by Brent Towns
Elettra thought for a moment and said, “Follow me.”
Kane smiled. “With pleasure.”
When he reached the top of the tiled steps, one of the bodyguards moved to block his path. Kane reached around behind himself and took out the M17. He handed it over, and Elettra said, “That’s a big gun, Reaper.”
“Not as big as some that I have.”
“We’ll see.”
He followed her through the lavish home and out through a set of open bi-fold door panels into a lush garden area beside a sparkling inground pool. There were another two guards dressed the same as the others; however, these were armed with Steyrs.
Elettra sat on a large outdoor lounge on one side of a glass table. Kane sat opposite her on a matching one. Almost immediately, a slim, well-dressed maid appeared with several glasses of wine. His host took a glass, her long polished nails sparkling around the delicate stem. She looked at him and asked, “Would you like a drink?”
Kane shook his head. “I don’t drink while I’m working.”
She shrugged. “Have it your way.”
Elettra brought the receptacle seductively up to her luscious lips, prolonging the moment of sipping as though she was drinking the nectar of the gods. When she leaned forward to place it back on the table, Kane’s eyes were instantly drawn towards her heavy breasts, barely restrained by the minuscule bikini top.
She leaned back and asked, “What is it you wish to discuss?”
“You have a friend of mine working for you. The last I saw of her, she was about to fight in one of your cage matches.”
“It is a woman?” Elettra asked, raising her finely-plucked eyebrows.
Kane nodded, making eye contact to see her reaction.
Studying him for a moment, she slowly began putting things together in her mind. Then, “She is the one they call Cara, yes?”
“That’s her.”
“She is a very good fighter. Why should we let her go?”
“I was hoping we could come to some kind of arrangement.”
Elettra rose from her seat and walked around the table. She sat next to Kane, crossed her legs, and placed her hand on his thigh. “Shall we discuss your arrangement?”
Leaning in close, she kissed him on the lips. He eased her back gently with both hands and looked around at the guards. “Do not worry about them; they see nothing.”
She picked up his right hand and placed it on her breast. Beneath the flimsy fabric, he felt her nipple harden. “Is that better?”
“I was kind of hoping for some other arrangement.”
She sat back and pouted. “It seems that you are going to great lengths not to spend some time with me. It is not something I’m willing to get used to.”
“If you remember, we’re not exactly friends,” Kane pointed out.
“We don’t have to be friends to fuck,” Elettra retorted.
“No, I guess you’re right there.”
She sighed. “What could you possibly have that would be worth such a sum for my husband to let go a prized possession?”
“How about two-hundred and sixty million Euros?”
The seductive smile was immediately wiped from her face, and the guards moved closer as they sensed the change in her demeanor. One of them took another step forward, and she held up a slender-fingered hand. “No, it is OK.”
Kane said, “You look a little pale. Perhaps you should have another drink?”
“You bastard pig!” she spat vehemently.
“I guess sex is out of the question now, huh?”
Elettra rattled off a string of invective in Italian, which Kane didn’t understand but caught the gist by the tone used. In his ear, a voice said, “Missed out again; Reaper. I’d have done it the other way around.”
Frigging Axe.
“All I want is a meeting with your husband, and we can make a trade. My friend for the money.”
She stared at him with angry eyes. “I will have to talk to him.”
Kane reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper with a cell number on it. “This is where he can reach me.”
He looked up while she glanced down at the number then looked back at him once again. Elettra said, “My husband is not a forgiving man. I suggest you find a rock to climb under and never come out. If you do, he will cut your fucking head off.”
“I’ll be waiting for his call.”
Kane stood up and walked over to the guard who had taken his M17 earlier. He held out his hand for the weapon, but the man hesitated, flicking his eyes over Kane’s shoulder, giving away what was to come.
Kane’s training kicked in, and he moved with swift precision. His right hand reached in under the guard’s coat, coming out with a Beretta, while his left grabbed the man’s right arm, dragging it up behind his back and pulling him close. The guard was slow to respond and paid the price for his laxity with pain from his twisted shoulder. Kane brought the Beretta up and aimed center mass at the closest guard.
Two shots thundered, and the guard fell with two holes in his chest. Kane shifted aim and put two rounds into one of the guards with the Steyr. The other guard with the same weapon rattled off a couple of careless rounds which hammered into the man Kane was using to shield himself. Each bullet jolted the guard, and Kane felt the impacts through the body in his hands.
The Team Reaper leader aimed at the remaining shooter and put a slug into the center of his face. Nothing like a bullet right there to slow you down; permanently.
He let go of the wounded man who slid to the clay pavers at his feet. Before bending down to retrieve his M17, he glanced at Elettra. Her face was pale with shock at the sudden violence. Kane dropped the Beretta on the ground and waited, M17 in his hand. The fifth guard appeared through the rear glass doors, handgun raised. Two bullets from the M17 put him down without any hassles.
Kane said to Elettra, “I was going to leave here nice and quiet. Their deaths are on you.”
“Get out!” she screeched. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Milan, Italy
The door opened, and Amando Bellandi walked through the opening, flanked by Carlo Laurito and one of his other bodyguards. He stared at her and said, “Get up.”
