“Zulu One, target down.”
“Zulu Three, target down.”
“Zulu Two, the street looks good, but we made a little noise on that one. Lines of sight are clear, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone investigated,” said Yoshi, the Mossad sniper.
“Zulu One and Three, move up. Two, watch the line of sight to the three-story rooftop,” said Grisha.
“I have two rooftop sentries in sight. You’re clear until you turn the next corner,” said Yoshi.
“Copy,” said Grisha, nodding at Talia and the rest of the team. “We’re moving up to their hard security line.”
The hard security line represented the street perimeter protecting the Solntsevskaya-owned city block. The corner of Elizalde and Coronel Dorrego Avenue, which loomed less than a hundred feet away, formed the eastern corner of the block’s rectangular shape. Their approach from the southeast along Coronel Dorrego Avenue avoided sightlines to the taller building in the Bratva citadel.
Once they rounded that corner, all bets were off. A sentry pretending to peruse the scant aisles in one of the corner bodegas could sound the alarm with a cell phone call, or a sniper hidden deep within a darkened window in the citadel could pin them down before they crossed the street. They were about to enter the Wild West, as the Americans might say—and she couldn’t wait!
Chapter 22
Jessica glanced over her shoulder in time to see the Mossad sniper leap from one rooftop to the next. The dark shadow vanished after crossing the short gap between crowded buildings. She walked in front of the men with Talia, swaying and laughing like she’d consumed a few too many tequila shots. Grisha and Vanya followed closely behind, ready to hand them weapons when they reached the corner.
“Zulu One in position,” said Melendez. “I have two street-level targets midway down Coronel Dorrego. They’ll have to go before you break into the open.”
“Copy,” said Grisha. “Zulu Two, target the rooftop sentries on the objective building.”
“This is Zulu Two. I’m glassing them,” said the Mossad sniper.
“Three,” said Grisha. “Cover street level and windows along Elizalde, directly in front of target building.”
“Settling into position and scanning,” said Gosha, one of the Black Flag group’s most experienced combat snipers. “I’ll move up to the corner of Elizalde and Coronel Dorrego when you make your move.”
Jessica had no idea where Gosha had hidden. The deep shadows cast by the buildings lining the street concealed his position, rendering him virtually invisible to the unaided eye. The snipers didn’t have the same problem. They wore retractable head-strap-mounted night-vision goggles when they weren’t searching for targets through the thermal imaging scopes attached to their sniper rifles.
“Anything on Elizalde?” said Grisha.
“Thermal images directly across from the target complex,” said Gosha. “Thermal reflections at the corner of Dorrego and Elizalde closest to you. I have a possible in the bodega visible from your position.”
“Copy. I just saw a head peek around the corner,” said Grisha. “Watch the bodega for now, but I need you focused on the target building entrance when we break into the open.”
“Understood,” said Gosha. “Make sure the team stays to the right when moving down Elizalde. I need a clear line of fire.”
“We’ll hug the buildings,” said Grisha. “Assault teams, start your approach. One way or the other, we should have the front door open for you shortly.”
The assault teams, comprised mainly of Mossad operatives, would arrive in two armored SUVs—deposited directly in front of the gated courtyard entrance to La Suena Colonia apartment complex on Elizalde. The apartment complex penetrated deep into the Bratva-controlled city block, serving as an urban headquarters for the gang. Two teams of six Mossad operatives would search room by room until they located Reznikov, under constant attack from the Bratva muscle housed inside.
Fortunately, the detailed intelligence provided by Berg suggested that a significant portion of the Solntsevskaya gang would be out of the hive, working to establish control of the more lucrative parts of Buenos Aires. With Sanderson’s crew controlling the streets, the Mossad teams could focus on their close-quarters combat inside La Suena Colonia. Jessica didn’t envy their job. Without a doubt, Talia’s team would do the heavy lifting on the mission.
A shirtless, heavily tattooed Bratva soldier stepped onto the sidewalk in front of them, speaking in Russian. His partner remained hidden behind the brick corner, part of his leg exposed.
