by Bobby Akart
“What am I looking for?” Bear asked.
“Just keep driving south.”
Bear drove across a small bridge over the water, approaching the famed Pantheon, when yet another black Defender rounded a corner from a side street and casually trailed them from a distance.
“Bear?” asked Cam.
“Yeah, I saw it,” he replied. “Seriously. They’re not sneaking up on anybody in those things.”
The Defender continued to track them, so Bear decided to make a couple of casual maneuvers to determine if they were being tailed. He turned on his blinker and slowed to turn left across traffic. The black SUV slowed as well and then drove past. The windows were blacked out, preventing either Gunner or Cam from getting a look at the occupants.
Bear slowly made the turn and eased down the side street. An alleyway intersected on their right, allowing both Gunner and Cam a clear view of the next street over. Just as Bear passed, the nose of the black Defender appeared, shadowing their progress.
“Definitely a tail,” commented Gunner. Then he turned his attention to the Den. “Guys, we’re gonna have to make some decisions here. They’ve identified us. I don’t know how, but they did. It’s a matter of time before they call their pals.”
Bear suddenly sped up to run through an intersection with a traffic signal, a common safety device in the U.S. but fairly rare by comparison in Rome. As traffic slowed, he whipped the car into oncoming traffic and executed a quick three-point turn to head back toward the river. Cam was tossed around the back seat during the maneuver.
“A little notice would’ve been nice, asshole,” she complained.
“It was an example of my quick thinking,” said Bear proudly. “I decided to switch things up a little.”
Just as he completed his sentence, he whipped the sedan across traffic and down an alleyway headed south. Cam was thrown around again and cursed Bear mercilessly, drawing a laugh from both Gunner and Jackal.
“Are you guys gonna be all right?” It was Ghost.
Cam replied through gritted teeth, “Two-thirds of us will be.”
A minute later, Bear was back on a main thoroughfare, headed south.
“Dammit!” yelled Bear as he jammed on the brakes. Out of a side street, another black Defender roared into the intersection in an attempt to cut them off. He swerved hard to the left to avoid the collision and then jerked the steering wheel back to the right. The gloves were off now, in Bear’s opinion, as he accelerated down the road and began weaving his way through slower traffic.
Cam yelled her question. “How are they finding us?”
“Cameras,” muttered Gunner. “Jackal! They’ve ID’d us. They must be using Rome’s traffic cams to track us. Can you shut ’em off?”
“It won’t matter,” Bear responded for her. His eyes were darting between the traffic ahead and the two pursuing SUVs. They were pushing their way through slower vehicles, even using the opposite side of the street in an attempt to catch up to them.
“There’s another one approaching,” said Gunner, pointing across the sedan’s hood. The vehicle was a carbon copy of the others, only this one was white.
Gunner got a look at the driver as he brought the white Defender to a stop, waiting for an opportunity to join the chase. He had a shaved head and pale skin. His companion in the passenger seat kept his hair short, military style. Both men wore black tee shirts with black shoulder holsters for their weapons. Gunner got a clear look at the expressions on their faces.
Emotionless. Determined. Ready to spill blood.
He’d seen the same look in the past. In the mirror.
Gunner tensed as he retrieved his sidearm from his ankle holster. The last thing they needed to do was try to shoot their way out of Rome. The city was too congested, and its law enforcement was some of the best in the world. They didn’t have time for explanations and U.S. State Department intervention.
However, there was no time to die either.
Cam picked up on his subtle motion, and she, too, readied her weapon. “Last resort, right?”
Gunner nodded.
They were ready but stood down, relying on Bear’s expertise at evasive driving tactics.
Ghost broke the tense communications silence. “We’ve got eyes on you. Another team is watching the five vehicles in pursuit. Four black Landys and a white one.”
“Do we have an exit plan yet?” Gunner asked calmly despite the fact that his head was on a swivel and his eyes never blinked as they constantly assessed the threats approaching them.
“Yes,” replied. “Less than a mile ahead is Via Cristoforo Colombo. You’ll bear right and head southwest toward the coast.”
Bear sped up, confident that he had his route chosen for him. Now it was all about putting some distance between them and the Defenders.
He navigated the sedan onto the narrow four-lane highway. Gradually, the traffic thinned, but that only enabled their pursuers to keep pace with them. They sped past the last of Rome’s light industrial area and were soon driving down a tunnel of pine trees in the midst of a residential neighborhood.
“They’re closing on us!” exclaimed Cam.
Bear was frustrated. “Those Defenders are hosses. This piece of crap is supposed to be quick. It was fine in traffic but on the open road …” His voice trailed off as he wheeled around a bend in the road. They’d barely cleared a slow-moving car when four gunmen suddenly appeared on the shoulder, aiming an assortment of weapons directly at Bear and Gunner.
Chapter Fifteen
Rome, Italy
“Don’t stop!” shouted Gunner.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
Two of the armed men stepped into the middle of the road and began firing toward their windshield. Gunner and Bear ducked, causing the vehicle to swerve toward the right, where it sideswiped the center guardrail. The shriek of metal on metal was deafening as the steel divider caused the driver’s side fender to peel back and the entire side of the vehicle to rip open.
