He charged forward, kicked the splintered wood open and stormed in. A figure backed out of the kitchen. He hit it with a three round burst. Return fire sparked off the walls. Something punched him in the gut and he doubled over gasping for air as he fired another burst.
He knew a round had lodged in his soft armor, a ricochet. He sucked air and edged forward trying to open up the angle into the next room.
“Fuck you!” a voice screamed as an AK blasted the room.
It was deafening in the confined space and Ice’s ears rang as he dove through the doorway and slid across the filthy floorboards. His submachine gun spat flame as it stitched a gunman from groin to chest. As his weapon ran dry Ice spotted a second gunman struggling to reload his AK. He pushed off the floor dropping the gun.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror but he managed to seat the magazine. As he cocked the AK, Ice charged forward, grabbed the barrel forcing it toward the ceiling with one hand. The other drew his pistol. Time seemed to slow as the Glock came up. When it was level with the thug’s face, he squeezed the trigger.
The 9mm round punched a neat hole in the man’s forehead, blowing the insides across the wall. Ice felt nothing as he let the corpse drop to the ground.
He moved to the window and spotted movement by the barn. Machine-gun fire shattered the glass as the gunmen in the barn unleashed on the house.
Ice dove to the floor, grabbed the dead man’s AK and crawled across the broken glass back to the kitchen. Before he reached the back door, the house shook as an RPG hit it. He got up and bolted out the back door as the ceiling collapsed in a cloud of dust. Where the hell were Vance and the QRF?
With the AK in his shoulder, he moved to the corner of the house and stuck his head around. He caught a glimpse of two gunmen, one lying behind a PKM, the other aiming an AK directly at him. He jerked back as the corner of the building exploded in a shower of stone shards. Bullets cracked through the air.
Ice was vulnerable to an assault from either end and going back into the house wasn’t an option. His only hope was to make it across the open field to the tree line fifty yards away.
A dull thudding of a heavy machine gun filled the air as he was about to sprint for the trees. He snapped his head around. He would recognize the sound of a Ma Deuce anywhere. Fishing the radio from his pocket, he twisted the volume nob and pressed the transmit button. “One-one, this is one-two.”
“Where the hell are you?” It was Vance’s voice. The thud of the machine-gun was louder over the radio.
“I’m at the house. Hostiles are around the barn.”
“Roger, we’re taking rounds here. If you’d whistle up some flanking fire, that would be shit hot.”
“Will do.” He crouched and peered around the corner again. The PKM gunner was firing bursts in the direction of the track. The second man shouldered an RPG. Ice lined up his sights and shot the RPG guy through the chest. The machine gunner didn’t realize until the dead body fell against him. He attempted to reposition the gun. Ice fired another well-aimed shot. The gunner’s head exploded.
Ice watched the battle rapidly turn against the ambushers. Heavy fifty-caliber bullets smashed through the wooden barn and small arms fire peppered it. Gradually, the return fire became sporadic, then ceased.
“One-two, you have friendlies moving to your location.”
“Acknowledged.” He glanced back. Sure enough, after a few seconds, five camouflaged shapes appeared out of the woods and approached. Ice gave a thumbs-up and one of the soldiers grinned back at him.
The five Norwegian FSK operators were camouflaged from head to toe. Even their G3 rifles were painted. Ice dropped back allowing one of them to take over his position at the corner of the building. He kneeled behind the last man and watched as they prepared to assault the barn.
The team waited a few seconds until the heavy machine-gun cut out. Then they stepped off. They assaulted in a line, weapons covering any possible enemy position. When they reached the side of the barn they disappeared around the back.
Shouts were followed by two rapid shots. A moment later, one of the FSK operators came out and gave a thumbs-up.
Ice walked out and surveyed the battlefield. Down the road, past his shattered 4Runner, were a pair of G-Wagen gun buggies, the fire support element. The assaulters must have approached through the forest. A flash of white caught his eyes as a Land Cruiser powered up the track. It roared toward him and slid to a halt. Vance jumped out. “Shit got real, hey.”
