The Messenger - Special Agent Dylan Kane Series 11 (2021)

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  Dax cursed as he readied his weapon for what was to come. He eyed the old man dead on the floor, the leader of this village, and shook his head. How could they have misread the situation so badly? The villagers might have known about the attack, but they clearly weren’t involved if those outside were willing to kill the Imam. And with what the captain had said over the comms, these people might pay the price as if they were behind everything.

  A shaft of light appeared in front of him on the opposite wall, and a split second later the round that had created it pierced his neck, eliminating the only person who knew the truth of what had happened here today.

  Or at least what he thought was the truth.

  2 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  National Clandestine Service Chief for the CIA, Leif Morrison, stood in one of the state-of-the-art operations centers located at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, his hands on his hips as he stared at the massive wall of displays that arced across the front of the entire room. Drone footage from two different events were playing side by side. One he had seen before, though he couldn’t remember in what context, the other was new, the timestamp indicating it was from yesterday.

  He pointed to the new footage on the right. “Is this from the incident in the Wakhan Corridor yesterday?”

  One of his top analyst supervisors, Chris Leroux, confirmed it. “Yes, sir. It’s from a drone that was dispatched the moment the distress call was received. Six of our people plus an Afghan translator were ambushed during a scheduled meeting with the village elders. They were able to put out the call, but they were all dead by the time support arrived. The captain in charge indicated he thought those he was meeting with were involved.”

  Morrison pointed at someone entering the frame, leaning over each of the bodies. “What’s he doing?”

  “We believe he’s taking photos of each of our people.”

  And then it clicked, the context in which he had seen the first video. He glanced over to the left side of the displays, staring at the footage from six weeks ago. Another incident, again in Afghanistan, half a dozen troops ambushed and killed. Unfortunately, there was nothing unusual about that, but what was odd was what had happened next. Caught by a drone, someone came in and photographed the bodies immediately after the attack.

  Something strange was going on. ISIS had been known to take video of their victims and post it on the Internet to recruit other nutbars to their cause, but his agency and others had been monitoring, and nothing had appeared on the usual sites or the Dark Web showing footage of any of their dead.

  For whatever reason these pictures were being taken, it wasn’t recruitment purposes. Something else was going on, and so far, no one had the foggiest of ideas as to what it could be, beyond that a pattern had already emerged. Small groups of soldiers going into areas considered friendly were being ambushed on their way out. This was the first time a group had been ambushed within the village they were visiting, and with the captain’s radioed warning that he believed the villagers were involved, it changed the equation.

  The man with the camera left the frame and Morrison turned to Leroux. “Do we have anything more on that guy?”

  Leroux shook his head. “No. The drone stayed over the town, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.”

  “And when they got there, what did they find?”

  “No hostiles, and the town was abandoned.”

  “And now?”

  “Latest drone footage shows the town is reoccupied.”

  Morrison chewed his cheek for a moment. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but what we’re saying is we had a team go in for a scheduled meeting, it appears they were leaving early and got ambushed inside the town. Then, immediately after the attack, someone was taking photos of our people before we got there, and before we did, the villagers disappeared until after our recovery team left.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Leroux.

  Morrison eyed him. “And what does that famous gut of yours tell you?”

  Leroux stared at the footage on the screen. “The photos can’t be a coincidence. Everything fits the pattern except that the ambush happened inside the village.”

  “So why the change in their MO?”

  “Our people were leaving early. That has to be it. The question is why? Captain O’Donnell indicated he thought the villagers were in on it. For him to say that in the heat of the moment, he had to have picked up on something during the meeting and called things off. The meeting was scheduled for another fifteen minutes. My guess is the hostiles were moving into position for an ambush outside of the village when they had to change their plans.”

  Sonya Tong, one of Leroux’s senior analysts and second-in-command, turned in her chair. “But why not just abort the attack? They put a lot of innocent lives at risk.”

  Morrison leaned against one of the workstations and folded his arms. “They must have felt the reward outweighed the risks.”

  Leroux bit his lip. “We’re assuming they weighed the risks. We’ve seen it before in countries like this where they value life differently, and we’re also assuming that the hostiles and the villagers are on the same side.”

  Tong regarded him. “But if the villagers knew, doesn’t that imply an association?”

  Leroux jabbed a finger at the air between them. “Exactly. ‘Implies.’ It doesn’t mean there was a friendly association. The Taliban could have come into the village earlier in the day, told them to play along or else.”

  Morrison shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

  Leroux’s eyes narrowed, the young man not accustomed to being disagreed with. “What do you mean?”

  “The meeting was scheduled. Whoever committed the attack knew about it. If we’re assuming this is part of a pattern we detected, then they had plenty of time to set up their ambush outside of the village just like the others. There was no need to inform the villagers of anything. The meeting would happen, it would end amicably, our people would leave, and the hostiles would ambush them. There was no need to involve the village in any way.”

