
The team from the north reached the village a few minutes ahead of them. Several shots rang out as Thatcher moved his team closer to follow-up.
“What do you see, Bellman?” Thatcher asked.
“More of the same, sir. We’re still hanging back, waiting for your command. But if they have seen us, they don’t look interested in engaging us in combat. I see one man staggering around shooting everyone. Most of the combatants are writhing on the ground, begging for the lone standing gunman to shoot them. I’m not sure this is a trap.”
“Mercy killing, perhaps?”
“From where I stand, that’s what it looks like.”
“Get your team ready. I’m still leery of these fighters. I wouldn’t put it past them to stage something like this to draw us in.”
“Copy that.”
Thatcher moved his team from the south toward the village. They stopped about a hundred meters from the entrance to the targeted compound, crouching behind several boulders. He gawked as he slipped around the corner to study the scene ahead through his binoculars.
“What is it, sir?” one of the other men asked.
Thatcher withdrew and rested with his back against a rock. “It looks like they’ve all gone mad.”
“Think it’s chemical?
“Could be. Masks on, everyone.” Then into the radio. “Bellman, make sure your guys have their masks on.”
“Already on, sir. Whatever is doing this to them looks nasty.”
“Are you transmitting video back to command?”
“It’s live now.”
“Good. They’re gonna want to analyze this.”
Thatcher pulled his mask taut and checked the rest of his team’s masks. They hadn’t encountered any biological warfare since their latest tour began—and he didn’t want to take any chances. Losing one man was one too many for Thatcher, who prided himself on a perfect return rate for his troops.
Thatcher addressed the men before they stormed the compound. “I’m not sure what we’re about to encounter, but stick to your training. There could still be other armed men in the compound based on the intelligence we received.”
“Bellman, are your men ready?”
“Affirmative.”
“On my mark. Three, two, one—go.”
The two teams descended on the compound from opposite directions at the same moment. Thatcher braced for a gunfight that never happened. The bodies of the men they were supposed to kill were already dead. Puss oozed from their faces along with what appeared to be chemical burns. Some of the men were still alive, but barely. They didn’t move, instead moaning something unintelligible to Thatcher.
“Be careful around these bodies,” Thatcher instructed his team. “They might be contaminated.”
As Thatcher secured the wall near the front entrance to the compound, the gunman Bellman described earlier stumbled around the corner toward him. Thatcher raised up his gun. The man threw down his weapon.
“Shoot me, please,” he said in a broken English accent. “I don’t have the strength to do it myself.”
One of the other soldiers circled back to assist Thatcher. “You need any help, sir?”
Thatcher shook his head. “No, stay with the others. I want to ask this man a few questions first. Secure the area.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier said before dashing toward the center of the compound.
The man collapsed to the ground, flat on his back with his eyes closed. “Please, shoot me. You wouldn’t have hesitated before.”
Thatcher knelt down next to him. “What did this to you?”
“Iblis,” the man muttered.
“The devil?” Thatcher asked, unsure if he’d heard the man correctly.
“In my pocket,” the man said without moving.
Thatcher fished around in the man’s pants pockets until he retrieved a vial with a series of numbers and Asian characters printed on it. He held it up in front of the man. “This is what did this to you?”
The man nodded. “Now, shoot me.”
Thatcher still had more questions. “Where did you get this from? Who gave this to you?”
“It was for the American soldiers, but we never got a chance to use it. A devilish trick, for sure—now will you please shoot me?”
Thatcher put the barrel of his rifle on the man’s forehead. The man reached up and grabbed it, jamming it further into his head.
“Do it!”
Thatcher looked away and pulled the trigger. He’d never had any qualms about killing anyone in combat before, but this was different.
The man’s body fell limp as blood pooled around his head. A fly landed on the man’s nose and wandered into his mouth.
Thatcher looked at the empty vial and shoved it into his pocket. Then he froze. He heard a sound he usually welcomed but this time the sound made him uneasy.
“Fall back! Fall back!” Thatcher yelled. “Now. Bellman, get those men out now.”
Thatcher looked up and had his suspicions confirmed—two drones armed with missiles were headed straight for them. And before he could say another word, one of the drones fired on their location.
