Imminent Threat

by Jeff Gunhus

  “Like hell you will,” she said. “Hardly worth protecting myself up to this point just to hand over my gun after you bring us behind closed doors.”

  The man stared her down, a menacing look that likely made most people on the other end of it cower. It had no effect on Anna.

  “Wait here,” the driver grumbled.

  The man in the passenger seat continued to glare at them, his body turned to better cover them with the shotgun he’d shown them earlier.

  Mara knew the status quo in the car wouldn’t change until the driver returned with some kind of verdict from Kolonov. She watched as he entered the house, leaving the door open. It was less than a minute before Kolonov himself appeared. He looked more like a banker than the head of security for a Central American drug cartel—tailored designer suit that he wore open collar, slicked back hair, gold jewelry, skin a dark tan.

  “What does your father say? ‘Showtime’?” Anna said.

  He did say that. She found herself wondering about when he would join them and what he would find when he got to Prague. She just hoped he wouldn’t be searching for her body to bring back home.

  “Showtime,” she agreed, opening the door.

  Kolonov stood in front of the still-open door. A casual glance around the courtyard showed at least three men in the windows standing guard. No wonder he’d allowed them to keep their weapons. Any move against him would be suicide. He must have felt confident enough that neither she nor Anna was willing to trade their lives for his.

  Perhaps he possessed an accurate sense of his relative importance to the world’s intelligence agencies. He was a bad actor, but not one worth too much effort or sacrifice to bring to heel. If he were killed, someone else just as ruthless would just fill his spot.

  “Ladies,” Kolonov said, opening his arms wide as if he were welcoming longtime friends. His English was very good, but had an odd accent to it, all at once Spanish and Russian. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  Two men appeared from inside the house carrying chairs. They set them around a stone table near the fountain. Kolonov motioned them to the table and waited for them both to sit.

  “Water? Tea?” he asked. “Something stronger?”

  “Have you had any contact with Jacobslav Scarvan?” Mara asked.

  Kolonov grimaced but gave a short nod. They would get down to business. “How can you be sure Scarvan is alive?”

  “I spoke directly to Viktor Belchik,” Mara said. “He told me Scarvan visited him. After he poisoned him with radiation, he systematically killed a member of Belchik’s family every other day. Does that sound like Scarvan to you?”

  Mara felt Anna’s eyes on her but kept hers on Kolonov.

  “This is why you killed Belchik,” Kolonov said. “A mercy.”

  “I heard he passed away after we left him. It was someone’s mercy. Not mine.”

  “Your father’s, then?” Kolonov asked.

  “What does it matter?” Anna said, injecting herself into the conversation. “Belchik is dead. You know what happened in Paris. Nochek is dead. Many others who have crossed Scarvan are dead. You’re still alive.”

  “For now,” Mara said.

  If Kolonov was rattled, he didn’t show it. The only tell he had was a slow tapping on the table in front of him with a single finger.

  “I wronged Scarvan, this is true. But only because it was my duty to follow orders from my superiors.”

  “Scarvan launched an RPG into Tour d’Argent in broad daylight to kill another man who was just following orders,” Mara said.

  “Seems like he doesn’t accept that as an excuse,” Anna said.

  Kolonov added a second finger to his tapping.

  “If you are correct, then why wouldn’t I just get back on my plane and go back to Central America? Disappear into the jungle until this blows over? Let you Americans deal with this shit?”

  Mara leaned forward, whispering as if Scarvan might be just around the corner listening to them. “You left the jungle and came to Prague just when it was your turn on Scarvan’s list. Do you think that’s a coincidence? Because I don’t. Whoever you trusted that brought you here is someone whose trust I would rethink.”

  For the first time, Kolonov looked rattled. He scanned the four walls around them in the courtyard as if seeing it as a trap rather than a protective cocoon.

  This time it was Anna who leaned forward. “Why did you come to Prague? Who sent for you? Because whoever it was threw you right in front of a train hurtling toward you. And we all know there’s only one way to stop a train like that.”

  Kolonov pushed himself away from the table and stood. The waters on the table sloshed in their glasses, spilling onto the stone. “I’m going to make a few calls.”

  As he turned to walk into the house, Mara called out, “Don’t take too long. Scarvan could be a day away from attacking or minutes.” She spoke loudly so her voice carried up to Kolonov’s men in the windows above them. “The sooner you can wrap your head around the idea that you need our help, the better chance all of us have of not dying simply because we were too close to you.”

  Kolonov looked as if he might say something more but thought better of it. He pulled a phone from his jacket pocket and went inside.

  “Clever,” Anna whispered. “Puts a bit of pressure on him and makes him paranoid about who in his organization set him up.”

  “Not that clever,” Mara said, pouring herself another glass of water. “Just true. If Scarvan’s going to blow this place up with another RPG or drop a payload from a drone into this courtyard while we’re here chatting, I’ll be pissed off if I die trying to talk sense into that idiot.”

  “Who do you think set him up?”

  “Don’t know,” Mara said. “But I’m thinking more and more that some old friends might be behind the scenes pulling the strings on this one. If I know Hawthorn and my dad, they are already working on that angle.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Scott felt his stomach turn as he rode through the streets of Prague.

