JET II - Betrayal (JET #2)

by Russell Blake

  “Over here!” Rob called. “There’s a building next to us we can get to. It’s a story lower, but I think we can make it.”

  Jet leapt to her feet and ran to him, took one glance over the side, and then backed up and tore off at full speed in the direction of the edge.

  Jet seemed to hang suspended in the air for a few seconds, then she hit the roof of the next building, rolled to absorb the impact, and sprang to her feet.

  “Come on. Do it!” she yelled at him, and a moment later, Rob sailed into space, tucking and rolling in the same manner when he landed. The shooting from the stairwell had stopped, so Jet guessed that the gunmen had either figured out that she was no longer there, or had sprayed so many slugs into the space that the ricochets had laid waste to them and they were lying wounded or dead on the stairs.

  “Look. There’s a fire escape,” Jet said, moving to a ladder that extended from the building’s edge below. “It looks solid. I’m going down.”

  She swung her leg over and dropped below the roofline. Rob trotted to the edge and followed her, but just as his head was dipping out of sight, he saw two men with rifles on the roof of the other building.

  “Slide down. Fast as you can. They’re on the roof. It will only be a few seconds before they’re here shooting down at us.”

  Jet was still two stories above the street and, after weighing her options, kicked in the window of a second-story office and climbed in.

  “We can make it to the street once they follow us inside,” she said as he hung on the ladder outside the window.

  “No. Let’s split up. That will make them do the same thing, or it will allow one of us to get away clean.”

  “No–”

  But by the time she had shaken her head, he was gone.

  Jet heard his soles drop to the ground a few moments later and then the sound of running. She didn’t wait to see if he would make it. Since he had made the decision to go his separate way, she owed it to both of them to do whatever it took to escape.

  Then the shooting started.

  She froze, then made an instantaneous decision. If the gunmen split up, that meant only one would come after her. And there were few fights she couldn’t win one-on-one. Even if both of them came, if she could pick her environment, they were as good as dead.

  The ladder creaked as the two men lowered themselves, weapons hanging over their shoulders. One man’s leg was bleeding from where a stray round had hit him, but he was still pushing himself even as crimson drops leached from the wound and fell to the sidewalk below. The lower man made a hand signal as he reached the broken window and then unstrapped his rifle, leading with it as he strained with his leg for the ledge. He winced with effort as he pulled himself into the darkened room, peering around warily.

  His partner followed him in, and they exchanged a glance in the gloom, both men straining for the slightest sound in spite of their ears ringing from the gunfire. A ricochet had killed their companion in the stairwell so they were being especially cautious, their mission having been a disaster so far.

  The lead man pointed to the doorway with two fingers. The other man nodded before stepping over the glass and inching cautiously towards it. Sirens keened in the far distance, and they knew that they were now on borrowed time. Even in Bangkok, the police would show up for a full-on gun battle.

  Once through the door, there was almost no light, so they waited a few seconds for their eyes to adjust. A scraping came from further in the depths of the offices. The lead man pointed at the light switch. His partner shook his head. Light would make them sitting ducks. Right now they had the same darkness to contend with as their adversary.

  They moved down the hall, pushing doors open with their gun barrels, ready for anything, and then the noise became clearer. Rhythmic. Like a machine of some sort.

  From the next office down.

  The lead man tapped his temple with his hand and pointed at the door. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and crept into his eye, causing him to blink the burn away. His partner stood by the side of the doorjamb and eased the knob to the right, then threw it open and rolled into the room.

  An old copy machine was churning away, its internal scanning arm clattering each time it fulfilled its journey across the screen and hit the carriage-stop. The lead man followed his partner into the room, gun at the ready, but the machine was the only occupant.

  The sirens grew louder. It wouldn’t be long.

  Somehow their target had gotten away.

  And now they were faced with an impossible choice. Keep searching the building and face certain arrest, or escape to fight another day but have to report back that they had failed in their mission.

  The second gunman turned to look at his partner for guidance.

  From downstairs, a door slammed, confirming their worst suspicions. They were now alone in the building, their quarry gone, leaving them to the police.

  The lead man lifted a cell phone to his ear and murmured a few words into it, instructing the car to circle around and pick them up in the alley. Hopefully, they would be able to outrun the police. If not, they would have to fight it out. Capture was not an option.

  They wound their way back to the fire escape and prepared to climb down the two stories to the street, shouldering their rifles, edging around the brittle glass shards on the linoleum floor.

  The lead man’s eye disintegrated as the sharp crack of the .32 caliber round shattered the silence in the small room, and he dropped like a sack of wet mud, blood seeping down his face as he fell. His partner fumbled with his rifle and then gurgled as a stalk of bamboo plunged through his back, the sharp shaft exiting his chest. He looked down in puzzled surprise at the skewer that impaled him and managed a half turn of his head before his legs buckled and he sank to the floor.

