Reaper: Drone Strike: A Sniper Novel

by Nicholas Irving

  She didn’t imagine that he appreciated not being in control. One of the most powerful men in the Senate, Nolte was accustomed to being in charge and getting his way. Not this time.

  “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. If and when we get him, I’ll let you know. I can’t promise this won’t leak to the media. My role is unknown to anyone but my contact, so if it does leak, I’ll know where it came from—here. And once I’m out there, I will no longer have access to my point of contact, which means you may never see your son again. Clear?”

  “Crystal,” he said.

  She gathered her purse and phone and stood.

  “If the media calls you, I’d suggest you claim ignorance. If you truly didn’t know Ian was missing before I walked in here, then just think back to that time and wipe your memory clean. Say what’s in your heart. That you’re proud of your son and pray for his safe return. Whatever you feel. Anything but my involvement.”

  “Understood. When will you know?”

  “Next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If it doesn’t happen by then, I’ll let you know. If there’s reason for me to call you, I’ll call you.”

  “I wish there were something I could do,” he said.

  “There is. Answer the questions if the media comes at you. This thing could blow up on the other end, from Lebanon. That war still hasn’t peaked yet. And if there’s one soldier missing, you can bet there are others who are dead or missing.”

  “That’s true. Here’s my private cell number,” he said, handing her a card.

  “Thanks.”

  She shook his hand and turned on her heel. On the ride back to the airport, Comstock made two calls to her headquarters and then one to Wolff.

  “Status?” he asked.

  “All set,” she responded.

  “Okay. Your prisoner is on an airplane back to the United States as we speak. The plane will land in Chicago, where you’ll meet a man named Tankian.”

  “Tankian. Got it.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Sassi Cavezza

  General Cartwright’s airplane was a G3 with U.S. AIR FORCE painted on the side. It landed two hours after Sassi had called him. She knew that a lot of things had to happen right for that to occur—namely, the plane had to have been on standby, and the general had to have no more important business happening.

  With the war continuing to rage in the Golan and Galilee, Sassi was surprised that the general actually had time for a couple of soldiers, but then again, Harwood’s commitment to his fellow soldier had surprised her, so maybe there was a lot she didn’t know or understand.

  He called her once he descended from the steps in pretty much the same location that the giant airplane with Sergeant Harwood had taken off. He used one hand to guide himself down the rail and the other to hold a phone to his ear.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Just outside the gate. I need someone to open it for me,” she replied.

  He looked to his left, found the gate, focused on her, and nodded. She returned the nod with a small wave as she straddled the idling motorcycle. Shortly, a golf cart buzzed her way with a man inside who quickly unlocked the gate by swiping a card across a reader. He allowed her to pass and then closed the gate.

  She drove toward Cartwright, parked the bike near the operations building, and followed him inside. They walked past a small cordon of his security team and into a drab, windowless conference room with stained chairs and an old wooden table that was one meeting away from being discarded. He sat on the opposite side of the table from her. Two guards posted at the door.

  “I need to know everything. I’ve got two dead soldiers and two missing soldiers, and you’re the only one who has seen them all.”

  “To be fair, I never saw Corporal Nolte, but he was in a cell next to me, and I believe I heard him say his name. We believe Nolte was in a big fish cooler when he was loaded onto the ship and then the airplane, I presume.”

  “A fish cooler?”

  “Yes. We didn’t actually see him,” she said.

  “And you were with Sergeant Harwood when all of this happened?”

  “He rescued me from the compound in Lebanon near the Beqaa Valley. I’m sure he was looking for Corporal Nolte. He blew through and found me when he was expecting to find Nolte. Tankian took Nolte.”

  “How do you know it was Tankian?”

  “He’s got a website. Looks like his picture. He owns Tankian Logistics Group.”

  “Yes, we know who Mr. Tankian is. His employees call him Commander.”

  “He’s got muscle here and evidently some clout.”

  “He’s got a global network. He’s ninety-five percent legit and five percent this kind of stuff. I’ve got my comms guy working on getting the flight plan for the aircraft that you say has Harwood and Nolte on it.”

  “I know for a fact that Harwood is on it. And he’s on it because he thinks that Nolte is there.”

  “Understand. You do know we have to verify your information. We’ve met exactly once, and you’re confirmed to be in the location of two of my dead soldiers and two of my missing soldiers.”

  “I’m a suspect.” Not a question. A statement of the obvious.

  “I didn’t say that, but you can understand my questions.”

  “Yes, I guess I can.”

  “Anything else you remember?”

  “The two containers. Tankian boarded the airplane after the cooler with Nolte and the two containers were loaded.”

  “No idea what was in the containers?”

  “None.”

  A text pinged on his phone, and he held up a finger the size of a hot dog and then somehow managed to reply to the text and perhaps get all the letters correct.

  “Flanigan’s got something,” he said. “Because you’re here and you have some knowledge of what’s happening, I’m going to let you listen in, but I’m going to have to look at your phone now and hold it for a bit after.”

  She hesitated. This was why she didn’t like the military. They called the shots. You either played by their rules or not at all.

  “I called you,” she reminded him.