  When he was a younger man, he’d prided himself on being able to compartmentalize his emotions during an operation. His world became the mission and nothing else. Every second boiled down to a calculation of risk and reward.

  Consequences be damned.

  But over time, the consequences had added up. A teetering pile of memories, regrets, even guilt.

  He understood those three things were inextricably linked. Not from the CIA shrink he was required to attend periodically to check up on his mental well-being. That process was a farce, and everyone involved knew it. The questions in those sessions were basic and the answers came from agents professionally trained to lie convincingly.

  The only breakthroughs in those sessions were when an agent wanted to be done with the field. The fastest way to wash out was to answer the questions truthfully. To admit to the dark demons, the blood lust to avenge fallen comrades, the cynicism about America and her leaders. The conversations were “privileged,” but it wasn’t hard to understand how far that privilege extended. Basically, to whoever in the chain of command wanted to read the transcript or view the session video.

  But Scott was self-aware enough to know he had issues to resolve. The tough-guy persona worked as the outward-facing version of himself, but that did nothing to make the sleepless nights go away.

  Quietly, he’d read up on the subject. Treating his own mental health as just another problem to solve. From that, he’d come to at least intellectually understand the power of traumatic memories. How they even have a physiological component, etching into the brain like the wood-burning tools he’d used as a kid. Those traumatic memories hovered on the edge of consciousness, ready to crash through with little or no trigger. They were layered with regret, the desire to rethink the event, always asking what could have been done differently.

  There were religious adherents who practiced self-flagellation, whipping themselves with knotted cords until their backs turned slick wi
th blood. There were no scars on Scott’s back, but he was a master at whatever the mental equivalent was of slashing open his skin daily.

  He curled both of his hands into fists, allowing the rage and sense of betrayal to fill him. Then, with a flick of his wrists, he opened his hands, fingers splayed.

  Release.

  It was a cheap trick, the kind he used to roll his eyes at. But damn if it didn’t make him feel better.

  If nothing else, it signaled his brain to focus back on the matter at hand. The nightmares and recrimination would be there waiting for him later; they didn’t need his constant attention.

  He pulled out his phone. Hawthorn answered on the first ring.

  “We have a recording of Kolonov being told to come to Prague,” he said. The call was piped through the car’s speakers, so Hawthorn sounded like the voice of God.

  “Tell him who found it,” came Jordi’s voice from somewhere in the same room as Hawthorn.

  “Send the information to Scott’s phone.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  Scott grinned. Hawthorn and Jordi had become Alpha Team’s odd couple. Their interaction felt like it might be penance for something Hawthorn had done earlier in his life.

  “Here, you’re on speaker,” Hawthorn said.

  “Scott, Jordi here. Can you believe the conditions I’m working under?”

  Scott made the turn to parallel the river and go down to the Legion Bridge. He’d already received the coordinates of the building where Anna Beliniski had taken Mara to meet with Kolonov.

  Anna. That was another complicating factor. He wondered how she and Mara had hit it off. Either as fast friends or not at all. He doubted there would be any middle ground with their two personalities.

  “What’d you find out, Jordi?”

  “I isolated the call traffic between Prague and Medellin, Kolonov’s last known whereabouts. Came up empty. So, I broadened the search, expanding out in hundred-kilometer sets from Prague, until I—”

  “What did you find, not how did you find. Let’s skip to the end where you have information for me,” Scott said. He’d been on the receiving end of Jordi’s lectures on his brilliant craftwork before, and they were never short.

  “If you want to take all the fun out of it.”

  “I do.”

  A heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “All right, I just sent you an audio file. The guys here haven’t been able to place it yet. A couple of low-probability hits, but I don’t think they have it yet.”

  Scott’s phone pinged with a message. He opened it and played the audio file, turning up the car speakers. The recording had some static, a residue Scott knew was the result of decryption technology. The criminals of the world thought their encrypted calls were risk-free. What they didn’t know is that most encryption technology had the CIA’s hands all over them, ensuring they were built with backdoor access whenever Uncle Sam’s interests were deemed to be at stake. The privacy groups would have a field day with that one if they ever found out, but they liked not being blown up by terrorists as well.

  “My benefactor will guarantee your safety and double your fee,” came the voice over the speakers. Scott turned the volume down just a little, finding the balance between maximum volume and minimal distortion. “Prague. Tomorrow. We’ll contact you once you land.”

  He knew the voice. The last time he’d heard it, the man had bested him in a fight in the middle of the National Mall. As sirens closed in on their position, the man could have finished him off, but instead chose to let him go. Not out of mercy, but because Scott had been injured before their fight, and the man wanted Scott’s best. Wanted to prove he was better.

  It was another moment that had been haunting him. Scott had faced down death more times than he could recall, but this one had been different. He’d been totally exposed, at the mercy of the assassin in front of him. This time he’d felt the potential to lose his new connection with Mara, with his grandson, Joey. And it shook him.

  And now here he was.

  “Asset,” Scott said. “That’s the Omega operative from the National Mall.”

