by Brad Taylor
“I do trust you,” she said, with a hint of a smile. “A little, anyway. It’s just that you’re acting different. I can’t put a finger on it, but it’s like you now think you’re invincible. You used to be an asshole about everything, sure it was failure. Now you act like this is all just a ride at Disneyland.”
“Hey, this is what I do. I’ve been killing terrorists a helluva lot longer than I’ve known you. Sorry if I get a kick out of it, but don’t tell me to go back to what I was. You don’t like it, I’m sorry. But this is who I am.”
She recoiled, and I knew I had missed the point. The hurt and pain in her expression reminded me of Heather the last night I had seen her. I remembered what I had said after Jennifer had thought Carlos was going to kill her in the hotel—It’s never just about you.
“Jennifer, listen to me. Carlos is about to kill a lot of people. We’re the only ones who can stop him. And I mean we are the only ones who can stop him. You and me. You saved my life, and I don’t mean just today. There’s got to be a reason for that. I don’t want to die any more than you do, but I’m the one that’s here, and I’m the one that’s got the skill to kill that asshole. You know I can’t promise nothing bad’s gonna happen, but if it does, you need to believe it was worth it. Okay?”
She sighed. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t do anything stupid. Please. Before you jump off of a building, remember you can’t fly. Can you do that? For me?”
“Sure. But you need a better analogy, because I can fly.”
“Smartass,” she said. “Good luck.”
98
The tech man got Lucas’s attention. “He’s right here in Sarajevo. About three klicks from the airport and moving east.”
About fucking time. He addressed the entire team. “Listen up. We aren’t going to do any fancy work over here. If we execute, it’ll be a simple frontal assault, but hopefully it won’t come to that. Mason’s team’s in-country, and presumably tracking Pike right now. The last thing I want to do is screw up an operation he’s already executing.”
One of the men cut in. “So we’re just backup for Mason?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t get in touch with Mason or his team, and I don’t want to lose the targets again. If we can’t link up with them, we’ll get a fix on the beacon and hit Pike and the girl ourselves.”
He saw the team start to grin, apparently anticipating an easy kill and the bonus that went along with it. “Don’t get a hard-on yet. I’ve told you what happened in D.C. Remember that. This isn’t a cake-walk. We close in on him and take him out with overwhelming force. I’m not risking another complicated operation. We smoke him and the girl, then immediately head back here and catch the first thing flying home.”
Lucas gave the team a minute to break their weapons out and kit up, then said, “All right. Let’s move. Remember what I said. You might think you’re a killer, but this guy really is.”
Twenty minutes later, Lucas’s team idled in the parking lot of a restaurant on the northern end of Sarajevo. They had traveled the entire length of the city, the cars spreading out on the surface roads in an attempt to contact Mason and his team by both cell phone and radio. They had failed, and now Lucas had a choice to make. I can spend my time trying to find Mason, or I can spend my time trying to kill Pike.
He decided to execute the mission with the second-tier team, since he had no idea how long Pike’s beacon would last. Batteries might be going dead while I sit here with my thumb up my ass. Lose that, and the whole game’s over. He’d worry about Mason later. In fact, he wouldn’t worry about Mason at all. He’d failed, and now, as in the past, Lucas would be forced to clean up the mess. He liked to think he was being logical, but the truth was he wanted Pike. Wanted to be the one who twisted the knife. And make no mistake, Pike wasn’t going to die easy. Not anymore. As he saw it, all of his troubles centered on one man. The ongoing investigation that had forced him to flee the U.S. was precisely the result of this asshole’s evading Lucas’s net. The thought rankled him. Made him eager for the hunt.
He watched the beacon track on the computer in his lap and committed the team.
“Target’s on the move. He’s headed this way. By the speed of the beacon, he’s mounted. We’ll wait here until he dismounts. Once he’s stationary, we’ll roll. This car will lead, passing up his location. The trail car will follow, stopping short. On my command — I say again, on my command — we’ll execute the mission. Nobody, and I mean nobody, will fire until I give the command. Once that command is given, everyone with a shot needs to fire. Is that understood?”
Lucas waited, hearing confirmation from every member of the team. “Okay. Good. I’ll call once he stops. We’ll take a look at the terrain, form a quick plan, then move.”
Superimposed over the satellite image of the neighborhood, Lucas watched the beacon inch closer, seeing it stop short about a kilometer from their location. Within a minute, he saw the dot move again at a much slower speed.
“Stand by. He’s now on foot.”
Lucas felt the tension grow. The endgame was approaching. Pike was a dangerous man, someone to fear, but he couldn’t possibly stand up to the concerted effort of the entire team. Maybe he can kill one or two, but there’s no way he can kill us all.
He saw the blip stop inside the courtyard at the back of a house on the east side of a small street. This was it.
“All right. Team leaders get over here.”
He pointed out the house, dictating where the vehicles would stop and where they would dismount and set up fields of fire.
“We wait until he comes out, all night if we have to. Once he’s out, we open up, killing him. Pretty simple. Any questions?”
One team leader asked, “What about the girl? Isn’t she part of the mission?”
