Danger Close

by S L Shelton

  I lashed out with my left hand, pushing the barrel of his rifle away from me while simultaneously throwing a solid punch to his throat. He dropped to the ground, gasping, with me standing over him between the gagging punk and Apollo’s shot—his rifle still in my hand.

  I reached into my pocket, pulling out the wad of bills that Nick had given me and tossed them on his chest.

  “Just say no to drugs,” I said slowly enunciating each syllable before turning to run toward the Rover which had just skidded onto our road.

  I heard a gasp behind me and whipped around in time to see the addict crumpling to the ground with a gushing wound to his throat—in his hand was a pistol, aimed generally in my direction. I stared at him for a second as his life bled out on the dirt road.

  “You’re welcome,” Apollo said into my ear as I turned and jogged toward the corner.

  I tossed the AK-47 into the field as Aspen skidded to a halt in front of me.

  “You’ve got balls, mister,” he said with a grin as I climbed into the backseat.

  “It doesn't take balls to give a stupid kid a second chance,” I replied as I slammed the door closed. “Let’s get outta here.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to clear the tension—Apollo and my hitchhiker may have been right, but I still felt like shit that the dumb hoodlum had pulled another weapon instead of taking my money and running. I kept an eye on the burning car as long as I could before we turned around the barn to pick up Apollo.

  After Aspen pulled up to him, he climbed in and set his rifle on the floor between the seats. “There’s a place back the way we came, about two clicks. Abed said we can dump the Rover and switch out there,” Apollo informed us as he pulled his jacket off. Once he was done, he turned in the seat and looked at me with a big grin. “Tech support my ass,” he said before slapping my knee.

  I smiled at the compliment but couldn't shake the feeling of having failed.

  Within a few minutes, we caught up to the farm truck and were following it south down the highway the way we had come earlier. After a short time, we turned left onto another dirt road and followed the farmer toward the river.

  We wound our way around and through the fruit tree orchards for several minutes longer, ending up at the river’s edge. For the most part, we were secluded, shielded in three directions from houses, barns, and the road. If anyone had happened to drive by on the opposite side of the river, they would have seen us, but there was no sign of movement.

  “We should fire up the SATLINK and let Spartan know the transfer site is blown,” Apollo said.

  “Ukil is on his way to Turkey,” I replied, shaking my head. “Nick should be having his meeting with him this morning.”

  Apollo nodded.

  “But you’re right,” I said as I turned on the satellite communications package. “We need to let Langley know.”

  Once the connection was made, I clicked my mic open. “Station five four. This is Monkey Wrench. I have traffic for Vixen. Over,” I said.

  “Monkey Wrench, this is five four. Wait one,” came the reply.

  A few seconds ticked by and then Charlotte’s voice came through my earpiece. “Monkey Wrench, this is Vixen,” she said. Her voice sounded tired and gravelly like it had the morning after her bender—I had to assume, though, that she hadn’t drunk herself unconscious two nights in a row. I nodded at Apollo, giving him the signal to explain the situation.

  “Vixen, this is Apollo. Tech team is still in the soup. Extraction site is blown. We are operational and about to be in transit, but we thought you should know the barn is burned.”

  “Any casualties, Apollo?” she asked.

  “Negative, Vixen,” Apollo replied with a grin. “All present and accounted for. We’ll just be a few minutes late to the transfer site.”

  “Roger that,” she responded with a sound of relief. John had been right—she was emotionally compromised by the attack on her team. I could hear it in her voice.

  “Oscar Mike in ten unless we hit any more trouble on the way,” Apollo continued.

  “Acknowledged. Spartan will be on site waiting.”

  Apollo shot me a look of surprise. Nick should have been on his way to meet Ukil.

  “Vixen, this is Monkey Wrench,” I said. “Confirm. Spartan will be at the extraction site?”

  “Affirmative, Monkey Wrench,” she replied.

  “Vixen, Skidmark is on his way to Akçakale. Who’s going to meet him?” I asked.

