by Brent Towns
“What’s up?”
“I need you to kill someone. I’ll also phone ahead and let them know you’re coming.”
“You got it.”
The line went dead. Horn was studying the pictures when his cell buzzed. He answered it. The person on the other end was Drake. “We have a problem.”
“What is it?” Horn asked.
“Hank Jones is doing some digging behind the scenes. He needs to be stopped, or this will all fall through, and I’ll lose billions. And if I lose that, you’ll lose the thirty million I’m paying you.”
“I’ll have someone take care of it.”
Make sure you do.”
Horn hung up and took out a second cell. He dialed another number. This one went through to a burner phone. “Yes?”
“I have a job for you.”
“How much?”
“Two million.”
There was silence at the other end of the line.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes. It must be a high-value target?”
“Put it this way. Once it’s done, you’ll need to get out of the country.”
“OK.”
“I’ll put the folder in the usual drop.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“I’ll be expecting it.”
Team Reaper HQ
El Paso, Texas
“What a crock of shit this has turned into, Mary,” Hank Jones snapped.
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s my fault. He’s my guy.”
“No, Mary. Don’t blame yourself. This was put into action long before your man got on that plane.”
“Thank you, General.”
“OK, listen up. Get your team packed up and on a blasted C-17. Once you get on board, give me a call.”
“Where are we going?”
“Ramstein. By the time you arrive, I will have organized with them to have somewhere for you to set up.”
“Um, that’s not Warsaw, sir.”
“No. You’re not going to Warsaw. You, along with a majority of your team, will hold at Ramstein. You’ll send Reaper and the others to Warsaw. They’ll find your man and get out.”
“We can’t be much help to them a thousand kilometers away, sir.”
“You’ll make do. If there’s trouble, you’ll have to find a place for them to hole up. We’ve a few safehouses there.”
“I don’t like it, sir.”
“I’m afraid, Mary, it’s all you’re going to get.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sensed disapproval in her tone. “I’m sorry, Mary, but it has to be this way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you need any help, there’s a team of Air Commandos at Ramstein on R&R. Second them if you need to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me when you get in the air.”
The line went dead, and Thurston pressed a button on her phone. Ferrero answered it, and she said, “You and Reaper. My office.”
A few minutes later they stood before her desk. “Get everything packed up. We’re headed to Ramstein. Reaper, work out a plan to get you and your team into Poland and then out again. Preferably without anyone knowing about it.”
“What assets will we have, ma’am?” Kane asked.
“We’ll have to get some wheels for you over there. Also, you’ll need a way to get weapons across the border. Handguns only. If you need your 416s, the mission’s screwed. Bravo elements will direct everything from Ramstein.”
“Any air assets, ma’am?”
“No.”
“What about backup if we need it?”
“Apparently there are some Air Commandos at the base. We can use them if need be.”
“That’s a long haul.”
“We’ll have them stationed close to the border.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Neither do I. Get your people ready.”
Pentagon, Washington DC
The phone on Jones’ desk rang, and he cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was an interruption. He picked it up and snapped, “Jones!”
The call was short, the voice electronically distorted. “Your man has a termination order on him. Get him out.”
“Who is this?” Jones demanded.
The line went dead.
Biggs Airfield
Outside El Paso
Biggs Army Airfield began its life in 1915 as part of Fort Bliss. It was home to the Texas 82nd Field Artillery. Since then it had played host to the 94th Bombardment Group in ’42, the 392nd in ’43, as well as the 389th.
In 1966 it was closed, only to be re-opened in 1973 as a permanent U.S. Army Airfield. In ’90 to ’91, Biggs Army Airfield supported the airlift for Operations’ Desert Shield and Storm.
With 4,138 meters of runway and 15.6 kilometers of taxiway, it was more than capable of handling the C-17 Globemaster.
The plane had a cruising speed of 829 kilometers per hour. Which meant that with its current light load, it could make the journey to Ramstein without refueling. Only four hours had elapsed between Jones hanging up and the last of the team’s equipment being loaded onto the Globemaster.
Thurston turned to Kane. She was dressed in fatigue pants and a dark green t-shirt. The rest of the team were dressed the same way. It was done that way, so they didn’t look out of place on the airbase.
Thurston opened her mouth to speak, but the scream of an F-15E drowned out her words. She paused, and as the fighter’s roar died away over the desert, she tried again. “Do you have everything you need?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. What about Cara? All armaments and associated equipment aboard?”
“Yes.”
Ferrero approached them at the head of the ramp of the giant transport. “Luis, do your people have everything?”
He nodded. “I think so.”
“All right then. Let’s get this bird in the air. I’ve just got to call the general. Let the captain know we’re ready to roll.”
“Will do,” Ferrero said.
“Reaper, before you go, while we’re in the air, have Brick make up a small medical kit to take with you into Poland. There’s no cause for him to be carrying a Unit One pack.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Good. Dismissed.”