He could smell the reek of cordite on his partner’s clothing. His eyes narrowed. “Did they let you near a Deuce?” he said referring to the M2 heavy machine gun.
Vance shrugged. “They were worried they might hit you. If I was on the trigger, it wasn’t so much an issue.” He winked.
“You didn’t happen to put a bullet in Barishna on the way in?”
He shook his head. “Negative, buddy. But Sledge got that new Procreator UAV to track him.”
“You mean Predator.”
“That’s it. He’s gonna message me with a lat-long when he’s got a bed-down loc.”
“Good.” The pilot they had rescued two years earlier was deployed on his second Kosovo tour, this time as a liaison officer to a new drone program. He’d got them a four-hour surveillance window to cover the source meet.
Ice turned to the approaching FSK team leader.
“Gentlemen, we’ve accounted for eight criminals,” the Norwegian said in accented English. “They were well prepared. Whoever they work for wants you dead. Very dead.”
“You guys saved my boy’s bacon,” said Vance.
Ice offered his hand. “If there’s anything we can do for you just ask.”
The team leader gave a broad smile. “Ja, no problem. My men are just happy to be doing our job. Things have been a bit slow.”
Vance slapped him on the shoulder. “And we’re all good how this is going to be reported, right?”
“Routine training patrol and we were ambushed by mafia, ja.”
Vance nodded. “Right. And take care of the 4Runner, will you?”
“Ja.”
“Good deal.” He pulled his satellite phone from his jacket and checked the screen. “We’re in business. Got a location for Barishna. Let’s go, Ice.”
Vance climbed into the driver’s seat, pulled a map from the glove box, and checked the coordinates. “About twenty clicks from here. Up in our old stomping grounds.”
Ice put on his seat belt. “We’re going to have to stop well short and foot infil.”
“Roger. Ammo, guns, comms, everything we need is in the back.”
“Then, let’s roll.”
***
Ice and Vance parked the Land Cruiser a little over a mile from Barishna’s last known location. On the map, it was a group of tiny squares denoting buildings. Without going back to Pristina to check the Predator imagery that was all they had to go on. They were both familiar with the general area and picked a route that took them through a pine forest.
Ice held up his hand and knelt to inspect his map.
Vance leaned his Mk18 carbine against a tree and slung his daypack off. He reached into his pack and pulled out a granola bar. “You hungry, bud?”
He checked his watch. It was just after midday. “Yeah, could go a bite.”
Vance tossed him the bar.
He put the map away and placed his own weapon on the pine-needle covered ground. Like Vance, he was now armed with a suppressed Mk18, the short-barreled variant of the M4. Chewing, he looked through the trees. “This is the area we picked up Sledge.”
Vance nodded in agreement. “Yep, makes sense that Barishna is working where he knows. You think he’s tied in with Zahir?”
“Without a doubt. He doesn’t have the balls to order a hit.”
“So, how far to his position?”
“Four-hundred yards. We should cache our gear here. Go in light.” Ice unslung his pack and took out his long-lens camera along with a bundle
of camouflaged scrim netting. They were already wearing chest-rigs loaded with ammo and their radios.
Vance placed his pack alongside Ice’s and covered them with leaf litter. Then he leaned a branch against the tree to mark the spot and they set off with Ice leading. The former Marine moved stealthily through the trees, skills learned in Force Recon.
As they approached the coordinates the drone had provided, he couldn’t shake the feeling of deja vu. Then he caught a glimpse of a building through the trees and realized exactly where they were. “Vance, its the old factory,” he whispered.
Vance paused, and nodded. “Yeah, where we found Sledge. Barishna must have taken it over.”
Ice moved closer until he found a gap between the trees that he could use to zoom in on the building. In the Marines, they called it loopholing. He set the camera up on a mini tripod, draped the scrim netting over it, and lay behind. A moment later, Vance joined him.
