JET, no. 3

by Russell Blake

  She heard David’s MTAR spit from behind the truck and saw the first of the men slam backward. Jet joined him in the fray, slipping her pistol into her belt before swinging the assault rifle into play, carefully squeezing off bursts. The second night vision-equipped man’s head burst apart, and he sank to the ground in a heap. Several of the Russians had taken cover behind crates or barrels, and now bullets slammed into the metal of the generator housing as they returned fire. She counted a few beats and loosed another burst, then another. More men fell, their weapons dropping uselessly by their sides.

  The night vision goggles were the deciding factor. Only a few of the gunmen had them, and once they’d been taken out, the only option the remaining men had was to fire at Jet and David’s muzzle flashes – a less than ideal scenario. One by one, the Russians fell to the MTARs, the deadly rain of lead devastating them as they struggled to defend themselves.

  More slugs thumped against the generator. Jet steeled herself, drew a deep breath, and then scurried to the nearest truck, rolling behind an oversized tire as she blasted at the remaining shooters. The trick now was to keep moving. All of the night vision-equipped targets had been neutralized, so the surviving men were almost blind in the black of the night. She considered tossing a grenade at them and finishing it, but that was too messy – and they needed to take at least one of them alive.

  The firefight lasted another two minutes, and then the camp went silent except for the sound of men dying. She caught a glimpse of David by one of the far vehicles. He gave her a thumbs-up. Thank God, he was fine. She shouldn’t have been worried – he’d seen more than his fair share of action before moving behind the scenes, but years of desk work could dull even the most field-honed reflexes.

  Motion at the back of the building caught her eye, and she spun. A survivor was running for the tree line, a pistol clenched in one hand.

  She instantly leapt to her feet and raced toward him, her steps muffled against the moist ground. He seemed to sense her pursuit at the last minute and turned, pistol pointing vaguely in her direction. Without night vision gear, he was blind, she knew, but even so, as she moved closer, he could get lucky. She dropped into a crouch and gripped her SIG Sauer with both hands and fired a single shot. His leg went out from under him, and he staggered with a grunt, then squeezed off four rounds, their impact tearing at the ground around her. She fired again, and he spun, struck in the chest, and collapsed to the ground. She waited a moment. Another. Then she edged closer, wary of another shot from him.

  He was moving, struggling to raise the pistol. She darted nearer, zigzagging to present a more difficult target, and then was on top of him, kicking the weapon away. She heard the distinctive sound of bones cracking, and he screamed, his hand ruined.

  David reached them twenty seconds later. Jet was kneeling over the man, watching the bloodstain spread on his shirt over his left pectoral muscle. She looked up at David.

  “We need the first aid kit.”

  He grunted assent then turned to retrieve it.

  Jet returned her attention to her captive.

  “It’s over,” she said in fluent Russian, and then he passed out.

  Chapter 27

  When Yuri came to, he was lying in the mess area, illuminated by one of the SUV’s headlights. His men lay dead all around him, and his chest throbbed with unspeakable pain. He tried to move, but couldn’t.

  A man stepped into his field of vision, and then…a woman, her hair tucked under a black knit cap. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, and then they widened in shocked recognition.

  “No,” he croaked incredulously, wincing as he did so.

  “I see there’s no need for introductions.” She turned to her companion. “Show him.”

  David held up a syringe and stepped forward.

  “Morphine. If you answer my questions, you’ll get the shot. If you don’t, I’ll make your last hour on the planet the most miserable of your life. Do you understand?” David asked in Russian.

  “Yes.” The agony was unbearable, and he was having difficulty breathing. His appendages felt cold. His hand was numb, but his leg pulsed. One of them had tied a belt around his thigh to stop the bleeding.

  “You’ve been hit in the chest and the leg. Believe it or not, the chest looks like you could survive it if you receive medical attention in time – I put a field dressing on it so the bleeding is under control. But the leg is a problem. The bullet nicked the femoral artery. If I loosen the tourniquet, you’ll bleed out in a matter of a minute or two. As it is, by the time we get you to the nearest medical facility, you’ll be in danger of losing it. So let’s make this fast. I need answers. If you’re truthful with me, I’ll finish this and take you to the closest town so a doctor can save your miserable ass. If you lie, you’ll die like a dog out here. Are we clear?” David demanded.

  Yuri nodded.

  “Okay. First question. Who are you?”

  “Yuri Kevlev.”

  “Who are these men?”

  “Mercenaries. They work for me. I handle security for a number of high-profile companies.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Coordinating an operation.” Yuri coughed, blood tingeing the spittle that flecked out of his mouth.

  “What was the objective?”

  “We were to assassinate the prime minister and four of his closest cabinet members the day after tomorrow.”

  Jet interrupted. “Why bring in a large force like this? Why not just a few contractors?” she demanded. “Two, maybe three qualified operatives could have easily handled that. Hell, I could have done it and been home in time for lunch.”

  Yuri appraised her.

  “It was supposed to look messy. Like a drug cartel hit. Lots of shooting and collateral damage.”

