by Jim Roberts
"Next time, have some manners when a lady asks you a question." The armored soldier stood over Vassili menacingly for a moment before walking around the corner.
The Japanese woman smiled, haughtily. "You made a mess."
Vassili looked down. He had pissed his pants. When he looked up, the woman was nowhere in sight. He got up and rushed to the edge of the alleyway, looking out onto the snowy streets.
The iron soldier and woman had vanished.
The Spirit Walker, Chelyabinsk Airspace
"So...only this Doctor Mobus is left."
Whisper's voice sounded worried as he undid the fasteners that attached his suit to the helmet.
"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Orchid asked Danny as the stealth warrior removed the helmet of the Whisper suit and passed it to Yune. The scientist in turn handed Danny his bionic sunglasses.
"It was a quick drop and a sudden stop. He knew what was ahead of him." Danny placed the glasses on his face. After a few seconds, his vision returned. He took a breath, trying to decompress.
The Peacemakers had made their escape from Chelyabinsk using one of Yune's more practical developments for the stealth VTOL aircraft−an extension anchor that could be lowered quickly and allow up to three people to latch on and pull themselves up into the side door of the jet−all while the aircraft hovered silently above. As soon as they had made their way to another empty alleyway, Whisper had called Packrat in to pick them up. The anchor was dropped while the aircraft stood stationary five-hundred feet in the air. Whisper and Orchid attached their feet to the anchor straps and within one minute, they were pulled up to the Spirit Walker by a powerful winch. Then a terrifying last step onto the aircraft and they were safe.
After Whisper and Orchid were aboard, Packrat had tilted the jet engine nacelles horizontally and kicked the engine into high gear, roaring across the Chelyabinsk sky like a bat out of hell. It would be dawn soon, and the stealth jet would be able to be seen clear as day by anyone in the city.
"So...Pripyat, Ukraine." Danny said, wistfully.
Doctor Yune nodded, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. "That is correct. Chernobyl. Site of the world's worst nuclear disaster. Why would this Doctor Mobus have asked to be moved there?"
Danny shook his head, stifling a yawn. "No idea. We'll just have to ask him. The man is our last shot at getting a real answer about the Code."
Orchid moved to the back of the jet, laying out her JSDF SWAT uniform. She looked over and saw Doctor Yune looking in her direction.
"Could you two..."
Danny and Yune jumped and turned around, allowing Orchid to quickly get dressed. While they waited, Yune quietly asked, "How did she do?"
"Toshiro, we have a new winner on the team."
* * *
IT WAS a long, cold walk home for the recently friendless Vassili Kutsenko. With all of his crew either rounded up by police and the rest on their way to the hospital, he was left on his own to limp back to his loft apartment in downtown Chelyabinsk. He looked absolutely awful. His soiled clothes−that had cost him an easy two grand−were ruined. His face was covered in bloody scrapes and his throat hurt like hell where the woman had hit him.
But still...he was alive.
He had to pack and leave town−get somewhere safe where he could rebuild his life anew. If Olympus ever found out he had ratted out the location of Mobus, his remains would never be recovered.
He stumbled up to the door of his apartment, nearly fainting in gratitude at getting home alive. Unlocking the door he almost fell into the foyer. Closing the door he scrambled up the stairs to his loft. If he hadn't been in such a rush, Vassili would have wondered why the door to his loft was already unlocked. He rushed into the living room and towards his bedroom to find his suitcase.
"Hello Vassili."
The haunting female voice stopped the Russian information-broker dead in his tracks. He turned toward the sound, his heart pounding. In a darkened corner of his living room, stood the harlequin woman.
Agrippina.
He remembered the woman from two years ago, having been present when Vassili was given the mission to relocate the Olympus scientists by Legate Tiberius. He remembered her cool eyes and sardonic smile−the same smile she was wearing now as she walked towards him. She was clad in a dark crimson suit of body armor.
