JET - Ops Files

by Russell Blake

  “Of course. It’s near the pumping station.”

  “The unit’s triggered by a remote, but it needs to have a clear line of sight to the sky. Find somewhere you can put it where it won’t get washed away if it rains, and where it won’t be discovered.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you want me to do?” Maya said, trying not to let the disappointment come through.

  Natasha’s voice hardened. “Maya, just do as I say. There’ll be plenty of chances for you to earn your keep once we know where the agent’s stored. But for now you can’t take any risks that would alert them to our mission, and if you’re gone more than a few minutes, we’ve doubled the odds of discovery. Do you understand? We can’t afford that.”

  As much as she hated to, Maya had to acknowledge that Natasha was right. “Will you stay in radio contact?”

  “No. If something goes wrong and I have a radio, they’ll want to know who’s on the other end. I’m going to leave it in the bushes at the base of the cistern that feeds the bungalows and retrieve it when I return.”

  Maya sighed. “All right.”

  “Be ready to move when I contact you again.”

  The radio went dead, and Maya removed the earpiece and slipped the unit under her pillow. Once again she was being relegated to the easy part, but saw no way to get more involved without disobeying Natasha’s orders. She completely understood why a more seasoned operative would want her out of the mission to the extent possible. But it still felt like she was being marginalized, and she had a lot riding on finding the agent before Nahir arrived and decided to get his money’s worth out of her. Maya was being paid a fortune for the week, and she had no doubt that her turn at bat would come sooner rather than later.

  She just hoped she could restrain herself from killing the arms merchant when he sent for her. Although a dead miscreant wouldn’t break any hearts, it also wouldn’t lead them to the agent, which was the priority. No, she’d have to choke back the painful childhood memories and numb herself to whatever she was required to do, taking Natasha’s advice and compartmentalizing it. Just as she would have to lock away the memory of the executions that went with the job – although she felt no remorse for any she’d killed so far, including the men at the mosque…or her foster father, who had been beneath contempt, much less mercy.

  When Natasha radioed at midnight, Maya was ready to go. She’d slipped into a pair of lightweight black cargo pants and a long sleeved black T-shirt and tied her hair back in a ponytail.

  “The guard just went by. I’ll be outside in a minute,” Natasha said.

  Maya moved to the rear window and eased it open, having removed the screen and stowed it in the closet earlier. She waited until she saw Natasha’s face in the faint moonlight and crawled out, dropping to the soft ground with a muffled thud. Natasha wordlessly handed her the small satellite transmitter and then spun and moved behind a row of hedges and disappeared from view.

  After two minutes of remaining motionless, ears straining for the slightest sound, Maya edged to the nearby path and followed it along the landscaping until she spotted the perimeter wall. She studied it, noting the concrete support posts every six meters, and after slipping the transmitter into a side pocket, ran toward it. She hit the post a meter above the ground with her right foot, her athletic shoes gripping the rough mortar, and pushed hard left, driving her body higher. Her fingers latched onto the top of the three-meter-high wall, and she pulled herself up and over, landing on the ground in a crouch.

  By her reckoning, the concrete junction box would be twenty-five meters from the wall. It took Maya fifteen minutes to find it, and when she did, she scaled the two-and-a-half-meter structure and placed the transmitter on the top, ringing it with small rocks she’d gathered for that purpose so it wouldn’t be blown off by strong winds. Because of the height of the roof lip, the unit was out of view, and because there were no nearby paths, Maya felt confident it wouldn’t be spotted.

  She checked her watch and saw that she had nine minutes before the patrol came by the bungalow again. Plenty of time, she thought as she made her way back to the wall. She was over it in seconds and took catlike steps back to her darkened room, eyes roaming the area in case the guards weren’t precise in their timing.

  Maya climbed through the window and pulled it closed behind her, exhaling a sigh of relief as she pulled the curtain closed. She barely registered movement behind her, and then strong arms locked onto her, pinning her in place. Sour sweat and alcohol assailed Maya as her assailant growled in her ear.