“Yeah, she is, but I can’t predict whether she’s with him or not. If she’s with him, smoke her. If not, we’ll find her later. I’m through messing around with this guy.”
* * *
Retro and I covered the back door and a corner window from the courtyard at the back of the house, waiting on the call from Knuckles. My earpiece gave a hollow echo, Knuckles speaking in a calm monotone, “Execute, Execute, Execute.” The call brought back memories of assaults past. I tensed up, waiting to see if someone would attempt to run from the rear of the house. My mind’s eye ran through what was occurring in the house, the team flowing like water through the rooms looking for a threat. I heard no gunfire, which could be either good or bad.
Five minutes later I heard the all-clear given, and the back door was opened by Knuckles.
“What did you find?” I said.
“Nothing. We found the cell phone, but it’s the only thing here right now. No other targets. The house looks like it’s lived in, but there’s nobody home.”
“Great. That figures.”
“What do you think? A stay-behind?”
“I don’t know. I suppose that’s the best course of action. We don’t have anything else. I could stay, you could give me another couple of guys, and we could sort it out when the owner returns. How’s that sound?”
“I’m good with that, but maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s turn this place upside down first. Maybe we’ll find something of interest. In the meantime, maybe whoever owns this phone will return while we’re still here.”
“Let’s get busy. I’ll start upstairs.”
* * *
A hundred meters down the street, Bakr had finished with the device and was sitting before his dinner of moldy bread and nuts when he perked up at the sound of another car, only the second one he had heard all day.
* * *
Lucas pulled past the target house, parking on the east side of the narrow street. The position gave him a full view of the right side of the street and clear fields of fire to the front door of the target. His satellite imagery display showed the beacon superimposed directly over the house. Pike had moved inside. He waited until he saw the follow vehicle stop sh
ort on the other side of the target about a hundred meters away before telling the team to deploy into firing positions. He watched one man exit the follow vehicle and move nonchalantly to the corner of the house where his car was parked, taking cover behind a concrete planter. Another man sauntered across the street, attempting to cover the back of the target house.
* * *
Bakr peeked out the front window. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a car stop right in front of his house with three Caucasian men inside. That was not natural at all. He continued watching from the corner of the window, wanting to believe his paranoia was getting the better of him, but feeling the adrenaline start to flow. He saw one man with a rifle walk to the corner of his house and take a knee, peering over the planter out front. The man made an attempt at hiding the weapon under his jacket, but the barrel could still be observed poking out under the hem. Bakr had seen enough.
He raced to the basement, taking the stairs two at a time. Grabbing an AK-47 and four loaded magazines, he sprinted out of the basement and up to the second floor. Peering out a bedroom window, he saw the gunman directly below him.
The man was obviously preparing to assault the house with the other men from the car. Bakr knew he had to go on the offensive, and quickly. He could attempt to run out of the back of the house, but feared it was already covered with men he couldn’t see. He could run out the front, but that would send him straight into at least three men. Either plan of escape would be better if he seized the initiative while they were still getting ready. He slowly opened the window, praying it didn’t squeak.
99
The sound of an AK-47 rocking on full automatic caused me to hit the floor. What the fuck? It wasn’t in our house, so it wasn’t directed against the team. I peeked out a window, trying to identify the source of the fire, the upstairs vantage point giving me an unobstructed view down the road. I saw a man crumpled on the front lawn of a house across the street, two doors down. I leaned forward to identify the shooter, calling, “Contact — house to the northeast about seventy-five meters away. One man down. Unsure of shooter location.”
Knuckles responded, “Not directed at us. Everyone stay cool. Probably some sort of gang fight or leftover animosity. We don’t want to get dragged into that. Get eyes out three-sixty. Call in to let me know your position.”
Bull called from downstairs, “Two vehicles to the front of the house on the east side. Three men. One man at the vehicle to the north, two men at the vehicle to the south. All are armed and focused on us. They’re using the cars for cover. What’s the call?”
Knuckles came back, cold and calm. “Stand by. Develop the situation. We don’t know if they’re police, criminals, or what. If they display hostile intent, take them out.”
I was about to call my position when a hail of bullets shattered the window to my front. I dropped flat to the floor. “Contact, contact. North side of house. Fire directed at me.”
I rolled to my left, coming up underneath the second window of the room.
I peered out the corner of the window, looking back toward the house with the fallen man. I caught a glimpse of a man jumping out of the back courtyard and sprinting away. Before I could process what I had seen, I caught movement directly below me and refocused. I saw a man crouched and running toward the back courtyard of the house next door. I called Knuckles, raising my H&K at the same time.
“One man, armed, moving toward cover. Not the original shooter from across the street. He’s holding an MP5, not an AK. He’s the guy that shot at me.”
I tracked the guy until he paused at the courtyard wall, preparing to vault over it. I ignored Knuckles’s radio calls, squeezing off three rounds during the split-second pause. The man tumbled down.
“North side’s clear. One squirter from the original house moved north.”
“Roger. Bull, continue to hold fire out front unless they fire first. I don’t want to kill some psycho neighborhood watch. What do we have in the rear?”
