King's Ransom

by E H Jennings

  “For whom?” asked Carson.

  “Most likely Hamas. Farzat, Gourani, and Yasri were probably behind his abduction and are intending to use him to further convince Hamas to join the alliance.”

  “Because of his access to American secrets?”

  “Precisely. An American intelligence asset is a treasure trove to a terrorist organization like Hamas. They’ll torture him for information, then use whatever they find to launch attacks against the US. If we don’t get there before the transfer takes place, I’m afraid that’s very bad news for the United States.”

  “And for Colton,” said Sampson.

  “Yes,” added Stonehill. “And for Colton.”

  Carson locked eyes with Stonehill and searched for any sign of perfidy. He found nothing. Roland Stonehill was a wily veteran.

  You said you believed there were two possibilities,” said Carson. “That’s one. What’s the other?”

  “The second possibility poses far less optimistic eventualities. It’s really a very simple notion: Hamas took Colton as bait in an attempt avenge the death of one of their most beloved leaders, who, without coincidence, was taken out by Operation Mirkwood in the fall of two thousand four. They know you’ll come searching for him, and when you do, you’ll open yourself and your family up to attack.” He let smoke filter out his nostrils. “Make no mistake, they will kill everyone.”

  Carson thought not only of Colton, but also of Amy and the girls. They were locked away in a cell, scared and freezing, waiting to die. But if all that Stonehill said was true, what did any of it have to do with Warren McManus?

  Colton was a world-class analyst and Carson trusted him, but it didn’t add up. Everything Stonehill said was logical but none of it fit with the message Colton had left behind. Just like before, Carson was still missing something.

  “Either way,” continued Stonehill, “you need to get to this compound before the meeting takes place. Tomorrow morning I’ll give you everything you need to get there and coordinate an assault. Admittedly, the odds are slim, but I can be of great assistance.”

  Sampson and Mendez both thanked Stonehill as they rose from the table. Carson said nothing. He halfheartedly shook the man’s hand then followed Vincent up to his room. He laid on the enormous bed and stared at the ceiling for almost an hour before quietly creeping downstairs. The house was dark but the fire still burned, casting the living room in a faint orange glow. He silently made his way outside.

  Once he was clear of the chalet, he stood in the green mountain pasture and called Connor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Connor was holed up in a Motel 6 east of Paris.

  He had barely made it to the airport before realizing a trip back to the states was futile. Like Carson had told him, if he ever wanted to see his family again, he needed to stay the course.

  Carson filled him in on solving the code and Connor was equally dumbfounded. “If McManus really is behind this, then we’re already screwed. He’s orchestrated every step we’ve taken. If he’s working with the Syrians, we’ve overplayed our hand.”

  “Something’s off about this Stonehill guy,” said Carson. “I think Colton was right. I think Stonehill’s working for McManus. It’s like they’re using us as pawns in some kind of sadistic chess game.”

  “Do you remember McManus saying or doing anything suspicious? You’ve been communicating with him since the night we found out Colton was missing.”

  Carson racked his brain and came up with nothing. If anything, McManus had been extremely helpful. But then a thought struck him.

  “Oh shit, wait a second…”

  “What?”

  Carson couldn’t believe it. “The bastards missed me on purpose.”

  “Who did?”

  “The Serbians. They should have killed me but they didn’t.”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure they tried, Carson.”

  “No, they didn’t. Think about it—they detonated a bomb, shot half a dozen sniper rounds, and then had me dead to rights in dad’s old truck. They had a damn MP5, Connor. Now you tell me how I survived all that. I’m nowhere near that lucky.”

  “Are you forgetting about that hole they put in your shoulder?”

  “It’s a flesh wound and that’s all it was ever intended to be. Their objective was never to kill me. It was to make me think they were trying to kill me.”

  “Well, they convinced me,” Connor deadpanned. “But seriously, don’t you think that’s a stretch? Why would they let you kill them if their only objective was to fluster you and let you get away?”

