The Noble Mercenary

by Patrick John Donahoe

  “I see.”

  “It seems unlikely that the pilot could follow the drone, unless there was some flaw in our stealth capability,” suggested Herman, in an attempt to smooth over the questioning.

  “It will be your responsibility to study the recordings, and our design, and figure out what our flaw is, if indeed there is any flaw,” the Baron directed his order to Louise and Herman.

  “Yes sir,” they answered in unison.

  Jacques kept his peace and wondered what the Baron had in store for him.

  “Have the three of you kept up with the world’s response to your attack?”

  “No sir, we came straight here.”

  “I recorded a newscast I want you to watch.” The Baron picked up a television remote from the corner of his desk, and aimed it at the wall mounted TV. A DVR in the cabinet beneath the TV fed recorded CNN video to the TV.

  The news commentator, Anderson Cooper said, “Our next story is the drone attack on South Korea. We have a statement from the South Korean Ministry of Defense spokesman, Kim Min-seok.”

  The TV picture switched to Kim Min-seok.

  “North Korea has again intruded our sovereign airspace with a drone, but this time not with a drone meant to spy on our military facilities, but to cause damage to Seoul. North Korea’s action is a clear military provocation that violates the armistice and the South-North non-aggression agreement. This is an act of war, and we will not tolerate such behavior.”

  The TV picture switched back to Anderson Cooper.

  “In case of war between North and South Korea, the US is obligated to assist South Korea. The Pentagon took control of the South Korean military in 1950, during the Korean Conflict, and returned peacetime control to Seoul in 1994, but is still obligated to control South Korea’s 640,000 military personnel in case of war. In 2007, the United States agreed to return war time power in 2012, but the date was pushed to 2015 as tensions increased between the North and the South. The North has started a wave of nuclear related threats. North Korea conducted its 3rd nuclear test in February, 2013. Seoul is currently buying missiles and next gen fighter jets from the US.

  North Korea’s official Rodong Sinmun newspaper said the country is justified in using all available means at its disposal to counter aggressive challenges by the United States and South Korea aimed at stifling its sovereignty. Pyongyang has denied any involvement in this latest drone attack, calling the South’s charge a fabrication.

  We will now hear from our military analyst retired General James Hawthorne. Welcome General.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”

  “What are your thoughts about this drone incident, General Hawthorne? Do you think this attack was perpetrated by North Korea?”

  “There are many unmanned airborne vehicles, or UAV, manufacturers around the world, and they are making many types, sizes, and capabilities of drones. The attack on South Korea could have originated from a rogue entity in North Korea, who put it together, and launched it, without being observed, or it could have been put together, and launched outside of North Korea, and flown over North Korea to make it look like it was launched by the North Koreans.

  With all the satellite, radar, and first look capabilities we have around the world it seems pretty unlikely that someone could launch a drone from a remote location and make it look like it originated from a country that didn’t launch it. Does anyone manufacture a stealth drone? If they do, I’m not aware of it.”

  The picture switched back to the commentator. “Thank you, General James Hawthorne, retired.”

  The recording ended and the Baron switched the television ‘off.’ He looked at the trio for a comment. Since none was coming, he said, “I know it was a difficult mission, but I demand success.” He paused to let his comment sink in. “North and South Korea should be shooting missiles at each other, and their allies should be actively engaged in the fray. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” each of them answered in turn.

  “Good. Louise, Herman, if you find any flaw in our drone, I want to know about it right away. You two are dismissed. Jacques, you are to remain.”

  Louise and Herman almost jumped up out of their chairs, then hesitated for a moment.

  “Dismissed.”

  Jacques looked at Katherine and the Baron’s henchman.

  The Baron turned to them and said, “I need to talk to Jacques alone.”

  Katherine and the henchman followed Louise and Herman out the door.

  Jacques felt relieved when the gun happy henchman left the room, plus Katherine probably carried a handgun in her purse. At least the Baron wasn’t intending on shooting him, unless he had a pistol in his desk drawer.

  The Baron leaned back in his chair, took a puff of his cigar and blew another perfect smoke ring. “What am I going to do with you?” he said, more as a rhetorical question, than a question for Jacques.

  Jacques remained quiet, assuming the Baron would answer his own question in time.

  “You are an enigma to me, almost too perfect for my purposes. A mysterious background, a military bent, intelligent, a good pilot, but I gave you a job, and you didn’t deliver . . . completely.” The Baron paused. “I need for you to prove unequivocally that you are my ‘go to man’, using the vernacular. Can you do that?” The Baron gave Jacques one of his piercing through the eyes to the back of the skull stares.

  “Of course I can, sir.”

  “Well then, let’s try one more time. I would like for you to be in my inner circle, but I need ironclad proof of your loyalty.”

  “I didn’t know I was even considered as being included in your inner circle, I thought I was working as an employee, a mercenary employee.”

  “My daughter likes you, and whatever my daughters like, I try to provide for them. Plus, I like you, even if you are a shady character.” The Baron smiled an almost evil smile, if a person can smile, truly smile, evilly. He snuffed out his cigar, and said, “If you accomplish another mission for me. . . completely, I will bring you into the fold.”

