Cold Warriors (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #3)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Not much, a few hundred feet at best. It could be a neighboring house, a vehicle outside, hell, they could have a repeater sitting in the bushes.”

  “Wahlberg, check the surrounding houses and vehicles. It could be anywhere within a few hundred feet!”

  “Shit!” exclaimed Wahlberg as he got on his radio, pushing past Sherrie as he rushed for the outside.

  “What about an RV?” she asked, her mind beginning to race.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Listen, are you in Ops?”

  “Yeah, I’m still in OC3. We’re monitoring your mission.”

  “Can you have them check for an RV leaving the area not even five minutes ago?”

  “Yeah, just a second.”

  She heard muffled words at the other end as she rushed down the stairs and out into the early evening air, crisp and for the moment, non-nuclear. She flagged down Wahlberg.

  “I need a vehicle.”

  Wahlberg said nothing, instead pointing at a nearby SUV, its red and blue lights still flashing, and tossed her a set of keys. She grabbed them out of the air and jumped in the vehicle, synching her cellphone with the onboard computer as she pulled away.

  “Are you still there?” came a voice through the speakers.

  “Yes, can you hear me?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’m going to jack you into the system. The Chief wants to hear you.”

  “He’s there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  She turned left, pretty sure she had seen a left signal light before she had entered the house. Some clicking then the sound from the speakers changed slightly, more of a hiss now being heard in the background.

  “Agent White, you’re now on live in OC3,” said the voice of one of the techs.

  “This is Morrison. Report.”

  “Sir, I’m going on a hunch. A large RV pulled away just as the suspect was taken down. I’ve got a feeling that our real suspect is in that RV, and they were jacked into our patsy’s unsecured wireless network.”

  “Is that possible?” asked Morrison.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Chris. “He could easily tap an unsecured wi-fi, it would piggy back on its IP address. He can do that pretty much anywhere since so many people leave their networks unsecured.”

  “Wouldn’t they need to be infected with the virus?” asked Morrison.

  “No, their own machine is intentionally infected. They’re only using the unsecured network to gain access to the Internet.”

  “Is there any way to get eyes on that RV?” asked Sherrie as she continued to drive, futilely looking for a vehicle with nearly a five minute head start. “I’m driving blind.”

  “Do we have any birds over the area?” came a woman’s voice she didn’t recognize.

  “Negative. We’ll have to tap into security and traffic cameras. Accessing now.” There was a pause as the tech began his work, Sherrie pulling over to the side of the road, deciding it was best not to be racing in what might possibly be the wrong direction. “I’ve got a large RV two blocks away from the suspect’s address five minutes ago, turning west. Sending coordinates now.”

  Sherrie’s phone vibrated on the passenger seat. She grabbed it and hit the button to activate the navigation app, placing the phone in a cup holder. Cranking the wheel she turned around, tires squealing, horns honking in protest as she headed west.

  “Roll units to that area now,” ordered Morrison. “I want roadblocks, eyes in the sky—everything.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sherrie raced ahead, lights flashing, siren blaring, vehicles bailing out of her way as she chased a five minute old shadow, hoping for more recent camera images to be found by the experts back at Langley.

  Suddenly there was a burst of static over her speakers and in her rearview mirror she saw a brilliant flash then a massive fireball blasted into the sky, the unmistakable plume with its bulbous head causing bile to fill her mouth.

  “Sir, there’s been another detonation,” she cried as she continued racing forward, her eyes filling with tears. “Behind me, southeast of the city.”

  “What?!”

  As she watched the fireball billow skyward the lights around her blinked then darkened, the streetlights fading to nothing, the traffic lights flipping to flashing red as taillights lit up the road ahead of her, many of the drivers simply slamming on their brakes and exiting their vehicles to stare at the horror behind them.

  Sherrie barreled onward, wiping her eyes clear.

  “There’s been another nuclear detonation,” she said, trying to keep her voice as calm and analytical as she could. “All power is out here.”

  “I’ve lost all traffic feeds,” came the voice of the analyst.

  “Shit!” muttered Morrison’s voice over the speakers.

  A sudden realization had Sherrie’s foot lifting off the accelerator, her mind filling with a fog as her brain began to shutdown to protect itself.

  “It’s my fault,” she whispered.

  “What? Nonsense!” said Morrison, his voice firm as he apparently realized what was happening to his agent. “It’s their fault, not yours. You were doing your job, just like anyone. They would have detonated that weapon no matter what. Now you keep doing your job, Agent, and that’s an order! I want you to continue pursuit of that RV. We’ll try to get eyes in the sky as soon as possible. Hear me?”

  Sherrie slowly clawed her way back to reality, her mind beginning to process Morrison’s words.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her foot returning to the accelerator as she weaved through the light but mostly stopped traffic. She reached up and shoved the rearview mirror to the side so she didn’t have to look at the hell behind her.

  As she raced forward, often taking the center divide, she scanned the road ahead with the hopes that an RV would be stuck in the traffic, unable to weave in and out.

  But that doesn’t make any sense.

