Black Ops Bundle: Volume One

by Allan Leverone

  "They should already be doing this, but I'll make sure they understand the priority. I'll start the process for creating the required NSN composite. I'll need you to call the NSA to get me one of the templates necessary to build it," she said.

  "That'll be my first call," he said, as agent Mendoza opened the door to leave.

  Mendoza checked his watch. "NSA's gonna love this. I'll call your cell as soon as I figure out what's going on over there."

  "Hopefully I'm being paranoid," Sharpe said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  10:20 p.m.

  Safe House, Alexandria, Virginia

  The first thing Daniel noticed when he walked through the safe house door was the familiar smell of Sanderson's strongly brewed coffee. Bolivian coffee. The odor brought back unpleasant memories of Sanderson's office complex at The Ranch. The second thing he noticed was that Colonel Farrington drifted behind him in the hallway, just before Parker stopped at the apartment door. He was sure that neither man fully trusted Daniel in the presence of the general, nor would Sanderson himself. What none of them knew was that Daniel Petrovich had no idea how he would react when he walked through the safe house door.

  He wanted to kill Sanderson for dragging him back into this hellish life and potentially destroying what he had struggled to build with Jessica, but the practical side of him knew he might need to rely on Sanderson to fully elude the authorities and land on distant shores. They could always start another life. He shifted his backpack and thought of the submachine gun inside. He was pretty sure Colonel Farrington wouldn't let him get to that. The knife hidden in his front pants pocket might be another story, but for now, he didn't want to open that book. He'd listen to the general and decide the best course of action.

  Sanderson's voice filled the room as soon as the door shut behind Petrovich.

  "Danny, it's really good to see you again," he said and walked toward him for a hug that was surely meant as more of a pat down than a display of emotion.

  He barely embraced the hug, and the general backed away. Sanderson was a physically impressive man, even in his late fifties, and hadn't aged a year as far as Daniel could tell. Like most Black Flag operatives, his face was forgettable. Not overly handsome, or unattractive, but a face that could blend, if it wasn't perched on a body more appropriate for someone half his age.

  Sanderson was dressed in a light blue oxford shirt, stretched tightly over his muscled body, and similarly strained khaki pants. He had always been an exercise fanatic, and even when his recruits at The Ranch were finally in peak physical condition, he kept pace and often ran circles around everyone. He was the product of nearly two decades of special forces training and experience, combined with nearly a decade of his own fanatical "off the books" program. He was also one of the most cunningly intelligent human beings Petrovich had ever encountered.

  "Is this place even safe?" Daniel said, and Sanderson smirked, clearly not expecting a warm welcome.

  "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't. The team that tracked you down today was a fluke. We're investigating it," Sanderson said.

  "Didn't seem like a fluke to me. Seemed like more of a leak," he said and glanced around the sterile room at Parker and Farrington.

  "I guarantee you we've had no leaks today. Everything has proceeded according to plan, except for the team sent to intercept you. Everyone, please have a seat," he said and motioned toward the couch and chairs arranged around an empty coffee table.

  Daniel glanced at the dining room table, which was covered with three laptop computers and a mess of power cords and wires. He saw the hallway outside of the apartment on one of the monitors, which gave him some reassurance that they might be safe here.

  "Intercept is certainly one way to describe it. It felt more like a Black Flag mission. There was no hesitation to kill me," Daniel said, while he placed his green backpack in the middle of the bare coffee table and opened it.

  He saw Parker and Farrington tense, but they didn't move. General Sanderson kept the same indifferent expression on his face while he reached into the pack and took out one of the laptops.

  "Excellent work. Parker, I want you to take a look at the files on this computer. There are two of them, right?"

  Daniel didn't answer, but instead pulled the second one out of the main compartment. He felt the heavy weight of the MP-9 through the thin nylon and dismissed the thought that formed from the contact.

