Termination Order: A Team Reaper Thriller

by Brent Towns

  “Copy, boss,” Pop-Eye said and started off through the park.

  Hunt, callsign Scimitar was a Navy SEAL. They all were. What they were doing in Georgetown was shadowing Hank Jones as per the orders of their boss, Rear-Admiral Joe Alexander. “Don’t let him out of your damned sight,” were his exact words.

  Hunt was a man of average height and build, commanded his own team, and had helped Team Reaper of late on different missions. The last, a foray into Mexico and then into the Appalachian Mountains.

  Today, however, was a covert mission. Over the past couple of days, all had been quiet. But this day, they had discovered they weren’t the only ones following the general. Someone in a white van had latched onto his black town car once he’d left the Pentagon.

  When the driver had pulled into the lot, they’d watched as Jones exited his car. Rucker, the team combat medic, said, “This is the third day in a row he’s been here. He don’t mix it up or anything.”

  “I think these guys know that too,” Hunt said, indicating the four shooters who had just exited the van. All were armed with suppressed MP5s. “Get your comms in. This is a fucking hit.”

  Pop-eye moved to follow the general while Hunt and Rucker circled around to follow the shooters. Instead of sticking to the paths, they cut through the grassed areas. Hunt said into his comms, “Pop, you need to step it up a bit, or they’ll get there before you.”

  “Copy, Chief.”

  “They’re splitting up,” Rucker observed.

  Two of the shooters circled further left, and Hunt figured they were trying to come in from behind the newspaper stand. That way if the frontal attempt missed and spooked the general, he would attempt to escape in the opposite direction and run right into the second team. Typical hammer and anvil tactic.

  Hunt said, “Ruck, take the first pair, I’ll take the other two. Don’t fuck it up. Put them down the first time.”

  “Copy that.”

  Hunt followed his pair as they made their way around to position themselves behind the newspaper stand. Suddenly his comms came to life. “Scimitar, this is Pop-Eye, we’re taking fire, I say again, we’re taking fire. Already have one civilian down.”

  “Copy, Pop. Hang on, we’ll be there in a moment.”

  Hunt cursed under his breath and quickened his pace. He stopped behind a freeway support and watched as the shooters took up position and raised their weapons. Hunt stepped out, his M17 raised. “Hey, assholes.”

  They turned, surprised that someone was there to challenge them. Hunt squeezed his trigger twice, and both men dropped to the ground. Hurrying up to them, he placed two more shots into their heads. Looking around, he said into his comms, “Ruck, how are you doing?”

  “I have two down and out of the fight, Chief.”

  “Copy. Mine are down and out too. Regroup on Pop’s position.”

  “Roger that.”

  They gathered at the newspaper stand where they found Pop-Eye standing guard over Jones. Hunt took one look at him and asked, “Are you OK, General?”

  “I will be. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “Chief Borden Hunt, sir. We were tasked to watch over you, sir.”

  “Hunt?” Jones asked thoughtfully.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Seems I should know that name.”

  “Scimitar, sir,” Hunt said and then to Pop-Eye, “Lead out Pop. We have to get the general safe.”

  “Copy, Chief.”

  “Hold on a damned minute,” Jones protested. “I’m not leaving Marcus like that.”

  “Sorry, sir, but we need you to get out of here. We killed four shooters, and I don’t know if there are any more about. I am assuming that we got the guy that killed your friend.”

  Hunt was reasonably sure there weren’t, but he needed to get Jones out of the open and back to safety. The general hesitated, and Hunt said, “Sir, once we get moving, I’ll call it in and have someone come and take care of him.”

  Jones knew that was bullshit, but he didn’t argue. He knew the chief was right. “What about my driver?”

  “You can call him once we’re on the road.”

  “All right, Chief. Lead out.”

  As they started to make their way through the park, sirens could be heard in the distance, growing louder with every step they took. The people who’d been in the park were now gone, scared away by the gunfire.

  “Who tasked you, son?” Jones asked.

  “Rear-Admiral Alexander, sir.”

  “He would.”

  Ramstein Airforce Base

  Germany

  Thurston hung up the phone and stared at Ferrero. “Someone just tried to kill Hank Jones.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. In broad daylight. Georgetown Park. He was lucky. Joe Alexander had tasked Hunt and his men to watch his back. As it was, a friend of Hank’s was killed.”

  Ferrero shook his head. “It would seem these people are more serious about stopping us than we first anticipated.”

  The general nodded.

  “I bet he’s pissed.”

  “Oh, yes. I could feel the heat from his breath coming through the phone.”

  “What are we to do, Mary?”

  “He’s green-lit us to hit these guys where it hurts,” Thurston explained.

  “The Mareks?” Ferrero asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. First, we pick up Axe, and then we continue to find the son. We get him out alive.”

  “What about Gustaw?”

  Thurston sighed. “We can’t really go to war with the Polish government, which is what we’d be doing if we went directly at him. But it doesn’t mean we can’t go after his business interests. First thing in the morning get Cara and Pete onto the interrogation of Falk. We’ll find out what he knows. Between him and the son, we should be able to put a big dent in the older Marek’s business ventures.”

