Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  Anna opened her laptop. “I’ll use the second drone,” she said. “It will take a minute to get it into position.” After a minute she said, “Well, you made a mess of their vehicles. Thank goodness the Joneses are absent. They’d be terrified by all this. Okay, I’ve picked up three license plates. I’ll see what the ALPR system makes of them. What’s happening on your end?”

  “The intruders have moved up closer to the house. I think this is a revenge move of some kind. They’ll destroy our home, I’m sure. We’ll lose everything but at least our files and software are backed up to our cloud. I want to identify as many of these men as possible. When this is over, I’ll deliver each one a message. I want to discourage them and whoever authorized this from ever attacking us again.”

  “Okay, I have license details. They’re all privately owned vehicles with Georgia license plates. Some kind of local militia for hire, do you think?”

  Mark focused on the activity showing on the monitor. “Let me see. Hold on, they’re being really nasty. Someone decided to set the house on fire. I expect the barns and the housekeeper’s cottage will be included in this pyromaniac’s scope before he’s finished. It’s too bad the weapons can’t cover the area close to the house. A lesson for next time.”

  Anna watched the house as one of the front rooms burst into flames. “That’s so sad. The children will be so disappointed.”

  “We need to contact the FBI. There must be a local branch. See if Scott knows any of the local agents. Also, we should try the police. They may be glad to get their hands on anyone involved with us, even if they’re burning down our house. Offer videos of the entire raid. I want to keep monitoring here in case I can use the Cutters.”

  Anna raced away while Mark continued to watch the scene from the drones. One of the intruders moved into range of a Cutter. Mark did not hesitate. He fired at the man’s legs. The man fell and two of his companions rushed to his aid. Mark shot each of them in their legs, as well. The weapons were devastating. The men would require substantial medical assistance. The other intruders ignored the fallen men and continued their destruction, smashing windows and lighting fires. Before long, the entire house was aflame.

  Anna returned with Scott, and Mark showed him the live images. “We have a dozen or so intruders at the farmhouse. They blew in the gate and now they’ve set the house on fire. The barns will be next. Do you know any local FBI agents you can contact? We can provide copies of video files showing what these men have done. We’ve got full facial images and license plate details.”

  Scott said, “Let me get my laptop. I can call one or two contacts. I’ll know soon which FBI agents are in the area.”

  “Good. Anna, use your laptop and call the local police and emergency services and report the attack and the fire. Mention the wounded men, tell them ambulances will be required.”

  Mark continued to monitor the activity around the farmhouse. The plume of heavy black smoke was growing in intensity and height as the fire took hold. Heat from the burning house was pushing the men back, away from the house. He hoped for opportunities to fire more shots before the intruders fired the barns. He listened as Anna reported the fire to US authorities. The dispatcher promised to have a fire engine at the farmhouse within ten minutes. When Anna completed her call, Mark said, “Try to contact Maeve, ask if her analysts can start working on the images I sent. When you’ve finished, try Schmidt. They both need to know about this. I want to stay focused on the Cutters. They’ll learn to leave us alone.”

  Scott returned. “Two FBI agents are on their way to the farmhouse. They expect to be there in twenty minutes, and an additional team is now leaving Boston. It’s going to take them an hour or more to get there. They’ll let me know when they arrive.”

  “The intruders will still be there; the vehicles are all inoperable.” Mark fired another round and watched his target collapse. “I’ve counted five men down. The others won’t aid them—they’re too exposed. If they do try to help, they’ll go down as well.” There was an element of glee in his voice. He heard Anna make contact with Schmidt but his focus on the scenes provided by the drone cameras did not waver.

  Schmidt called Maeve and conferenced in Anna, who had the call on speaker. Mark listened as Anna briefed both.

  When she finished, Schmidt said, “The analysts identified a lot of chatter over the last couple of days. Perhaps it was setting this up?”

  Mark said, “These are freelance. Their vehicles are all from Georgia. According to SO15, the people who broke into my hotel room are ICE and have been disowned by their bosses. There must be some connection between both operations.”

  Maeve said, “My team is still in analysis mode. We don’t have enough data yet for precise conclusions. They say there are layers of activities, a lot from ICE, threads from the CIA, and some local Russians may be involved.”

  Mark fired another shot with the Cutter. “That’s six injured now. Six gunshot wounds are going to require a lot of explaining. When will your analysts start working on the images I sent? It’ll help to have IDs of these people as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll get them started when we finish this call.”

  “Good,” Schmidt said. “Scott, when do you expect the FBI to reach the site?”

  “Another ten minutes. I know the two agents and briefed them. I’m sending them video files, as well”

  “The fire engine has arrived,” Mark said. “I can’t use the Cutters anymore. Firemen won’t approach a burning building if there was a risk of them getting shot.”

  “An ambulance and a police car just arrived, behind the fire engine,” Anna added.

  Schmidt said, “Okay. We’ll work with the locals and the FBI. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Likewise,” Maeve said.

  “I wish the audio pickups were functioning,” Mark said. “I’d like to hear what kind of story these guys are telling the local law.”

  “The FBI will be there soon. I sent them as many video files as I could,” Scott said.