Bullets peppered the hood and skipped into the windshield, causing the glass to explode. The bits of safety glass flew inside the car, stinging Bear’s hands as he kept a death grip on the steering wheel.
Cam had lowered her windows in the back seat. As the car sped past, she angrily fired at the men with her arm hanging out the window. She struck one of their assailants, who was knocked backwards into the brush along the road. The other men opened fire as Bear drove past, shooting out the rear window and covering Cam with more glass.
“This sucks!” she yelled as she spun around in the seat, causing the knees of her jeans to get ripped by the glass. She unloaded the remaining rounds in her magazine at the shooters, which sent them diving for cover.
“Anybody hit?” asked Gunner.
“I’m good!” shouted Bear as he hunched over the steering wheel to keep his profile low. As he accelerated, he was able to quickly put a couple of miles on the gunmen.
“Me too!” replied Cam. She then addressed the Den. “How much farther?”
There was no response.
“Shit! Where’s my phone?” Gunner frantically searched the front seat for his phone, and then he rummaged around the floor of the sedan.
It began to ring.
Cam swept the glass off the back seat with her hands and searched underneath Gunner’s passenger seat.
“Got it!” she exclaimed as she answered it. She placed it on speaker, not bothering with the Bluetooth connection. “You guys there?”
“Yes,” replied Jackal.
“Nice driving, Bear,” added Ghost. “You’re almost there. This road leads directly to a place called Lido di Ostia.”
“What happened to the guys behind us?” asked Gunner.
“We got help from the locals. They intercepted the trailing vehicles with a chopper. Dropped right in the middle of the road, causing a heckuva pileup.”
Gunner smiled. “Good, I wanna talk to them.”
“No time. We’ll let the age
ncy interrogate them. You guys are on a tight schedule.”
“What’s the name of this place?” asked Bear as traffic became congested the closer they got to the beach. They drew glances coupled with frowns from every vehicle they passed. Between the torn-apart driver’s side, the bullet-riddled exterior, and the missing windows, their vehicle was certainly ready for a scratch-and-dent sale.
“The town is called Lido di Ostia,” replied Jackal. “Literally, the translation means tongue of land. It refers to the long sandbar that appears at low tide.”
“Tongue of land doesn’t sound as exotic as Lido di Ostia,” said Cam with a laugh. She was in better spirits despite the fact she was continuously picking bits of glass out of her hair and tossing them out the window.
“We Italians have a way with our romance language,” added Theodora Cuccinelli, better known as Jackal.
“We’re at the intersection,” said Bear.
“Turn right, and in about a quarter mile, Sporting Beach will come into view. You’ll see several buildings with bars, restaurants and shops. Park anywhere. Doesn’t matter. Then make your way to the Olympic-sized pool.”
A minute passed and the three operatives studied their surroundings as Bear made the turn.
“Okay, then what?” asked Gunner as Bear found a parking space. The trio exited the sedan, what was left of it, and looked around in the bright sun.
Out of habit, Bear took the keys with him and then laughed to himself as he tossed them back into the front seat. It was a CIA vehicle and would never be retrieved, especially considering its condition.
Jackal continued with her instructions. “Once you find your way to the pool, walk directly toward the beach through several rows of cabanas. Hang out by the water’s edge.”
Cam spread her arms apart and turned her palms upward. With a puzzled look on her face, she shrugged as Gunner did the same.
“Is there a punchline to this joke?” asked Gunner.
“Oh, yeah,” replied Jackal with a bit of a laugh. “There’s a Zodiac en route from NSA Gaeta to your south. Just hang out, and they’ll pick you up curbside.” She let out an uproarious laugh as she got tickled over her joke.
Cam stifled a laugh, and Gunner shook his head as he smiled. Glad they’re having a good time, he thought.
He turned and looked for Bear. The only black man on the beach had wandered away and stopped by one of the beach cabanas to chat up a group of bikini-clad women. Cam noticed his absence, too.
“Where’d he go?”
Gunner pointed ahead to where he towered over two topless women relaxing on lounge chairs outside the cabana. “He’s making friends.”
“Good grief,” she said in her customary I-can’t-deal-with-Bear tone of voice. She began marching through the sand on a mission when Gunner jogged up to Cam’s side and reached for her arm.
“Let him blow off some steam. He’s always there when we need him.”
“Whatevs,” said Cam.
“Hey! Are you guys still with me?” asked Jackal, who had remained on the call.
Gunner switched off the speakerphone and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Good,” said Ghost, who also picked up the phone’s handset. “The Navy will run you up the coast to Livorno, where you’ll then be picked up and taken to Darby, a small former U.S. installation now operated by Italian Special Forces Command. Jackal has already coordinated with our people to get you equipped for your trip to Salzburg, Austria.”
“Knight Gruppe is the key.” Gunner reiterated his theory.
“We believe you’re right, but we need to gain access to their systems. Jackal has everything laid out, but you and Cam will have some work to do.”
