by Brad Taylor
I stood up, then checked each man, making sure they were breathing. The one I’d punched in the throat was rasping and rolling on the ground, but he’d live. The other two were out cold. I ran to the door, knelt down, and cracked it open, whispering, “I’m coming out. Am I clear?”
Brett said, “Clear. I say again, clear.”
I exited, took one look around the wharf, then sprinted back to Brett’s location, finding Jennifer with wide eyes, amazed I was walking free.
I said, “Time to go.”
Brett started walking toward the pedestrian bridge, saying, “I guess that went okay.”
I took Jennifer’s hand, trying to blend in again, saying, “Sam Fisher would have been proud. All I was missing was a sticky cam.”
Jennifer said, “How did you get out?”
I said, “Play the game.”
49
We met back in my suite to convene a short war council prior to contacting the Taskforce. Earlier, before we’d penetrated the warehouse, I’d sent transcripts of the conversation at the castle, and Kurt had told me he’d wait at the office for a final report. It was closing in on four A.M. in Cape Town, which meant it was only nine P.M. in Washington. Kurt would definitely still be there.
I heard a knock on my door, and Jennifer let in Brett. He looked around and said, “Where’s the psycho?”
“Still out. Haven’t heard from her.”
He pursed his lips but remained quiet. I said, “She’s fine. She’ll be back.”
He said, “What are we going to tell Kurt? What’s your preferred course of action?”
“I want to take that fucker down. They’re training for a free-fall operation, and we just saw a stockpile of weapons in a warehouse secured by Tyler Malloy. There’s some nefarious shit going on here.”
“You know that’s not going to be enough. ‘Nefarious shit’ doesn’t rise to the level of Taskforce involvement. It’s got to be related to terrorism, not to African shenanigans.”
“Tyler’s payment for all this is something bad, and he’s going to sell that to someone who’s not in America’s best interests. They mentioned Project Circle.”
Brett nodded and said, “Hey, I agree with you, and if I was still working for the CIA, I’d work an angle to take him out as a threat against US interests, but I’m now with the Taskforce, and we have limits. We do terrorism, not all-source threats.”
I said, “Well, let’s see what those limits are.” I nodded to Jennifer and said, “Get us online with the Taskforce.”
She manipulated the laptop; we heard a bunch of bleating and beeps and then saw some staff guy on the screen. Jennifer said, “Can you hear me?”
He said, “Yes. Go.”
“This is Prometheus Pike. We have a scheduled contact with the CEO of Blaisdell Consulting.”
He nodded and said, “I’m not sure he’s here. He might be at dinner.”
Jennifer said, “No dinner needed. We’re secure.”
He smiled and said, “Roger that. Stand by. I’ll go find him.”
That exchange was a dance to make sure we weren’t under duress. If Jennifer had said, “Okay, well . . . call us back” or “How long should we wait?” or anything else, the guy would know she was calling with a gun to her head. “No dinner needed” was the response that released him.
We sat around, staring at the walls, waiting on him to find Kurt, and then heard a knock on the door. Brett went to it and then glanced back at me with a smile. He opened the door, and Shoshana entered, fired up. She was wired and blasting sparks.
She came right to me, held out a phone, and said, “We need to go to Durban. Today.”
I said, “Whoa, whoa, what’s up?”
“Some Eastern European guy assassinated the man I was going to question. Killed him with an overdose of heroin, but they talked beforehand. My target mentioned Aaron. His friend in Durban was the man who coordinated for the safe house Aaron was . . . was interrogated in.”
She could barely say the final part. I glanced at the computer screen, but it was still blank. This was the worst time to talk to her, as I had seconds before I had to talk to Kurt. I said, “Okay, okay. We’re on with the Taskforce here shortly.”
“Pike, that guy is going to Durban to kill the contact. I don’t know who that European is, but he’s cleaning house. We’re going to lose the thread.”
I said, “What did this guy look like?” She described him, and I knew it was Stanko. Now Tyler was deeply, deeply involved in whatever was going on. He wasn’t just providing arms. He was killing to protect the sale.
She held out the phone and said, “I have the contact’s number. A man named Eshan. The European said he was going to meet him today. And that means he’s going to kill him.”
Which introduced a little bit of pressure. If it was real. I said, “Why do you believe that?”
“Because he killed the target I was after. Not only that, he killed the man who provided them the heroin. He murdered them both, then planted evidence around them to cause the police to look at a drug crime. It wasn’t a snap decision. It was planned. He’s going to kill the man in Durban, and when he does, we’ll lose Aaron.”
I nodded, absorbing the information. She walked to me and took my hand, forcing the phone into it. She said, “That’s the guy’s number. Get the Taskforce to track it. We need to beat him to the target.”
I started to say something, knowing that tracking the phone wasn’t in the cards, and she said, “Please. For me.”
I squeezed her hand and said, “Shoshana, I’m with you. I am. But if I can get Omega for Tyler Malloy, we’re at jackpot. Let me work Kurt instead of chasing a local thread. We squeeze Tyler’s ass and we have it all.”