  “Good. They can share with the local police. It will be difficult for the intruders to contradict the video evidence,” Mark said.

  He navigated the drone so it would show the house and barns. The house was engulfed in flames and the two outer buildings were smoldering. His links to the drones would fail once the barns caught fire and destroyed his equipment. The black stream of smoke was reaching farther into the sky.

  Anna said, “They’ve destroyed our home. I hope these bastards go down.”

  ***

  Chapter 18

  Schmidt could not rid himself of the concerns raised by the attack on Mark’s farmhouse. It smacked of government-supported activity, yet there was no obvious motive apart from possible revenge for the CIA agents taken down a year ago when a militia team attacked Mark’s home and his parents’ lab. The recent chatter may be associated with the morning’s attack, although it seemed a fruitless, even careless venture. Of course these attackers would not have expected Midway to counter attack using software-controlled weapon systems. Schmidt explained the situation to his traveling companion, Colonel Dempsey.

  “It smacks of revenge, some kind of warning,” Schmidt said. “I don’t know why ICE got involved. It’s perplexing.”

  “Their actions in London were amateurish,” said Dempsey as they waited for the helicopter to lift off. They were using helmet mikes and earphones. “ICE lost three men in London, perhaps four including their controller, assuming the Brits go all out. I can’t imagine them releasing these agents if ICE has disowned them. SO15 will want to make a point. They won’t like ICE freelancing on their home turf.”

  “They are zealous in that regard, just as we would be, if foreign agents were prancing around here.”

  The helicopter lifted off, distracting the two men for a moment. The flight was routine. They were heading to Ft. Myer for their weekly meeting with CIC. Schmidt expected the meeting to be routine; nothing serious had arisen in the previous week. He
and Dempsey sat back, lost in thought. Schmidt was trying to understand what was driving the increased chatter.

  Finally he said, “Remind me to phone Maeve when we land. I think all these activities are some kind of feint, intended to distract us. Someone out there is planning something and he’s hiding it under layers of subterfuge. He must be sacrificing his men, almost twenty so far, which is a sizable decoy. I wonder what the hell—”

