by Brent Towns
“Roger that. There’s an area large enough for an LZ about one klick to your south. Move the team there and make contact.”
“Roger.”
“Kane?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What happened to Keller?”
“He’s buried under two floors of rubble, General. Nothing we could do about that.”
“I’ll see if I can work something out to get him back. Bravo out.”
The team made the rendezvous without further incidents. The last two Hellfire missiles had taken all the fight out of Basilio Costa’s men. However, it hadn’t done so for the mayor of Rio, who was demanding that they all leave his city, or they would be arrested.
When the team returned to the compound, they went straight to Doc Morales for examinations. Once they were done and cleared, they gathered in the ops center for debriefing. Cara was still in pain from the hit to her back, as was Troy from the round in his body armor. In one way or another, each team member required some form of attention.
“You all look like shit,” Thurston said.
“Yeah, well…” Cara said.
Kane gave her a sideways glance, and that was all it took for him to recognize what was coming.
The general said, “If you’ve got something to say, do it now.”
“All right, I will. That bullshit out there could have been fucking avoided.” There was fire in Cara’s eyes. Some came from the burning pain in her back, but most of it was from the anger she felt. “You were told what Keller was like. He just came in here, threw his weight around, and completely fucked up when all he had to do was consult with us. He almost got us all killed in the process, mind you. That is on you, General.”
“Are you done?” Thurston asked.
Kane stepped forward. “Hold up. If you want to blame someone, blame me. If I hadn’t done what I did, this would never have happened.”
Cara turned her hot gaze on him. “I’ll get to you later.”
Kane held up both of his hands and took a step back.
She turned her stare back on the general. Thurston nodded. “All right, I’ll wear it. Not my finest hour, and I apologize for it. But now we’ve got to move on, so if anyone else wants to get something off their chest, do it now. I won’t tolerate it later.”
Axe put his hand up.
Thurston’s eyes narrowed. “Except you.”
“I was just going to ask if we’ve had news about Knocker?”
“Nothing as yet.”
Silence.
Thurston sighed. “All right then, let me bring you up to speed with what’s happening. First off, we’re under orders from the mayor to get out of the city. For the time being, I’ve chosen to ignore those orders, but I can’t for too long. Secondly, the lay of the land has changed somewhat. This morning while you all were out playing with the natives, Alfredo Costa was found tortured to death in a hotel suite rented by this woman.”
The team looked at the picture on the screen. By now, she was familiar.
“That’s her, isn’t it?” Axe asked.
“Yes. Our friend from Chechnya. The one we’ve been trying to track.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“We have a theory,” Ferrero answered. “We think she came here for one job and ended up with two. Right now, we’re trying to work out what her primary was.”
“I get that she killed Costa,” Kane said. “It has all the hallmarks of a hostile takeover, but why torture him?”
“Money,” the former DEA agent said, rubbing his fingertips together in the universal sign. “Costa was known to have cash stashed everywhere.”
“If he was one mission, that would make us the second,” Cara theorized.
“The attack on the compound pretty much confirmed that. Plus, every one of the dead we’ve been able to identify is former British military.”
Troy said, “Wait up. Have the Brit military records been checked for the woman’s identity? If the guys who work for her are Brits, surely she is too.”
“I’ve checked and come up blank,” Swift said.
“What about their security services?”
“Yes, nothing there either.”
“What about their black ops?”
“Yes, nada.”
“What’s the matter, Troy?” Kane asked.
“Something doesn’t add up. The woman is a ghost, which says she has training. She can live in plain sight without triggering anything like facial recognition and other red-flag security measures. She’s a Brit—best guess—and she runs her people like a military officer. Throw in that she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty, and she has spook written all over her. So why can’t you find her in the Security Service files?”
“Because she’s either dead or disavowed,” Cara said, leaning forward in her seat.
“Shit, shit, fuck!” Thurston growled, drawing all eyes in the room toward her.
“Something wrong, Mary?” Ferrero asked.
“We’ve all been thinking it, Luis. Is it too much to hope they’ve gone away?”
“I gather you’re talking Cabal?”
“Who do we know that was Security Service, head of special operations, and high up in the Cabal?”
“She’s dead, Mary.”
“No, we think she’s dead. You know what those bastards are like.”
“But we froze all their accounts. They’ve got no access to money.”
“That we know of. Everything we’ve tied her to of late ran into big dollars. We know how much the Yakuza paid and killing Costa would have paid a pretty penny too. She tortured him to find out where he hid his money, and then there was the attack on our compound. The bitch is building up a bank account to bring the Cabal back out of the darkness. The question is, who would pay the amount of money she would command to take us off the board?”
“That could be anyone from a hundred different countries,” Brick said.
“I can think of someone,” Cara said. “Gustaw Marek.”
“You think he’s crawled out of his hole?” Ferrero asked.
“We always knew he would. Maybe he’s got the money to do it.”