“Jessica goes shirtless,” said Grisha. “Talia takes the other.”
“That would distract everyone,” said Melendez.
“I’m filing a harassment claim,” whispered Jessica.
She moved her right hand to her side, edging it back along her thigh until Vanya pressed the hilt of her knife in her hand. Vanya yelled something in Russian, causing the tattooed Russian to laugh and the hidden Bratva sentry to step into the open. Grisha whispered, “Now,” but she had already sprung into action.
Talia’s bullet tore through the lurker’s throat before Jessica had closed the gap to her prey, giving the Russian a fraction of a second warning. His right hand extended forward instinctively, responding to the sudden threat, and his left flashed behind his back.
She brushed past the outstretched hand, wrapping her left arm around the back of his head and yanking him into her knife. His body went limp, a pistol clattering to the sidewalk behind the lethal embrace as warm blood sprayed the brick wall next to her. She pulled him into the shadows a few feet from the corner on Elizalde, the knife still buried to the hilt in his neck.
“Beautifully done,” said Grisha, reaching past her to help Talia move her lifeless prey.
He pinned the limp body against the wall and searched it for weapons.
“I’m not finding anything,” he said, nodding at Vanya. “Check the corner for a weapons stash.”
A snap overhead drew her attention to the street. A figure armed with an assault rifle stumbled out of the bodega’s door, thudding to the pavement. His rifle slid to a noisy stop in the middle of the street.
“I saw one more guy in the bodega,” said Gosha. “Civilian type. Unarmed.”
“Armed with a cell phone,” said Vanya. “We’re on borrowed time.”
“Ground, this is Zulu One,” said Melendez. “Zulu Three’s bodega shot turned some heads on Dorrego.”
“Copy. Snipers, engage targets. We’re ready to move,” said Grisha, snatching a compact assault rifle out of Vanya’s hands.
Jessica left the knife in the man’s throat and rushed forward, accepting the second assault rifle Vanya found leaning up against the wall on the unobserved side of the corner. She pulled the AKS-74U’s charging bolt back a few centimeters, checking for a chambered round. Seeing brass, she jammed the bolt forward, making sure to properly seat the ammunition. With her thumb, she moved the selector switch to semiautomatic.
Vanya heaved the weapon cache’s grand prize over his shoulder—a loaded RPG-7.
“Say hello to my little friend,” said Vanya.
“Knock it off,” hissed Grisha, crouched against the corner.
The air above them cracked and buzzed as the team’s snipers engaged visible targets. A muted crash sounded ahead, followed by dogs barking.
“Target building rooftop is clear,” said the Mossad sniper. “I might have dropped one off the roof.”
“Dorrego to your right is clear at street level,” said Melendez.
“We’re moving,” said Grisha, running into the street with his rifle held low.
Jessica followed him, scanning left as they crossed in a diamond formation. Yelling echoed in front of them.
“Guards across Elizalde are scrambling,” said Gosha. “Going hot.”
Bullets from Gosha’s rifle snapped to their left as they sprinted for the opposite corner. Several figures piled into the street in front of the target building, firing the
ir rifles on full automatic. She centered the red dot in her rifle’s sight on a long burst of automatic fire and pressed the trigger twice, repeating the process two more times—until bullets started to ricochet off the sidewalk around her.
“Let me do the work,” said Gosha in her earpiece. “I’ll tell you when to move forward.”
“Three armed men on Dorrego,” said Melendez. “Might need an assist.”
“Got it,” said Jessica, shifting her aim ninety degrees to the right.
Three figures dashed across the street, headed for a series of porches and alcoves built into the face of a long, three-story building. The last one carried a rocket launcher. The lead runner face-planted in the middle of the street, toppled by one of Melendez’s bullets. Jessica fired a hasty string of shots at the two remaining Russians, striking one in the leg and causing him to tumble. She tracked the rolling shadow through the red dot sight, repeatedly pressing the trigger until it stopped moving. The third Russian reached the safety of a low porch, reemerging with the RPG. His head snapped back as a suppressed snap echoed above.