In her left hand, Agrippina held an apple that she casually munched on. In her right was a two foot long bladed weapon that resembled a Japanese sword.
"You've been busy Vassili," Agrippina said, taking one last bite before tossing the apple to the ground. "Nice place you have here."
Vassili moved backwards, trying to get away from the dark lady. He tripped over a dust bin and fell face first to the floor. Agrippina continued moving, tapping the blade against her leg.
"Wha...what do you want?"
"You lied to Tiberius, didn't you Vassili? The location you gave us for Doctor Mobus was false."
"No, I swear! It is just mistake."
Agrippina lunged forward in a blink of an eye and plunged her blade into Vassili's leg. The information-broker screamed in pain.
"The only mistake we made was trusting an ignorant fool like you with such an important task." She twisted the blade wickedly, widening the wound. Vassili howled louder. With a jolt, Agrippina ripped the sword out.
"I don't wish to be here any longer than I need to be. Tell me where Mobus is."
"I already told the others..." Vassili burbled.
Agrippina tilted her head, not comprehending. "What others?"
Knowing he'd made a mistake, Vassili was silent. Agrippina stomped her stiletto heel onto his wound. Kutsenko screamed again.
"What others?"
"The...man in the suit of armor...and a woman...J-J-Japanese!"
"This man in the armor−what was his name?"
Vassili grit his teeth, his mind bursting in anguish. "I-I don't know...had a soft voice...hard to understand. He talked like he could only−"
"Whisper." Agrippina said, finishing Vasilli's sentence. "Where did you send them?"
"Please...it hurts!"
Agrippina gouged her heel in further. Thick blood began to pool on the floor.
"P-P-Pripyat! Pripyat, Ukraine! North of city!"
"You aren't lying to me, are you Vassili?"
"No! On mother's grave, no!" Kutsenko grabbed his wounded leg, trying to staunch the free flowing blood.
"Good."
Agrippina flourished her sword.
Vassili had a second to contemplate a single thought.
This really hasn't been my day.
Chapter 16
The Art of War
The Barbarian, Botswana Airspace, November 25th
"Ok, hand me the drill."
Joe reached into the tool box and pulled out the Black and Decker drill and handed it to the outstretched hand of Isabella Cordova. The young Marine took the tool and almost instantly tossed it back, a difficult stunt considering her top half was completely underneath the Black Hawk helicopter.
"That's a rivet gun! The pneumatic drill, you dunce!"
"Hey don't snap at me! I failed aircraft mechanics." Joe said, handing the spunky pilot the correct tool.
"I thought you said you were some sort of mechanic back Stateside!" Cordova's muffled voice had to shout over the loud drill. Isabella was performing some light maintenance on the Black Hawk in the final hour before they reached South Africa.
"On motorcycles, and that was ages ago."
This had been going on for the past half hour. It was the first real break Joe had got since they had taken off fourteen hours ago. For most of the trip, Joe had been saddled with an armload of logistic paperwork the suits at CIA wanted filed due to the large upgrade in funding the Unit had received.
For the lion share of the trip, Walsh was oddly withdrawn, speaking only when spoken to and staying mostly on the command deck. Meanwhile, Joe had been left to coordinate the fifty-odd techs assigned the Peace
maker unit as best as he could to prepare for the landing in the Limpopo province of South Africa. A small air force base, designated Makhado had agreed to allow the Barbarian access to its field for the next few days (at a staggering cost to the CIA), and it would serve as the de facto base of operations for the Peacemaker's time in Africa.
Once they had arrived, the Black Hawk would be immediately deployed and the operation to retrieve Sarah Anders and assassinate David Musabe would begin.
That is, if everything went well.
So far, not much had. They had lost contact with Brick and Krieger several hours ago when Brick failed to check in at the designated time. The communications blackout could very well have been the cause; they simply didn't know. All they could do was hope the two men had found the enigmatic Sarah Anders safely. Until they knew more, the operation would proceed as normal.
