I shake my head.
“Because you’re the best. Seriously. You’re one of the most promising young men I’ve ever seen. You’re one of the youngest recipients of the Silver Star. You have a natural affinity to combat, despite your apparent reluctance to acknowledge it. Admittedly, you have something of a problem with authority figures… but you have the right attitude to succeed here, and that’s all that matters to me. You’re being tested in ways no ordinary person ever will be. In ways very few agents of the CIA ever will be, either. But there’s a reason for that. You have to trust me.”
I finish my coffee and set the empty cup down on the table in front of me. “I appreciate you saying those things. I do. And maybe you’re right. Maybe this shit is in my blood. In my genes. I don’t know. I suppose the evidence is there, right? But I only took this opportunity because there was nothing else for me. I joined the army because my pops insisted. I’m proud to be an American, but I’m not overly patriotic. I do what needs doing simply because it needs doing. The way I see it, if I have the ability to help, I have a responsibility to help. But I’m not a career soldier. I’m not—”
He sits back and holds a hand up. “I’m not asking you to be. You’re not in the army now. You’re not even in the CIA. This is simply… a unique opportunity to utilize your somewhat unique skillset, while serving a greater purpose.”
I look away and smile. “Do you work in sales? That’s a helluva pitch.”
He smiles back. “It’s not a pitch—I’ve already convinced you to work for me. It’s more of a reminder, for your benefit. The training is almost at an end, and I have a mission for you. If you want it?”
I shrug. “Yeah… what is it?”
He reaches inside his own overcoat and pulls out an envelope, which he slides across the table to me. He points to it. “This is a communication we intercepted forty-eight hours ago from Russian intelligence. A small unit of British Special Forces operatives have been captured by Russian soldiers near the Chechen border. I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on over there, but since Chechnya declared its independence and the Soviet Union ceased to be, there have been… tensions, shall we say, between them and Russia. The British government went over there under the guise of foreign aid workers carrying medical supplies to refugees in the area. We don’t know the real reason for them being there, but we know the Russians found them and are holding them hostage.”
I open the envelope and quickly scan through the document. “Holy shit… So, what? We’re going in to get them back? Why?”
“Not we, Adrian. You. And you’re doing it because one of those soldiers happens to be on the shortlist for joining our program. He would be an incredible asset, and we would very much like him to work for you. Which means you need to go and get him before he’s either killed, or rescued by his own government.”
I look up at him. I stare into his dark eyes, searching for a sign he’s joking. “You can’t possibly be serious?”
He smiles and nods. “Deadly. This is the type of mission you’re training for, Adrian.”
“You want me to sneak into Chechnya, rescue three British soldiers being held by Russian forces, and get them to safety… on my own?”
He nods again. “Yes, I do.”
“You’re fucking insane!”
He leans forward again. “Rescuing this guy is vital to the success of our program. This is exactly the sort of mission we had in mind when we put this whole thing together. No government would officially carry out an operation of this kind, and it’s not deemed important enough to be done unofficially by one of our agencies.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Is it too early to drink?”
“Get back alive, with our man, and I’ll buy you a beer.”
I must be crazy for even considering this. But, then again, I’m being given an order, so I can’t exactly say no, can I? This just seems—
Hang on…
I raise an eyebrow. “Is this another test? Because if you’re setting me up to learn something again, we’re gonna have a problem. Just be straight with me.”
Julius stands, adjusts his coat and turns the collar up against the weather, then digs his hands in his pockets. “This is the real deal, Adrian. No jokes. No games. Just like I promised. We’ve turned you into a very deadly weapon, at great expense to the U.S government. You pull this off, the program gets the green light and you get your team.”
I look up at him. “And if I don’t?”
He shrugs back. “If you don’t, then chances are you’ll be lying dead somewhere in Chechnya, so whatever happens here won’t be your concern.” He absently taps the table with his fingertip and then points at me. “See you when you get back.”
He turns and walks away, quickly lost in the bustling crowd of our nation’s capital. I watch him go, then re-read the communication he gave me.
How the hell am I supposed to do this?
13:44 EDT
I’m sitting in a conference room at Langley. It’s on one of the basement levels of the building. I don’t think they like having people like me up there with the respectable workers.
I’m on my own at one end of a long table. Opposite me, Julius Jones is leaning back in his seat, looking relaxed. There are eight men sitting between us, four on either side. They’re all wearing dark suits and serious expressions, occasionally making notes on the pads in front of them, despite no one actually saying anything. There’s a guy standing at the front next to an overhead projector who can’t be much older than me. He’s preparing a stack of sheets, presumably so he can present them when asked.
I have to admit, I’m a little nervous. This is my first official mission. School’s over. My brain is telling me I shouldn’t feel any apprehension or reluctance. It’s simply running through all the training I’ve had these last few years. The physical stuff—hand-to-hand techniques, weapons training, tactics, strategy… And the mental aspects—how to suppress your anxiety, how to think quickly, how to act quickly…
These people turned me into a monster and I need to remember that. I just can’t shake these first-day-on-the-job nerves.
