Waking Wolfe

by S L Shelton

  Quite right. No time to worry about imagined issues.

  There was a lull in action for a few minutes before the Serb reemerged from the barracks followed by two others. It was dark, but I could tell that one of the men had some sort of deformity or scar on his jaw and neck.

  “Popovich!” I whispered.

  Kathrin nodded her agreement.

  The three Serbs strode into the far door and reemerged, shoving Rodka. Rodka turned, yelling at the three of them. The argument was heated. I was beginning to wonder if there was going to be bloodshed, but I was surprised a few minutes later. While Rodka and the three Serbs argued, Daniil came walking out of the door, rubbing his wrists.

  Rodka had been with Daniil long enough to learn about what had happened with Elvis, Majmun, and myself. I wondered how far Daniil had gotten before the Serbs interrupted. Daniil had fresh bruises and cuts on his face that hadn’t come from me.

  Then it dawned on me. “Damn!”

  “What?” Kathrin asked.

  “The bruises on his face. That’s what gave him away,” I whispered.

  Her eyes went wide. I couldn’t believe I missed such an obvious detail. He probably told them he fell. There’s nothing like a bad lie to raise suspicions.

  “He seems to be free now, and they aren’t storming us. Do you think Rodka knows now?” she asked.

  “I would think so. There’d be no reason for Daniil not to tell him, especially since he was tied up and obviously beaten.”

  The men continued to argue as Daniil joined Rodka at his side. The volume of the argument gradually decreased and a fragile peace seemed to take hold as the Serbs walked past Rodka and Daniil into the barracks.

  Rodka leaned close to Daniil and placed his hand on his shoulder, saying something to him in confidence. Daniil nodded enthusiastically and then followed through the same door the Serbs had just walked through.

  Rodka followed but turned his head in our direction as he walked. For a moment, I thought he was looking right at us.

  “He knows,” I said.

  “What will we do if he betrays us?”

  “I don’t think he’d do that. He now knows the Serbs probably plan on killing them as well as the hostages if things go bad,” I said, pausing to run a couple of scenarios through my head. “But even if he does, I’m pretty sure the cavalry will be here soon...if they aren’t already.”

  “What does this mean—‘cavalry?’”

  “Backup. The good guys charging in to save the day,” I explained.

  “What good guys? How do you know this?” she asked incredulously.

  “I sent our friends at the CIA a message.”

  “When did you do that? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, annoyed.

  “You were right there when I did it,” I said with a grin. “Before we left the train, I told the steward that our horses were being stolen.”

  “Is that code? How is that a message to the CIA?” Kathrin asked, not seeing the connection.

  “Where is your passport?” I asked.

  She patted her pocket and then her eyes went wide as she remembered that they had been taken by the ticket collector when we entered our sleeping compartment.

  “The train,” she said, still not understanding.

  “When the train arrived at its destination, the passports left over were reported to the US consulate in Prague and the German government,” I said, letting that sink in before I continued. “As soon as the passports are entered in the system, it will alert the CIA—they’ve been trying to track us…or at least me, anyway.”

  “So they will know we got off the train in Decin. How does that get them here?” she asked.

  “When we left the train, I told the steward, ‘They're stealing my horses,’… My guess is he was on the radio to the police before we bought our scooter. But even if he wasn’t, the CIA would interview him because he was the steward on our car.”

  A look of understanding passed across her face. “So if they know we got off when the livestock car was detached, they can use their satellites to look back where the train cars ended,” she said, piecing it together.

  “Right! They probably even have great footage of us on the scooter following them.”

  “The Russians will not play nice if they know the CIA is involved,” she said, a dark tone in her voice.

  “I agree. But we had no way of knowing the Russians would be an asset. I think we ought to—”

  I was interrupted by a vehicle approaching. Two Range Rovers pulled up to the barracks beneath the covered entryway, and eight men piled out, stretching and talking loudly. Laughing!

