“Do your masters call me Czar Putin?”
“Yes, sir,” Serena replied without hesitation.
“Honesty. I like that. I would be pleased to have you and Mr. McCloud serve as advisors to my security team, and to catch this assassin, or assassins. Please sit and tell me what you know.”
Ian and Serena sat in the two straight back chairs that the unidentified escort had placed in front of Putin’s desk while they were getting acquainted. The escort took a seat in another chair slightly behind and on Putin’s right side.
“We understand that you have created a ‘ring of steel,’ as you call it, of 40,000 military and police personnel around Sochi, security cameras in all the hotel rooms, installed bunkers to guard your bridges, and numerous other security defenses. We applaud all of your efforts.”
Putin nodded in agreement, neither smiling, nor frowning.
“We have reason to believe that Ruzana Ibragimova, a so called Black Widow, is a media scare based on an unfounded rumor.”
“I believe that also, but I still have to take every precaution.”
“Yes, sir. We understand that a Black Widow brought down an airliner on its way to Sochi in 2004, and another was involved in the bombing in Volgograd about three months ago.”
“These so called Black Widows are like a millstone around the necks of the Russian people,” Putin replied, with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“We believe that the real threats are two, or more, Chechen rebels trained by Shamil Basayev. They may, or may not, already be resident in the Athletes’ Village. We will assist your security in rooting out, and neutralizing these threats.”
“You realize that we . . .” Putin turned to the escort, and whispered something to him. The man nodded in the affirmative, and then Putin turned back to Ian and Serena, “. . . that we believe Basayev was trained by your own CIA.” Putin stared into Serena’s eyes.
Serena prepared for intense scrutiny by Putin, replied, “He may have been, I don’t know for certainty, but that was then, and this is now. We’re here to prevent a terrorist attack on the Games, in our own best interests, as well as yours.”
“You, my dear, are a breath of fresh air from the run of the mill CIA operatives I’ve met. And you my young friend,” Putin addressed Ian, “have the look of a Special Forces military man, not a bitchy spy.”
“Yes, sir. I was trained as a Navy Seal.”
“What is your plan?”
“We will start by running down the leads we have on the potential threats. We believe at least one potential assassin may have already infiltrated the Athletes’ Village … so with the cooperation of your security team, we will begin our investigation.”
Putin turned to his assistant. “I like these two. Put them on my security detail, and assist them with any reasonable requests.” He turned back to Serena and Ian. “Thank you. Proceed with your assignment. You’re dismissed.” Vladimir Putin stood and shook each of their hands again, then sat back down to the paperwork on his desk.
Thirty Seven
Jacques, charmaine, and Jon spent every morning before sunrise working a rigorous fitness routine in the Count’s fully equipped exercise room. They egged each other on to increase weight and reps until they were exhausted. At first light, they ran ten miles on the dirt road which circled the perimeter of the estate. Then they raced laps in the Count’s pool with Jacques always coming in first, and Charmaine and Jon trading second and third places.
In the afternoons, after lunch, they ran through every scenario they could imagine. They needed to be able to anticipate, and adapt to, whatever happened in the actual scenario. Jon and Charmaine operated like meshed gears in a clock. Jacques tried to operate in sync with them, and as the days passed he began to have some success.
They spent their evenings at supper with the Count and Countess, and after supper with the Count, for a daily status brief. After the brief, Jacques went to bed early to be ready to go again at 4:30 A.M. the next morning. Jacques wondered how deep Jon’s and Charmaine’s relationship went. Were they friends, lovers, or more? They trained like combatants. They never seemed to worry about injuring one another, or Jacques. Perhaps this was a suicide mission for them, and they didn’t care. Jacques didn’t want to be included in their suicide pact, if that was their goal.
Jacques knew he was under surveillance 24/7 and was frustrated that he had no way to tell Ian, Serena, or Desiree what he was going through. He hated undercover assignments.