  “What’s the mission?” Jacques asked without hesitation.

  The Baron replied, “To assassinate Russian President Vladimir Putin at the Sochi Olympics.”

  Jacques wasn’t prepared for such a preposterous answer. He stared at the Baron for a minute, gathered his composure, and replied, “He’s one of the most inaccessible people in the world. There’s no way I’ll be able to get near him during the Olympics.”

  “I’m well aware of the challenge. The Russian Olympics’ security is the tightest security ever assembled. The United States is even assisting the Russians with their expertise and manpower. They want to make sure none of their athletes are harmed. The Olympic stadium will be like a virtual prison camp with multiple layers of security and guards. We have already placed two female Chechen agents in the village who have their own reasons for killing Putin.”

  “I’m sure there are many people who have multiple reasons for wanting to see Putin dead. Why do you want him dead?” Jacques asked.

  “We have many goals for world domination. We’ll cause world chaos by ridding the world of all the good leaders, and create famine, and disease until the world population is decimated.”

  “You think President Putin is a good leader?”

  “He keeps his country under control. He’s not a good leader from the POV of a free people, but when he’s gone, the Russians will fall prey to the kind of chaos we see in many other countries of the world where one dictator has dominated the country for a long period of time. He’s methodically eliminated all his competition, and any contenders for leadership who might go against him. Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the one-time wealthiest man in Russia has been in prison for ten years for standing up to him.”

  “So how am I supposed to go about this mission impossible?”

  “You’ll meet with the Benefactor, our Political Action Group leader. He will guide you. You’re dismissed. Good luck.”

  Thirty Six


  Jacques felt caught in a terrible quandary; either he assassinates Vladimir Putin, and gains the good graces of the Select, or he does something to thwart the mission, and loses his foothold in the Select with a second mission failure held against him.

  He had no love for Vladimir Putin. From Jacques’ point of view, Putin was a strong arm dictator suppressing political freedom in his own country, but there were worse leaders in the world, and Jacques was not an assassin. He had no problem with fighting a fair fight, but to murder someone in cold blood was not something he was willing to do. If he played along for the near term, he would at least get to discover something about the Select’s political arm, their leadership, maybe some of their assassins’ identities, and their long term goals. It was not an opportunity he could turn down. This may have to be his last undercover foray into the Select’s criminal organization.

  Jacques pulled his rental car into a clearing on the side of the road, parked, and slipped into the woods. He needed to communicate with his three friends, but he knew he was under surveillance at all times. He exchanged the alternate Sim chip and memory chip he had in the heel of his left shoe for the ones he normally kept in his cell phone. If anyone searched his cell phone with the normal chips installed, they would find no incriminating calls on his send, or receive logs. If they captured his cell phone while it was in use with the alternate chips, they would find the Sim chip which could be used to call the US, and discover this call to Desiree.

  Desiree had the phone numbers for both Sim chips, and could listen in on any calls Jacques made when she was at work at the NSA, but he needed to talk to her, since he might not have another opportunity once he arrived at the Benefactor’s home. If anyone followed him into the woods, he’d toss the phone, and claim he had to relieve his bladder.

  “Hello, Desiree.”

  “Jacques, where are you?”

  “I am on my way to the Benefactor’s country home outside Berlin. I have a new mission . . . to assassinate Vladimir Putin.”

  “When?”

  “During the Sochi Olympics, but I don’t know any details.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “I miss you guys.”

  “We miss you too.”

  “Stay safe.”

  “Bye.”

  Serena worried about Jacques. She wished there was some more word from him, text, email, cell phone, anything. She hadn’t expected he might be sent off on such an insane assignment, to assassinate Vladimir Putin. He may have gotten in over his head this time. She finally decided worrying was a waste of time, so she prepared to curl up with a good book in her pajamas on the couch. She never seemed to have any free time to just read, or go to the movies. She sorted through the stack of books she had bought to read, but had never read. She picked one, The Time Travelers Wife, since the title intrigued her. She knew it was a romance hampered by time travel, and felt she might be able to relate to the story.

  She opened the trade paperback and turned to the first page when the telephone rang. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath. Why didn’t I turn all three phones ‘off?’ She had three cell phones, one for her friends, one for her Mossad coordinator, and one for her CIA coordinator. This call came on the cell phone for her friends, but the caller had ID blocking.

  “Hello, Domino’s Pizza,” she said.

  “Serena, I’m glad to see you still have a sense of humor,” the modulated voice replied.

  “Going secure,” Serena invoked her voice encryption/decryption app. “Who is this?” she asked.

  The phone on the other end switched to its encryption/decryption mode. “The Chairman. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize my voice.”

  “You don’t call very often and you sound different every time you call, especially when you’re encrypted. Identify yourself.”

  “If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough.”

  Serena laughed. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

  “I want you to collect your Irish buddy and take him with you to Moscow. I have an assignment for you to serve as advisors to Putin’s security force in Sochi.”

