by Brent Towns
Slugs ripped into the walls and ceiling as the man fired wildly trying to stop the advancing figure. Brick felt the heat of a passing round and fired twice more, one of the bullets clipping the man’s left shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. He reeled away and disappeared out the doorway and down into the stairwell.
“Moving!” Brick snapped, and the team combat medic pressed further forward, weapon still raised to cover the opening.
Behind him, Kane and Arenas came to their feet. They trailed the man in front as he moved to clear ahead. Brick stepped over the fallen black ops operators and continued. He’d just reached the doorway when Greer suddenly appeared.
The MP5 in his hands was a millisecond away from firing when Brick moved, his left hand sweeping the lethal weapon away just in time. Greer’s finger depressed the trigger and, the bullets which blasted from the MP5’s muzzle hammered into the wall.
Brick took another half a step forward, bringing his head down in a savage blow. His forehead hit the bridge of Greer’s nose and shattered it. With a howl of pain, the operator’s head snapped back. Brick brought his M17 up and rammed the barrel under the killer’s chin and pulled the trigger.
The slug exploded upward through Greer’s mouth and into his brain, eventually exiting from the top of his bald head with a sickening wet sound. He dropped at Brick’s feet in a bloody heap and didn’t move. “We’re clear.”
They checked the bodies to ensure there would be no surprises and then riffled the pockets for anything of value. They were clean except for their comms and a set of keys to a vehicle.
“Time to get out of here before the police show up. Axe, are you good?”
“I’m good, Reaper. But where are we going?”
“Back to Ramstein.”
“But …”
“No buts, get your ass moving. I’ve a feeling that Thurston is going to tear a chunk out of it when we get there.”
CIA Safehouse
Warsaw, Poland
“Sir, Raven Team is down, including Raven One.”
“Fuck!” Newcomb swore vehemently. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
He glared at Nicole. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t look at me.”
“How far away is Blackbird?”
“They should be here sometime this evening.”
“When they arrive, bring them up to speed. This whole situation is getting out of fucking control.”
Chapter 13
Ramstein Airforce Base
Germany
Cara slapped the sheet of paper on the table and sat down next to Traynor. She turned it around and pushed it across so Falk could see it. “This is your deal, Falk. Read it, and then start talking.”
The drug manufacturer read through it and nodded. “OK.”
“Just so you still understand, you fuck with us, it’s gone, and you spend the rest of your life being somebody’s bitch in a supermax somewhere.”
“I understand. Where do you want to start?”
Cara depressed the red record button on the device she’d brought with her.
Traynor said, “Let’s start with something easy. How many labs does he have?”
“Three. He has one in Slovakia, the one in Latvia, and the third is in Ukraine. He launders his money through Belarus.”
“How does he ship his product?” Cara asked.
“He uses trucks. Pays off the right people, and they are left alone. Everything goes out through Gdańsk on the Baltic Coast.”
“And who would suspect a prominent man in the Polish government?” Cara said sarcastically.
Traynor leaned forward on his elbows. “What about security?”
“Jednostka Wojskowa Komandosów.”
Cara raised her eyebrows. “Polish Special Forces?”
“Ex-special forces. He pays good money. More than what the army pays.”
“How many at each site?”
Falk wiggled his head from side to side. “It varies. Most of the time it is maybe fifteen. Latvia, because it is his biggest, would have twenty.”
Swift approached the table where they sat, a folder in his hand. He passed it to Cara. “I think this is it.”
Inside the folder were satellite photos of what was supposed to be Marek’s Latvian operation. She pushed it across the table in front of Falk and asked him, “Is this it? The Latvian lab?”
Falk studied the picture. It wasn’t actually one factory, but a complex of disused buildings, warehouses. There were four larger ones in total, rundown, junk scattered about on the surrounding concrete apron. The exterior of it all was encompassed by a large pine forest. Falk nodded. “That is it.”
“It looks like a disused dump,” Traynor observed.
“Yes, deliberately left that way. Inside it is different.”
“How far from the nearest town?”
“An hour. The site was chosen well. It is surrounded by the forest, and perhaps one-thousand meters out on all sides is a large perimeter fence. The Fricis River runs along the back boundary of the complex.”
Cara’s eyes ran over the buildings. She reached into her pocket and took out a pen. Passing it across to Falk, she said, “In case you get a notion to stab someone with that, understand that one of us will shoot you in the head if you try. Now, take it and mark the factory building.”
Falk stared at her as though he’d been contemplating doing just that, and she’d read his mind, then he made an X on the photo. Surprisingly it wasn’t the biggest of the warehouses. “It is that one.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” He made another X on the photo. This time it was the biggest one. “He keeps all of his chemicals in here. And this one,” another X, “is where the guards and workers sleep.”
“Where do the workers come from?”