The Count provided a short lecture after supper each evening over drinks in the library. His favorite topic was economic systems, including communism, socialism, and capitalism, for which he taught a graduate level course at university. He had the bearing of a professor who was in no hurry, and answered questions cursorily, as though he would cover everything they needed to know in due time.
One evening, the tenor of the lecture seemed different. The Count started off with, “You must wonder about my motivation in this endeavor,” addressing his comment to Jacques. “After all, I’m well off, and have a fine life here on my estate.”
“It’s none of my business, but I am curious,” replied Jacques.
“I’m the Political Action Leader for a group of like-minded individuals who want to better the world.” The Count paused for Jacques’ reaction.
“You mean the Select?”
“Oh, so you know about the Select.”
“From what little I know, I embrace the vision, also.”
“Very good, I was concerned that you were only in this for the money, or some other compensation the Baron offered.”
“I served on one mission for the Baron, but still don’t know much about the Select.”
“As it should be, but since you’re working for me now, I’ll reveal somewhat of the Political Action Pillar of our organization. After all, even the coarsest mercenary wants to know why he is involved in a life or death mission. No offense intended.”
“None taken.”
“You may not be willing to risk your life in a cause for which you don’t have deep knowledge. Vladimir Putin and his predecessors have dominated the Chechen peoples for 150 years. My heritage is Chechen, so for this particular mission, part of my motivation is revenge. I live here, outside Berlin, so I can teach a graduate level Political Science class at the Freie Universitat Berlin, and plot my revenge on those who have oppressed my people for so long.” The Count paused again.
“So, your involvement is a personal vendetta.”
“Revenge for this mission, but I fully embrace the total vision of my friends.”
“Do you have Chechen roots?” Jacques addressed his question to Jon and Charmaine.
Charmaine answered, “We do.”
“But I thought the two of you were in the Russian Army,” Jacques replied.
“We were. We’re Chechens on our mother’s side. Our father was Russian. He took our family back to Russia where we grew up in Minsk.”
“So your motivation is revenge?”
“Revenge and we embrace the Select vision. Our father was discriminated against because he had a Chechen wife. We think she died young due to poor medical attention at the local hospital, and our father died of a broken heart. As orphans, we had few options for our futures. We were placed on an American adoption list, but ten year olds are not as desirable as babies. So we grew up in several Russian orphanages, separated when we were teenagers, but found each other again in the Russian Army. The only way such as us could be considered Russian citizens.”
“I see.” Jacques was relieved to find out Jon and Charmaine were brother and sister, but that didn’t explain why Charmaine hadn’t shown any interest in him, not that he was a lady killer, but since they met, she interacted with him as though he were merely an anonymous sparring partner.
The Count continued, “Putin deserves to die for many reasons, and his death is part of the Select vision.”
“Which is to place more corrupt, or Select, leaders in positions
of power, and create chaos in the world.” Jacques looked at the Count, and said, “The Baron explained that part to me.”
“As he should have. You might question our opinion that Putin is a good leader, and simply, he controls Russia with such an iron hand, eliminating competition, and those who would stand up to him, so ruthlessly that he could be in power for many more years. We want him out of power.”
“Do you have someone else in mind?”
“Yes, but that is not your concern at this time. One step at a time.”
“But, you’re going to blame the assassination on the Chechens Ukrainians. Won’t that cause more death and suffering for them?”
“Yes, but they are used to death and suffering. They will be martyrs for a good cause.”
“That seems like backwards thinking.”
“No, others will step in to protect the Chechen and Ukrainian peoples from Russian vengeance, the Americans, the Germans, the French, and others.”
“So you think this incident will start another cold war?”
“With a 72 percent probability.”
“I’m impressed.”
“We will ultimately rule, and you, my son, could be a part of that future.” The Count finished off his drink, and said, “That will be all for this evening. Continue with your training exercises and drills, we may be ready to start our mission in a few more days. Be prepared to leave on a moment’s notice. Anabelle is waiting. Let’s have our after dinner drinks, and call it a night.
