The man had spilled for the better part of an hour. He had been recruited through a former Army buddy, the deposit sent to a Swiss bank account he already had set up for previous mercenary work, instructions dropped off that led him to a rally point in Syria where he met the rest of the team. They were given the mission details by men in plain clothes, all Russian. No names had been used, but his old buddy recognized one of the men, an officer he had once served under, Lieutenant Colonel Leonid Talanov.
Langley, who had been monitoring the interrogation, had sent a photo of Talanov to Kane’s tablet and their prisoner had confirmed it was the same man, the leader of a brutal Spetsnaz unit known as Ghost Watch. He was active Russian Special Forces, and it had confirmed their worst fears.
This was indeed a Russian operation.
It might still be rogue, but Russians were actively involved that had the power to not only fund and supply the mission, but to provide an actual Spetsnaz unit. It meant someone on the inside. The question was who was that person, and was the Russian president aware of what was going on?
Hopefully, they were about to find out.
If all went according to plan.
Unfortunately, this mission was more likely to go according to expectations. These were highly-trained special forces they were going up against, some of the best in the world who were fully aware of the implications should their secrets be revealed. They wouldn’t be going down without a fight, and Colonel Clancy had already told him that if the choice were between capturing one of the Russians and risking the life of one of his men, there was no choice.
The Russian died.
Right now, a coordinated effort was underway. They had the names of all the local recruits. Two were already dead, one by Kane’s hand, the other in Kane’s presence. The rest would be dead before the day was out, teams deployed across Afghanistan to carry out the President’s orders. The locals the recruits had used to help them couldn’t be identified for certain, so they would be left alone. However, anything that appeared to be new purchases from the time between the ambush and today would be confiscated or destroyed.
No one would profit from the death of an American soldier.
Their prisoner had confirmed that Akhtar was the only local they had involved directly, and the entire ground team of seven were now either dead or captured. All that remained were the Spetsnaz unit, and whoever was coordinating this from Moscow.
And Kane had a plan for identifying who that was.
Bravo Team’s mission was to capture the Spetsnaz team if possible, eliminate them if necessary. Washington ideally wanted confessions on video in case the Russians decided they didn’t want to cooperate with Kane’s plan.
He stared at his tablet, displaying footage from a camera set up by Niner and Jimmy, who had an elevated sniper position with a clear view of the walled-in backyard of the house the Russians were using to run their mission from. He activated his comms. “One-One, Zero-One. I’m seeing six subjects. Confirm?”
“Confirmed, Zero-One,” replied Niner. “I count six targets.”
“Is Colonel Talanov one of the six?”
“Affirmative, Zero-One. He’s the one on the right of your image with his back to you. He turned around a moment ago and I got a good look at his face.”
“Good. He’s the one we want. If anyone knows who the Moscow contact is, it’ll be him.” Dawson slipped the tablet into an inner pocket. “Control, Zero-One. Are we a go?”
“Stand by, Zero-One. Still awaiting confirmation from Diggler, over,” replied Leroux in his ear.
Dawson gripped his M4, drawing in several deep, controlled breaths, settling down the adrenaline desperate to unleash itself on his system. His inclination was to simply blow up the entire compound then make certain everyone was dead. But those weren’t his orders.
Yet.
40 |
The Ritz-Carlton Moscow, Russia
Russians loved their parades. It was a holdover from their Soviet Union past that their current elected dictator loved. The former KGB strongman was the laughingstock of the West, the propaganda his people pumped out about him sometimes outright insane. Did anyone seriously believe that a 68-year-old man could score nine goals against former NHL players? His moments were so obviously staged, it was amazing how many of the population bought it.
But these people were now conditioned to distrust the West. The press was controlled, any opposition quelled. He won their elections in landslides, yet the rules were such that it was almost impossible for an opposition party to register. Ballot boxes were stuffed, votes were changed, and if anyone accused his party of committing voter fraud, they were dismissed as puppets of the West merely attempting to discredit a legitimate election because they were afraid of a strong Russia.
And the West was afraid of a strong Russia, but there was no longer any will to counter them. Over 30 years had gone by since the collapse of the Soviet Union, an entire generation having no concept of the danger the world faced during the Cold War, an entire generation that embraced socialism with no understanding of what communism was. Russia with its oil money was too powerful, and countries like Germany were willing to ignore history, including recent history, embracing a natural gas pipeline fed by Russia that would heat the homes of Europeans, a pipeline that could be shut down at any moment should the Russians take offense to something Europe said or did.
Russia could take over disputed territories around the world and nothing would be done about it. There would be protests by the politicians, America might send more troops into the area, the Europeans would threaten sanctions, and Russia would just turn the taps off. No one was going to war. No one could win, not without horrendous consequences. Wars today involving the major powers like the United States, Russia, and China, would be wars fought through political brinkmanship, cyber warfare, and economic warfare.