“Everything okay?”
I look over at Julius. He’s smiling, but I can tell he’s only doing that to hide his concern in front of everyone else. End of the day, me, this new team, this mission… it’s all on him if it doesn’t work out. I doubt very much he’s concerned about me personally—he’s just covering his own ass.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. So, come on… how are we doing this?”
He clears his throat, which prompts the young guy beside him to place the first sheet of paper on the projector. A grainy photograph is enlarged on the white wall at the far end of the room.
Julius doesn’t look round. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone else in the room. He looks at me. “This is a surveillance photo of an abandoned warehouse in Chechnya, taken in the last thirty-six hours. It’s in a district known to be under Russian control—at least, known to us. We believe the three British soldiers are being held here. Your mission is to get them back.”
Slowly, my mind starts to forget about the nerves and begins to focus on the task at hand. All that training is guiding my thought process, immediately trying to figure a way of doing this.
I nod my understanding. “How many hostiles inside?”
Julius shakes his head. “Technically, none. It’s not our place to take sides in whatever lover’s tiff the Russians and the Chechens are having, so despite the fact it’s the Russians who have captured these soldiers, they’re not our enemy. We have to be very careful when engaging, and where possible, not leave any bodies behind.”
I frown. “So, what? I’m supposed to ask them nicely to just let them go, because their beef isn’t with us? That’s a pretty shitty plan…”
Despite how quiet the room is anyway, it feels like a heavier silence has fallen. Julius regards me without expression, but I can feel every other pair of eyes in here looking at him and judging me.<
br />
I don’t give a fuck—it is a shitty plan!
I look around. “What? It’s my ass on the line over there. You can’t expect me to carry out this mission successfully without having to take some people out, surely?”
“It’s the ideal scenario, yes,” says Julius.
I shake my head in disbelief. “Okay, fine, whatever. So what’s my way in?”
The guy working the projector switches sheets and displays a picture of me alongside what I assume is a phony biography.
Julius gestures over his shoulder at the screen with his thumb. “You’ll be entering the country under the guise of a student from Columbia University, majoring in journalism. You’re there to report on the growing tension in the region. You’re to use this cover to get close to the area where the British soldiers are being held, and then carry out the rescue however you see fit.”
I nod. “Okay, I should be able to work with that at least. What about exfil?”
He goes to speak, but hesitates. He takes a breath and clears his throat. “There will be a military transport plane scheduled to leave Grozny Airport for Moscow approximately forty-eight hours after you arrive. You need to be on it. Assuming you make it out with all of them, you’re to bring the guy we want back with you, and leave the others at the British Embassy.”
I shrug. “Right… and how am I getting from the abandoned warehouse to the airport?”
Julius holds my gaze for a moment. “That’s up to you. There will be zero ground support. Once you step off the plane, you’re on your own.”
Jesus… they don’t make it easy, do they? Talk about a trial by fire!
“Adrian, this is what we’ve trained you for. This is the kind of mission your new unit will be undertaking. The kind that other units, other agencies, don’t consider viable.”
I glance at the men on either side of the table, who are all scribbling feverishly away on their notepads, seemingly keen to avoid my gaze.
I look over at Julius and nod. “Yeah, alright, alright. When do I leave?”
“Once this meeting is over.”
I sigh. “Right, so what are we waiting for?”
I go to stand, but he holds a hand up, gesturing for me to stay seated. He then looks at the rest of the men around the table. “Gentlemen, can I have the room please?”
They all exchange a glance and then gather their things. The noise of their chairs being pushed back and everyone standing fills the room. I watch as they file out, the last of them closing the door gently behind him.
Silence falls again, and Julius throws the guy next to him a glance and a short nod, which prompts him to display another document on the projector.
“Adrian… is everything okay?”
I go to reply, but stop myself, looking at the young guy beside him.
Julius smiles, presumably picking up on my hesitation. “It’s okay, you can talk freely here.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m just a little concerned at the apparent lack of strategy and planning that’s gone into the mission. It’s bad enough that it’s the first one, and I understand there’s probably a lot riding on it, in addition to the lives of those three British soldiers… I just thought it would be more formal, more organized than simply, you’re on your own, good luck.”
He chuckles and nods. “Point taken. But the thing with missions like this is, they don’t get planning committees and budget committees and approval from the director. You need to understand, neither of us are here… this room is empty… there is no mission… Am I making myself clear? Our job is to do things without having all that much to go on or work with. Sadly, the government has been in desperate need for people like us. And we’re the first people like us. You’re the guinea pig, and I’d like this to work, for both our sakes. But you gotta stop thinking this is official, or that it’s sanctioned in any way. At the moment, Adrian, it’s just me and you—and I’m far too old to be out there with you, which means, for now at least, if you’re on mission, you’re on your own. Understand?”
I nod, but don’t say anything.
