The Noble Mercenary

by Patrick John Donahoe

  Hoping to obfuscate the sketches enough to hinder the arrests of Jacques and Charmaine, Ian and Serena provided similar, but slightly off, details of their appearances. The guard proved to be a talented sketch artist. They had to appear to be providing the best descriptions possible, even though they weren’t. They didn’t know how well Putin could remember what Jacques and Charmaine looked like, and could only hope that his recollections were hazy due to the heat of battle.

  Putin asked for minor edits to the sketches, but the end results were still poor renditions of their likenesses. Putin exchanged nods with Ian, Serena, and the artist when the sketches were complete.

  Ian felt a sense of relief when Putin smiled at the sketches and thanked them for their assistance.

  A steward approached Putin and whispered something to him. It sounded to Ian that he whispered the name, Yanukovych, who Ian recognized as the President of the Ukraine.

  Putin excused himself, saying, “I have much work to do. Please restrict yourselves to the front of the cabin. My stewards will supply your every need.” His assistant followed him with the sketches in hand.

  Ian nodded agreement, “Yes, sir.” He and Serena remained at the conference table. The steward approached them, and asked if he could provide some food and drink, and took their order. The steward returned in a few minutes with their food.

  Ian turned to Serena as he spread some caviar on a piece of rough Russian grain bread, and asked, “Who’s that guy that’s always hanging around Putin?”

  “He’s Putin’s assistant, Vladislav Surkov, Putin’s most trusted aide. Some call him the ‘Grey Cardinal,’ the man Putin actually asks for advice. One of his KGB buddies.”

  “I see. The man behind the scenes.” Ian wolfed down his bread and caviar with some poor quality Russian wine and selected the latest copy of Pravda in Russian from the bulkhead mounted magazine rack. He couldn’t understand why a Russian would spoil good quality caviar with poor quality Russian wine when there was so much excellent French wine available. Ian tried to read the front page. He had never become fluent in Russian, but it appeared that the people of the Ukraine were demanding that the President of the Ukraine, Viktor Yanukovych, step down from office for not joining the European Union. Ian wondered if this was the start of some major trouble in the Ukraine.

  Serena selected a copy of the St. Petersburg Times from the magazine rack and read about, Stalingrad, a new movie the Russians had made. The article said some of the scenes were shot in St. Petersburg. On the political side it claimed, ‘The Russian victory of Stalingrad in 1943 led the way for the Allied victory in World War II.’ The article didn’t say that over a half a million Axis soldiers died either during the battle, or in the aftermath, or in prison camps. Serena decided she would put the movie on her list of ‘must sees’ when she had the opportunity. She enjoyed well done war movies, but detested ones that had their own political agenda and falsified the truth, as so many did. She figured Stalingrad would be slanted, but hopefully presented more than just pure propaganda.

  It was too much of a struggle for Ian to read the Russian paper, so he decided to follow his Navy Seal training and catch thirty winks while the opportunity presented itself. He found himself being shaken awake by Serena. He was instantly on his feet, and embarrassed, when he realized there was no imminent threat. “What’s up?”

  “President Putin wishes to talk to us at the back of the cabin.” Serena beckoned for Ian to follow her and the President’s assistant.

  President Putin stood by his desk at the back of the cabin with a red velvet covered box in his left hand. He offered his right hand to Ian. “We go our separate ways when we arrive in Moscow, and I wanted to give you a token of my appreciation.” He handed Ian the box.

  Ian opened the box, and found a medal inside. He knew Russian’s loved to give and receive medals, so he received it with an enthusiastic, “Thank you, sir.”

  “That is the Order of Courage, for bravery in performing civilian duty involving risk of life. I thank you for pulling me out of harm’s way when the gunmen attacked.” He shook Ian’s hand again.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ian replied again.

  Putin turned to face Serena, “And for you, my brave Jewish girl, I have a very special award.” Putin handed Serena a similar box, which she opened and stared at the contents. Inside was a five pointed star hanging from a mount wrapped in white, blue and red ribbon. She recognized it as a high honor. She had seen pictures of Mikhail Kalashnikov wearing one for his design of the Kalashnikov assault rifle.

