“Don’t worry about it. I called in another favor. An immigration officer will board the plane on landing and take care of everything. After that, just tell Ilya to keep his mouth shut and nod a lot around the Coasties.”
“Okay. I follow. And the Coasties know we’re going after the Kapitan Godina?”
“Uhh… no.”
“What do you mean, no? How the hell are we supposed to get to the ship if these guys don’t know the target.”
“I mean my imagination is tapped out, and I’ve stretched this about as far as I can. You have the AIS number for the ship, so after you get airborne, you’ll have to use your boyish charm to convince the pilot to take you there. I can get you in the room, Tom, but you have to close the deal yourself. I’m sure you’re up to it. By the way, are you armed?”
“Harry got us an assault rifle, which I gave to Ilya so I don’t shoot myself in the foot. He also got us a couple of Glocks, but I’m not too worried about that. This is a merchant ship, and I doubt they’re armed, or heavily armed anyway. I’m more concerned with what I’m going to tell the Coasties. What do they think they’re supposed to be doing, anyway?”
“Right now they think they’re just going to fly around offshore and pretend to be intercepting drug-traffickers for the edification of a group of their British cousins. If I push any harder, this whole thing could fall apart in a hurry.”
Dugan was quiet a moment before responding.
“I understand. Thanks, Jesse,” he said at last.
“Look Tom, these are good guys. I suspect that after you’re in the air and all the bureaucrats are out of the way, you won’t have any problem. Use your own judgment, but I suspect if you level with them, they’ll find a way to help you.”
“Your lips to God’s ears, pal. And however it turns out, I appreciate the help.”
“No problem. What’s your ETA?”
Dugan looked at his watch, suddenly worried. “About 2100, I think. Listen, since the Coasties think this is a bullshit show-and-tell operation, do you think they’ll be ready to deploy tonight? They may want to wait until daylight since they don’t know it’s urgent.’
“Damn, I didn’t think of that. Do you want me to try and push from here?”
Dugan thought a moment. “No, you can’t really push without setting off alarms, and like you said, it might all unravel. It’s 1900 now, so we’ll be on the ground in a couple of hours, and I’ll see what I can do face to face.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me to run interference.”
“Will do,” Dugan said and hung up.
He unfastened his seat belt and headed for the cockpit to tell the pilot to change his flight plan to Cecil Field.
Chapter Twenty Four
Prague
Czech Republic
Arsov sat at his old desk and looked around. In a way, it was good to be back in Prague, especially considering the alternatives. True, Beria hadn’t been particularly pleased at his return and only grudgingly vacated the office. However, Arsov had been able to placate his underling with the assurances that it was only a temporary situation.
But he had to take care of loose ends to keep it that way. He picked up his phone and dialed the sat phone on the Kapitan Godina, listening as the buzzes and clicks ended in the strange ring tone.
“Kapitan Godina, captain speaking,” said a voice in English.
“Good evening, Captain,” Arsov replied in Russian. “I trust you’re taking very good care of our shipment?”
After a long pause, the man replied in Ukrainian-accented Russian. “Yes, sir, all is in order. We should dock in Jacksonville late tomorrow evening or early the following morning depending on the availability of a pilot.”
“There has been a change of plans. I believe you will encounter a storm and lose the container overboard. Most regrettable.”
“Bu-but we cannot! We are too close to port, and the weather is fine. And there are many ships in this area, converging on the US coast. No one will believe we encountered heavy weather. If you wanted to dump the shipment, you should have informed me when we were in mid-ocean with less traffic.”
“I’m telling you now, and I won’t tell you again.”
“But what will I tell the insurers and the customs inspectors?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something, and while you’re considering that, I suggest you think of your lovely wife and beautiful daughters for inspiration. Your wife is a bit old to be of any use, so regrettably, we’ll have to dispose of her. Your daughters, however, are promising, and I’m sure we could find places for them in our operation.”
“No. No. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I never doubted it for a moment, Captain,” Arsov said. “And if you have any trouble with the other officers, please remind them we have all of their loved ones under our protection.”
“I… I will. It will be done. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you. Call me when it’s done. And, Captain, do have a pleasant evening.”
Arsov hung up and leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head, satisfied he was getting things back on track. As soon as the captain reported the death of the troublesome whores, there was absolutely nothing more that could connect him to the unfortunate events in London. He could forget about Karina and her little friends and go about rebuilding his reputation in the organization here in Prague. He regretted his missteps, but one always learned more from mistakes than successes. Next time, he’d be a bit more careful.
Kapitan Godina
At sea east of Jacksonville, Florida
“Have you ever done it before,” the captain asked the chief engineer.
“No, but it should not be too difficult, I think. The container is well positioned, and we have the air bladders they gave us aboard.” He glanced out the porthole of the captain’s office. “But I don’t think we should do it at night.”
“We must. Every hour we get closer to shore. And if we dump it at night, no one can see.”
The chief shook his head. “On the contrary, everyone can see. We can’t work in the dark, especially doing something we’ve never done before. You’ll have to put on the deck lights, which will look strange and attract the attention of any passing ship. I think it’s actually better to do it in the day time. The activity on deck won’t attract any interest, and we can flip the container overboard when there are no ships nearby. You’re sure the container has holes top and bottom, to flood and sink quickly?”
