by James Beltz
The plan was to recon the area, learn the routines of the enemy, develop a plan, and then take the woman into custody. They would get her out of the country and back to the States before the locals even knew what happened. Once in the U.S., they would hand her over to the FBI. However, things seldom ever went according plan in the world in which DJ lived. Tonight, was normal. Why should he expect anything different?
DJ and the team had just arrived in Spain and located the house in which former Deputy Director Hartley was staying when things went sideways. Having just arrived in the small seaside town, the whole team was doing a late-night drive-by in a rental van to get an idea of what the place looked like; to spot what was easily visible from the narrow street in front of the four-story building. What they found was troubling. It instantly derailed the normal routine of observation, formulation, and execution.
Four men in suits were loading bags into three sedans. Two more were standing in the entry to the place, staring intently at the van as it drove past. Judging from the bulges under their coats, all of them were armed. The implication was obvious: Sharlette Hartley was leaving. As it was 12:30 PM local time, this was odd. One would have thought that a planned trip would begin in the morning, allowing for time to drive long distances or to catch a plane.
Sharlette Hartley had either been tipped off, or a sixth sense was warning her to get out.
DJ pulled around the corner and stopped. This part of the town was old with a noticeable European atmosphere. The cobblestone streets were narrow, and the buildings pressed in close to the edge with only the narrowest of sidewalks on both sides. The buildings stretched three and four stories tall, sharing a wall with their neighbors. There were no yards, with many having a rooftop terrace if one wanted to enjoy the outdoors. Many of the windows were darkened. Most who lived in this town had a quiet lifestyle, and the night scene was almost nonexistent. Even though the van windows were up with the air conditioning blowing, DJ could smell the saltwater from the nearby Atlantic. One block over was a lengthy, ancient stone dock that ran for nearly a mile along the water, allowing boats to park right up against the town. Most were small commercial fishing boats.
DJ turned to look at the others. Only Abbi had stayed back at the ranch with her new best friend, Mary Abbot keeping her company. There would be no intel from her on this trip. This had not been sanctioned or coordinated with any intelligence team, so she would not be huddled up to monitors and watching from above via satellite. Only Agent Ali knew what they were doing, and he was keeping his lips sealed. He had wanted to tag along but DJ had insisted the man not get caught up with anything they might get into. He would be more valuable to them on the outside if they got into trouble.
“What now?” DJ asked. “Going in with no intel will be risky. Follow and see where she goes? Maybe ambush her on the way?”
It was Cash who replied, shaking his head. “Even if we’re able to ambush them on the way, we have no exit strategy. We would alert the locals. Without them knowing what was really going on, if the local authorities get involved, it might mean getting ourselves into a shootout with the police. Can’t risk it. We need to get in and get out. For that, we need a plan.”
Argo jumped in, adding more pessimism to the problem. “Yeah, but if we do nothing and just try to follow her, she might slip away. With no satellite intel, we might lose her completely.”
Brett killed the mood even more. “Then there’s me. I was supposed to be in the background, helping to coordinate the capture with Carbon. Any spontaneous assault we might try on the fly will be hampered by me and my wheelchair. You can’t be quick and clean if you have to include a guy on wheels.”
DJ shook his head. “There’s really only one option. We go in now, take out the guards, and throw her into the van. We can be in and out in two minutes. If we hit them hard and fast, we can be back on board our plane in forty-five and winging our way out of the country in an hour.”
Carbon didn’t like it. “That’s if nobody is looking out a window and call in the license plate to the police. If that happens, we’ll be in a Spanish jail. I have very little hope of Ali being able to get us out of that. And I don’t see President Neville vouching for us to the government of Spain. In fact, he may even say nothing at all and just let us rot here for the rest of our lives, extradition treaty or not.”
DJ was done talking. He had made up his mind. He pointed at Brett. “Crawl yourself to the backseat. Find us alternate routes out of here in case we make more noise than necessary. Carbon, get behind the wheel and stay on coms. Turn the van around. When we call for you, pull up to the front entrance fast and then slide over to the passenger seat. I’ll be driving us out. Argo, Cash, silenced pistols. Let’s move.”
__________
Sharlette Hartley was about to move to another alternate location. It was purely out of an abundance of caution. So far, her moles within the CIA, and a few others in the FBI, had not informed her that the search for her had yielded any results. Still, it was prudent to stay on her toes. One particular sympathizer within the CIA had programed the computers to disregard any match that facial recognition software might find as they scoured the millions of cameras across the globe. That wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, someone would catch on to the “glitch” in the system and she would be found.
Sharlette had money stored away in case she ever needed to go into hiding, but it was finite. What she needed was a permanent location to live out the remainder of her days. With the new IDs in hand delivered just this afternoon, the first step to this was in place. Next, she needed to find a safe haven and purchase property under her new alias. She had a few candidates in mind but was still making her decision. She was thinking someplace in the Pacific might be good. There were few connected camera systems for the CIA to hack, and politicians were easily pliable. For the time being, she would jump from place to place until those details could be finalized.