  Carson didn’t have an answer for that. Nor did he understand why Sampson had shown up, guns blazing. Maybe she too was working for McManus and was there to maintain the ruse. Once Carson ran out of ammunition and was as good as dead, something had to divert the mercenaries. If not, and they hadn’t killed him, Carson would have obviously been suspicious. She was a coordinated part of the plan.

  “Just stay where you are,” said Carson. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “There’s no way I’m gonna sit in this hellhole and watch HBO while my family’s life is on the line. Now cut the shit and tell me where to meet you.”

  “I promise I’ll call back soon. We’re leaving here tonight.”

  The moment Carson hung up, he heard footsteps behind him. He pulled his Ka-Bar knife and spun to find Dr. Roland Stonehill standing less than three feet from him.

  He was barely visible, standing there in the dark, but made no movement toward Carson. “Wait two minutes and follow me,” he whispered. “And please, be very quiet.”

  • • •

  Rachel Sampson rose from her bed and grabbed the gun Stonehill had left on the dresser. She still had on jeans and a sweatshirt but had taken off her boots; she moved slowly down the hallway, her bare feet silent on the hardwood flooring.

  She checked her watch as she neared Mendez’s room. If all was going well, Carson and Stonehill had already met up and things were in motion. That meant Troy Mendez needed to be asleep.

  Rachel knew Carson had solved the code; she had been watching on the train, even though he thought she was asleep. He now knew McManus was not what he seemed. But there was still a lot he didn’t know, and the time had finally come to bring him into the light.

  Mendez’s door was slightly ajar and she peeped inside. He was lying on the bed, his sizable chest rising and falling in rhythm, dead asleep. Posting up outside the door, her finger on the trigger, Rachel Sampson intended to make sure he stayed that way.

  • • •

  Carson’s first thought was there was no way in hell he was following Stonehill, unarmed, into the dark forest behind his chalet. He didn’t trust the man and he didn’t know the property; following him was a tactical nightmare.

  But he did it anyway.

  Stonehill was an overweight octogenarian and Carson was a highly trained field operative. Ultimately, he liked his chances, and curiosity got the best of him.

  He counted off one hundred and twenty seconds, then retraced Stonehill’s footsteps past the chalet and into the woods beyond. The ridge was steep for several meters, then sloped westward into a valley. The trees draped low and he swatted away branches for a few hundred yards before reaching a clearing.

  There was a small building near the edge that looked like a barn, and next to it a helicopter had landed in the field. He approached slowly and silently.

  Creeping up to the wall, he pressed his ear against the wood. Stonehill wasn’t alone; there was another voice, and Carson didn’t recognize it.

  Keeping the knife in hand, Carson took a deep breath and reached for the door.

  Dr. Roland Stonehill was not the type of man you would expect to have a man cave, but he clearly did. The barn, much like the chalet, was remarkable. The floor was tiled and the walls were made of dark wood. On one side of the room was a pool table and at least a dozen arcade games.

  The most impressive feature, however, was the bar. It was copper-t
opped and several thousand dollars’ worth of liquor was stocked behind it, backlit by soft green lights reflecting off a mirror.

  It was there that the men were sitting. Stonehill waved him over.

  “Carson, I’d like for you to meet someone very important.” He stood from his stool and the other man did the same.

  The stranger was shorter than Carson, stocky, and clearly ex-military. He was older, his pale skin deeply wrinkled around the eyes. Sandy blonde hair ran down his back in a ponytail, while a gray goatee coiled onto his chest.

  He was not smiling and gave the impression that smiling wasn’t something he did very often. “Mick Travis,” he said, locking Carson’s hand in a vice grip. “Nice to finally meet you, soldier.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  How the Alps treatin’ ya? I’ve only been here an hour and I friggin’ love it.”

