True Believer

by Carr, Jack

  Later, Reece. Make sense of this later. Win the fight. Prioritize and execute. Where is the nearest threat?

  Taking a wide angle, Reece moved around the side of the house. He was doing the most natural thing a man could do: he was hunting.

  After the grenade blast, the firing coming from the back of the building had stopped, which meant that the shooter could be on the move. Reece crept quietly but quickly down the ten-foot-wide alley between the side of the house and the perimeter wall where there was no cover. He needed to get through the lethal funnel as fast as he could. He could still hear the pitched battle at the back of the compound, where things sounded like they had reached a stalemate.

  As he approached the back of the house, Reece had the strong urge to toss a grenade around the corner, but, not knowing the location of the other friendlies, he held back. He eased around, step by step, and saw the bright streak of Freddy’s IR laser coming from the upstairs window. Knowing the yard was covered, Reece rounded the corner to clear the area close to the house that would be below his partner’s line of sight. Expecting to find his target directly behind the building, Reece was surprised when he saw no sign of movement. Assuming that the man had moved around the opposite side of the house, Reece checked back the way he had come to ensure that he wasn’t being outmaneuvered.

  Nothing. Where did he go?

  Then he heard it: a scraping sound above him. He looked up to find a man, just ten feet away, scaling the side of the building using a water pipe as a ladder, with his weapon slung at his side. Ordinarily he would have seen him when he rounded the corner, but the narrow vertical view through his NODs prevented it. The climber was obviously planning to shoot through the window above to take out the SEAL sniper, who was firing from a few feet back in the room. Freddy would never see it coming. Reece calmly put his IR laser on the figure’s backside and gave him a long burst. He could hear the hollow sound of the tiny suppressed rounds impacting flesh and a quiet yelp of pain. The impact of the body hitting the hard ground was louder than either, and Reece put two rounds into his head for good measure. Knowing the enemy had a similar technological advantage of NODs, he resisted the urge to make a circling motion in front of the window with his laser to let his partner know of his position.

  “Freddy,” Reece whispered as loudly as he dared “Freddy!”

  “Reece, that you?” came the response.

  “Yeah, I’m down here.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m good. These guys have NODs.”

  “I know. What the hell?”

  “I’m going to go help the boys out back.”

  “Roger that, I’m coming down.”

  A minute later the back door opened and Freddy, dressed identically to Reece except that he was wearing pants, emerged, carrying his HK416.

  “Do you sleep in that gear?” Reece asked his buddy, half in jest.

  “Says the guy with no pants. Hey, you recognize the uniforms?” Freddy asked.

  “You know I do. Let’s get this done and then figure it out. Try to take one alive to question.”

  “Hey, are you shot?” Freddy asked, reaching toward his friend.

  “No. I’m good. It’s not my blood.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Sounds like they breached the wall in two places with VBIEDs,” Reece said.

  “Yeah, I’ve taken out about a dozen guys back here. You?”

  “Four dead guys out front and Spider-Man here who was coming to get you.”

  Freddy looked down at the body and then looked up at the water pipe, putting two and two together.

  “Shit, thanks, bro.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Let’s move down the left side here, circle behind the barn, and see if we can get behind them. I couldn’t see them from upstairs, but I could hear them.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  No further conversation was needed as they moved toward the gunfight. Freddy led the way, since he had the more capable weapon in the open space of the compound. The little MP7 was great at close range, but Reece suddenly felt way undergunned in the open area between the buildings. They maintained laser discipline, knowing the lasers would be visible through the enemy’s NODs. Luckily for them, the enemy was not as disciplined.

  As they approached the large storage barn, they could see infrared beams darting around the courtyard. Freddy motioned upward, indicating that he would look for an elevated position. Reece gave him an exaggerated nod and continued along the backside of the building to flank their aggressors. Even though suppressed, the firing became louder as Reece approached the corner of the building. Suppressed meant just that: suppressed, not silent.

  Reece worked his way around the corner and found six men twenty-five yards from his position, all facing away from him, using one of the compound’s vehicles for cover as they fired toward the XXX building. He ducked back behind the barn and pulled the fragmentation grenade from his kit, removing the electrician’s tape from the pull ring. He held the spoon between the web of his right-hand thumb and pointer finger, then yanked the pull ring clear of the device and tossed the baseball-sized bomb around the corner toward the cluster of combatants. The explosion was followed immediately by screams. Reece took a knee and methodically pumped rounds into the heads of each of the writhing bodies on the ground before him.

  The XXX contractor who had been guarding the gate stopped firing, aware that friendlies had moved in among his targets. Still, Reece sprinted across the open ground behind the now-burning truck and past the six dead men so as not to be in his line of fire. He would sweep the back corner of the perimeter and come in at the rear of the XXX building to ensure that no one was behind their position. He moved past one of the two small staff houses and scanned for any sign of movement. He heard a scuffle behind him and spun quickly to see two figures struggling fifteen yards away. He took a step toward them when a white-hot explosion blew him from his feet.

