Termination Order: A Team Reaper Thriller

by Brent Towns

  “Have everyone remain at least a hundred meters behind the last man in the Polish line. No closer than that.”

  “Roger.”

  Team Reaper

  Latvia

  “Reaper One? Zero. Copy?”

  “Copy, Zero.”

  “Reaper, about one klick to the north of your current position is a clearing big enough to put a Black Hawk down. You’ll need to hustle because you have tangos closing on your six.”

  “Roger, Zero. Reaper One, out,” Kane acknowledged and then said, “Step it up, Brick. We’ve got tangos on our ass.”

  “Copy.”

  For the next twenty minutes, traversing the terrain at as quick a clip as it allowed, they reached the clearing, and Kane had them form a defensive line to repel of advance of their pursuers.

  Then they waited.

  Five minutes later the steady throb of rotor blades started to build from the west. A voice crackled through Kane’s comms. “Reaper One, this is Cherokee One-One, copy? Over.”

  “Cherokee One-One? Reaper One. Hear you loud and clear, over.”

  “Roger, Reaper One, we’re about two mikes out from the new LZ. How’s it looking?”

  “All quiet at the moment, Cherokee One-One. I wouldn’t take too long though. We have tangos closing on our position.”

  “Copy.”

  The sound of the Black Hawk grew louder, and soon it flared overhead and began its descent toward them. Suddenly the night erupted with gunfire and bullets started to hammer at the helo.

  “Damn it,” Kane heard the pilot say over his comms. “Cherokee One-One coming out. It’s too hot. Will do a sweep before we come back in.”

  “Get some fire into those trees,” Reaper snapped, and soon his team was laying down a carpet of gunfire trying to suppress the incoming rounds.

  Overhead the Black Hawk pivoted on an invisible point, and the minigun in the doorway came ripping into life. Tracers lit up the night and disappeared into the forest. The audible sound of 7.62 caliber bullets slapping into the trees could be heard over the noise of the rotor blades.

  The helicopter banked away and did a sweep over the area, its guns not letting up. Once the run was complete, the pilot’s voice came back over the comms. “Have your people ready, Reaper One, this will be a hot extract.”

  “Roger, Cherokee One-One.”

  The Black Hawk roared back in over the LZ and dropped heavily to the ground. No sooner had its wheels touched down when Team Reaper broke cover and ran toward it.

  Clambering aboard, Reaper shouted, “Last man!” and the Black Hawk powered into the sky.

  “Welcome aboard, Reaper One. We’ll have you home in no time.”

  “Thanks for the ride, Cherokee, you couldn’t have arrived at a better time.”

  “Check that,” the co-pilot’s voice came over the radio. “Looks like we’ve got a bogey inbound from the south.”

  Up front, the pilot said, “Confirm.”

  The co-pilot came back over the comms and said, “Confirm tango. It’s a Hind-D incoming. Shall we engage?”

  “Let’s figure out his intentions first.”

  The Hind came swooping in for a pass to the rear of the Black Hawk. As it did its minigun opened fire.

  “OK, his intentions are clear,” the Black Hawk’s pilot snapped, putting the helicopter into a steep bank. “Hang on back there, Reaper One. It’s time to have some fun with this clown. Door gunners, weapons free.”

  As the helicopter banked steeply, the passengers grabbed hold of anything they could find. The gunners, however, kept hold of their weapons, their night vision searching the stygian darkness of the sky for their target.

  The pilot’s voice came back over the net and Kane heard him say, “Tango coming back in on port side. Get ready, Pinky.”

  “Copy, skipper, let me at him.”

  The minigun opened fire and Kane could see the illuminated fingers of the tracer rounds reaching out across the sky through the open doorway. Then he saw the Hind’s own tracers light up and lance toward them.

  The Black Hawk shuddered under the bullet strikes, and there was a shout as the gunner named Pinky was hit. He lurched away from his weapon and fell onto his back. The door gunner opposite immediately cried out over the comms. “Pinky’s hit! Pinky’s hit!”