The team would consist of Joe, Isabella (piloting the Black Hawk) and Rourke. The Black Hawk had been fitted with similar stealth technology to that used by the helicopters during the raid on Osama Bin Laden four years ago. Aside from several layers of radar absorbing paint, the fuselage had been retrofitted with harsher angles and flatter surfaces, as well as sound-reducing buffers in the rotor masts and drive shaft. This all allowed the aircraft to sound about as loud as a large car, greatly reducing the reverberating noise of the rotors in an urban area.
As far as the Colonel's plan went, Joe believed it was sound, if risky. The Colonel had insisted on a daylight incursion, not wishing to waste any time. Joe hadn't been happy about that, but eventually agreed on the basis that, reportedly, fighting had been rather muted in the city for the past few days. In that time, the South African military, along with several UN battalions had mobilized on the northern border between South Africa and Zimbala. Attempts to regulate the influx of refugees from the country had overloaded the South African department of Immigration, requiring a state of emergency be put into place. Two massive tent cities had been set up around the northern section of Limpopo province, supported with aid from the UN.
As Joe had studied the plan, the sheer gravity of what lay ahead of them began to sink in.
If Musabe wasn't defeated, the country would descend into sheer anarchy. Most of the fighting, so far, had been contained to Sadoma. Olympus was contained for the time being in Sadoma as well. This would be the best and only chance of tearing down this unholy alliance. According to the Montreux Document, the signatory agreement between countries utilizing PMCs, in order for Olympus to legally operate as a private firm within a country, it required a binding contract be made. If broken, all operations of that PMC must cease at once or be subject to a ban in all ratifying countries (which was essentially everywhere).
So in other words, as Walsh had explained in a briefing during the trip, if Olympus didn't agree to leave at once after Musabe was dead, they would be in breach of the agreement which allowed them to stay in business at all.
"Joe. Joe! Are you paying attention?"
Joe was pulled from his thoughts by the outstretched hand of Isabella Cordova, smacking him on the leg to hand her the next tool. Although he would have to start prepping for the mission in a few minutes, he had wanted to take some downtime and work with the spunky Marine pilot. Isabella had become something of a kid sister to him in the last several months. He simply enjoyed her company and brash way of speaking.
"Damn it." Isabella said after a few moments, pushing herself out from under the helicopter. She was covered with black grease, smudging her warm, olive skin. "I could really use another day to do this retrofit."
"You don't have a day, you've got two hours." Joe answered, taking the drill she passed to him and placing it in the toolbox.
"The CIA stealth material they nailed to the bottom of my bird is causing way to much drag. It needs to be fixed!"
"So fix it." Joe smiled as he handed her a sealant gun.
Isabella snatched the tool with a huff and shuffled back under the bird.
There was something on Joe's mind that he had to talk about. "It's been a while since Brick's last transmission..."
From under the helo, Izy's voice came back to him, slightly muffled. "I'm sure he's fine. He's too cautious to let anything happen that he didn't plan for."
"I know. I'm sure their both fine, him and the Russian. If there's anyone that can survive in a place like that, it's Reynolds and Krieger."
Isabella didn't say anything. The sound of the sealant gun answered for her.
"Anyway, you know Brick−"
"No I don't know Brick, Sarge." Isabella abruptly pushed herself out from under the Black Hawk to look Joe in the eyes. "Eight months of constant fighting and skirmishes and I've only have a handful of days to get to know him. All its been is move move move lately. Our trip to New York was even cut short." Izy's eyes were filled with anger. "We've...called it quits for now."
Joe averted her gaze, trying to avoid the guilt. "Damn Izy, I'm sorry−"
"Yeah, you're sorry, I'm sorry, we're all sorry here aren't we? I'm sorry for trying to care for a man who's first duty is to a unit that cares more about the mission than the man." Isabella rummaged for a moment in the toolbox by her feet. "Anyway, he has a lot of baggage, not to mention he's too old for me. So let's drop it. I'm trying not to think about it."
Joe braved a response. "You do care about him don't you?"