  Leroux’s head bobbed. “You’re right. So, if the villagers knew, then it certainly suggests they were either in on it, or had been informed for some reason. What that reason could be, I have no idea.” He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s a crazy idea. We’re assuming the hostiles were Taliban or some other group. What if they were from the village? Not an outside group like we’ve been thinking.”

  Morrison rose and stared at the screen, contemplating Leroux’s theory. He wagged a finger at the display as he turned back. “That’s an idea, that. This area was considered secure, and so were all the other ambush sites. Taliban activity has been minimal there.”

  Randy Child, the team’s tech wunderkind, spun in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t buy it. It takes some serious cajones to ambush seasoned troops. I can’t see villagers doing that, at least not without some serious motivation. My money is on this being some new group.”

  Leroux regarded Child. “If it is, then why aren’t they using the photos they’ve been taking for recruitment to their cause?”

  Morrison sighed and returned to his perch on the edge of one of the workstations. “That’s what I don’t understand. If you want to recruit, there’s no point posting all your material in some corner of the Dark Web that nobody knows about. We’ve been monitoring all the known haunts and haven’t seen anything, which has to mean either the images they’re taking are never meant to be made public, or they’re saving them for something else down the road.”

  Tong shuddered in her chair. “What could that possibly be?”

  Morrison shook his head. “I don’t know, but we better find out. Otherwise, the dozens that are dead already may be merely the tip of the iceberg.” He headed for the door. “Get an asset in the area. I want to know what the hell is going on before any more of our troops are slaughtered.”

  3 |
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  Outside Langley, Virginia

  CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane downshifted then hammered on the gas, the 797-horsepower engine of the 6.2L Hemi V8-equipped Dodge Charger he was in slamming him into the back of his seat. He wanted to smile, though if he did, he’d be giving in to the adrenaline of the situation. He loved a good car chase, especially one that involved guns, but he had to focus.

  His target was just ahead, and the chase had been on for almost ten minutes. He hadn’t been able to overtake them yet, the target driver exceptionally skilled in an equally powerful vehicle. A sharp turn approached and he smiled as the back end of his opponent’s car lost its grip by only a hair.

  Yet it was enough.

  Their speed was killed dramatically as the driver was forced to let up on the gas more than planned. He gunned his engine, ignoring the turn, instead punching his front bumper into his opponent’s rear before hammering on the brakes, downshifting, and spinning the wheel, all in one fluid, choreographed moment. As he came out of the turn, his opponent’s back end swinging in the wrong direction, he reached over and grabbed his weapon from the cup holder, extending it out his open window as the driver’s side window of his opponent came into sight.

  He smiled at the shocked face of his girlfriend, Lee Fang, as he squeezed the trigger, putting two in her chest then two in her face. Both cars screeched to a halt. He threw open his door and stepped out, striding over to Fang’s vehicle, now perpendicular to the road. His smile spread as he confirmed the perfectly placed shots.

  Suddenly, Fang’s weapon appeared in the window and she fired twice, both hitting him square in the nuts. He dropped to the ground, writhing in agony, his gun clattering onto the pavement as she stepped out. He stared up at her as she aimed her weapon at his head.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

  He gripped the companions to his most favorite body part as tears filled his eyes. “Ya think?”

  She pointed at the two bright green paintball splatters on her chest. “I hope so. It hurts getting shot in the boobs, you know.”

  He winced. “I don’t think you can compare it.”

  She shrugged as she removed her helmet, the face shield smeared with paint. He rolled over onto his back as a golf cart with a rotating amber light arrived, the course marshal shaking his head with a smile then outright laughing at Kane’s literally blue balls.

  “Beautiful takedown, Dylan. You executed that PIT maneuver perfectly.” He turned to Fang. “Ms. Lee, do you know what your error was?”

  She fired two rounds into Kane’s helmet then holstered her weapon. “I entered the corner too fast. It forced me to overcompensate when my back end kicked out. That allowed him to overtake me.”

  “Exactly. You never want to present a corner to your opponent like you did. You’re better to slow up when your bumpers are square. That way he can’t knock you out. Kill your speed, accelerate into your turn, and your opponent has to do the same.”

  Kane groaned as he rolled to his knees and removed his helmet. He pointed at his balls. “She should lose a few points for this.”

  The marshal eyed the region. “Looks like good grouping to me.”

  Kane flipped him the bird and the man shrugged.

  “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to play spy games with your girlfriend.” He grabbed his moobs and gave them a lift. “And take it from a guy who knows, getting shot in these hurts.”

  Kane pointed at his balls. “More than this?”

  The marshal shrugged. “No idea. I haven’t been dumb enough to play paintball without a cup.”

  Kane gave him a look. “We were doing it inside cars. I didn’t think I’d need it.”

  The man shrugged again. “There’s no rule that says the game stops when someone gets out of their car.”

  “Yeah, but there is a rule that says it stops when you’re dead.”

  Fang grinned. “Zombie Paintball Racing.”

  Kane pushed to his feet using Fang’s car to steady himself. He hopped a couple of times to free up any of the boys that had revisited the home of their youth, then took a tentative step. They were tender, but he’d live.

