Cold Warriors (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #3)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  He grabbed the phone from her and she collapsed on her keyboard, sobbing. Leroux flipped through the messages, confirming they had all been sent from her device, then handed it to Morrison as he joined them on the platform.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

  “She’s been sending messages to someone the entire time,” said Leroux through clenched teeth. “And she’s responsible for Sherrie’s death.” He felt Morrison’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly as the Director scrolled through the messages.

  “Call security,” he said, then, grabbing Dimka by the shoulder, he yanked her upright. “Explain yourself!”

  Dimka was sobbing almost uncontrollably now, shaking her head, her face one of terror.

  “Explain it to me or you’ll never see the light of day again!” screamed Morrison, his voice filled with a rage Leroux couldn’t recall ever hearing from anyone. It terrified him, causing an involuntary step backward and away from the source.

  “They have my family!” she cried. Morrison let go of her shoulder and stood upright, pointing at the security team that had just arrived. “Lock down this room. Nobody in or out.”

  St. Luke’s Cornwall Hospital, Newburgh, New York

  The fog returned, the dull pulsing, throbbing noises a sea away cried out for her to return to the shores of the living. And she wanted to return. She hated it here. Wherever here was. Her mind was dim, a mere hint of her former self, but she knew she had to escape this sensory deprived void she found herself in for she had a message, an important message, that she had to tell someone.

  The problem was she couldn’t remember what the message was, or who she was supposed to tell.

  Beeping surrounded her and she had the presence of mind to focus on it. It became clearer. Rhythmic, pulsating, its pitch steady and unwavering.

  A heart rate monitor!

  Then she remembered. The pursuit, the RPG, the explosion, the jump from the vehicle just as it was hit, and what she had seen as she blacked out on the pavement.

  The sounds snapped into focus, crystal clear to her ears, and as she felt herself rush back to the shores of reality, as if yanked by a powerful force, a merciless force that reintroduced her to pain like she had never felt, her eyes shot open to reveal she was in some sort of hospital room, a privacy curtain hiding her from the horrors on the other side, patients moaning and crying around her, constant announcements over a PA system paging doctors, pounding footsteps in the hallways, chaos, hopefully organized, reigning out of sight.

  The explosion!

  She had forgotten about the nuclear blast. She must be in one of the hospitals now overwhelmed by what had happened. She looked down and saw a bandage covering her right thigh, pain throbbing from the area. Slowly sitting up, she examined herself and found only superficial cuts and bruises all over her body, and no other areas that seemed injured.

  My face!

  Terrified, she slowly, tentatively, reached up with both hands and then, counting to three, she shoved her face into her palms, then quickly began to feel over every square inch, finding nothing unexpected.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiggled her fingers and toes then closed her eyes, thanking God. She opened her eyes and cautiously touched the bandaged wound on her leg.

  Nothing.

  She pushed a little harder and gasped, a cry escaping before she could stifle it.

  The curtain ripped open and a nurse entered.

  “So you’re awake.”

  Her tone was curt, almost rude.

  Nice bedside manner.

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the recovery room at St. Luke’s.”

  Again, the reply was almost snapped at her.

  “I need to get out of here, I have a job to do.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, missy. There’s two police officers outside to make sure of that!”

  “Huh?”

  “What, you thought you could just leave after what you’ve done?”

  The woman’s voice was almost hysterical now and Sherrie was getting a little confused if not pissed off.

  “What are you talking about? What have I done?”

  “What have you done? Are you kidding me? You and your people nuked West Point! And you? What was your mission? Where was your little car bomb supposed to go off? Some school? Some hospital? Didn’t you do enough to my city? Enough to my country? If it was up to me I would have let you die, you piece of shit!”

  The curtain moved again and the two police officers the nutbar nurse had mentioned appeared.

  “Is there a problem here?” asked the sergeant.

  “Yeah, this psycho is nuts,” replied Sherrie. “I’m a federal agent with important intelligence regarding today’s incident.”

  “Sure you are,” spat the nurse. “You’re a terrorist who accidentally blew herself up. You’re a parasite on this great nation and deserve the death penalty for what you’ve done!”

  “Would you get her out of here, please?” asked Sherrie. “She’s not contributing.”

  The sergeant stepped forward.

  “Are you done here?”

  The nurse glowered at him, then Sherrie, then nodded, departing with a huff.

  “Thanks,” said Sherrie, propping herself up on her pillows. “I need to make a phone call. It’s urgent.”

  “You’ll get your phone call when you’re processed at the station,” replied the sergeant, turning to leave.

  Holy shit! They actually think I’m a terrorist!