She said, “If you get permission, if you do this, will you continue? Once you take Tyler down, you have no reason. The mission will be over.”
The computer bleeped, and I heard, “Jennifer, good to see you. What did you find in the warehouse?”
She said, “I’ll let Pike do the talking.”
I ignored the discussion, focusing on Shoshana. I said, “Yes. I will, even if it means me doing it alone.”
50
Jennifer scooted out of the seat, and I sat down, my game face on. Kurt said, “Well, from that expression, there must be some wicked shit going on. What’s up?”
I knew I had to go full bore if I had any chance of getting authority. I said, “Sir, you got the transcript, right?”
“Yeah, but there’s not a whole lot in it that would constitute Omega authority. We can pass the information to the appropriate law enforcement agencies, but it doesn’t look like a Taskforce problem.”
I said, “Sir, I just came back from the warehouse. It’s full of top-notch weapons and explosives from all over the world. These guys are planning an invasion of something. They’re going to assault somewhere on the African continent, and that’s going to upend whatever US interests are involved.”
“Pike, all we have is a transcript about weapons. Tyler sells weapons. It’s like making a case that a mechanic is selling drugs because he’s talking about repairing cars.”
“Sir, come on! They talked about a HALO operation. They talked about training people. It was much more than a single sale of weapons.”
“I hear you, but it’s still not a Taskforce problem.”
I said, “Hang on. I have a photo of one of the weapons. Can you track it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I transmitted the picture of the Sig MCX and said, “See where that thing was supposed to go, because I guarantee it wasn’t here.”
He said something to the man behind him, then returned to the screen. He said, “What do you want to do?”
“Take Tyler’s ass out. He has information that might be pertinent.”
He said, “Pertinent.”
I said
, “Yes, sir. Pertinent.”
“Meaning he knows where Aaron is?”
Shoshana leapt out of her seat, and Jennifer just about tackled her to keep her offscreen. I said, “Why would you ask that?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Pike. I know why you’re pressing, and it isn’t because of some threat to America.”
I raised my voice, saying, “It’s the same damn thing. Aaron was searching for something bad, and he found it. We were searching for something bad from a different angle, and we found it.”
“So do you want to stop the bad or find Aaron?”
“I just gave you my answer. It’s the same thing.”
He said, “Pike, I’d really like to turn you loose, but I can’t. I have to brief the Oversight Council tomorrow to get authority, and you have to give me something.”
I said, “Sir, they mentioned Project Circle. Did you see that? It’s the reason you put me on this wild-goose chase.”
Honestly, before this adventure, I’d had no idea what Project Circle was, but after we’d heard the tape from the laser recording, I’d turned Jennifer loose on a computer.
He said, “Yeah, I did. And you did exactly what I wanted in Vegas. Look, you’ve accomplished your mission. You’ve cracked open that asshole’s complicity. Now our job is over. It’s not terrorism. It’s State Department sanctions and FBI arrests. It’s not Taskforce. Trust me, he’s not going to get away with anything. Time to come home.”
I said, “Sir, really? These guys are about to do something bad. Surely you can see that?”
He said, “My target is Tyler, and until you get me something I can use, he remains with Alpha authority. The rest isn’t terrorism. The most I can do is feed your intelligence into the system.”
I nodded, thinking. He said, “What’s going through that bullet head?”
“You brief tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And we still have Alpha to explore? To find terrorism connections?”
He hesitated, then said, “Yeah, that’s right. Why?”
“You remember that guy you made me follow in Las Vegas? The one without Oversight Council sanction?”
I said that for a reason, just in case he was going to tell me no. And by his expression, he knew it too.
“Yes. Stanko Petrov.”
“He’s headed to Durban tomorrow. I’d like to follow him to explore. Just see what he’s doing.”
He slit his eyes and said, “What’s he up to?”
Innocently, I said, “I don’t know. That’s why I want to go. He’s apparently meeting a local national up there, and I have that guy’s number.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want NSA collection on that handset. Find out what he says and give me an anchor to continue Alpha.”
He leaned back and said, “Pike, I don’t know about that. There’s a lot of friction around such a thing.”
“Come on, sir, there aren’t any 702 or FISA restrictions here. They can do it. We’re not talking about infringing on anyone’s rights. It’s two foreigners talking about criminal shit on foreign soil. No Americans involved.”
When the Taskforce had been created, it was done with the effort of streamlining our counterterrorism ability without duplicating other capabilities, and—because we were basically illegal—without the ability to start some Gestapo surveillance effort in the United States. The end state was that the Taskforce was given authority to geolocate handset information through electronic signature but was forbidden from developing the ability to actively collect on what was said on those phones.
For that, we relied on the NSA, but in order to do that, we had to work through a labyrinth of cutouts to get the request into the beast in such a manner that they would collect without realizing who was requesting the information. Given all the misguided hysteria of collection on US persons with 702 and FISA, it had become a pain in the ass.