  CHAPTER 40

  REECE WAS UNDERWATER. IT was pitch-dark. He put his hand in front of his face but couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t breathe but there was no panic, only peace. A tiny light, as if glowing through a pinhole, emerged in the depths below him. He swam toward it, the water thick as jelly; it was like trying to swim in winter clothing. He heard a faint voice that sounded like Lauren’s; he swam harder downward toward it. The voice sounded garbled under the water, but became increasingly louder and clearer.

  “James . . . James . . .”

  He swam as hard as he could, the voice morphing from his late wife’s voice to one with a tinge of an Eastern European accent. He felt himself floating toward the surface, an unseen force pulling him away from the light. Suddenly the light was blinding; he blinked away from it and turned his head to avoid it.

  “James, James, you okay, buddy?” The red penlight shifted from his eyes to his chest and he felt a hand moving over his body, searching for wounds. As he regained his senses, he realized that he was on his back and one of the contractors was administering first aid. He pushed the man’s hand away and sat up quickly, reaching around frantically until he found his weapon slung at his side.

  “You good?”

  “I think so,” Reece responded in a hoarse tone.

  The man kneeling in front of him was wearing black “Ranger panty” running shorts, flip-flops, and a plate carrier. His NODs were pushing upward on his helmet and his belt-fed MK46 machine gun was sitting nearby on its bipod, barrel a glowing white.

  “You’ll be okay, man. I like your outfit,” he said, indicating Reece’s boxers.

  Freddy ran up and knelt beside the two men.

  “Reece, you alive? That guy in an s-vest came out of nowhere. I was changing mags and couldn’t get on him fast enough. Somebody tackled him right before he blew it.”

  “Yeah, man, I’m fine.” Reece shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

  “If you can watch this breach in the wall and make sure no one gets behind us, Brett and I can cl
ear the rest of the place,” Freddy said, nodding toward the XXX man.

  “Check, I’m on it.”

  The sun rose an hour later, bathing the smoldering compound in the pink radiance of morning. Fires, big and small, were scattered about from the various explosions and bodies were strewn everywhere. All had been quiet since the last explosion that had almost killed Reece, and they had confirmed that the compound was secure, at least for now. One of the security contractors had been killed in the opening VBIED blast while another had been wounded shortly after the incursion began. By Freddy’s count, there were at least twenty-three enemy dead. Reece was cut up and bruised and probably had a concussion but was fine otherwise.

  He rose to his feet slowly and walked stiffly toward where the suicide bomber had detonated his vest, examining the grisly scene.

  Pieces of human flesh and bone were scattered across the blackened ground. When he saw it, he froze; it was a foot, severed at the calf but unbloodied and still wearing a brown leather sandal. He recognized it immediately. It had belonged to Maajid, his teacher. The man who had taught him so much about his own beloved religion in hopes of stamping out the darkness within it had died protecting him. Reece knelt and prayed to his own God silently, an act of which he knew Maajid would approve.

  Within an hour of daylight, a twelve-man Crisis Response Force from the 10th Special Forces Group was fast-roping into the compound from a pair of hovering MH-60 aircraft, the powerful rotor wash turning the entire area into a dust bowl. They had been working with government forces in nearby Mali when the emergency call went out from the XXX unit on-site. They were hours closer than other units of similar capabilities in Italy and Djibouti, and were routed directly to the emergency. Unlike the debacle in Benghazi, they had launched on very little information and headed toward the fight.

  The MultiCam-clad Special Forces men fanned out as soon as they hit the ground, forming a defensive perimeter and deploying a sniper and machine gunner to the roof of the main house. The team’s highly capable medic went to work on the wounded former Marine XXX contractor as the unit’s commander approached the two SEALs, who were sitting on the tailgate of a pickup. He was five feet six and stocky with a face of dark stubble, full tattoo sleeves on both arms poking from below his Crye combat shirt. A 10.5-inch-barreled M4 hung across the front of his body armor. He looked too old for his rank, and Reece assumed that he was a fellow enlisted man turned officer.

  “I’m Mack, team leader. You guys okay?”

  “Thanks for coming, Mack. I’m Freddy.” The exhausted operator shook the Army captain’s extended hand.

  Mack turned his gaze to Reece and his eyes widened. “I know you! You’re James Reece!”

  “No, I’m not . . . I get that all the time, though.”

  “Ah, yeah . . . well, let’s just say that if you were James Reece I’d want to shake your hand.”

  “Well, in that case you’ll just have to settle for mine.” Reece took the man’s hand and shook it warmly.

  “You need the medic?” Mack asked, nodding toward Reece, who looked like he’d bathed in blood.

  “I think I’m good. Just a little rattled from that s-vest.”

  “So, what in the hell happened here? What is this place? They told us it was a CIA compound.”

  “It’s a training site,” Strain responded. “They hit us in the middle of the night. Breached the wall with VBIEDs in two places. One of the XXX guys was killed immediately and another one was wounded, as you know. He and the other remaining contractor kept the bad guys busy back here while we fought them off the house.”

  “Looks like you guys kicked some ass. Sorry we couldn’t get here in time to help.”

  “No worries, it didn’t last very long. XXXXXXXXXX took the brunt of it. They hit the wrong end of the compound in-force if they were trying to get us. You actually made it here faster than I thought.”