  “True. You could be setting me up. Setting up Harwood and Nolte. Set up my other two operators.”

  “I didn’t and you know that.”

  “I believe you, and if you’ve got nothing to hide, then there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  “How about you show me your phone? I could make an assessment whether you’re selling your soldiers out. Maybe you’re on the take like most generals I’ve ever met.”

  Cartwright actually smiled, something she hadn’t yet seen him do.

  “You’re a pistol,” he said. “Here’s my phone. Don’t delete the pictures of my kids.”

  She scrolled through it, not really looking for anything, and handed it back to him.

  “Here’s mine,” she said.

  He did a more thorough job, but there wasn’t much to look at.

  “It’s new.”

  “Yes. Tankian or the Russian took my original,” she said.

  “The Russian?”

  “Yes. The Russian kidnapped me originally. Evidently dumped me at Tankian’s compound.”

  Flanigan barreled into the room and said, “Sir, I’ve got it. They’re headed to Chicago.”

  Cartwright scrunched his face up and said, “Chicago,” as if that city were in another universe.

  “It’s an An-124 cargo airplane, like the second largest in the world. Holds shipping containers. I was able to hack into the transponder and get the metadata.”

  “Okay, I believe you,” Cartwright said.

  “You know those pictures from the basement that you wanted from me?” Sassi said.

  Cartwright nodded.

  “There were lines from Cyprus to the middle of the United States. Could be Chicago. I thought it was farther north, but it has been a while since I studied the geography of the States.”

  “
Lines?” Cartwright asked.

  “Yes. There was a single strand of thread from Tripoli to Cyprus and then another from Cyprus to the United States. I’m not sure why I’m just thinking of this now.”

  “Okay, that’s something. Flanigan’s been looking for those but still can’t find them.”

  The general’s comment caused Flanigan to lean forward in preparation for defending himself, but the general lifted one of those sausages again, and Flanigan retreated into the back of his chair.

  “Anything else you can remember?”

  Sassi leaned back and closed her eyes. She’d had other things to focus on in the last twenty-four hours. She remembered the yarn from Lebanon to Cyprus and then to the United States. Keeping her eyes closed, Sassi started talking.

  “There was other yarn leading from the Middle East to other points, but I can’t quite place them. Maybe Germany? Maybe Russia? And then a word I had seen as curious. It was written in English in the basement of an Islamic home. Or I presumed it was Islamic. There was a ninety-nine percent chance it was. There were also Arabic characters on the diagram or map.”

  She paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled, the only sound in the quiet room.

  “The word Hunter was written in English.”

  “Hunter?” Cartwright asked.

  “Yes. Hunter. I’m sure of it.”

  “Could be anything,” Cartwright said.

  Flanigan leaned forward and said, “Hunter is the new Russian UAV. Just FYI.”

  Cartwright looked up, pointed a sausage at him, and said, “Good comment.”

  Sassi thought about it. Why would Tankian have an enterprise in the basement of an ISIS household? She didn’t know enough about the man either way.

  “What was it that your two men were doing in al-Ghouta other than using me as a prop?”

  “For the record, we weren’t using you.”

  “Come on, General. I’m more offended that you don’t tell me the truth than the fact that you actually used me as a soft entry into the area. As you know, it didn’t work. Your men are gone, and I’m sorry for that.”

  “They were good men. The best. And I sent them to see the basement you had seen so that we could get in front of or disrupt any plot that might be coming from there.”

  “Plot to do what?” She was sincerely confused. The general was being vague, and she hated vague. Just get to the point and confront whatever realities lay ahead.

  “There has been some chatter that we might have a few things to worry about in the United States. It’s not uncommon for terrorists to plan attacks over here, like they did at Tarnak Farms in Afghanistan for the 9/11 attacks.”

  “I’m aware, General. You’re being vague, though. I understand you have security protocols, but I’ve volunteered information and can help. I want to help. Something about Sergeant Harwood. Seeing his sense of duty and commitment. It actually gave me renewed hope. After everything I’ve been through, I thought I was losing my rudder. I’ve seen the basest behavior in humankind. I’ve moved families, children, into desolate locations knowing they would not thrive there, but it was what I had to do. And here I meet a man who not only rescued me but has relentless drive to rescue his teammate. He’s an unstoppable force, and that’s something I want to be associated with. So, read me on or do whatever you have to do, but I can be of value to you and your team, provided you’re going to help Harwood in whatever capacity you can.”

  “That’s some speech,” Cartwright said, unimpressed. His face might as well have been etched in stone. Eyes unblinking, locked on to her.

  “Wasn’t a speech. Was just me telling you what I’m doing and what I hope you planned on doing.”

  “While this is not your business or your concern, I told you what little bit I did because I had you checked out. You have a NATO top secret clearance. You’re authorized to see U.S. top secret if there is a need to know. I’m not sure I’m buying that you are a UN worker. Sure, that may be your cover, but you’ve got a few too many skills to be your average UNHCR resettlement queen.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, and, I might add, those are hard-won credentials that help immensely with the performance of my job,” she said.

  “So, I’ll make a mild correction to my line of attack here. Who do you work for, and what is your purpose sniffing around my men?”