  “This is the Hero of the Russian Federation medal; the highest honor I can bequeath on a foreign national. My assistant will send letters notifying both of your CIA bosses of these awards. I hope they help you in your careers.” Putin smiled his enigmatic, the cat who swallowed the canary smile.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  President Putin reached out to Serena and gave her an almost romantic hug. She was glad she was wearing flat shoes because otherwise she would have towered over him at her five foot ten-inch height.

  Serena felt awkward hugging the President, but she hugged him back. Serena had been in many strange situations these past nine centuries, but this one was right up there. She had heard his marriage was on the rocks, mostly due to him and not his wife. Maybe his overfriendliness was part of the reason, or maybe he was just friendly to pretty women.

  Putin released her, but Serena felt like he was reluctant to let her go. He stepped back and stared at her forehead. “How is the wound?”

  Serena unconsciously fingered the bandage one of the security guards had applied after the attack. “It still throbs a little. I’ll have a bump there for a couple of days, but I’m OK.”

  “You are a brave girl to go after that vicious woman without a weapon. I’ll never forget you.”

  “I will never forget you either, sir. Maybe, we will meet --”

  Putin’s assistant interrupted Serena, “We will be landing in a few minutes. We need to get back into our seats now. Thanks to both of you for your service.”

  Ian and Serena returned to their seats. Ian looked at Serena as he buckled his seatbelt, and she smiled her mischievous smile back at him. Ian loved working one-on-one with Serena, but sometimes she annoyed him. He knew she was intrigued by powerful men, but flirting with Putin, even for sport, was like flirting with the devil.

  Charmaine dozed off in Jacques’ arms. He held her close even after his right arm went to sleep. He had to stay awake and watch for their rescue plane. Then he heard the tires squeal on the tarmac at the end of the runway, the landing of an otherwise sound suppressed jet aircraft. “Wake up, Charmaine. We’ve got to run.”

  Charmaine stirred, realized the urgency of their situation, and jumped to her feet.

  Together they tossed off the camouflaged hunter’s cover they had been hiding under, and ran toward the aircraft as it rolled to a stop. The stealth effects did not hide the plane on the ground, but the darkness helped make it difficult to see from a distance. The aircraft stopped, and the rear cargo hatch lowered. Just prior to entering the plane, Jacques noted an airport support vehicle racing toward them. A man leaned out of the passenger side window and fired a gun.

  Jacques ran up onto the hatch, reached down for Charmaine, and pulled her onboard. Together they ran toward the interior of the plane. Hands pulled Jacques and Charmaine all the way into the plane as it started to roll down the runway. They were barely inside when a man in coveralls pushed them aside, so Herman could close the hatch. Then Herman returned to the cockpit.

  The man in coveralls assisted Charmaine to a military style frame seat with netting for a seat and backrest, and ordered her to, “Fasten your seat belt.” Jacques followed his lead and dropped himself into the seat next to Charmaine, and buckled up. The aircraft sped down the runway, rotated for takeoff, and lifted off. Whoever was running the rescue operation had the pickup coordinated to take the least amount of time possible on the ground.

  Jac
ques relaxed for the first time in several days, except, now, he had to return to Berlin and explain to Jaekel why this mission was also a failure, an even bigger failure than the drone attack. Maybe it would be wisdom to not return to Berlin, or Munich. The Baron did not tolerate failure, and Jaekel didn’t seem like the sort to accept failure, either.

  Once Putin dismissed Ian and Serena, they were ushered out of the President’s jet without fanfare as though the activities of the past several days had never happened. After saving Putin’s life in Sochi they were given the bum’s rush out of Russia. A limo took them to Domodedovo Airport, the civilian side of Kabinka Air Base near Moscow, where one of Putin’s security agents escorted them to the Lufthansa ticket counter. The line was long and slow. After waiting in line for a few minutes, the Russian agent left them alone.

  Serena checked her friends cell phone, and found an URGENT message from Desiree asking her to return the call ASAP. Serena touched Ian on the arm, and said, “Wait, before we buy tickets, Desiree wants us to call her.”