Yet there would be tit-for-tat exchanges like what was happening right now. Russia had crossed a line, a line it mustn’t be allowed to cross again, and everything was waiting in Afghanistan and Moscow on Kane, right now lying prone on a table pushed in front of the window of a hotel room rented in the names of two Canadian tourists, chosen specifically for its view, a room suddenly opening up when the guests who had booked it somehow missed their flight. The few dozen people in the world who were aware of what was about to happen were waiting for him to trigger the next stage of his plan.
They were outside the security perimeter set up for the parade, and unbeknownst to Sherrie until a few minutes ago, her room had been chosen specifically so he had a line of sight with the grandstand. It was a difficult shot, though he’d done it before at this distance, and God was on their side today, the winds almost non-existent.
He peered through his scope and smiled. “Here we go,” he said, his voice calm, his heart steady. The events he was about to initiate could start a war, though he was convinced it was the only way to avoid one. A response had to be sent, but today he was a scalpel, not a sledgehammer, though the repercussions would be felt for years to come.
The grandstand quickly filled with the who’s who of the Russian president’s inner circle, lining up behind where the despot would stand. Where they were positioned, where the cameras would catch them, indicated their standing in the eyes of their dear leader. Those at the fringes were of little importance, but those directly behind the man, especially the few who would stand up with him as the parade marched past, displaying the might of the Russian military, were either the most loyal and trusted, or those owed the most for actions taken that required favors.
The audience roared as the man himself appeared.
“Control, Diggler. Ready on this end, over.”
“Copy that, Diggler. We’re ready on this end. All cameras are being monitored, over.”
Kane’s heart rate couldn’t help but pick up a few beats, and he inhaled deeply, shutting down the adrenaline that could affect his shot. “Send the signal.”
41 |
; Magdanly, Turkmenistan
Dawson’s chestnuts were roasting over the open fire between his legs. They had been waiting for fifteen minutes at this point with the vehicle turned off, no air conditioning running.
“Zero-One, Control. You’re a go. I repeat, you’re a go, over.”
“Copy that, Control. Commencing operation now,” replied Dawson. “One-One, Zero-One. We’re a go. Stand by for my signal, over.”
Niner confirmed immediately. “Copy that, Zero-One.”
Dawson checked the mirrors. There were a few locals nearby, but the moment they spotted him and the others, they would vacate the area quickly. “Let’s go.” He stepped out of the vehicle and strode with purpose across the street and down the road toward their target building, Atlas beside him. Spock and Jagger broke off at the 1-2 corner of the building where they already knew there was a side door.
Dawson and Atlas took up position on either side of the front gate to the small courtyard. He pressed the panic button on the key fob and a moment later the alarm blared on their SUV.
“Zero-One, One-One. You’ve got their attention,” said Niner. “The colonel just sent two of the guys to check it out. They’ve entered the house and they’re armed, over.”
“Copy that, One-One.” Dawson pocketed the fob, retightening the suppressor on his Glock. This was the thinning-out phase of the operation. If they could take out these two men without the other four knowing, their job might just get a little easier.
Footfalls echoed across the courtyard. He stepped back, aiming his weapon toward the gate, Atlas doing the same on the other side. A hand gripped one of the wrought iron bars then a head poked through, searching for the source of the alarm, instead finding the barrel of Dawson’s weapon pointed directly at him. The man’s eyes bulged and Dawson squeezed the trigger as Atlas swung out from the wall, stepping in front of the gate, firing off two rounds.
“Clear,” he whispered, Dawson saying the same.
“Bravo Team, Zero-One. Two targets down in the courtyard. One-One, report, over.”
There was a pause then Niner said, “Stand by.”
Dawson reached through the gate and swung aside the latch that held it closed at the center. He pushed it open slightly, ready for what would hopefully be a silent breach.
Instead, Niner cursed in his ear.
Niner focused in on a tablet computer that one of the Spetsnaz team had picked up off a table. The man peered at it for a moment then shouts erupted as he swung the tablet around so Colonel Talanov could see. Talanov leaped from his chair as Niner caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an overhead shot of the house.
“We’ve been made, Zero-One. I repeat, we’ve been made. I think they’ve got a drone overhead.”
Jimmy rolled onto his back, aiming his Glock at the sky, searching for a target.
“Copy that, One-One. Engage, I repeat, engage, over.”
“Engaging.” But it was already too late. Two of the men were rushing inside the household, shouting in Russian.
“What the hell did he just say?” asked Jimmy as he continued to scan the sky.
Niner squeezed the trigger of his sniper rifle, red mist spraying on the wall as the lone available target was taken out. Talanov spun, staring in his general direction before sprinting for cover. The colonel wasn’t on the immediate target list, but they had a bigger problem than a lack of targets in the backyard. He redirected his weapon toward the windows.
“Zero-One, One-One. We’ve got a problem. After the targets went ape-shit, they ran into the house yelling, ‘Everybody wake up!’”
Dawson cursed at Niner’s report. There had only been time for one satellite flyby, and Washington didn’t want a drone over the area in case it tipped off the Russians. It meant they had gone in almost blind. The question now was, were they facing another two or twenty-two? He was guessing another half-dozen tops. The house wasn’t big enough for much more, but more importantly, the Russians would want to keep this compartmentalized as much as possible, so they would have the minimum involved to carry out the mission. The question now was what to do? They had the element of surprise, but only for the next 30, perhaps 60 seconds.
