Lady Death

by Brian Drake

  Raven’s chartered jet taxied to a hangar not far from the main terminal. It was one of a line of private hangars, all of which were busy. The jet wasn’t noticed. He glanced out one of the cabin windows. A black SUV with a man standing at the driver’s door waited. Raven smiled. Wilson had sent an old pal named Mike Cutter.

  Raven exited the plane with Misty and shook Cutter’s hand. “Long time, Mike. Good to see you.”

  Cutter smiled back. The grip of his rough hand was strong. “Likewise. Glad I could be here to help.”

  Cutter matched Raven’s height and looked wiry with a thin face. Raven and Cutter first met in the early years of their respective CIA careers. Both worked for the paramilitary branch. They’d never served in the same units, but Raven knew Cutter was a top operative. He had several intelligence awards in his classified file.

  “Wilson pulled me from another mission to meet you,” Cutter said.

  “How much do you know?”

  “Everything. And we have a team on the way too. Get your gear in the vehicle and I’ll explain.”

  Cutter checked with Wilson at HQ while Raven and Misty took their luggage from the plane. The suitcases fit it in the back of the SUV with room to spare. Raven rode up front with Misty in the back.

  The expanse of the runway and open green space beyond presented Belgium in its best light. Further in the distance, the city itself. Cutter drove off the airport property and through a cluster of quiet neighborhoods.

  Cutter said to Misty, “Your chief wants you to check in. I guess you haven’t been answering your phone?”

  “No,” she said.

  “I think they want you to come home.”

  “Tough,” she said. “I’m staying.”

  “Better call in anyway.”

  She said nothing more. Raven added nothing either. He watched the passing houses. He wouldn’t say so, but he wanted Misty gone. She’d been a big help with Doyle and Stathoti, but they’d learned Operation Triangle didn’t involve the UK. She didn’t need to be there any longer.

  He’d lucked out with Hannah. If he lost Misty, it would be a tough one to overcome.

  Maybe her chief at MI6 would demand her return. Raven felt it was for the best.

  He said to Cutter, “What’s the plan?”

  “Two teams on the way. The priority is capture and interrogation.”

  Raven laughed. “They don’t want a repeat of what I did in Berlin.”

  “Correct.”

  “How long before the teams get here?”

  “Tonight. I’m prepping the staging area. We’ll hit his house. At the same time, we’ll go for his number two, John Yarvis. I have a team covering Yarvis. I need you to keep an eye on Horn. Make sure he sticks to routine.”

  “Which is what?”

  “He likes to party and go home with younger women.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Raven grinned.

  “Hey!” Misty said.

  “If he deviates,” Cutter said, “use your best judgement.”

  “And take him alive.”

  “Exactly. This won’t be a walk in the park. And the clock is ticking.”

  Raven didn’t argue. “What kind of security do they have?” he said instead.

  “Horn has two bodyguards,” Cutter told him, “and Yarvis is alone. Both are carrying sidearms.”

  “Odd Yarvis is alone,” Raven said. “I don’t know much about him.”

  “Former Marine,” Cutter said. “Been in the mercenary community for decades. Plugged in with Horn a few years ago and became his second-in-command.”

  “What is it with Americans,” Misty said, “who go on their own and end up on the bad side?”

  “I could ask the same thing of Brits, Misty,” Raven said.

  “Touché.”

  “Way of the world,” Raven said.

  “It stinks,” she said.

  Raven agreed. But those inclined only toward wealth and power always found a way to achieve their goals. Such was the case of Dante Horn and John Yarvis.

  But they’d crossed one line too many. Raven intended to make them pay for their choices.

  No amount of money would save them.

  Cutter dropped Raven and Misty at their hotel and said he had somebody on the way to deliver their rental. He provided Raven with the office address of Horn’s company and other pictures. Cutter reiterated Raven had to keep an eye on Horn until the strike force made their move.

  Raven didn’t appreciate the micromanaging. He said so to Misty as the elevator carried them to the hotel’s fifth floor. They had adjoining rooms.

  “Consequences of being a cowboy, Sam.”

  “If I didn’t have a personal stake in this, I’d leave.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you, Sam.”

  Raven scoffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  She winked. “I know.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Watson.”

  They reached their rooms. Raven suggested twenty minutes to refresh before they hit the street to find Horn.

  Misty Watson double-locked her door and set her suitcase on the bed. It was a king and looked comfortable, but she didn’t think she’d spend any time there. She pulled out her cell phone and called headquarters. After passing through the verbal confirmation checks, the HQ operator patched her through to her chief.

  Sir Miles Montgomery said, “It’s about time, Miss Watson.”

  Montgomery was a gruff bear of a man who ran MI6 with an iron fist. His grouchy tone told her all she needed to know. He wasn’t happy with her.

  Raven had no idea what micromanaging meant. He’d never met Sir Miles.

  “Where are you?”

  “Antwerp.”

  “Why?”

  “Next lead, sir.”

  “Why haven’t you called before now? I shouldn’t have to have the CIA give you a reminder.”

  “I don’t intend to be recalled from this assignment, sir.”

  “How do you know I’ll recall you?”