  An electric like tremor ran up her spine. “Where do we get briefed?”

  “Meet with Gilbert.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Click

  Serena smiled. Well I tried, she thought. Maybe I’ll get to meet him another day. She placed her paperback novel back on the stack of her unread books, keyed in Ian’s cellphone number, and hoped she wouldn’t have to chase him down in some remote spot on the other side of the planet.

  Serena and Ian joined Gilbert, a task leader in the Support to Mission Office of the CIA, in his office in the New Headquarters Building. Support to Mission did not sound as sexy as Clandestine Services, which Serena normally supported, but Gilbert’s people provided key functions in difficult operational areas, one of which included security. Gilbert handed Serena the dreaded manila envelope. Serena had been through this drill many times. The Chairman, also known as Yoda, over 80 years old, was tireless in his pursuit of forecasting the United States military needs and stopping terrorism. He had managed to survive thirteen Secretaries of Defense. Serena hoped she might meet him before he died. Maybe he would never die, maybe he was a millennial like she was.

  Ian opened the sealed envelope with Gilbert’s letter opener; since he had to leave his weapons, his PK Beretta and ankle sheathed Bowie knife, at the reception desk. He dumped the contents out on Gilbert’s office conference table - two fake passports, two fake Virginia driver’s licenses, two Visa cards, two stacks of cash composed of denominational mixes of US bills and Russian rubles, and a sheaf of stapled papers.

  Ian read the first page of the papers aloud to Serena and Gilbert. They were to become American CIA advisors to Putin’s security force in Sochi, with real and fake information on possible terrorists infiltrating the Olympic Games. Why this assignment, at this time, wasn’t explained. The Chairman oftentimes knew things no one else knew, but there was always justification for them to do whatever he asked, even when they didn’t know the reasons. They were to be upfront with Putin about working for the CIA, and Gilbert would serve as their handler. They were to use the fake IDs and cover stories, which was all part of the Chairman’s modus operandi when he dealt with them. The Chairman overarched organizational and operational considerations as it pleased him, but he always got results.

  Jacques drove through the electric gated entryway down a tree lined lane, and parked in the covered entryway of a large stone mansion on the outskirts of Berlin, Germany. No sooner was he out of the rental car, when a man dressed as a chauffeur approached Jacques, and asked, “Did you leave your keys in the ignition, sir?”

  Jacques fumbled in his jacket pocket and handed the man his keys.

  “Very good sir, and your name please.”

  “Roland Jacques Armand,” Jacques replied.

  The man clambered into Jacques sporty rental and drove it away, probably to a garage somewhere on the large estate.

  Another man, attired as a proper butler, approached Jacques, and said, “Roland Armand, I assume.”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good, sir, please follow me.”

  Jacques spotted the surveillance cameras on the front of the house. His arrival had been noted probably as soon as he entered the electric gate at the entrance to the estate. He pretended to ignore the constant surveillance he felt upon arrival. The huge oaken doors opened in silence via motion sensors, and Jacques and the butler entered the elegant medieval mansion. The butler, without comment, led Jacques through part of the mansion to another set of massive carved oak doors. The carvings depicted a satyr playing a flute while leading two nubile maidens to a pool of water. The butler opened one of the doors and asked, “Sir, may I present your two o’clock appointment, a Monsieur Roland Armand?”

  A voice from within replied, “Send him on in, François.”

  The butler, François, stepped to the side of the door,
and said, “Count Jaekel will see you now.”

  Jacques entered the grand room, ostentatiously furnished with floor to ceiling bookcases on three walls, and a ladder which could be rolled around the room on a track to access any book in any bookcase. The Benefactor sat at a large wooden table in a high back chair fashioned somewhat like a throne, and the table was surrounded by twelve red felt covered chairs, four to a side on the other three sides of the table.

  The Benefactor stood as Jacques walked toward him and removed his John Lennon style spectacles. He laid the eyeglasses on the table and offered to shake Jacques’ hand.

  Jacques noted the Benefactor’s grip to be firm and dry. The Benefactor looked Jacques in the eyes, and said, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. The Baron has told me so much about you.”

  “All good, I hope.”

  “Of course, my son, all good, but he does have mixed feelings about you and his daughter.”

  Jacques was taken aback at this direct reference to Katherine. The Benefactor was going to be a man to be reckoned with.

  “I apologize. I did intend to make you uncomfortable with the comment about the Baron’s daughter. I wanted to see your reaction. I can tell a great deal about a person by how they handle uncomfortable situations. My name is Count Konrad Jaekel. Of course there are some who think my claim to being a Count is on shaky ground, but I like to be addressed as Count, much as Frederich von Hapsburg enjoys the appellation of Baron.”

  “Thank you for telling me your full name, I had only been told you were called the Benefactor.”

  “The Baron and my detractors enjoy calling me the Benefactor to rankle me. They told you to call me that to get us off to an awkward start. But I know better than to blame you.” The Count smiled, a greasy smile, reminding Jacques of Oil Can Harry from the Mighty Mouse cartoons.