He headed for the front door, still making his decision. Shouts from inside, all in Russian, a language he understood well, were urgent but not panicked. After all, this was a Spetsnaz team, and just like his team, he wouldn’t expect anyone to panic in a situation like this. Shock and surprise would be expressed, absolutely, but not at the expense of getting ready to repel an attack.
And it changed the equation.
“Control, Zero-One. We’re changing the mission unless countermanded. This is now a shoot-to-kill operation, otherwise we abort.”
“Stand by, Zero-One,” replied Leroux.
Dawson cursed.
We don’t have time to stand by.
42 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
Leroux already knew what the answer should be, and he would have given it already if the Chief weren’t standing next to him monitoring the situation. He turned to the man, who dismissed the question before it could be asked.
“This is your mission.”
Leroux nodded and opened the channel. “Zero-One, Control. You’re a go for change in mission priority. I repeat, you’re a go. Over.”
“Copy that, Control. Better send in the package, just in case.”
“Roger that, Zero-One.” He snapped his fingers at Tong who spoke quietly into her own mic, then gave a thumbs-up.
“ETA to package arrival, eight minutes,” she said.
He adjusted his headset. “Zero-One, Control. You’ve got eight minutes to abort the package or exit, over.”
“Copy that, Control,” came Dawson’s reply, an explosion and gunfire almost drowning out the Delta operator.
Leroux said a silent prayer then turned his attention to the display that showed an image taken earlier of the target site, and six red dots, each tracking one of the Delta team members, their life sign indicators stacked on the left of the display, all showing heart rates elevated, though probably 10 to 20 beats per minute less than his own. These were the best of the best, but they were going up against Russia’s best, outnumbered. He just prayed this wouldn’t be one of the missions where he lost somebody because of his intel.
Child interrupted his train of thought. “Moscow Station is reporting. They’ve successfully pinged the phone, and they’ve confirmed the location.”
Everyone in the room forgot for a moment what was happening on the other side of the planet with men they had worked with for years. This was the moment of truth.
“And?” asked Leroux.
“They’re indicating they believe the phone is in the parade square.”
Kane switched channels on his comms. “Diggler, this is Control. Moscow Station has confirmed they believe the phone is in the parade square, over.”
“Copy that, Control. Stand by to make the phone call, and let me know the moment Bravo Team is clear. We want our message to be accurate.”
43 |
Magdanly, Turkmenistan
Niner peered through his scope at Talanov, still in the backyard, as the man pulled out a phone. With the change in mission priority, the colonel was now a target. Niner could put a round through the man’s chest, yet there was still an opportunity to take him as a prisoner. Unfortunately, that phone sealed the man’s fate.
“Taking the shot.”
He squeezed the trigger, relegating Talanov to the history books, then switched his focus to the windows as did Jimmy, his spotter, lying beside him, his M4 at the ready, having given up trying to find the drone overhead.
“Don’t shoot with that thing unless it’s necessary,” said Niner. “Just tell me the shots.”
“Second floor, far-right window.”
Niner adjusted, spotting someone peering out the window. Niner fired, not bothering with the usual reporting. This was no longer a sniper mission, this was
active engagement.
“Rear door, backyard.”
Niner adjusted again as the door was thrown open, two men emerging with submachine guns gripped in their hands. “A little help.” He took out the one on the left as Jimmy fired several shots with his M4, two rounds finding their target as Niner put a third into the man for good measure. Gunfire sprayed their position and they both dropped behind the foot-high wall that surrounded the edge of the rooftop they were on. He activated his comms. “Zero-One, One-One. Our position’s been made, over.”
“Then get your asses out of there and into the fight. You two have been lying down on the job too long. Zero-One, out.”
Niner rolled his eyes at Jimmy then they both shuffled back as the gunfire continued on their position. It was from the second floor of their target building, and below their vantage point, limiting the shooter’s angle. Within moments, any threat to them was eliminated. Niner rose to a knee and gave Jimmy a look. “He does know we actually greased four guys from here, doesn’t he?”
“Well, no, he doesn’t, because you stopped reporting your kills.”
Niner rose to his feet. “Huh, I guess there is a reason for all that nonsense.”
Automatic weapons fire erupted from the back of the residence, silencing Niner’s sniper rifle. If the man was as accurate as he normally was, it suggested four targets had been taken out, and Dawson assumed the colonel was in the mix. There would be no interrogations today, no prisoners, no witnesses to the atrocities committed in Afghanistan. And he was fine with that. As far as he was concerned, every single person involved should be eliminated.
To his left, through several walls, the reports of Glocks firing as well as Makarovs indicated a gun battle from Spock and Jagger’s position. As long as he continued to hear their weapons, he wouldn’t worry about them. If they needed help, they would radio it in. But he did need to know how many were down. As if reading his mind, Niner’s voice came in over the comms.
The Messenger - Special Agent Dylan Kane Series 11 (2021) Page 17