by Brad Taylor
Wolffe took a seat behind the wheel of his car and said, “Whoa. Come on. Let’s not go all conspiracy theory here.”
“Sir, I’m telling you this is planned. Someone down here is feeding that narrative. It’s not in Charleston. They’re trying to get us to quit.”
Wolffe started the car and exited the airport, saying, “Pike, I think that’s a bit much.” He heard Pike start to protest and cut him off, saying, “What do you have? What’s the point of this call?”
Pike told him, and Wolffe couldn’t believe how quickly he’d become operational. But he should have known when he’d allowed him to go. Turning Pike loose was guaranteed to get results. All that remained was whether the results were something anyone wanted.
Wolffe heard the words coming out of the phone and almost rear-ended a car trying to get onto Interstate 26. He slammed on the brakes and said, “Wait, wait, stop. You have a Russian contractor under your control?”
“Yes. He’s in the trunk of my car.”
“Jesus Christ, Pike, what are you doing?”
“I’m saving Knuckles and Brett, that’s what I’m fucking doing. And I need your help to do it.”
Wolffe said nothing, entering the flow of traffic toward Charleston. He heard, “Hello? You still there?”
Finally, he said, “What do you need? You said no operators. I can’t give you manpower.”
“I don’t need manpower. I need the U.S. State Department. There are U.S. citizens who are hostages on that ferry, and I’m betting the State Department is involved. Have we offered the Brazilian authorities military assistance? Given them advice on how to solve the problem?”
“Pike, I have no idea. That’s not what we do.”
“Well, it’s what we do now. I need to get in to the head man. The guy running the show, and I need to do it in the next four hours.”
Wolffe looked at his watch and said, “Pike, it’s after five here. After six your time. There’s no way that’s happening. Everyone’s gone home.”
Even as he said it, he remembered Amanda Croft’s words. Pike said, “I don’t give a shit what time it is. Jesus Christ, this isn’t a nine-to-five problem. There’s a crisis down here, and I can solve it. I promise the crisis response cell here in Salvador didn’t break down at five p.m.”
Wolffe smiled in spite of himself. Before he’d been buried for years in the political world of D.C., trying to get men like Pike the operational authority to work, he’d been operational himself. In truth—like Kurt Hale—he was more Pike Logan than a Senator Covermyass.
Pike started in on another tirade and Wolffe cut him off, saying, “You might be in luck. Let me make some calls. The SECSTATE is on our side.”
He heard Pike exhale, then “Seriously?”
Wolffe laughed and said, “Yeah. Apparently, Amanda Croft has a thing for Knuckles. Which I’m about to use. Stay by your phone.”
Pike said, “Thank you, sir. I can’t keep this guy in my trunk forever, and Jennifer won’t let me kill him.”
Wolffe hung up, wondering what sort of shit storm Pike had started. He thought about the breach of intelligence. In his heart, he knew it wasn’t true, because it was just too crazy. There was no way some staffer on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence was compromised by a Russian influence effort. That was just wild internet ramblings.
But Pike had a supernatural ability to ferret out things like this. Wolffe had seen it in the past, and he’d always been proven correct. If he said he believed it was coming from Brazil, it just might be true.
He crossed the Ravenel bridge, saw joggers and walkers enjoying the view. He envied them. Their biggest worry was the weather. They didn’t have the heavy weight of death on their minds.
He’d hoped this diversion to Charleston would allow him the same experience as the joggers, giving him the chance to relax for a moment. And maybe get a touchstone for Kurt’s death. He’d helped form the Taskforce with Kurt from the ground up, and, while he would never show it, felt Kurt’s death like a brand burning into his skin.
All he wanted was closure. He wanted to believe it was a bad gas line in an old Jeep. Not that someone had hunted Pike and ended up killing Kurt. But if that’s where it led, he wouldn’t shy away. He’d get the vengeance Kurt deserved, regardless of what the Oversight Council said.
And he had a wrecking machine to do it.