The captain nodded. “They told me that is standard for their ‘special shipment’ containers.”
“So if we time it right, it will be over the side and gone before anyone sees. Right?”
“Very well, there is something to what you say. But we have to slow down. The closer we get to port, the more traffic, and I don’t want anyone to see us dumping the container. Its disappearance will be hard enough to explain as it is.”
The chief stood. “Okay. I’ll go down to the engine room and prepare to reduce speed. Give the order whenever you’re ready. I’ll also have the first engineer gather all the tools and equipment. We’ll be ready to start on the container at first light. It shouldn’t take long.”
The captain nodded and the chief started out the door, but turned back in the doorway.
“What do you think is in the damn thing, anyway?” the chief asked.
The captain shrugged. “Drugs or guns, I suppose. I don’t know, and I don’t really want to know. I just want my family safe.”
Cecil Field
Jacksonville, Florida
Ward was as good as his word. An immigration officer boarded the plane as soon as they rolled to a stop beside a nondescript building. He took their passports and stamped them without saying a word, then returned them and shook hands all around.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “welcome to the United States.”
Then he left, hurrying down the short stairs without looking back.
“Very ef
ficient,” Ilya said, and Dugan nodded and looked at his watch.
“Well, boys, let’s go see if we have a welcoming committee.” Dugan started for the hatch. His feet had barely hit the tarmac when he heard his name being called, and looked up to see a man walking toward him. The newcomer was of medium height with sandy hair, and he wore the uniform of the US Coast Guard with lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders.
“Mr. Dugan?” the man said again as he approached.
Dugan nodded, and the man smiled and extended his hand. “Joe Mason. I’m going to be your taxi driver tomorrow.”
“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Mason. But please, call me Tom.”
“Only if you call me Joe.”
Dugan grinned. “That’s a deal, Joe. And these guys are Nigel Havelock and Ilya Denosovitch.”
Mason shook Nigel’s hand, and as he shook Ilya’s, he regarded the big Russian with interest.
“Dobro pozhalovat’ v Ameriku,” Mason said.
Ilya struggled to hide his surprise. “Spasibo,” he replied.
Mason studied Denosovitch a bit more closely.
“Spetsnaz?”
Ilya’s discomfort was obvious. “Da,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
Mason grinned. “I can always spot a snake eater, no matter what the nationality.”
Well, there goes that plan, thought Dugan. Mason laughed at the group’s obvious unease.
“My brother’s a SEAL and two of my cousins are Army Special Forces, so I’ve been around a lot of special ops guys. They just carry themselves a little differently from most people. And my family is Russian. Our name was Kamenshchik, which translated — obviously — to Mason. I’m second generation, but my parents spoke Russian at home to my grandparents, so I sorta picked it up. Don’t get to practice much, though.”
“Sounds pretty good to me,” Dugan said.
Ilya nodded. “Da, his pronunciation is perfect, Dyed.”
Mason grinned. “Dyed? You don’t look quite old enough to be this guy’s grandpa, and you don’t look Russian at all. What’s with the Dyed?”
“It’s a long story.” Dugan glared at Ilya, who was struggling to suppress a grin.
Mason looked back and forth between the two. “Sounds interesting.”
“Maybe later,” Dugan said. “What’s the plan?”
“Well, I apologize, but we don’t have suitable quarters here at HITRON. Cecil Field isn’t strictly speaking a full Coast Guard facility — we share it with the Florida Air National Guard support folks and some commercial operators. However, I booked you rooms in a Hampton Inn about six miles down I-10. I can take you there now, or if you’re hungry, we can stop somewhere and get some chow first. I’ve got the boys coming in to preflight the chopper at oh five hundred, so we’ll be ready anytime you folks are. Just let me know when you’d like a pickup in the morning.”
“Ah… could we get started a little sooner?”
Mason looked puzzled. “Sooner? You mean, like… tonight?”
“Yeah, if that’s possible.”
“Well, sure, it’s possible. We’re equipped with night vision for twenty-four-hour ops, but I guess I’m a bit confused as to the point. My briefing said this was a routine familiarization and training flight for drug interdiction.”
“That’s right,” Dugan said quickly.
Mason gave Dugan a strange look. “Mr. Dugan, do you mind if I ask you all for some identification. I was told to expect three intelligence agents, an American and two Brits, but Mr. Denosovitch doesn’t look very British to me. I’d really like to know what’s going on here.”
Dugan noticed the use of the title and felt the situation slipping away. He knew he’d blown it somehow but decided to try to bluff it out. He smiled at Mason.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Mason said nothing and waited. The silence grew.