“I just thought of something,” Kane said. “What if she’s behind Knocker going missing? If she’s after all of us, why not him too?”
Thurston shook her head. “Knocker wasn’t with us when we took down Marek’s empire. No, his disappearance has something to do with what he’s working on.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I could be wrong, too. Slick, do you feel up to juggling a couple of things?”
“It’s what I do best,” the redheaded tech announced proudly.
“Look into Mosul. Find anything you can that might help. Also, I need a surveillance package for the op tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What op?” Kane asked.
“We’re going after Basilio Costa. We have intel that he has a meeting tonight at a club he owns in downtown.”
Kane looked at his team. “They’re in no shape for an op tonight, ma’am.”
“Agreed. That’s why it’ll be you and Brooke. You go in, neutralize the target, and get out.”
“It’s a hit?”
“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”
Kane knew what she was getting at. “No problem, ma’am. What will we have for backup?”
“Oh, no. You don’t get backup. This time you’re on your own. This thing is off the books.” She looked at her watch. “As of five minutes ago, we’re not even in this country.”
“Fuck.”
Luzes da Cidade Nightclub, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
As Kane and Reynolds joined the long line of partygoers, she leaned close to Kane and whispered into his ear, “I’ve never felt more exposed.”
He grinned. “You mean the dress or the lineup?”
“Both.”
Reynolds wore a short black dress that barely covered her buttocks. The neckline plunged just below her navel. The
swell of her breasts was exposed, and the fabric only just covered her nipples. Her long dark hair hung down her back, and the earrings and makeup she wore had her looking somewhere between high-class and a high-class hooker. Kane said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“What?”
“Where the hell have you got your gun?”
“Don’t ask. It’s easy for you.”
This was true. Kane wore a T-Shirt and jeans, so hiding his weapon had been easy. The only problem was getting past security, but BOPE had seen to that by putting one of their UCs on the door. Supposedly.
The line crept closer to the main doors, with each reveler being checked before they entered. Kane looked at his watch. They’d been in line for around twenty minutes, and judging by the speed it was going, it would be at least another twenty.
“You,” a heavily accented voice called.
Natural instinct told him to look in the direction it came from, but Kane kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.
“You,” the voice said again. This time, however, it was more demanding.
Kane looked to his left and saw a thickset man wearing a suit staring at him. “You talking to me?”
He nodded. “Yes. You and her. Come with me.”
Kane glanced at Reynolds. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “What can go wrong?”
“You’ve spent way too much time with Axe.”
She smiled at him. “Come on, honey. Let’s see what the nice man wants.”
They stepped out of line and joined the man, who waited for them on the pavement. Under the streetlamp, Kane could see the sweat on the man’s brow, which reminded him about the humidity of the night air. The man nodded and said, “Follow me.”
He took them past the line to the main doors, where two armed men stood blatantly not concealing their MAC-10 machine pistols. They stepped aside and let them through, and no attempt was made to search them.
Inside the place was jumping. The music was loud, and sweaty bodies were jammed together. Many of the guys inside were without shirts, and the women seemed to have discarded theirs as well. Reynolds leaned close to Kane’s ear. “I feel overdressed.”
They were taken into a small, sterile room. There was nothing on the walls, no cameras, just two chairs and a metal desk. Kane tensed. “What are we doing in here? What’s going on?”
The man said, “I will make this quick. Basilio Costa is in the far-right corner of the club, meeting with a woman. They both have bodyguards and—”
“How many?” Kane asked.
“Two each.”
“The woman has six,” Reynolds corrected.
The man’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“There is no way she would come in here with only two guards. I made out two near the dancefloor on the way in here.”
The man looked at Kane, who nodded. “If she says six, there are six. How many more shooters does Costa have?”
“Two with him, two outside, and two more at the bar.”
“Bullshit.”
Once more, their insider was surprised by the response. Kane continued. “This is his place. There is no way he has only six shooters here.”
The man’s eyes darted toward the closed door as he licked his lips with a nervous look on his face. Suddenly Kane realized why he was sweating so much. They’d walked into a trap. “Shit!” he growled and drew his weapon from behind his back. “Prepare for incoming, Brooke.”
Kane placed the barrel of the M17 against the forehead of the startled man. “They know, don’t they.”
“Know what?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.
Kane put his hand to his earbud. “Bravo, we’ve walked into a trap.”
“Copy, Reaper. What’s the plan?”
He looked at Reynolds, who now had her weapon in her hand. She nodded, answering the unspoken question. Kane said, “We’re going for the target. Be advised this may be a strikeout.”
“Negative, Reaper. Advise you to withdraw. We can do this another day.”
Kane thought for a moment. “Wait one, ma’am.”
He reached into his pocket and took out his cell, then flicked through it until a picture of the mysterious woman appeared. He turned it so the man who’d brought them to the room could see it. “Is this the woman he’s with?”