He jumped over a wall along the side of the compound and took cover behind two boulders. He closed his eyes and prayed, wishing he could plug his ears from the cries of his fellow troops. Their screams seemed surreal, almost haunting, as missile after missile rained down on the compound.
The attack lasted no more than thirty seconds before the drones banked left and turned around to head back to their base, mis
sion accomplished.
Thatcher took a deep breath and peeked out from behind the rock at the rubble before him. He rushed back into the compound to search for survivors. One by one, he found and identified his troops. He wanted to dog tag them, but he stopped. He was certain this attack was purposeful, orchestrated by someone high up within the U.S. military. And if they had the power to do this, if they knew he was alive, they would stop at nothing to find him and kill him, too.
A tear streaked down his face, stopping at the bottom of his mask. A pool quickly formed there.
He stumbled over the rock in search of any survivors until he heard a faint moan.
“Over here.”
Thatcher hustled toward the direction of the voice and began shoveling chunks of rock and other shrapnel off the body of a fellow soldier. It was Bellman. He had a metal rod protruding from his stomach. His face was charred and bleeding.
“Sarge, I know I’m not going to make it, but tell my wife and kids that I love them—and find the sonofabitch who did this to us.”
Thatcher nodded. “You have my word. You did good, soldier.”
Bellman’s body went limp, his stare vacant. Thatcher reached down and closed Bellman’s eyes.
Thatcher stood up again as his tears continued to flow. But it didn’t take long for them to turn from tears of sorrow to tears of rage. Whoever did this was indeed the devil. Thatcher determined to find out what was going on and expose the devil himself to honor the brave soldiers—even if it cost him his own life.
CHAPTER 10
JAMES FLYNN WATCHED as a pair of FBI agents hustled away from the INL helipad. The agent in front was a woman, who moved with precision. Behind her was a buff man in his mid-thirties. Both of them looked like they could handle themselves—though Flynn had already started wondering if he could handle her.
Flynn stood to the side as the two agents met with INL officials, who briefed them with additional information since their last conversation on the phone. After a cursory investigation, INL security ascertained that the only thing missing was Plutonium-238. It wasn’t weaponized and was used primarily to power devices that required long battery life.
“This doesn’t make sense,” said the woman. “Why storm the castle for something so benign?”
Flynn stepped forward. “It’s not benign—and Russia stopped producing Plutonium-238 several years ago. It’s a hot commodity on the black market.”
She cocked her head to one side. “And you’re an expert on black market trade?”
Flynn shrugged. “Expert might be overstating it a little, but I’ve got my ear to the ground.”
“Is that what they do when they let you out of the lab?”
He laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry—you must have me confused with someone who actually works here.”
She stared at him, squinting as she pursed her lips. “You do look familiar?”
“Perhaps you’ve seen me on television? CNN? Fox News? The Today Show?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m pretty sure it was on an episode of The Mole. I think you were eliminated in the first show one season.”
Banks’ partner, Frank Lang, grew disinterested in their banter and continued to speak with the INL officials. Flynn was pleased to get all of Banks’ attention.
He was used to being recognized in public, but not for his appearance on the now-defunct reality TV show that barely lasted longer on the air than he did on the episode. “It was a long time ago.”
“That was you—wasn’t it? You’re some kind of writer, aren’t you?” she asked.
“It’s what brought me out here today. Just working on a story about conspiracy rumors regarding this facility.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Well, your editors ought to love this then. Nothing stokes the embers of conspiracy like more mystery.”
“It’s not like that—”
She waved him off. “Whatever. We’re not here to discuss anything your twenty readers living in their parents’ basements will care about.”
“Oh, they’ll care about this deeply. I’ll probably have fifty theories in a half hour once I post this to Twitter.”
“That’d be fifty more than our team came up with.”
“So, why don’t you let me help you?”
She laughed and punched Lang in the arm. “Did you hear that, Frank? This guy is going to crowd source our investigation to get an idea of where these thieves are headed.”
Flynn sighed. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t? I could’ve sworn you just said your readers would—and I quote—‘have fifty theories in a half hour once I post this to Twitter.’ ”
“I did say that, but I never said they would give you an idea of where the thieves are headed.”