  Shit, I thought to myself. More Serbs.

  Some of them went inside and a few moments later, some came back out, laughing and back slapping with the new arrivals.

  Reinforcements? I wondered.

  Several of the men walked to the back of the Range Rovers and began unloading boxes, taking them inside the barracks where the hostages were. Inside it sounded like a party. It seems the new arrivals had brought good news of some sort.

  “What’s going on?” Kathrin whispered as she crowded me at the window. “It sounds like they are celebrating something.”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied as I pulled out my phone and then slipped the earbud into my ear. I pressed the icon for Storc’s Bluetooth emulator and watched as the progress bar expanded across the screen, searching for signal. After a few seconds, it popped up with two viable Bluetooth connections—one was active. I clicked on it to see if I could listen in.

  “I’m st-ll in the f--king city,” a man’s voice protested. The voice sounded familiar, but the range on the Bluetooth was at the edge of its maximum distance—the signal was very broken and digitally squelched.

  “Then I’d sug--st you -et out of the city before the passengers an- -he package arri--,” said the other voice.

  “You -an’t jus- -ake this des---on unilateral-. We -ad -n agreement.” The signal began to break up.

  “There ar-- three more ----ages. w- stil-- ave a deal.” Then the signal died.

  I tried to reconnect. I hit the link a dozen or more times with no success. He must have moved.

  What city? Mimon? I thought. I wouldn’t exactly call that a city.

  “Someone was being warned out of the city,” I whispered to Kathrin.

  “What city?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said as I pulled back away from the window and closed my eyes to let the broken conversation filter into my flow chart.

  Someone had made a unilateral decision.

  An agreement broken.

  “Still have a deal.”

  “Three more.”

  Three more what? I wondered.

  I added the new data to my flow chart but there were too many missing pieces to form even a basic conclusion—nothing I’d feel comfortable acting on anyway.

  Kathrin and I sat in silence, watching as men drifted in and out of the building. Some had bottles of liquor, taking heavy draughts and then passing them along to the next man.

  “They aren’t even pretending to show discipline anymore,” I said.

  “Drunk men are easier to subdue,” she replied as if she had done it before.

  “But there are more now than before.”

  “Ja,” she replied. “There’s that.”

  After a while, three of the Russians exited the front door, rifles in hand, to take up post at the corners of the building. They were to be on guard duty while the Serbs celebrated their news...whatever that news was.

  The Russians seemed unfazed by the slight. Truth be told, they seemed a bit relieved to be away from the new influx of Serbs. They watched the activity from a distance, lighting up cigarettes and alternating between watching the tree line around them and the party behind them.

  “The Russians drew the short straw,” I muttered as shifted my attention to Daniil, who kept looking toward us.

  “Maybe,” Kathrin replied. “But it looks like you were ri
ght about them not turning us over to the Serbs.”

  “So far.”

  She nodded.

  A short while later, we heard screaming and some ruckus from inside the barracks. A moment more, and one of the Serbs exited, clearly drunk, dragging a woman by the arm behind him. She was twisting and digging her heels in, trying to pull away—and they were heading our direction.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, pulling away from the window a bit.

  He took a step or two forward, then the woman—no, a girl—pulled backward, sending him off balance. The Serb jerked her forward again, roughly, sending her to her knees. When she refused to return to her feet, he yanked her up and then released her arm long enough to strike her sharply across the face.

  I almost jumped up out of my hiding place, but Kathrin quickly reached out with a restraining hand to my shoulder and neck.

  The girl shrieked in pain and fear but then followed the rest of the way without struggle.

  I looked at Kathrin to see an angry sneer on her face, but she silently mouthed the word “wait.”

  As they got closer, I could hear the girl’s sobbing. It was Michelle, the ambassador’s daughter. I’m ashamed to admit I had a moment of relief that it wasn’t Barb before it dawned on me that if it had been Barb, I would have her free in only a few moments.