  “Monkey Wrench, we’ve had no communication from Skidmark,” she replied firmly. “We see he’s on his way but have no rendezvous set up.”

  I shook my head. That didn’t sound right at all. There’s no way Ukil would want to hang onto those rockets longer than he had to—they were too high-profile.

  I pulled up the map on the computer screen again and clicked on all the tags that had been placed. The two tracers I had put on the Serb were still active, but they had separated. One was in motion headed southeast along the river valley, but the other raced toward the border only a short distance behind Ukil’s phone tracer.

  “Vixen, do you have the transponders up?” I asked.

  “Wait one,” came her reply and then a few beats later. “Got it. It looks like one of the Serbs is in pursuit of Skidmark.”

  “Will we have imagery when he crosses the border?” I asked, hoping to have a satellite image of Ukil and his truck full of rockets.

  “Negative,” she replied. “Not for another seventy-four minutes.”

  Shit! Why are the Serbs going back after Ukil? And how can I get a look at it?

  I looked up at Apollo and he saw the conflict in my face. He took a deep breath and then nodded.

  “Vixen, this is Monkey Wrench,” I called. “Request permission to intercept at Skidmark’s position.”

  “Negative,” she replied with no hesitation. “You are to go to the extraction site as planned.”

  “Vixen, if Skidmark is on the move and—”

  “Negative, Monkey Wrench,” came Nick’s voice. “Move to the extraction site.”

  Fuck! The babysitter strikes again.

  Frustration welled up in me. We had two sets of Serb movement, and Ukil appeared to be running from one of them. Something had happened after the weapons exchange.

  “Spartan, our targets had every opportunity to act on Skidmark last night,” I pleaded. “He was right there with them, for Christ’s sake. If they’re after him now, something has changed. Don’t you think we should know what that is?”

  Aspen looked at me and shook his head. “It’s not gonna do any good,” he muttered.

  “Negative, Monkey Wrench,” Nick replied after a long pause. “I want you three at the extraction site now.”

  I took a deep breath, knowing nothing I said could change Nick’s mind.

  “Roger, Monkey Wrench out,” I responded bitterly.

  “Hurry and clear out the gear,” Apollo commanded. “We have to ditch the Rover and we don’t want anyone finding our toys.”

  “Ask the old man if he knows how the site got blown,” I said as we began moving equipment into the hidden compartment of the farm truck.

  “Kaifa haloka,” Apollo said to the old man.

  “Ana bekhair, shokran,” he replied sheepishly.

  As Aspen and I moved the equipment over, Apollo engaged in a lengthy conversation with Abed. The old man was rather animated in his responses, but it appeared to be contrite remorse he was expressing.

  After a few minutes, Apollo rejoined us.

  “What did he say?” Aspen asked.

  “He thinks his son may have mentioned the barn to some punks he hangs out with,” Apollo said in a low voice. “A bad crowd. Drugs and prostitutes.”

  I looked over at the old man. When he saw I was looking at him, he turned away in embarrassment.

  Once the Rover was all cleared out, Aspen did a last sweep of the interior to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything. We rolled down all the windows
before putting it into neutral so we could push it over the bank.

  We watched as the vehicle sank beneath the surface of the Euphrates and then walked back to the truck.

  “How do you say thank you in Arabic?” I whispered to Apollo.

  “Shokran,” he responded.

  The old man stood next to the hatch for the hidden compartment, doing his best not to make eye contact. I walked up to him and held out my hand.

  “Shokran,” I said softly.

  He looked up with a startled expression on his face.

  “Tell him thank you for helping us,” I said to Apollo.

  He translated for me. The old man reached out and shook my hand, a broad smile creasing his wrinkled, leathery face.

  We climbed into the hidden compartment of the truck.

  “Wake me when we land,” Aspen said as the hatch was closed.

  I was asleep before the truck reached the hard top road. It was no surprise as I hadn’t so much as dozed off since Nick woke me the day before with a punch to the face.