Once Kane was gone, she reached into her pocket and called Jones on her cell. When he answered, he told her of the call he’d received earlier. “Any idea who it was, sir?”
“No clue, Mary. Which means you’ll have to find your boy as soon as possible.”
“It has to be them,” Thurston stated.
“Black Shield? Maybe. Or it is the CIA. Whoever it is, you can be sure that they’ll have more than enough boots on the ground to get the job done.”
“What’s our cover story, General?”
“You’re over there to escort an HVT back to the U.S. for trial,” Jones explained.
“Really. Will it fly?”
“It’ll fly to the moon and back because the Germans have Fabian Falk in custody.”
“The Fabian Falk? The meth manufacturer? Since when?”
“Since yesterday. He was picked up in a random traffic stop if you can believe that? Just like the damned movies. So, while your boys are in Poland, you’ll send someone to interrogate him. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Touch base when you land. And good luck, Mary.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Thurston hung up the phone and turned away from the ramp. She walked into the belly of the beast, its giant jaws swallowing her.
Warsaw Poland
Club 27
Axe knew that he was doing the wrong thing. But at that point in time, he didn’t give two shits either way. Since landing in Warsaw, his entire focus had been on finding Bazyli Marek. Hell, it had been all he could think about since Remy’s murder. Now, he was all but there. If his intel was good, the bastard would be h
ere. He stood at the base of Level 27 Nightclub and looked up.
The club itself was located on the 28th and 32nd floors of the Spectrum Tower in the heart of Warsaw. The 32nd floor was the rooftop bar, with 360-degree panoramic views and room for almost five hundred people. There was a DJ booth, circular bar, twenty-eight tables with sofas providing seating for two hundred. On the 28th floor was another bar, the dance floor, and DJ booth, and two terraced area with tables and sofas, the first of which had a fireplace, the other, a fountain.
Axe looked at the line of would-be patrons on the street, queued at the door to the elevators. On either side stood two large security guards. As each person stepped up to the entry, their identification was checked, and they were either granted access to the inner sanctum or refused and turned away. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to join the back of the line. After all, it stretched down around the block.
Head down, Axe approached the doors. One of the security men stepped in front of him and said, “Gdzie się wybierasz?”
Axe stared at him. “What?”
“Where are you going?” he asked, changing to heavily-accented English.
“I have an appointment with someone upstairs,” Axe told him.
The security man shook his bald head. “Nie.”
He didn’t need an interpreter to know what the man had said. Axe tried again. “I have an appointment.”
The man opened his jacket and flashed what looked to be a WIST-94, 9mm handgun. He raised his eyebrows and held Axe’s gaze. Cursing inwardly Axe tried to work out what to do next. It was then that the security guy’s partner finished chatting to a couple of young ladies and came across to see what was happening.
“Co się dzieje?” the thick-set man asked, eyeing Axe suspiciously.
The pair rattled off a few more words in Polish, and then the newcomer did something which set Axe on edge. He reached inside his coat. The ex-recon marine braced himself as the security man eased his hand free of the flap. But instead of a handgun, he had a picture. He showed it to his friend, and they both stared at Axe before looking at it again. The first man said something that Axe didn’t understand, but when he moved, his intentions were clear.
Before the security guard’s hand could touch his weapon, Axe closed in and brought his right elbow up and around. The blow was solid, and the force of it reverberated up Axe’s arm into his shoulder. He was almost certain he’d broken the guy’s jaw but didn’t really give a damn. That would teach him for reaching for his gun.
The second man reacted the same way, going for a concealed weapon. Axe drew his right arm back and punched him in the middle of the face. The man reeled back, and Axe followed. The ex-recon marine landed two more fast blows which knocked the man to the sidewalk, stunned.
The gasps of the onlookers began to grow into concerned yelps. Axe ignored them and reached for the fallen picture. He flipped it over and saw his face staring back at him. They knew he was here. Someone had tipped them off.
He bent down again and opened the first man’s coat, reaching inside for the WIST-94. Searching next for fresh magazines, he found two in an inner pocket. Straightening up, he glanced around then ran across the street, leaving the shocked onlookers following him with their bemused gazes and phone cameras.
Chapter 8
Ramstein Airforce Base
Germany
The C-17 touched down in Ramstein, Germany at approximately midday after the long flight. The day was warm, and the skies clear. There was an abundance of air traffic on the tarmac, and it looked like a medical flight had landed shortly before them; a C-17 visible with its ramp down and an ambulance backed up to it.
The whole team was dressed in civilian attire when they walked down the ramp. There to meet them were an officer and two Humvee drivers, allocated for their use.
The officer walked up to Thurston and asked, “Are you General Thurston, ma’am?”
“I am.”