  After slapping him, hard, on the back, Mick Travis had suggested Carson grab a stool. Stonehill filled three glasses with beer from the tap, slid one to each man, then leaned against the bar and lit another cigar.

  Carson answered Travis with a question. “Who are you?”

  Travis laughed. “Who the hell am I, Roland? Answer the man.”

  “Mick is a veteran of Operation Mordor,” said Stonehill, mid-puff. “The Mirage Project’s first installment.”

  “The Mirage Project?”

  Travis was no longer laughing. “Yeah, soldier, The Mirage Project. That’s what we’re here to talk about. ”

  Carson sipped his beer and awaited an explanation.

  Stonehill obliged. “The Mirage Project is a top secret government program, which is why you’re just now hearing about it. The concept behind the MP was a product of the pre-World War II Nazi brain trust. Though there’s no tangible evidence that Germany ever implemented such a program, the same could be said of the United States.”

  “Nazis?” asked Carson, incredulous. “My brother’s gonna be dead soon. Spare me the theatrics.”

  “I’m afraid this is no fairytale,” said Stonehill. “It’s very much a tragedy.”

  “The doc’s right,” boomed Travis. “The MP was initially based on the Nazi principle of a ghost force, but that’s not really important. Hitler, Himmler, and the rest have been burning in hell for half a century. We’ve got more current matters to concern ourselves with.”

  “Like how this applies to getting my brother back,” Carson added. “Now get to the damn point.”

  Stonehill tapped ash into a brass tray. “This applies to you because you were part of The Mirage Project. Operation Mordor was the first installment; Operation Mirkwood was the second. Mordor was launched during the Gulf War, and as you know, Mirkwood was initiated in the aftermath of 9/11.”

  “Colonel James Day brought the concept to America during his stent as CIA Chief in the seventies,” explained Travis. “But it wasn’t implemented until eighty-nine, when Captain Warren McManus earned a spot on Day’s staff.

  “Day’s idea for an American ghost force met stiff opposition from his inner circle at the Agency. But when he met McManus, he saw in him exactly what it took to make his vision a reality: a cold, calculating, soulless bastard with an unquenchable thirst for power.”

  “What do you mean by ghost force?” asked Carson.

  “I mean an efficient killing unit that cannot be governed. They can take out absolutely any target for two reasons: one, they’re good enough, and two, there’s no oversight. Everything is unsanctioned. They quite literally don’t exist. They’re ghosts.”

  “How’s that possible? You and I both know nothing is completely unsanctioned.”

  Travis’s expression grew dark. He looked over at Stonehill, who puffed his cigar slowly, his eyes far away. Carson had obviously struck a nerve.

  “What is it?” He asked again. “How are they ghosts?”

  It was Stonehill that finally spoke. “Because after they’ve fulfilled their purpose, they’re eliminated. They kill whomever they are told to kill, and then they themselves are killed as means of assuring the integrity of the operation.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure the term black ops captures just how dark The Mirage Project truly is.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Carson said.

  “You sure?” asked Travis.

  “Then why are we here? You and me? If we were both part of this Mirage Project ghost force shit, then why are we sitting here sipping beer in the Swiss Alps, very much alive?”

  “You were both fortunate, if I dare use such a word,” said Stonehill. “Mick was able to escape the culling and disappear off the grid, while you, along with your brother, were saved only by the courage and quick-thinking of a Syrian civilian.”

  Carson shook his head. “That last mission in Syria was a set up the whole way. That son of a bitch Lazarus sold us out. There was no culling.”

  “Lazarus didn’t sell you out,” said Travis. “He was sold out. McManus made Lazarus the scapegoat, then had Troy Mendez hunt him down to bury the secret. The Syrian mission itself was the culling. He sent six of you out; only one was ever meant to come back.”

  Carson took a drink and swallowed his temper. “Why keep one alive? If the mission was some kind of culling, like you say, then why not just wipe us all out?”