  “You bad girl. Sneak out. Very bad.”

  It had to be the guard who’d grabbed her ass earlier.

  “What do you want?”

  “What you think?”

  “I’ll report you,” she said, struggling against him. She could feel the press of his excitement against her back as he held her tight.

  “No, you won’t.”

  Maya drove her left foot backward into the guard’s knee, dislocating the patella, which she knew would cause immediate, excruciating pain. He gasped in shock and loosened his grip, buying her just enough space to ram her elbow into his ribs. She heard a sharp crack, and he groaned, the wind knocked out of him. He released her as he bent over, fighting to remain standing on his good leg, and she pivoted and slammed her knee into his head, snapping it back. He was buckling as she grabbed both sides of his skull and twisted with all her might. He dropped to the floor, his body twitching, his spine broken at the C-2 vertebra.

  Twenty minutes later she heaved the guard’s inert form through the window and followed it out. She dragged the body by its feet so she wouldn’t leave furrows in the damp ground and hid his corpse in a thicket of bamboo near the wall, where hopefully it wouldn’t be found until she’d finished her assignment.

  Back in her room, she eyed the flattened plants beneath the window as she pulled the frame shut and prayed that by morning the grass would have recovered sufficiently to withstand scrutiny. Maya carefully scrubbed any trace of the guard off the floor with a damp towel before hosing down in the shower and then returned to her bed, where she spent the rest of the sleepless night waiting for Natasha to check in.

  Chapter 31

  Dawn arrived with a cloudburst, the heavy rain pounding on the roof like an avalanche of stones. Maya thanked Providence for the small favor – after a heavy downpour the grass outside the window would no longer be an issue, should anyone happen to look.

  Which did little to quiet her racing thoughts. Natasha hadn’t contacted her, and as the morning light filtered through the window, Maya tried hailing her on the radio, with no success.

  Maya eventually drifted off, her body’s need for sleep overwhelming the adrenal response her prolonged state of anxiety had triggered. When she awoke to a banging on her door, it was 11:00, and the rain had stopped.

  She quickly pulled on an oversized T-shirt and called out, “Who is it?”

  “Open the door,” a gruff male voice said.

  “Why? Who’s there?”

  “Security. Open the door, now.”

  Maya slipped the bolt aside and pulled the door open. Three guards entered, their sidearms prominent. The eldest of the group looked her up and down and barked an order to his men.

  “Search it.”

  Maya watched one of the guards go to her bag and rifle through it while the other dropped to the floor and looked under the bed before rising and marching into the bathroom.

  “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” she asked the remaining guard, watching as the one by the closet ransacked her belongings.

  “One of our men went missing last night.”

  “And? What, you think I packed him in my carry-on or have him in the bathtub?”

  The guard did his best to remain impassive, but she could sense his eyes devouring her when she pushed past him to look out the door, her caramel thighs barely covered by the bottom of the T-shirt. Outside, the sun was baking the standing water away from where it had c
ollected in low spots along the walkway. Up by the villa she could see a few of the girls at the pool, giggling professionally, thongs on display as they paraded their wares.

  The search didn’t take long. When they were done, the lead guard mumbled a halfhearted apology before moving to the next door and pounding on it. Maya went back inside, locked the bolt, and took a shower, and then donned her swimsuit and strolled to the pool, her sheer cover-up doing very little for her modesty. A steward came over when she sat under one of the umbrellas and smiled at her with raised eyebrows, and she ordered a light breakfast with a pot of black coffee. Courtney padded to the table and sat down uninvited, her piercing blue eyes squinting in the bright sun.

  “Did you hear?” Courtney asked in a hushed voice.

  “About the guard? Yeah. They just finished searching my room.”

  Courtney glanced at the bungalows, clearly confused. “Guard? No, I meant about Natasha.”

