He called William on his cell.
“Yeah?” William answered, with such speed that Ethan knew his friend had been sitting by the phone.
“It’s me,” Ethan said. “Sit-rep.”
“Still fine,” William replied. “Kiana is sleeping like a baby.”
“Copy that, I just––”
Ethan’s phone vibrated twice, signaling that he’d received a message.
“Stand by,” he said to William, and hung up.
A random number showed on the screen––and not just a random number, but a number that had been scrambled beyond recognition.
It’s not Sam, that’s for sure, Ethan thought to himself.
He opened the message. There was no preamble, no snappy one-liner that might have gotten a less professional man’s blood to boil, just a simple text message from a number Ethan knew would be pointless to track––even now the phone was probably on its way to the bottom of some body of water.
STRAIGHT SWAP
TRAITOR FOR THE DOCTOR
OTHERWISE TRAITOR WILL BE EXECUTED
YOU HAVE SIX HOURS TO DECIDE
ADDRESS WILL FOLLOW
Ethan read the message through twice in his head, then called back William to read it to him. The recital was greeted with a long silence.
Finally, the Texan said, “This sort of shit is liable to get me in the sort of mood where I want to raise hell and stick a chunk under it, I won’t lie to you.”
“Yeah,” Ethan exhaled a long breath through his nose. “I feel a bit like that myself.”
“So what do we do?” William asked.
Ethan rubbed at his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “We have to wait for our orders.” The words came through gritted teeth. “We’re still on mission. We can’t jeopardize the package.”
William let out a breath. “Roger that. But just know that I don’t like it none.”
“Neither do I,” Ethan said. “But this is the job. You and me know that better than most.”
“Right,” William said.
Ethan hung up and forwarded this latest development to Sam.
After a shower, he returned to the living room to find a new message waiting on his phone. It was not a text message in the traditional sense, but one received through Signal––an anonymous messaging platform that many considered to be the pioneer that spawned secure messaging apps such as WhatsApp.
Ethan looked at the message. “Well, well, well. It’s about goddamn time.”
20
“Good of you to get in touch, Black Swan,” Ethan said, as the laptop screen flickered to life and his boss appeared.
“Save it, Copperhead,” Sam snapped, holding up her hand. “I simply don’t have the time to exchange pleasantries and bandy the shit about. It’s enough to say I’m trying to deal with the fallout this virus is having on our intelligence community.”
“Okay, then I won’t waste any of your time,” Ethan said tersely. “I need your orders concer––”
Sam raised a hand, overriding him with the ease of a woman who was used to people shutting their traps when she opened hers. It was not often that Ethan was reminded just how powerful, well-connected and experienced this woman was––you didn’t get selected as a member of Black Squadron, SEAL Team Six’s clandestine division by chance, after all.
“I’m up to date with your current situation,” she said. “I’ve been briefed by Constrictor on your location and the state of your team.” Sam rubbed the bags under her eyes. It was vaguely unsettling for Ethan to see her look so out of sorts.
“You’re coming through a-okay, Black Swan,” Ethan said. “I’m just not sure you’re quite up to date.”
Sam frowned. “What do you mean? I told you, Constrictor updated with me the covert way in which you inserted yourself into Barcelona? Like a regular bunch of Jason Bournes.”
Ouch, Ethan thought.
“And I received your latest update through Signal,” the senior NOC said. “I am very aware––very up to date––of what a shitshow it has turned into over there. Believe me when I tell you that, Copperhead, being in the position that I am, you do not have to break it down Barney-style for me.”
Breaking it down Barney-style was an allusion to the popular kids’ show, Barney and Friends, and was army parlance for having something explained as if to a child.
“Right,” Ethan said, trying to keep his temper after that rebuke. “What I mean, is that maybe, you’re not focusing on the aspect of the situation that most concerns me at present.”
Sam’s face was usually pale, as one would expect from a woman who habitually wore a full hijab, but it drained of what little color it had at Ethan’s words.
“Christ,” she said, “they didn’t kill her––didn’t eliminate the package, did they?”
Ethan shook his head, a slight frown creasing his own brow. “Negative.”
Sam ran a hand over her face, the relief palpable even through the computer screen.
“We still have the package,” Ethan said, “but they’ve abducted Maelstrom.”
Sam leaned back in her chair. “I’m aware of that. It was in your update.”
“Right. They have her,” Ethan said. “Which is why I need you to tell me what the hell you want us to do.”
Sam frowned for a moment, suddenly showing every one of her forty or so years.
“You complete the mission, Copperhead,” she said. “The package must be extracted, and that objective still stands.”
Ethan nodded. “Copy that. But what of the other issue?”
“What other issue, Copperhead?” Sam asked. “There is no other issue. At least, no other issue pertaining to your assignment.”
“You know what I’m talking about, Black Swan,” Ethan said, his jaw clenched, his fingers suddenly gripping the edge of the coffee table, as he leaned towards the laptop.
“Voice your concern, Copperhead,” Sam said.