  “How bad?” asked the pilot in a calm voice.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Brick lurched forward from his seated position and started to work on the fallen crew member. Kane said into his comms, “We’ve got this Cherokee. One of my men is a medic. You just keep flying.”

  “Copy, Reaper. You don’t have a door gunner with you at all?”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  He glanced at Cara and pointed to the minigun. She nodded and scrambled around Brick and the wounded Pinky to take up position.

  “Door gunner up,” she said over the comms.

  “Roger that,” the pilot said. “The Hind is coming back around on the port side. He’s all yours.”

  The tracer from the attacking helicopter lit up the sky once more, and the pilot jinked the Black Hawk away from the incoming rounds. Cara let loose with the minigun and her own tracers sprayed outward.

  “Fuck!” Kane heard her hiss through her comms.

  A voice came over the net. Kane assumed it was the co-pilot. “Use the tracers to guide you onto the target ma’am. Remember you have to lead him. It’s a little different to shooting at people.”

  The Hind swooped in behind the Black Hawk, and the sound of bullets on the fuselage made Kane think of a hail storm. Some of them punched through the skin of the helicopter, and he was sure he felt the passing of one round close to his face.

  The door gunner on the starboard side opened up with his minigun, and a long brrrrrp sounded like thick fabric being ripped apart.

  More bullets streaked out of the night, this time they missed. The pilot’s voice filled Cara’s head when he said, “Coming around to the port side. Get ready.”

  The Hind started to slide past the Black Hawk, and as it did, Cherokee seemed to edge his helicopter closer. The minigun’s barrels began to rotate, and fire erupted from each muzzle as it came around. Cara saw the deadly fingers of light reach out and strike the Hind a savage blow. It seemed to stagger in the air and then slowly drop away beneath them.

  “Good shooting,” the pilot said over the radio. “He’s going down.”

  An orange glow flared in the darkness behind them, illuminating the tall trees where the bird had crashed. Cara turned and stared at Kane through her NVGs. He nodded at her and pressed his transmit button. “Are you OK?”

  She nodded and looked to where Brick was working on the downed door gunner. “Better than him.”

  Chapter 17

  Langley, Virginia

  “You are fucking kidding me,” Horn hissed into the handset. “Are you people totally incompetent?”

  On the other end of the call, Newcomb was silent. “You lose half of the best black ops team the CIA have, your target gets away, and to top it off, Marek’s son is killed. Did I miss anything the fuck out?”

  “You forgot the part about the helicopter getting shot down,” Newcomb said.

  “Fuck you, Mark.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What now, Mark? Do I send you half the National Guard to see if you can get them killed too?”

  “We’ll take care of it, sir.”

  “Make sure you damned well do,” Horn snarled and slammed the phone down.

  CIA Safehouse

  Warsaw, Poland

  Newcomb stared at the satellite phone for a long time before he put it down. Nicole watched him for a moment before saying, “Didn’t take it well, I gather?”

  “Bad news is seldom received well.”

  A computer tech approached Newcomb, holding a piece of paper. “Something you need to see, sir. I think it may be something we can use.”

  Newcomb took it and read through the sheet slowly. Then
he passed it across to Nicole. After she’d finished with it, she looked at her boss and asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think we need to redeploy our team.”

  Ramstein Airforce Base

  Germany

  That same time

  Mary Thurston took a pull from her beer bottle and sat it back on the table she was using as her desk. Sitting across from her was Ferrero, a frosty beer in his hands. Thurston fingered her bottle and said, “Just what I need to be doing. Drinking beer in the early hours of the morning after an op goes sideways.”

  “It wasn’t a total waste,” Ferrero pointed out. “We still did what we aimed to do. I’m sure Axe won’t be disappointed that the person responsible for his sister’s death is dead.”

  Thurston nodded. “What do you think we should do next?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “I am.”