  **

  7:05 a.m. local time. Ten Kilometers south of the border town Tell Abyad, Syria

  ADB AL MALIK UKIL knew something was wrong when he looked up to his rearview mirror—there, he saw a Mercedes sedan speeding toward them. The truck he was in was fast, but not fast enough to outrun the Mercedes. When two other vehicles appeared behind the first, his heart started to beat faster.

  He looked over at his bodyguard behind the wheel. “Whatever you do, don’t draw first,” Ukil said.

  “What?” the hired thug asked and then looked in his mirror. “Shit!”

  He began to speed up, but Ukil put his hand out in a gesture of calm. “We can’t outrun them,” he said. “Let’s just see what they want.”

  Both of the men watched as the Mercedes drew closer and then passed them on the nearly empty highway. A moment later, one of the shiny new Range Rovers passed them as well and continued to follow the Mercedes.

  “Whew,” the driver exclaimed.

  But Ukil knew it wasn’t over. The second Rover was still behind them. He watched the road ahead of him as the two vehicles in front continued to speed away from them before abruptly stopping in the middle of the road several hundred meters ahead, blocking the passage.

  Ukil looked in the mirror again and saw the second Rover following closely.

  “What should I do?” the driver asked with tension in his voice.

  Ukil paused a second, thinking carefully on his options before answering. “Pull over,” he muttered in resignation.

  The driver grimaced as he began to slow the vehicle, pulling to within twenty yards of the impromptu road block. When he was closer, he turned onto a connecting road following the hand gestures of the road block team.

  The SUV that had been behind him pulled forward and began to lead the way down a long dirt road. When they had gone over and then back down a low hill, the Rover stopped.

  “We are going to die,” the driver muttered.

  “Take it easy,” Ukil said. “The load isn’t worth our lives.”

  The driver reached between the seats for his shotgun as he pulled to a halt behind the Rover.

  “No,” Ukil warned. “Leave it.”

  The two of them exited the cab of the big two-and-a-half ton truck, moving slowly to the front. The driver’s window rolled down on the Range Rover in front of them and an arm waved them to the rear of the truck. Ukil turned to see a large man get out of the back of the Mercedes and walk toward them, flanked on both sides by two short Westerners.

  “How can I help you?” Ukil asked the man as the group approached him. His heart began to beat faster as he realized the other two men weren’t short, but instead, that the tall man was a giant.

  Harbinger, Ukil suddenly realized. He had done business with the group before but had only heard of Harbinger’s gigantic size.

  “We have need to inspect your cargo,” Harbinger said in a deep, rumbling voice. The sound of it made Ukil tremble. Just then, he saw his Serb contact—Neven—being dragged out of the Range Rover.

  Oh, this is bad, he thought.

  “I’ve made a deal with that man there,” Ukil said pointing at the Serb. “If it has run afoul of you, I’m certain we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

  Harbinger smiled. “Keep that attitude and we can be done with our business in a matter of moments.”

  Two men from the vehicles behind them climbed into the rear of the truck.

  When they emerged again, they shook their heads at the big man.

  “Check the whole truck,” the giant responded.

  The men then began waving devices over the surface of the vehicle, climbing underneath, then into the cab. The wands whistled in a low pitch and squealed only slightly when they passed near metal.

  When they were done, the big man walked toward Ukil. “I’m sorry to have delayed your journey,” he said. “You can be on your way now.”

  Ukil breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  The two men with the wands turned to return to their vehicles, but as one of them passed Ukil, his wand device suddenly squealed loudly.

  The big man stopped and turned toward Ukil as his man waved the wand over him again. Ukil reached into his pocket and extracted his cell phone.

  “It’s just my phone,” he said defensively.

  The giant walked toward him and then took it from his hand before turning it off. He then snatched the wand from his man and passed it over the silenced phone—it squealed just as loudly as it had before.

  The big man broke the phone in half between his fingers and then extracted the battery, passing the wand over it once more. When the squeal returned, he looked up at Ukil with a terrifying sneer on his face.