  Maya struggled to keep her voice even. “Who? Oh, the Russian girl. No, what about her?”

  “She left last night.”

  “What do you mean, left? She just got here.”

  “She has the room next to mine, and the Gestapo showed up at about six this morning and took all her stuff.”

  “Maybe she got kicked out for something.”

  “I don’t think so. I asked one of the guards, and he said that she’d left, like that was the end of it. But it was like he was totally uncomfortable with me asking.” Courtney paused, looking around conspiratorially. “And if she left, why didn’t she take her stuff herself?” Courtney was from Los Angeles, an aspiring starlet who’d taken a wrong turn, and while not the smartest, had developed the sixth sense for scams and predators that was mandatory for survival there. “It’s creeping me out. I read an article about how some girls just go missing when they’re on these gigs, but I’ve never known one until now.”

  “Have you done a lot of them?”

  Courtney waved a perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, you know. For a year or two.”

  Maya didn’t press for details. “What do you think happened?”

  Courtney acted as though she hadn’t heard the question. “Have they returned your passport yet?”

  “No. Why?”

  “How could she have left without her passport? Aren’t you getting weirded out by this? Something’s messed up.”

  The steward brought a platter of food and a pot of coffee, and Maya offered Courtney some. She shook her head. Maya took a bite of freshly cut fruit and studied Courtney’s profile.

  “You think they might have hurt her or something? That makes no sense. Carla’s here, and they’d have to explain it to her…” Maya said.

  “I don’t know. But it’s kind of scary. They’ve got our passports, so we can’t leave, and they’re like…like this is their own private kingdom or something. What would happen if we all disappeared?”

  “Courtney, come on. People know we’re here, right? And why would they want to do something like that? Has the birthday boy even shown up yet?”

  “Not that I know of.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to warn you. Don’t piss anyone off.”

  Maya nodded. “Thanks for the tip. I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “We need to stick together, you know?” Courtney hesitated. “I guess I’m just a little freaked. My imagination runs away with me sometimes. I need a frigging drink.” She waved at the bartender, and the steward approached.

  “Madame?”

  “Can I get a Bloody Mary?” she asked.

  “Certainly.”

  “With Gray Goose, okay? A double.”

  “Right away. And you?” the man asked Maya.

  “Oh, no, I’m good with the coffee right now. Maybe later,” Maya said, her thoughts elsewhere. Natasha must have been apprehended, which was a disaster. Even if she had a plausible story for being off the grounds in the dead of night, she would be interrogated, and once the guard’s absence had been noted…Maya didn’t want to think about what Natasha must be going through. Or how long she could hold out before admitting that she had a partner.

  All of which assumed she was still alive.

  The steward reappeared with Courtney’s cocktail and set it down in front of her with a flourish. Courtney raised the glass in toast to Maya and drained a third before returning it to the coaster. Maya wondered whether Natasha might have had something like a fake tooth with cyanide in it, and then reasoned that the likelihood was small – after all, nobody had offered one to Maya.

  “Wow. That guy’s got a serious pour. That’s exactly what the doctor ordered,” Courtney said, smiling crookedly. Maya could see that there was more going on than quieting of nerves with a drink. Courtney clearly had substance issues, but that went with the profession, and it wasn’t Maya’s problem. No, her only imperative was to locate the nerve agent, if that was even still possible, and if not, to stay alive long enough to make it off the island.

  Which was a longer shot than ever now.

  “Any word when Nahir shows up?” Maya asked, taking another sip of coffee and peering over her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses at a crew erecting a stage at the far side of the grounds.

  “Carla said by two or three. She wants everyone out by the pool when he arrives so he can check out the talent.”

  “Oh, then we have a little time.”

  “Enough to take the edge off,” Courtney agreed, draining the rest of her drink before standing. “See you in the water.”

  “Yeah, sure. And don’t worry about that girl. I’m sure everything will be fine,” Maya said, trying to be glib.