  “We’ve come this far. How about we go after the head of the snake?”

  The general studied him. “I’d like to, but I might have to run it past Hank first.”

  “OK. While Slick has had some downtime, I’ve had him digging around into the affairs of Marek.”

  “Has he found anything useful that might be used to our advantage?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But if there is, he’ll find it.”

  And find it he did.

  Thurston looked up to see Swift approaching them from across the hangar. She nodded in his direction. “Shouldn’t he be racked out?”

  Ferrero swiveled his head and saw Swift. “He should be.”

  When he reached them, Thurston growled, “Why aren’t you getting some sleep? The team won’t be back before dawn.”

  Swift shrugged. “I was too switched on, ma’am. So, I thought I’d put my awake hours to some good use.”

  Thurston noticed the sheets of paper he held in his hand. “What’s that?”

  “I was trying to work out a way we could hit Marek where it really hurts. So, I did a little digging into his finances. Apparently, he has an account in a Swiss bank. He visits Geneva once a month with another man. The number belongs to a safety deposit box. The other man goes there at least once a week for the same amount of time.”

  “What do they do with a safety deposit box for an hour?” Thurston asked.

  “I’m not sure, yet.”

  Ferrero looked at Swift thoughtfully. “Do you have a picture of the other man?”

  The computer tech smiled. He handed them a sheet of paper containing a picture. They studied the image, glancing at each other before looking at the big shit-eating grin on Swift’s face. Thurston said, “I want that prick in here first thing. He’s got some fucking explaining to do.”

  Ramstein Airforce Base

  Germany

  Team Reaper got off the Black Hawk soon after dawn, walked into the hangar, dumped their gear, and lay down on the hard floor beside it, spent.

  Kane breathed deeply as he tried to relax, come down. Beside him, Cara said, “Remind me not to carry a cannon on the next mission.”

  “Too much gun for you?”

  They both opened their eyes to see the big ex-recon marine staring down at them. Cara shook her head. “Nice gun, just weighs a ton when you’re humping it downrange.”

  “I heard you had some fun while we were out,” Kane said.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle. The boss wants you to get cleaned up and sleep for a while. She’s got something else in the wind. I don’t know what it is, but she seemed mighty excited about it.”

  Arenas joined the conversation. “Axe, fuck off. I’m staying right here.”

  Kane gave a wry smile. “What he said.”

  Axe shrugged. “I try to be nice, and this is what I get.”

  “Axe,” Cara joined in. “I still love you, but …”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kane dragged himself into a vertical position, then helped the others. He said, “Get your gear sorted and then shower. After that, sleep. All in that order.”

  Axe said, “Leave your weapons, I’ll clean them for you.”

  Kane slapped him on the back. “Thanks, buddy.”

  While the team rested, Pete Traynor and Mary Thurston waited for their prisoner to return. A little after eight, he was escorted into the hangar by Ferrero and Reynolds who’d driven over to the Ramstein lockup and retrieved him.

  Falk assumed his usual position at the interrogation table. Thurston said to Ferrero, “Did you tell him anything?”

  “No.”

  “Fine,” she turned to Traynor. “You ready?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Crossing to the table, they stood behind the two chairs, staring at Falk. After a minute, he was starting to become uncomfortable at the scrutiny and squirmed in his seat. Ten seconds later Thurston said, “You tried to fuck us. Personally, I don’t mind the odd bit of horizontal calisthenics. I’m sure Pete here doesn’t either. But when you try to stick that pencil dick of yours in our asses, we’ve got a fucking problem.”

  “What?”

  Thurston dropped the photo of Falk and Marek onto the table. Glancing at it briefly, he was unable to hide the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Traynor growled, “You forgot to tell us about that, Falk. That maybe it slipped your mind, is what I thought at first. But then I got to thinking, how could you forget it? You know what I came up with? You are fucked. Not just you, but your family too. You tried to screw us, well, you truly screwed them.”

  “No, wait.”