  “You can thank the 160th for that,” Mack replied, referring to the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, which was widely regarded as having the best helicopter pilots in the world. “Any ideas on who they might be? Seems too coordinated for locals, and the gear is almost better than ours.”

  “I have an idea,” Reece replied.

  “Well, my team will run biometrics on them. If they’re on any databases, we’ll know ASAP.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Mack.”

  “I’ve got to check on my team. Holler if you need anything. We have a perimeter set up and there’s a Pred on station, so rest easy.”

  Reece nodded as the Special Forces captain jogged off toward the main house.

  “You know who they were, don’t you, Freddy?”

  “I do. But I can’t bring myself to believe it.”

  “They were Agency trained, buddy. Someone at Langley wants us dead.”

  “We’ve trained and outfitted a few different units in this part of the world, Reece. Some of them are not under Agency control anymore, but they still have our weapons and haven’t forgotten our training.”

  “Is it possible that someone inside doesn’t want us to take down Nawaz? Even crazier, could Nawaz have someone in the CIA?” Reece asked.

  “That doesn’t seem possible, but stranger things have happened.”

  “Remember what Hastings told us the night before we left Moz?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Freddy confirmed. “He told us not to trust the CIA. More specifically, he warned us not to trust the politicians that control the CIA.”

  “Maybe he was right.”

  “I’m sure the XXX is on their way,” Freddy said, changing topics and referring to the XXXXXXX secret police. “We need to get you out of here. CRF can stay and secure the site while we drive to the embassy. We’re obviously compromised.”

  “Roger that. I’ll get packed up.”

  “Don’t be a tough guy. Why don’t you go see the Eighteen-Delta before that shit gets infected,” the former SEAL Senior Chief said, using the military occupational shorthand used to classify Special Forces medics.

  “I will. Freddy, who knew we were here?”

  “It’s a short list. And I’m going to find out everyone who was on it.”

  • • •

  They were halfway to XXXXX when a call came through on the Sat phone. Freddy mostly listened, chiming in only occasionally in affirmation, then ended the call.

  “Change of plans. We’re headed to Istanbul.”

  “What’s in Istanbul?”

  “It’s not ‘what’ but ‘who.’ Mo’s in Istanbul, at least that’s what the analysts think.”

  “Istanbul. Great place to go to ground.”

  “We need to hit the embassy in XXXXX to pick up your passport and then we’ll head straight to the airfield. They have a clean identity for you, and they’ve wiped your data off the facial recognition databases. You’re still technically a wanted man. We don’t want some cop in Turkey taking you down.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that, Reece.”

  CHAPTER 41

  IN THE SPY NOVELS he’d read, the CIA always flew around in private jets, so Reece was a bit disappointed when their ride turned out to be a twin-turboprop MC-12W, a military version of the King Air 350ER. This particular model was set up for electronic surveillance missions and must have been the closest aircraft available. The plane’s narrow cabin was packed with what looked to be complicated electronic warfare gear, making accommodations a bit cramped. As professional soldiers, both Reece and Freddy knew that you took sleep when you could and were out within twenty minutes of takeoff.

  It was 10 p.m. local by the time they touched down at Istanbul Ataturk International, a smaller facility on the European side of the Bosphorus Strait. They were waved through Passport Control thanks to their black diplomatic passports, their gear bags and weapons cases sealed as diplomatic pouches, exempting them from inspection by customs officials. A fresh-faced kid who looked to be in his midtwenties met them just outside the secure ar
ea and led them to a nondescript white van in the loading area. Reece guessed that he was the junior man at the local CIA station, but he had the good sense to sit up front and not ask any questions of the shaggy-looking commandos in the backseat. Thanks to the late hour, the ride to the consulate took only thirty minutes. Reece shook his head in amusement when they passed a Burger King just before turning toward the American compound.

  After a good night’s sleep in small but modern rooms on the consulate grounds, Reece and Freddy were guided to the CIA section, which constituted an entire wing of the top floor of the building. Their escort left them in a secure conference room, where a coffee mess was set up on the long rectangular table. Reece was pleasantly surprised to see they had both honey and cream at the ready.

  Five minutes later, the chief of station breezed into the room holding a tall cup of Starbucks. Kelly Hampden was forty-five but could probably pass herself off as being a decade younger. Those who met her professionally were often surprised to learn she was the ranking CIA officer in Turkey. She stood five feet eleven and still had the physique from her college days swimming for Princeton. She wore a simple blue pantsuit over a white silk blouse, and her light brown hair was still a bit damp from her shower. A mother of two small children, she carefully juggled her home life with her CIA career XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXX XXXXX XXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Reece liked her instantly.

  “Good morning, gentlemen, I’m Kelly. Did you get coffee?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” both men said in unison.

  “I’m Freddy Strain,” the CIA man said, shaking her extended hand across the table. “And this is James Donovan.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” She smiled warmly. “We have a video teleconference set up with Langley, so let’s get this thing running.”

  She used a remote control to operate a large LCD screen on the wall at the end of the room. Within moments, the smiling face of an Asian female who looked like she belonged in a college sorority filled the screen.