  Misty let out a quiet sigh. There was a time when his choice of words made her flinch. No longer. She said, “I’ve worked for you for six years, Sir Miles. We’ve determined Operation Triangle doesn’t involve the United Kingdom. There’s no official reason for me to be here.”

  “Yet you want to stay?”

  “Because of Raven, sir.”

  “I’ve never understood your fascination with him,” Sir Miles said. “The man is a rogue. Irresponsible. He has his own agenda and he’ll let nobody get in the way.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “Watch your tone, young lady.” Sir Miles cleared his throat. “I am not recalling you. The Stathoti information you sent has proved invaluable. We now know how various terror groups are getting their weapons, through whom, and by what means. If you’re determined to stay, I hereby order you to do so. I want to know what else you can find. Tell me about the new lead.”

  Misty updated Sir Miles on Dante Horn and what the CIA wanted to do in Antwerp.

  Sir Miles said, “I’ll call the cousins and make sure you’re included on whatever they find.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “When this is over, I want you back in London. No argument.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll discuss this further then.”

  Sir Miles ended the call without saying goodbye. Misty cursed. She tossed the phone on the bed. They wouldn’t welcome her home a hero. There’d be a price to pay for not checking in like a good employee.

  Maybe, she thought, I’ll take off on my own like Sam.

  She laughed at the absurd notion as she stepped into the bathroom.

  Raven stood at the hotel room window. A stretch of the N13 stood out against the backdrop of blue sky and more of the sprawling city.

  Misty’s words reverberated in his mind.

  “Because I know you, Sam.”

  Did she know him bette
r than he knew himself in this case? Because she did have a point. He’d rather work with a group of allies toward a common goal than take on the task alone. Going solo was usually his first and only option. This time, he had help. Maybe he needed help. Perhaps taking on as much responsibility as he did wasn’t serving his cause.

  He felt the locket hanging under his shirt. No. She was wrong. He didn’t mind working with allies, but he preferred working alone. He’d made his vow alone; he pursued his cause alone. Nobody else understood. Often, he didn’t understand himself. But he knew what he had to do.

  This time, he had help. Thanks to the tightrope on which he found himself, allies were welcome.

  Next time, he wouldn’t allow the bureaucracy he’d left behind tie him down.

  10

  Raven and Misty bet each other $20.00 US Dante Horn would skip his nightlife routine and go home after work.

  Raven lost.

  Misty laughed as they picked up the Black River CEO’s trail. He rode with two bodyguards and a driver and they drove into downtown Antwerp. Horn’s car stopped in front of an Irish pub called Josie’s. Horn and his bodyguards exited the car. The driver pulled away to park up the block. He remained with the car.

  Raven parked the rental Ford on the street behind the pub. They walked around to the front. Halfway there, Raven smelled frying food and his senses perked. Whatever was cooking smelled delicious. A hostess greeted them at the door and the smells became stronger. Even Misty’s eyes widened at the prospect of a good meal during a boring surveillance job.

  The hostess escorted them to a booth of dark mahogany walls and a polished wood table. A light hung above. The circular leather seat hissed as they settled across from one another.

  “I didn’t come all the way to Antwerp,” Misty said, “to sit in a pub.”

  “Whatever they’re cooking doesn’t smell like Brit pub food.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “British cooking sucks, my dear Watson.”

  She sighed as she opened her menu. “So I hear.”

  Raven started to look at his menu but felt restless. He closed the menu and looked around. Tables and booths full. Long line of people at the bar drinking and talking. On the other side of the dining area, some played darts. Others leaned over pool tables. The noise and low light might have been cozy to the regulars, but Raven’s combat senses screamed silently. He felt anxious, caught in a box, with only one way out.

  And too many people around if the night went bad. Rule One was never far from his thoughts.

  Worse, neither he nor Misty saw Horn.

  “Private room?” Misty suggested. She made a show of examining her menu while examining the crowd.

  “Nope,” Raven said. “Corner booth.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because one of the bodyguards left and is crossing to the bar.”

  Their waitress arrived. She was a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes and a sleeve tattoo of interlinked rainbows on one arm. Raven and Misty ordered drinks and food. The waitress departed. They looked at each other.

  She smiled. “Let’s see what Belgium pub grub is like.”

  “Sir Miles give you a hard time?”

  “He was his usual self.”

  “A fussbudget?”

  She laughed. “Exactly! With a touch of grumpy old man sexism.”

  “And you’re staying?”

  “The Stathoti intel proved valuable. Now they want to know how Horn’s information might make it better.”

  “Fingers crossed he gives us something. I didn’t tell you about my chat with Clark.”

  “When?”

  “After we arrived at the hotel.”

  “Good news?”

  “Very bad news.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Stathoti’s ship came and went. Docked in New York City for two days. Now it’s heading for South America.”

  “How long to get the weapons to Chicago and Los Angeles?”

  “Depends if they’re driving or flying,” Raven said. “If it were me, I’m having them driven to Chicago and flown to Los Angeles by separate couriers.”

  “We’re going to cut it close, aren’t we?”

  “The sooner we make Horn talk, the better.”