Kurt said, “But you’re asking to circumvent FISA and 702 by default. Your immediate targets are foreign, but your actual target is American. I don’t know if I can sell that. The Oversight Council will see right through it.”
I leaned forward and played my trump card. “You don’t have to go to the Oversight Council. They’ve already approved Alpha. All you have to do is get it in the system.”
“But the problem remains. We’re twisting the system to track an American.”
I said, “Cut the crap, sir. I’m asking you to track this guy so I can crack open enough information to prevent an asshole American from getting nuclear triggers to sell to terrorists. You know it and I know it. I’m not going to start asking to listen in to Aunt Polly’s phone conversations.”
He exhaled, and I dropped the hammer. The one he should have never given me. “Sir, it’s no different from tracking a guy in Las Vegas without Oversight Council sanction. What was it you said? ‘But he’s not American, so it’s legal.’ You knew that was bullshit when you ordered it. But you did it because you thought you were right. Don’t go wrong now. It’s the same fucker you had me track in Vegas. The same one. I’m on the thread. Let me get it done.”
He sat for a moment, looking at the screen. His setup was a little more professional than mine. I could see him fully in his chair, but I’m sure what he saw from his vantage point was a forehead and two glaring eyeballs.
He shook his head and said, “Is Shoshana there?”
She stood up again, and I flicked my hand behind my back. I said, “No? Why do you ask that?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Pike. Don’t twist what you’re doing.”
I said, “Because we don’t do that, right? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You have a mission you can’t get approved, you send me. I have a mission I can’t get approved, I call you.” I leaned back from the screen and said, “It’s known as keeping America safe, and it’s worked out pretty well. You trusted me in Vegas, and I’m trusting you now.”
He laughed, a real thing that permeated the weak VPN connection.
We sat for a second, saying nothing, Shoshana as taut as a trip wire. He said, “Okay, Pike. I’ll get your collection. Just this once.”
I showed no emotion on my face, but inside, I was doing a happy dance. I said, “Thank you, sir.”
He said, “Tell Shoshana she owes me.”
I said, “What’s that mean?”
He reached forward with his hand and said, “You know what I mean.” And cut the feed.
I turned to the room, about to give out instructions, and Shoshana stood, vibrating like a piano wire. She said, “I won’t forget this, Nephilim. Ever.”
I chuckled and said, “Yeah, right up until I give you an order.”
She walked to me, leaned over, and kissed my forehead, the action shocking the hell out of not only me but both Jennifer and Brett.
She drew her hand across my cheek and said, “No. I will never forget. My life is now yours.”
She floated her weird gaze on me, and then she left the room.
It took a second to even realize she was gone, my mind focused on her disconcerting stare. I turned to Jennifer and said, “What the hell was that? What did she mean?”
Jennifer’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find something to say. She settled with, “I don’t know. Maybe she’s truly sweet on you.”
Brett said, “Better him than me, because she’s flat-out scary.”
51
At five hundred feet, Johan worked the toggles of his parachute, turning into the final upwind segment of his flight pattern. He maintained his distance from the parachute below him and saw the man behind him doing the same.
So far, the team Armstrong had built had shown martial skill in both individual abilities and team dynamics, and the aircrew Tyler had provided proved they c
ould plan and execute a jump run. All in all, Johan was gaining confidence in the mission.
He saw the lead jumper touch down, and then, like dominoes, the ones behind him, until Johan was flaring his own chute. He hit the ground, ran off his speed, then rotated to collapse his chute, watching the remaining members of the team land, all within half of a football field. It would be a greater diameter at night but was still much smaller than the plateau where he’d placed the beacon.
He half-hitched the lines of his parachute, gathered the canopy, and walked to the trucks in the middle of the drop zone, finding Colonel Armstrong sitting on one of the trucks’ beds.
Armstrong said, “Looked good.”
Johan nodded, saying, “Yeah. Only two jumps and we’re tracking fine. The men are experienced.”
Armstrong smiled and said, “I told you not to worry.”
Johan shucked his parachute harness, letting it fall to the ground. “We’ll see tonight. You have the drivers, right?”
Tonight was to be a full dress rehearsal, using the same type of beacon he’d placed on the plateau and the very drivers who would meet them on the ground. They would simulate as much of the same conditions as they could, doing a blind drop that Johan had set up earlier in the day, briefing the pilots the same way he would for the infiltration, and testing whether the drivers could find the drop zone and recover the jumpers.
Armstrong said, “I have the lead driver. We’ll have to substitute for the others.”
“Sir, why? Jesus, you know how critical the infiltration is. I need them all here.”
“There are issues getting them out of the military base. The drivers aren’t just privates. I thought it better to get the team leaders here. General Mosebo wasn’t willing to let every officer of his Special Forces leave. It would raise questions, and . . . he’s fucking paranoid. You’ll need to work with that.”
