Relentless

by Brent Towns

  The enforcer led Cara into a kitchen which was the size of the local café in El Paso where she often ate. Marble countertops, an island the size of two standard ones in the center of the room, two stainless steel refrigerators, more cupboards than she’d ever seen at one time, and exposed copper pipes on the walls which supplied water to twin sinks.

  All this would have wowed any guest to the house, but not Cara. Her focus was centered on the knife block on the countertop to her left, next to a stainless-steel coffee maker. She shuffled across just a fraction. Sander opened one of the refrigerators and peered inside.

  Cara moved again.

  Backing out of the refrigerator with two bottles of Heineken, Sander cracked the top and passed one across to Cara, kicking the door closed with the toe of his boot. She stared at him, curiously. The big man took a sip and placed the bottle on the counter. He then walked across to the other refrigerator and opened it.

  With swift movements, Cara moved to the knife block and took one of the smaller ones. She cursed inwardly while she tried to find a place to hide it. Eventually, she tucked it behind her back into her running pants and pulled her top down over it.

  Sander stepped away from the refrigerator with an armful of food. He dumped it on the island bench and stabbed at it with a finger. “Eat.”

  For the next ten minutes, Cara ate and drank her beer while Sander watched on in silence. When she was finished, he escorted her upstairs to a large room with a double bed and bathroom. “You will stay here.”

  “I could use some clean clothes,” Cara told him.

  Sander grunted and turned away, walking toward the door. Suddenly he stopped as though he’d forgotten something. He pivoted and held out his hand. Cara frowned. “What?”

  He raised his eyebrows and waited.

  “Shit,” Cara swore and reached back for the knife. She handed it over, and Sander gave her a brief smile. Then without a further word, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.

  “Double shit.”

  Team Reaper HQ

  El Paso

  General Mary Thurston disconnected her call and tossed the phone on her desk. She hurried out into the operations area of the team’s headquarters where she found Ferrero, Kane, and Swift going over some reports. They looked up at her approach, and by the expression on her face, they knew that after two days she had some news.

  “I just got off a call from Interpol. Belgian police found Cano in some woods outside of Antwerp. It was only by luck that a hiker stumbled across it.”

  “Cara?” Kane asked.

  Thurston shook her head. “Nothing. But I’m ready to pull the trigger on this thing. Call everyone together, Luis, I need to phone Hank.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  She whirled away and went back to her office, where she picked up the phone and rang Hank Jones.

  “Hello, Mary,” his voice came down the line. “How’re things? You found that MIA of yours yet?”

  “Not yet, sir, but we may have a lead.”

  “Fill me in.”

  Thurston ran through with him what she’d been told from her call with Interpol. When she finished, Jones said, “And I take it that you want permission to go operational?”

  “Yes, sir. I know that it’s not convincing, but I feel it in my gut, sir.”

  “You’re right, Mary, it is thin. However, I’m willing to take a chance on your gut. Heaven forbid that we never acted and something untoward happened.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t heard the rest of it. Take only those you need. The others will stay home. If they are required, you can fly them out. If you had concrete proof, then I would sign off on sending the lot of you. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, OK then. Good luck, Mary.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jones disconnected, and Thurston left her office and went back to the operations room. She called Kane and Ferrero over and told them of Jones’ orders.

  “What are you going to do?” Ferrero asked.

  “I’ll take Reaper’s team and Swift and Pete Traynor. You, Teller, and Reynolds can hold down the fort. Are you OK with that?”

  Ferrero nodded. “I’m more than good with that. Since I was off sick, I’ve still not felt one hundred percent.”

  Thurston nodded. “Should we need UAV support, Brooke and Teller can operate it from here. I’m only taking Traynor because he can alternate in the field or be an extra gun for us at base.”

  “Where are you going to operate from?” Ferrero asked.

  “Interpol in Brussels have a place we can set up. They’ve said they’ll help us all they can. If it means that they’ll be rid of Janssen, they’re more than happy.”

  “When are we leaving, Ma’am?” Kane asked.

  “Just as soon as we can get that blasted plane in the air.”

  Chapter 7

  Antwerp, Belgium

  Aleksey Kazan was a bad man. Of Russian and Belarussian breeding, he’d started in the flesh trade the day he resigned from the State Security Agency of the Republic of Belarus, otherwise known as Belarus’ KGB. He’d walked out of his office in the afternoon, shot a man for his business in the evening, and taken over his empire with the help of contacts he’d cultivated over the years.

  Now, the forty-eight-year-old man, with the hair lip and gray hair, ran a pipeline from the west which carried young women east to countries such as Romania, Bulgaria, and Ukraine; holding auctions once a month to sell the girls he acquired.

  The German and French girls were always his best sellers. Every now and then an American or a blonde Swedish girl fetched a premium price. Italian girls were OK, so were the British. The Spanish were too much trouble, so he tried to stay clear of them as much as possible.

  Kazan was like an octopus. His tentacles spread throughout Europe. At the end of those tentacles were small groups of men who scoured nightclubs and other places frequented by young women.