Slowly Cara came to her feet. “Am I fighting again?”
“No. You are leaving. It would appear you are more trouble than you are worth.”
“Where am I going?”
“Vatican City.”
“Why not just kill me?”
“Because you are worth a great deal of money to me. I’m sure the Brothers will find a use for you once you arrive.”
Cara’s blood ran cold. There was a look in Bellandi’s eyes that troubled her. “Who are the Brothers?”
“Priests. Carlo will take you to them.”
“Why would priests want me?”
“They’re not exactly priests; they’re druids. And it is not just you. There will be other girls with you.”
“Druids?”
“Yes, druids.”
Milan, Italy
At noon, the day after Kane’s visit to Elettra Bellandi, the cell in Kane’s pocket buzzed, and he retrieved it, looking over to Ferrero who asked, “What is it?”
“I think it’s him.”
“Put it on speaker.”
Kane did so. “Hello?”
“Is this Reaper?”
“It is.”
“I understand that you were at one of my many homes yesterday?”
“That’s right. Are you Bellandi?”
“Yes. I believe you wish to make a trade?”
“That’s right. Your money for my friend.”
“Fine.”
The response was too quick by far, and Kane glanced up at Ferrero who pulled a face. Kane shrugged and said, “How do you want to do this?”
“There is a small village in the Apennines, called Bucolic where I have a house. We will do the trade there.”
“How will I know it?”
“You will
work it out. You have two days. Come alone.”
“Not going to happen. You will have men, and so will I.”
“One extra, then. If I see any more than that, I will kill the woman. Oh, and tell Agent Capello, I said hello.”
The line went dead, and Kane looked from the phone to Ferrero and said, “That was too easy.”
Ferrero nodded his assent. “All except for the fact he knows that Capello is involved. Yes, way too easy. He’s up to something.”
“We need to find out all we can about this place before we go in there.”
“Capello will know.”
When they found the intelligence man, he was talking to Thurston, and they explained about the call and the proposed meeting. Capello looked concerned. “I know of the place he is talking about, and there is a good reason he picked it.”
“Which is?” Kane prompted.
“He owns the town. It is in the Apennines Mountains. It was once a ghost town? Yes, I think that is correct. The valley that it is situated in is only accessible through a pass. So, once you are in there, he has you trapped. If you go in there, you will not come out.”
Kane nodded. “It’s not a case of going in; it’s how we go in.”
“He will have a lot of men waiting for you.”
“He’ll have less when we leave,” Kane told him. “Can you get maps and aerial photographs?”
“Si.”
“Great. Luis, I’m going to need one more thing.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“It worries me that he knows so much. I’ll take Axe with me and leave Arenas here as a backup gun. Besides, I figure they’ll know if I take anyone else with me.”
“You figure he’ll try to hit us here?”
“We took his money, so yeah, maybe he’s a little pissed. But what I want from you is this …”
Kane went on to tell him of his plan. When he was finished, Ferrero nodded and said, “I’ll have to run it past the general, but I think it could work. But we still only have a couple of days to put it together.”
“I guess we’d better get right to it then.”
Chapter 15
Sangin Valley, Afghanistan
An aerial view of the area surrounding the Sangin River showed a mass of green. It might seem as though someone had taken a Crayon and drawn some lines then colored between those borders green. That’s what that part of the country was like. A short distance away, however, the green stopped suddenly, and the image became brown and arid.
The scenery aside, Bluey and his boys weren’t there for the view. Theirs was an important capture or kill mission. Two days before, a small force of Afghan troops, along with their US advisors had been ambushed while patrolling the river area. Out of a force of twenty, eleven were killed, including two of the three Americans.
Word had come down from intelligence that the leader of the Taliban responsible was Diliwar Jahan, an insurgent who had coordinated many attacks throughout the Sangin area. Chatter placed him at a compound owned by his brother-in-law, and HQ wanted him gone.
Five kilometers to the north of the SAS team’s current position, gunfire rattled out followed by the CRUMP of something heavier, probably a mortar. It was there that a company of ANA troops, accompanied by a squad of advisors had started a patrol to draw the Taliban out towards them with the sole purpose of engagement. The ensuing battle was meant to keep the insurgents away from where Bluey and his team were. As for Jahan, headquarters was hoping that he would hunker down in place, unwilling to poke his head above ground so soon again. So far, ICOM chatter seemed to support that theory.
Each SAS man was armed with a suppressed M4A5, except for Lofty who carried the HK417. No use in attracting unwanted attention if they could get away with it. They moved forward silently, cautiously, under cover of thick trees before they came upon some open, tilled ground.
Jacko was on point, and he dropped to his knee, M4 still up to his shoulder, covering the area before him. Bluey settled in beside him and waited for him to speak.
“I don’t like it, Bluey. There’s a lot of open ground between us and our target over there,” he said, pointing at the mud wall on the other side of the compound. “If they’re alerted, they’ll have someone watching, and it’ll get nasty.”
Behind them, the rest of the team took up security positions while the two men discussed their next moves. Bluey said, “There’s an irrigation ditch to our right. We could use that. There are trees overhanging it, and it might offer better cover.”