Chapter 34
Sergey watched the man leave the house, walking without a care in the world, not looking for the danger he represented. The inside of his car was starting to stink, Gatorade bottles full of piss on the floor and cigarette butts scattered about. Sergey had been in place for over eight hours, and now he finally had what he wanted. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but it was close enough.
He watched the man reach the end of the driveway and thought he wasn’t that much of a threat. He was fit, no doubt, but he didn’t survey his surroundings like a predator. He might be a challenge in a ring, when he knew the attack was coming, but he was too stupid to react to a threat that appeared out of nowhere. Sergey decided his plan was correct.
The man entered a car and drove away.
Sergey clicked his radio and said, “It’s time. Get here.”
He heard, “You said wait for darkness. The sun hasn’t even set. Let’s wait.”
Sergey said, “We don’t know how long that fuck’s going to be gone. Get your ass here. It’s now.”
He heard, “Roger. On the way.”
Ten minutes later a car pulled up with three men inside. Sergey exited his own vehicle and said, “Park it right here. For easy access.”
The men started withdrawing weapons, checking chambers, turning on lasers, and loading magazines. Sergey gave them the time to work, then said, “You ready?”
The lead man nodded, and they walked up to the front door as bold as if they were delivering a UPS package.
Sergey knocked, and the nanny answered. Before she could say a word, he put a barrel into her face. She melted, and they flowed in.
Sergey said, “Where’s the girl?”
The nanny stammered, saying, “She’s not here. She went to play.”
Sergey slapped the barrel into her forehead and said, “Don’t lie to me.”
The younger girl sprang up from behind a couch and tried to run through the open door. He caught her in his arms, whirled her around, and slammed her into a wall.
The men behind him laughed at the display. One closed the door, effectively cutting off any escape.
The girl sat up, holding her head. Sergey walked to her and said, “Lay on your belly.”
She said, “No.”
He raised his pistol, but instead of putting it on her, he aimed at the nanny. She cringed. The girl lay down, the other men pinning her to the floor.
Sergey said, “We don’t want to hurt you.”
The girl fought the men for a moment, then stopped. She said, “You have no idea of the pain you’re asking for.”
In complete control, Sergey leaned down, getting into her face. He was humored by the response. He said, “Really? I don’t?”
She looked at him with unadulterated hatred and said, “Yes. You should leave here now.”
“And why is that?”
She said, “Because I’m family.”
Confused at the answer, and wanting to show he was in control, he slapped her face and stood up, saying, “What’s that got to do with it?”
The girl actually smiled at him, a twisted expression full of rage.
She said, “Everything.”
Chapter 35
I pulled into a small parking lot across the avenue from the naval headquarters, right in front of a decrepit building constructed sometime in the nineteenth century, but now abandoned and rotting from the inside out. It was the closest place I could find without trying to penetrate the police barricade—which, given that they searched every vehicle, made driving right up to the headquarters a nonstarter. I most certainly couldn’t let them find what I h
ad in the trunk. At least not yet. I wasn’t so sure about the safety of the lot, though. There was plenty of space, but no other cars, which had to be for some reason.
I looked at Jennifer and said, “Keep on your toes. Anyone gives you shit, show them your badge and tell them we’re with the U.S. State Department. If it escalates, give me a call.”
She grinned and said, “I think we can handle not getting towed.”
I smiled. “That’s not what I’m worried about. More like another goon squad showing up wanting the car stereo. It’s getting dark, which may be why nobody else is parking here, but you can always sic Carrie on them. They screw with you, turn her loose. It’ll be like Stephen King for real.”
I glanced at Shoshana, waiting on the inevitable give-and-take we always enjoyed. I didn’t get it. She said, “Nephilim, just get us the chance to help the ferry.”
She floated her gaze over me, and all my attempt at humor left. I said, “I will. I promise. Get to work on an assault plan for the convent. Figure out the room from that beacon lock and the best way in. Leverage the asshole in the trunk to confirm.”
