Odessa Strikes

by Bobby Akart

  Gunner retrieved his phone and checked for a signal. It was a single bar, but it was something. He phoned Bear.

  “Hey!” he responded. “Y’all sure kicked the hornet’s nest.”

  “We’re moving through the tunnel. Need an extraction point.”

  “Stand by. I’ll have them get a fix on your position.”

  Bear could be heard typing on a small keyboard, likely Cam’s laptop. He didn’t dare break the phone connection with Gunner.

  “I see light,” whispered Cam loudly across the tunnel. Gunner turned his attention forward. He too could see a change in the brightness of the tunnel’s interior. What encouraged him further was that the light was a steady bluish-white. It wasn’t the usual dancing, flickering effect created by flashlights being used by a search party.

  “Gotcha!” exclaimed Bear through the phone. “Keep moving forward until you see another tunnel coming in from your right. Take the turn and you’ll come out near the river. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Roger.” Gunner disconnected the call and told Cam to join him.

  They moved along the wall and turned right, as Bear had instructed. Within minutes, the tunnel began to narrow and grew shorter in height. Eventually, they were on their hands and knees, crawling through a rainwater-filled drainpipe toward the opening.

  They shuffled along until Gunner was able to peek his head out of the culvert. There was an empty parking lot that was surrounded by shrubs and trees on two sides and the river on the third. There was no sign of Bear.

  Gunner received a text from the Den.

  Jackal: Extract point is through the trees on the other side of the parking lot. Residential neighborhood. Hostiles above you.

  Gunner didn’t bother replying. He tapped Cam on the arm and raised his index finger to his lips, indicating she should stay quiet.

  He crawled through the opening until he was able to stand against a concrete wall supporting an embankment. There were dogs barking and several men speaking to one another in German.

  Cam joined his side. She looked toward the river. The parking lot ran directly up to its banks. To their right, the gentle slope eventually placed them at the same elevation as their pursuers.

  Gunner nodded that he’d observed the same. He leaned into her and whispered, “We’re gonna have to haul ass across the parking lot. We’ll be halfway before they can see us.”

  “About a hundred yards. Separate and zigzag?” she asked.

  Gunner nodded. “We’ll be exposed for about seven seconds.”

  “They’ll never react that quickly. I say we go for it.”

  Gunner raised his finger. “Let me tell Bear.”

  Gunner: Coming in hot. 20 seconds. Might have company.

  Bear: Bring it.

  Gunner counted them down with his right hand. Three. Two. One.

  They took off in a dead sprint, reaching the center of the parking lot before the dogs noticed them first. The barking caused the guards to ready their weapons, but by the time they took their first shots, Gunner and Cam had hurdled over a row of low-lying shrubs before entering the trees buffering the parking lot from the adjacent residences.

  Bullets sailed over their heads, tearing through the trees and splintering the bark. A cacophony of dogs began to bark in the neighborhoods, and several lights turned on in the homes.

  They cut between two homes and burst out into the open on a quiet residential street. An engine roared to life and tires squealed as Bear drove up the street to pick them up. Gunner and Cam flung open the passenger doors. Jackal’s voice could be heard over the sedan’s speakers.

  “They’re moving toward you across the parking lot. Three groups of two. Each with dogs.”

  “Dang, y’all stink!” was the greeting they received from Bear once they closed the doors behind them.

  “Shut up!” yelled Cam. “Get us out of here.”

  “Roll down your windows first,” he shot back.

  Ghost’s stern voice came over the speakers. “Focus, people. You’ve got some work to do.”

  Through the woods, flashlights were dancing around as the searchers got closer. Bear forced the gas pedal down, and the sedan lurched forward.

  “In a quarter mile, turn hard left,” said Jackal.

  “Why do you two smell like ass?” asked Bear.

  “I’m warning you!” Cam meant it.

  Bear whipped the wheel to the left in front of a few approaching vehicles, earning him a blare of a utility truck’s horn.

  Jackal continued to provide guidance. “Continue on this street for eight-tenths of a mile. You’ll merge left onto the highway and cross the river into Germany. As of yet, you have no pursuers.”

  Gunner turned sideways in his seat and looked at Cam. He reached through and offered his fist. She bumped it in return and smiled before collapsing against the back of her seat.

  “God, I stink,” she said with a groan.

  “I told you.”

  Cam smacked Bear in the back of the head. “I can say it. You can’t.”

  “Huh?”

  Gunner swatted at Bear, who easily dodged the assault. “You don’t learn, do you?”

  Bear sat a little taller in his seat. “I call ’em as I see ’em.”

  Their vehicle sped across the Saalach River into Germany en route to Munich. The three operatives thought it would be an opportunity to gather their thoughts and relax before returning home.

  That was when they learned about Detroit.

  Part III

  “Defeat? I do not recognize the meaning of the word.”