  Serena and Ian stepped out of the ticket line.

  Serena replied to Desiree’s call. “Hello, Desiree, what’s so urgent?”

  “Going secure.”

  Serena encrypted her phone. “Go ahead.”

  “We need you and Ian to go to Berlin and arrest Professor Konrad Jaekel before he deletes an important email off of his computer.”

  Serena looked up at the departure and arrival board and saw a Lufthansa flight from Moscow to Berlin leaving in an hour and fifteen minutes. “We can do that.”

  “Alicia offered to help with transportation. By the way where are you?”

  “We’re in the Domodedovo airport. We’ll catch the next flight to Berlin. Where do we find this Professor?”

  “He teaches Political Science at the Freie Universitat Berlin.”

  “We’re on it. Anything else?”

  “No, call back later. We have a situation on our hands here.”

  “Bye.”

  Ian and Serena got back in line and purchased two one way tickets to Berlin.

  Ian bought two copies each of the Washington Post and the New York Times for himself and Serena to read on the flight. The Times had an article about rioting in the Ukraine, and President Yanukovych fleeing the country. The Post had similar articles, plus an article about Ukrainians visiting Yanukovych’s palace and being angered by the opulence in which he had lived, while Ukrainian citizens suffered financially. What appeared to be Russian Special Forces operatives had been spotted in the village of Chongar, Ukraine.

  Forty Two

  Jacques, exhausted from the stress of the mission, immediately dropped off to sleep in the uncomfortable military style jump seat. When he awoke he noted the time, they had been in the air for less than half an hour. He entered the open area cockpit and looked out the windshield, the only window in the aircraft, and saw they were over water. Up ahead was land.

  Louise turned to Jacques, and said, “Good, we were just going to wake you. You and the girl need to put on the glider chutes. We’re going to drop you over Turkey. You’ll have to make your way back to Berlin on your own. You were never on our aircraft . . . Understand?”

  “Completely.”

  “There are some Turkish lira and Euros, fresh clothes and new passports in the survival backpacks next to the chutes. Prepare to drop in 20 minutes.”

  “Got it.” Jacques walked back to the still sleeping Charmaine, and gave her a gentle shake. “Charmaine, wake up. We have to get ready to jump.”

  Charmaine looked at Jacques through half closed eyelids and sat upright.

  Jacques took her hands and helped her to her feet. They walked to the back of the aircraft where Jacques checked the two backpacks for contents. Everything was as Louise had said.

  Charmaine and Jacques took turns using the plastic camp style toilet, the bottle of hand sanitizer, and roll of paper towels. Privacy was the least of their concerns at this point. Jacques tied a knot in the plastic catch bag and dropped it into the provided bucket, returned the toilet articles to the cabinet, and closed the cabinet door.

  Jacques and Charmaine harnessed up in the glide chutes, with Charmaine checking Jacques’ chute and harness, and Jacques checking Charmaine’s chute and harness, for safety. It would have been easy for someone to tamper with the chutes so they wouldn’t survive the jump, but Jacques with his hundreds of jumps, didn’t discover any flaws in the equipment.

  Herman handed Jacques a portable GPS, a map, and two sheets of instructions for where to go, and who to contact when they were on the ground. Jacques stuffed the items in his survival pack.

  Charmaine seemed too calm with the prospect of jumping from an airplane again over unknown territory in the dark. “Are you going to be OK?” he asked.

  “Stay close to me and I’ll be fine,” she replied.

  Herman said, “Jump is in three minutes. Joseph will open the hatch in two, and you jump.”

  The man in coveralls, Joseph, stood at the ready to open the hatch.

  Jacques held Charmaine’s hand while they waited.

  “Open the hatch, Joseph.” Herman ordered the man in coveralls.

  Joseph, wearing a safety harness attached to a safety line, opened the hatch. The aircraft had slowed down to minimum speed, with nose slightly up, within 3500 feet of the ground. Jacques held onto Charmaine’s hand in the buffeting wind, and they jumped from the aircraft together. Both dove down headfirst to clear the aircraft.

