All eyes looked at the Phoenix Force warrior, who had at some point in the conversation managed to go to the window in the main room of one of the two suites. Hawkins had parted just one of the curtains slightly and had his face practically pressed to the glass as he looked out onto the street.
“What you got?”
“Two vehicles, late-model sedans.”
“Same as the ones this morning?”
Hawkins shook his head and after another moment locked eyes with McCarter.
“What the hell,” James said. “How did they find us so easily?”
“They might be tracking one of these two,” McCarter said, jerking a thumb in the direction of their CIA cohorts.
“Whatever they’re up to, it doesn’t sound friendly,” Encizo pointed out.
McCarter nodded and then turned toward Mishka. “You want to take us to where you’ve stored our weapons?”
“Of course,” she said. “It’s safe now that we have a clean vehicle.”
“Good.” He turned to Encizo. “We’ll need a diversion.”
Encizo flashed him a wicked grin, a glint coming into his eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that. Talk to me.”
CHAPTER NINE
When the four armed combatants came through the front door of the hostel, the Phoenix Force warriors were ready for them.
This fact became plainly evident for the enemy hit team but they realized it too late to do much about it. Their offense had suddenly and irrevocably gone defensive, but their attempts to avoid disaster were admirable if totally ineffective.
The first man through the door took a two-round burst in the chest from Encizo’s Glock. The impact drove him back so he collided with the gunner behind him. The explosive opening to the battle caused a logjam in the door and tripped up the remaining force.
Hawkins saw his opportunity to snipe the second one with a clean shot through the head. The guy’s skull exploded in a messy wash of blood and bone, the remnants of which were consumed by the fiery blast from the grenade Encizo tossed into their midst. Shrapnel whistled through the air in the aftermath and made short work of another man who’d been unable to recover from the two-man pile blocking his entry.
“Let’s go!” Encizo called.
The pair retreated up the steps at a good clip. The remainder of Phoenix Force would already be down the back stairwell and making their escape out the rear of the building. It would take about three minutes to catch them—more than enough time for Carnes to get their replacement vehicle in place for pickup. True to McCarter’s improvised exit plan, Encizo and Hawkins emerged in time to see the dark panel van roaring up the narrow street that ran parallel to the hostel and surrounding buildings.
As the van came to a screeching halt, the door opened and the two jumped aboard.
“Welcome to Fugitives ‘R’ Us,” James said as he gave a hand to each man.
Once his teammates were secure, Manning gunned the engine as he worked the clutch with the expertise of a practiced high-speed driver. By the time they eased onto a major side street at the end of the block, the automatic van door had slid securely shut.
From his position riding shotgun, McCarter said, “We heard the festivities, mate. Looks like those little jobbers from Cowboy paid off.”
“In spades,” Encizo replied with a wicked grin.
“So now where?” Hawkins inquired.
“We know the location of the warehouse where Mishka stored our weapons. We need to retrieve them before I decide our next action.”
Encizo nodded. “Where’s Carnes?”
“After we agreed Gary would drive this time, David politely suggested maybe he should ride with Mishka,” James said.
“So it’s just us.”
McCarter nodded. “Yeah. I’m still not convinced they’re playing for our side. Not entirely. If we get blown retrieving our equipment, we’ll know the full story. What about the little welcoming party back there?”
Hawkins shook his head. “Definitely not the same crew that we encountered coming from the airport.”
“How do you know?”
“They moved differently, for one,” Hawkins said. “And for another, they weren’t carrying anything but pistols,” Encizo added. “They acted as if this operation would be a cakewalk, like they didn’t know what they were up against.”
McCarter clucked his tongue. “That sounds jolly odd considering our first encounter. They should’ve sent a lot more, been prepared.”
“Right.”
James scratched his chin as he said, “Something doesn’t add up here at all.”
“Meaning?” McCarter replied.
“Well, first we’re not in town ten minutes and we get ambushed on the road to the hostel. That team obviously knew what they were up against and where we were going. Then we get these visitors, half as many as last time and only lightly armed.”
“You’re thinking two different groups?” Hawkins inquired.
“I am.”
“And that’s what doesn’t add up, eh?” McCarter said. “If one or both of our contacts here are in bed with the enemy, you’d think these little operations to take us out would be more consistent in their execution.”
“That is strange,” Hawkins remarked.
“I think we’ve neglected to ask ourselves a key question here,” Manning said. “Who stands the most to gain by burning us? Our op here was relatively simple. Get latched into the FSB activities here and wait for them to lead us to Madari.”
“That’s been eating at me, too,” McCarter said. “None of this makes sense. Madari risks kidnapping Dratshev and pissing off the Russians. Then he turns around and instead of ransoming Dratshev, he gets the guy to help him build prototypes of the EMP weapons and put them up on the auction block to very select countries.”
“His choice of countries was interesting,” James said.
“Not really,” Encizo countered. “Each of those countries has one thing in common. They’re all rich and they all exert major influence in their respective parts of the world.”