  “And if we’re too late?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  But think about it he did as they ate. The food was amazing, and their mutual glances of delight took his mind off the situation, but never for long. Misty’s messy spareribs left her fingers covered in sauce. Raven didn’t tell her some smeared on her chin. He ate his hot Irish stew slowly, savoring each swallow. The mix of lamb and fresh vegetables was rich indeed.

  After dinner they sat with pints of Guinness because who doesn’t drink Guinness in a pub? Misty excused herself but came back glaring at Raven for not telling her about her chin.

  They were so full from dinner they drank slowly, and Raven decided as boring surveillance jobs go, it wasn’t a bad one. Horn and his entourage presently made their job a little easier. Horn began throwing darts with a group of young women. The dart game then turned into a billiard challenge. By eleven o’clock Raven and Misty were getting tired, but by then Horn had made his choice. With a thin brunette in jeans and a pink tank top in tow, he paid his bill and the bill of the brunette’s friends. She joined the entourage outside.

  Raven and Misty paid and hurried around the block to their rental. Traffic wasn’t too heavy, and Raven weaved through lanes to catch up with Horn’s vehicle. Misty told him to take it easy. “A rookie could pick you out,” she chided. When Raven finally had Horn’s car in sight, he eased off the gas and settled back three car lengths.

  “Better?” he said.

  “I should be driving.”

  Raven scoffed.

  Horn left the city limits for his home. Traffic thinned, but enough cars remained to provide cover for Raven’s rental. Once Horn turned up a two-lane road into the hills, the situation changed. They were the only two vehicles on the road. Raven cut off his headlamps. He eased off the gas. Forest surrounded them and Raven kept to the middle of the road to avoid going off the edge.

  Misty called Mike Cutter on her cell and put him on speaker.

  “We’ve already spotted you, Sam,” Cutter reported. “In 500 feet you’ll find a turn-off. Take it. Follow the dirt road until we stop you.”

  “Copy,” Raven said.

  The turn-off appeared as advised and Raven slowed. He turned the wheel to the right and the Ford left the pavement. Turning the headlamps back on, he proceeded carefully. More forest all around. The dirt road was clear of overgrowth suggesting its use wasn’t rare.

  They drove almost ten minutes. When two figures in black stepped out onto the road, Raven stepped on the brake. The figures approached, one on each side. Raven powered down his window. The one on his side shined a blue light into the car.

  The figure’s combat fatigues and chest harness showed the man was ready for business. Flash bangs and high-explosive grenades rode on vest straps. Sidearm on his belt. Suppressed M4 carbine in hand.

  Raven said, “Nice night for a walk.”

  The man examined Raven’s face in the low glow of the blue light. Raven had no idea what the man looked like. A helmet covered his head, a balaclava concealed his face from the nose down.

  “It’s him,” the man announced to his partner.

  “Follow you?”

  “We’re not far.”

  The two CIA commandos turned and moved off at a trot. Raven drove slowly behind them.

  “Here we go,” Raven said.

  “Our gear isn’t as cool as theirs,” Misty said.

  Raven allowed himself a quiet laugh.

  11

  Raven stopped the Ford in an uneven clearing. He felt the car tilt a little on the slanted ground.

  He spotted more armed CIA paramilitary operatives hanging around. Cutter spoke with a man Raven didn’t recognize. Two black Jeep
s sat nearby.

  Raven and Misty exited. Raven frowned. His first impression was off. He counted only four shooters. We need more than this!

  Cutter approached with the other man. Raven cut him off before he could introduce the fellow.

  “Four shooters?”

  “Plus, you, me, your friend, and this man,” Cutter said. “Sam, meet Joe Hayden. We call him Tiger Joe.”

  Raven and Misty shook Hayden’s hand. He and Hayden sized each other up with a prolonged look. He was shorter than Raven, but his grip suggested strength. He wondered what his background was. He turned back to Cutter. He wasn’t going to let go of his train of thought.

  “This is all we have?”

  “Relax,” Cutter said. “We have eight more coming in by chopper. The choppers are armed with machine guns and rockets, if necessary. We’re the ground squad.”

  “What do the locals think of this invasion?” Raven said.

  Cutter let out a short laugh. “They want Horn gone. He’s staying out of prison here the same way he stayed out of it in the United States. He’s got dirt on everybody who might charge him with anything.”

  “Okay,” Raven said. He looked at Hayden. “What’s your story?”

  Cutter excused himself. Hayden leaned against the Ford’s fender and folded his arms. It was hard to make out his features in the low light. Electric lanterns lit the area, but their glow didn’t extend far.

  “I was in Syria,” Hayden said.

  “No kidding.”

  Hayden nodded.

  “The drone strike?”

  “Yeah,” Hayden said. “And Paris. After Paris, the Islamic Union tried to kill me. They missed but murdered my two teammates.”

  “What happened in Paris?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No clue.”

  Hayden shook his head. “Ask Clark why he kept you out of the loop. We rounded up some IU players in Damascus and made them talk. They put Tanya Jafari and Omar Talman in Paris. The Agency sent at a team to get them and failed. She killed all of them.”