  “Talk, asshole,” Traynor growled. “What goes on there?”

  “Bookkeeping.”

  Thurston and Traynor glanced at each other. The latter said, “What do you mean?”

  Falk hesitated. “The agreement?”

  “That’s up to you,” Thurston said. “At the moment I’m tempted to rip it up.”

  “No, don’t.”

  “Well, you’d better make this good.”

  “Before I manufactured drugs, I was also an accountant,” Falk explained.

  The questioning looks on his interrogator’s faces caused him to add, “Drugs pay better.”

  They nodded, and he continued. “Every week I go to Switzerland and fill out the grootboek. Ledger.”

  “What kind of ledger?” Thurston asked.

  “Money, business, accounts, things like that.”

  “Banking details?” Traynor asked.

  “Yes.”

  The former DEA agent turned to his commander. “We could use this, ma’am.”

  Thurston nodded. She said, “The question is, how do we get it?”

  Traynor shrugged, “We could always rob a bank.”

  “The hell you say,” Kane said in wonderment. “Sorry, ma’am, but yeah. That’s downright crazy.”

  He glanced at Cara who nodded. “I agree. We slip into a neutral country and rob one of their banks.”

  “We’re not robbing, robbing it. We’re using Falk to get in there and open the box.”

  Kane glanced around the others who stood at the table. Falk remained silent, as did Traynor. After all, it was his idea. He said to his team, “What do you think?”

  Cara said, “How about we hear the rest of the plan first.”

  Kane stared at Traynor. “It’s your idea.”

  “It’s as simple as walking in the front door and accessing the box. Falk should have no problem there.”

  The Team Reaper commander looked at the silent man. “Is it that simple?”

  He nodded. “In theory. I do it all the time.”

  Kane nodded. “What about backup?”

  Thurston said, “I’m shifting the whole team in-country. You and Brick will accompany Falk into the bank while Cara, Carlos, and Axe will be outside in a second vehicle. Remember that there will be a lot of civilian traffic inside. If something happens, you can’t do anything until it moves outside.”

  Shifting his gaze to Swift, Kane asked his next question. “Are you able to work your magic for us?”
<
br />   The tech nodded. “I can get eyes inside, monitor police traffic, and anything else we might need eyes on.”

  “Reaper,” Ferrero said. “I don’t like it either, and I’m not going to order you to do it. It’s up to you and your team.”

  Kane said, “Show of hands.”

  Each team member raised their hand.

  “OK, then. It looks like we’re a go.”

  Geneva, Switzerland

  It took twenty-four hours for the team to get packed up and flown covertly into Switzerland. Thurston and Ferrero found an abandoned warehouse with the power still switched on, that suited their needs. The equipment transferred from Ramstein was minimal. It had to be because there was no way they could land a C-17 at the airport. Thurston’s contacts were able to provide three black Range Rovers for them to use, two of which were situated outside the bank where Marek kept his ledger.

  It was now almost two in the afternoon and Cara, Axe, and Arenas were sitting across the busy street from the big, five-floor structure with large windows delineating each level. They watched Falk walking toward the large double-glazed doors of the main entrance, flanked by Kane and Brick. A big sign above the doors read, Deutsche Bank der Schweiz.

  They had almost reached them when Arenas snapped into his comms, “Abort! Abort!”

  Immediately they saw Kane and the others walk to their right, away from the bank’s entry.

  “What is it?” Cara asked urgently.

  Arenas pointed to a white Mercedes SUV on the opposite side of the road, maybe fifty meters distant. “There. I can make out at least two people in it. They haven’t moved. If you look three cars back, you’ll see another.”

  “Got them,” Cara snapped.

  “Talk to me, Reaper Two,” Kane’s voice came over the comms.

  “Wait one, Reaper,” she said, then, “Bravo, we may have a problem.”

  “Copy, Reaper Two,” Ferrero said calmly. “What is it?”

  “I have two white Mercedes SUVs on the street. Possibly not friendly.”