The team members covering the back courtyard began to report. The immediate threat gone, I thought about the squirter I had seen. A man with a backpack. Carlos.
I cut in on Knuckles getting status reports. “Break — break. Squirter is the precious cargo. I say again, squirter is PC.”
Knuckles came back immediately. “Still in sight?”
“No,” I said, “he’s running north. I don’t know who these clowns are, but we need to clear out of here quick.”
“Shit… Roger that. All elements, all elements — anyone with a weapon is now designated a hostile force. Engage at will.”
* * *
Lucas heard the first AK-47 rounds and snapped his head toward the sound. He saw the team member at the corner of the house two doors down doing a macabre dance, rounds stitching him throughout his torso. He saw two arms holding an AK out of a second-story window, the weapon rocking back and forth on full automatic. He was momentarily stunned. What the hell is going on? He shook off the confusion, rapidly analyzing his current options. He decided to withdraw. All element of surprise was lost. The police were more than likely on the way. They needed to get the hell out of here.
He keyed his radio to speak but was interrupted by more gunfire erupting out of his sight, on the north side of the target house. He recognized the sound as an MP5.
“Cease fire! Cease fucking fire! Who’s shooting?”
“Sir, it’s Sanford. I had a clear shot at Pike in the target house. I think I got him.”
“I said don’t shoot until I gave the command! Jesus! Everyone listen up. We’re getting out of here. Move back to the—”
Before he could finish, another burst of fire came from the north side of the house. It wasn’t an MP5.
He swore under his breath. This is turning into a fucking debacle. What is it with this guy? He was like a curse.
“All elements check in.”
He saw the driver of the vehicle to his rear give him a thumbs-up, on a knee and covering the house the AK fire had come from. He saw the final man from his vehicle running back across the street from the south of the target house, hearing him in his headset. “This is Copfeld. I’m coming across right now.”
With the dead man shot from the window, and including himself and his driver, he had everyone but Sanford.
“Sanford, this is Lucas. You copy?” He paused and tried again, “Sanford, Sanford, this is Lucas. You copy?”
When Copfeld reached his position he said, “We need to get the fuck out of here. I want you to run back to the other vehicle and get a view down the north side of the house. See if you can find Sanford. Don’t penetrate across the street. If he’s there, get him here. If you don’t see him, he’s on his own. Watch that house to the rear. You understand?”
“Yeah. Give me some cover while I move.”
Lucas grabbed his sleeve before he left. “You do anything different from what I just said, and I’m going to kill you myself.”
Copfeld stumbled back from the ferocity on Lucas’s face. He began running toward the other car as fast as he could. He made it about twenty meters before Lucas saw his head explode and his body crumple to the ground, twitching from the impact of multiple rounds. Lucas had barely registered his death when bullets began slicing the air near him like a buzz saw. What in the hell is inside that house? An army? He immediately collapsed behind his car, trying to make himself as small as possible, the bullets shattering the glass and puncturing the sheet metal all around him. The drivers of both vehicles rolled out, rapidly bringing their weapons to bear on the men shooting from the house.
The fight lasted a total of fifteen seconds. The drivers returned fire to the best of their ability, but couldn’t compete with shooters safely ensconced behind cover. First one, then another fell over as a hail of bullets pummeled their bodies like an invisible meat tenderizer. The other targets gone, the bullets began to focus on Lucas’s specific position, chewing up the concrete of the street, the dirt around him, and the metal of the car.
He knew he had seconds to live. He thought about returning fire and going out with his guns blazing, valiantly trying to accomplish the mission. A bullet clipped his arm, making the decision for him. He felt explosive rage at his failure, knowing that Standish had kept vital information from him. Just another retired soldier, my ass. He suppressed his anger, wanting to fight another day. Wanting the chance to bring some pain to the Honorable Harold Standish. He raised his weapon by the barrel and waved it back and forth over the roof of the car. The firing ceased. He stood up, laying the weapon on the roof of the car and raising his hands.
He saw the front door open and two men come out, both holding weapons and scanning the area before running to his location. They drove him facedown into the ground and flex-tied his hands behind his back.
* * *
Bakr ran until his lungs felt like they would burst. He didn’t look back, didn’t attempt to blend in, didn’t try to hide his fear from other pedestrians. He just let his legs churn away, running deeper and deeper into the Bosnian neighborhood. Eventually, he stopped, bent over, his hands on his knees, gasping for air. He heard nobody following. Once again, he was confused by the reaction of the enemy. Why did they never chase him down? They obviously had some method to track him, but continually made blatantly amateur moves whenever they closed in. He could still hear the crackle of gunfire from the direction he had come. What on earth were they shooting at? Were they so pathetic that they would continue shooting an empty building long after he was gone? Was he misreading the whole thing? He couldn’t believe that.
His next move boiled down to two choices: He could attempt to hide here, in Sarajevo, until the heat died down, or he could get out right now. Staying was appealing, since it would allow him to put some thought into his next move, and perhaps come up with a solid plan instead of simply running on a wing and a prayer. On the other hand, he had to assume that the enemy had some method of finding him, since they kept showing up all over the globe, from Guatemala, through Oslo, to here.