  Jet stood behind him, watching him shudder, and then reached down and lifted his rifle free. A Kalashnikov. She popped the magazine out and checked it – the weight told her it was half full. After slapping it back into the rifle, she pulled the strap onto her shoulder and looked out over the fire escape, where she had lain in wait after circling back around while the two men had been distracted by the Xerox machine.

  Headlights illuminated the small alley as a car pulled to a stop a few feet past the fire escape. The driver’s gaze swept the dank service area in a panic – the police would be on top of them in only a few more moments. It would be a miracle if they were able to get out alive.

  The roof collapsed on the driver, and the windshield shattered into a snowy starburst of safety glass as the lead man’s head struck it, seeming to stare sightlessly through one good eye at him before sliding off the roof and onto the hood. The driver screamed in shock, and then bullets tore the cabin apart, slugs ripping him to pieces as the deadly hail from above shredded the thin metal.

  Jet watched as gas trickled from the car’s ruptured fuel tank before dropping to the ground next to it and jogging away from the clamor of the approaching police.

  Two blocks from the scene of the gunfight, she slowed to a walk. The three squad cars that passed her didn’t give her a second glance. The officers were looking for armed hostiles, not a nice Thai woman walking home from a nearby nightspot.

  She removed the battery from her cell phone and tossed the sim chip aside, having memorized the two numbers on it. However she had been tracked, she was now taking no chances. She had to assume the worst – that she was completely compromised. The question was how, and who had come after her.

  A tuk tuk picked her up three minutes later. She dropped into the back with a sigh before giving the driver instructions to take her to the Nana mall. She would pick up some new clothes at the perennially open market stalls in the neighborhood, change in a bathroom, and then figure out whether her room was compromised. If so, she had a real problem. If not, she would be moving to a new hotel within minutes, and her whereabouts would become a mystery to everyone but her.

  Chapter 18

  A rainstorm
whipped the treetops near the large boulevard that fronted the mall Arthur liked to use as his getaway from Langley when things became too stressful, or he had to make some private calls and didn’t want to have them go through the CIA switchboard. He sat in a red vinyl booth at a retro-Fifties coffee shop, the waitresses dressed in sock hop garb in keeping with the theme. The soda fountain was already doing a good business even at ten a.m., a tribute to the quality of the shakes as well as the lack of concern over calorific intake that its patrons shared.

  Arthur took a sip of his rich brew and glanced around the diner to confirm he was alone. The waitresses were used to him so nobody stared at the horror that was his face. A small thing, but one he appreciated, and he always tipped generously by way of thanks. He reached into his jacket and extracted a cell phone with a scrambler module incorporated in it.

  The voice on the other end answered within moments. “So what’s the word?”

  “The operative’s in place, and we’re waiting to follow the contact.”

  “That’s great. Hopefully this will be over soon, and we’ll have our diamonds back.”

  “Well, there’s also a wrinkle. I got a call a few hours ago that someone attacked them.”

  “What do you mean, someone attacked them? Who? What was the result?”

  Arthur took another sip, what passed for his lips drooling fluid onto the saucer – an eventuality he was prepared for with plentiful napkins. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get used to drinking hot coffee through a straw. It was just another of life’s plentiful challenges. “Information is coming in, but the good news is that the operative wasn’t harmed, so other than some logistical hurdles, we’re still all systems go.”

  “And who mounted the attack?”

  “Unknown at this time. One disturbing piece of information I’m thinking you can look into, though. I don’t want to use any agency assets – it appears we have a leak. It seems that the operative was tracked. That points to what we’ve long suspected – someone inside who has access to the positioning feed. It would also explain why our last two forays were unsuccessful. If they had the tracking data…”

  “…they knew exactly where to find them. I got it. I’ll have my tech look into who has been accessing the feeds. That should be knowable.”

  “When you find out…”

  “I know. We’ll arrange for an accident.”

  “Leave that to me,” Arthur said softly.

  “Of course.”

  “On the other front, we’re hearing that our customary suppliers are now in discussions with a Russian group about taking over distribution into the Eastern Seaboard and Europe. I won’t belabor how bad it will be for us if they get their hands on that much heroin. It would disrupt the entire pricing structure.”

  “I don’t need to tell you how much product we are already committed to from Afghanistan. Any significant drop in the market price would be disastrous.”

  “I have faith that this operative will solve the problem for us.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Arthur sighed. “We may want to consider a backup approach if she fails.”

  “There is no backup. She can’t fail. We don’t have any other options.”

  “I’ll start thinking of some. While I believe she will be successful, I don’t want to bet the farm on it,” Arthur said.

  “Do that.”

