Misled

by Anderson Harp

  The bigger man tried to make it to the basement, but the Belgian Malinois caught him by the leg. The killer had a look of fear that only a combat dog could cause. He tried to turn and train his .45 automatic on the animal, but the Malinois’s handler, following closely behind, protected his dog. He emptied the full thirty-round magazine, nearly taking off the killer’s head.

  The smaller captor was in the fetal position in the corner of the large upstairs room, his face covered by his hands.

  “Medic!” A team member called from the basement after jumping over the shredded body of the first killer.

  Todd Newton looked near death in the corner of a bunk. The stench was almost unbearable.

  “Marine, you will be okay. Semper fi.” The medic gave him an injection while another member of the team cut the chains. They installed an IV line, and the hydration seemed to bring the wounded Marine back to life.

  The stretcher transported Lance Corporal Todd Newton to the OV-22. At its three-hundred-knot speed, the aircraft was on the pad at Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego in less than an hour.

  Chapter 65

  The FedEx Aircraft Over the Atlantic

  “There’s only one answer.” Will was thinking of what to do next. Michael Ridges sat across from him in a jump seat of the MD-11F as they flew across the Atlantic. They had transferred to the next leg of the trip after Paris. It had taken less than an hour before N601FE was heading west. Like the thousands of packages the company shipped every day, the two had moved through FedEx’s transportation system with lightning speed.

  The two were eating a box lunch provided on the flight. It was the first food that either had enjoyed since this all began. Ridges consumed the American ham and cheese sandwich and finished off three Cokes.

  “If I go to customs, they’ll say I’m a national security risk and bury me so deep that you’ll never hear from me again.” Ridges opened a fourth can of Coke and took another swig.

  Will knew that it wouldn’t be long before Paul suspected the silence from Mexico was a sign of trouble. Every move had to be made as fast as possible.

  “We need to buy one more day.” Will looked at his new watch—a gift from his grateful escapee.

  Wade Newton was sitting on the edge of the bunk that the crew used for their rest on long flights.

  “Hey, you saved my son’s life. What do you need?” Wade had spoken to Todd from San Diego, an emotional reunion that had left the ex-fighter pilot in tears. “As far as the other Fed Ex guys go”—Wade waved to indicate everyone in the company jet—“we have your back.”

  Will looked to the crew flying the aircraft. The FedEx pilots did seem to be a team, much like those in military service. Each of them could easily be fired for this. Their guests were ghosts who didn’t exist. The manifest would be left blank as to the two extra passengers.

  “Can you get us to New York?”

  “A package from Moscow to New York is guaranteed to be delivered by ten thirty in the morning. Is that good enough?”

  “Sure.” Will was getting close to making the call. He wanted to be in Coyote Six before doing so.

  The connection in Memphis was like the one in Paris. They were airborne within an hour of landing at MEM. On the flight line where the aircraft were lined up, Will and Ridges took a golf cart with Wade Newton to the FDX flight to Kennedy Airport. At the jet, Wade said good-bye.

  “I am taking a couple of days off. Going to San Diego.” Wade Newton wore the stress on his face. “Do I understand correctly that you know who did this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to do something about it?”

  Will Parker didn’t say anything. He shook the man’s hand. They both knew what that meant.

  Now in the United States, they were beyond the inspection of customs. Ridges had to stay out of sight for one more part of his journey. Will’s only hope was to get to New York before Alexander Paul had any warning. He needed the time to get airborne in his jet, the Coyote Six, before Paul got to Karen. The FedEx flight required no overhead baggage or people struggling for their seats. It would be fast and efficient. The New York bird would be wheels-up in half the time that a passenger carrier took. They were above 10,000 feet when Ridges checked his laptop.

  “Look at this.” Ridges passed the computer to Will. It contained an email from the commanding general of the Russian FSB to Alexander Paul through the deep web. It noted that a Lt. Col. Boris Mikhailov of the Moscow District advised that Ridges was missing and believed to have left Russia.

  “When we land, you need to take a taxi and go straight to this address.” Will would not have much time. He knew what the next play would be. Paul had to stop Ridges at all costs. He now knew that Ridges was in the wind and probably with Will. Paul needed leverage over Will, and Snag was the only place he had the chance to do so. Snag would be Paul’s only answer.

  Will wrote down 620 Eighth Avenue in midtown Manhattan and a name.

  “Talk only to him.”

  * * * *

  Will stood by as Ridges got into a taxicab in front of the FBO near the FedEx hub. He handed the driver a paper with an address.

  “Here, you’ll need this.” Will handed Ridges a handful of fifty-dollar bills. “Don’t stop for anything.”

  Ridges understood what he meant. Alexander Paul was still playing a guessing game as to where the two of them had fled, but it wouldn’t last forever.

  “Thanks.” It wasn’t for the money.

  The taxi took him straight to the address; Ridges paid the fare and walked directly into the building.

  When he came out of it later, he was taken to a place that only two men knew of.