Jennifer was already working the issue using satellite imagery, Google Maps, and a reach-back to Creed at our secret Taskforce cell for any blueprints of the church. I said, “Aaron, you ready?”
He said, “Not really. I think maybe you should go in alone.”
I said, “We’ve been over this. Two is better than one. Two experts on counterterrorism, here to give some advice. I go in by myself and I might be shuffled to the back. Two counterterrorism commandos? We’ll look like an official delegation.”
“I’m not American. We start talking tactics, and everyone will know.”
I laughed and said, “Get out of the damn car. Nobody in that room will know the difference between Israeli or American tactics. And I want to team up on the police chief. Trust me.”
He nodded and I said, “At the end of the day, what you know is what I know. There is no difference.”
We exited the car and he said, “You do the talking.”
I said, “Fine by me. Just make sure that badge is visible.”
It had been a whirlwind since I’d tackled the guy in the Michael Jackson house, with me coordinating the exfil of the target, then coordinating for my entrance into the vortex of the hostage rescue of the ferry. I’d originally thought my call to Wolffe would be wasted breath, forcing me to make a choice about killing the asshole we’d captured, but it hadn’t. Amanda Croft had come through.
I hadn’t spoken to her personally, but I would, because her intervention had given us the ability to potentially solve this damn thing. We’d been given U.S. State Department badges, and access to the crisis site, ostensibly as experts in hostage rescue because U.S. citizens were on the ferry.
We’d arrived at the U.S. consulate in Salvador and everyone had looked at us like we were superhuman, breaking open the heavens for help. Amanda’s call had put them all on edge, and we were treated like royalty. I’d taken the badges, turned to leave, and one young girl had stopped me, saying, “You’re here to stop that ferry thing, aren’t you?”
I’d said, “Ferry? What are you talking about? I’m just here for a conference.”
She turned away, embarrassed, and I broke protocol, because if this went bad, at least someone would remember I’d tried.
I touched her arm, she turned around, and I winked, saying, “Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and I said, “Never mind.”
She scurried away, and Jennifer slapped my arm, hissing in my ear, “You are not allowed to talk to Department of State people. Ever again.”
I laughed, exiting the consulate, saying, “We got the badges.”
Now, we were about to use them, but I still didn’t like leaving the car. The final rays of the setting sun were leaving our parking lot in a gloom that wouldn’t matter in the United States, but was asking for trouble in Brazil.
I tapped the driver’s-side window and Jennifer rolled it down. I kissed her on the lips, saying, “See you soon.”
Shoshana flicked her eyes to Aaron, then squinted. He sighed, muttering, “Thanks for that.”
He went forward to the passenger side and did the same. Jennifer looked at me, and I could see the laughter wanting to break out from her eyes. I winked at her, and Shoshana got her kiss.
We walked away and Aaron said, “I’m getting sick of competing with you two.”
I jogged across the avenue and said, “I thought I was the loser in this shit.”
He laughed and said, “You have no idea how much she’s obsessed with you.”
I glanced at him and he said, “In a good way. Trust me.”
We reached the first ring of police and I grinned, saying, “As long as it’s in a good way, I don’t mind.”
A uniformed officer stopped our advance, saying something in Portuguese. I held up my badge and said, “Get me the U.S. State Department liaison.”
He looked at the badge, then at me. He said something into his radio. Thirty seconds later a short, balding man pushed his way through the crowd. He reached us and said, “You the terrorism experts?”
I held up my new badge and said, “Yes.”
He stuck his hand out, saying, “Thank God. Alonzo Walsh, State. I’m in over my head here, barely treading water.”
I shook his hand and said, “I’m Pike Logan. This is Aaron Bergman. We need to see what they have planned.”
He turned and said, “Follow me.”
As we walked up to the front door with him he asked, “Who are you with?”
“Another government agency.”
He glanced at me, but didn’t push it figuring we were CIA.