  One of the security men closed in on her to the point that even if she thought it might be helpful, she wouldn’t have an opportunity to go for a weapon. She didn’t need that, regardless, but she was outnumbered and wanted on the team. The truth was that she really did want to help find Sergeant Harwood.

  “I work for the UN, and my purpose is to return families to their homeland or to provide them adequate opportunity for resettlement.” That was the party line right out of the brochure.

  “I can turn you over to Turkish authorities and tease them with some intelligence that you were involved in the deaths or absence of four U.S. service members. How’s that sound?”

  “Untrue,” Sassi said. But not entirely. She was the last friendly face to see all the soldiers, that much was true.

  “That really doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Especially when you’re not being truthful with me, a representative of the United States, one of Italy’s NATO allies.”

  “What does NATO have to do with this?”

  “My suspicion is that you’re Italian CIA—AISE, but you could be part of NATO intelligence also.”

  “I know what AISE is. They’re all criminals just like your CIA. I’m a regional director for the UN High Commission for Refugees.”

  “Which is the perfect front for an intelligence operative looking to subvert American interests in the region.”

  “That may be, but that’s not who I am.”

  She exchanged glares with Cartwright, who refused to break eye contact, as if he were reading the fine print in her mind, searching for any clue that she might be someone other than who she proclaimed to be.

  “I can help you,” she said, not really wanting to continue his game anymore.

  “Okay. Let’s say I want your help. Where do we start?”

  “You believe what I saw is a crude map of a plan to attack the United States. I’m the only one who has been in that village every day for the last two weeks. I can tell you who all the players are.”

  “Okay, let’s do that.”

  “Not so fast, John Wayne. Every negotiation includes two bargaining positions,” she said.

  “From my vantage, you’ve got none.”

  “Then you don’t see very well.”

  Flanigan smiled and let out a short snicker. Perhaps he’d been wanting to make a verbal jab at his controlling boss for a long time. Cartwright turned his head slowly toward Flanigan, who retreated into the confines of the back of his chair, looking like he’d prefer to blend into the fabric.

  “What is it that you could possibly seek from me, Ms. Cavezza?”

  “I owe my life to Sergeant Harwood. I would like to repay that debt. He may be an Army Ranger, but I have a code of honor, as well.”

  Cartwright said nothing. He waited a few moments and finally nodded.

  “Okay. As I’ve said, we’ve checked your clearances. They’re solid. If you’re going to be on my team, though, you need to cough up the phone. I want to control who you talk to and what you say.”

  “You’re full of surprises,” Sassi said.

  “You’ll actually come to believe that if you spend enough time with me and my team. We don’t play. I want justice for my two missing Rangers—I’m not calling them dead until I see them—and I want my other two back safely.”

  His voice was like granite. There was no doubt he was serious. Her sparring jabs at him seemed childish in comparison. She had said what she needed to, but the gravity of the situation settled over her like a heavy blanket.

  “Justice and safe return. I can help,” she said.

  CHAPTER 25

  Vick Harwood

&nbs
p; Harwood didn’t move for the first hour.

  Tankian was up and pacing back and forth directly toward him and back. Harwood had shipped enough containers as a soldier to know that his position was only two feet above the man’s line of sight. Add in another foot for the roller platform and the fact that he was on the second container, the one nearest the rear of the aircraft, and he was just barely above Tankian’s sight line.

  He timed his head raises with the sounds of Tankian’s feet slapping into the metal flooring. He took exactly twenty-two steps toward him and then another twenty-two away from him. Finally, Tankian stopped pacing and was joined by the two missing guards, who had evidently boarded the plane when Harwood was shifting positions beneath the truck.

  The three men opened the cooler and retrieved a limp Clutch from its confines. He looked dead. White, pasty face. Limp arms. Buckling knees. Harwood sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  Tankian shouted at Baldy, but Harwood couldn’t hear him above the din of the engines. Clutch was lying motionless on the floor of the airplane behind the last row of seats. Tankian knelt next to him with his fingers on Clutch’s neck. One of the security guards jogged to the cockpit and returned with a small medical kit. Harwood didn’t see any IVs. Clutch had to be dehydrated.

  This was not good. Harwood had a medic’s kit in his rucksack with two IV bags, which might be enough to hold him over. Yet the sticky issue of fighting against Tankian and his goons remained. He could do it, no doubt, yet where he’d used skill and brute force in the compound raid, he needed to apply a surgeon’s touch here on the airplane. An errant shot could puncture the skin of the aircraft, destroying the structural integrity, and allow 500-knot winds to peel the rest away with ease. Even an accurate shot could pass through a man’s body and have the same effect. His purpose here was to rescue Clutch, not kill everyone, including himself.

  He began to back off the container, calculating his plan. Inch by inch. He would leave his rucksack at the base of the container and use his knife while they were all focused on Clutch. He used the locking bars to shimmy down the container, placing his feet quietly on the floor. He laid his ruck on the floor and removed his Blackhawk combat knife, opening the razor-sharp blade. Stepping to the side of the container, he saw them gathered around Clutch like a football huddle.