  Arthur hung up. In addition to his formal role with the agency, he’d also been involved in the small circle of defense department and CIA personnel that controlled much of the worldwide narcotics trafficking for twenty-seven years and counting, eventually securing a central role in the scheme as his predecessors had retired or died. It had made him a very rich man, but also carried with it responsibilities. Like ensuring that no criminal syndicates stepped in and cut into the supply chain. Pricing on many drugs was as artificial as the value of most currencies, and if the Russians hit the street with heroin that was half the price of his, that would cause a disastrous downward spiral in profits as his network had to meet that pricing to move product.

  He finished the dregs of his cup, wiped his face, put a five-dollar bill on the table for the two-dollar coffee, then stood and made his way to the door, ignoring the stares from the few interested patrons near the front entrance. He’d long grown accustomed to being a freak, a monster, the thing of childhood nightmares. There was nothing he could do about it but try to live as normally as possible. Assuming one believed that being one of the top CIA black ops managers was deemed normal.

  Looking up at the sky from beneath the awning, he opened his umbrella and pushed out into the storm, his car and driver waiting for him in the red zone a scant twenty yards away.

  A contingency plan was prudent, he knew. The attack on the woman was fair warning. Something more was in play than they understood.

  And Arthur hated surprises.

  ~ ~ ~

  Edgar sat with his back to the wall in the main dining room of an Italian restaurant, two hundred yards from the Nana complex, stirring his iced tea and watching the customers arrive for an early lunch. He checked his watch. Ten minutes late. He took a drink of the concoction and studied the menu absently.

  Jet appeared out of nowhere and took the seat across from him, facing the window. Edgar’s face betrayed nothing, although she could tell he was again surprised at her arrival.

  “Came in through the back?” he asked.

  “Seemed prudent.”

  He studied her. “What happened? I saw some reports on the news…”

  “I won.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much sums it up, don’t you think?”

  He didn’t respond.

  The waiter brought her a menu, and she ordered a bottle of mineral water. Once he had departed, Edgar put his menu down.

  “Who were they?”

  “Don’t know. But they were tenacious. Amateur, but tenacious just the same.”

  “You got away clean? No injuries?”

  “I’m good to go. Rob?”

  “He has a sore ankle from the jump on the roof, and he lost some skin on the fire escape, but other than that, tip top.”

  The waiter arrived and set a bottle of water in front of her, then took their order and left them to their discussion.

  “Why did you cut out the tracking chip?”

  “Self-preservation. I was traced,” Jet stated flatly.

  “That’s impossible…unless…”

  “What?”

  “There was a rumor. That’s all it was.”

  “Are we playing twenty questions? Tell me.”

  He rubbed his face, looking tired for the first time. “About Hawker. Nobody was sure about who could be trusted when he went rogue. But one of the rumors was that he had someone at headquarters…someone at Langley. Nothing ever came of it, but that would be the only explanation.”

  “Assuming that it was him.”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like the way any of this is shaping up. Nothing is as it seems.”

  “Welcome to Thailand. You get used to that in everything here. Wheels within wheels. A Russian doll. Always another layer.”

  She fixed him with a hard stare. “Shit. Do you have a tracking chip?”

  His eyes widened. “No. I’m not…I’m not active in that way…”

  Jet nodded. “And Rob?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lose it. Bad idea. Maybe conceptually, it’s a positive for a control freak, but as you can see, in practice it’s just another way to get yourself killed.”

  “Noted.”

  “And what’s the latest with Lap Pu?”

  “Surveillance says it looks like he’s wrapping up his business here. So we can expect him to make a move at any time.”

  “Then I’m going to need to get some supplies. I made a list.” She slipped a piece of paper across to him. He opened it, read quickly, then nodded.

 
; “I’ll need to check on the MTAR. What’s your second choice?”

  “FN P90. Although I prefer the MTAR with a laser sight and suppressor. In 9mm.”

  “I’m thinking I can get one flown in. It may take a day.”

  “Then I hope we have one,” she said.

  “Worst case, I know we have some M4s with laser sights and suppressors.”

  “Bulkier. In a pinch that would work, I suppose. But if you want to keep a girl happy, get the MTAR and a few hundred rounds of ammo.”

  “Hmm. No problem on the night vision goggles. Infrared might be tricky. Let me see what I can do.”

  “I didn’t make out that list as suggestions. If I’m going into the jungle, then I’ll need to be properly equipped. Unlike the last teams, I have no intention of being road kill.”

  “Which brings me to the part you’re not going to like.”

  Jet’s eyes narrowed.

  “Headquarters feels it would be a good idea for you to work with Rob when you go after Lap Pu.”

  She took a gulp of water and frowned. “Absolutely not. He’s not in the same league as I am. Don’t get me wrong. He’s not bad, but he’s not me. And that could get me killed. So forget about it. I don’t work with a partner. Arthur knows that.”

  “He sensed there might be some problems. Asked you to call today.”

  “Arthur can screw himself.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps. But he still needs you to get in touch.”

  The food arrived, and they dug in. Her chicken picata was indifferently prepared with some traces of odd spices. The Thai version, she supposed.