  “Natasha. Her name’s Natasha.” Courtney eyed the others splashing in the pool like children on the first day of summer. “I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter 32

  The single-engine Cessna 208A Caravan seaplane’s pontoons skimmed the surface of the tranquil water on the leeward side of the island before the aircraft settled down like an ungainly waterfowl and taxied toward the shore. Palm trees blew in the trade wind, their fronds like frayed green kites beckoning a welcome as the plane approached the beach, the powerful motor’s drone the only sound in the small bay. It stopped twenty feet from the sand and waited as a wooden skiff piloted by a grinning captain motored out to greet it, his twin sitting at the bow, their ebony hair slick in the sun.

  The fuselage door popped open, and the pilot stepped out onto the pontoon. The boatman threw him a line, which he secured before motioning to his passengers. Putra emerged and groped for a strut, trying to keep his balance. The boatman held the skiff tight against the pontoon, and Putra stepped into it, almost falling backward in the process. Wira, wearing tan linen slacks and a short-sleeved black shirt, clambered out and moved confidently to the boat, refusing the boatman’s assistance as he took a seat in the middle of the craft.

  The pilot gave a small salute and waited as the vessel drifted away, then climbed back into the cockpit and guided the plane’s nose toward the open sea as the skiff moved parallel to the coast before disappearing around a verdant point.

  Two gulls hovered overhead, eyeing the little boat’s passengers with passing curiosity. The bow sliced through the water with a hiss as the captain goosed the throttle, urging the outboard to greater speed. Five minutes later Nahir’s compound of buildings rose up from the shore through a break in the trees, their white bulk almost blinding in the afternoon glare. The boatman pointed at the villa and grinned, revealing yellow incisors with a gap where his front teeth had once been. Wira and Putra exchanged a neutral glance, and Putra blotted his brow with a handkerchief, the humidity cloying even with the sea breeze.

  The boat slid onto the beach and came to a stop. The newcomers hopped out and found themselves facing a heavyset guard. Near the tree line several more watched the water, rifles cradled in their arms. Another gunman sat by the pier entrance, gazing at the distant islands.

  “Welcome. Please. This way,” the guard said.

  They trudged up the strand to a ston
e path that led to the villa. Two rifle-equipped sentries stood on either side of a wooden gate that punctuated the high stone wall, and one of them eased it open as the trio neared.

  The grounds were lavish by any measure. Wira and Putra took in the groomed lawn, marble statuary, and lavish marble walkway that led to a massive swimming pool, where a bevy of young women lounged near the water’s edge.

  A voice called out from the steps of the opulent villa. “Greetings. Our host has only just arrived and will be along in a few minutes,” a servant with an almond complexion announced from the shade of the veranda. “Gentlemen, please, have a seat. What kind of refreshments may I offer you?”

  Wira and Putra exchanged a glance. “Water, please. For both of us.”

  The steward disappeared into the house as another seaplane touched down in the water and taxied noisily toward the beach. The guests had begun arriving – Wira and Putra had seen several large yachts in the straight headed for the island, no doubt en route to the party, and Wira had spotted the fishing boat they’d disembarked from in Singapore making its way through the straight as well. They would load the agent onto the ship and take their leave of the dealer’s compound with all possible speed. The plan was to be a hundred miles from the island by daybreak, where they’d rendezvous with a faster boat so Wira could get back to Jakarta and finalize the embassy attack plan once they had the agent in their possession.

  Footsteps approached from the villa. The servant arrived with their drinks, followed by their host, stylishly attired in a Versace shirt and ivory slacks, looking relaxed and rested. They got to their feet, and Nahir waved a limp hand as he pulled up a chair.

  “Gentlemen, I’m delighted you could make it. Please, sit. You are my honored guests and are among friends here.” When the servant had moved out of earshot, Nahir leaned forward. “I received the wire transfer. Thank you. Frankly, I had my doubts you could perform. I see now that I was in error.”