  It was obvious that the terrorists had set off the weapon, most likely to aid in their escape. If that were so, then creating traffic chaos didn’t make sense. It would only make sense if they were already either on a road that had little to no traffic, or completely off the roads, perhaps tucked away in a warehouse somewhere.

  “Are there any warehouses or something around here, within five minutes of their last known location where they might hide? They have to have set off the weapon to cover their escape.”

  “Yes, there’s several—”

  “Wait a minute,” interrupted Sherrie as she passed under a traffic sign indicating the airport was to the right. She did a shoulder check and cut across the several lanes to head to the airport, and as she careened onto the road she gasped.

  “Oh my God!” she cried, her mind flashing images at her rapidly, of growing up, her childhood, the losses and joys, her martial arts triumphs, her being accepted into the agency, her finding love, and the realization that the emptiness she was about to leave in the cosmos was trivial, was insignificant, her contribution little to nothing in the grand scheme of things.

  She would be a footnote in the history today’s events would become.

  As all of these images and thoughts flooded her mind, she cranked her steering wheel to the left, hammering on the gas, in a futile effort to avoid the Rocket Propelled Grenade streaking directly at her.

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Oh my God!”

  A burst of static filled the room almost immediately after Sherrie’s cry. Chris Leroux knew his girlfriend well, and could hear the terror in those last three words. Something had happened, something bad, and he knew he was powerless to help.

  “What just happened?” demanded Morrison.

  “We lost contact, sir,” explained a tech, furiously hammering at his keyboard. “The cell signal was dropped. I’ve tried dialing back, but I’m getting nothing.”

  “Could the towers be down from the explosion?”

  “Negative,
sir. The tower she was connected to is still in service. The problem is at her phone.”

  “Maybe the call got dropped?” suggested Dimka from behind her desk on the elevated platform. “The circuits have to be getting overwhelmed with panicked civilians.”

  “And she thought to yell ‘Oh my God!’ just before her call was dropped?” said Morrison as he shook his head. “No, something happened to her.”

  Leroux gripped the sides of his workstation, the world swimming around him as he tried to focus on the screen in front of him. It was no use. The images and characters blurred into a mass of twisting, shimmering pools of colors as he felt his heart pound, his blood roar through his ears, and his mind begin to shut down as his unnoticed rapid breathing continued to quicken.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder, jerking him back in his seat and he heard his name being called in the distance. Something struck his face, the sting bringing him back to reality with a rush of sensations finally culminating in Morrison’s face staring into his, only inches away, his boss’ hand on one shoulder, the other raised as if to strike him.

  That’s when he realized what the stinging sensation was he had just experienced.

  He slapped me?

  The thought kind of pissed him off. He held up his hand to block the next blow and pushed back from the workstation, putting a little distance between him and Morrison.

  “Are you okay?”

  Leroux rubbed his cheek and nodded, now noticing that he was dripping in sweat.

  “You began to hyperventilate. Sorry for slapping you, but I need you in control of yourself. We’ve got a second nuclear detonation and we need to find these bastards.”

  Leroux nodded, his mind flooding again with thoughts of Sherrie and what might have happened to her, but this time he kept his breathing under control. It was his tear ducts that failed him. Hot salty tears scorched down his flushed cheeks. His breath caught in his throat and he held it, quickly wiping the tears away and halting the sob that almost escaped.

  “I’m okay,” he mumbled, returning his focus to the screen.

  “Good,” said Morrison, turning to the room. “Have units dispatched to her last known location. Find out whose vehicle she was in and whether or not it’s got some sort of GPS link. Also try to track her phone. We have to assume she discovered something since she was nowhere near the blast zone.”

  The room jumped into a frenzy of activity, Leroux pulling out his own cellphone, discretely holding in the ‘S’ key, the phone immediately dialing the love of his life.

  And going directly to voicemail.

  Leroux’s heart sank. The fact it didn’t ring at all meant that the phone could not be detected on the cellular network, her phone was turned off or set to automatically go to voicemail, or worse, her phone had somehow been destroyed by whatever had terrified her.

  He ended the call and looked over at Dimka, part of him hoping for an encouraging smile, even some bit of news, but instead what he saw shocked him.

  She was crying.

  And when she spotted him looking at her, she seemed terrified at having been caught, rather than embarrassed.

  What the hell is going on here?

  Charles de Gaulle National Intelligence Archive, Longjumeau, France

  As more police cars screeched to a halt, blocking the gate, Kane quickly scanned their surroundings, his mind processing and eliminating options as they came to him. They could retreat and hole up in the building, but that would simply mean they’d be surrounded and eventually arrested after a long drawn out process. Which would delay the delivery of their vital intel.

  They could try to negotiate with the police directly, but it would be of no use, and it would simply give reinforcements more time to arrive now that the situation was confirmed genuine.

  He drew his Glock and pressed it against Alexis’ temple. She immediately raised her hands as he positioned himself behind her, his free hand on the back of her neck, guiding her toward the van they had arrived in.

  “BD, you drive, Niner in the back.”

  Niner jumped in the back of the van, leaving the rear doors open, wrapping his left arm around cargo netting, taking a knee and readying his weapon. Dawson climbed into the driver side, starting the vehicle as Alexis slid to the middle of the bench seat, Kane beside her with his gun still pointed at her head, clearly visible to the police at the gate.