  ~ Margaret Thatcher, 1982, at the start of the Falklands War

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Castle Bariloche

  Bariloche, Argentina

  Henry Gruber generally remained calm and collected during a crisis. Odessa had operated in the shadows and under the radar for decades. Under his mother’s steady leadership and sound guidance, not only had the international conglomerates they controlled flourished, but their tentacles had inserted themselves into the highest levels of government around the world. Now, because one of their most trusted subordinates had a lapse of judgment, they were exposed.

  Derek Gruber and Daniel Wagner, both of whom had been jubilant in their recent successful attacks on America, were being dressed down by the head of die Zwölf. Henry demanded answers.

  Had Kutcher been thoroughly vetted nine years ago before elevating him to his position as CFO of Knight Gruppe? Was there any inkling of his proclivities toward young women? How could a woman half his size manage to steal his identification and his thumb?

  Henry didn’t wait for answers as he fired one salvo after another against his brother and Wagner. While Kutcher would soon be executed, determining what the American operatives obtained in the way of information was critical.

  “Kutcher’s office was ransacked, sir,” began Wagner. “After we regained control of our surveillance system and studied the time stamped on the Americans’ activities, it appeared they were in his office for less than eight minutes. Kutcher was required to review every physical file and journal in his office to determine if anything was missing. It was not.”

  “Photographs?” asked Derek.

  “A possibility, but unless they knew exactly what to look for, they weren’t there long enough to rifle through his drawers and then enter level six.”

  “Did they access his computer?” asked Derek.

  “No,” replied Wagner. “All of our computer devices, including top-level officers’, are required to be equipped with a keystroke monitoring software called Keystroke Logger. There was no indication that his computer terminal was accessed, and therefore the software didn’t capture any activity.”

  Henry poured himself a third brandy. His hands shook as he took a sip. The older man was clearly shaken by the breach. He hung his head and tried to regain his composure.

  “What about the server room?” he asked and then added, “Against mother’s better judgment
, we were dragged into the world of modern technology. It always concerned her that Odessa was vulnerable to anyone who could gain access to the information stored on those servers.”

  Derek responded, “Our technology personnel continue to review the activity at the computer station located within the server room. This is the one computer system in the building that does not include the keystroke-monitoring software. The technology people are reviewing access logs, searches, and data transfers to give us an idea what they were looking for.”

  “Mein Gott,” said Henry with a groan.

  Derek tried to ease his brother’s concerns. “We have layers upon layers of protections. While it is true that certain information can be garnered from their intrusion, it doesn’t mean the entities that fall under the Knight Gruppe umbrella are at risk. They are completely legitimate and aboveboard. They pay their taxes. They are good corporate citizens. The people they hire are above reproach despite their indiscretions, like Kutcher.”

  “Somebody thought our data was worth killing for!” Henry shot back. “They drugged our chief financial officer and cut off his thumb! They’re not vandals or miscreants. They’re coming for us!”

  Wagner was careful not to speak out of turn. He wanted his employers to focus on their ongoing operation, one that Odessa had waited to undertake for generations.

  He felt compelled to add, “Nothing will deter us from completing our mission, sir. Every aspect of covert activities is funded and undertaken outside of the Knight Gruppe companies.”

  “That’s right, Henry,” added Derek. “Mother made sure die Zwölf always maintained several levels of separation that kept our legitimate business and philanthropic concerns apart from our ideological endeavors.”

  Derek’s statement seemed to calm his brother, who finally stopped pacing and sat at his desk. He finished off the third brandy but didn’t ask for another, a sign that he was becoming more comfortable with what had happened.

  Wagner tried to add more reassurance to the aging grandson of Heinrich Himmler. “We are going on the offensive to track down the operatives who’ve been a gnat in our ears for the last two weeks. We have not yet identified them specifically, and the fact their facial features and fingerprints do not appear in any known databases tells us a lot.”

  “It tells me nothing,” said Henry with a slight chuckle. “This trio has evaded our screening. They’ve meddled with our contacts at the Vatican. They’ve killed our security personnel and had their way with our most secretive corporate records. That tells me they’re very good at what they do.”

  “Yes, sir, which means they must be a part of American intelligence and operating under the purview of only a handful of agencies. Through Hexane, we’ve initiated a worldwide manhunt among our controlled security entities. Within thirty-six hours, I will have their photographs in the hands of the Austrian Criminal Intelligence Service as well as Interpol. They will become the subject of an international manhunt with their faces posted in every airport, train station, and border crossing.”

  “Why wait?” asked Henry. “Why not do this now?”

  “I want to interrogate them myself to find out what they know and who they report to. If we can’t find them, then at the very least, I can neutralize them by declaring them to be international assassins.

  “Also, with your permission, I’d like to call upon General Holzcraft. He will have access to deep-cover operatives within the United States government. If he can’t help, then we may need to try an ally higher up the food chain.”

  “Remy Weber?” asked Henry.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Wagner. “Derek has advised me that we don’t like to use this asset more than absolutely necessary. I’d maintain that this may be a pretty good reason. Give me through tomorrow evening. I’ll report to Derek at that time.”

