Odessa Strikes

by Bobby Akart

  Cam laughed. “Or they own the place.”

  “There’s that, too,” said Bear.

  Gunner addressed his team on the ground and those watching via the live cam to get their opinions. “I don’t see any way to take them in the open. The security team appears to be disciplined. Their eyes remain focused on their employers. They’re not looking at their phones or pretty girls walking by. I can’t imagine that they’d leave their posts.”

  Ghost responded to Gunner’s thoughts. “There will be a point when they pull out. If our analysis of the live-cam footage is any indication, the two targets will leave before five. The security detail will be split at that point. Most likely, two will leave to clear the route back to their transportation. The other two will follow at a safe distance.”

  Gunner nodded as Cam pretended to window-shop. “Cam and I will eliminate the two forward members of their team. Bear can trail them out and eliminate the two on the back end. All hell will break loose at that point, but our targets will be unguarded.”

  Ghost apparently liked the idea. “Bear, I need you to move your vehicle to the other side of town where the lake bends into downtown. They came from that direction. You need the truck in the general vicinity. When you’re done, come back to the square. Gunner, you and Cam take up positions down the street where the targets entered the square. We’ll keep you updated via the comms.”

  “Roger,” Gunner replied.

  Now, they’d wait.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Centro Civico

  Bariloche, Argentina

  As expected, Wagner and Derek Gruber casually walked along the cobblestone streets in the oldest part of Bariloche. It was a walk Derek had taken his entire life with his brother and mother. It always calmed his nerves, as the familiarity of the setting made him feel safe. It had been a welcome daily respite away from Castle Bariloche, where his increasingly nerve-racked brother dominated the conversations. He and Wagner discussed Odessa’s business while they were away from the castle. By contrast, their conversations were done with clear heads and without the emotion generated by Henry at times.

  They took their seat at the table, which remained reserved for them at the outdoor café overlooking the square. They commented on the throngs of people taking advantage of the mild temperatures the region had been experiencing. Their usual waiter greeted them with drinks without asking their preference. Derek didn’t want to be bothered with the usual waitstaff pleasantries. He wanted their cocktails served immediately, followed by the café’s signature German fare added to the menu years ago at his mother’s request.

  Bariloche had its own mayor and town council who operated its government. However, very little was decided, whether at a government level or within the retail community, that didn’t have the Jorgensen influence in mind. Brit Jorgensen’s guidance over these matters since her arrival in 1944 had served the once tiny hamlet well. It was now one of the top tourist destinations in Argentina.

  After the waiter dropped off their drinks, the two men toasted one another out of habit and took a sip. Derek was pensive as he spoke.

  “Daniel, I don’t like hiding things from my brother. It’s not that I’m concerned he might discover my betrayal, for you are the only pipeline to these matters. Recently, since my mother’s death, he seems to have been carrying the burden of Odessa entirely on his shoulders.”

  Daniel leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “That’s not the way die Zwölf was designed. Am I right?”

  “You are correct. To be sure, there would always be one among the twelve to take the seat at the head of the table, albeit a round table. While she was alive, that was my mother. Henry was next, naturally. I suppose I would follow in his footsteps.

  “The assignment of duties and obligations for certain aspects of Odessa was always intended to be divided amongst the other eleven relatively equally. Most of the time, corporate and financial dealings were of paramount importance, so the bankers and lawyers took the lead. Geopolitical affairs permeated everything, hence the importance of my cousin Sophia.

  “Our covert operations and security fell under my purview, with your assistance, of course, until you earned your own seat at the table.”

  Wagner took a deep breath and studied Derek. The intent behind his question was not to sow discord but, rather, to gain some insight into Derek’s real feelings toward his brother.

  “Does Henry have a tendency to micromanage the affairs of the twelve, and is that a concern of yours?” He slowly sipped his drink and peered over the top of his glass to study Derek’s facial expression as he responded.

  “Yes, and, well, not yet. Despite the fact my mother had stepped away in her later years, she was still looked upon as the one who guided us all. After her death, Henry put undue pressure on himself as he followed in her footsteps to fulfill the vision of my grandfather.

  “The discovery of the U-boat and its sarin cargo was a blessing. It was also, however, a curse for Henry to the extent he raised expectations for himself to accomplish Odessa’s goals.”

  “Sehr kompliziert,” mumbled Wagner in German. Very complicated.

  “Ja,” Derek replied instinctively.

  Their early dinner was served.

  A bottle of red wine was brought out first, followed by a plate of sauerbraten, spatzle, and rotkohl. An onion and red wine vinegar-based roast beef stew was served with egg noodles and red cabbage.

  As the men ate, Derek questioned Wagner about the upcoming attack.

  “Has everything gone according to plan?”

  Wagner swallowed a partially chewed hunk of piece of roast beef and chased it with a sip of wine. “A freighter sailed from Jorge’s port several days ago. The ship’s manifest was altered to allow for the late edition of canisters. They were labeled as compressed air, but the manifest read medical supplies. This allowed them to easily avoid scrutiny upon their arrival at the Port of New Jersey.”

