by Brad Taylor
She said, “No.”
He said, “Your team leader is going to get the message. I can either do it on the phone, and you die with a bullet, or I can do it my way.”
Her expression as flat as a stone in a river, she said, “It looks like it’s your way.”
He nodded, actually feeling a kinship with her courage. Keeping his eyes on her he said, “Anzor, in the rucksack on the bed is a GoPro video camera. Would you mind getting it?”
Anzor rummaged around in the bag and Omar said, “I need a knife. Preferably a large one.”
63
I said, “What do you mean, you only found her cell phone?”
Knuckles said, “Just that. It’s smashed like someone stomped on it.”
“But that makes no sense. If someone were interested in what she was doing, smashing her cell phone would be the last thing they’d do. Are you sure it’s hers?”
Aaron said, “Yes. That’s exactly why it’s smashed. Shoshana did it. To protect me. To protect us.”
He tried to hide it, but the pain leaked out nonetheless. I could see his mantra of the mission comes first at the root of the ache. Shoshana had destroyed the only way we could find her in order to protect us. And now I was asking him to continue without knowing what had happened to his teammate.
I said, “Aaron, I’ve got authority to take down Rashid.” He nodded, and I felt like an enormous hypocrite after my speech on the aircraft. I hated the words coming out of my mouth. I hated the mission. I did some math in my head, running the numbers I needed. I said, “You want to abort?”
His expression said, Yes, of course I do. His mouth said, “No. I won’t sacrifice her actions. She did it to protect this mission.”
I said, “I can spare Jennifer and Retro. Jennifer’s good at finding solutions in the puzzle, and Retro’s a computer geek. They might be able to figure something out from the phone. I need everyone else for this.”
He thought about it, then said, “Thank you. I appreciate it, but no. This man may be the quickest link to her.”
I was a little disappointed in his answer, thinking back on what Shoshana had told me in the café earlier, but maybe he was right. I said, “Okay, okay. You lock down the stairwell, we tuck this guy in, and in thirty minutes you get my whole team. We’ll find her. I promise.”
He nodded, the fear still on his face, but the professionalism of his chosen path dictating his actions. He said, “Yes. Mission first. Then Shoshana.”
I despised the words. In my mind, it wasn’t an order of priority. It was what I could do right now. At least that’s what I told myself. I couldn’t quell the feeling that my doing the one was causing the death of the other.
I shook it off, looking around the small circle of Operators in the alley. They were all reflecting on Shoshana, believing she was a teammate. Jennifer said, “Pike, she’s our responsibility on this thing. Maybe we should . . .”
Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. I shut that down, saying, “Listen up. Forget about Shoshana for now. We’ve got about a thirty-minute window here. I need everyone’s head in the game.” I went eye to eye, stopping with Jennifer. “Everyone.”
She squinted, telling me the call was bad. Telling me I wouldn’t be doing this if it were her missing. I ignored the glare, projecting the calm leader, but truthfully, continuing with the mission made my stomach sour, because I wasn’t sure she was wrong.
I reiterated the lineup for entry then said, “Get on him quick. Lock him down. Brett, Retro, you got SSE. Once he’s down, search for media, computers, and documents. You’ve got three minutes. Knuckles, you and I will get him out. I want to walk him, but if he shows any signs that he’s going to be trouble, hit him with the drugs. Aaron, all you need to do is provide early warning if something’s going bad from the street. Jennifer, I call, you pull straight out, park right in front. Aaron gets the door, and he’s in like a bag of dog food. Jennifer and I take him to the transfer site, everyone else disappears.”
I got a nod from the team and said, “No mistakes on this. Are we good? I need to abort if we’re not.”
I focused my attention on Aaron, knowing that distractions in combat could end up exponentially bad. I needed to ensure he was focused.
Aaron said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, probably because I’d been in his shoes before. He wasn’t “good,” but I was comfortable he could fight. I went eye to eye with everyone else, seeing we were ready. I said, “Okay, time to test out these new black rifles. Retro, you got knock-knock. I’m not fucking around. You make breach, and we’re doing some damage.”
