by Brian Drake
One of the guards grunted in reply. Raven and Osborne made eye contact. Osborne dismissed the pair but told them to stay close.
Osborne knelt in front of Raven. Raven tried to sit up but his throbbing head made the move tough. He stayed on the ground. He managed to talk, though.
“What’s it all about, Aaron?”
“It’s a burning question, isn’t it? Especially after all we went through to get to this point.”
“So tell me.”
“You had it almost right at dinner, bud. It’s a bit more complicated, but you were close.”
“I still don’t understand. You did all this to rip off your father? You can buy guns and bombs on the black market. All you can carry. You didn’t need to do this.”
“You ran enough sting operations with the CIA to know only an idiot buys on the black market.”
“Who are the weapons for?”
“Stop it. You weren’t supposed to be killed at the hotel. You or Tracy. We were going to whack you here. Throw off the Feds. Where is Tracy, by the way? Can’t have a clean getaway with her hanging around.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying and you don’t have time to torture me, Aaron.”
“No, but one scapegoat is as good as two.”
“She knows the truth, Aaron! The CIA put her with you after you started trying to hire mercs.”
Aaron’s face changed. His cockiness vanished; now he looked grim.
“Really? And you?”
“Wrong place, wrong time. Thought I was helping an old buddy who saved my life, and you roped me into your scheme.”
“There would have been room for you, but you’re always playing hero.”
“Somebody has to.”
Another sound. The noise grew louder by the second. Both Raven and Osborne froze, listening. The crew loading the truck didn’t hear it, but realization dawned on Osborne same as Raven.
“Tracy must have called for backup,” Raven said. He grinned. “Better think of something fast, pal.”
Osborne grinned back. “Don’t worry. I got me a warehouse full of hardware.”
The noise finally reached its peak. Now the crew noticed. They looked up. A helicopter passed over the plant. A bright spotlight flashed on the loading activity. The chopper slowed to a hover. Over a loudspeaker a man said, “This is the FBI. Stop what you’re doing, lower your weapons—”
The agent on board never finished his sentence. A shoulder-fired rocket flashed from the opposite side of the box truck. The chopper exploded. The orange flash lit the yard. Osborne didn’t break eye-contact with Raven. The light from the blast lit one side of his face while casting a shadow on the other.
The wreckage of the chopper fell outside the yard gate, near the train tracks. The ground shook, the crash piercing in its loudness. Black smoke filled the air. More shouting now, beyond the fence behind Raven. Automatic weapons began firing. The cracks of the shots seemed too far away for Raven to place them. It didn’t matter. He stayed focused on Aaron Osborne.
“Here’s where it gets good, Sam. So long.” Osborne took out the Nighthawk. He aimed at Raven’s right eye. Raven didn’t blink. He stared into the gaping hole of his own gun. The commotion around him faded. His only focus was the big black hole at the end of his gun. He didn’t look at the man behind the gun, the man who once saved his life and was now going to kill him. Over what?
Osborne’s face twitched. His trigger finger relaxed. He raised the pistol. Raven tried to brace for the impact but it made no difference. The barrel smashed into his head and the lights went out again.
Raven blinked.
“How does it feel to be alive?”
Raven let his senses return slowly. He wiggled his toes, felt life stirring in his legs. His head and face felt sore. He flexed his hands. Finally, he turned to the man who spoke.
Clark Wilson stood on the left side of the hospital bed. “You won’t be here very long.” Beside him stood Tracy Donahue. She tried to smile but the corners of her mouth dropped back into a flat line.
Raven shifted. He was propped upright on a bed, wearing a hospital gown. He gestured at the television hanging on the wall. “Does the TV have cable?”
“Why?”
“Might as well catch up on Downtown Abbey while I’m here.”
“Sam—”
Raven let out a breath. “Feels like a truck hit my face and then backed over my head.”
“He gave you a good whack,” Wilson said.
“What happened after I checked out?”
“The FBI might as well have brought a knife to a gunfight for all the hardware they faced.”
“Cut to the end.”
“Osborne and his crew got away with two of the three trucks they’d loaded.”
“Arrests?”
“Several.”
“Anything to go on?”
“We can’t wait for the Feds to share, especially since we weren’t supposed to be there,” Wilson said. “Tracy managed to get the phone numbers Osborne had on his cell, and we’re hoping you might add something.”
“I heard a name. Kovalenko. And Osborne said a few things before he hit me. About not trusting the black market.”
“I’ll check and see about that name. In the meantime—”
“I will be right here.”
Wilson nodded and departed. Tracy stayed behind.
“Something to say?” Raven said.
“I should have stayed with you.”
“He wanted us held captive until the break-in was over. Then they were going to kill us and leave our bodies. We'd take the blame for the break-in.”
“Oh.”
“And I should have known better than to go charging in like a rhino.”
“But Aaron didn’t kill you.”
Raven nodded. “Cold feet maybe. Who knows? I’m not looking the other way. He and I need to settle this. Whatever he has in mind, I need to stop.”