He opened the door and I saw a whirlwind of activity, men rushing in and out, and a large table in the center of the room strewn with papers and photographs. On the wall behind the table was a map of the harbor, three men pointing at it and talking options.
I said, “Where’s the commander? The guy in charge? I need to meet him.”
Alonzo nodded and said, “Felipe Costa. He’s the commander of the BOPE unit here. Sort of like our SWAT teams. He’s usually in an office down the hall.”
He started walking toward the left, down a narrow corridor adorned with pictures of naval battles and portraits of old dead guys. I asked, “Does he speak English?”
Alonzo stopped at the third door and knocked, saying, “Yes. Pretty well.”
Someone behind the door shouted in Portuguese, and Alonzo opened the door. Seated behind a desk was a man of about forty-five, with a shock of black hair and a pencil mustache. Alonzo introduced us, and I could tell Felipe was annoyed.
He came around the desk and shook our hands, but said, “This is a Brazilian problem. Understand that up front. This is not, nor will not become a United States operation, no matter how many citizens you have on that ferry.”
I turned to Alonzo and said, “We need to speak to Felipe alone, if you don’t mind.”
Alonzo went from me to Felipe, then back to me. He couldn’t decide if he should be insulted or happy. He chose happy, saying, “Fine by me. I want out of this whole mess.”
He left the office, closing the door behind him. Felipe crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I have significant problems here and do not have time to entertain two American FBI agents.”
I don’t know who told him we were FBI, but if he wanted to believe that it was fine by me. I said, “Felipe, we know you have significant problems. Bigger than just some crackpot hijackers. Russian problems.”
His mouth fell open and I said, “I have a Russian in the trunk of my car right now. I want to turn him over to you. Not just to the police, but to someone you trust. Someone who can keep their mouths shut. I know these assholes have leveraged your family for your compliance. I’ll get your family back. In return, you’ll let me and Aaron in on the assault of the ferry. Sound good?”
He was speechless.
/> I said, “Felipe?”
He found his voice and said, “Who are you?”
“Just somebody who hates those Russians as much as you do. Do we have a deal?”
“No. Give me the information. I’ll get my family back my way.”
“Felipe, if this is to work, it has to remain secret. You can’t leave here. How are you going to do that? You’re the commander of the biggest crisis in the country. If the Russians think you’re working against them, they’re liable to cause some other disaster on the ferry. Trust me on this. It’s what I do. I’ll get your family back. You get the Russian in my trunk.”
He considered me for a moment, then somebody stuck his head in the door, rattling off a sentence in Portuguese. Felipe answered him, then, after he’d left, he said, “I have to go. They’re ready to brief me. The assault is happening tonight. There’s no way I can stop it now.”
I repeated, “Do we have a deal?”
He nodded his head. I couldn’t imagine the pressure he was under, but he seemed to be handling it well. He said, “Okay. Wait here. The next men that enter the office will be the ones to take custody of the man in your trunk.”
He opened the door, then turned, asking, “I had already resigned myself to their deaths, and now you’ve shown up. Are you as good as you seem to think you are?”
“Better. I promise.”
Chapter 36
Kylie took Amena’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Amena looked at her and saw fear, but also a little quiet strength. Amena squeezed back, but in truth, she held no fear. This wasn’t like Switzerland. This was the United States. She’d been through the fire, and had absolute belief in her new family. If anything, these jerks had made a significant mistake.
Kylie said, “Be strong. We’re going to be all right.”
Amena furrowed her brow and said, “Of course we are. Why would you say that?”
Amena’s blind faith caused Kylie to smile for the first time. She said, “Yeah, honey, you’re right.”
But Kylie didn’t believe it. She knew what these men were capable of, having been on the brunt end of a group just like them. Her only hope was Nicholas Seacrest, and he wouldn’t return for hours. Even when he did, he’d walk into a killing field. These men would ensure it. And the leader kept leering at her, causing a different unease. He may not do anything to Amena, but Kylie was fair game.