OMEGA: A Black Flagged Thriller (The Black Flagged Series Book 5)

by Steven Konkoly

  “Then why are we still talking about this?” said a tired female voice, turning all of their heads toward the dining room entrance.

  Jessica stood with one of her arms draped over Timothy Graves’s shoulder. Graves held her steady as she trudged on unsteady legs toward one of the empty chairs. Daniel rushed over and helped her into the seat.

  “How are you, Jess?” he asked, looking into her barely focused eyes.

  “I feel like throwing up,” she said, catapulting Melendez into action.

  He placed the kitchen trash bin next to her in time to catch whatever she still had in her stomach from dinner. Jessica heaved a few more times, then sat up and took several deep breaths. Daniel knelt behind the chair, holding her tightly. Her body trembled in his grip.

  “I think you should lie back down,” he whispered in her ear. “I can have us on a direct private flight in a few hours.”

  “We’re not leaving until this is finished,” she said in a low voice. “Russians? Is that who we’re dealing with?”

  “Jessica, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear your voice,” said Sanderson. “And yes, evidence strongly suggests the Russians are behind this.”

  “Evidence?” said Daniel. “You don’t even have circumstantial evidence! More like a theory.”

  “It’s a moot point. Neither attack is an isolated incident, and we have an opportunity to identify the source. Unless you can revive Srecko Hadzic from the dead and reconstruct the circumstances surrounding his escape.”

  “We weren’t given that opportunity,” said Daniel.

  “Then we need to make the best of this opportunity,” said Sanderson. “And while I’m certain the team could handle this without you, I’d feel much better if you were directly involved. No offense, Jeff, but he’s better at the direct-action stuff. Even in his slightly deteriorated state.”

  “There was never any question about it,” said Munoz, shaking his head with a smile.

  “Jessica?” started Sanderson. “Do I really need to say any more? We need both of you on this one. If this whole transmitter thing turns out to be a bust, you’re on a flight within the hour.”

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” said Jessica.

  “Are you absolutely sure?” Daniel asked. “This could turn out to be a deep rabbit hole.”

  “We never climbed out of the first one,” she said. “Karl has always looked out for me.”

  Daniel pressed his head into hers and held it there for a few seconds.

  “All right. We’re in.”

  Chapter 33

  Oakton, Virginia

  Karl Berg sat in the pitch darkness on a sturdy wooden chair, his hands tightly bound to its back and his ankles to its thick legs. He guessed the chair was somehow bolted to the wood-planked floor, since his earlier attempts to budge the chair had absolutely no effect. A concentrated earthy smell dominated the air. Dirt and mildew—his favorite combination. From the light cast by his captors’ flashlights when his hood had been removed, he’d noticed thick, rough-hewn wooden girders running parallel across the planked ceiling. The shafts of light played across a few vertical wood beams connected to the girders.

  His best guess was that he sat in a farmhouse cellar in Maryland or Virginia, not too far from the D.C. Metro area. The trip hadn’t lasted long enough, and his captors had been in a hurry to reach this destination. They’d grabbed him off a public street, which always carried a risk. A random witness could call in the abduction, putting the police on alert. Anything was possible in a crowded city, so they’d expedited his journey to a prepared location.

  Judging by his surroundings, Berg assumed this would be his final destination. The end of the road. Hopefully they’d start his interrogation with a long period of isolation to “deprive the senses and disorient” before moving on to less subtle methods. Fourteen hours ideally. His prospects were dashed moments later when a light spilled down a crudely framed staircase built along what appeared to be an ancient fieldstone wall. He was most definitely in an old farmhouse—with no Wi-Fi. Even the cellular service might be spotty out here.

  Three men descended the stairs and approached, one of them activating a lightbulb between the stairs and his chair. The man let go of the string attached to the bulb socket and shook his head. None of their faces were concealed, a foreboding sign in this line of work.

  “We have a lot of ground to cover, Karl.”