  “Who do you work for?” he asked.

  “I work for no one!” he exclaimed. “I’m independent. You know this—we’ve done business before. I swear, I don’t know how that happened—” But then realization suddenly appeared on his face. “Wait. Wait. The man who ordered these rockets. He had my phone. He could have put that on there.”

  “Who ordered the rockets?” Harbinger asked plainly.

  “He was a South African. White. The name is Jason Roby,” Ukil spilled out as quickly as he could. “Here, I have his card.”

  Ukil reached into his pocket, prompting the men around him to draw their weapons. Ukil’s guard panicked and reached to his waistband for his own. Two shots rang out, dropping the guard to the ground before he could reach his pistol.

  Ukil dropped down to his knees, his hands in the air, and his head down, cowering. In his hand was the card he had mentioned. The big man reached down, snatched it from Ukil’s hand before pulling a satellite phone from his pocket.

  He dialed as he turned the card over, reading the back.

  “I need background on a holding company in Dubai and an employee by the name of Jason Roby,” the man rumbled into the phone. He turned his back on Ukil and walked away. Ukil couldn’t make out what was being said, but the big man started to smile—that terrified him more than the sneer had.

  When the big man hung up the phone, he looked at his man with the wand and nodded.

  Ukil felt himself become lightheaded as the man drew his weapon.

  “I was so close,” Ukil muttered as the trigger was pulled. He never heard the shot.

  **

  HARBINGER turned away from Ukil’s slumping form and looked at the Serb for a few beats before walking toward him. “You arranged for a weapons sale to the CIA,” Harbinger said accusingly.

  The Serb’s face turned white. “I was contacted by Ukil,” he offered defensively. “I had no way of knowing who his customer was.”

  “You were told not to make any more side sales until the transfer of the warheads was complete,” Harbinger replied mildly. “It doesn’t matter how big or small, or how safe the transaction seemed, it exposed us all.”

  “I can correct—”

  The Serb never got to finish his s
entence. He was interrupted by Harbinger’s gigantic hand lashing out. His palm covered the Serb’s entire face and shoved the back of his head powerfully into the side of the Range Rover. The back of the smaller man’s head caved in and splattered the vehicle with brains and blood.

  “Bury him along with the other two,” Harbinger said as he turned for his Mercedes. “Two of you drive the truck to the depot in Ar Raqqah and unload the rockets. We should be able to get a good price for them once this other business is taken care of.”

  He paused at the car and turned back to his men. “Leave one of the rockets on the truck and bring it to Mahkan,” he said as he lowered his bulk into the car. “It might come in handy.”

  As the driver backed the car out, Harbinger pulled out his phone and dialed. “We have to move the devices tonight,” he said into the phone. “One of the Serbs had a side job going and it’s tainted the operation.”

  “Are we exposed?” came the voice of Heinrich Braun.

  “I don’t think so,” Harbinger said. “The tracer was on a Turkish arms dealer by the name of Ukil. A CIA front company was acting as the buyer.”

  “You’ve cleaned up the mess?” Braun asked.

  Harbinger turned and looked out the back window toward the big truck and his men. “It’s being taken care of as we speak.”

  “Good,” Braun replied. “Perhaps it’s good that we get the devices handed over a little early. I was nervous they were floating free for so long.”

  “Of course,” Harbinger replied. “I’ll call you once the devices have been moved. We’ll need to wait for our satellite window tonight.”

  “Understood,” Braun said and then quickly added, “Thank you for your prompt attention to the matter.”

  “You get what you pay for,” Harbinger replied and ended the call.

  Harbinger looked out the window as they approached the highway. “The pickup truck that’s coming toward us…cut him off,” Harbinger said to the driver.

  The driver obeyed and pulled out into the road, cutting off a pickup truck loaded with produce. The driver of the truck slammed on his brakes, just barely swerving in time to miss the Mercedes. Some of his produce was dislodged and went sailing to the pavement. He got out, screaming and cursing the driver in Arabic.