The man said nothing, just stared at the cell. Kane lifted his handgun again and pressed it hard to the man’s head. “Answer the fucking question.”
The man nodded. “Yes, yes. That is her.”
“Bravo, we have confirmation that there are two targets on-site. One of them is the woman.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not until I lay eyes on her.”
“It’s up to you, Reaper.”
“We’re going for it. Reaper out.”
“Reaper,” Reynolds said, “there is the slight problem of a packed dancefloor.”
“That’s why we need to separate them.”
“How?”
“I have a plan.”
Kane followed the man through the crowd as he led him toward where Costa and the others were seated in the far corner of the room. The man had taken some convincing, but he’d been persuaded after a couple of minutes.
Basilio Costa saw them coming and straightened in his seat. He removed his arm from around a woman Kane recognized as the porn actress he was seeing on the side. He said something, and the woman opposite him turned her head. Kane recognized her. Ellen Grayson was alive and well. He mumbled under his breath, “Bravo, I have eyes on Ellen Grayson, over.”
“Copy, Reaper. You have eyes on Ellen Grayson.”
He stopped short of the table and glanced at the people staring at him. Two were white males. He guessed they were Brits, part of the bodyguard detail for Grayson. The other two were with Costa. Then there was the mistress, who he’d already figured out.
The fire alarm sounded, and the music stopped. The DJ started directing the patrons toward the fire doors, urging them to go calmly. Soon the club was empty of patrons and staff. The only ones left were Costa, Grayson, and the bodyguards—all ten of them.
Costa said, “I was told you would not be able to resist. It seems I was told right.”
“How’s your brother?” Kane asked. “Last I heard, he was a little cut up.”
“It is what it is,” Costa said nonchalantly.
“Those hostile takeovers can be a real bitch,” Kane stated. “Speaking of which, how are you, Ellen? Long time no see.”
“Mister Kane. I’m glad you could join us. I’ve a lot of money at stake with your team.”
“Trying to get the old gang back together, Ellen?”
She gave him a cold smile. “The old gang never went away. I do wish we had more time to catch up, but you know how it is.”
“I guess so. Although I’m interested in who paid all that money to have you take us off the board. We thought it might have been Gustaw Marek.”
“He really doesn’t like you. Did you know that?”
“Yeah, kind of comes with the territory of killing his son.”
“He’s willing to part with fifty million.”
“Wow, there’s a lot of hate there.” Kane shook his head, considering the contract.
“Yes, I got a lot less for Knocker.”
Kane’s blood ran cold. “Knocker? Knocker wasn’t with us when we hit Marek.”
“No, he wasn’t, was he? That’s why our friendly neighborhood Ghost has him.”
It felt like a blow to the guts, but he wasn’t about to let her see it. He figured back at the ops center, the others were scrambling to try to make sense of what she’d said. “So, where is the rest of your team?” Grayson asked.
“They’re within listening distance.”
She held out her hand. Kane removed his earpiece and handed it over. She put it into her ear and said, “Did you get everything?”
“And then some,” Thurston replied.
“You know we’ll find you all eventual
ly, don’t you?”
“You won’t have to look too far,” Thurston replied.
The room erupted as a flashbang grenade exploded, catching everyone, including Kane, by surprise. His ears rang as he crouched, vision blurred. Through its ear-piercing shriek, he heard automatic weapons fire. Instinctively, he reached behind him and felt for his M17, then brought it around and up. In front of him stood a shooter, one of Basilio’s. He had a MAC-10 pointed at Kane, and Reaper knew there was nothing he could do to stop the man from firing.
The would-be shooter’s head snapped back as a hole appeared in his forehead. Kane glanced back and saw Arenas standing there in full armor with an HK416 to his shoulder. He glanced at Kane and said, “Come on, amigo. Time to earn your pay.”
Kane could not hear shit. “What?”
“Work.”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Whatever.”
Kane turned and searched for Grayson, but she was nowhere to be seen. No doubt her escort had gotten her out as soon as things kicked off. Basilio was still seated on the lounge with his mistress. He had a hole in his chest and another in his head.
Gunfire filled the nightclub as the team mopped up. It was a good thing the firefight wasn’t any larger because Kane was still screwed up from the flashbang.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Thurston appeared beside Kane. “You alright, Reaper?”
“I sure as shit had my bell rung,” he growled.
“Sorry about that.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Thought you might need backup, so we came along.”
“We?”
“Carlos, me, and Teller.”
“I had it under control. What about Grayson?”
“She’s in the wind.”
“Did you hear what she said about Knocker?” Kane asked.
“Yes.”
“We have to do something to find him.”
“And we will, along with Marek. But right now, we have to get out of here before the police arrive. You good to go?”
“Yes. Where’s Reynolds?”
“I’m here.”
He turned to see her standing nearby. “You alright?”