  “Berg or Mr. Berg, please. Until we’re properly introduced.”

  The man lashed out at him with a fist, connecting with his left cheek. The blow knocked his head back violently, straining his stiffened neck muscles.

  “Don’t fuck around, Karl. I’m sorry. Mr. Berg.”

  He got a better look at the man. Mid to early thirties. Athletic, but not overly muscular build straining his untucked, button-down long-sleeved shirt. Clean shaven. Closely trimmed hair—not buzz cut, but the sideburns had been taken too high. A former military guy that hadn’t quite figured out how not to look military. The other two looked the same. All three wore thigh holsters over deep brown or khaki cargo pants. High-end, subdued-tone hiking boots. Their look screamed paramilitary contractor.

  “Just trying to keep things civil,” said Karl, forcing a smile.

  One of the men chuckled. “Well, that’s completely up to you.”

  “That’s usually the way this works,” said Berg.

  “Good. Sounds like we’ve come to an understanding. You answer our questions and we keep things civil.”

  “That depends on the questions,” said Berg.

  The guy hit him again, a vicious downward punch striking his other cheek. A blast of pain rocked his head, blurring his vision for several seconds until he could focus again.

  “You answer all of the questions,” said his captor. “Without any bullshit, and to my complete satisfaction.”

  Berg considered his response and decided to go with the most painful option. “You really don’t have a clue how this works,” he said, shaking his head and grinning.

  The man cocked a fist and fired it at Berg’s face, catching the top of his quickly lowered head instead. Bones cracked, and the man stumbled back with a scream. Berg stared at him as he clutched his broken hand, the man’s face a mix of anger and agony.

  “Fuck him up good, but make sure he can talk,” the guy said, wincing in pain. “I’ll be back.”

  “Motrin and ice for now, but you’ll need to get that looked at by a professional soon,” said Berg.

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “Just trying to be civil,” Berg said with a wink.

  He never saw the blow that hit his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. It was going to be a long thirteen hours or so.

  Chapter 34

  Rockville, Maryland

  Jessica dragged herself out of the van and walked stiffly toward one of the ground-floor rooms the team had grabbed. The early arriving members of the team had struggled to find vacant adjoining rooms in a proper motel with exterior doors, near D.C., settling for a location a lot less centralized than they’d hoped. Berg could be anywhere outside of the Beltway. For all they knew, he was five states away. It was all a mystery that they would resolve in a few minutes.

  She reached the second-floor overhang in front of the hotel door and took a moment to stretch her legs and back. The effects of the sedative or tranquilizer, whatever those fucks had used on her, still had a grip on her. She had a splitting headache and still felt a little wobbly. Daniel opened the door before she could knock.

  “Spying on me?” she asked.

  “Trying. They’re all set up. Less than a minute until showtime.”

  “I hope this works and he’s not on a container ship in the Atlantic, headed for Russia.”

  “There’s always that possibility,” he said, ushering her inside.

  The team had rearranged the furniture, pushing the double beds together and moving a table next to the narrow desk just beyond the foot of the b
eds, which served as the tech team’s workstation. A low dresser sat next to the desk, strewn with most of the mess she’d seen in the dining room at the Chicago area location. Graves was busy connecting wires while Gupta sat in the only chair, watching his laptop screen intently.

  Munoz and Melendez sat at the foot of the bed, looking over Gupta’s shoulder, while a woman Jessica had never seen before splashed water on her face from the vanity sink in the back of the room. She had to be Erin Foley. The woman caught her glance in the mirror and nodded. Jessica returned the gesture.

  A few more steps and she could see partially into the adjoining room. Sayar, who she’d worked with before, unpacked the team’s gear with two unfamiliar men. It wasn’t hard to guess who was who. Mazurov, a Black Flag graduate from Sanderson’s original program, had to be about Daniel’s age, pushing forty, except he didn’t look like he’d stayed in the same top physical condition. The other guy didn’t look a day over thirty and was built like an Olympic swimmer. Had to be Daly, a recently recruited SEAL.