  They had a constant supply of Rohypnol, used for spiking drinks. Once the tablets had taken effect, the drugged girls would be helped outside, given a needle to sedate them properly, and then they would disappear. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. The girls were halfway across Europe.

  When Kazan’s car pulled up in the turnaround at Janssen’s mansion, he had a feeling that this deal was going to be far from ordinary. For starters, the girl was actually a woman in her thirties. An age that he would normally never consider, as his clients wanted young flesh. But he had an upcoming auction which might prove successful in moving her. If not, he would work something out.

  Janssen came out to meet him, and the two shook hands. “It is good to see you, Aleksey. I trust your journey was good?”

  “It was OK. I was in Germany wrapping up some business when I received your call. I must tell you now that I normally would not even consider making a purchase of a woman of such age. But since you are a friend, I am willing to make an exception.”

  Nodding, Janssen said, “I appreciate you taking the time. However, I’m not selling this woman. I am offering her to you as a favor to me.”

  Surprise registered on Kazan’s face. “Really?”

  “Come inside, and I shall explain it all.”

  Cara stood in her comfortable prison, staring out the window at the two men talking below. Janssen she knew, but the other man she’d never seen before. Although she had the overwhelming feeling that this man was here for her.

  Apart from food and drink, she’d been left alone for the past few days. But that was all about to change; she was sure of it. The key turned in the lock to her room. The door swung open, and Sander entered. He stared at the clothes she was wearing. They had been supplied to her the day after she’d arrived in Belgium. Jeans, a white cotton shirt with a singlet beneath it. He said, “You come.”

  “Just like that. You bark, and I jump?”

  “Hmm,” Sander grum
bled.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I will make you.”

  “Try it?”

  Sander closed the gap between them and reached out to grasp her left arm. Cara’s right fist came up and crashed into the big man’s jaw. The blow turned his head marginally, and the sound of it connecting filled the room.

  Sander’s reaction was reflexive as his own palm flew around and crashed into Cara’s left cheek, making her stagger. The flesh burned, and she hit him again, with more force this time.

  The reaction was the same, except a little harder. Tears came to Cara’s eyes, and she hit him a third time. As soon as the blow connected, she stepped back and threw her hands up. “You win! You hit too hard.”

  Sander contemplated hitting her anyway but decided not to. Instead, he stood aside and directed her towards the door. Cara walked forward.

  “Ahh, here she is,” Janssen said as Cara and Sander entered the study.

  Kazan turned to look and nodded in appreciation. “So, this is the woman who killed your brother. She doesn’t look so tough to me, Dorian.”

  “Try me, asshole, and I’ll cut your bastard heart out.”

  Kazan shrugged. “Maybe she is. I think I might have a use for her after all.”

  “What did you do in America?” the flesh-peddler asked. “What was this unit you were with?”

  “They’re the ones who will kill you when they find you,” Cara hissed.

  “I like this one. She’s feisty. I tell you what; I will give you one million dollars for her.”

  “I already told you, I don’t want money.”

  “It is only fair, no?” Kazan said. “For I intend to make a lot of money from her. She is going to be a fighter. Entertainment for the guests at the auctions. What do you think of that, detka?”

  “Yebat' tebya mudak.” Cara hissed.

  Kazan laughed out loud. “Maybe, I should make you my wife.”

  “Maybe, you should fuck off.”

  He walked slowly over to where Cara stood. He stared into her hate-filled eyes, and suddenly his right hand flashed up and his long fingers wrapped around her throat. “Watch your tongue. I shall only take so much of it before I cut it out.”

  He released her and Cara staggered back, rubbing at her bruised neck. She coughed and said, “Try that again, and I’ll kill you.”

  Kazan turned and stared at Janssen. “My friend, take my money now before I change my mind.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Cara asked him.

  “Pripyat, my dear. You’ll enjoy it immensely. The weeds are simply lovely this time of year.”

  Interpol, Brussels

  Belgium

  “What are we looking at?” Thurston asked the man beside her as they studied the large screen before them.

  His name was Victor Denis. He was a man in his later thirties who ran Interpol’s special operations unit in Belgium. While the operations team was in Antwerp, the small Bravo element was in Brussels as his guest. He said, “What you are seeing is a picture from one of my men’s body cams. They are holding out the back of the property. Charges have been laid ready to breach the back fence. Your team is in our armored breaching truck along with more of my men. Your team leader has overall command of the assault because it is your person inside. Once the truck hits the gate, then the back fence will be blown.”

  Thurston nodded. “Can we see them?”

  “Of course,” Denis said, turning to one of his computer techs. “Breng het andere team naar voren.”

  The picture on the large screen split and another body cam picture came online. “This one is from your man. The leader.”

  “Why can’t I hear anything they’re saying?”

  “My people can,” he assured her. “Once they breach, then everything will be on speaker.”

  “Thank you for your help with all this, Victor,” Thurston said to him. “We appreciate everything you’ve done and are doing for us.”

  He smiled at her. “If it means we can get rid of this blight on our society, then I would not hesitate to do it many times over.”

  “What about Janssen’s men? How many?”