She stood at the window on the fourth floor, watching her hired men load bags and prepare for the next leg of her journey. They had no idea who she was, and this was intentional. If they learned her true identity, one of them might sell her out. Worse, they might just tie her up and hand her over for the bounty the U.S. had offered. She sighed. All she had wanted to do was protect her homeland. She had only done what had needed to be done to achieve these goals. Sure, innocent people had died, but this was the cost of war. Always had been, always would be. It wasn’t fair she was being hunted for being a patriot but she couldn’t change that. All she could do was wash her hands of the situation and find a quiet place to retire.
As she watched the men below perform their duties, something hit the windshield of the first car in line, causing shards of glass to fly. There was no wondering if a rock had been thrown. She knew what it was. Someone had just shot the driver in the head from somewhere to her right.
They had found her.
Sharlette spun around and grabbed a small travel tote. Inside was her new alias and everything she needed to start her new life. She also snatched the small Walther PPK from the dresser along with the two spare mags. It might not be the best weapon for a shooting scenario with its less powerful .380 ammunition, or magazines that only held seven rounds, but it fit her hands and she was quite comfortable in using it.
She hit the hallway running. Instead of heading down the stairs, she turned left and went for the roof. She had chosen this home for its escape routes, not for the aesthetics. There were two she could choose from. One was in the basement, the other was the roof. Since going down would lead her into trouble, she climbed the stairs two at a time heading up. Despite her age, she kept in good physical shape, and climbing the stairs didn’t slow her in the least.
One of the first things she had learned in the clandestine services was the importance of having backup plans. If her men below were even close to being competent at their job, she would be long gone by the time her pursuers could clear the building.
__________
/> DJ stepped around the corner and didn’t wait. He put one round through the driver’s head in the lead car, and then picked off two more before the rest of his team went into motion. Behind him, Cash and Argo swung wide around the corner to his right, clearing the way for them to engage as well. The three of them made quick work of the men outside save for the two standing in the entranceway to the building. Both had the wisdom to duck inside and stay there. How many friends were inside with them, DJ didn’t know. He just hoped their weapons were silenced or this was about to get real loud, real quick.
DJ charged the doorway, not wanting to give them any time to pop back out and spray the street with bullets. There was nothing in the way of protection out in the street other than the three sedans parked in front but DJ and the others had to get there first. It was a good idea, and very nearly worked. A solitary figure hung a silenced pistol around the corner and began hammering away just before DJ could make the doorway. DJ dropped and slid forward on his side. The sidewalk, slick from decades of foot travel, offered little resistance and he came to rest in front of the door. He killed the man at the corner with little effort. Unfortunately, there was more than one there. The other guard had decided a pistol was not good enough. He was waiting for DJ with what looked to be an old Uzi sub-machine gun with a fat suppressor hanging off the end. The man fired a long blast from the hip, and DJ was hit. Three of them planted into his vest. Another grazed his shoulder. The rest smacked into the top of the two steps leading into the house, and ricocheted over him.
Stunned by the impact, DJ could offer little in the form of return fire. He tried anyway, missing with two rounds of his own. Thankfully, Cash showed up in the last second and double-tapped the man in the head from the edge of the door. Cash stayed where he was, looking for more targets as Argo arrived, hauling DJ to his feet and looking him over. “You good?” the man asked. DJ nodded, admonishing himself for not being smarter. He went past Cash, sweeping right and into the building. Argo was right behind, sweeping left.
The room beyond told DJ they were in the middle of the building. Archways to either side led to a study and a small living room. Both were clear. DJ took the time to hot-swap his magazine and looked around the living room where he stood. A doorway to the back of the building seemed to empty into a dining area and he reported it to Argo who was in the study. Argo reported another door that was closed on his side. Both men eased forward to investigate while Cash watched the stairs leading up.
There was no one else on the bottom floor. However, a creaking board above DJ’s head told him there were people above.
When you cleared a building, if you were given the choice, you always cleared from the top down. The reason was simple: It was always harder to shoot your way up a flight of stairs than down. Having the higher ground was always an advantageous position to be in. They didn’t have that luck. So, they were going to have to do this the hard way. And, since it was his stupid idea to assault now, with no knowledge of the building or intel on the exact number of forces expected, DJ led the way.
DJ confiscated the Uzi, swapped the mag for a fresh one from the dead body, and started up. He aimed and fired with his left hand, pointing it at the top of the stairs, releasing short bursts to prevent his enemy from peeking the corner. He moved quickly, skipping two steps at a time, his friends right behind him. On the second floor, he ran dry and dropped the Israeli-made weapon to the floor, quick-peeking the corner.
The second floor was arranged like the first, with rooms spreading out in both directions from the stairs. He came face-to-face with another enemy on his left, staring down the barrel of a pistol. DJ jerked back just in time as wood and plaster fragmented and dusted the air with debris. He answered in kind, hanging his own around the corner at waist level and squeezing off two shots into the man’s middle, firing blind. He stepped around, pressed the barrel of MP to the man’s forehead, and dropped him.
Eighteen rounds left. Two full mags at his side. One partial. Sixty-eight rounds in total.
Argo went right, clearing the room across from DJ, who was prepared to clear his own portion, but Carbon called out over the coms. “I’ve got four people exiting the roof. One looks like our tango. They’re crossing to the next roof, west side.”