“No offense, Jess, but rifles aren’t your strong suit,” said Melendez. “That was too close.”
“Trade you,” said Talia, extending her pistol.
Jessica begrudgingly swapped weapons, settling in next to Grisha.
“Are we moving yet?” she said, taking a peek and getting a face full of cement dust.
“One of them found a nice hiding spot,” said Grisha.
“Not for long,” muttered the Mossad sniper.
A single supersonic crack echoed overhead.
“Clear to advance,” said the Israeli.
“Rifles up,” said Grisha, rounding the corner.
Talia took up a position to his left, scanning the street ahead of them with her rifle, while Jessica and Vanya covered the sectors behind them. Gosha emerged from a thick stand of bushes a few hundred feet beyond the intersection and sprinted to his new position on the street corner next to the two dead Russians. He disappeared into the shadows, resuming his protective watch over their approach.
“Zulu Three in final overwatch position,” said Gosha. “It’s awfully quiet.”
“Too quiet,” said Grisha.
Gunfire erupted from the windows above the apartment complex’s gated entrance, forcing her team flat against the building while bullets struck the curb and outer sidewalk—unable to reach them because of the steep angle. When the Bratva soldiers started to lean out of the windows to get a better shot, Grisha and Talia systematically cut them down with short, controlled bursts.
“RPG!” yelled Talia, firing her rifle at an open window directly across the street.
Vanya reacted swiftly, pointing his rocket launcher at the base of the window. The RPG’s booster charge jolted the group, the chemical back blast instantly enveloping them in a thick, noxious cloud. A fraction of a second later, the rocket’s booster motor kicked in, propelling the 93mm warhead through the brick wall on the other side of the street. The explosion knocked her team to the sidewalk, showering them with building fragments and wood.
Jessica crouched in the debris, helping Talia onto her feet, when a set of window shutters directly above them burst open. Jessica aimed the pistol at the opening and waited, firing two bullets when the Russian peered over the windowsill. In the darkness, she couldn’t tell if her shots connected. Another set of shutters crashed open one story higher, knocking one of the wooden pieces into the street. Jessica shifted her aim as a rifle barrel poked through the dark window—followed by the shooter’s full torso. Jessica and Vanya unloaded on the gunman with pistols, knocking him back into the room without his rifle, which bounced off the brick wall and landed in the street. Jessica started toward the rifle, but was stopped by Vanya.
“I can make an AK sing,” he said, dashing into the street.
A coordinated string of street-level gunfire tore into the operative before he reached the rifle, flattening him next to the curb.
“Cover me!” screamed Jessica.
Bullets snapped by her head and bit into the street as she dragged Vanya with one hand and fired her pistol at the source of gunfire with the other. She reached the curb and tossed the pistol aside, grabbing him with two hands to pull him over the concrete lip. A sharp pain creased her right forearm, causing her to release her grip. She twisted her body and hauled him the rest of the way with her good hand as Grisha and Talia emptied their rifles at the unseen threat.
“Assault team, pull through the intersection of Elizalde and Dorrego. Put your vehicles between the breach group and the primary target building access point. We’re stalled out here and running low on ammunition. Dismount the vehicles on passenger side and prepare for a forced entry of the complex,” said Grisha, tossing his rifle against the wall.
“Understood. Turning onto Elizalde now. Twenty seconds out,” said the assault team leader.
As tires screeched in the distance, two men darted out of the courtyard entrance, firing on full automatic. Grisha’s pistol answered the apparent suicide attack, striking each attacker multiple times—but the Russians continued to advance. Body armor.
Grisha adjusted his aim, hitting the closest Russian in the side of the head and knocking him backward into the second shooter. The momentary reprieve gave Gosha enough time to line up a shot with his sniper rifle, which passed between Jessica and Grisha and struck the second Russian in the chest. The man dropped to the uneven sidewalk, his fate far from conclusive thanks to the body armor.