“What about Br––what about Maelstrom? Do we attempt to extract her? The Kidon have offered their ultimatum. We’ve got six hours to decide whether we’ll trade the package for Maelstrom. If not, they’re saying they’ll execute her for all that shit she pulled before joining the DIA. Before you saved her from the Mossad.”
Sam gave him a look that was so old-fashioned it could have been encased in amber. “Do you want me to bore you with the whole ‘we don’t negotiate with these sort of people’ spiel?”
“Black Swan––”
“Copperhead, there’s no chance of a trade. You know that, I know that, Bretta knows that. No chance. She knew what she was signing up for when she took this job. I know she did, because I was the one who sat her down and explained it to her. You get caught––you get captured––working deep black ops, well, you’re on your own. Disavowed completely. It’d be the same with you.”
“Jesus, I understand that your position calls for a certain frostiness, but that is fucking cold,” Ethan said, his eyes narrowed.
“Careful, Copperhead,” Sam said, warningly.
Ethan pursed his lips, biting back one of the many empty retorts that leapt to his mind.
Sam sighed at the expression on his face and, just for a moment, her own face seemed to soften, the austere, all-business mask slipping to show the woman underneath.
“Ethan,” she said, and it was a mark of how out of sorts she was that she used his real name, “I’ve a personal interest vested in the safe retrieval and delivery of this asset.”
The skin around Ethan’s eyes tightened. He did not scowl, but it was a close run thing. “And you don’t have a personal interest in Maelstrom?”
Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if wondering whether she should tell him why Kiana was so important to the United States. Finally, she looked at him: “She’s not just a nuclear scientist on the verge of discovering something that might have huge, global ramifications for the energy sector––she’s my cousin, too.”
Ethan stared at her in shock.
>
Seeing his expression, she leaned back a little, and added, defensively: “We both know that, when it comes to the operation, my judgment is unclouded.”
“There’s no such thing when it comes to family, Black Swan, you know that,” Ethan accused.
“I didn’t expect you to get into a gunfight outside an international airport,” Sam retorted. “I didn’t expect you wouldn’t be able to lie low for forty-eight hours without managing to alert Israel’s most capable trained killers to your whereabouts.” She paused. “I can see now it was a mistake to tell you.”
The two of them glared at one another, the tension in the air as palpable as if they had been in the same room rather than thousands of kilometers apart.
“Copperhead, you were tasked with retrieving the package––who she is does not matter, it never has and it never will, as far as you’re concerned––and you were told to look after her. So far you’ve done your job, you’ve stuck to your mission briefing. The package is safe. The mission did not stipulate––nor will it ever––that the safety of your team is of more importance than the mission objective you are charged with.” Sam leaned forward, fixing Ethan with an eye that was at once empathetic and brutally pragmatic. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the concept of a black operation is to embark on an undertaking that, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, has not been planned nor actually occurs. Black operators, to all intents and purposes, do not exist.”
“So,” Ethan replied, his voice as cold and hard as granite, “Bretta goes down, the United States D.O.D gets themselves a shiny new scientist to help them lead the way on the next round of tactical nuclear weapons development and you get another person to invite over for Christmas. That about sum it up?”
Sam sighed wearily and ran a hand through her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose. Then she said, “I shouldn’t have to say this to you, but I want you to understand I’m on your side. Always.”
She opened her eyes and gazed at him through the high-def screen. Ethan could make out a slightly beseeching aspect to her gaze, as if she was asking him silently for some sort of benediction––a sign that what she was doing was right.
“I know that she’s my cousin, but she really could change the way the world produces and consumes nuclear energy,” Sam continued. “The knowledge she possesses about this new way to refine uranium is as dangerous as it is miraculous. Know this though; because she is family, you can bet your ass I’m going to do everything I can to shield her from the US government. I’m going to make it my mission to keep her off their radar so that this new science of hers can be utilized in civilian applications only.”
Her wording plucked at a string in Ethan’s cynical psyche.
“Sam,” he said, slowly, “this is a sanctioned op, isn’t it? The Secretary of Defense is aware of what’s going on, right?”
Sam’s face stiffened into a world-class poker mask. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”
Ethan flopped back on the couch. “I can’t just leave Maelstrom here, Black Swan.”
Sam pursed her lips, but said nothing.
“As far as the ground goes, Spain is pretty neutral territory,” Ethan said, almost speaking to himself more than anything. “If we were going to get Maelstrom back, Barcelona would be the place to do it. Especially because this virus is going to be hampering the Kidon getting her out of the country just as it will us.”
Sam raised her eyebrows in the facial equivalent of a shrug. “We’re not going to be trading or negotiating with them in any way. Kiana is the priority. The only priority.”
A thick and thoughtful silence fell then. Ethan knew that, if you left it long enough, normally the other person would say something to fill a silence like that. He hoped that Sam would crack and fill it with what he hoped to hear.
Eventually, she gave vent to an exasperated sigh. “Goddamn you, Copperhead, fine. If you’re able to find Bretta, you have my permission to attempt an extraction.”