  “And the CIA black ops team? They’re going to keep coming at us.”

  “As long as they keep coming, we’ll keep putting them down. No more fucking around, Luis. If these pricks want a war, then we’ll give them just that. Get in touch with Reaper. Tell him that when it comes to the CIA team, he’s weapons free.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter 11

  Germany, Near the Polish Border

  The sound of the Black Hawk faded slowly into the distance, and the small team of three loaded their gear into the back of the black Range Rover. There was a silver moon overhead, and the light it threw lit the surrounding meadow with its dim glow. Kane was certain that if everything went right, they would be in Warsaw sometime before midday.

  “Who’s driving?” Brick asked.

  “You are,” Kane informed him.

  “Cool. I won’t complain.”

  “Just get us there in one piece, Amigo,” Arenas said to him. “I was told that your driving was lacking in certain areas.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I would not like to say. I do not think the general would forgive me.”

  “That was one time,” Brick snapped. “One damned time.”

  Arenas and Kane chuckled, and Brick knew he’d been taken for a ride.

  “You bastards.”

  “All right, mount up. Let’s get out of here.”

  They bumped across the field and found the road. Turning right, they were on their way and had gone about ten kilometers when the satellite phone rang. “Kane.”

  “Reaper, it’s Luis. There’s been some developments you need to be aware of.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Ferrero went on to tell him everything they knew about Axe and what had happened to Jones. He also advised him of Axe’s present location. Once he was finished, Kane said, “I see a slight problem, Zero. All we have are handguns.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “But those guys are packing assault weapons.”

  “I’m aware of that too. If you have problems, take theirs.”

  �
��Copy,” Kane said and hung up.

  “What was that about?” Brick asked as he took a corner at speed.

  Reaper looked at him and said, “We’re fucked.”

  Washington, DC

  The SUV eased to a stop with the sound of crunching gravel on the turnaround. Hunt and the others climbed out and waited for Jones to do the same. They escorted him toward the large house and up the steps to the massive oak front door. Somebody was up, the dim lighting which shone through one of the windows attesting to that.

  Jones reached up and pressed the doorbell. After a few moments there was movement on the other side of the door, the sound of it being unlocked, and then it swung open to reveal a dark-haired man in a robe. The man glanced at the small group standing on his stoop and said, “Hank, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you, Mr. Speaker. It’s a matter of national security.”

  Speaker of the House Frank Clavell frowned. “Of course, Hank. Come in. What about your friends?”

  “We’re right here, sir,” Hunt said.

  Clavell nodded. “Fine. Come on in, Hank.”

  Jones stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

  Letting out an extra-long breath, Clavell tried to contemplate all that he’d just been told. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and thought some more.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, Mr. Speaker. But I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was another way.”

  The speaker of the house nodded. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that someone had the balls to try and kill you in broad daylight. But to think that the vice-president is somehow involved with it too, that’s a whole other thing altogether.”

  “It is. However, they’re all connected. I’m only assuming that Black Shield are responsible for the hit. Or it could have come from Paul Horn at the CIA Special Activities Division. But the order to hand everything overcame directly from Jim Forth. They were making sure that the video we have doesn’t get out. I know that Black Shield stand to lose billions if the deal with the Poles falls through and that they’re one of the biggest campaign contributors for the president. But I can’t imagine him being behind this. Maybe he doesn’t even know.”

  Clavell hesitated before saying, “I’m going to tell you something, and it doesn’t leave this room, Hank. Understand? If it gets out, there’ll be trouble for not just you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There is a chance that the president may not run for another term. I’m not sure yet, and I can’t go into details. But if he doesn’t, then Jim Forth will more than likely run.”

  Jones stared at him for a moment and then said, “If that’s true, sir, then it gives Jim Forth a real reason for this not to get out.”

  “Maybe. But why have you come to me with this?”

  “You hear things, sir. You can find things out. I can’t do this on my own. I’m not political enough.”

  Clavell thought for a while about what Jones was asking him to do. “What about your team in Europe, Hank?”

  “They’re in good hands with Mary. They’ll do their job no matter what gets thrown at them. They’ve proved that many times.”

  “I don’t want them declaring open war on each other in a foreign country. Understood?”

  “They’ll just do their job, sir. However, if they’re attacked, they won’t back away from it. Sir, can I be open with you?”

  “Sure, Hank.”

  “Sir, the World-Wide Drug Initiative as it’s known, was formed to take the war on drugs to all corners of the globe. One part of that globe is Poland. Gustaw Marek is a big producer of Ecstasy in Europe. I’ve instructed the team to make a dent in his production while leaving him alone. His son, on the other hand, is directly responsible for the death of an American. They will pick him up and question him about it. And if necessary, they’ll get him out of the country and bring him back here to face charges for his crime.”

  “That’s walking a fine line, Hank.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, Hank, I’ll help any way I can. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll see what I can come up with. Do you want a special detail?”