“And they all bloody well have different and conflicting views toward the political and socioeconomic situation in Libya,” McCarter observed.
“Where Ishaq Madari just so happens to hail from,” Manning added.
McCarter frowned. “Exactly. And I’m sorry but their getting Dratshev out of Belarus came just a little too easy. I think our friend Mishka could be culpable for that. Playing two ends against the middle.”
“Yeah,” James replied. “And we’re the middle.”
“To what end?” Hawkins asked.
“Dunno, mate,” McCarter said. “But we sure as hell need to keep our eyes open. She’ll make her move soon—that much I’m certain about.”
“And when she does?”
“She gets to be the middle.”
* * *
AS SOON AS Riley Braden’s feet touched the tarmac at the small airport in Belarus—the two men assigned for this mission on his heels—he proceeded to a waiting late-model SUV. The trio climbed into the chauffeured vehicle arranged by Steinham’s personal assistant at DCDI. Nobody outside of Steinham or Cyrus knew his mission—at least Steinham had assured him and Cyrus of as much and insisted on complete secrecy. Braden didn’t buy it. They’d already had one mission compromised—to allow a second breach was personally and professionally unacceptable to him.
The drive to the hotel took only five minutes, and during that time the three men didn’t say a word to either the driver or to each other. It was better not to talk about the details of their missions in front of any personnel who hadn’t been cleared. This way, if they got blown, they could at least narrow the potential list of suspects. Braden thanked the driver when they arrived at the hotel and then took the keys as previou
sly arranged while another of his men checked them into their rooms.
When they were finally upstairs and comfortable, and the pair of mercenaries in Braden’s command had swept the place thoroughly for bugs, they ordered some food and then began to discuss the op. One of the men produced a detailed map of the city and spread it on the table.
Braden pointed to a small area on the edge of Minsk city limits. “According to our sources, this is a probable location where the Russian government planned to keep Dratshev during the testing. It’s a known residence used by the FSB because of its security features.”
“But why would we go there?” asked the man who went by Muncie.
“That was my question,” added Davison, the other team member. “Especially since we figure Dratshev probably isn’t even in Belarus anymore. Hell, he’s probably not in the country anymore.
“Because the FSB will be there.”
“You think they’ll still be looking for him?” Davison asked.
Braden nodded. “Look, if there’s any chance at all that Dratshev’s work has fallen into the hands of a government antagonistic to Russia, you can bet your sweet ass they’ll redouble their efforts to find him. They’re not just going to stand by and wait to see how this plays out. In fact, if they follow standard procedure and they can’t recover Dratshev and his research, they surely have contingency orders to terminate him.”
“Easier said than done,” Muncie said.
“Why? That’s what we’re being expected to do.”
“I thought we were supposed to try to get Dratshev alive?”
Braden frowned. “That’s what we hope to do but it’s not a guarantee.”
Muncie grunted and his expression betrayed his skepticism.
“What is a foregone conclusion, though,” Braden said, “is that we’re not the only game in town. The CIA has had people in Belarus since the days of the Cold War.”
Davison snorted. “And probably longer than that.”
“Right. Which means it isn’t going to be that difficult to get inside and see what’s what.”
“But what if we don’t find any information on Dratshev’s location? They don’t even know where he is, supposedly, so how does it benefit us to go there?”
“Because our CIA contact says the American SOG group here is also looking for Dratshev, and that’s where they’re going to start.”
“I don’t get it, sir,” Muncie said, scratching his neck. “Are you saying you’re trying to hook up with these guys?”
“That’s right.”
“No, that’s crazy!” When Braden offered Muncie a sharp look, he added quickly, “With all due respect, sir.”
“Maybe it sounds crazy to you but we don’t have time to argue that. And as usual, you’ll both keep military discipline at all times. We’re being well compensated and I don’t plan to do anything that would embarrass the colonel. Not to mention it’s my job to make sure you jokers stay alive. You’d both do well to keep it in mind. Is that understood?”
When the two men finished nodding and “yes-siring,” Braden returned their attention to the map. “Now, let me give you the op plan.”
* * *
“WELL?” CALVIN JAMES inquired from the back of the van.
McCarter didn’t say anything at first but continued to scan the hard site with his night-vision binoculars. Then he replied, “Quiet as a church mouse, mates.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Encizo retorted.
“Why?” Hawkins asked with a furrowed brow. The warrior was cutting at a piece of jerky with his pocketknife.
Encizo grimaced as he replied, “Because if it were a beehive of activity, we wouldn’t have to worry about being subtle. Now we have to go soft probe and see what we’re up against.”
Hawkins nodded as he chewed hungrily around the jerky. “Ah. Good point.”
“I know,” Encizo said with a forced smile.
“Okay, let’s not stack up on each other,” McCarter said. “We got a job to do and it’s time to do it.”
Manning inclined his head toward the massive house. “You sure about this, David?”
“I’m not much sure about anything these days, mate,” McCarter said. “Why? Something bugger you about this?”