  “They have arrived? This is confirmed?” Derek topped off their glasses of wine.

  “Yes. It’s an intermodal freight company we’ve used in the past.” Intermodal referred to a transportation company that utilized ship, truck and rail methods of shipping in which the containers of freight could be moved from one mode of transportation to another.

  “But not the same as the one used in Washington, correct?” asked Derek.

  “Correct. The amounts of sarin deployed were much smaller on the West Coast than the quantity utilized for this attack. For one, the target is much, much larger, and our intended casualties are in the millions rather than the tens of thousands.”

  “Has Hexane been effective in its task?” Derek continued his questioning. It was not that he’d lost confidence in his top covert commander. Although he didn’t want to admit it, or perhaps he didn’t recognize the character trait, he also had a penchant for micromanaging operations.

  Wagner was not offended. In fact, he preferred to provide Derek all of the minutiae of the operations he undertook beforehand. He’d learned in the KSK that he couldn’t be criticized for something his commanders knew in advance.

  “Oh, yes. We have their intelligence assets rushing from one major city to another in search of the next target. As is always the case, the Americans overreact rather than standing back to assess all possibilities. They allow their media and public opinion to drive their response.”

  “Very predictable.” Derek laughed and sipped his wine before changing the subject. “Have you made any progress on identifying the three operatives who breached our security in Salzburg?”

  “Some, but not as fast as I would like. With General Holzcraft’s assistance, we have begun a process of elimination in our efforts to identify them. The United States has many covert operations within their intelligence and military apparatus. The general is eliminating them without raising suspicions through his inquiries.”

  Derek leaned forward. “Daniel, we cannot afford to have them interfere in our affairs. We are too close t
o achieving our goals.”

  “I understand. This morning, we set into motion a plan to expose them, or at the very least, stop their ability to travel around the world. The Austrian Criminal Intelligence Service has labeled them as terrorists and murderers. They have reached out to Interpol and the U.S. Department of Justice for assistance. Soon, they will be flagged by every airport and border crossing in the world. Any attempt to meddle in our affairs will be met with arrest.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Centro Civico

  Bariloche, Argentina

  Gunner and Cam had been watching the two members of Odessa enjoy what appeared to be a casual conversation over dinner. They also noticed that the crowds in the Centro Civico, Bariloche’s town square, had begun to thin out. Their immediate concern was that the four men stationed throughout the square acting as guards for Wagner and Derek would notice the Gray Fox team lingering too long.

  First, they pulled Bear off the surveillance detail just as the men’s dinner was served. He went back to the Bronco, put away his camera gear, and changed his outer clothing to lend a different look. Also, because he noticed two members of the Odessa security detail had bulges under their jackets, indicating shouldered weapons, he opted for a Sig Sauer P556 SWAT pistol that could be concealed under his overcoat.

  As the two men completed their dinner, Bear reappeared in the square and took up a position near the café. Gunner and Cam entered a boutique hotel on the far end of the square. Once inside, they used the rear emergency exit to emerge in an alleyway. They dodged vehicles and trash receptacles to hustle through Bariloche to take up positions near the point their targets had entered the Centro Civico earlier.

  “We’ve got movement,” announced Bear into the comms. “These guys either have their own communications with the security team, or their personnel know exactly when it’s time to leave. Anyway, two have peeled off from their posts and …” Bear’s voice trailed off.

  Gunner was posted in an alley across Mitre Street from Cam, who was similarly positioned. He stepped out from his cover to make eye contact with her.

  She shrugged and then spoke into the comms. “Repeat, please. You were cut off.”

  “This is all kinds of FUBAR,” whispered Bear.

  The chatter between the Gray Fox team became frantic.

  “The two security personnel have moved toward the lake instead of east toward you. Our targets are standing as they leave money on the table. They’re on the move north toward the lake.”

  “Jackal, can you get eyes on them?” asked Gunner.

  “Negative. Our live-cam resources are limited. You can move north to intercept, but now your vehicle is in the opposite direction.”

  “The other half of the security detail is on the move,” interrupted Bear. “We need a plan. Do I take them?”

  “Follow at a distance,” ordered Gunner. He stepped out into the street and motioned for Cam to cross Mitre to join him. She raced in front of a small car and dodged pedestrians in the crosswalk.

  “We’re four or five blocks out of position,” she complained.

  “Double-time, airman,” said Gunner as he began to run along the sidewalk past the row houses interspersed with small shops. As they arrived at the third block, they found themselves near a four-lane divided street that ran along the shore. A lakefront hotel was just ahead of them, and to their left was a marina.

  “This is my last chance to take them out,” said Bear. “They’ll be in the open by the time they reach the end of this street.”

  “What about the targets?” asked Gunner.

  “When they arrived at the main street, they turned toward the east.”

  “Follow, but do not engage,” he ordered.

  Bear responded, “Roger.”

  Gunner grabbed Cam by the arm and ran into the Interlachen Hotel lobby. They couldn’t risk being seen rushing down the sidewalk to intercept Derek and Wagner, so they pretended to be hurried tourists as they pushed their way through the hotel’s guests lingering in the lobby.