“We’re not afraid of work,” Gunner said.
“This is outside your wheelhouse. Very Mission Impossible.”
Gunner started laughing. “Piece of cake. Even Tom Cruise wouldn’t try to tackle an asteroid.”
“Good point.”
Part II
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Chapter Sixteen
Hexane Headquarters
Berlin, Germany
Sardar Azmoun walked through the hallways of Hexane with a quiet confidence. The twenty-year-old Iranian prodigy had spent his years as a teen within the Iranian Cyber Army in Tehran. The lanky young man adjusted his glasses as he nodded his head at two German women who worked in the headquarters of Odessa’s own cyber army. He was easily recognizable within the building because he was the only employee of Middle Eastern descent, and he was considered in a league of his own among black-hat hackers.
The world’s internet and computers systems were vulnerable to attack. There was a never-ending battle between hackers and companies who attempted to protect servers operated by governments, businesses, and ordinary citizens from cyber intrusions designed to steal data or hold the data for ransom like any other kidnapper might.
Azmoun was a different kind of hacker. Certainly, when he was young, a child prodigy in fact, he’d undertaken many of the unethical and malicious hacks that others of his ilk might undertake. Just like a preteen boy who runs through a neighborhood rolling yards with toilet paper and egging the houses of their perceived enemies, Azmoun had run amok on the World Wide Web.
He changed the profiles of Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter users. He’d upload porno videos onto the websites of American churches. He was even credited, although not by name, as being responsible for taking down the website of a major American news organization.
Regardless of his preteen pranks, the target of his cyber activities was America. Make no mistake, like all Iranian children growing up, he was delivered the daily mantra—death to America, death to the Great Satan.
He knew he’d never have the opportunity to actually kill Americans. He was not a soldier, and the unspoken truth throughout Iran was that angry rhetoric was one thing but actually pulling the trigger against an adversary who could wipe them off the face of the earth was another.
Accordingly, he toyed with the Americans via the cyber realm. Until one day when he was discovered by subordinates of Mohammad Hussein al-Solami, the commander of the Iranian Cyber Army. He was fourteen when soldiers of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard burst into his family’s modest home in the suburbs of Tehran and took him into custody. His parents feared for his life, and their own. Their oldest son was yanked away from his mother as she pled for mercy. It wasn’t until four years later that he reappeared to let them know he was alive.
During that time, Azmoun was indoctrinated in an ideological resistance center established in work camps by the mullahs who led Iran. His talents related to cyber warfare were cultivated, and his life began to take shape. He was being groomed for a single purpose—attack America in the cyber world.
After he reappeared in public, he was allowed to live a somewhat normal life. He was provided an apartment. He was given a choice of women. His bills were paid. However, he was expected to sit behind the keyboard and attack America.
Then, one evening, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard arrived at his apartment in much the same manner as the time he had been swept away in the night as a child. There was no explanation. He knew not to resist. He cooperated as he was led to an Iranian airport, where he was turned over to VAJA agents from the Iran Intelligence Ministry.
During the entire ordeal, from the time they flew on the private jet out of Khomeini International Airport until touchdown at Strausberg Airport just outside Berlin, not a word was spoken between the three men.
In the cool, crisp predawn hours, Azmoun stepped off the executive jet, where he met Daniel Wagner. His life was changed forever.
Death to America.
It was a simple, hateful statement that was repeated a million times a day in Iran. It was repeated in Azmoun’s mind several times a day as well. He had no reason to hate America or its people. In fact, he’d never met an American in his twenty years on earth. All he knew from his years of indoctrination was that America wa
s evil. America needed to be brought to her knees. Americans needed that smug look knocked off their faces. And he was just the man for the job.
He arrived at the security door to the Compound, an aptly named protected area in which only a few Hexane employees were allowed. Hexane, the organic compound, not the Odessa-owned cybersecurity firm that was anything but, was a significant ingredient in gasoline that made it highly flammable.
Hexane, the company, had stoked the flames of discontent around the world, especially on American social media, by supporting hate groups and pitting users against one another. Hexane had thrown gasoline on the fire whenever there was a catastrophic event in America by surreptitiously hindering first responders with communications outages or causing medical supply shortages. Their team of black-hat hackers had exaggerated stock market losses on Wall Street in times of economic turmoil.
Today, they would orchestrate a series of cyberattacks that would not only disrupt the everyday life of Americans, but they would also finally give Azmoun an opportunity to fulfill an obligation he’d carried since he was a child.
Death to America.
Chapter Seventeen
Salzburg, Austria
Gunner, Cam and Bear took turns behind the wheel during their seven-hour drive from the west coast of Italy through the alps to Salzburg, Austria. The Mercedes-Benz conversion van provided by the 405th Army Field Support Battalion was equipped with a bed, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Each member of the team took catnaps along the way, but mostly, they discussed the next phase of their mission to ferret out the masterminds of Odessa. Moreover, they hoped to confirm the obvious connection between Odessa and the attack on Levi’s Stadium.