“Good spot to find an IED, too,” Jacko pointed out.
Bluey pushed the talk button on his radio. “Trap Command, this is Bushranger One, over.”
“Copy, Bushranger One.”
“We’re at Moonlight about to move to Ben Hall, over.”
The team was using bushranger names for their waypoints as they moved on the target. Ben Hall was the compound and Jahan was Ned Kelly.
“Copy, Bushranger One.”
“Is there any movement in the compound? Over.”
“Negative.”
“Roger that. Bushranger One, out.”
Bluey looked at the vacant area before him and shook his head. Something was niggling at him deep down. “Bugger it. Jacko, take us into the ditch.”
“Copy.”
Jacko came to his feet and moved to his right, staying within the edge of the tree line. Bluey signaled to Lofty and said, “Set up here and cover us. Keep an eye on that compound. Once we reach the perimeter, I’ll have you rejoin. But come along the ditch.”
“Copy, boss.”
Lofty found himself a reasonably flat position and laid down, using the scope on the 417 to watch the compound.
Bluey moved to the right following the rest of his team. To the north, the gunfire ebbed and flowed. The WHOP-WHOP-WHOP of a helicopter reached out through the clear blue sky. The Australian slipped into the cool water of the ditch, and it reached up to his thighs. Behind him came Red, the big, unassuming Victorian from outside of Bendigo.
“I hate walking through shit like this,” he said in a low voice. “You never know if a fucking bunyip might bite your dick off.”
Bluey smiled and shook his head. A bunyip was a mythical creature said to inhabit the waters of billabongs in inland Australia. “Poor thing would starve if he was looking for a feed of yours,” Bluey said.
“That ain’t what your missus said.”
The team leader chuckled. This was how they dealt with high-stress situations; ribbing and humor.
“Bushranger, hold.”
Lofty’s voice was short, clipped.
“What is it, Lofty?”
“We have movement in the compound. I saw two fighting-aged males having a peek over the wall.”
“Copy.”
Bluey looked along the drain and saw Jacko low in the water. There was probably a further forty meters to reach the target. All four men waited with bated breath for the all clear.
“Bluey, one of these blokes has a sat phone.”
“Shit. OK, keep an eye on him. Don’t kill the bastard yet.”
“Copy.”
“Jacko, keep moving.”
Suddenly, there was a sharp crack from a weapon then the snap as the round passed close overhead. “Shit!” Bluey exclaimed. “Jacko, go! Move forward.”
Almost immediately, more gunshots started to pepper their position. Above them, bullets clipped branches and leaves from the trees. Others hammered into the banks of the ditch, kicking up dirt. “Lofty, find that fucking sniper. We’ll take care of the others.”
“Copy, Bluey.”
“Red, lay down some fire on that wall.”
The SAS man in front of Bluey stopped and raised his M4. He aimed at the mud-built wall and began laying down suppressing fire along it. The other three pressed forward. They reached the wall, and Bluey snapped more orders. “Red, come up. Ringa, put a frag over the wall.”
The SAS man unhooked a fragmentation grenade, pulled the pin,
and tossed it over the wall. “Frag out!”
With a loud crump, the grenade detonated and showered dirt and debris everywhere. “Ringa, wait for Red. Lofty, you found that bloody sniper yet?”
“Working on it.”
“OK, Jacko, over you go,” Bluey snapped. Then he said to Ringa, “When Red gets here, follow us.”
“Roger that.”
“Trap Command, we’re at Ben Hall. Moving to Ned Kelly.”
Both men climbed over the mud wall and dropped down on the other side. They remained in position for a moment while they scanned the interior of the compound. On the ground in front of Bluey was a fighting-aged male with an AK beside him. The grenade had done its job and shattered the man’s frame, and his clothes were all bloodied.
Bluey took up the point position, and Jacko fell in behind him. From the recce photos, they knew that the main building was at the center of the compound, with smaller courtyards surrounded by other living quarters. Each of these was divided by narrow alleys, which could become a death trap if the team was caught in them.
In the first of the alleys, Bluey had made it halfway when an insurgent appeared. The man was surprised at the sight of the two Australians and froze. The M4 in Bluey’s grasp spat a 5.56 slug which punched into the man’s chest. To make sure, the Australian fired another hot on the heels of the first. He stepped over the fallen Taliban and peered around the corner of the building, to find a closed wooden gate blocking their path.
The pair could hear the rattle of gunfire emanating from the other side. Two, maybe three shooters. There was movement behind Jacko as Red and Ringa caught up with them. Bluey took one of his own grenades and pulled the pin. He tossed it over the wall and waited for the detonation.
As soon as it blew, he kicked the gate open and rushed through.
The courtyard was littered with human debris: buckets, household junk, old rags. Now joining the wreckage were two insurgents, one missing an arm and part of a leg. He’d obviously taken the brunt of the explosive force of the grenade. Beside him, another man squirmed from the pain of fragments lodged in his back.
The third shooter was still upright, and the AK in his hands fired a burst of 7.62 rounds in their direction. Bluey felt the heat of their passing but never flinched. He squeezed the trigger three times, and the Taliban jerked wildly under each impact.