  They emptied the nylon bags methodically, placing everything on the opposite bed. Weapons, body-armor vests, communications gear, grenades. The kind of stuff you didn’t want housekeeping to walk in on. A tall, annoyed-looking black guy appeared next to the bed, straightening out the gear and mumbling curse words. Jackson. She remembered him from the mission to stop True America. He’d begrudgingly delivered a cache of weapons that had made all the difference in that operation.

  Daniel sat on the bed next to Munoz.

  “Lie down or something,” said Daniel. “You still look a little unsteady on your feet.”

  “I can manage to sit up,” she said, leaning over to speak quietly. “How is Sayar doing? I was a little surprised to find out he was still around.”

  “This whole crew is kind of a patchwork, outside of Munoz and Melendez.”

  “Finally. A compliment,” said Munoz.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Daniel, inching away from the eavesdropper.

  “I have no idea what Foley has been doing. Sanderson thought he could bring her on board full-time, but the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service put a sizable bounty on her head after the Vektor raid, confirmed by the agency. Foley quit the CIA and dropped off the radar. Sanderson has kept in touch, but hasn’t been able to convince her to leave the U.S. I don’t blame her. She’s probably only here because of Berg.”

  “How was she involved with Vektor?”

  “She took out the Iranian scientist working on the bioweapons program at Vektor, along with his bodyguard. She also managed to steal the keycard that got them into the facility. She’s good, from what I’m told.”

  “Mazurov? He looks a little—”

  “Rusty?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” she said.

  Mazurov worked with the new Russian group operatives on an occasional paid-contract basis for Sanderson. He’d spent close to ten years as a sleeper agent in Moscow, teaching school of all things. He played a part in something big around the time of the Vektor raid, but even Sanderson wouldn’t say what he did.

  “That leaves Daly, who just left the SEALs. He’ll be sharp, but he hasn’t trained with Sanderson’s people.”

  “And then there’s me,” said Jessica. “This is like the Bad News Bears.”

  “I heard that,” whispered Munoz. “You don’t have to worry. We’ll do the heavy lifting, like always.”

  “Funny,” said Daniel.

  Gupta sat up in the chair and started typing furiously.

  “You got something?” asked Munoz, leaning forward to see.

  “Fucking A. It worked,” Gupta crowed. “I’m getting three independent signals, all clustered in the same location…in Oakton, Virginia. Let me synch this to a better map.”

  A satellite image of the area appeared, zooming down to street level. Gupta pulled the image back far enough for them to get the lay of the land. Foley rushed over, wiping her face with a towel.

  “Looks like an uncrowded mix of one-acre lots, tighter subdivisions. Some land here and there. Target location is off Hunter Mill Road in an area with a lot of trees and not many roads.”

  “Zoom in on the signals again,” Munoz requested.

  All three signals were co-located within some kind of structure mostly obscured by trees. A home was visible between the hidden structure and Hunter Mill Road. Gupta centered the screen on the home without anyone asking.

  “Do you think that’s visible from the road?” asked Daniel.

  “I don’t know. It’s a good tenth of a mile from the road. The target building is a hundred yards past that.”

  “I bet the target building is an old barn,” said Foley. “This is a big lot compared to the rest, especially for a town this close to D.C. Not part of the subdivision around it. The original owners probably sold most of their land, but kept this one and a small parcel, which is why they kept the barn.”

  “That’s quite an analysis,” said Daniel.

  “I grew up on a small farm in Connecticut. That’s exactly what my parents did. They get crazy offers all the time because of the barn. Stockbrokers and hedge fund managers wanting to feel all country-like,” she said, smirking.

  “What kind of signals are we getting?” asked Graves.

  “Cell phone. One had Wi-Fi enabled. The virus must have called the other phones and daisy-chained,” said Gupta. “This is fucking brilliant technology.”

  “Is the system interactive?” asked Graves. “Can you ask it to daisy-chain with other devices?”