“We.”
“Come along if Clark will let you. But don’t tell the enemy where we’re going.”
“You know what I did in Zurich?”
“Clark told me.”
“I thought it would be smart—”
“Save it,” Raven snapped. “I had your job once. I get it. It’s the spy business.”
She nodded.
“It’s what they do to us,” he said. “It’s why I got out.”
“There are a lot of reason you got out, aren’t there?”
Raven nodded. They said nothing a moment. Then: “You don’t have to come with me, Tracy.”
“I need to finish this, too. After putting up with his sweaty body on top of me—”
“Say no more. When I get out of here, let’s go see Aaron’s father again. What do you say?”
Finally, she smiled. “It’s a date.”
“Now scoot.” Raven grabbed the TV remote from the nightstand. “I’m going to see if Downtown Abbey is on.”
“Actually, it’s—”
“A joke, Tracy.” He winked. “Be grateful I’m not looking for Star Track.”
She shook her head and left the room. Raven turned on the television.
28
Raven’s doctor approved his discharge two days later.
Tracy picked him up from the hospital in another rental car. As she drove, he said, “What’s the score?”
“Plenty. Clark has a full briefing prepared. We’re going to Ukraine.”
“Really?” Raven began sorting what he knew and tossed in speculation too. But he kept his thoughts to himself. For now. Ukraine meant a lot of things, but as he considered the current state of affairs between Russia and Ukraine, he figured his speculation wasn’t far off.
Tracy continued, “We collected your clothes and things from the hotel. Clark put us in another one.”
“I’ll need another pistol.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Aaron has my Night
hawk. I’m going to get it back.”
“Of course.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m all right.”
“You sure?”
“You know how it is.”
“I do.”
Surviving undercover work always astounded Raven. How one could become somebody else, do things they would not normally do, and go back to normal when the job was done, took more mental fortitude than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population had. Normal was the wrong word, Raven decided. Nobody normal could turn on a new persona and then switch off. They were actors, trained to play a role, detach from their reality. They were better actors than anyone in Hollywood yet the only award they received was living to play another role. And hopefully living long enough to leave it all behind on their own terms.
Tracy’s previous relationship with Aaron might have helped, but they’d broken up for a reason. She’d still had to pretend.
The spy business and the war business had much in common. Each left behind similar trails of destruction. Not everybody survived. Raven knew plenty who collapsed under the pressure.
Why he survived might only be known to the ghosts who pushed him through his war without end. He touched the locket under his shirt. He felt their reassurance. When they didn’t need him anymore, he might find peace again. But for now, the next battle lay ahead.
He glanced at Tracy as she watched the road. She wasn’t acting any longer. He looked forward to meeting the real Tracy Donahue. If she decided to reveal herself.
Tracy drove them to the Comfort Inn & Suites near the Reno airport. Raven still felt sore, but the doctor had said he didn’t have a concussion. He’d have the bruises for a while. He was used to bruises and scars. The bruises went away but the scars remained, in more ways than one.
Tracy said Clark Wilson had secured three rooms, one of which was a large suite. Wilson was staying in the suite. It would be their home base until they departed. When Raven pressed her for more information, she told him to remain patient. Wilson had it all worked out.
“Are we sure Aaron is there?” Raven asked.
“If he isn’t yet, the man he’s working with is for sure.”
Now she had Raven’s attention even more.
Short elevator ride, down a hallway, and she tapped on the door of Wilson’s suite. He answered and welcomed them inside. He and Raven shook hands. “Good to see you back on your feet.”
“Tell me about Ukraine.”
Wilson gestured to a dining table in the middle of the room. A laptop and photographs waited on the table.
He sat at the table and passed on Clark’s offer for a drink. Tracy asked for bottled water. Raven glanced at some of the pictures but none of the people featured meant anything to him.
“Before Sam goes bughouse, let me fill in some gaps,” Wilson said. He typed a password into his laptop. He asked Raven to sit closer. Raven moved over two chairs. Tracy remained in her place. She’d seen everything already.
Wilson turned the laptop so Raven had a good look at the screen. The CIA man opened the briefing. “The phone numbers Tracy pulled from Osborne’s cell show he communicated often with two people. One is this man, whom we’ve identified as Yakiv Draco.”
Raven examined the picture of the man with the bony chin and sharp jaw. “Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have. There’s been no reason for him to be on our radar, but he has a large resume. Veteran of the Ukraine military. When the Russians took Crimea and moved into Eastern Ukraine, he left the military to start his own militia.”
“Why’d he leave the regular army?”
“Alleged war crimes. He hates the Russians and reportedly went out of bounds. He preferred fighting without official sanction from the government. As of two years ago, he’s been working as a mercenary around the world. He left Ukraine because the Russians put a price on his head.”
“How many of these militias are active in Ukraine?”
“Plenty. They’re scattered all over, taking on the Russian ghost armies.”
“The what?”