“Slaves. Poor people who need the money. The thing is, once they work in the labs, there is no going back. They are told the money will be sent back to their families. Marek keeps it for himself. They are poorly fed, and once they’re past their best, they are killed.”
“Asshole,” Traynor growled. “How does he stay under the radar?”
“Money buys a lot of silence. But when that doesn’t work, bullets will do,” Falk explained. “Do you remember two years ago when the Polish foreign minister’s car blew up with him inside it?”
Cara nodded. “Yes. It was blamed on ISIS.”
“Only because everything else was blamed on ISIS too. It was a phase. Most of the blame was well placed. Except for this. When have you known ISIS to go after just one person?”
“You’re saying it was Marek who was responsible for it?”
“Yes.”
Cara glanced at Traynor, and then her gaze drifted back to Falk. “All right. That’ll do for today. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.”
She waved at the air commandos, and they came across and secured Falk. He looked at Cara. “What about my family?”
“They’re being picked up as we speak. Take him away; we’ll continue tomorrow.”
Once Falk was taken away, Ferrero came over to the pair. “How did it go?”
“Good,” Traynor replied. “We’ll have another run at him tomorrow. But what he’s told us so far seems to hold water.”
Cara held out the recorder. “You and the general might want to listen to it. There’s some good stuff on there, especially the part about Marek blowing up a government minister.”
“Really?”
“Uh, huh. And the strange thing is, I actually believe him.”
“Me too,” Traynor said.
“Fair enough. Just so you know, Kane and the others are on their way back with their package.”
“Are they OK?”
“As far as I know. We won’t find out any more until they get back this evening. I’ll take this recording to Mary. Good job so far.”
The MH-60K Black Hawk touched down as the setting sun started to disappear below the horizon, leaving a red glow
in its wake. The four-team members disembarked with their gear. As Cara watched them walk across the pavement, a feeling of relief that they had returned safely washed over her. As soon as they were close enough, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Axe. “You stupid big ox. What were you thinking?”
“Apparently I wasn’t.”
“We’re all sorry about your sister, Axe. But you can’t go running off like that. You almost got yourself killed.”
“Not my finest moment, Billings. Not at all. How’s the boss?”
“I guess you’ll find out when we get back to the hangar.”
Axe winced. “Maybe I should just shoot myself in the foot and get sent home now.”
“Come on, big feller,” Kane said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Time to face the music.”
Axe flinched. “Easy, Reaper. Jumped out a window, remember?”
“How is he?” Thurston asked Kane before she made a final decision on what to do with Axe.
“A few cuts and scrapes. Brick had to put a few stitches in his hide, but nothing too serious.”
She nodded. “I’m going to send your team out in the next few days. But I need more information on the area of operation before you go.”
“Where, ma’am?”
“Latvia. I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Just so you know, Axe will be benched for this op.”
Kane nodded. “I understand, General. He’s not in any shape to go anyway.”
“Get some rest. Tomorrow after we get the rest of the information from Falk, you and the others can prep for your mission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kane left, and Thurston made a gesture for Axe to join her. He looked almost sheepish standing there waiting for her to speak. “Come with me.”
He followed Thurston out of the hangar and around the corner of the building. She stopped and turned to face him. “How are you feeling?”
“OK, I guess, ma’am.”
She stared at him in the slowly diminishing light. Silent. Brooding. Then her face changed as her anger got the better of her. “What the fuck did you think you were doing? You not only put yourself at risk but the lives of your friends as well.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Damn right you’re fucking sorry. I know how you feel about your sister, Axe. We all felt your loss. But there’s a right way and a wrong way of getting things done. And you just royally fucked up. You’re lucky I don’t have your ass on a C-17 Stateside right now. I damned well thought about it, believe me. Doing dumb shit like that on your own. And you couldn’t even wait for Remy’s service?”
Her last words stung. They were meant to. He winced and opened his mouth to speak. “I wasn’t thinking, ma’am.”
“Not about your sister you weren’t.”
He nodded. “I guess I’ll take that C-17 now.”
“The hell you will. You’re here for the duration. The team is going on an op in the next few days. However, you’ll stay on base. You’re benched. Got it?”
He knew there would be no use arguing with her. “Got it, ma’am.”
“All right. Dismissed.”
He began to turn away, but Thurston stopped him. “Axe?”
“Yes, General?”
“I’m glad you’re back in one piece.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Warsaw-Modlin Airport
Poland
Externally, the Boeing 737 looked just like a normal passenger plane, but it was far from that. As it disgorged its twelve passengers dressed totally in black, one could understand why. They tromped down the stairs pushed up to the aircraft’s door. Each carried a rucksack with any gear they had needed for the long flight. The rest of their stuff was in the cargo hold.
Bull Horton tasked his men with various things which needed to be accomplished before they left the airport. Then he turned to face the smiling man who’d been expecting him. Mark Newcomb offered him his hand, and Horton took it.