  "I pulled some cameras from the trucks, too," he said and spilled these out onto the table over the computers.

  Sanderson opened one of the laptops and shook his head.

  "Now this is very interesting," he said, turning the computer around for Daniel.

  He found himself facing a recent driver's license photo and a ghost from his past, Marko Resja.

  "Shit," Petrovich uttered.

  "Shit is right. You were brought into this at the last minute, so I think this might be related to the little problem we discussed, Colonel," he said, and Colonel Farrington nodded.

  "Something else that fell through the cracks today?" Petrovich said, glaring at the general.

  "Something we couldn't have foreseen, but we can certainly handle. I'll need your help with this. Probably later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. When do you think they'll figure out what happened at the Sanctum?" Sanderson said, addressing Colonel Farrington.

  "Impossible to say. They might know already…or if it's a relatively quiet night for the FBI, it might not become apparent until morning," he said.

  "It won't be a quiet night for the FBI. Our team in the northeast just took down the FBI convoy transporting Munoz," Sanderson said.

  "Then they probably know something is wrong. The only line in and out of the Sanctum has been cut, and one of my staff was holding a fax sheet in his hands. I couldn't tell if this was incoming or outgoing. It fell into a pool of blood," the colonel said.

  "Let's assume they know. Our problem should be out on the streets tonight. Right?"

  "The toxin lasts a little under an hour and has no known side effects aside from dizziness. If he can clear the FBI's red tape, he should be back on the streets pretty quickly," Farrington said.

  "Who is this problem you're talking about? I think we're all far enough along in this to cut the need-to-know bullshit," Petrovich interrupted, tired of the semantics game they were playing.

  "The CIA liaison at the FBI has an eidetic memory," Sanderson said. "That means he has a…"

  "I know what it means, General. So, you want me kill a CIA employee now? Fine. Who else knows about me, or Black Flag, or whatever the fuck else you're going after today? I'll kill them all if it puts an end to this," he said, glaring at Sanderson.

  Sanderson didn't speak right away, and Parker looked uncomfortable. He couldn't get a read from Farrington, and for a fleeting moment, Daniel thought he might have to shoot his way out of the apartment. His mind started calculating the process, and within the flash of a second, he envisioned it all. The MP-9 was loaded with a round in the chamber, and all he'd have to do was get his hand into the backpack. The top was unzipped roughly four inches to allow him quick access. He wouldn't have time to remove the weapon, so he'd fire it from inside the backpack.

  "Danny, there won't be any need for you to shoot your way out of here. You're part of the team. We just need you to tie up a loose end, and our work is done here. We're all free to start over," Sanderson said.

  "There's more than one loose end. Someone on your team talked to the feds. Have you heard from the man you assigned to the Newport killing?" Petrovich said.

  "You caught that? The story was up for a total of thirty-three minutes before the feds pulled the plug on the article," Sanderson said.

  "Not exactly what I wanted to see when I woke up this morning. How much of today's operation was compromised because of that? Or did you have a contingency plan, as usual?" Petrovich said.

  "I didn't need one. His capture was a critical part of my plan. Without his flawless performance, all w
e'd have to show for our efforts are eight dead Al Qaeda financiers. You met him during your initial training, before we split you up for area-specific indoctrination," Sanderson said.

  Petrovich didn't know what to ask next. For the first time, in as long as he could remember, he was thoroughly confused. He let the general's statement settle for a few seconds, before responding. "You purposely put one of our guys in FBI custody?"

  "I had to," Sanderson said, studying Daniel's response.

  "I didn't leave him hanging out to dry, if that's what you're thinking. You know me better than that, Daniel. I may be a shitty son-of-a-bitch to work for, but I have never put one of my people into a situation that they were not adequately prepared to handle, or without the best possible plan to help them achieve the mission. The convoy we just hit was transporting him to FBI headquarters here in D.C. Right now, Munoz is on a boat slicing through the waters of Long Island Sound, headed for a quiet rendezvous, and a nice, secure transit south."