  I backed away from the window quietly, anger surging in my gut, but I got another tug on the shoulder from Kathrin. I looked at her and shook my head. “Wait for it,” she whispered, her face still contorted in anger.

  I nodded, swallowing my fury.

  We got up quietly and then walked to the front room, careful not to make any noise. I ducked behind the door just as the Serb and his prey entered the room.

  We watched as he shoved her roughly, positioning her face down over a metal desk in the foyer, and then he began to unfasten her pants. He pulled them down to the middle of her thighs before he began undoing his own.

  I looked at Kathrin and nodded before silently stepping out from behind the door, carefully approaching him from behind. She was thrashing and kicking, forcing him to hold her with one hand while he fiddled with his own belt with the other.

  I was about to jump on his back when I saw the gun on his belt, tipping backward toward me as he unfastened his belt. He was still blissfully unaware of me, his mind instead focused on his spoils as I reached down quickly and then lifted the gun from its holster. He turned just as I lifted the pistol to his head.

  He stopped motionless, trying to grasp the change in his party plans before his hands slowly started to rise. When they reached the midway point he made a quick motion to turn, but he failed to complete it. Kathrin had come down hard on his head with a piece of wood, sending him sprawling to the ground face first, unconscious, pants down around his ankles.

  “No shooting,” Kathrin admonished in a hissed whisper as the Serb crashed down.

  The girl screamed and twisted away from us, pulling her pants up with one hand and supporting herself in her retreat with the other.

  She fell over the opposite side of the desk and then looked around—first at her attacker, lying sprawled on the floor, and then up at me and Kathrin.

  She jumped up, running to us, and then threw her arms around Kathrin’s neck.

  Kathrin shushed her. I shushed her. She stopped crying long enough to look at me, measuring me as I rolled the big Serb over and started to bind him with the coil of bailing wire I had taken from the mill.

  She watched me for a moment, blinking her tears away. “Are you CIA?” she asked.

  Kathrin couldn’t help but chuckle, eliciting a confused crease on Michelle’s face.

  “No,” I said as I looped the wire around the unconscious Serb’s ankles. “I’m Barb’s boyfriend.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Scott?” she asked, unbelieving. “Why are you here? Where is the rescue team?”

  “I believe they are on their way,” I replied comfortingly, but I was quite interested in the fact that she knew who I was.

  “How did you find us?” Michelle asked.

  “Shhh,” I said, gesturing for her to lower her voice. “Low friends in lower places,” I whispered. “But more importantly, as far as they are concerned,” I said, gesturing with my thumb toward the barracks, “he is still in here having a private party with you.”

  She broke free of Kathrin and walked over to the Serb, staring at him for a moment with a blank look on her face—abruptly, she began kicking him in the side and head. Kathrin and I rushed to restrain her as she began to cry again.

  “Shh. Shh, shhh,” Kathrin shushed. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over now.”

  eleven

  The Event

  Shortly after midnight, Sunday, May 16th, 2010—Ralsko Airbase, Czech Republic

  Kathrin sank to the floor, cradling Michelle to her breast, stroking her hair before placing her lips to the top of her head. She began to rock the girl back and forth as if she were an infant being lulled to sleep.

  Kathrin looked up to watch as I moved the Serb into our office. I finished wiring him to a metal chair, wrapping duct tape around his head before covering his mouth. In Majmun fashion, I stuck a board behind the man, wiring it to the back of the seat, and then I wired the man’s head to the board. There would be no movement unless he decided to turn the chair over on its side, more than likely resulting in broken fingers, thanks to the way I had bound him.

  I smiled inwardly at my handiwork as I returned to Kathrin and Michelle.

  “What will we do with her—and him?” Kathrin asked, nodding at our uninvited visitor.

  I thought for a moment. “I think we need to talk to the cavalry and let them know what’s going on,” I said finally, waiting for my partner’s agreement before acting.