Knock-knock referred to a small, very heavy battering ram. Retro nodded, reaching back into the van and flipping up the backseat. Underneath was what looked like a sixteen-inch chopped-off telephone pole, two folding handles on top. Made of steel.
Ordinarily, we’d surreptitiously pick the lock, then slink in, working in the shadows, the whole point being the man would disappear without our ever exposing we’d been there.
Here, the target was on edge and hyperalert. We could try to pick the door and potentially get gunfire through it if he heard. With Jennifer’s report of the atmospherics, I was fairly sure that nobody would come to interfere, no matter what we did. I’d worked in some postdictator countries, and it was amazing how the old instincts came to the fore. Someone breaking in a door? Pretend you’re cooking. Not your problem. I was also positive—if we got out in time—that the police would find nothing. He wasn’t an Albanian citizen, and I was sure he’d checked in under a false name. It would be a mystery.
I glanced up and down the street, seeing people walking, but nobody close. No time like the present. I said, “Ready?”
Knuckles pulled his charging handle back a smidge, checking for the glint of a round. He let it forward and said, “Let’s get some.”
We walked past the pharmacy, just a group of guys headed to a bar in the Block, weapons held low in the gloom. Aaron opened the door, letting us flow in. I passed him and said, “Thirty minutes. That’s all you’ve lost.”
He said, “Just get the target.”
We entered, Brett in the lead, rifle held at the low ready. I pulled out my phone and initiated the Dragontooth app. It showed a circle, with one sector pulsing. We entered the stairwell, and it jumped to two. By the time we reached the top, it was at four. Brett held up at the entrance to the hallway, looking back at me. I nodded. He moved forward, passing the door and pulling security down the hallway. Retro followed, holding the battering ram. Knuckles brought up the rear, locking down the stairwell.
I moved the phone toward the door and the sectors locked, all glowing green. Jackpot.
64
I nodded at Retro, and brought my weapon up, feeling the adrenaline spike. He positioned on the right side of the door, doing a left-handed slam to stay clear of the funnel of fire. He looked at me one more time, waiting. I whispered into my earpiece. “On my call . . . Five, four, three, two, one, execute, execute, execute.”
Retro’s arms went back at two, going forward at one. He split the doorjamb at the first e of execute, shattering the lock and flinging the door forward. Time slowed, like a Matrix movie, my brain cataloging every movement in hyperdetail. The door flying inward, the pieces of metal from the lock exploding all over like Christmas tinsel, Retro dropping the sledge, slamming backward into the wall, and raising his weapon, clearing the breach for the team.
I ran forward, seeing Brett rotating around, swinging his barrel up. I entered the doorway, weapon raised and ready, seeing nothing. The room empty.
I swung left, painting the sector with my rifle, but it was clear. I felt the rush of Brett closing right, locking down that section. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned, seeing Rashid exit the bathroom, a toilet satchel in his hands. He threw it at Brett’s head and dove to a table on the right, screaming. He closed his hands on the butt of a pistol, and Brett fire
d, the sound a muted spit.
Rashid hammered into the wall and wailed, grabbing his buttock. Brett took two steps and buttstroked him in the temple, knocking him out.
I cleared the rest of the small area, finding nothing in the bathroom. I came back out, seeing Knuckles in the doorway, weapon at the ready, and Retro searching the room. Brett was bandaging up our target. I walked over to him and said, “Ass shot? Really? Tell me that was intentional.”
He looked up at me and said, “I want Shoshana back. It took all I had not to raise my sights.”
I smiled. “I can’t say I’d have had the same control, but Aaron will appreciate it. Same as me.”
I turned into the room and said, “Retro, status?”
“Got a computer and phone. Some tickets and other shit. I say we’re done.”
I looked back at Brett. “He stable?” A nod. “Hit him with the dope and let’s get the fuck out of here.” I keyed my earpiece. “Koko, Koko, Jackpot. We’re exfilling now.”