Argo answered before DJ could respond. “Tango, Carbon? Really? So, you’re a Green Beret now?”
DJ was already charging up the stairs, ignoring the conversation between the two. He wasn’t about to let Hartley get away. With weapon raised and pointing, he snapped orders to Cash and Argo. “Argo, with me. Cash, meet them on the bottom floor. We’ll pinch them between us.” DJ ignored the third floor, anxious to get to the roof. Behind, he could hear Argo’s heavy footfalls trying to catch up.
DJ had to hand it to Carbon. The kid was always looking for a high-tech solution to a problem. DJ hadn’t instructed the kid to launch a drone, had never even considered the option, but Carbon did so anyway. It was more than likely the small one he kept in his backpack called Scotty. DJ had assumed it was a Star Trek reference. Carbon had corrected him, saying it was the identity of Ant-Man. DJ wasn’t sure what an Ant-Man was, so Carbon was happy to tell DJ of the storied comic book hero named Scott Lang.
DJ met no more resistance on the way up, but just before reaching the door to the roof, Carbon alerted him to an ambush waiting. “You’ve got two guys waiting for you on the roof. They’re pointing right at the door.”
DJ came to a halt. The door was already slightly ajar, inviting whoever came up the stairs to just step on out. “Carbon, can you give me a distraction?” Behind him, Argo came to a halt, finally having caught up. The man wasn’t even winded. DJ hoped he was in as good of shape when he was that age.
Carbon laughed. “Distraction coming up. But if this goes bad, you’re paying for the replacement. Wait for it. Wait for it. Now!”
DJ burst through, swinging right and going wide, Argo right on his heels. Both bad guys were in front on the opposite flat roof, hunched over from having to duck. The buzzing sound of Carbon’s drone was already fading into the background, having dropped low and raced right between the two enemies, causing them to recoil in surprise. DJ dropped the man on the left. Argo took the one on the right.
DJ and Argo darted forward, hopped the small wall dividing the two buildings, and quick-peeked the doorway leading down before entering. Below, DJ heard the sound of a door splintering and then Cash called out over the coms. “I’ve got nothing here. Between us, maybe?” DJ eased down with Argo following, hunting for the ambush he was sure awaited them. “Wait,” Cash said. “I heard something. Not above me. Deeper inside.” DJ paused on the stairs. Were Hartley and her last remaining henchman on the first floor? Was there a way out the back? On the satellite imagery they studied on the way over, the back of this building butted up against a row of similar homes behind. Was there a doorway connecting the homes? DJ voiced his concern and Carbon replied that he was watching from above for movement out of those houses. Finally, Cash called out. “I’ve got an open door and stairs leading below street level. I think they’re in the basement.”
DJ and Argo bounded down the steps, with DJ ordering Cash to wait for them before entry. They were on the alert for a setup on the way down, but as expected, there was none. Hartley was on her way out of here, and she wasn’t leaving her last shooter behind to fend them off and strike out on her own. She was taking him with her to use as a last resort. Which meant they weren’t holed up in the basement preparing for a last stand. If the woman jumped to the next building, then descended all the way to the basement, it meant there was a way out below their feet.
DJ was right. After meeting up with Cash, they proceeded cautiously down into the dark, using small flashlights to see. The power was off in this building and none of them had thought to bring their thermal vision goggles. In the basement, they found a square, wooden hatch on the floor. Argo grabbed the latch and waited for Cash and DJ to pick two sides and aim. He jerked it hard, throwing it open an
d standing back. Nothing. There was just a black void below.
DJ stepped forward carefully, waiting for someone below to hammer them with gunfire. Instead, he found a floor roughly ten feet below with a ladder laying off to one side. The only way down was to jump.
DJ reported the find to Carbon and Brett. “Looks like it goes into the sewers. Break out the rest of your drones and start spreading out. They have to come up somewhere. We’re going in. I suggest you take the van and move just in case someone has called this in.”
Brett replied back. “Maybe it would be best if we got out of here while we can. We’ll find her later.”
DJ wasn’t in the mood for retreating. There was a chance to put the last nail in this coffin and he was going to get it done. “Not a chance.” With that, he dropped through the basement floor and into the sewers.
__________
Sharlette held on to the arm of her hired guard to not get separated, or worse, stumble and go down. She didn’t even want to imagine that. It might be considered a fate worse than death. She didn’t even know the man’s name. She didn’t care. She needed him and his gun to get out of this mess. That, and his arm to keep her on her feet in the foul-smelling sewer she found herself in.
She moved quickly but carefully, using the light from her cellphone to navigate. She did her best to not touch anything, or step in anything that her feet might sink into. Regardless, she was going to smell like a dog kennel after a three-day weekend when she got out of here. She tried not to think too hard about the random piles of rubbish and waste littering the sewer floor. She knew what most of them were from the intense odor that hung in the air like a putrid fog.
She knew precisely where she was going, what turns to take, how many feet it was to the next one. She had memorized the route just in case she had to use it. When selecting this location to hide, she had considered it a smart move. With a smell so intense it was causing her to gag, she questioned just how smart she actually was.