“I don’t know,” the Canadian replied with a shrug. “Just a gut instinct, I think. Something definitely doesn’t sit right with that place. And as you mentioned before, we got no reason to trust Mishka and Carnes’s word as reliable.”
“Speaking of which, where are those two?” McCarter said, checking his watch. “They should’ve been here over an hour ago to give us a layout.”
“Maybe they’re hoping we’re dead by now,” James said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I think Gary’s right. This does feel like bad juju.”
“We don’t have any choice,” McCarter countered. “We’re just going to have stone up and bloody do this thing. Everyone ready?”
The others grunted assents in varying degrees as slides clacked, magazines tapped and pistols locked and cocked. For this one, they’d all decided to carry H&K MP-5 SD6s. Sporting 3-round burst capacity, the sound-suppressed MP5s were versatile and quiet. McCarter hoped that would serve his teammates well. In the end analysis, this wouldn’t be a soft probe anyway.
“Let’s do it,” McCarter said. “And keep in mind chances are good we’re expected.”
The five warriors went EVA. They moved across the open ground using the fire-and-maneuver pattern they had deployed hundreds of times before. The situation wasn’t ideal, having to traverse this distance without some kind of cover, but McCarter knew this was their only chance to bring an end to this situation.
To the Phoenix Force leader’s surprise, they nearly made it to the massive house that served as the FSB hard site before encountering any trouble. That trouble manifested itself in the form of a half dozen armed combatants. They weren’t dressed in suits or business casual as Phoenix Force had expected. These men wore urban camouflage and toted semi-automatic machine guns. So it wasn’t a FSB safehouse but was instead guarded by military units—an interesting revelation indeed.
McCarter was the first to make contact, swinging his MP-5 SD6 into acquisition mode and triggering a 3-round burst. The 9 mm Parabellum rounds tore through the gut of his target and slammed him onto his back. McCarter glanced to his left when the glint of light on metal caught his eye, realizing he’d made a mistake. The mistake would’ve been fatal had it not been for the marksmanship of Rafael Encizo, who took down McCarter’s would-be assassin with a single well-placed head shot. The man’s body crumpled as his skull exploded under the impact.
T. J. Hawkins was the next in line to find a target. Hawkins went prone just as one of the enemy commandos sprayed the space he’d occupied a moment before with a couple short and deadly salvos. Hawkins held his MP-5 rock-steady, undaunted by the proximity of the rounds. He triggered his MP-5 and hit his target with a 3-round burst to the chest. The rounds cut through the commando’s heart and lungs before depositing him on the shallow grassy knoll leading to the house.
The remaining trio of enemy gunners realized simultaneously they weren’t up against novices but experienced combatants who had obviously been trained to fight like devils. In a move that surprised all five of the Phoenix Force warriors, the remaining three men turned and retreated toward the house. Under other circumstances, none of the men of Phoenix Force would have fired at retreating soldiers, but in this case they could not risk letting the men gain the high ground and cover provided by the house. It would have resulted in their own slaughter, not to mention the fact that they had no idea of the level of resistance they would meet inside the house.
The others followed McCarter’s lead as the grim-faced Phoenix Force leader raised his MP-5 and opened f
ire. Reports from all five MPs echoed through the air like a choppy symphony, the murderous storm of lead cutting a swath through the trio of enemy commandos. As the echo of gunfire died in his ears and the acrid stench of cordite and freshly spilled blood burned his nostrils, McCarter could feel a ball of rage well in his stomach. As he’d suspected, the enemy had known Phoenix Force was coming. They could only have gotten this information one source: Mishka.
McCarter jerked his head as an indication they should proceed toward the house. Manning opened his mouth, almost looking as if to voice a protest, but then quickly shut it and shrugged. Training took over. A hot zone was neither the time nor the place to conduct a conference. There would be plenty of time to evaluate the situation later. Right now, what was in front of them needed the full attention of every man on the team if they were to remain alive.
When they reached the estate-like mansion, McCarter pointed to his eyes and then at Manning.
The big Canadian didn’t take long to locate the best point of attack: a side entrance consisting of two thick doors with heavy paned glass. The others quickly formed on him, fanning out and providing rear guard while Manning retrieved a one-pound block of C-4 from his bag of tricks. With the expertise gathered from years of working with every kind of explosive imaginable, Manning primed the block with a blasting cap and attached it to the door.
All of the men gave the door a respectful distance and Manning shouted a single warning to stand clear.
The C-4 did its work cleanly, blowing the doors apart and leaving a gaping point of entry, charred embers glowing in the cool morning air around its frame. McCarter gestured at James and Hawkins, who took up point and entered the house. He followed with Manning and Encizo bringing up the rear.
They moved as a single fire team through the house, and it took them nearly five minutes just to clear the first floor. They found the ground level deserted and McCarter was beginning to suspect searches of the subsequent floors would reveal more of the same. If Mishka had actually betrayed them, did she honestly think that only six lightly armed soldiers were sufficient to combat five seasoned veterans? McCarter didn’t buy that and he didn’t think Mishka would have bought it, either—there had to be more to it than that.
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