We’d been inside the room a total of three minutes. We bundled Rashid up and Retro looked out the door like we were on a panty raid in college. He called all clear. We carried him down the stairs, reaching the front door. It was Aaron’s turn to make the call, with us kneeling inside until a group of drunks passed by. We hustled to the van like a group of Goodfellas in Brooklyn with a body in a carpet, which, I suppose, we were. We dumped Rashid in the back and I said, “Everyone starburst. Aaron, Knuckles, head back into the park. See if you can get a thread on Shoshana. Retro, get on the computer and check hospitals and police stations for an unknown. I’ll get the interrogation going on Rashid. Meet back at the Sheraton in an hour and we’ll assess where we are.”
They nodded, and I jumped into the mom van, Jennifer hitting the gas. We drove for about fifteen minutes, headed toward the airport and the warehouse the Taskforce had rented. I made sure Rashid wasn’t on the verge of cardiac arrest while Jennifer called Showboat.
We entered farmland, sporadic petrol stations and random blockhouses the only things around. Jennifer turned back to me and said, “Showboat’s ready to receive. He said he’s got some news.”
I looked up from the finger blood-pressure monitor I’d placed on Rashid and said, “News about what?”
“He didn’t say, but he didn’t sound happy.”
Two miles out from the airport, on a lonely stretch of asphalt, Jennifer turned right, pulling into a warehouse facility illuminated by vapor lights. She paused at the gate, flashed her headlights, and they opened, sliding left and right on metal rails.
We went forward, seeing a roll-up door slipping into the ceiling of the warehouse. It was going back down before we even shut the engine off. I saw Blaine coming down a set of metal stairs, a hard look on his face, and it made me sick to my stomach. I’d seen the same thing years ago. When he’d told me my family had been murdered.
I exited hesitantly, saying, “Good to go. There’s going to be a police response, but they’ll get nothing. Rashid’s true name is nowhere in the database. They’ll be searching for ghosts. We got out clean.”
He nodded, and I said, “What’s going on?”
He looked at Jennifer and said, “Her detective work paid off. The three boys from the school are real. They flew out from Miami to Istanbul four months ago. They disappeared—until a few days ago. They reappeared in Istanbul and flew to Venice, Italy. All three. Consensus is they’re working on an attack.”
Jennifer stepped down, her mouth open. She said, “Seriously?”
He said, “Yeah. Well, all except that consensus part. I think you’re on to something, but the Council is split. They think they’re bad, but aren’t sure they’re still working for the Islamic State. With the rash of guys fleeing the fighting and trying to get back home, some wonder if they’re just juvenile delinquents. Nobody thinks they’re saints helping with food relief, but not all are convinced it’s our business. Either way, we have the order to explore. Kurt wants you to head to Venice and scope them out. Their check-in involved running their passports into a database. We have their hotel. You guys get over there and see if there’s any smoke to the fire.”
I said, “Okay . . . I’m game, but I’ve got a little cleanup here first.” I jerked my finger to Rashid, his body being placed on a stretcher. “And it involves that asshole.”
Blaine was watching the support crew take Rashid out, checking vitals and making sure he wasn’t having a stroke. He wasn’t listening to me.
I pushed a little bit, saying, “Sir, I’m missing one of the team. I didn’t have time to tell you, but Shoshana never showed after the park. I’m not leaving until I find her. It may be nothing, but I’m staying until I prove it one way or the other. Get someone else into Venice.”
I glanced at Jennifer, and she nodded. I went back to him. He said, “Pike, you’ve got orders to get to Venice. Don’t push this.”
I couldn’t believe how nonchalantly he was taking what I’d just said. In fact, I didn’t believe it. He’d known what I was going to say. The same dread I’d felt when I’d first seen him on the stairs dripped through my body, like a clammy fog. I said, “Sir, look at me.”
He did.
“What’s going on?”