  "And the rest of the operatives? If the CIA somehow connected the dots to me, then parts of the file are out. Right, Colonel?" Daniel said.

  "Very limited information. Roughly a dozen names along the East Coast were provided to the FBI from the Black Flag file, which is what we counted on. I destroyed those faxes on the way out. I saw some detailed information from your file on the last fax sent to the FBI. McKie tightly controlled the flow of information on behalf of the Pentagon. Nobody wanted the contents of this file to go widespread," Farrington said.

  "McKie? I figured he'd be in hiding with General Tierney," Daniel said.

  "McKie stuck around the Pentagon and landed himself a cushy job doing nothing, except managing the flow of our military's best kept secrets. That's how our country rewards traitors," Sanderson said.

  "I assume he's dead," Daniel said, looking to Farrington.

  "Very dead," the colonel confirmed.

  Daniel sat back into the couch, processing everything he had been told, but he still couldn't make any sense of the day's events. He had assumed that the entire day had been some version of a revenge play orchestrated to cripple Al Qaeda's operations within the U.S. Sanderson could be almost childlike in his need to seek revenge, but beyond last evening's assassinations and the death of McKie, nothing else he had just heard from Sanderson fit this assumption.

  "This isn't about taking Al Qaeda down, is it?" Petrovich said.

  "Cutting off funds to Al Qaeda's growing U.S. presence is my gift to the U.S. government. They would have watched and waited until it was too late. But you're right, this wasn't the main event," Sanderson said.

  "Then why exactly has my life been turned upside down today?" Petrovich said.

  "Colonel?"

  At his prompt, Colonel Farrington removed his jacket and started unbuttoning his uniform shirt. Daniel thought he was wearing a bulletproof vest, which would be a nice addition to his own equipment list given the circumstances.

  "There's gotta be an easier way to set me up for a gay striptease act," Daniel said, and Parker laughed.

  "Always quick with a joke, even under extreme duress. You know, this was one of the key indicators that you were a good match for my program. My staff psychologists spent more time than you can imagine examining your reactions to stress. You were by far their favorite," Sanderson said.

  "Glad I could amuse someone. My wife finds it annoying," he said, and his mind flashed to Jessica, but was jarred out of the thought by Farrington.

  "The entire file," he said, handing the light tan colored nylon vest to General Sanderson.

  "Thank you, Richard. Excellent work. Simply flawless execution on your part," he said and looked at Daniel while he ripped open the velcro straps to expose the contents of the vest.

  Daniel started to sink into himself and felt his focus narrow. If the entire day's events had been orchestrated to steal top-secret information for Sanderson's benefit, he would kill all three of them in their seats without hesitation and take his chances on the outside. He had all of the money and papers he'd need to disappear with Jessica forever, even with the U.S. government and Sanderson's people on his trail. Money bought security and anonymity in warmer climates.

  He watched Sanderson and Parker closely, as Farrington announced he would change into civilian clothes. This would be his best opportunity. With the colonel out of the room, and the other two preoccupied with the papers in the vest, he could put the MP-9 into action within a second. He desperately wanted to cut the general's strings for good and was convinced that the only way he could ever disentangle himself permanently from Sanderson was to kill him. Five years on his own, and the man walked right back in to unravel everything. All for this file? None of this made any sense.

  "Still thinking about killing me? I don't blame you," Sanderson said, and Daniel lunged for the backpack.

  His hand grasped the submachine gun's pistol grip and flipped the safety off before anyone reacted, but he didn't start firing. Instead, he rushed around the table and placed the gun next to Parker's head, aiming at the general. Parker and Sanderson remained motionless and silent, which kept them alive.

  "What's in the file?" Daniel said, mentally giving Sanderson three seconds to respond before putting a bullet through Parker's head.

  "I've never seen someone move that fast. Amazing," Sanderson said.