  A thoughtful look crossed her face. There was reservation in her expression, but she nodded rigidly, once.

  I pulled my phone out, reached into my pocket for John Temple’s card, and then dialed.

  “Temple,” he said in almost a whisper.

  “Captain,” I said. “It’s Scott Wolfe.”

  There was a pause. “Scott. It’s good to hear from you. Where are you?” he asked.

  “I suspect you know where I am if you got my message,” I said, taunting. “Where are you?”

  Another pause. “Close,” he whispered.

  “Before you do anything, there are some things you need to be aware of,” I said, hinting that he didn’t have all the data I did.

  Another pause. It occurred to me that the pause was happening because of a time delay. His communications were most likely being relayed through some communications server and encrypted—possibly all the way to Langley.

  “Okay,” he said and then hung up.

  Strange, I thought.

  Just then, four dark figures rose out of the darkness as if they were shadows rising from the floor. Startled, Kathrin began to move to her feet, but I put my hand out to her, signaling calm.

  She relaxed her stance a bit, and then Michelle stirred, looking around, a look of panic on her face. She was about to cry out, but Kathrin put her hand over her mouth gently and said in a whisper, “It’s okay.”

  Two of the shadowy figures moved to the center of the room and two took up guard positions, one at the door, and one at the window. The two closest to us lifted night vision goggles off their heads and then pulled off their hoods. I recognized one of them.

  “SB,” I said, nodding to the man who had roughed me up in the alley in Amsterdam. Quiet chuckles came from the other three—a snarl came from SB.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t get the joke,” I said sincerely. Apparently SB stood for something insulting. “What should I call you?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said in disgust before abruptly turning to kneel next to the ambassador’s daughter and Kathrin.

  The other man who had uncloaked in front of us turned to me and smiled. “Don’t mind him. He’s still smarting from the broken nose you gave
him,” he said in a whisper.

  So I had broken his nose! Good for me.

  “Lieutenant Marsh. US Navy,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine.

  SEALs! “Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Scott Wolfe.”

  “You’ve done a hell of a job, Mr. Wolfe,” he said, turning and looking at the Serb wired to the chair. He spoke into his throat mic. “Momma, this is Arrow. Monkey Wrench gift wrapped a Tango for us. Instructions, over,” he said quietly.

  “Monkey Wrench,” I said with a sly grin. “That must be me.”

  Marsh smiled and nodded. “A useful tool that can fix many things or smash them to pieces.”

  I nodded, smiling. I approved.

  We were close enough I could hear the voice in his earpiece. “Arrow. Condition of Tango. Over.”

  Marsh looked at the man, lifted an eyelid with a thumb, and then spoke. “Momma. Bad guy is unconscious, wired to a metal chair. Over.”

  “Wait one,” the voice replied and then a few seconds later, “Arrow. Is location secure for forward movement? Over.”

  “Affirmative Momma. Location is secure.”

  “Roger. Moving forward.”

  SB was giving Michelle water from his Camelback water reservoir and checking her physical condition. Marsh was looking the prisoner over. He injected something into the Serb’s neck before he began cutting the wire from his arms, legs, and head. He looked at the cut and raised bump on his head and then turned and looked at me with a smile. I motioned my head toward Kathrin to let him know that I couldn’t take credit for damage to the bad guy’s skull. He looked at her and chuckled.

  After lowering the Serb to the floor, Marsh quietly slipped back toward me. “You two take the prize for best amateur operatives,” he said with an amused smile. “We need—”

  His praise was cut short as four more men showed up through the back of the building. There was a quiet huddle in the next room before two of the newcomers moved to guard positions elsewhere in the building.

  One of them approached me. As his hood came off, I recognized John Temple, his clean-shaven face and square jaw smiling broadly as he surveyed the scene. He extended his hand to me. “Scott, I’m glad you called when you did. Things were about to get loud around here.”