by Tom Clancy
The team left the bridge and descended another concrete access way toward the Lake Terrace Tower, a forty-floor office building standing in the shadow of the much more massive Almas Tower.
“We have solar-powered surveillance cameras all over the place,” said Thomas. “Sensors picked up their motors first, but now I’ve locked on to their broadcasts.”
“Roger that, me, too,” said Lakota.
“Hold up,” Brent ordered. They strung out along a footwall beside the valet parking entrance to the Lake Terrace Tower. “Everybody sight a camera. The system will tell you if you’re doubling up. I want eleven knocked out on my mark. Stand by…”
They raised their rifles, and Brent waited until the computer confirmed that each one of his people had sighted a different surveillance camera.
“Uh, Ghost Lead, this is Remus,” called Thomas, using his call sign and reminding Brent of George, who’d gone by the other Roman twin, Romulus. “I have an idea.”
“Not right now. Stand by, everyone.”
There were four more cameras in their path toward the Gold and Silver Towers, but knocking out this many in one fell swoop would speed up the infiltration.
“Locked on,” called Lakota.
Brent took a long breath. “In three, two, one. Fire!”
Eleven suppressed rounds sliced the air, and the flashing red dots superimposed over Brent’s HUD all went gray, nearly in unison.
“Wow, that’s one for the textbooks,” cried Lakota.
Brent gasped. “You’re damned right it is.”
“Uh, Ghost Lead?” called Thomas again. “I could have jammed those video signals in about ten seconds. They’re using old-school technology, and it’s not even encrypted.”
“Don’t ruin my moment,” said Brent with a laugh. “But all right, then. Jam the rest. And keep them jammed.”
“You got it, Boss.”
Brent rose. “Let’s move out!”
As they bolted off, Brent told the computer to issue him verbal warnings regarding the proximity of enemies in the zone. The computer began to issue those reports, and as expected, two vehicles were inbound from another office building about a kilometer northeast of their position, ETA five minutes or less. Those men had probably sought shelter underground.
“Hustle up, people, they’re coming to check on their camera problem…”
“Got ’em, too,” said Lakota.
* * *
Chopra had tried to persuade the young sheikh to go along with his plan, but the boy had refused, and now it seemed inevitable that the country’s assets would be surrendered to a thug — unless Chopra was willing to sacrifice himself. It might come to that. Did he have the courage? Would that be the ultimate repayment for being rescued from the slums? But if he stood up to her, and she shot him, the boy could only get her into the computers inside the vault, not the vault itself. He’d be useless. She’d kill him.
“Listen to me,” he had whispered to Hussein while the Snow Maiden had been out of the room and they were being watched by a man posing as a hotel employee. “I’ll tell her that if your vital signs are broken while inside the vault, the entire area is rigged to detonate.”
“Is this true? Did my father tell you this?”
“No, but telling her the vault might explode could be the only way to save your life — after you give her what she wants.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to do that.”
“Now you might have to. I think if we go against her, she’ll kill us both and walk away, without getting anything. I think that’s in her nature.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s a sociopath.”
The boy snorted. “You mean a psycho?”
“I mean she no longer has a conscience. And she’s working for others, so she might not care.”
“Can I tell you something stupid?” The boy lowered his voice even more. “I feel horrible about what happened to everyone back home. But my life was so boring. And this is really exciting.”
Chopra took a deep breath. “You understand this is real.”
“Duh.”
“You’re not watching this on TV. You saw the people she killed.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then you should find this horrifying.”
“I know.” He thought a moment. “So you’re right. We have to give her what she wants.”
Chopra widened his eyes. “And then what? What reason would she have to keep us alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen to me again. I’m telling her if she kills you, the vault will explode. And you’ll go along with that.”
“I don’t think she wants me to die.”
“Don’t believe anything she says.”
“If you lie, I’ll tell her,” said Hussein.
“Why have you taken her side?”
“Because… I don’t know. I think maybe she can help me.”
“And I can’t?”
“As a prisoner like me? No.”
Chopra hardened his tone. “She’s come to rob our country.”
Hussein shook his head. “My country.”
“And you’ll let her get away with that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Once we get her inside, she’ll keep us alive until she moves out all the gold and you give her the locations of the oil reserves. After we get out of the building, she’ll kill us. So during her operation is when we must make our move. I know the vault very well. And the tunnels.”
“If you run, I’m not sure I’ll go with you,” said Hussein.
“Then you’ll die. And your father’s dream will die with you.”
For a moment, Chopra had thought he’d seen tears begin to form in the boy’s eyes…
Now Chopra sat in the hotel, staring at the sleeping boy and listening to the Snow Maiden speak softly into her cell phone. He looked to the window, thought of throwing himself through the glass and plunging to the street below. It was a reckless thought brought on by self-pity. He closed his eyes, and there, in the darkness, he saw the first of the three angels with long metal wings and fire running beneath their skins.
“She is afraid. And you need to exploit that,” said one of the men, his voice echoing.