“Good. Now, with that said, and despite our operational freedom, we do still have a certain level of accountability. There are people far higher up the ladder than you or I will ever get, who have a vested interest in whether or not we succeed. And a lot of those people have just left the room. So, I would ask, as a favor and as a friend, if you have a question or a concern, come to me separately in future. When my only operative refers to my plans as shitty, it doesn’t look good for anyone.”
I smile. “Sorry.”
He laughs. “No, you’re not. But I appreciate the sentiment. Now, the three mugshots you see are your targets. Ideally, we want to get all of them out. It’ll be an early Christmas present for the British government, and it’ll be useful to have them owe us a favor. That said, and I know this sounds a little callous, but if you can’t rescue them all, make sure, whatever you do, you rescue the guy in the middle. He’s the one we want.”
I look at the screen. There’s a striking, and immediately noticeable difference, between the guy in the middle, and the guys either side of him. Firstly, they look hard as nails and tough as hell. Both have shaved heads, emotionless eyes, growth on their chins and scars that make their faces look like a roadmap. But the guy in the middle, he looks… well, happy. He has shoulder-length hair, probably blond—it’s a black and white image, but you can tell it’s light. He’s clean-shaven with a big smile on his face, like he’s had his picture taken while out partying.
I shake my head and smile. “Who is this guy?”
“No names or ranks are on file for any of them. I do have some intel, but another thing you need to get used to, whether you like it or not, is there are some things I know that you don’t. And there will be times when I can’t share either that knowledge, or the reason why I can’t share it. I ask for your trust in me when I say I will always give you exactly what you need to get your job done. We’re not CIA, we’re not formally recognized, but there’s still a chain of command, and I’m above you. Clear?”
I nod and shrug. “Whatever, man.”
“Excellent. Now, there’s a vehicle outside to take you to the airport. Your flight to Moscow leaves in…” He pauses to check his watch. “…a little under two hours. Good hunting, Adrian.”
Julius stands and goes to leave.
“Hey, wait…” He stops and looks back at me, raising his eyebrow. “When do I get my weapon?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t. You want one, get it yourself when you’re over there.”
I stand and walk over to him, sighing heavily. “This is fucking ridiculous…”
He steps in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder. “I know this is difficult, alright? I do. But you need to remember exactly what we’ve trained you to do. What skills we’ve given you. What skills you already had… Don’t forget, you’re essentially this country’s secret weapon. You’re deadly on a level no one else has ever been given access to. You make being lethal look like a trip to Disneyworld, alright?”
I roll my eyes and look away, feeling uncomfortable at both the compliment and the fact he’s right.
He pats my shoulder. “Go get ’em, champ.”
I roll my eyes again.
Fuck me…
9
November 21, 1993
??:??
“Hey, asshole! Wake up!”
I frown as the words register in my brain. I give it a minute and slowly open my eyes. It’s dark, which makes adjusting to consciousness a little easier. I look around, blinking through the fog of confusion, trying to focus on my surroundings. There’s a faint sliver of natural light coming from above, which casts a pale glow over the large, empty space around me. I’m sitting on the floor, against a wall, with my hands apparently bound behind me to something. I glance up and see a rusted drainpipe climbing the wall, all the way to the ceiling, and disappearing inside the cracked tiling overhead.
“Ah
, bollocks! He’s just a kid… That’s not right, that—fucking Russian bastards!”
I frown again. I’m hearing voices. British voices. But I can’t see them.
Oh, wait… there they are.
I look across and see three men sitting in a line, facing me, maybe twenty feet away on the other side of the open space.
I allow my eyes to focus some more so I can make out their features in this minimal light. I recognize them as the three captured British soldiers. The guy on the left is the abnormally happy one with the long hair. The other two men have shaved heads.
I go to speak, but my lips stick together. I try to use my tongue to moisten them, but the inside of my mouth feels like a desert.
“Hey… you alright, mate?”
It’s the guy in the middle. He’s leaning forward, seemingly straining against something. Probably the same sort of restraints I have.
I nod slowly, but don’t answer.
“Alright, listen up—this might come as a shock, but you’ve been kidnapped. Now don’t worry, okay? We’re British military, and we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe, you just—”
I cough, interrupting him. I manage to generate a small amount of saliva, which I use to get my mouth working. “Guys… I know. I’m here to… to rescue you.”
They all exchange a look and then start chuckling, like they’re in a bar sharing a joke.
“Are you having a laugh, mate?” says the one on the far right. “Who are you?”
I sigh. I see my breath form in front of me, and I suddenly realize it’s fucking freezing! “My name’s not important. Neither’s who I work for. Let’s just say you have people in the States who would very much like to see you boys make it out of here.”
“Are you sure?” says the guy with the long hair. “Because if that’s right, surely they would’ve sent… y’know… someone other than a boy scout to come and get us?”
I let slip a small smile as I wiggle my shoulders, testing my restraints. “Hey, if you don’t like it, I’m happy to leave you here to sort yourselves out… You were clearly doing fine without me.”
A Hero of War--An Adrian Hell Novella Page 8