“The general would like to see you both in his office,” replied Tammy, with a slight shake of her head. “Please go right in.”
Donaldson knocked on the open door before stepping inside. O’Reilly was standing with his back to the door, looking out of the window. “You wanted to see us, sir,” said Donaldson.
O’Reilly nodded his head and turned around. “I have some unfortunate personal news. I was just informed that my younger brother, Patrick, was killed in a motor vehicle accident on his way to a meeting today. Diane and I are leaving right away for Seattle. I don’t expect that we’ll be out there for more than a week. In my absence, Mike, you’ll take over my duties and run the day-to-day operations of the business. As it’s a relatively quiet time for the organization, I don’t expect there will be anything that you can’t handle.”
“Yes sir,” replied Donaldson. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will; that’s why I promoted you.”
Mitchell walked over and put a hand on his mentor’s shoulder. “If there’s anything Jen and I can do, please just let us know. We’d be more than happy to help.”
“That goes for me too,” added Donaldson.
“Thanks for your support,” replied O’Reilly. “I always knew I could count on both of you to help. As of now, I don’t think there’s anything Diane and I need. If I think of something, trust me, I won’t hesitate to call. Thank you, gentlemen.” With that, O’Reilly left the office.
Mitchell felt for his boss. He’d never lost a family member, but could imagine the pain and anguish in O’Reilly’s heart. The sadness in his eyes had spoken volumes.
He glanced at Mike. Donaldson was looking around O’Reilly’s office, the weight of his new responsibilities associated with looking after a multi-million-dollar company and all of its employees clearly written on his face.
Mike turned his head, catching Ryan’s eye. “Well,” he said, “let’s hope it stays quiet until the general gets back.”
“Let’s hope so. Come on, Mike, let’s quietly spread the word,” said Mitchell.
Together with Tammy, they headed downstairs. General O’Reilly was more than just an employer; he was like a friend to many of the people who worked at Polaris. The day’s festive mood quickly changed, and people became subdued. In small groups, all the employees began to make their way back to their offices. Today’s celebrations were over.
5
Coastal Road to Larnaca,
Cyprus
Second Lieutenant Vandis sat in the cab of a two-and-a-half-ton truck as it made its way down the busy highway toward Larnaca. Having been recently commissioned into a Greek infantry regiment, Vandis found himself posted on the divided island. Invaded in 1974 by the Turkish military, they still occupied the northern half of the country forty years later. He was looking forward to a day on the ranges. It would give him a chance to interact with his new NCOs and soldiers.
In the back of the truck were a dozen soldiers and all of their equipment. A second vehicle followed with his platoon sergeant and the remainder of Vandis’ platoon.
Although only nine o’clock in the morning, it was already hot outside. Vandis had grown up in northern Greece and found the heat on the Mediterranean island oppressive. He looked over at the driver. “Is it much farther to the ranges?”
The man, a corporal in the Cypriot National Guard, shook his head. “No sir. Five minutes, perhaps.”
Vandis turned his head to look out the window at the royal-blue waters of the Mediterranean. If there was one consolation to being stationed on the island, it was the tourists—especially the female tourists that flocked there to get away from the colder climes of northern Europe. Vandis was looking forward to joining some of his fellow junior officers at a popular bar not far from the base after supper for a few drinks.
Ahead, the road came to a four-way stop. The truck slowed.
Vandis leaned forward in his seat and spotted a couple of battered-looking cars parked on the side of the road, about fifteen meters apart. He wondered how long they’d been there, and thought it odd that the police hadn’t had them towed away.
With a loud, protesting squeal from the cargo truck’s brakes, the vehicle came to a stop at the intersection. The driver checked that it was safe to proceed.
In the mirror on his side of the truck, Vandis saw the other transport close up behind them. He was about to mark the location of the derelict cars on his map so he could inform the local police about them when both vehicles unexpectedly exploded.
Packed with hundreds of kilos of explosives, the cars flew apart. The powerful blast wave surged through the air, striking the two stationary trucks, along with thousands of pieces of jagged metal.
The explosion pushed Vandis’ vehicle sideways on the road. The flying debris tore through the metal door as if were paper, killing Vandis and his driver. In the back of the truck, all but one soldier died instantly in the blast. Behind them, the second vehicle was picked up off the road and flipped on its side, killing or maiming everyone inside. Within seconds, both vehicles’ fuel tanks erupted. A dark pall of smoke rose from the devastation.
From a vantage point high above the road, a man lowered his binoculars and grinned at his handiwork. The IEDs had worked perfectly. He placed his disposable cell phone in his pocket and calmly walked back to his black BMW SUV. He climbed inside and started the engine. Without a second glance at the inferno, he drove away.