  Fang stepped over and patted his cheek. “Is my baby okay?”

  “You should be asking him that.” He cast his eyes downward.

  She cupped his boys and gave them a squeeze. He grunted and winced. Her playful expression turned to concern. “I really did hurt you, didn’t I?”

  He gave her the eye, repeating his earlier question, this time more emphatically. “Ya think?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. My body wasn’t designed stupidly.”

  Kane eyed her. “You didn’t seem to mind the design last night.”

  The marshal roared with laughter. “You two aren’t married, are you?”

  Kane shook his head. “No.”

  “You can tell.”

  Fang’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “Because if I shot my wife in her tatas, she’d have got out of the car, hoofed me in the balls several times, then walked away expressing absolutely no concern on whether I was okay.”

  Kane laughed. “She’s a black belt to the nth degree. If she ever decided to kick me there, I’d be spitting out chestnuts.” His CIA customized TAG Heuer watch sent a pulsed electrical signal into his wrist, indicating he had a message. He turned to Fang. “Well, my dear, I don’t think we’re going to do a second round today. I have to go ice these things before they become useless.”

  She stared at him. “I’m sorry. I thought you were wearing a cup. The game rules dictate the mandatory equipment.”

  He frowned at her. “You know me, I don’t play by the rulebook.”

  “And that’s why your balls will be blue for a few days.” The marshal indicated both cars. “I assume they’re still drivable?”

  Kane glanced at the reinforced bumpers. “Oh yeah. I only gave her a love tap. I doubt there’s even a scratch.” He eyed the beat-up vehicles, then shrugged. “Well, I doubt there’s a new scratch.”

  The marshal climbed back in his golf cart. “Then get them off the course. I’ve got people waiting.”

  Kane delivered a Sergeant Bilko salute. “Yes, sir!”

  Fang giggled and they both got behind the wheels of their vehicles, following the marshal back to the pit. Kane pressed the buttons surrounding the watch face in a coded sequence, then tilted his wrist to read the message scrolling across the crystal, indicating he had a non-urgent message from Langley, specifically from his best friend, Chris Leroux. He sighed. This was his time off, but apparently Langley had other plans for him.

  He shifted in his seat and delivered a silent apology to his testicles for what was to come.

  4 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Chris Leroux continued through the after-action reports and the investigation summaries into the previous half-dozen similar incidents, refamiliarizing himself with what had happened over the past couple of months. Six ambushes, all small groups in friendly territory, all hit after leaving their scheduled meeting, except for this latest. And this was the second one where aerial footage had caught someone taking photos.

  Attacks like this had happened throughout the almost 20 years America had been in Afghanistan, and if it weren’t for the reports of the photos being taken, nobody would be paying any more attention than they normally would. While the six previous attacks followed the same pattern, it could be nothing, it could be mere coincidence. But he didn’t believe in coincidence.

  And the cameramen changed everything.

  He leaned back, folding his arms then scratching at his chin. This one outlier and the radio transmission received from the captain leading the mission spoke volumes. If this latest attack weren’t an outlier, and instead was part of a pattern like he suspected, where the villagers were aware of what was about to happen but something had gone wrong, then it suggested that the same was true in all of the previous attacks.

  But what would the
y gain? Part of America’s policy in Afghanistan was to win the hearts and minds of the locals, and the most effective way to do that was through plain old bribery, primarily through supplies and infrastructure as opposed to greased palms. What could villagers possibly hope to gain that could outweigh America and its allies coming in and building a new school or digging a new well?

  “Their lives,” he muttered.

  Tong turned in her chair. “What was that?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, just talking to myself.” He turned so he was facing more of the room. “I was just thinking that if there is a pattern here, and this latest attack was conducted by the same people or at least people affiliated with each other, then it suggests all of the villagers knew that the attacks were going to happen. And if that’s the case, they set our people up, but they would have to know that if we found out, any assistance we’re providing them would be lost. So, what could the Taliban possibly offer these villagers that they’d be willing to give up everything we could offer them?”

  Child shrugged. “Their lives, I guess, like you said. Cooperate or we’ll kill you.”

  Tong shook her head. “That doesn’t fit.”

  “Sure it does. These people are animals.”

  “Perhaps, but they’re not stupid. Why would they tell the villagers anything? Like we’ve discussed before, there was no need. All the ambushes except for this one were set up outside of town.”

  Mark Therrien, one of the team’s senior analysts, leaned forward. “They’d have to know when the meetings were happening, wouldn’t they? I mean, these were well-coordinated ambushes. It’s not something you can throw together on an hour’s notice unless you already had people in the area.”

  Leroux agreed. “Yes, but these meetings are prearranged. Our people don’t just show up in a village and ask to have a meeting. Not in these areas where we’re trying to be courteous. Quite often, the locals will gather around the meeting place to hear what the news is, to find out what they were getting from us in exchange for their cooperation. All the Taliban would need is one sympathizer inside the village. He hears when the meeting is happening, passes the intel along, and then his cronies set up the ambush. No need to involve any of the villagers.”