  Daniel's expression never changed as he reached three seconds and committed to killing all of them. He could read the file for himself. His grip tensed on the gun still covered by the backpack.

  "It's all that remains of the original Black Flag file, Daniel," he said, and this statement bought them some more time.

  "You don't need the Black Flag file," Daniel said, as he slid the compact, black weapon out of the backpack and shifted to a position behind Sanderson's chair.

  "You're right. I don't need it. I need to destroy it."

  "General, you know how my mind works better than anyone…"

  "Better than you," Sanderson interrupted.

  "Then you know I'm not seeing a reason to keep any of you alive right now," Petrovich said.

  "I needed to remove all remaining traces of Black Flag from the official archives, Daniel. Destroy any link to the dozens of graduates still out there. The ones not already reactivated," he said and turned his body around in the chair to face Daniel. "I'm restarting the program."

  The words hit him like a gale force wind, quickly followed by General Sanderson's iron grip to a pressure point located on Daniel's wrist. Sanderson squeezed the pressure point with brutal force, causing Petrovich's trigger hand to reflexively open and lose its hold. Parker swung around the chair at the same moment, aiming a martial arts kick at his throat, which forced Daniel to abandon his remaining grip on the weapon to parry the potentially devastating attack. He felt the weapon slip away and knew he was essentially screwed. Oddly, the general released the pressure point, giving him a chance.

  He backed out of Parker's immediate hand-to-hand combat range, but the former SEAL pressed the attack, while General Sanderson removed the ammunition from the submachine gun. Petrovich didn't have much time to process why Sanderson was doing this, while blocking a series of judo-style hand chops and launching his own retaliatory strikes. His forearms burned from each blocked chop, but he managed to get inside of Parker's balance line and swept the commando's legs. Parker toppled back, nearly falling over the table laden with computer equipment. In a flash, Petrovich retrieved the knife hidden in his front pocket and flicked it open, switching to a reverse grip.

  "That's enough! Put the knife away!" General Sanderson yelled, and Daniel glanced in his direction long enough to see Farrington emerge from one of the bedrooms aiming a suppressed pistol at him.

  "That won't be necessary either, Colonel," Sanderson announced, and Farrington reluctantly lowered the weapon.

  Sensing no immediate danger from anyone in the room, Petrovich closed the blade and focused on one of the computer screens.

  "This is my house. Wha
t the fuck is going on here?" he said, staring at a screen with at least a dozen camera feeds.

  "Every location was raided about an hour ago. Simultaneously. Of course, nobody was home," he said.

  "My wife was home," Daniel said.

  "She'll be fine. She can take care of herself," Sanderson said.

  Daniel stared at the screens for a few seconds and walked back over to the group standing near the couch. He had a little more respect now for Parker's skills. The former navy commando's hand-to-hand skills were impressive, but lacked the depth that could only be acquired by applying these skills in real situations, where your life depended on the outcome. Schoolhouse skills, but pretty damn good.

  "You're already training new operatives?" Daniel asked.

  "And recruiting old ones," Sanderson replied.

  "I'm not interested."

  "Suit yourself, but I'll still require your help with our CIA problem."

  "And then I'm finished."

  General Sanderson nodded and walked over to the table next to Daniel.

  "You know, none of them hesitated to come back," he said and looked directly into Daniel's eyes. "And most of them were leading successful lives. Families, businesses, solid jobs…bright futures by American standards. Every one of them looked relieved when I asked them to join the new program. Their lives were covert missions, and they were waiting, praying to get out. You can't tell me you don't feel the same way, Danny. At least somewhat. You were one of the best to come out of the program," Sanderson said.

  "I haven't had much time to think it over. My life has been pretty much gutted over the past twenty-four hours thanks to you."

  "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn't have any confidence that you would take part in this voluntarily. The Ghani job had been assigned to another operative, but a problem developed at the last minute," Sanderson said.