6
Air Canada Flight 787-8,
Heading for Ottawa
Elena Milos settled back into her comfortable seat in business class for the short, ninety-minute flight from Washington D.C. to Ottawa, the Canadian capital. The plane was nearly full; however, she had the window seat in a row by herself near the front of the aircraft. Her meetings over the past few days with President Kempt’s team had gone well enough. She had been able to obtain a commitment from the administration to engage the leaders of Greece and Turkey, in order to defuse the growing tensions between the two NATO countries. A team from the FBI had already flown to Cyprus to help with the investigation into the recent attack. The whole region was teetering on the edge of the abyss. She knew that all it would take was one more incident to trigger a war.
The plane departed on time, and soon climbed to a cruising altitude of just over ten thousand meters. There would be just enough time for the flight attendants to give everyone a drink before they prepared the plane to land.
Her next round of meetings was with Canadian government officials. Once again, she was hoping to get diplomatic support. With its long history of peacekeeping on the island of Cyprus, she knew that the Canadians would be well-equipped to help out in any way they could. She closed her eyes, grateful for the opportunity to relax, if only for a few minutes.
In the middle of the aircraft, an average-looking man in his late twenties, with short black hair, dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting gray shirt checked his watch. It was time. He stood, moved out into the aisle and quietly made his way towards the bathroom at the front of the plane. Behind him, a slender man with a bald head, and glasses perched on a bulbous nose, stood and followed. When they reached the washrooms, the black-haired man waited for the washroom on the port side of the plane to be vacant. As soon a young woman stepped out, the man glanced over at the bald man, who gave him a quick nod. He slipped inside, locked the door behind him and turned about in the confined space until he saw the toilet-cover dispenser. He reached over and yanked hard on the plastic container. It had been left loose by the man’s other accomplice, a member of the ground crew. The plastic readily gave way in his hand. The man placed it down on the toilet seat. Hurriedly, he pulled all of the covers out of the dispenser. He soon found what he was looking for. With a grin on his face, he grabbed the two pistols that had been hidden there. The weapons were loaded with ammunition that shattered on impact, making the possibility of accidentally puncturing the skin of the plane and causing an explosive decompression almost nil. They wanted t
o get their hostage, not bring the plane down.
A seat number was written on tape wrapped around the grip of one of the weapons. Instantly, the black-haired man’s heart began to race. A former Greek soldier who had fallen on hard times, he had volunteered for the mission after he’d been told that his young family would be taken care of if he died.
The hijacker took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before opening the door and stepping out. With a nod at the bald man, he handed his partner a pistol. Together they pulled back on the slides of their weapons, each loading a round into the chamber. Without saying a word, they parted. The baldheaded man strode straight to the front of the plane, while the other turned about and looked for seat 18D in the preferential-seating section of the aircraft. A second later, he spotted his target—the flight’s air marshal. He was a short man with a thick, red beard, sitting in his seat pretending to read a book. Without hesitating, the black-haired thug walked straight towards the unsuspecting marshal. When he was less than a couple of seats away from the man, he swiftly brought his pistol from his jacket pocket and fired off two shots into the doomed man’s head. Blood and gore splattered the people sitting next to him.
A woman sitting behind the dead man screamed in terror.
A second later, the people nearest the body panicked and tried to get up. Another man stepped out into the aisle, and the black-haired man dropped him with a shot to the chest.
“Everyone sit down. Or you’re next!” yelled the hijacker, pointing his pistol at the frightened crowd of passengers.
Up front, a man who had heard the shots fired foolishly went to get out of his seat to see what was going on, and was shot dead by the bald man. His bloodied body slumped over in its seat. The baldheaded man walked straight to the flight deck. A flight attendant went to pick up a phone on the wall and was shot in the chest; her body tumbled to the carpeted floor. A fellow attendant grabbed a cloth, bent down and placed it on the gaping wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. The baldheaded man turned to look at the people in business class. With malice in his voice, he said, “The next person who gets out of their seat or tries to pick up a phone dies.”
Fear gripped the plane. No one moved or said a word. Everyone’s attention was fixated on the men holding the guns.
The baldheaded man walked over beside Elena Milos’ seat and smiled menacingly at her. “All right, I want everyone in business class, except for Mrs. Milos, to slowly get up and make your way to the back of the plane. Don’t anyone try to be a hero, or I will shoot you and the person next to you as well.”
No one moved at first; everyone was too afraid to get out of their seats.
“Now!” yelled the man.
Chaos ensued as people leaped from their seats and hurried away from the gunman.
Elena could feel her heart jackhammering away in her chest. She looked at up at the killer standing next to her. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll do what you say. Please don’t harm any more passengers.”
“What happens to them is none of your concern,” replied the man.
As the crowd of frightened passengers made their way out of business class, they passed by the black-haired hijacker. A man in his late thirties at the back of the group, with a weathered face and very short hair, wearing a loose-fitting tan suit, glanced at the thug out of the corner of his eye. When he was less than a couple of meters away, he pretended to trip on the carpeted floor of the aircraft. With his arms flailing in the air, the man fell towards the armed gunman. At the last second, he stopped his fall barely an arm’s length from the thug.
“Clumsy idiot,” snarled the black-haired man. “Get a move on with the other passengers.”