  “Wait! Listen, I realize you have no reason to believe me, so I want you to do something. Just get on a phone, call four-one-one, ask to be connected to CIA Headquarters in Langley, then ask for Director Morrison. Tell him you’ve got an Agent Sherrie White here who needs to talk to him urgently otherwise there will be more attacks.”

  The sergeant’s eyebrows narrowed and the expression on his face suggested a slight thaw in the coldness, and some definite doubt as to who she might be.

  She calmed her voice, lowering it slightly. “Sergeant, I’m telling the truth. Do you really want to be the one who didn’t let vital intelligence get into the right hands? Intelligence that might allow us to capture these guys before they detonate another bomb?”

  The sergeant was completely facing her again, his right hand tapping on his gun grip, the other pulling at his hair.

  He spun on his heel and left the room before Sherrie could say anything else.

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Morrison turned back to Dimka as all eyes in the room focused on the exchange. Leroux had retreated to his chair, shocked at how he had confronted her. It wasn’t in his nature to do something like that, but he had done it, without hesitation. He had discovered and captured a spy in their midst.

  Wait ’til Sherrie hears about this!

  A sudden overwhelming gloom surged over him as his feelings of concern, momentarily forgotten with the excitement of the past few minutes, enveloped him once again.

  She’s dead.

  He mentally kicked himself for having the thought cross his mind. But he couldn’t help it. They still hadn’t heard from her. Her last few words were spoken in terror.

  She’s dead.

  He glared at Dimka.

  “What do you mean they have your family?” asked Morrison, towering over the still seated woman.

  Dimka cried out, burying her face in her hands, then between gasps and sobs, she said, “They came three nights ago. Broke into our house, then told me that if I didn’t cooperate they’d kill my husband and our two children!”

  Leroux couldn’t honestly say what he’d do if put in a similar situation. Would he turn traitor and try to save his family, or would he immediately tell his boss, hoping they could save the day without him betraying his country.

  He didn’t know.

  He’d like to think he’d inform the authorities and let them deal with it, but then again, he wasn’t a paren
t. He had no idea what that bond must be like.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Morrison, his voice slightly softer, but only slightly. He was clearly still pissed.

  “I couldn’t risk it.”

  “What do they know?”

  “Everything.”

  “How? Just through this phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how did they know you’d be assigned to a mission concerning them?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe they’re blackmailing others?” blurted Leroux, immediately regretting it as the Director spun around to face him.

  “What?”

  Leroux gulped, lowering his voice.

  “Maybe she’s not the only one.”

  Dimka seemed slightly encouraged by this, raising her face for the first time.

  “That could be!” she said, excitement in her voice. “They said I might not even hear from them!”

  Morrison shook his head.

  “If we have a security breach this bad…”

  His voice trailed off and Leroux found himself watching his boss’ face change as the realization of how big of a problem they may be facing grew. He looked at Leroux, whose eyes darted away, then turned to Dimka.

  “What do they know about the French operation?”

  “They know it happened.”

  “And the results?”

  “I never had time to transmit them.”

  “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going—”

  “Sir!”

  Morrison spun toward the voice below.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to want to hear this!” said Conway, the analyst still helping Leroux with his project.

  “Put it on speaker.”

  Conway nodded and hit a button at his station.

  “You’re on speaker with the Director.”

  “Sir, it’s Agent White, Sherrie White, can you hear me?”

  For the first time in his life Leroux knew what the angels must have sounded like at the birth of Christ. And it was beautiful. Her voice was like a dream that filled his heart with joy, all of the stress and horrors of the day disappearing as he realized the love of his life was still alive, and okay. His elbows hit his desk and he buried his face in his hands as his shoulders began to heave in relief.

  She’s alive!

  A flurry of thankful prayers erupted silently, his eyeballs rolling up in his head in an attempt to look at the heavens.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, but didn’t look, knowing it was Morrison.

  “Agent White, I’m happy to hear you’re okay. We’ve been worried.”

  “I was in a hospital undergoing surgery so I couldn’t talk. I’m okay now. Listen, I have a vital piece of intel you need to know.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Just before my vehicle was taken out by an RPG—”

  “RPG?” yelped Leroux as his head shot up, his hands trying to wipe the tears from his face.

  “Yes, RPG. Is that you, Chris?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice. We’ll talk soon. Director, I saw the RV entering a hangar where a large transport aircraft, probably an Antonov of some type, was being loaded. I think they’re transporting themselves from city to city by plane!”

  Morrison pointed at Conway.

  “Find out if any Antonov’s left Newburgh around the time of the detonation, and where they went.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Agent White. Are you secure where you are?”

  “Yes, sir, but I’m taking up a hospital bed that people in far worse condition than me are going to need.”

  Leroux could tell by her tone she wanted back in the game, but if she had just come out of surgery, there was no way he could see Morrison allowing her.

  At least I hope not!