Without warning, a long, fully automatic burst lit their faces, sprinkling them in hot shell casings. The body-armor-encased bodies twitched and jerked in place as Talia emptied the window shooter’s AK-74.
“Just to be sure,” said Talia, crouching next to them.
Grisha shook his head, continuing to search Vanya. “I don’t know which one of you is crazier.”
“She’s a definite contender,” said Jessica.
Chapter 23
The cramped SUV accelerated down Elizalde Boulevard, oblivious to the hollow thunks peppering the roof and sides. The thick tinted window next to Richard Farrington spider-cracked from a high-velocity bullet impact, obscuring his limited view from the rear compartment. Moments later, the vehicle jumped the curb and screeched to a stop on the sidewalk, disgorging the heavily armed, night-vision-equipped Mossad team through the passenger-side doors.
Farrington opened the SUV’s rear barn doors, hopping onto the street as the gunfire intensified directly in front of the target building’s gate courtyard entrance. The second SUV had continued down the street, stopping in front of the gate, its occupants sweeping the primary breach point with long bursts of automatic gunfire. Upon hitting the pavement, he turned to retrieve the oversized tactical duffel bag that had been stashed between Ilya and Farrington during the ride. Ilya, one of the team’s newest members, pushed the heavy, compartmented bag forward where Farrington could reach it.
“Grab the rifles,” said Farrington, pulling the bag out of the rear compartment and lumbering toward Grisha’s team.
The Israelis had already stacked up along the passenger side, preparing to move forward. The female Mossad operative scrambled to don an array of tactical gear provided by her teammates. He was glad to see she was going in with the rest of the Israelis. Her absence on the street would make his job easier.
“Kit up. We have work to do,” said Farrington, dropping the bag next to Grisha’s team. “I’ll take care of Vanya.”
Vanya’s situation didn’t look hopeful. Lying on his back in a widening pool of blood, the operative was barely conscious. Farrington counted three wounds, at least one of them a jagged exit point. He unzipped a pouch on the side of the bag and removed a field trauma kit while the others raided the main compartments for night-vision gear, tactical vests and helmets. His first priority was to stop the bleeding.
“He needs more than a sprinkle of Celox and a plasma drip,” said Jessica.
“Focus on your
jobs,” said Farrington, unraveling the medical kit. “NVGs first. The lights are about to go out.”
Talia gave an order to the Mossad team, putting them on immediate standby to move out. She lowered her helmet-mounted NVGs and called out to Farrington.
“We’re going in,” she said. “Kill the lights and set up your perimeter.”
“Not until you release our operative,” said Jessica, moving toward Talia.
“That was the deal,” added Farrington, sprinkling a packet of blood-clotting powder over Vanya’s various wounds.
“You’ll get your guy back when we have Reznikov. That’s the deal now,” said Talia.
Before Farrington could intervene, Jessica lunged at Talia, yanking the pistol out of the Mossad operative’s vest and jamming it under her neck. Within a fraction of a second, two rifle barrels pressed against Jessica’s head; the rest of the Mossad teams’ weapons were trained on Farrington’s crew.
“Jess,” said Farrington, “trust me. Let it go. I get the distinct impression that these people don’t fail—at anything. Let them do their job, and we’ll get our guy back.”
He watched her closely, hoping she could process the situation. Killing the Mossad agent ensured everyone’s death, including Daniel’s. Accepting the sudden change to the deal kept the team alive, and gave Daniel a fighting chance.
She lowered the pistol, stuffing it into Talia’s holster. “Next time I pull the trigger.”
Talia pushed her away. “Kill the power.”
“Right away,” he said, switching tactical frequencies on his vest-mounted Motorola. “Support, blow the transformers.”
“Copy that,” said Gupta, from a hidden location several blocks away.
Seconds later, three successive explosions echoed over the gunfire, killing the streetlights and darkening the surrounding buildings. Inside the courtyard, shooting gave way to panicked yelling as the two Mossad teams breached the gate and started methodically killing Bratva soldiers in the dark.
“We should load Vanya in the back,” said Jessica, strapping a pair of night-vision goggles to her head.
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