“Sorry,” replied the man. With lightning-fast reflexes, he shot a clenched fist into the hijacker’s windpipe, crushing it. Reflexively, the gunman reached for his throat. The man in the suit instantly stepped forward, wrapped his left arm around the doomed man’s neck and swung him around, intent on using his body as a shield.With his right hand, he snatched the pistol from the dying hijacker’s hand.
At the front of the plane, the baldheaded man heard the commotion, turned, and saw his comrade being attacked. He brought up his pistol to fire. However, he hesitated for a second, unable to get a clear shot. It cost him his life. The man in the suit fired a single shot, which hit the last terrorist square in the forehead. His lifeless body dropped to the floor.
“For your own safety, nobody move!” yelled out the man in the suit. He let go of the dying mercenary, and with his pistol held out in front of him, he strode straight towards Mrs. Milos. She watched as he scanned the plane for movement. It made sense; he had just killed two men—there could be other hijackers still hidden among the frightened passengers.
Fear gripped Elena’s heart. She couldn’t understand what was going on. Who was this man and why was he coming for her?
“Mrs. Milos?” asked the man in Greek.
“Yes.”
The man lowered his weapon and placed the safety catch on. “Ma’am, my name is Alekos Makris. I am a former member of the Greek Special Forces. I was hired by your brother to be your new bodyguard. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to introduce myself before now.”
Elena couldn’t believe her ears. She hesitantly stood and looked around at the carnage in the cabin. “The other hijacker?” she asked.
“If he’s not dead, he will be soon,” Makris replied. His voice lacked any hint of emotion.
“Are there any more terrorists on board?”
Makris shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He held up his pistol. “If there are, I doubt they’re going to make a move—not after what just happened to their friends.”
Elena looked down at the terrified flight attendants trying to save the life of the woman who had been shot. She walked over to join them, and knelt down to see how bad the injuries were. She grimaced when she saw the size of the hole in the wounded woman’s back. Elena placed a hand on an attendant’s arm. “If you haven’t already, get the pilot to declare an emergency and get us to the nearest airport, or this woman will die.”
While Makris dragged the bodies of the dead terrorists from the aisles, the flight crew made the plane ready for landing in Buffalo, New York. Within minutes, Air National Guard F-16 fighter jets were scrambled to accompany the plane into Buffalo.
Elena Milos sat down in her seat and began to shake. She knew it was the adrenaline leaving her body and her nerves letting go of all the pent-up fear. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Elena thought about her guardian angel and wondered why her brother hadn’t bothered to tell her that he had hired a new man. Too many people were dying because of her. She vowed to change how she did things before more people needlessly died.
7
Ryan and Jen’s apartment
Albany, New York
The door to the apartment flew open with a crash. Jen and Mitchell staggered inside together, both out of breath. What had started out as a light jog after they had gotten home from work had turned into an all-out ten-kilometer race. Neither one intended to concede defeat, and each kept picking up the pace until they were sprinting along their favorite jogging path through the woods.
“I told you I’d win,” said Mitchell, as he fought to get his breathing under control.
Jen shook her head. “You cheated. When I stopped at the last light, you ran past me and were almost run over by that pizza delivery car that didn’t see you until the last second. I can still hear him swearing at you.”
“I saw him coming. I was in no danger of being hit.”
“I’m calling BS on that one, mister,” said Jen, as she walked into the kitchen, opened the
fridge and grabbed them both a bottle of cold water.
Mitchell moved over to his girlfriend. He slipped his arms around Jen’s slender waist and pulled her near. The smile on her face reminded him of the first date they had back in Charlotte, North Carolina. Right from the start he
had fallen hard for her, and they had barely been apart since. “Have I told you recently that you’re beautiful and that I love you?”
Jen leaned her head back onto Mitchell’s shoulder. “No, you haven’t. However, I’m not holding that against you. I’d just like to hear it a little more often.”
“Sorry, about that.”
Jen turned around and kissed Mitchell lightly on the lips. “It’s okay; I know you love me even when you don’t say it.”
Mitchell’s cell phone buzzed with a text notification. “Looks like Donaldson wants to meet with us tomorrow morning.”
“So much for our day off,” complained Jen. “Does he say why?”
“No. But he says it’s urgent.”
Jen’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Anyone else coming?”
“Just the usual suspects: Nate, Fahimah, us, and then Sam and Cardinal. He must have some work for us to do.”
Jen scrunched up her petite nose. “I wonder what it could be. There was nothing on the books that I was aware of.”
Mitchell shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
Jen let out a deep sigh. “Ryan, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Why don’t we get out of these clothes, take a shower and order in a pizza?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Perhaps the guy who nearly killed you will deliver us our supper. It’ll give me a chance to ask him if he saw you or not.”
“He’ll probably say whatever you want him to, if you tip him enough money.” Mitchell smiled at Jen. “Why don’t you start the shower and I’ll join you in a minute?”
“Okay, but don’t wait too long,” Jen said, with a seductive smile.
Barracuda Page 4