Two nights later, Charmaine woke Jacques by entering his bedroom for the first time. At first he thought she might be in an amorous mood, but she was dressed in flight cammies, and said, “Gather up your belongings, we’re on our way,” and left before he could respond.
Jacques looked at his radium dial watch, saw it was 11 P.M., and reluctantly climbed out of bed. He kept his back pack packed, except for whatever he needed the next morning. He brushed his teeth, packed his toiletries, and workout clothes, then put on his flight cammies over his street clothes. He felt alone, not having been able to contact Serena during his stay in the Count’s mansion. How was he going to get word to his team to help him with this mission? He didn’t want to assassinate VP, but didn’t know how he was going to thwart the effort.
The Count’s chauffeur drove the three of them to the Berlin Schönefeld airport, a small airport outside Berlin.
Jacques approached the aircraft, and was mesmerized by what he saw. In the minimal lighting he saw what might have originally been a small business jet, but had been highly modified to look more like one of the Baron’s stealth drones. The paint was non-standard, the wings had flip tips, and the angles of the plane’s wings, rudder and elevator were more SR-71 than business jet. The engine nacelles extended forward and aft of the engines, probably to reduce noise like a silencer on a pistol, and heat signature. Jacques would not be surprised if the fuselage was more radar transparent heat resistant plastic than metal, but he couldn’t tell without further examination in better light. Jacques guessed the Baron incorporated every stealth capability he had available for reduction of visibility, radar target strength, heat signature, and noise into this aircraft.
He had wondered what it would be like to fly a passenger aircraft version of the drone. The Baron had never let on that such an aircraft existed. Apparently, the Baron was serious about keeping his secrets close to the vest with respect to need to know.
How, and where, the Baron kept the aircraft hidden from prying eyes was another question. Perhaps he kept it in the development hangar next to the hangar he leased to the CIA, hiding in plain sight. Perhaps it was one of the prototypes he was developing for the CIA. The Baron seemed to be as much of a chameleon, as he was a businessman. Jacques wondered what other tricks the Baron and his billionaire Select friends had up their sleeves.
A drop down entry/exit ramp was incorporated in the aft section of the aircraft, much like a C-130 cargo aircraft. Jacques realized it would be fatal to jump out of a normal business jet entry hatch, since the jumper would end up in the engine, or against the rudder, and/or elevator for his effort. Jacques looked up the ramp and saw Louise waiting for him. In his surprise and excitement, he hustled up the ramp with his back pack. He dropped his backpack, and hugged Louise like a long lost friend. Once released from her reciprocal hug, she kissed him on the lips like a long lost lover.
Herman reached out to shake his hand, with water pump handle vigorousness. “Glad to have you aboard,” Herman greeted.
“Glad to be aboard with friends. It looks like you two have been promoted.”
“We were as surprised as you are,” Herman replied.
“I think I was promoted sideways,” Louise said.
“Well, at least you’re still alive,” added Herman.
After an awkward pause in the conversation, Jacques said, “Excuse my rudeness, these are two new friends, Jon and Charmaine. Jacques dropped his duffle on the deck, put his hand behind Charmaine’s back, and guided her toward Louise.
Louise gave Charmaine a once over and shook her hand. She took more interest in Jon. “Who is this handsome hunk of man?”
“This is Jon,” Jacques replied.
Louise shook Jon’s hand with a lingering grasp. “Glad to meet you,” she purred after a brief pause. While she looked Jon up and down, she continued, “The three of you need to stow your gear in the plastic bins and buckle up. The unisex toilet is in that cabinet. It’s a camping unit. Bag your own shit and put it in the plastic bucket. . . and attach a new bag when you’re done.” She directed her next comment to Charmaine, “Privacy is an unaffordable luxury. All loose articles will fly out the ramp when you go to jump, so don’t leave any loose articles lying about. You’ll have to excuse me, now, I need to finish my preflight. We should be in the air in fifteen minutes.” She returned to the cockpit without looking back.
Herman followed her.