Ethan met her gaze, his own eyes burning with rapidly building motivation. Sam must have seen this because she quickly added, “But, you will not act if it means putting the package in any sort of danger. In fact, you won’t move from where you are until I give you the word. I’ll call you back soon with details on an exfil point for the scientist. Do you copy that?”
“Copy, loud and clear,” Ethan said.
“You don’t leave that hotel until I call you with the exfil, Copperhead,” Sam said, using his name like a sledgehammer to drive her point home. “We get the package out of there. That’s first and foremost.”
“Okay,” Ethan replied. “And after she’s safe and in your custody?”
“Well, I’d say, happy hunting to you.”
“But you won’t actively help?” Ethan pressed.
“I won’t actively make promises that I can’t keep,” Sam said.
Ethan set his teeth and nodded. “Well if that’s all, I suppose I’ll wait by the phone for you to let us know about the exfil.”
Sam nodded. “You know, if you manage to find her, I hope you come down hard on them.”
Ethan smiled grimly. “Like a redwood falling through a forest.”
21
The morning crawled on. Ethan found himself sitting by the window, staring out into the blank, white sky. His whole being, his immediate future, seemed to have been put on pause while he waited for his phone to ring. Every now and again, he looked up at the annoyingly minimalist clock that hung over the bedroom door. All the numerals were represented by single slivers of burnished aluminum, and it took Ethan a few seconds to figure out what the hell the time actually was when he glanced at it. This, for some reason, became more and more irritating as the minutes went by.
Outside, in the street, Barcelona was in the midst of unprecedented changes. His window afforded him only limited visibility, but even Ethan had noticed the stepping up of police patrols, the way people hurried about their business, the dark windows of the many closed shops, restaurants and bars that should have been open and bustling. He compared it to the mental picture of the Barcelona that he had formed throughout his life, even though he had never visited the city before––the bustling streets thronged with tourists and locals alike, drinking wine, laughing, yelling, sharing plates of delicious tapas, joking and loving.
Ethan turned away from the window and sat with his half-finished breakfast and pondered on what the hell he and William could really hope to achieve if they found out where the Kidon were holed up with Bretta.
And that, he thought, is one hell of a big ‘if’.
Exactly how he hoped to track down the most elite hit-team that the state of Israel trained and made use of was a question that he had not even tried to consider just yet. It was a––not to put too fine a point on it––unfathomably hard task.
You don’t even have a lead, he told himself, brutally. You don’t even have anything that resembles a lead.
All he had was a Land Rover Discovery 3. Did he have plates? No. Did he even have a color? No, not definitely––it could have been dark green, black or dark blue. What were the chances that that vehicle was stolen or unregistered or currently residing at the bottom of the El Llobregat or the Besòs?
Through the goddamn roof, he answered himself.
Ethan took a sip of his café con leche and tried to reconcile himself with the fact that he and William, if they even received word of Kiana’s extraction point from Sam within the six-hour window, would be hunting three very sharp needles in one enormous haystack. Barcelona was a city of five and a half million people––with about one and a half million of them living within the city limits––about seven-hundred and thirty thousand homes and covered an area of one-hundred and two square kilometers.
There was, in short, a lot of places that the Kidon could be lying low.
Slowly, it dawned on Ethan that there was really only one option available to him if he wanted any shot at seeing Bretta alive
again.
I’m going to have to arrange a bogus trade.
The very thought of attempting something like that with a team like the Kidon filled Ethan with doubt. What with the Mossad’s ability to get a hold of counter-intelligence, the Kidon’s own instincts when it came to being double-crossed and the counter-measures they might employ to ensure that they weren’t, Ethan had serious reservations any such plan would work.
Still, already his mind was whirling with the possibilities. He would have to organize a van to meet him and William in the loading bay of the hotel to prevent the Kidon from seeing that Kiana was not with them.
Because there is no way in hell that Sam is going to let this woman play the role of bait. Not by a long shot.
Ethan chewed his tongue. Even if the Kidon took the proffered bait, all that staging a fake trade would do, really, was buy him a little time.
Chances are, even if they turn up at the meet, they’re going to have one of their team ready to put a nine-mil in Bretta’s head as soon as it looks like we’ve screwed them. Either that or a sniper covering the meeting ground.
Still, given the timeframe they had and the lack of resources, it was the only realistic course of action available that Ethan could see.
And this all hinges on the supposition that Bretta is still in the city.
The fact the city was heading towards a total lock down was going to make transporting anyone––particularly someone as vicious and angry as Bretta was bound to be––quite a headache. It was not so much the concealing and moving of a prisoner that would be the hard part. Ethan didn’t doubt that the Mossad hit-team had access to a range of intravenous anesthetics that Bretta would not be capable of resisting. It was more the moving about the city without being flagged and pulled over by the Guardia Urbana that would present the problems.
Boiling Point (An Ethan Galaal Thriller Book 4) Page 19