  David snapped his fingers in front of Yuri’s face to bring his attention back to him.

  “Why? Why a cartel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  David shook his head. “Don’t lie to me. I told you I would know when you lied to me. Do you want the morphine or should I dig my knife into your chest and carve my initials into the bullet wound?” He kicked Yuri in the ribs. The Russian erupted in a burbling coughing fit. David stood impassively by, watching as he fought for breath.

  “What was the reason for making it look like a cartel execution?”

  “I was told to make it look like one. That’s all I know.”

  Jet exchanged a quick glance with David.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Grigenko.”

  “Why kill the prime minister and his cabinet?”

  “Something to do with oil. With them dead, a new cabinet would be named, and he’s paid off the likely new group. They will declare any leases that haven’t started pumping yet void, which are all but one, and then Grigenko will be awarded the new lease.” Yuri’s voice was starting to fade. “Please. The morphine.”

  “After a few more questions. Were you behind the attacks on the houses in Israel?”

  “Yes.”

  “And on her, in Trinidad?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the team members?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why kill them?”

  “Loose ends. He couldn’t afford anyone to live who might have known about the oil. You were all a liability.” Yuri’s eyes closed from pain, and then he opened them and fixed Jet with a glare. “You’ll never be safe. He will spare nothing to kill you. You murdered his brother. Nothing will save you.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Jet said, obviously unimpressed. “Now for the most important question, and then you get the shot. Where is Grigenko now?”

  Yuri grimaced, a cadaverous grin that stretched his pallid skin taut.

  “You have no chance.”

  “Perhaps. But where is he?”

  “In his compound, safe, in Moscow, surrounded by the best security in the world.”

  Je
t held his eyes.

  “Give him the shot,” she said and stepped back.

  David moved to him and stabbed the needle into his arm, depressing the plunger.

  Jet moved back to his side.

  “Every target has a weakness. No security is airtight. There has to be a way to Grigenko in Moscow. I need you to think. How would you do it if you had to take him out?”

  Yuri shook his head. “Impossible.” His eyes began to drift.

  “Let’s get you to a hospital,” David said.

  Yuri jolted. “No. I failed – and the price for this kind of failure is the ultimate one. I’m a dead man. He can’t afford me to implicate him. Even if I somehow managed to survive, I don’t want to spend my life in a Belizean jail.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not your choice. But look at the bright side. There’s a better than even chance you’ll die before the doctors can save you,” David reasoned.

  “Not good enough. Release the belt. This will be over quickly. Painlessly.”

  “Sorry, Yuri. It’s just not your lucky day.”

  His eyes filled with panic. “I can tell you how to get to him,” Yuri blurted, his words slurring slightly as the morphine hit.

  “What? How?” Jet asked.

  “Promise to let me die and I’ll tell you,” Yuri gasped.

  David stepped away from him, and Jet moved closer.

  “Fine. I’ll see you in hell soon enough, anyway. Tell me and I’ll keep my word,” she promised.

  He motioned to her with his good hand. She leaned into him.

  Yuri began speaking, softly, as if to a lover, his words a murmur.

  A minute later, she straightened.

  “The explosions and gunfire will draw police and military here soon. Even in the middle of nowhere, the sound of explosions carries for many miles. We need to get out of here,” she said to David.

  Yuri looked at her expectantly.

  She moved back to him and took his good hand, then guided it down to the belt around his thigh, pulling the end tighter to clear the prong from the belt hole. He gripped it shakily.

  “Now you control your destiny. Just release the belt and it’s over.”

  His eyes found hers with a flicker of gratitude. She turned to David, her business with Yuri concluded.

  “Come on. Let’s move.”

  They dropped their night vision goggles back into place, and she fished the GPS out of her backpack. She powered it on and waited for it to lock onto a satellite. After a quick consultation, she pointed at the trees, and they took off at a jog.

  Yuri watched them disappear into the dark. His head swam, and a wave of nausea washed over him, and then his vision dimmed. In spite of the heat, he was cold.

  He muttered a few words of a prayer his grandmother had taught him in secret as a small child – everything he could remember all these long years later. A tear rolled down his face, and he looked up at the night sky, faint stars glimmering overhead. There was Cancer. The Big Dipper. Mars.

  He’d always been fascinated by the cosmos when he was young, the idea of other life forms somewhere out there having captured his adolescent imagination before he’d moved too much into this world, into adulthood, leaving the dreams and the wonder behind, exchanging them for the more attainable aspirations of a young man with high purpose.

  Where had the time gone?

  Would he have done anything differently if he’d been told that his life would end in a clearing in the middle of an anonymous jungle at thirty-nine years old? Would he have walked the same path? Could he have been someone different than who he had turned out to be?

  His grandmother’s tremulous voice echoed in his mind as if from a great distance, the ancient words, like velvet, redolent of a magic long departed from the world, coaxing him to rest easy, the sound of crickets a rhythmic accompaniment to her incantation.