Jacques helped Charmaine and Jon settle in. They were the only passengers. The cabin was one open space with three passenger jump seats along each side, and a storage cabinet on each side next to the ramp. The windows had been eliminated with the portholes molded into the fuselage. He noted three parachutes stowed in front of the cabinets. The jump seats, storage cabinets, and everything which didn’t need to be metallic, were made of some kind of durable plastic.
Jacques doubted that Louise had posted a legal flight plan and would probably fly without the required aircraft transponder in operation. Their entry into Russia had to be as covert as their exit. They would be parachuting over the countryside outside of Sochi in the dark.
Once they were airborne, the three assassins checked their chutes and prepared their gear for the jump.
A half hour into the flight, Louise left Herman at the controls and came back to talk to Jacques. Since Jacques was sitting between Charmaine and Jon, she asked Jacques to move to the plastic jump seats on the opposite side of the cabin. They sat next to each other, and Louise whispered, “I was going to invite you to stay at my place instead of that hotel you seem to like, but you never returned to Hangar Five . . . then I got this offer to fly the Baron’s latest toy.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I was given an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Jacques touched Louise’ arm as a show of affection.
“Maybe when you return . . . if you return.”
“Let’s hope I return. By the way, this is an incredible aircraft the Baron has entrusted to you and Herman.”
Realizing Jacques wanted to change the subject, Louise said, “Herman and I know most of the technical attributes of the plane. We have to, if we’re going to fly these strange missions.”
“How stealthy is it?” Jacques asked.
“Like a flock of birds, a small flock. I don’t suppose you can fill me in on what you’re up to.”
“I would love to, but then I would have to kill you,” Jacques replied with his best Errol Flynn evil grin.
Louise stared into his eyes, “I know it’s something for P
rofessor Jaekel, and we’re going to airdrop you off close to Sochi . . . in the dark.”
“That’s almost everything I know, too,” Jacques said with a straight face.
“Liar. . . But I can forgive you, since I may never see you again.”
“Aren’t you going to return for us?”
“I’ll try. I’m going to land at the small private airport near Sochi, the night of the Olympics’ closing ceremonies at exactly 3:15 A.M. for 12 minutes, long enough for the three of you to scramble onto the aircraft and take off. You’ll have another air drop over Turkey on the way back. I was told there may be four of you on the return trip.”
“You’ll be a welcome sight.”
“I hoped you’d say that. I’d better get back to the cockpit before Herman runs us into a tall tree. Good luck.” Louise planted a kiss of promise on Jacques’ lips, and looked to see if Charmaine was watching, but Charmaine appeared to have dozed off.
Jacques took advantage of the rest of the flight time to take a nap. Louise called back on the intercom after three and a half hours in the air, “Prepare to jump in thirty minutes.”
Jacques, Charmaine, and Jon took turns putting on and checking out all three’s parachutes. Jon, who was almost always silent, said, “Thanks,” when Jacques snugged up his chute straps.
They clipped on their emergency chutes and backpacks, put on their helmets, and gloves, and waited for Herman.
Herman came back to the passenger compartment, put on a harness with a line attached to the bulkhead, and said, “Hang onto the knotted rope until you’re ready to jump. Once you’re all out, I’m going to close the hatch. This is the first time I’ve served as jump master, so be careful. Louise is going to fly as low and slow as she can, nose slightly up, so you won’t bump into anything on the way out. Be quick and good luck.”
Herman lowered the ramp, a piece of paper flew out past Jacques, and the wind noise became deafening
Jacques walked to the end of the ramp holding on to the knotted rope. The wind tugged at him like an angry Tasmanian Devil. Jon and Charmaine were right behind him. He spotted a flashing red light on the ground, let go of the rope, and jumped. Jon, then Charmaine, followed in turn. Jacques, Charmaine and Jon joined hands for thirty seconds as they fell, so they would land in as tight of a cluster as possible. They released each other at a height of 1500 feet above ground, and deployed their chutes.
The Noble Mercenary Page 32