“Oh? What use are they then?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I know where they are headed.”
“Do you now? Why don’t you fill us in first?”
“Look, I appreciate the banter—I really do. But you need to take me seriously when I say this—and you need to take me with you.”
Banks rolled her eyes and Lang laughed.
“And why do we need your help?” Lang asked. “We’ve got this under control.”
“Not if you don’t know where the Russian thieves are taking nuclear material.”
He stretched as he glared at Flynn. “Play nice before we make you a suspect.”
“I can find them for you,” Flynn shot back.
Banks, who had recovered from Flynn’s stinging comment, rebounded. “What are you? A blood hound? You’d only slow us down.”
“I’m not just a writer, you know. I used to work for the CIA.”
“Your special talents never seem to end.”
Lang’s phone rang. “Excuse me while I take this.” He stepped a few feet away.
Flynn turned back toward Banks. “So, you think I’m lying?”
“I think you’re crazy—and I can’t see how taking you along would help.”
Lang stepped back into their conversation. “It looks like we’re going to find out how he can help whether we like it or not.”
She shot her partner a look. “What do you mean?”
“That was Goldman. He said we have to take Mr. Flynn with us. He said he’d prove to be a valuable asset.”
Flynn smiled and winked at Banks.
“Looks like you have some high-powered friends, Mr. Flynn,” she said. “And unfortunately, you’re coming with us.”
“I doubt you’ll see it as misfortune once you end up being the heroes of this story and have commendation medals pinned on your chests.”
“I’ll be happy to throw you a bone with my acceptance speech,” she said.
Flynn clapped his hands together two times. “Well, let’s get moving. We’re wasting time because they’re getting away—albeit slowly.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you straight up that these men aren’t rushing to get out of the country, nor are they intent on getting their Plutonium-238 across the border quickly either. It’s going to be a slow chase—so settle in for a long ride.”
CHAPTER 11
A FEW SELECT SENATORS serving on the defense committee were summoned for a special briefing regarding the security breach at INL. Up until the meeting, all that Senator Thor knew was what he read online and what his aides gave him from social media reports. And details were sparse.
He settled into his seat next to Senator Ryan.
“Are we all on the same page again here?” Thor asked.
Ryan cut his eyes toward the junior senator and grunted. “Are we all done with the bravado?” He stamped his cane on top of Thor’s foot and ground it in for a few seconds before releasing it.
Thor refused to give the old man the satisfaction of grimacing, even though he wanted to cry.
Brian Westfield, a senior White House offic
ial, helped lead the briefing.
“I know you’ve all heard the initial reports about a terrorist attack on one of our facilities that handles nuclear matter. So, I wanted to let you know what we know and what we’re doing to get this under control.”
He took a long pull on a water bottle at the edge of the table before continuing.
“This morning just after 8:30 Mountain Time, the Idaho National Laboratory was attacked by a gang of four people. Based off surveillance footage and the body of one of the assailants, we believe them to all be of Russian origin. At this time, we’re not sure if this was an attack coordinated by the Russian government or if it was a group of independent mercenaries. Until we’re able to apprehend one of the suspects, we won’t be able to definitively determine that. The reason being is that Plutonium-238 is manufactured there—one of only two locations in the world that are currently processing Plutonium for purposes unrelated to nuclear power or nuclear weapons.
“We have a pair of special agents who are working in cooperation with Homeland Security and the CIA to apprehend these criminals as soon as possible. Three people were killed in their attack, including one of the criminals. At this time, we’re choosing to keep the nature of their attack classified so as not to create a public scare. However, we are releasing photos of the suspects in an effort to get the public’s assistance in locating them. Rest assured we are working on this.”
Senator Thor raised his hand.
“Senator Thor?” Westfield said.
“Have we identified the dead assailant yet?”
“Not at this time. We should know something very soon, which will help us in apprehending the rest of the crew.”
“Do we know how they entered the country?” another senator asked.
“Not yet. That’s something we’re still looking into.”
Senator Ryan cleared his throat and stood up. “This is exactly why we need to make securing the borders a priority.”
Westfield put his hands up. “Let’s not make this a political issue. The security of this nation may be at risk, but we don’t need to let this escalate to partisan talking points.”
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