Horton was six-five tall, solid, had the customary beard, and deep-set blue eyes. When he spoke, his voice reminded one of Darth Vader from Star Wars. “Good to see you, Mark. What can we do for you?”
“It’s a sensitive one this, Bull. A case of national security. You’ll be going against some of our own. Are we going to have a problem with that?”
“You’re sending me against CIA?”
Newcomb shook his head. “No. Have you ever heard of a team called Reaper?”
Bull shook his head. “Nope. Can’t say I have. Met a recon-marine one time who they called Reaper. Ice-cool motherfucker.”
“Sounds like our man,” Newcomb said.
Bull Horton raised his eyebrows. “If we’re going after him, then this must be serious. He’s not a man to be taken lightly.”
“Don’t I know it. They took out Hank Greer’s Raven Team.”
Bull gave a low whistle. “That’s no mean feat.”
“They made it look easy.”
“Well then, you’d best point us in the right direction and turn us loose.”
“That I will, Bull. Just as soon as I work out where they are.”
The Pentagon
Washington, DC
The phone on Hank Jones’ desk rang, and he picked it up after the third ring. “Jones.”
“Hank, Frank Clavell. Have you got a moment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been digging around, and it would seem that our vice-president has been working behind the scenes to shore up support to have a crack at the big man’s job. He’s been collecting donors for a sizeable war chest. The biggest of which is Black Shield. It seems that you are right, Hank. It looks like there’s been a deal done between Black Shield and Jim Forth. I’d say that in return for a sizeable donation, Forth has guaranteed Ken Drake the contract for the missile defense system.”
“But doesn’t that depend on Marek in Poland?”
“I’d say that there’s a good chance Drake is greasing the wheels on that end as well.”
“But what if the president decides to stay on?”
“It won’t much matter. Forth has been driving this from the beginning.”
“So, what can we do?”
“I don’t know yet. Sit tight. When I do, then I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
The phone went dead, and Jones stared at the figure of Hunt sitting in the chair opposite. “Sit tight, my fucking ass. Chief, it’s time to fight back. How are your abduction skills?”
Langley, Virginia
Paul Horn wasn’t a man who was easily flustered. But things were starting to turn bad in one hell of a hurry, and he didn’t like it. In fact, he despised failure, and that was all that he seemed to be getting of late.
Thurston and her people knew about their operation in the desert, they’d killed one of his black ops teams, Jones has escaped the assassination attempt, and there was the incident in Los Angeles.
But hopefully, with Bull Horton and his Blackbird team in Europe, things might just turn around. The last thing any of the conspirators could afford was for Gustaw Marek to pull out of their deal. A lot of money had been spent to get this far, but if Marek withdrew, everything would be lost. Hence the need to silence the Pakistani. If proof got out about the drone strike gone wrong, the voters would leave in droves, and Forth would never get back into the Whitehouse. And then there was no guarantee that the new administration would select Black Shield for the contract. He just hoped that Drake didn’t fuck up his part in dealing with Thurston in Germany.
The phone on his desk rang, and he picked up the receiver. “Horn.”
“I hope you’re not too busy, Paul,” the voice said.
“Not for you, Mr. Speaker.”
“Good. I wanted to discuss something with you. It has come to my attention that you have an operation running in Europe.”
“We have several of those, sir.”
“I’m sure you know the one I mean, Paul,” Clavell said. “Would you like me
to spell it out for you so that we’re clear?”
“Always the best way.”
“Team Reaper.”
“I see.”
“Call your people back home, Paul. Before it gets out of hand.”
It’s already out of fucking hand. “I can’t do that, sir.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Sir, it is a matter of national security. They are all implicated in the theft of sensitive material.”
“What material, Paul?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Like I said. Bring your damned team home, Paul, before it gets out of hand.”
The line went dead.
“Fuck you, sir.”
Washington, DC
Vice-President Jim Forth sat behind his desk with his dark-haired secretary astride his thighs. Her blouse was open, and his face was buried between her medium-sized breasts. She giggled and bounced around, eliciting a low growl.
Forth drew his head back and looked up at her, a broad grin on his face. Between his exposed teeth was a strawberry. He spoke around it his voice muffled, “Got it.”
His secretary touched his nose with her finger and said, “I knew you could, Jimmy. You are just so skilled at doing things with that mouth of yours.”
He sucked the piece of fruit into his mouth and started to chew it vigorously. “Shall we try something else?”
“Oh, yes.”
The phone rang. “Shit.” He answered it. “What?”
“We have a problem.”
Horn!
“What problem?”
“The speaker of the house knows about our op in Europe. He wants me to shut it down.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of him.”
“Make sure you do.”
With a vague, “Uh huh,” Forth hung up.
He looked at his secretary and said, “Now, where were we?”
Chapter 14