“The Russian ghost armies,” Wilson continued, “are made up of contractors and foreign mercenaries paid for by Moscow. It allows them to maintain a presence and keep up the fighting. Moscow denies they’re working under official orders, but they are.
“There’s a cease fire right now,” Wilson continued, “so the regular armies of both nations are on hold. The militias and the ghost armies are keeping the fighting going on a limited scale. Mostly they take pot shots at each other because both have limited ammunition and equipment.”
Raven nodded. He added the information to what he’d speculated on the drive to the hotel.
Wilson changed the picture on the laptop screen. “Aaron also reached out to this man.”
The screen showed an older man in a suit standing in front of a hotel. A doorman held the back door of a cab open for him.
“He’s the Donald Trump of Crimea,” Wilson said. “Big shot developer. He’s overseeing the transformation of the city of Kerch into a tourist mecca for Moscow.”
“Who is he?”
“Orest Chumachenko. Russian. Born in St. Petersburg.”
“He’s building a new playground for the oligarchs?”
“The real question,” Wilson said instead, “is why Aaron Osborne is buddies with a Ukrainian militia leader and a Russian businessman. Considering Draco’s background, if they’re working together, I can’t see them getting along well.”
“I have a very scary idea,” Raven said.
“Go ahead.”
“You said there was a cease fire, but the militias and ghost armies are still engaged in hostilities.”
“Right.”
“Aaron is selling guns and weapons to both sides, Clark. Draco on one side, Chumachenko on the other. But they need a reason to re-ignite hostilities. The explosives they took from the Sparks plant are destined for a false flag of some sort. They’ll hit a target important to Moscow, is my guess. Blame it on the Ukraine militias. Force the Russians to invade. Then Draco gets to kill all the Russians he wants and Chumachenko makes millions providing the guns and ordnance via the Osbornes.”
“Think the old man is involved?”
“He’d have to be.”
Wilson nodded. He grabbed a picture from the table. The photo showed the face of one of the dead men from the Jeep Raven hijacked at the plant.
“The dead man you heard the name of—Kovalenko. This is him. He was a member of Draco’s militia. How they entered the country we have no idea.”
“Ask the old man. There’s your connection. He had to pave the way for the raiding party.”
“Sounds like we need to talk to Mark.”
“It will upset the FBI.”
“Then let them get upset. We need answers.”
Raven and Tracy agreed.
“Once you’re done with Mark Osborne,” Wilson said, “we need to get you two on a plane. We have no idea what the timetable is for this false flag, or whatever they have planned. The last thing we need is another wave of violence in Ukraine.”
“Or a full-scale war,” Raven said.
29
All Raven wanted was a nap. He was eager to get started after Aaron Osborne and his mercenary pals, but his head and face still hurt. Advil helped but rest would help more.
But when he stepped into his new hotel room, he froze.
“Hello, Mr. Raven.”
The blonde-haired woman with pale skin sat by the window. She spoke with a heavy French accent. He’d seen her before. As Raven let out a slow exhale, he thought of how she’d looked in the parking lot of a mall in Marseille after being shot.
“Thought you could get away, didn’t you?”
Raven didn’t answer. He looked around, glanced in the bathroom. She didn’t have anybody else with her.
“I’m alone,” she confirmed.
Finally, he faced her. “Are you?”
“I’m in
your room alone. I have friends elsewhere with Miss Tracy.”
“I don’t remember your name.”
“Geneva. Like the city.”
“Ah, yes. And your man—”
“Fortun. You killed him. Or one of your friends did. Tell me, where is Aaron Osborne?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Don’t kid me, Mr. Raven.”
She wore jeans and a Tee-shirt with a light jacket. She reached into a pocket of the jacket and took out a small stainless-steel pistol. The sunlight through the window behind her, despite the closed drapes, glinted off the gun. She pointed the muzzle at Raven’s belly.
“Don’t make me ask you again. Lift your hands.”
Raven brought his hands up a little. “I’m not armed.”
She laughed.
“Aaron Osborne took my gun.”
Another laugh. “The thief stole from his friends? Am I supposed to believe you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth. But, yes. Aaron took the money and tried to kill me. Or have his pals kill me.”
“What pals?”
“The people he was working with. They needed the money for a job. Your money was untraceable.”
“Sit on the bed.”
Raven moved to the bed and sat on the edge. He still faced the woman. She brushed hair from her face.
“You’re looking well,” he said, “considering the last time I saw you.”
“And you look a little rough.”
“Compliments of our mutual enemy.”
“Is he?”
“I’m looking for him same as you.”
“Are you suggesting we pool our resources?”
“I flush him out, you make the kill?”
“And then kill you too? You have to understand—”
“I understand more than you think. But we can help each other. He’s the one you want. The mall job was his idea.”
“But it was your bank.”
“Yes.” Raven frowned. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard. The mall cameras captured Osborne’s face. We had to do more digging after Zurich. When we heard of two men getting involved in the terrorist attack in Paris—”