  “I realize you want in on the action, Agent, but you’ve just been operated on. I authorize you to return to Langley by whatever means necessary so we can do a full debrief.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Morrison turned to Leroux.

  “Take this conversation off speaker and isolate it to your headset. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to her in private.”

  Leroux smiled, hitting a few keys on his keyboard.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes! Yes I can!”

  “Umm, can anyone else hear me?” He looked about the room, but nobody acknowledged his question. “I guess not.” He lowered his voice. “It’s so good to hear from you. I was worried sick.”

  “I’m okay. Just a leg wound, nothing serious.”

  “Thank God. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to discharge myself and get back to Langley. Hopefully you’ll be seeing me in a few hours.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  The call ended and he took a moment to gather himself as Morrison’s voice droned unheard nearby. Hands clapped together, snapping Leroux from his reverie.

  “Let’s do this people, I don’t want another detonation on our territory.”

  Everyone turned back to their terminals, leaving Leroux to wonder what the hell had just happened. Then he jumped from his seat, pointing at the monitor still showing his Malware hack mission status.

  “Look!”

  Heads spun toward him, then to where he was pointing.

  Number of Positives: 2

  Norfolk, Virginia

  Vitaly Travkin pulled his phone off his hip, touching the display to open the text message that had just arrived from one of their coopted resources within the CIA. What the CIA didn’t know was that the Russians had several moles within their headquarters, one of whom had been there since the days of the Soviet Union. A sleeper agent waiting an activation that would never come, had been activated only days ago.

  And had responded, willing to cooperate despite the agency he had once worked for, the country he had once served, no longer in existence.

  Travkin had no doubt the man had only responded out of curiosity, but once he had heard what was needed of him, and the ultimate goal of the mission, he had agreed immediately to help. His mission was simple. Make sure any operations relating to the crisis be routed through Dimka’s Operations Center.

  And he had succeeded.

  Dimka was now their mole, providing valuable intel so they could remain one step ahead of any federal response. The beautiful thing about interagency cooperation was that everyone shared their intel, so it didn’t matter what agency they penetrated, however CIA was preferred as they would most likely be involved in any external response that might impact General Levkin’s safety.

  French operation failed. Microfilm destroyed.

  He smiled as he read the message.

  “The microfilm has been destroyed!” he announced to those in the RV, eliciting a cheer from the men. He hit a few keys on his terminal to contact the General with the good news.

  Nothing can stop us now!

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Every display was alive with activity in Operations Center 3. Dimka was continuing in her role, Morrison wanting to have direct access to her in case she received intelligence from her family’s abductors, and also should he need her to send a message to them. She was also very good at her job, everyone in the room seeming to accept that she had no choice but to cooperate, though Leroux still had some serious doubts about her choices and had no doubt there would be serious consequences when things were said and done.

  Two displays showed feeds of the detonation zones, one showed his Malware mission status board, most of the others showing varying camera views of two operations going down right now.

  The views on the left showed head cams from the FBI SWAT team about to take down the Antonov AN-124 that had left the Stewart International Airport outside of Newburgh only m
inutes after the detonation and landed at the Norfolk International airport in Norfolk, Virginia less than two hours ago. On the right were head cams from a second FBI SWAT team moving in on the RV traced by Leroux’s program.

  And down at the far bottom right, a lone display showed a camera Leroux knew belonged to Kane as he headed into the heart of the beast, a broadcast from the RV having been intercepted and traced to Russia. The Russian government had been contacted, told that if they didn’t cooperate in a coordinated effort to capture the General, the United States would release the intelligence to the world along with several nuclear armed cruise missiles to eliminate the target, and that any Russian response would be considered an act of war.

  The Russians had agreed and a joint Delta/CIA/Spetsnaz operation was underway.

  “It’s started,” said Conway from his terminal. Leroux returned his attention to the camera images, his heart slamming against his ribcage, this the first time he had ever witnessed an operation like this.

  It’s almost like a video game.

  He frowned at the thought.

  With real lives at stake.

  Norfolk International Airport, Norfolk, Virginia

  Special Agent in Charge Max Turpin of the FBI motioned for his men to advance. Clinging to the left side of an empty fuel truck, they approached the Antonov from the rear, hoping they might gain access unseen, the intel they had being that the primary target, an RV, was no longer onboard. Minimal resistance was expected beyond the crew, but given the nature of what this group had done, they were feared to be highly trained mercenaries, most likely ex-Russian Special Forces.

  Expect anything and everything.

  The words echoed in his head from the briefing. Across the nation every talking head on television spoke of Islamic terrorists, every civilian eyeing their neighbors and coworkers warily if they even suspected they were Muslim. Mosques had already been attacked, Muslims were being beaten in the streets, targeted in classrooms and in public malls.