“What’ve we got?”
“The SUV Barishna was driving is parked out front along with two trucks. We’ve got at least three guys unloading boxes.”
“Probably a smuggling hub.”
Ice snapped a dozen shots of the transfer. “We need a closer look.”
“That’s too risky, bud.”
He adjusted the focus on the camera. “You know these guys, they don’t bother with sentries. I’ll be in and out in a couple of minutes.” He tapped his earpiece. “I’ve got you on comms.”
“Fine, but this time I haven’t got any Viking raiders to bail you out, just me.”
Ice grabbed his Mk18. “They won’t see me.” He left Vance with the camera and stalked toward the concrete-walled factory.
He didn’t remember it being so big. Kneeling behind a tree, he pulled out a compact spotting scope and scanned the upstairs windows. Most of them were boarded up. Shattered during the assault over two years ago.
He heard the clatter of a diesel engine and his earpiece crackled. “Hey bud, another SUV pulled up. Bunch of mafia looking dudes. They’ve got two girls with them.”
Ice moved forward. He was thirty yards out when he crouched and scanned for another hole through the trees. Unable to see, he moved another ten yards closer. He heard Albanian voices but his view was still blocked. He slid to his stomach and crawled through the undergrowth until he had eyes on.
Barishna’s black SUV was parked directly in front of the open loading dock. It couldn’t fit inside because the loading area was blocked with crates. He pulled out the scope and confirmed the markings on the crates. Weapons.
There was a shriek and a girl stumbled out of the loading bay. Ice winced as she tripped and fell. Every instinct he had screamed to run out and help her.
Before she could climb to her feet two leather-jacketed thugs grabbed her under each arm and hauled her to her feet. For a split second, she stared straight in Ice’s direction. He swore she knew he was there.
His earpiece squelched, “Steady, brother. Go charging in now, and we’re screwed.”
Ice had the red dot sight of his Mk18 superimposed on one of their heads. He’d already flicked the safety off and taken up the slack on the trigger. He exhaled slowly releasing his finger.
The men dragged her inside.
Ice’s hands started shaking and he crawled back from his position. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 9
Ice gazed out the window as Vance drove them along the highway back to Pristina. Burned out buildings and abandoned homes flashed past. All that remained of the Serbian families who had fled from Albanian reprisals now that ‘peace’ had arrived. His thoughts drifted back to atrocities he’d investigated; girls raped to death, women and children executed in cold blood. Smiling faces in old photos, now rotting corpses dumped in mass graves.
“You OK, bud?” Vance asked.
“Huh, yeah I’m good.”
“You’re too calm for my liking. That asshole Zahir and his weaselly little bitch just tried to kill you, brother. We need a plan to strike back.”
“We’re going to kill Zahir.” Ice turned his attention back to the window.
“No shit. So what’s the plan?”
“Huh?”
“Listen bud, you’ve got to snap the fuck out of this. They just tried to bag and tag two CIA officers. These cats are playing for keeps. That power hungry douche-bag wants to run this country, and if he does it’s going to hell in a hand basket. So we’re going to war. We need to be cocked, locked and ready to donkey punch them at every turn. We need contingencies and we need pipe-swinging, heavy-hitting ninja fuckmasters to take these bastards down.” Vance thumped the steering wheel with his palms.
“You done?”
“Motherfucker, I just got started.”
“Good, because I don’t want to just kill Zahir. I want to burn his entire organization to the ground. We take out Zahir and Kreshnik steps up. We kill Kreshnik and Barishna will step up. Barishna’s the weak link. We go after him first. And, you’re right about needing help. Ice pulled out his cell phone. “I know where we can get some pipe-hitters,” he said as he dialed. “Mitch, it’s Ice. I need a favor.”
***
Vance punched the combination into the CIA compound door and held it open for Ice. The broad-shouldered CIA agent had a coffee in each hand as he strode across the ops room floor to Louise’s desk.