  “I’m on my way, Nana,” he whispered.

  Yuri released the belt and closed his eyes.

  He was going home.

  Chapter 28

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Terry stared at the memo in his hand, fresh from his Central America analyst.

  He re-read it, then moved to his encrypted phone and made a call.

  Half an hour later, Terry watched Sloan approach the barista and order tea, then stiffly mount the stairs to where Terry was already sitting in the Starbucks lounge area.

  “I heard,” he said by way of greeting to Terry.

  Terry reclined in his overstuffed lounge chair and toasted Sloan with his beverage.

  “Amazing, don’t you think?”

  Sloan nodded. “That’s why you want to spread your bets around. You can never be sure how things will turn out. A smart man has a foot in all camps and positions himself to prosper no matter what the outcome.”

  “That sounds like something from a fortune cookie,” Terry said. “How the hell did they take out, what, sixteen men? Maybe I should hire them.”

  “I have a feeling they aren’t available.” Sloan took a sip of his tea, rolling it around in his mouth before setting the cup down on the small table between them.

  “So what now?” Terry asked.

  “We move to plan B. We still have the new governor general coming into office. Once he’s situated, he’ll suggest to the prime minister that the government look hard at the oil prospecting rights that have been assigned, and terminate any outstanding prospecting licenses that have passed their mandated end date. So far they’ve just let them sort of drift along, hoping something good happens. Ending the licenses is a reasonable step, and within the government’s power. He will then propose that Belize find a strategic partner for its oil exploration moving forward – a group with clout.”

  “Responsible adults,” Terry agreed.

  “That’s right. A few weeks later, our group will go in and make the administration an offer they can’t refuse. The find is still a secret, and the only ones who know about it are Grigenko and us, so the price should be a relative bargain – remember, they have no idea what they’re sitting on. Grigenko can’t say anything or word of his terrorist attempt will leak, and then even his pull with the Russian government won’t be enough to stop international prosecution. Putting a group of killers in place to execute a sovereign government qualifies as terrorism, and there will be no place for him to hide. My hunch is he’ll stay quiet. So we’ll ink a deal and make the discovery a few months later, and everyone will win – except, of course, Grigenko. Check and mate.”

  “You think he’ll just walk away?” Terry asked skeptically.

  “The man is already filthy rich. This won’t change anything for him long term. True, he would have been filthier and richer, but it’s not worth losing his empire over. He’ll drop it, but he won’t be happy.”

  “What about Belize? I can’t believe that’s all there is to it.”

  “There’s more going on here than meets the eye, Terry. You don’t really want to know the rest. Suffice it to say that you’ll get a nice bonus and life will go on. Some things are best left alone. Trust me on that.”

  “And the girl? The Israeli – David?”

  “They’ve served their purpose, haven’t they? Let Grigenko hunt them down. It’s not our concern.”

  Terry nodded. “And if they touch base again? Need more help?”

  “Bring me any requests. As you’ve pointed out, they’re uniquely effective. It might be valuable to have them as allies down the road. Especially the woman. We both know an operative like that is worth her weight in platinum.” Sloan took a sip of his tea, then studied the cup like it had bitten him and frowned at it. “Remember, Terry. Always spread your bets out. You never know when that rainy day you’ve been saving up for will come. Nobody does.”

  Sloan stood and looked around the empty area.

  “Always nice to see you, Terry. Enjoy your coffee.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Mikhail Grigenko
slammed the telephone handset down in fury and paced around his expansive office, rage threatening to completely overtake him.

  His plot to get the exclusive on the Belize find had disintegrated. Reports of bodies in the jungle were surfacing, and Yuri was nowhere to be found – he hadn’t answered his satellite phone in twenty-four hours.

  He had to assume the worst – that somehow, some way, his plan had been compromised and parties unknown had taken on his men. Successfully, from all indications.

  The early news was sporadic and vague. The Belizean government had issued a terse statement alluding to Guatemalan separatists, or drug cartels, or smugglers who had fought it out with another faction. Commitments to get to the bottom of things, along with reassurances that all was well were the customary boilerplate and meant nothing.

  Grigenko could do the math, and it wasn’t in his favor.

  As he paced, the dawning sense that his force couldn’t have been eliminated without a serious security breach crept into his consciousness, eventually staking a claim.

  Yuri’s men were as good as they came. For them to be wiped out smacked of government intervention. Had Belize somehow learned of his plot and moved against him before he could follow through? Superior force was the only possibility, as unlikely as it sounded. But a superior force to a well-equipped team of Spetsnaz commandos was hard to envision in a nation where the power went out several times a day.

  There was no obvious answer, and that made Grigenko nervous.

  Struggling to contain his anger, he sat behind his desk and stared out the window. He had faced adversity before, been tested, and prevailed. He just needed to think his way through the current situation and craft a new solution.

  Grigenko swiveled his chair and rose. He went to the marble-topped bar and poured himself two fingers of vodka, swallowing it in a single gulp. The familiar burn warmed his throat, and he felt himself calming.