  Chapter 66

  Anchorage

  Frank Caldwell’s cell was set to vibrate. It started rattling just as they were loading the Bell helicopter in Anchorage. He glanced at the call. There were two numbers: One that he recognized and another that he didn’t. Paul and Angel had not come out to the tarmac yet. The helicopter pilot was still standing next to his bird with a bright orange parka on over a flight suit and a white helmet with Bell Helicopters and Grumman stickers on the side. Based on his stance, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

  The brutally freezing temperature had not yet risen above zero degrees. A heater had been set up with an auxiliary power unit and was blowing warm air into the chopper’s jet-engine intake—otherwise, at these temperatures, the lubricants would be the consistency of peanut butter. The noise from the auxiliary power unit made it nearly impossible to hear.

  “What’s up?” Caldwell stood so close to his shoulder that he could see the ice crystals that had formed in the helicopter pilot’s beard. His breath, a visible vapor, projected out—with his words—to the man’s face.

  “There’s some cloud cover over the mountain range that hasn’t cleared yet.” The man was clearly determined to fly safely. A crash into the face of a mountain in the Saint Elias Range was not going to happen. “Keep in mind, those mountains go up to over nineteen thousand feet.”

  “How about a valley?”

  “Yeah, with this bird we can’t go over the top.”

  “So, is a valley an option?”

  “Cloud cover. If there’s an opening, it closes up fast in this kinda shit. Remember, if we have to put down in an emergency, we ain’t gonna be choosing between mall parking lots and cornfields. This is the real wilderness, man.”

  Caldwell had experienced the same during missions in the Hindu Kush with his Ranger teams. Weather at high altitude in remote terrain was serious trouble.

  “So what?”

  “Give it an hour and we can get rolling.” The sun was climbing as they stood there in the cold. It didn’t provide much heat or comfort. The exhaust from the APU stack billowed up into the air and the sun’s light was reflecting off of the crystals. “But there may be a fast-mover just
behind this last one.” Another front was crossing the Bering Sea, heading to the east.

  “Okay,” said Caldwell, “but the boss wants to roll as soon as we can.”

  “Got it.”

  Caldwell thought this was the chance to return the first call. He went into the lobby of Ross Aviation and glanced around. Neither Paul nor the big stranger was in sight. Paul had said something that he caught in a passing word to the stranger. He’d heard the word Mexico. The big killer looked like someone who called Mexico home. The other word, which was unsaid but also struck Caldwell as one that fit, was cartel.

  He hit return on the call he’d recognized—the operations supervisor at Baker’s client company, Integral Transaction Data.

  “Hey, this is Frank Caldwell.”

  “I don’t know what happened, but you are something special.” The man’s excited voice came through the call as if he had just learned that he had won the lottery.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The hack.”

  Caldwell was still trying to absorb what was being said. He unconsciously pressed the phone closer and felt its warmth on his ear.

  “Yeah?” he replied, hoping to show he wasn’t totally out of the loop. “We’ve been off the net for a bit. Just landed.”

  “Have you seen CNN?”

  “No.”

  “Take a look.”

  Caldwell scanned the room, looking for a television. One was in the room reserved for pilots between flights. It was empty and the set was on some local channel. A popcorn machine stood nearby, giving the room the ambience of some low-cost cinema. He found the remote and scanned through until he got to the CNN logo.

  The lead story was how ITD had found an attempted overseas hack that would have jeopardized millions of transaction dollars and stopped it before a single penny was lost. The company was looking strong at the same moment that it was bidding on several other credit-card, debit, and ATM carriers. The byline below also noted a breaking-news story from the New York Times, but it didn’t provide any details.

  “I see. That’s great.”

  “We got an email that showed us the breach and how to seal it.”

  Caldwell thought he understood. The man was telling him that ITD hadn’t found the hack themselves. Instead, they’d been presented with the key to the breach, which they assumed had come from Alexander Paul’s company. As the only ones who knew about the disaster outside of the operations center, it seemed clear that the email had been from Alexander Paul’s people.

  “Okay…” Caldwell was still trying to hold back on any comment that would show how much he was in the dark.

  “Our stock went up by over thirty percent just in today’s trading.”

  “I’ll tell Mr. Paul.”

  The second number was the one that he didn’t recognize.

  At that moment, Paul came to the door of the lounge dressed in his parka and arctic gear.

  Caldwell held off returning the second call.

  “Just got a call from ITD.”

  “Oh?”

  “The hack was stopped. They think we did it.”

  Caldwell’s many visits to ITD had paid off. Or at least ITD thought so.

  Alexander Paul’s face turned a bright red. The muscles in his face started to bulge and then recede as he clenched his jaw. A vein in his neck began to protrude.

  Caldwell wasn’t getting the reaction he expected.

  “You have a very happy customer, sir. Their stock just took off and—”

  He looks like he just lost a shitload of money, Caldwell thought. Surely, their success would make Paul several more million.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Paul growled and pushed past him.

  Chapter 67

  JFK International Airport

  The HondaJet HA-420 was out of its hangar, refueled, and waiting for Will Parker as he ended his cell-phone call. There’d been no answer, but it suited him well that no one had picked up.

  Just give me some time.