  Another voice was in the car now; this one had an odd Russian accent. Kolonov. “. . . not a good time for me right now. Perhaps in two weeks.”

  Asset returned. “My benefactor does not like to be told no and he does not like to wait.”

  “I have responsibilities here. My employer would not——”

  “You will find your current employer has no more need for you this week. If you refuse to come to Prague, no further employment will be available to you from this point forward. Perhaps this doesn’t matter to you. Perhaps you are ready to retire to a house on the beach and live out the rest of your days in obscurity. If that’s the way you think things will end.”

  “This call is over,” Kolonov said.

  “I suggest you call your current employer and see if I’m right. I’ll see you in Prague tomorrow.”

  The recording ended.

  “He must not have liked what he heard when he spoke to his employer because six hours after this call he was on an airplane for Prague,” Hawthorn said. “This was the same operative that was activated in DC. He’s good. Very good. In Paris, a team was taken out right before Scarvan’s RPG attack. They’re working together.”

  Scott tried to think through the new information. Driving the busy street actually helped him, occupying part of his brain so the other could work through all the iterations of what could be going on.

  “After what he’s been through, do you think Scarvan would join another organization? Subject himself to another hierarchy?”

  “Sounds like you don’t think so,” Hawthorn said.

  “No, I’m convinced he found God on Mount Athos. And not the charitable, forgiving God of the New Testament, either. His God is filled with vengeance and retribution. He believes his actions will bring about Armageddon. I don’t think this guy joins a new team.”

  Jordi jumped in. “Omega’s helping him without being asked.”

  “Or, at the minimum, soft coordination,” Scott said. “I don’t think Omega is pulling the strings.”

  “But they are making sure no one gets in Scarvan’s way,” Hawthorn said.

  Scott agreed. “That gives him access to funds, materials, transportation, even men if he needs them. As if it were possible, he just got a lot more dangerous. Does Mara know?”

  “She suspected after Paris,” Hawthorn said. “But we just got this intercept. Once Mara made contact with Anna Beliniski, she’s been dark.”

  “This puts Omega right in the middle of this,” Scott said. “We have to stop Scarvan when he comes for Kolonov, or we’re in for a world of hurt.”

  His phone vibrated and he glanced at the screen. “Putting you on hold,” he said, not waiting for them to acknowledge. He switched to the incoming call. “Nice of you to finally call your old man.”

  “Nice of you to wrap up your vacation in the Greek Islands,” Mara said.

  “Now we can vacation together. Anything fun planned?” he asked.

  “Actually, I’m here with Kolonov. He’s decided he would like to join us. Maybe together we can catch a bad guy.”

  Scott fist pumped the air, enjoying both the good news and his pride in Mara getting the job done.

  “I’m only five minutes out from your location. Do you already have a plan how we’re going to lure Scarvan in?”

  “Just a second,” Mara said.

  There were muffled sounds. Men shouting. Mara said something, but not to him.

  He turned up the volume, so the sounds filled the car.

  Pfutt pfutt pfutt.

  Small-arms fire.

  An explosion.

  A man screaming.

  “Mara? What’s happening?”

  “Shit,” Mara said. “Scarvan’s here.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Mara ran to the nearest doorway, her Glock in her hand. She ducked inside, back to the wall.

  Anna a
ppeared in the same doorway, taking position on the opposite side. Gun also pulled.

  “How many did you see?” Anna asked. All business. Not a trace of panic in her voice.

  “None,” Mara said. “You?”

  “Saw two men down. Didn’t see how many shooters.”

  “There might only be one.”

  Anna’s expression turned incredulous. “Scarvan wouldn’t do a one-man assault on this location, would he? Makes no sense.”

  “We didn’t think he’d do it, so maybe that’s why it make perfect sense,” Mara said. “My dad’s a few minutes out, but this might all be done by the time he gets here. We need Kolonov. Where is he?”

  Anna pointed across the courtyard to the opposite site of the U-shaped building. “He went through that door. Come on.”

  They fell into a two-person room-clearing movement, working their way through the building. Mara felt in her gut that Scarvan was attacking on his own, but that didn’t mean he was the only danger. Kolonov’s men were likely to shoot at anyone who wasn’t one of their own. For all she knew, Kolonov might have thought he’d been betrayed and given an order for her and Anna to be shot on sight.

  Gunfire raged on the floor above them but also from the third story on the other side of the courtyard.

  Either she’d been wrong and there was more than one attacker or Kolonov’s men were panicking. Firing at shadows and any movement.

  Anna took position beside the door leading to the next room while Mara covered their rear. She risked a quick look and pulled back just as the wooden frame splintered in a hail of bullets.

  “Found him,” she said to Mara.

  “How many?”

  Anna held up two fingers. Then, loud enough to get his attention but hopefully not give away their position if Scarvan was close by she said, “Kolonov, let’s help each other.”

  “You bitches set me up,” he snapped.

  “You really think we had a tactical team come charging in, guns blazing, while we were still here?” Mara said. “Think about it. It’s Scarvan. Either alone or with a team. And he’s not here to get me.”