He went to salute her, but her arm shot out and stopped him. “We’ll let that go, shall we?”
The officer was confused but nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Captain Richards, ma’am. I’ve been designated to show you to your operations quarters.”
“Thank you. What about our things?”
“A truck will be here shortly, and they will be loaded with everything you require.”
“Thank you. Lead the way, Captain.”
Both teams walked toward the Humvees. Reaper looked about the base as he went, Cara walking beside him. “How long since you were here last, Reaper?”
“Been a while. You?”
“Same.”
They climbed into the vehicles and were transported to a hangar at the edge of the airfield. The structure was large with huge double doors at the front, which were closed. They gained access via an alternate opening. Once inside, the team found that there were already bunks set up for them, housed in a prefab enclosure with plastic for walls and nothing on the ceiling. It looked more like open dog kennels than bunk space.
“Sorry about the lack of privacy, ma’am,” Richards apologized. “But it’s all we have at this point. Showers and toilets are two buildings back along, ma’am.”
“I’m sure it will all be fine, Captain,” Thurston reassured him. “I have people going to interrogate an important HVT tomorrow. Has transport been organized for them?”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am. The detainee in question was moved here onto the base by German authorities.”
“OK. That’s something,” the general said. Then, “How much have you been told about why we’re here, Captain?”
“General Jones filled me in, ma’am.”
“So, you know that I am sending a team into Warsaw?”
“Yes, ma’am. There will be a Black Hawk waiting on the tarmac tonight. It will fly your people closer to the Polish border where there will be a car waiting for them. From there, they’re on their own.”
Thurston nodded. “Thank you.”
“If there is nothing else, ma’am, I’ll see to the unloading of your equipment.”
“Since we’re going to be working together, Captain Richards, maybe you should tell me your first name.”
“Jacob, ma’am.”
“OK, Jacob. Just one more thing. We’re not strict on formalities inside our team. So, you can loosen up a little.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Richards excused himself, and Kane walked over to Thurston and asked, “What’s news, ma’am?”
“A Black Hawk has been organized for tonight to drop you close to the Polish border. You’ll take Brick and Carlos with you. I want Cara to stay here with me where she and Pete can interrogate Falk.”
“Who’s Falk?”
“Big-time meth manufacturer. He’s here on base. The Germans picked him up. He’s the reason we’re here. I am almost certain that due to the nature of his work throughout Europe, he would have had some dealings or at least contact with Gustaw Marek.”
“I thought we weren’t here after that Marek?”
“We’re not.”
“Cara won’t like it,” Kane pointed out.
“That’s my decision.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Once the gear is unloaded, gather everything you’ll need. I’ll have Slick put together all the intel he has, and we’ll run through it before wheels up.”
“I’ll get it done.”
Thurston walked away and sought out Ferrero, leaving Kane deep in thought.
“What’s up?”
Kane turned to face Cara. “The general was just giving me a rundown of some of the operation.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll be staying here with Traynor.”
“What?”
Kane winced when he saw the expression on her face. He held up a hand in defense and said, “Easy. Just listen. You and Pete will be interrogating a meth manufacturer named Falk. Thurston thinks he might have some intel on Marek.”
“Shit,” C
ara hissed. “I hate being sidelined.”
“I understand. But if you can glean something useful, then it’s worth it.”
“OK. But you owe me.”
He smiled at her. “I’ll always owe you.”
Warsaw-Modlin Airport
Poland
The Gulfstream G650 touched down at Warsaw-Modlin Airport almost two hours after Team Reaper landed in Ramstein. It taxied to a private hangar where it was met by four dark blue Peugeot 3008 SUVs. Nine men and a woman exited the plane, each carrying their own kit.
A man in his mid-thirties approached from one of the Peugeots. “Mr. Newcomb?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Leon. I am here to take you to see Minister Marek.”
Newcomb nodded. “Fine. Has there been accommodation arranged for us?”
“Tak. Yes. I am to take you to see the minister, and the rest are to be taken to where you will be staying. After which, the drivers will leave the cars with your men.”
Again, Newcomb nodded. He signaled to one of his team; a big, broad-shouldered operator with a bald head and beard. He walked over to Newcomb and stopped in front of him. “Hank, go with the drivers. They’ll take you to where we’re staying. When you get there get everything setup and operational. I want our business accomplished as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Hank Greer replied and turned away to organize the rest of the team.
The CIA man had chosen his people well. Some, like Greer were ex-Delta. A few of the others had been SEALS in a previous life, and one had been a Ranger. All had worked black ops for the CIA Special Activities division in the past and seen plenty of action. They also knew what was expected of them and would do so without question.
“Am I going with them?” Nicole asked her boss.
“No, you’re with me. Put your bag in the SUV with Hank Greer. Bring your sidearm, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The minister said for you to come alone,” Leon reminded Newcomb.
The CIA man shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