“Pike, I’ve got orders. I’ve got to get you moving. You and the team. Aaron is no longer relevant. He stays here.”
I saw Jennifer’s eyes slit, her arms across her chest. I said, “Sir, did you hear what I just said?”
“Yes. It’s an Israeli problem. Not ours. We have our mission.”
I slowly shook my head. “No, sir. It’s a team problem. And she’s on my team. What the fuck is going on?”
He took a deep breath and let it out. He looked at me, and I could see the pull between orders he was given and loyalty to the team. He said, “Okay, okay.”
Nothing else.
I said, “Talk to me.”
He turned a small circle, debating with himself. He hit the wall with his fist and said, “I’ll tell you, but you’re getting on that plane, right?”
I said, “Maybe.”
He shook his head and cursed. He said, “I’ve been ordered to keep this classified. To keep it from you. You, specifically. The Council wants the Lost Boys under surveillance. Right now.”
I leaned back against the van, feeling sick. I asked, “What is it?”
“Intel spiked on a jihadist website. We have a YouTube video. It’s not pretty.”
65
Jacob sat within seventy meters of the spot in the alley where he’d met the chaperone. While Chris had had the courage to walk to his death, boarding the boat of his own volition, Jacob had no illusions that his big-titted mistress would do the same. He’d decided to meet her in the wine bar up Assassini lane.
He looked at his watch. It was now past midnight, and he knew in his heart she wasn’t going to come. Whether it was a shot across the bow to Chris for the way he’d “treated” her, standing her up last night, or whether she was suspicious, he didn’t know.
What he did know was that if she didn’t show, he’d wasted this night. Because of it, he had only one more cycle of darkness to kill the three kids. She was going to get away. He’d planned tonight as a repeat of last night, convinced he could entrap her, but maybe that had been the lack of sleep talking.
After dumping Chris’s body in the bay, blood leaking out and bubbles forming around the cinder blocks, they’d returned the boat and walked back to the hotel. He’d really wanted to sleep, but had waited for Devon to show up. He had, drunk, but with a key.
They’d discussed the alternatives, and Devon had said he could keep the boys in play for another day, plying them with liquor. He’d put Devon to bed and asked Carlos what they should do. They now controlled two of the three legs for success: one, Chris, at the bottom of the ocean; two, the boys, under Devon’s sway; but the third—the woman—was outside of their control, and she was a wild card that could affect everything.
Jacob had planned on killing the
boys tonight, then taking the train to Rome, a full two days in advance of when they were supposed to be there in their new personas. Enough time to survey the terrain before pretending to be something they weren’t.
But the woman beckoned. Chris’s dark secret was running loose, capable of forestalling all they hoped to accomplish. He’d discussed it with Carlos, Devon snoring five feet away, and they’d decided to attempt to kill her.
The next morning, they’d sent a bleary-eyed Devon back to the boys with a mission. He’d entered the room with the key he’d taken, and woken up the hungover teenager sleeping there. Devon had spent an interminable amount of time in the room, annoying the hell out of Jacob. Waiting in the lobby, his eyes gritty from the lack of sleep, watching people from all over the world eating the breakfast buffet, Jacob began thinking about just bashing the kid’s head in to get the information he needed.
Jacob wanted to hack the chaperone’s computer, using social engineering through Devon’s newfound friends. Devon had learned the night before that the boys hadn’t brought their own systems, and that they all got a minimum of five minutes every other day to send well-wishes to whomever they wanted, Chris leaning over their shoulders as they typed. All Jacob needed now was the password.
He’d started to ask for another glass of water, getting a stare from the waitress because of his lack of having ordered anything of monetary value, when he’d seen his partner come down the stairs. Devon smiled, looking like he was still a little drunk, and Jacob wondered if it was the liquor or the lifestyle. Devon sat down and handed him a slip of paper, saying, “I got it.”
Jacob unfolded the slip, seeing a barely legible scribble, and said, “No spike? He didn’t wonder why?”
“No. He’s out. Probably the first time he’s ever been drunk.”