  “General, we’ve been tagged by a missile,” the pilot said. “I’m firing decoy flares and descending in case it’s—” The man’s words were cut short by an explosion that rocked the helicopter. It went into a violent spin as the momentum of the overhead rotor took control. The pilot struggled fruitlessly with the controls. Schmidt and Dempsey braced themselves for the hard landing.

  ~~~

  Earlier that morning Colonel Alexey Grigoryevich had driven to the location he had designated for his meeting with the leader of the FSB sleepers. He parked his car on a side street and walked around the corner. The sleeper was waiting. He was driving an old green Volkswagen, its sides rusty and dented. Alexey struggled to shut the bent passenger door.

  “A cheap car,” his fellow countryman explained as he accelerated into the stream of traffic. “One we can dump. Remember to wipe clean anything you touch.”

  The warning was unnecessary, thought Alexey, annoyed with the other Russian. “You need to burn the damn thing, otherwise there’ll be DNA traces. Or dismantle it and sell the parts. At least that way you might recover some of my money.” The FSB members had claimed poverty and were using Alexey as their banker. He knew he was being taken for a ride but refusal was not possible. The American would have his scalp if this plan failed. He grabbed a handhold as the driver took the corner faster than the vehicle could properly handle.

  “We want to get there alive,” he said.

  The driver smiled. His expression was almost a sneer. “That’s the problem with you intelligentsiia. You cannot handle a little hardship.”

  Alexey ignored the insult. “Is your equipment in place?”

  “Da. We moved it last night. The team is there now, waiting for us.”

  “Are you confident you know how to fire this weapon?”

  “One of my men is a specialist. He knows.”

  Alexey remained silent for the remainder of the journey, not wishing to disturb the driver’s concentration or desirous of attracting any more insults. The helicopter flight was due to pass almost overhead in two hours and this car trip would take another thirty minutes. He hoped the noisy and almost unroadworthy vehicle did not attract the attention of DC police. He almost leapt from the vehicle when they arrived, and slammed the door aggressively. The driver had parked behind the warehouse building, out of the way, where casual passersby wouldn’t notice the vehicle. Two other old vehicles and a courier van were parked in the same area.

  “They’ll all be on the roof,” the driver said, leading the way to the rear entrance. Large double doors, locked and chained, barred their way. A small side door opened into the musty and dim interior. Alexey stumbled over a discarded carton.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the other Russian admonished. “There are no lights, it’s safer without them. Besides, the building has no electricity. Follow me.”

  Either his companion had cat’s eyes or he was trying to demonstrate some kind of superiority, because he led off without hesitation across the rubble-strewn floor to a stairwell hidden in the far corner. The man pulled open a rusty fire door and began his climb. Alexey followed, not without some trepidation. He did not entirely trust his fellow Russian. When they pushed through the exit door onto the flat roof, the morning sunshine almost blinded him.

  It took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust. Three other Russians stood around the Strela 21, admiring the missile mounted on its launch pad. One man was adjusting controls on the missile. They all looked at Alexey and smiled. They believed this would be some kind of masterstroke that would gain them tremendous favor with their FSB controllers. Alexey had sworn them to secrecy, claiming any leak before the weapon was fired would unravel the entire plan.

  The man adjusting the Strela’s controls spoke. “This is a marvelous weapon. I wish we had more here. Oh, the aircraft I would bring down with them. One day you’ll have to tell me how you managed to procure this one.”

  “Trade secret.” Alexey smiled. “Is it ready?”

  “Da, da, she is ready, aren’t you, my beauty.” The man stroked the side of the missile. It was almost a loving caress.

  Alexey hid his shudder. He was not a natural murderer and regretted his agreement with the American to carry out this assassination. He said, “You have the camouflage netting to hide us and the weapon? We don’t want the helicopter pilot to see the Strela before we launch it.”

  One of the other Russians nodded. “The netting’s ready. It will take only minutes to erect and we can fire the missile from beneath it. We’ve done it before, in the Ukraine.”

  The third man was holding a radio. He lifted it in Alexey’s direction. “We’re tuned into the frequency you provided. I can monitor the flight.”

  “Good,” said Alexey. He checked his watch. “We need to wait for forty minutes. Did anyone bring coffee?”

  Thirty-five minutes later the Russian with the radio signaled to his companions. “The pilot has clearance. If he follows the flight plan he’ll be overhead in five minutes.”

  The men stirred from their relaxed positions and moved under the netting and Alexey followed their lead. One of the sleepers had found a vantage point and positioned himself with a pair of binoculars; he was to give an alert when the helicopter came within range. Alexey listened to the harsh sounds from the small radio, trying to follow the arcane traffic control messages.

  The man with the binoculars spoke, “I can see the helicopter. It’s on course and should be here in less than a minute.”

  Alexey heard the aircraft as it approached. The expert busied himself at the missile’s launch controls. The weapon was located at the edge of the camouflage netting and would trail the helicopter as it passed overhead. The other Russians were standing to either side, waiting. Alexey was at the far corner of the netting, well away from the launch blast. As the helicopter ranged across the building, the missile leapt up with a roar of sound and a wash of heat. It accelerated, heading for the aircraft.

  “It’s got a lock,” shouted the expert. “The pilot’s firing flares but they’re not working. The Strela is too smart.”

  Alexey heard the explosion. He grabbed the binoculars from the Russian standing beside him and focused on the falling helicopter. The tail fin had disappeared and the helicopter was spinning out of control as it descended. He watched, entranced, as it spun faster and faster until it struck a small building about half a mile away. Within seconds a dense cloud of smoke hid the view.

  “Let’s go,” he said as he returned the binoculars to the owner. “Remove the netting. It’s time we were out of here.” He could hear the discordant sounds of an emergency vehicle shrilling its way to the crash site.

  Alexey did not see the man dressed in black rise from the far corner of the building. He watched in disbelief as one by one, four Russians collapsed around him. It took only seconds. He suddenly realized what was happening and looked up. The man was walking toward him, a silenced sniper rifle held across his body. Alexey’s mind raced—this was not part of the scenario they had agreed.

  “Thank you, Alexey, for a job well done,” the shooter said.

  “What—you never said—”

  “I never said a lot of things,” replied the man Alexey knew as McCarr. He gave his thin smile, raised the rifle, and aimed it at Alexey. “Farewell.” He fired.

  ***

  Chapter 19

  Maeve Donnelly received the first notification less than ten minutes after the helicopter crashed, when one of her Cerberus FBI agents phoned her with as many details as she had been able to gather. “Maeve, there’s been an
accident. CNN or the other news channels will have details soon. Schmidt’s helicopter crashed on the way to Ft. Myer. We’re not sure yet, but we’ve received reports of a missile being fired from an old warehouse building. I expect it’ll be chaos and mayhem out there for a while.”

  “What about the people on board?” Maeve asked, her hand trembling.

  “No news. There’re emergency responders at the location and more on the way. When I hear, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.” Maeve disconnected. She sat motionless for what seemed like hours but was less than a minute. She brought her wild thoughts back under control, lifted her head, and spoke to her assistant.

  “Harry?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Emergency meeting. Five minutes. Main meeting room. The A team. B team is to listen in. I don’t care what they’re working on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Harry had started typing the e-mail summons while Maeve was still speaking and sent it before she had finished. He reached for his phone to make follow-up calls. Maeve closed her laptop and headed for the meeting room. She might have to dispossess anyone who was using it. Her analysts straggled in one by one and at the five-minute mark the last one arrived, his hair disheveled, his expression worried.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he breathed as he sat at the end of the table.

  Twenty people were in the conference room, silent, apprehensive. Another ten analysts had connected by video. Thirty more were watching a live stream of the meeting on their laptops.

  Maeve said, “Harry, turn on the TV. CNN.” She waited for a moment as her assistant clicked the remote. As the image formed on the monitor at the end of the room, Maeve spoke.

  “I want you to drop anything you’re currently working on that isn’t connected to this new task. We think someone blew up an army helicopter—Schmidt and Dempsey were on board.”