  “My mother sent a text. They have commandeered a vehicle. Go left out of the gate, I’ll tell you when to turn right, about five hundred meters from here. They’ll be waiting.”

  “Roger that,” said Dawson as he put the vehicle in gear and slowly approached the gate.

  “I thought they were supposed to stay at the hotel?” said Kane as he kept an angry expression on his face, glaring at the police officers.

  “You obviously don’t know my mother. There’s no telling her what to do.”

  Kane leaned out the window and shouted in perfect French, “Let us pass or she dies!”

  Dawson came to a stop, Kane pushing the weapon harder against Alexis’ head.

  “Please! Please do as he says!” she screamed, her performance Emmy worthy if not Oscar. The man in charge turned away from them, waving for one of the vehicles to be moved, shaking his head in anger at losing control of the situation so quickly.

  One of the units blocking their path jerked backward and Dawson punched it, bursting through the roadblock and cranking the wheel to the left, giving the van all she had as they put some distance between them and the front gate.

  “They’re following us!” yelled Niner from the back. Kane glanced over his shoulder and saw Niner positioned so he could fire at any of their pursuers.

  “Show them why they shouldn’t. Non-lethal!” reminded Kane.

  “You’re no fun!” said Niner as his Glock opened up on the lead car, the first shot hitting the engine causing the driver to panic and swerve to the left, exposing the rear tire as the back end fishtailed. Niner’s second shot took out the tire causing the back end to grip the asphalt suddenly, ripping the car into a vicious spin, bringing the entire procession to a halt.

  “Turn right here!”

  Dawson cranked the wheel, obeying Alexis’ order, and as they made the turn Kane cursed. A police van was blocking their path, lights flashing. Dawson hammered on the brakes, already looking behind him for an escape route when Kane saw the doors open and two familiar figures exit.

  “Stop! It’s them!” he yelled as he jumped out of the van, helping Alexis down as Niner extricated himself from the back.

  “In the back!” yelled Zorkin as he opened the rear doors. Two bodies tumbled out onto the ground and Kane was about to question the “no kill” orders when he saw them struggling against their bonds. Kane dove into the back and felt hands pulling him inside as Dawson and Niner followed. The doors slammed shut and moments later the passenger side door closed, the vehicle pulling away.

  “Turn the damned lights off!” he heard Zorkin’s muffled voice yell. West’s reply was inaudible but elicited a laugh from his old friend. Within seconds the vehicle made a sharp right turn and over the next minute several more turns. A panel slid open separating the front from the back of what Kane could only describe as an oddly shaped paddy wagon.

  “We’re clear,” said Zorkin, his breath short as his obvious excitement had taken over. “Any special requests for our next stop?”

  “Let’s ditch this vehicle ASAP and get back to the hotel so we can transmit this data. Hopefully that will give Langley enough time to stop any possible attack.”

  Zorkin’s face clouded and his eyes darted away.

  “What?” asked Kane, a gaping pit opening in his stomach as he already knew the answer.

  “There’s already been a detonation. We saw it on the TV while you were inside.”

  Bile filled Kane’s mouth, a sense of horror overwhelming him at the thought of a nuclear detonation on home soil.

  “Where?”

  “Memphis.”
<
br />   Kane’s head whipped to Dawson.

  “Doesn’t Red have family there?”

  Dawson nodded.

  “His folks.”

  Mike “Red” Belme was Dawson’s second-in-command, and Kane knew he was also Dawson’s best friend, Dawson actually the Godfather to Red’s son Bryson. They were close. Very close. He could only imagine what Dawson must be going through worrying about his friend’s family.

  The van was silent, a cloud of gloom settling over them.

  It was Kane that broke the silence.

  “The best thing we can do now is complete the mission and prevent any more detonations.”

  “Agreed,” said Dawson, his face again all business.

  “Then we take revenge,” muttered Niner.

  “Hear hear,” agreed West from the front.

  Everyone involved dies.

  Stewart International Airport, Outside Newburgh, New York

  Vitaly Travkin strapped himself into his chair, turning it to face the front of the large retrofitted RV, locking it in place. The roar of the massive Antonov AN-124’s engines quickly overwhelmed the soundproofing of their mobile headquarters, but as the plane gained altitude and the noise cancellation devices calibrated themselves, the inside quietened down to a workable level once again. The plane soon leveled off and he unlocked his chair, spinning back toward his work station, as did the other half dozen patriots in the RV with him.

  They were the vanguard of the ‘new’ Soviet Union, their job to incapacitate the American economy and military forces around the world by holding it hostage. His grandfather, former Major General Levkin, had told him of the Crimson Rush plan while he and his mother visited once, and this was it only in part. There was no great invasion awaiting their success, and their plan was not to detonate all of the weapons at once. Their plan was terror. To create panic and to force America, on bended knee, to beg forgiveness and retreat within its borders.

  And if it did so, Travkin and his team would sit by, lying in wait just in case the United States decided to interfere with the world again before Mother Russia was ready to counter Uncle Sam. And if America dared rear its head again, Travkin, or others like him, would detonate additional weapons.