"Of course I do!" Izy snapped. She yanked out a sprocket wrench from the tool chest. "I care enough to know when something isn't working out."
Her eyes were growing moist with emotion. Joe knew he had said too much, as usual.
Without another word, Isabella disappeared back under the helicopter.
Some big brother I am.
Knowing Izy needed time to herself, Joe stood up and went to find the new recruit. Rourke had been assigned several menial tasks by the Colonel during the trip and Joe had a hunch he would be ready to talk now. As Staff Sergeant of the Unit, Joe was responsible to be familiar with all of those under his command. His life, their lives could depend on it. He had read Rourke's file during the trip−or at least the part of the file the Colonel wanted him to see. By all accounts, the man was an outstanding soldier; twice decorated for meritorious service in Afghanistan and Iraq. It seemed to Joe like the SEAL was being groomed for something more substantial; Officer candidate school perhaps. But something happened in the last few months. The file went oddly blank on all of Rourke's activities throughout the period between June and now.
What was it the Colonel didn't want him to see?
Joe had to search the bulk of the aircraft before he found the recruit. There was no sign of him in the cargo area and Joe couldn't find him in the tech section, where the Peacemaker mechanics and surveillance crew worked round the clock in researching and monitoring Olympus activities worldwide.
Joe finally found the SEAL in the meeting space on the flight deck. Sitting at the table, Rourke was reading a copy of the Art of War, by Sun Tzu, the legendary Chinese philosopher and general who's war tactics were still utilized in battle to this day.
"Rather heady stuff, isn't it?" Joe asked, gesturing to the book.
"Just making use of the downtime, Sergeant." Rourke answered, not taking his eyes from the page. "A good book focuses me."
"I like Mack Bolan novels myself." Joe replied.
The SEAL didn't react to the little joke. Joe pulled out a chair and sat down.
"What's your favorite quote from that book?" Joe asked.
Rourke finally looked up at Joe and spoke without looking at the book, "'Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.'"
Joe nodded, "Good one. But I think I prefer 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.'"
A hint of a smile tugged at the SEAL's mouth. "I know that one well."
"Do you have enemies, Chief?"
"No. No enemies...just not many friends."
Joe was silent for a moment. It was difficult to get a read on
this man. Joe prided himself on being a good judge of character and he could tell this man's heart was solid.
But then...something about Rourke's eyes constantly seemed to want to betray him. The man looked as though he was teetering on the edge of something. It looked like it wouldn't take much for him to take the step and fall off.
"Where did you serve in the 'Stan?" Joe asked.
"All over. Infiltration missions throughout the Hindu Kush mostly."
"See a lot of action?"
"I'm a SEAL. That's all we saw."
It hit Joe that there was a rather wide difference between them. Rourke was arguably the better soldier of the two of them. Ranger training was some of the hardest the American military can throw at its potential soldiers, but the SEALs literally went through hell to become what they are. Joe was no POG−as the Rangers would call those without experience−but the SEALs were the best of the best.
"Sergeant."
The voice came from the stairwell. Joe turned and saw the rigid form of Colonel Walsh enter the flight deck. Joe and Rourke stood up to salute the war hero.
"Sir."
"We'll be landing in another half hour. Get your kits prepped and ready to go. Briefing will be on the tarmac at 15:00 hours."
Both men saluted again. Walsh returned it and disappeared into the cockpit to speak with the pilots of the Barbarian. Rourke regarded Joe briefly before picking up his book and heading downstairs.
Charming fellow.
Joe sighed and followed after the moody SEAL to prepare for the mission ahead.
* * *
Makhado Airbase, Limpopo Province, South Africa
In the past few days, Joe had felt the gamut of world temperatures. Having gone from a ball freezing minus forty degrees in Canada, to a warm plus twenty in Maryland, he was now stepping off the Barbarian into a scorching thirty-eight degrees in South Africa. The constant ups and downs had sent Joe's internal sense of weather right off the hizzook.