  Derek leaned over his brother’s desk. “Henry, let me assure you that we intend to finish what our grandfather started so many years ago. We have risen from the ashes, and nothing can stop us from rebuilding the Reich.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Munich, Germany

  After a brief stop in Siegsdorf, Germany, a half hour west of Salzburg, during which Gunner and Cam cleaned up, the trio arrived in Munich. The Den had arranged for a two-bedroom suite with an additional connecting room for the exhausted operatives to crash. Showers, room service, and much-needed sleep were their priorities. They hadn’t planned on scheduling a wake-up call, as the Den assured the team they could rest before being ferried to their next location. It was Gunner, however, who provided the wake-up call.

  “We’re not detectives!” Gunner’s raised voice stirred Cam awake in the adjoining hotel room. “They’re killing people by the thousands, and we’re over here chasing down hard drives and aristocrats.”

  Ghost allowed his top operative an opportunity to blow off some steam. Gunner was expressing the same frustration that everyone in U.S. intelligence and law enforcement felt at the moment. It was a combination of anger and helplessness, as two major terrorist attacks had happened on their watch. Other agencies were no closer to identifying the instigators than they were before the football game in Santa Clara. The Gray Fox team was, and Ghost reminded Gunner of that fact.

  “You can’t help your country by being back here with the rest of them, chasing their tails and squabbling about jurisdiction. Find the head of the snake, Gunner. The rest will fall into place.”

  Gunner continued to pace the room. He grabbed a handful of peanuts from the prior evening’s snacks and dropped them one by one into their bowl. It was a mindless activity that allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts.

  He took a deep breath and acknowledged a sleepy-eyed Cam, who’d just entered the living area in the suite. Bear was still sawing logs.

  “Did you make coffee?” she asked.

  Gunner shook his head, so she flipped him the middle finger to signal what she thought about his oversight. This caused him to smile. He pitied the man who’d marry his best friend someday. She was fiercely loyal but, well, expressive at times.

  He turned his attention back to the Den. “Okay, so what’s the plan? Did Jackal get inside the servers at Knight?”

  “She did for a very brief period of time,” replied Ghost. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It was all hands on deck from the moment she took down the firewall. I’ve never seen anything like it. They were like honeybees attacking an intruder in the hive. The room was buzzing with techno-geek speak. The keyboards were clattering. Jackal was barking out instructions. It was incredible to watch.”

  “So they got everything they needed?” asked Gunner.

  “We don’t know, but she doesn’t believe so. In less than five minutes, security protocols from a source outside Knight took over the system and reestablished the firewall. At some point, as the security team was closing in on you, IT people from another location blocked us out.”

  “Damn! Don’t tell me it was a waste of time.”

  “No, I didn’t say that. Important stuff like financial and real estate holdings was captured. Personnel files outside of the corporate office were not. The good news is that the financial records date back many decades, almost to the fifties.”

  “Did it give us enough to go on?” Gunner asked as Cam handed him a mug of black coffee. He took a sip and winced. It tasted awful. Most hotel-supplied coffee was stale and low quality.

  “We decided to look for connections to Argentina based on your hunch that the professor’s dying words pointed you in that direction. There was very little in Knight’s servers, but the video recording Cam took of the old ledgers in Kutcher’s office shed some light. Everything points to a small town in the Patagonia region called San Carlos de Bariloche, or Bariloche, for short.”

  Bear wandered into the room. “What’s going on? I thought we could sleep in.”

  Cam shushed him and pointed to Gunner on the phone. Bear scowled and entered the small kitchen area in search of coffee and something to munch on. H
e opted for the peanuts Gunner had just dropped back into the bowl.

  While Cam and Bear listened intently to Gunner’s side of the phone conversation with Ghost, they turned on the television to watch BBC, the only English-speaking news network they could locate. They were showing images of the carnage in Detroit and interviewing eyewitnesses to the aftermath of the power outage.

  “Okay, we’ll be ready. I’ll call when we touch down.”

  Gunner disconnected the call and tossed his cell phone on the table in the midst of the empty beer bottles from the night before. He ran his hands through his hair, which was now getting shaggy.

  “Okay? So where are we headed?” Cam asked impatiently.

  “Let’s saddle up, gauchos. We’re headed to Argentina.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Over the South Atlantic Ocean

  The weary Gray Fox operatives got settled into their seats aboard the Gulfstream IV jet supplied by the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, which had a substantial presence in South America. This Gulfstream model was the same configuration as the aircraft preferred by celebrities, with a few major exceptions. Instead of hot tubs and flat-screen televisions, it carried a cache of weapons and special ops gear enabling the team to fulfill the next phase of their mission to unmask the principals behind Odessa.

  After a quick stop for jet fuel on La Palma, located within the Canary Island archipelago and best known for Cumbre Vieja, an active volcanic ridge, the Gulfstream was airborne once again across the South Atlantic. Despite the additional stop, the trip was infinitely shorter than flying commercial because the private jet wasn’t bound by the usual delays required by ground control.

  During their stop, they were able to download the dossier on the principals of Odessa who had ties to Argentina. Two of the men had been raised there. A third had recently traveled there from Azerbaijan, a connection that Gunner immediately picked up on.