  At the other end of the hotel, they burst out into the open and searched for the Odessa targets. Derek and Wagner had crossed at a traffic signal, led by two of their security detail. The other two members of their team loitered about near the crosswalk, with their eyes studying the pedestrians moving about the waterfront hotels.

  “Bear, we need you to grab their attention while we cross the street down here. They’re headed for the marina.”

  “No problem,” he replied into the comms. The sound of his booming voice didn’t require the two-way communications. He began to sing on the sidewalk where the square met the road.

  He began to belt out a bastardized version of “’O sole mio.” Luciano Pavarotti would’ve shaken his head in utter disgust.

  However, his antics, accompanied by his baritone voice, began to draw a crowd as well as the brief attention of the security detail. Gunner and Cam ran through traffic to cross the four-lane street and made their way to the sidewalk leading down to the small marina.

  They walked briskly toward the marina, Gunner holding Cam’s hand and pulling her along like a disrespectful husband might drag his wife because she walked too slowly.

  Bear continued to bellow the words while his partners hustled down the concrete steps leading to the floating dock, where a variety of boats were tied off in their slips.

  “Gunner, look. They’re at the end of the dock. They seem to be leaving the other two men behind.” One member of the security detail slipped behind the wheel of a remarkably well-preserved Chris-Craft Barrelback wooden boat. He started the inboard engine, causing a loud rumble as the exhausts roared to life.

  “They’re with the advance team,” he observed. “Find us a boat.”

  “What?” asked Cam, but Gunner ignored her as he walked slowly toward the end of the dock. He was careful not to draw the attention of the men as they pushed away from the dock and slowly made their way into the center of the lake.

  Gunner ignored her question and provided Bear additional instructions. “Bear, you can release them now. We’re gonna try to engage the others on the water. Meet us at the insertion point near the castle. We’ll reach you by radio.”

  Bear suddenly stopped singing and accepted the applause from the curious onlookers. “Thank you! Thank you! Tomorrow, I will sing again!”

  Cam walked past Gunner and mumbled, “He’s such an idiot.”

  “It worked, right?” said Gunner with a smile.

  “Yeah, as usual. That’s what pisses me off.”

  Gunner reached for her hand and pointed ahead of them toward an older man who was tying off his center-console fishing boat.

  “There’s our ride,” said Gunner as he moved ahead of her. “The twin engines should be fast enough to catch up to the vintage Chris-Craft. Roll with me on this.”

  Gunner approached the man and began to apologize profusely. “Sir, I am so sorry we are late for our charter.” Without permission, he stepped onto the boat’s transom and onto the aft deck of the twenty-eight-foot closed-bow vessel. He reached back for Cam’s hand to help her aboard. “We promise to make it up to you with a generous tip.”

  The man began to object to Gunner and Cam’s entry upon his vessel. He became animated and waved his arms, complaining in Spanish that he was not a fishing charter.

  Gunner pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar bills and thrust them toward the man. The man tried to avoid accepting the money and turned his back on Gunner. With a swift, nonlethal blow to the back of his neck, Gunner knocked the man unconscious.

  The two operatives quickly bound and gagged the man before dragging him below the foredeck. After retrieving the keys from his pockets, Cam untied the dock lines, and Gunner fired up the twin engines. They pulled away from the marina, west toward the setting sun, in pursuit of their Odessa targets.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lago Nahuel Huapi

  Bariloche, Argentina

  Gunner pushed down the thro
ttle, and the two outboard engines responded by digging the props into the lake and forcing the bow of the boat upward. As the fishing boat picked up speed, it began to plane out on the water. They were driving directly into the setting sun, and their sunglasses only provided nominal relief as they tried to pick up the location of the Chris-Craft, which had a healthy head start.

  “No cell service,” said Cam as she stood next to Gunner at the helm. “Do you remember anything about the lake?”

  “Hell no,” said Gunner, who was angry with himself for not studying the body of water that connected Bariloche to the castle. He’d focused his preparations on the topographical map to determine the best way to approach the castle. It was surrounded on three sides by water, but he recalled nothing else other than the fact it was toward the Chilean border.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Cam studied the natural lake and its shoreline. She was looking for evidence of the other boat’s wake.

  “We’ve got a fork ahead,” she yelled over the roar of the motors and the rush of the wind in their faces. “There’s an island that splits the main channel.”

  Gunner checked the compass mounted just above the wheel. It was dancing wildly as the boat reached its top speed.

  “We’ll stay to the west,” he decided. “The mountains rise on that end of the lake.”

  “Hey! You’re right,” said Cam, suddenly interrupting Gunner. “I can see the white tops of their wake rolling onto the shore.”

  “Hold on!” shouted Gunner as he swerved to the right around a tree that was inexplicably growing well offshore. It barely broke the surface of the lake, so it wasn’t visible to Gunner until the last second. His hard swerve caused Cam to lose her balance and fall to the deck. After a chorus of expletives from the Sailor’s Handbook of Cursing, she pulled herself back upright.