  He looked at the weather that was crossing much of Canada. The computer in the flight office at JFK Airport’s FBO showed clearing over much of the continent, but more importantly, the winds were coming west to east with one exception.

  At lower altitudes, a headwind would slow his aircraft down, but the HA-420 had a feature that beat out its rivals. She could fly at 43,000 feet or flight level 430. And at 40,000 feet, a wind pattern was currently running east to west. He filed his flight plan, asking for air traffic control to clear the altitude that favored the winds. It would take a refueling stop, but Snag was on the eastern side of the mountains and several hundred miles closer. And he wasn’t going to Snag.

  Instead, his target was an airfield he knew well. It was only a short time ago that he had been to Whitehorse. There, he could get an Otter for the final leg of the journey.

  The speedy HA-460 jet climbed up into the rare air of the higher flight plan in a matter of a few minutes. Will set the automatic pilot for the refueling stop and then checked the radar. The aircraft cut through the thin air like a scalpel. In what seemed an absurdly short time, Will crossed over Winnipeg and made a rapid descent to an airfield to the west. The jet landed, refueled, and was back up again in the dark sky. Again, the winds were kind. The sun was starting to shine its bright light from behind the aircraft. Well off in the distance, clouds were forming from one end of the windshield to the other.

  Will called Whitehorse airfield and pulled up the air map sectional for YXY, the airfield designator on the sectional displayed on his airplane’s cockpit panel. He told them that he was inbound, needing fuel and an Otter with sleds.

  The airfield radioed him that the Otter would be ready.

  “We have some more weather coming in,” the Whitehorse operator added before signing off.

  Will called the next most important number.

  “Hello?”

  Kevin Moncrief’s voice was good to hear.

  “Are you outta there?”

  “Roger that.” Their agreement had been no calls until Will was heading for Snag.

  The gunny couldn’t mask the emotion in his voice. “Well, that’s great. Are you gonna be here soon?”

  “The winds look good. Chances are I’ll be there before you finish your breakfast.” It was a joke. Moncrief was known to be a late riser, when possible.

  * * * *

  “Good.” Moncrief was holding the phone near the cabin and Karen Stewart was standing nearby. She stopped cutting firewood, put the ax over her shoulder, and looked at Moncrief with a glance that said she knew who he was talking to.

  A wave of static interrupted the call. The words became broken on both ends.

  “We’re quiet here.” Moncrief tried to get the message out.

  It was then that he first heard a whomp-whomp sound off in the distance. The helicopter flew low over the trees, circled with the door closed, and then made another pass with the door open. A man, dressed in a white and brown camouflage parka and pants, had his white boots on the landing rail of the aircraft as it made another pass.

  The combat Marine in Moncrief took over.

  “Red flag!” he cried into the sat phone. “If you get this, red flag!” No response but static. He repeated the warning again, signaled to Karen, and grabbed his rifle and backpack.

  She threw down the ax and picked up her rifle as well. They started to head out into the forest behind the cabin. She stopped, turned around, and headed back.

  “What?” He chambered a round in his rifle. The helicopter landed just beyond the tree line and just out of sight. He saw her head around the corner of the cabin and heard the door open.

  What the hell is she doing? It seemed to take minutes, but in less than one, he heard the cabin door close and saw her come around the woodpile. The zing of a bullet rang out as she tu
rned the corner. It was a blind shot from someone who had glimpsed movement.

  Bastards.

  The shot meant much more than a passing bullet. It meant that their attackers weren’t committed to keeping their targets alive, making their intentions crystal clear.

  The rally-point plan meant that he didn’t have to explain anything to Karen. The spruces were thick behind the cabin. They could disappear quickly on their way to the rock outcropping.

  Together, they raced into the woods, no time for snowshoes. Once in the forest, the snow became deep and exhausting. They both struggled to plunge through the drifts.

  Moncrief stopped behind a wide spruce and looked back toward the cabin. His heart was running like a racehorse’s. The men he’d glimpsed so far were well-armed and were using military urban tactics in approaching the cabin as if an armed attacker were waiting inside. They wore camouflage white suits and white rubber Mickey Mouse boots. Each carried an assault rifle.

  “At least they don’t have snowshoes either,” he murmured.

  She knelt immediately behind him.

  “Head to the rocks. I’ll be right behind you,” he whispered.

  She nodded and disappeared quickly into the white-green jungle surrounding them.

  Shots rang out, and then screams, and then more shots.

  “What the—” Moncrief saw shapes at the edge of the cabin. Two looked like they were down on their knees. They had dropped their weapons and one was holding his arm, bent over in pain.

  The rabid fox she’d let into the cabin had done its job.

  Chapter 68

  The HondaJet Above Canada

  The static cut off Will’s call to Moncrief. He barely heard the words, but one hit the pit of his stomach. Red meant trouble. Will accelerated the jet to nearly five hundred knots and quickly computed the ground speed in his mind. Whatever the jet was doing in the air was not what it was doing on the ground. The winds were giving him a small push that had the aircraft moving at nearly six hundred miles an hour, relative to the ground.