  “Our best count is seven. There are three on the outside of the house and another four inside. Plus, Janssen himself. All of his bodyguards are ex-military, SFG.”

  “When do we go?”

  Denis offered her a headset. “Just say the word.”

  Thurston took it and placed it on her head. It felt like an old friend coming home, and a sense of calm replaced the nerves she’d been feeling. Moving the arm mic in front of her mouth, she said, “Reaper One? Bravo. Copy?”

  Joint Assault Team

  Antwerp

  “Reaper One? Bravo. Copy?”

  “Copy, Bravo.”

  “Are you ready that end?”

  Kane looked around the confined space of the armored breaching truck. Across from him sat Brick and Axe, while Arenas was seated beside Kane himself. They were dressed in full tactical gear, and each wore body cameras, a stipulation of the Interpol agent in charge.

  Three other shooters from Interpol Special Police were in the vehicle as well. These too were decked out in full tactical gear. One of them noticed Kane looking and gave him the thumbs up.

  “Roger, Bravo, we’re good to go.”

  “Copy. On my mark, the power will be cut, and you will go. Three, two, one, execute.”

  The truck lurched forward as the driver hit the gas. Having an automatic transmission, he didn’t have to worry about changing gears, and the vehicle picked up speed almost instantly. Kane said into his comms, “Once we breach, call your kills. We know there’s seven for sure, so we want them all accounted for.”

  “Copy that.”

  Everyone dropped their NVGs into place just before the truck hit the gates. The momentum of the heavy vehicle blew through the reinforced steel barriers with ease and roared along the drive until it reached the turnaround. Once there, the driver braked, and the truck slid to a stop.

  As soon as it ceased moving, the back door opened and those within moved with practiced precision.

  Kane immediately went left while behind him, Brick moved right and swept around that side. The rest of the assault team exited the truck and took up their positions. The NVGs painted everything before them green, the laser sights on Reaper Team’s HK416s standing out in stark contrast.

  Movement to Kane’s left signaled the arrival of the first guard. The laser sight fell upon the man’s chest, and Kane squeezed the trigger twice. The recoil of the carbine slammed back into his shoulder, and the target jerked wildly, releasing a weapon which clattered to the ground. Kane said in a calm voice, “Tango down in the drive.”

  A weapon fired on the far side of the truck, and Brick said, “Second tango down in the drive.”

  Kane said, “Moving toward the house.”

  “Reaper One? Bravo. Team Two has breached and moving toward the rear door.”

  “Copy, Bravo.”

  As Kane cautiously approached the front door, Arenas fell in behind him. The Team Reaper leader was about to test the door when it seemed to explode in a shower of long splinters as bullets from within the house punched through it. Kane ducked and moved to his left. “Fuck me,” he hissed, glad that he had his armor on. Arenas moved right, so they were either side of the shattered obstacle. “Brick?”

  “On my way,” the ex-SEAL said through his comms. He tucked himself in beside Kane.

  “Put a flashbang in there so we can breach.”

  “Copy.”

  “Ready?”

  “When you are.”

  Kane stared across at Arenas and said into his comms, “We’re breaching. Carlos, get the door.”

  Arenas waited for a break in the firing and then stepped across and kicked the door open. Pulling the pin on the flashbang, Brick tossed it inside just as another burst of gunfire erupted from within.

  The M84 detonated, and Kane wheeled around and into the doorway.
He entered the reception area and saw the armed figure loom large in front of him. Two spaced shots put the man down. “One down in the reception.”

  Axe and Arenas moved up the stairs while Kane and Brick started to clear the ground floor level rooms. A figure appeared at the head of the stairs, but three accurately-placed shots from Arenas dealt with him quickly.

  “Tango down on the stairs.”

  Once at the top, the two Team Reaper men separated left and right and started to clear the second-floor rooms.

  Kane and Brick cleared the large living room before exiting it and moving across the foyer to another door.

  “Tango down first bedroom.”

  Kane placed his hand on the knob, and the door sprang free of the jamb. He swung it wide and moved back so Brick could step through the opening. The flashes of a handgun split the darkness followed by the sharp crack of its reports. Angry lead hornets cut through the darkness alongside Brick’s head, but the ex-SEAL never flinched. Instead, the laser sight reached out unerringly to the target, and he squeezed the trigger four times. The impacts flung the shooter backward, and he collapsed onto a sofa.

  Coming along behind Brick, Kane moved to the right, ensuring that his line of fire was unobstructed, and he cleared that side of the room. A figure appeared before him, but this one was unarmed. “Get on the floor!” Kane shouted. “Now!”

  The person obeyed, and the Team Reaper commander hurried forward, taking out a cable tie as he went. As he brought the man’s hands around to fasten them, he heard Brick’s voice say, “Room clear. Tango down in the study, one prisoner.”

  Kane said, “Give me a sitrep.”

  “Upstairs clear, Reaper,” Axe said.

  “Downstairs clear,” an accented voice said in English.

  “We’re still missing one shooter outside,” Kane snapped. “Where is he?”

  Nothing.

  “Bravo, copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “Have the Interpol guys do another sweep outside.”