The analyst looked up from her work and a smile spread across her face. “Ah, the angel returns.” She raised her eyebrows when she spotted his partner. “Hello, Vance.”
He feigned a bow. “Louise, always a pleasure.”
“Aren’t you the charmer.”
Ice rolled his eyes and placed the beverage on her desk. “Now we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ve got some photos I need printed.” He placed the memory card next to the cup.
Louise sighed. “And I thought you genuinely cared about me.”
“Like a sister.” He winked. “An older bossy sister.”
She laughed. “I’ll get right on it.”
“James, Vance, I need to see you now.” Frank stood in the doorway to his office, a scowl on his face.
“OK, boss.”
Frank addressed them as the walked in. “Don’t bother sitting, gentlemen. This will be quick.”
Vance shot Ice a glance. He shrugged.
“James, I gave you clear instructions to leave Zahir alone. So imagine my surprise when yesterday I received a call from the Ambassador informing me you’ve submitted a case to the OSCE, requesting his removal from the election ballot.”
“Boss–”
“Let me finish. Then, this morning I get a report that a KFOR patrol was ambushed by former KLA militiamen. Eight bodies in the morgue and all of them former members of the Gray Wolves. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s Zahir’s old militia and the same unit you two mentored at the start of the campaign.”
Vance interjected. “Look Frank, I can explain.”
“Explain? You’re supposed to be here to review source files. How the hell can you explain?”
“Vance had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Stop! I don’t give a damn, James. Listen to me and listen closely. The State Department supports Zahir’s candidacy. This country needs a strong man and there’s nothing you can do about it. If you continue down this road you’re going to burn your career and Vance’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay the hell away from Zahir. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Ice repeated.
“Vance?”
“Got it.”
“Now get the hell out.”
As they left the office, Ice pulled Vance aside. “Hey, I started this. I can finish it. I don’t want you to mess up your career over this.”
Vance frowned. “You kidding me? You think I’m afraid of Frank or the State Department? I’ve already got a fat pension. They can suck my dick. Zahir doesn’t know it yet, but that murdering son-of-a-bi
tch is a dead man walking.”
***
The taxi dropped them at a bakery only a mile from their compound.
Ice paid the driver as Vance got out.
“You sure this is the address?” Vance asked.
Ice joined him on the sidewalk. “Yep.”
They were in Arberia, a suburb that adjoined the main KFOR base and housed a number of national embassies. The bakery was a narrow building with a flaking yellow sign.
Ice walked up the stairs and pushed open the door. A bell jingled and an elderly gentleman with a thick white mustache eyed them warily.
“It’s all right Gezim, they’re with us,” a thick British accent emanated from a dark corner where two men were sitting at a table. Both had broad shoulders and bushy beards. Their clothes were similar to the CIA agents: boots, cargo pants, and softshell jackets.
Ice spotted his gym buddy and gave a nod. “Mitch, thanks for meeting us. This is my partner, Vance.”
The two Brits rose to greet them. Mitch was younger and taller. The second man was about five foot seven with a stocky build. A full head shorter than Ice. He had him pegged as SAS. He gave off that aura of confidence generally reserved for those who knew how to handle themselves in a fight. Mitch on the other hand, he already knew was a technical expert, the kind of guy most covert teams kept on hand to rig tracking beacons, improvised explosives, remote cameras, and the like. A weightlifting geek, his wingnut ears, eager demeanor, and collar length hair contrasted with his bulging arms and broad shoulders.
Mitch shook the veteran operative’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Vance. This is Gary.”
"You can call me Gaz, mate." His accent was softer and more drawn out than Mitch’s. Ice guessed he was originally from Wales.
They exchange pleasantries until Gaz cut to the chase. “You blokes don’t mind if I have a look at your credentials, yeah?”
Ice flipped his State Department identification onto the table. “No problems.”
Vance did the same.
Gaz inspected the cards and passed them to Mitch who produced an electronic strip reader from his pocket. He swiped them through the device, nodded, and returned them.
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