“How?”
“You know how.”
“No, I don’t! Tell me!”
“She’s only a little girl.” The angel smiled and vanished, and Chopra opened his eyes to find the boy staring at him.
“You were talking,” he said. “You woke me up.”
* * *
Brent and his people reached the Gold Tower parking garage entrance exactly twenty-one seconds before the trucks arrived. He, Lakota, and Schleck remained at the entrance to observe while the others fell back to defensive positions deeper within the facility. The vehicles weren’t military at all but a pair of Mercedes SUVs, and out hopped a pair of men from each. They wore conventional MOPP 4 gear that made them resemble old-school combatants. MOPP stood for Mission Oriented Protective Posture and Brent couldn’t remember what the hell the four stood for, but had read about how confining, restrictive, and nearly impossible it was to operate with all that junk hanging from your face and limbs.
He used the helmet’s camera to zoom in as the men pointed up at the damaged cameras mounted to the buildings. They glanced around, as though suddenly suspicious, then fell back to their vehicles.
“We need to make contact with these guys,” he told Lakota.
“Take us to your leader,” she responded in a mock alien voice.
“Exactly.”
“I’ll work with Voeckler.”
“All right.” Brent made a circle motion with his finger, brought up his roster, and tapped on the avatars of Schleck and Riggs. “Hey, guys. You’re cleared to head up top. Riggs, you stay here, and Schleck, you head next door. Let me know if you have any problems getting up there.”
“If the backup generators are down, it’ll be a long walk up to the roof,
” said the sniper.
“Just keep me posted.”
Brent shifted to Thomas’s avatar and tapped on it. “Mr. Voeckler, you’ll be accompanied by Copeland and Daugherty. Get your sticky cams in place, then hand over command to Schoolie.”
“I’m on it,” said the Splinter Cell.
“And then, while you’re working on communications, I’ve got another job for you. You’ll recon that entire vault. Alone. You’re a spy. Do what spies do. Why? Because I don’t trust blueprints. I trust you.”
Thomas’s tone grew more enthusiastic. “Nice. I won’t let you down.”
“No, you won’t. All right, Bravo and Delta teams, down to level four. On your HUDs. You’ll set up the tents. Couple million tons of concrete and glass should help us from glowing green.”
“Ghost Lead, this is Riggs. Backup generators are down over here. Going to be a long morning, and this ain’t no stairway to heaven, over.”
Brent patched into her camera and saw the endless flight of stairs hanging overhead, the ceiling lost in the distant shadows. “You’re a true warrior.”
“I know that.” She groaned. “Could be worse. I could be wearing heels.”
Brent remembered her appearance at the cycle team victory party back in France, and he wished she hadn’t reminded him of how breathtaking she’d looked.
Schleck checked in and jarred Brent back to reality. He was walking up as well.
And then, before Brent could issue another order or make another observation of their operational zone, a priority message flashed in his HUD, origin Ghost Recon Command, Fort Bragg. The data box opened to show Colonel Susan Grey. Then another box opened, part of a conference communication, and suddenly Brent was staring at both his immediate superior and General Scott Mitchell, who spoke curtly.
“Captain, listen carefully. There’s been an unprecedented security breach on our end — and we believe it may have a direct impact on your mission.”
TWENTY
Fujairah
Gulf of Oman
The Snow Maiden finished her phone conversation with Patti and plopped down on the bed. “We’ll be here for a while,” she told Chopra and the boy.
“Why?”
“No more questions.” She took a deep breath and wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t. She stared at the pistol, lying a few inches from her hand.
They saw it, too, but they only sat there, watching.
“I guess I should say thank you.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, a rare sign of weakness.
“For what?” asked Chopra, furrowing his brow.
“You could have made this a lot more difficult.”
He snorted. “We should have.”
“Those people you work for,” began Hussein. “You’ll give them all the money?”
“I said no more questions.”
“You started the conversation,” said Hussein.
She grinned crookedly. “So I did.”
“They get the gold, the oil reserves, everything?” asked the boy.
“That’s what they think.”
“You have another plan?”
She took a deep breath. “I have lots of plans.”
In fact, she had considered stealing the gold for herself, but once again engaging in an operation that complex and pulling it off at the last moment was improbable, to say the least. Then again, you never knew how the radioactive winds of fate could blow…
Patti had indicated that a militia force was occupying the city. The Snow Maiden had told her that she had no plans to infiltrate a heavily fortified building with an old man and a boy. Patti had said that she and Fedorovich had already put plans in motion that would allow the Snow Maiden’s convoy and twelve-man “work team” (in reality a Chinese special forces team) to arrive at the vault site without facing resistance.
“How?” she’d asked.
“Your old friend Haussler.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s coming with his Spetsnaz force. We’ve tipped him off.”
“Are you insane?”
“No. Izotov hired him to bring you in. The militia is Haussler’s problem, too. He can’t come after you with them in the way.”
“So now what?”