“Okay. I see you’re uneasy,” Dugan said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“What’s bothering me is that for guys that are coming as observers on a drug interdiction exercise, you seem to know jack shit about the procedure. Our role is normally to scout for and intercept the drug-traffickers’ small ‘go fast’ boats and force them to stop and remain in place while we vector surface vessels to their position. We’re all about intimidation. If they refuse to stop, we either put a shot across their bow with our machine gun or try to take out their engines with a fifty-caliber sniper rifle. The point is, intimidation works best when your target can SEE you, so while we’re capable of night operations, that isn’t a standard training op. Besides which, night ops involve the crew using night-vision equipment and as ‘observers,’ you wouldn’t have much to observe except the backs of our heads. All of which leads me to believe something isn’t quite right here. This has all been a very low-key ‘do me a favor’ op, but I’m getting a real bad vibe. So, absent a direct order from my chain of command, I’m not risking my bird or my crew unless and until I know what the hell is going on. How about I take you to the hotel, and tomorrow at oh eight hundred we’ll meet with my superiors and we can sort this all out?”
Dugan sighed. “Okay. I guess we need to start over. It’s a long story, so why don’t we go somewhere we can all sit down, and I’ll tell you the deal over a cup of coffee. After that, we’ll do it any way you want.”
***
An hour later, they sat crowded into a corner booth in a near-deserted Denny's, well away from the few other customers, speaking in low tones. The waitress started toward them, coffee carafe in hand, but Dugan waved her away. She shrugged and turned toward the counter as Mason glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was out of earshot before continuing.
“So these girls are being held captive on the ship,” Mason said. “I get that. But why not wait until the ship docks in a day or so and hit them then. I mean, they’ve been on the ship a week as it is, and a shore-based op would be way easier.”
Dugan shook his head. “We have no idea what shape the girls are in, and we don’t know that they’ll even be on board when the ship docks. And there’s all sorts of scrutiny when the ship reaches port. It’s not like guns or drugs, people make noise, so for all we know, they intend to take them off at sea just before they make port. That’s why I want to hit them as soon as they get into chopper range and before they can connect with anyone.”
Mason still looked skeptical. “Well, maybe, but I still don’t buy it. I mean, I’m sympathetic, but this looks very much like something for law enforcement, and for the life of me I can’t understand why the CIA and British intelligence — assuming you guys actually are who you claim to be, which I doubt — has any skin in the game here. I don’t see any national security issues involved at all, so what AREN’T you telling me, Dugan?”
Dugan wasn’t sure whether the transition from ‘Tom’ to ‘Mr. Dugan’ and back to simply ‘Dugan’ marked progress in his relationship with Mason, but at least the Coastie was still listening. He decided he had nothing to lose by coming clean, and Mason wasn’t anyone likely to be conned.
He sighed. “I work for the CIA part time, and I also have connections with British intelligence. However, these gentlemen are not affiliated with either organization. It’s a very personal matter for us all, I’m afraid.”
“I’m listening.”
“One of the kidnapped girls, Cassie Kairouz, is my goddaughter. Another is Ilya’s niece.”
“What about Havelock here?” Mason inclined his head toward Nigel.
“Nigel is Cassie’s…” Dugan hesitated; ‘boyfriend’ seemed diminishing somehow, but he didn’t know what else to call him. “Nigel cares a great deal about Cassie,” he said simply.
Mason shook his head. “Okay. That makes more sense. But this is WAY outside the lines. I really think we need to discuss this with the unit commander—”
“There’s no TIME, Joe. Do you really think that discussion would end before the ship got to the pilot station? I mean, you’re cleared
for the flight, right? PLEASE, let’s just make the flight as planned and adapt to circumstances as we find them. If we miss this chance, they might either be dead or out of our reach!”
Mason shook his head again, but didn’t respond, and Dugan felt the opportunity slipping away. Then Ilya began to speak to Mason in Russian, his voice barely above a whisper.
***
Ilya watched with growing concern as Dugan’s attempts to convince the Coast Guard pilot seemed to be failing. He couldn’t follow all the nuances of the conversation, but there was no mistaking the pilot’s body language, and the head shakes were growing more emphatic as the conversation progressed. When both men lapsed into what seemed a final silence, he could contain himself no longer.
“I am sorry, Joe Mason,” Ilya said in Russian, “but I do not have the English words to say to you what I must. But I beg you to listen to Dyed and take us in your helicopter without delay. I suppose all families everywhere have a great bond, but I KNOW I feel these things, and if your family is Russian, I suspect you do as well. I think your parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters and cousins and nephews and nieces meet several times each year to eat and drink and laugh and dance and fight and argue. I think you have family members you love without limit and others that piss you off every time you think of them. But I think that when one is in trouble, no matter which one, you will help with your last ruble or ounce of strength if necessary, because this is family, da?”
Mason nodded, and Ilya continued.
“I was a teenager when little Karina was born, and I bounced her on my knee and took her to the park and the zoo and all the places children like. When I became a soldier, I knew it was not such a good life for family, and so I have never married, but my sister’s children are like my own. And these scum, these mafiya bastards have taken my little Karina and done unspeakable things to her.” The big Russian’s look hardened. “And for this, they will pay, of that I assure you. But first, we must save Karina and the others. So before you say no or take the easy road of referring the matter to your superiors, I ask you to think of your OWN family and what you would do if one of them was in the clutches of these monsters. So the decision is yours Joe Mason, and I have nothing to give you but my gratitude, but I swear to you that if you do this thing, you will be my tovarishch — my comrade — for life.”
Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) Page 20