  The night jump was exhilarating for Jacques. He was never one to volunteer to jump out of a perfectly good aircraft unnecessarily for sport, like Ian, but he did enjoy the thrill. They were too close to the ground to enjoy a long freefall, so Jacques signaled for Charmaine to open her chute, then he opened his. The ground was covered in forest. Jacques looked for a clear landing spot. He steered his glider chute toward the largest open area he could find, and touched down. He watched Charmaine land within a few feet of him. They helped each other gather up their chutes, then hid them under brush between two trees.

  Jacques took the handheld GPS and map from his survival pack. They were approximately 400 miles from Ankara airport. There was a small town, Trabzon, 5.1 miles northwest of their current location. They changed into the casual clothes Louise had provided, and walked toward Trabzon. They would rent, or buy, a car for cash and drive to the Ankara airport, then fly to Athens, and from there to Berlin.

  Jacques looked at Charmaine. She was withdrawn and quiet, but she trudged along like a trooper. Jacques thought, if we weren’t in such dicey circumstances, this could be fun. He always enjoyed his outings with Ian, Serena and Desiree, but this was different. He hadn’t felt this way about a mortal for a long time. He needed to keep his feelings for Charmaine under control, after all, getting too involved with a mortal could be hurtful to both of them.

  The five-mile trek through the woods to Trabzon took an hour and a half. The sun rose with a brilliance that can only be appreciated when you were in the wild.

  Jacques led Charmaine to a bakery, and they ate their fill of rolls and coffee until the car rental agency opened. Jacques bought an old Volkswagen beetle for more than it was worth, even after haggling with the rental clerk for more than an hour. They drove the 400 miles to Ankara trouble free with only small talk to pass the time, mostly Jacques’ small talk attempt to cheer up the withdrawn Charmaine.

  The flight to Athens, then on to Munich, using two sets of passports, went without a hitch. Jacques decided that since the mission was a failure, they should go straight to the Baron, tell their tale, and eliminate the middle man. Explaining what happened to both Count Jaekel and Baron von Hapsburg seemed pointless. Either the Baron would accept their story, and forgive, or this was the end of Jacques’ fast track to becoming a Select. Either way, he wanted to get it over. Neither he, nor Charmaine, could sleep on the flights, even though they both tried.

  Jacques rented a car in the Munich airport and they drove to the Novatel Hotel Munich wh
ere Jacques usually stayed. The registration clerk greeted Jacques by his first name. Taking a chance that he would not appear too bold, Jacques signed for his usual room, plus the adjoining room. He explained to Charmaine that they each had separate, but adjoining rooms, and left it up to her how she would handle the arrangements.

  Once in the rooms, Charmaine went straight to her bedroom, stretched out on the bed in her street clothes, and fell fast asleep.

  Jacques called the Baron, and said, “We’re back. We’d like to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  “Tomorrow, my office at the factory, 10 A.M.,” the Baron replied, curt and to the point, the displeasure obvious in his voice.

  Jacques hung up the phone, and thought, maybe I should drop out of this mission . . . now. He walked into the adjoining bedroom and saw Charmaine fully dressed, fast asleep on her bed. Her hair was tousled about her head and her face was beautiful even without makeup. He stretched out beside her on the bed, fully clothed, and dropped off into an exhausted slumber.

  Jacques woke in the middle of the night, needing to relieve his bladder. When he returned from the bathroom he decided to make Charmaine more comfortable. He removed her boots, her Levi’s and outdoorsy blouse. She was wearing red feminine underwear. She had a figure that could easily land Victoria’s Secrets modeling jobs. He covered her with the sheet and blanket and kissed her on the forehead. If he awakened her, she didn’t let on. He returned to the living area in his room, quietly closed the door between their two rooms, fluffed up the couch pillows, and lay down fully clothed for a couple of hours more sleep.

  He awoke to Charmaine standing over him fully dressed. “Wake up sleepyhead. Let’s get some breakfast.” She made no comment about how she had become undressed in the night, much to Jacques’ relief.

  “Our appointment with the Baron is at 10. What time is it?” He looked at his watch, and answered his own question, “8:15, Munich time.”