Patti had laughed under her breath. “As expected, Haussler called for help, a diversion, so he could follow you. Now here’s where it gets interesting. Izotov knows that if he sends in his own forces, the JSF will respond in kind. He doesn’t want to do that… so he’s called on the Euros.”
“The Euros?”
“Yes, they have two Enforcers Corps companies airborne and they’ll be in Dubai by nightfall, along with air support.”
“How did he manage that?”
“He threatened to pull the plug on their oil supply, so they’ll do what he says. The Euros will attack the militia north of the tower and keep them preoccupied while you slip in and empty the vault. Initially, the JSF won’t interfere because the Euros are their allies. There will be a lot of saber rattling, but not much else from them.”
“What about Haussler? I’ll still have him on my back.”
“No, you won’t. I told you the Ganjin has climbed into bed with the Green Brigade. Well, I’ve arranged for them to cut off Haussler before he reaches the city. I have about forty combatants already in place. He’ll be coming up from the south, following the main coastal road. They’ll take him out.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then the Euros will.”
“You’ve turned this into a nightmare.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the challenge.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Well, you know what you have to do, and I suspect I’ll be calling with some good news. You can make plans for your reunion with Colonel Doletskaya.”
“That’s not a bribe. He doesn’t even know I’m still alive. And when he finds out, he won’t want to see me.”
“Oh, he knows very well you’re still alive, and the Americans have been leaning hard on him for information. In fact, he’s become quite the security risk.”
“So you’re not rescuing him for me. It’s for yourselves.”
“It’s for everyone.”
The Snow Maiden had snorted and ended the call.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Chopra, rising from his chair, his expression asking the question.
She nodded and watched as he moved past the bed, behind her, toward the bathroom. Her hand remained on the bed, away from the pistol.
A mistake.
He came in from behind her, dropping his full weight on her back and trapping her there.
Then he reached across the bed, nearly getting his hand on the pistol before she slammed her elbow into his arm.
He gasped in pain as the weapon flew off the bed and thumped onto the carpet.
“Hussein, get the gun!” cried Chopra.
* * *
Brent had thought that after multiple tours in Afghanistan he’d seen it all — police selling drugs out of their stations, soldiers using their armor breastplates as grills to cook steaks over an open fire. His world was utterly absurd, yet the insanity had begun to feel familiar and comfortable. Expect chaos and suddenly everything is normal, despite the gasps and wide eyes from outsiders.
But maybe he had not seen it all. He certainly hadn’t seen this coming.
Surveillance video along with detailed hardcopy and electronic documentation had allowed Major Alice Dennison to make a “prisoner transfer” of Colonel Pavel Doletskaya.
She had transferred him, all right.
Straight to the unknown.
They were both MIA.
“My God, General, is she a traitor?” asked Brent.
“We don’t know anything else yet, but since Doletskaya is connected to the Snow Maiden, I wanted you updated. From this point on, you’ll be working with Colonel Grey instead of Dennison. I’ll be checking in from time to time myself. This is a strange and disturbing turn of events. I ha
ndpicked her myself to join the JSF.”
“Roger that, sir. I’ll add Dennison and Doletskaya to our friend-or-foe cues.”
“That’s already been done,” said Grey. “We have no reason to believe that she’d head to your location, but a rendezvous between the Snow Maiden and Doletskaya could occur in the near future.”
“Yeah, in jail,” added Brent.
“Now, Captain,” the general began, narrowing his gaze. “We know what you’re up against. Just remember: The Germans have a saying—feel the cloth. It comes from the days when men used to fight shoulder-to-shoulder and you could feel your buddy’s arm rubbing against yours. It gave you courage. It reminded you that you weren’t alone. Just go out there and feel the cloth. We’re here to back you up in any way we can.”
“Thank you, sir. Our infiltration was successful. I expect that if the target arrives, she’ll be either terminated or in our custody.”
“Excellent.”
The general ended his link, leaving Brent to face Colonel Grey, whose deep scowl transformed her into an angry bird about to sink her talons into his flesh. Remarkably, she abandoned the cutting remarks and criticism and got down to business. “Brent, I’m taking into account that you might have received bad intel from Major Dennison and that she no doubt tipped off our enemies, but now more than ever we need results. I see you’ve placed snipers on the roof and have a perimeter around the tower.”
“Observation posts out to about a kilometer from the vault. And I’ve got Voeckler moving down to recon the entrance. Schoolie’s still patched into Voeckler’s sticky cams.”
“We’re looking at those cams as well. I’ve also been following Lakota. Still no contact with the militia.”
“She’s working on that, and she tells me she’s an excellent translator.”
Most of his team had received extensive language training, but with the Cross-Com and intelligence teams monitoring back home, they could receive rapid-fire translations as they spoke with locals without having to attach a translator to the team. This was a welcome improvement in the last few years. Many of the translators Brent had used in Afghanistan turned out to be spies or were branded as traitors by locals and targeted for execution; consequently, they required extra protection.