  “I’m not seeing an interface, and I get the impression we’re not hacking into this system any time soon.”

  “Probably not,” said Graves.

  “I guarantee we’re dealing with more than three hostiles,” said Munoz. “It would be nice it if gave us more.”

  “That’s not its job, but I think we might get what we we’re looking for. The virus clearly felt the need to hijack three phones,” Graves explained.

  Jessica shook her head. “You’re talking about it like it’s alive.”

  “In a technology sense, it is alive, or smart,” said Graves. “It hijacked three phones, presumably to ensure continuity of signal. It had one, then decided to spread, but it didn’t go any further. It mapped the closest three devices, probably some kind of parameter set by the programmer. I bet if one of our hostiles gets too far away from Berg, the virus will daisy-chain to someone closer, maintaining the three closest points. It might morph strategies altogether and expand to more than three.”

  “I guess we have another decision to make,” said Munoz.

  “What’s that?” said Daniel.

  “Do we wait until dark, or hit them in broad daylight?”

  “It’s already been fourteen hours,” said Foley. “The chances of finding him alive grow slimmer by the minute.”

  “We don’t have the right night-vision gear to make the best of the darkness,” said Daly, standing in the doorway between rooms. “I counted two sets of goggles and one unmounted scope. No dual-beam lasers mounted to the rifles. Two of us can walk around in the dark, but that’s about the extent of it. If we’re up against professionals that plan on sticking around through the night, they’ll have all the right gear.”

  “Nobody’s forcing you to use any of the gear,” remarked Jackson from the other room. “I’m sure that Spyderco knife clipped to your belt will be a real force multiplier combined with your bare hands.”

  “I’m not complaining,” said Daly. “We can work with this.”

  “Then that’s it,” said Munoz. “Let’s start moving toward the target. Graves and Gupta, I want you mobile and as close to this location as possible. Sayar and Mazurov will provide security. Start looking for a suitable drop-off point along one of the roads behind the property. It doesn’t have to be perfect, we just need a few seconds to slip into the woods.”

  “Got it,” said Graves.

  The room erupted in a beehive of activity, everyone but G
raves and Gupta moving into the other room to kit up. Jessica followed Daniel toward the door, but was stopped by Munoz.

  “Jess, you have to sit this one out.”

  “I’m not leaving her alone,” said Daniel.

  “Then I guess you’re not coming along either,” said Munoz. “We can manage.”

  “I’m fine, Danny,” said Jessica. “Seriously. Get Berg and get back in one piece. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Daniel stared at her, obviously torn about the decision.

  “Let me rephrase this. I will forever think less of you if you don’t go with them,” she said firmly. “We owe this to him. He’s stuck his neck out for us before.”

  He paused for a long time, a neutral look on his face. “I’m doing this for you,” he said after the long silence. “Nobody else. And when I get back, we’re out of here. You need some serious downtime.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “This is the right thing to do.”

  “No, it isn’t, but it’s what I’m gonna do. For you,” he said, disappearing into the other room.

  Munoz grabbed her arm. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  Despite the fact that Munoz’s statement was one hundred percent, pre-mission pep-talk bullshit, it somehow made her feel better. She felt safe with these people. It was the one thing she would miss about this life.

  Chapter 35

  Oakton, Virginia

  Daniel lay between two trees on the northern border of the gap between the farmhouse and the barn. He’d been here for close to thirty minutes, scanning the property with his binoculars for mobile sentries, finding none. Melendez had reported the same from the southern side. The woods were clear to the east. The entire team had confirmed that on the way in.

  Graves had found a cul-de-sac connected to a trail that abutted the far eastern edge of the property. Jackson dropped them off at the trailhead and met the van in the parking lot of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Fairfax less than a quarter of a mile away. They’d lucked out with that spot. Berg was being held in the middle of an affluent D.C. suburb, where windowless vans parked on the side of the road tended to draw attention.