  “No, sir, Joe Alexander’s boys will do. They’re good, and I trust them.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll give you a call when I have something.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Black Shield Industries

  Washington, DC

  The cell rang, and Drake answered it. The caller on the other end was Paul Horn. “The hit failed.”

  Drake leaned forward in his chair, a look of frustration on his face. “How?”

  “It wasn’t anticipated that Jones had some guys watching him. They killed the team that was sent after him. My man has gone to the ground.”

  “Then send someone else, damn it.”

  “No. We took our chance, and it fucked up. You’ll have to do it from the inside.”

  “How?”

  “Tell Forth to shut them down.”

  “He can’t. The president is the only one who can do that. He already told them to back off and hand everything over. If he tries to shut them down, it’ll start a shit storm.”

  “Well, I guess that only leaves us one avenue.”

  “That is?” asked Drake.

  “We take them all out. You’ll need to prep a team to send to Ramstein, Germany.”

  “What?”

  “That’s where they are.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I work for the CIA. I know everything.”

  “And how am I meant to get at them there?” Drake asked.

  “That’s your problem,” Horn told him and hung up. Things were getting way too out of hand.

  Ramstein Airforce Base

  Germany

  The Humvee pulled up outside the hangar at eight the next morning, and two Air Commandos climbed out followed by Fabian Falk, Europe’s biggest drug manufacturer. He was dressed in a green jumpsuit and had leg chains as well as those on his wrists. With a jingle at every step, he was escorted inside, and the commandos led him to a table where they sat him in a seat. They then took a few steps back and waited, standing guard.

  Cara and Pete Traynor had watched him shuffle in. The drug manufacturer was somewhere in his early forties, had a beard, and they figured him to be just over six-feet tall.

  “So that’s the most wanted drug manufacturer in Europe, huh?” Cara said.

  Traynor nodded. “Yeah. The guy has been like grease, slipped through every net Interpol and every other law enforcement agency threw up. I’ve seen pictures of him, but with the stories that surround this guy, you’d think he was ten-feet tall.”

  Pete Traynor was an ex-DEA agent who’d spent a lot of time undercover in Mexico at one time or another. He’d come across to Team Reaper when it was first banded together. Him, Ferrero, Kane, and Cara were the initial members. He was a tall man in his late thirties, unshaven, tattooed arms, with brown eyes and broad shoulders.

  “How do you want to do this?” Cara asked.

  “You’re the ex-cop, how about you lead?”

  “The big-bad DEA agent want to see how it’s done?”

  Traynor smiled. “Oh, yeah. I want to see how you crack his nuts.”

  Thurston approached them. “Remember, we need him to talk. Anything he knows about Marek especially.”

  “You want us to use that angle, ma’am?” Cara asked.

  “Yes,” she passed Cara a folder.

  Cara opened it, flicked through and then closed it back up. “All right then, let’s see what we can come up with.”

  Crossing to the table, they pulled out their chairs. Only Cara sat down, Traynor put his hands on the back of his and stood there like some overbearing father figure. Thurston was in the background, letting her people run with it. Fabian Falk looked first at Cara and then Traynor, then went back to fiddling disinterestedly with the links of his chains.

  Cara stared hard at him. �
��I’m Smith, he’s Jones,” she said, drawing on the television series from her childhood, Alias Smith and Jones, which had run in untold amounts of repeats. “We’ll be your friends today. Anything you need, just ask.”

  Traynor cleared his throat. “How come I get to be Jones. Why can’t I be Smith? I think I look like a Smith.” He glanced at Falk. “Don’t you think I look like a Smith?”

  Falk glanced at him.

  Cara sighed. “Fine, you be Smith.”

  “Nope, don’t want to now.”

  “OK, be Jones.”

  “Thought I already was?”

  Focusing on Falk, she could see he was watching their banter go back and forth. Good, they had him interested.

  “You know, Fabian,” Cara said, using his first name, “I thought you’d be bigger. Like your reputation. But you’re no taller than me. I must say, I’m disappointed.”

  He shrugged.

  Interaction, another plus.

  “Have you eaten this morning? Had something to drink?”

  “Is this how it is to be?” he asked in heavily-accented English. “Soften me up so I will talk to you?”

  Traynor stared hard at him. “No. You will talk. How it happens is up to you.”

  Falk glared at the ex-DEA man. “Fuck you, asshole.” Traynor feigned being wounded by the insult.

  “What can you tell me about, Gustaw Marek?” Cara asked.

  Shifting his gaze, Falk said, “Nothing.”

  “Come on, Fabian. You’re the most hired manufacturer of drugs in Europe. Everyone wants your services. You can’t tell us you haven’t worked for him before.”

  “I’ve worked for many people.”

  “We’re not interested in other people,” Traynor said. “Just Marek.”

  “Who?”

  Cara said, “If you’re scared of him, we can help you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  So, he was scared. The folder Thurston had given Cara sat in front of her. She opened it and on top was a blank piece of paper. “What do you think I have in here, Fabian?”