  “Because,” said Stonehill, “that’s how this sort of thing works. There are always three elements in play: the fall man, the safety valves, and the ghosts. In the case of Mirkwood, the fall man was Zeke Lazarus; Troy Mendez, Lee Jacobs, and Chuck Rosario were the safety valves; and the rest of the unit were ghosts.”

  “I know it’s a lot,” Travis said. “But surely you’re starting to see the truth in what we’re saying.”

  The weight pressed in on Carson and he felt like he might explode. It all seemed so impossible, so unbelievably ridiculous. And yet, Travis was right. He could sense the truth in it. Not to mention, it was starting to seem more and more like Colton had already figured all this out.

  The General is false.

  “You were never meant to survive,” said Stonehill. “Neither was Connor. You had already served your purpose. You had taken out the targets the powers-that-be had chosen and you had done it with excellence. It was your time to die, to disappear, to become part of the mirage.”

  “As far as Mordor goes,” added Travis, “the safety valves now have some rather recognizable names.” He met Carson’s eyes. “Names like Carter Bradford. Names like Mark Prosser.”

  “No…”

  “Yes. McManus kept them alive for a purpose and they served it well. They have obviously both attained positions of enormous power, positions that meet the needs of The Mirage Project quite perfectly.”

  “You mean it’s still active?”

  “That’s the worst news of all,” said Stonehill. “The MP is more powerful now than ever before. The third installment will in all likelihood be launched next spring, after Prosser gets elected President and appoints McManus as Secretary of Defense.”

  “Operation Red Shire,” said Travis. “Shit’s so ugly even James Day was against it. So, per MP standard operating procedure, they killed him.”

  Carson put his head in his hands. “Surely they can’t do something like that. It’s impossible. It’s fucking unthinkable.”

  “Unthinkable? Maybe. Impossible? Certainly not.” Stonehill drank his beer and adjusted his bright blue glasses. “Top members of The Mirage Project will soon hold three prominent positions on the National Security Council. Once that happens, I fear nothing will be impossible for them.”

  “Which is why our meeting here was absolutely necessary,” said Travis. “The fate of the world as we know it relies very heavily on how we navigate the next twenty-four hours.”

  Carson raised his head, remembering something. “But how does any of this apply to Colton’s abduction? The Mirage Project, ghost forces, Hitler. I mean, what the hell does any of this have to do with my little brother?”

  Stonehill shrugged. “It really has nothing to do with him
, Carson. But it has everything to do with you and Connor. McManus is poised to take The MP to new heights. When Prosser wins, McManus will become SECDEF and with Bradford’s help they’ll launch Red Shire. Their success is a virtual inevitability. But,” he added, “McManus’s greatest strength is also his greatest weakness—he’s paranoid. He thinks he can’t move on to the next phase without properly disposing of the former. That means killing you and Connor.”

  “No,” Carson disagreed. “If he wanted me dead, I’d already be dead.”

  “You’re exactly right,” said Travis. “He wants you dead, but not yet. He needs you to do something first.”

  “Do something? If he tried to kill me six years ago, what could I possibly do for him now?”

  Stonehill finished his beer and gently sat his glass in the sink. “Approximately three weeks ago, someone in the Syrian government blackmailed McManus. They claimed to have verifiable evidence of his involvement in several atrocities dating back to The Gulf War. Considering McManus was involved in said atrocities, he took the blackmail quite seriously.”

  “What did they want?”

  “They wanted three members of the Syrian opposition taken out,” said Travis. “Their greatest need is to quell tensions in their country. Nothing could serve those ends better than cutting the head off the snake. Knowing you and Connor were some of the best men he’d ever employed, and knowing you would never have willingly agreed to return to your former life, he leveraged you into doing his bidding.”

  The reality hit Carson in the chest. “He had Colton kidnapped.”

  Stonehill nodded. “He used an elaborate plan to get you back in the game. And he timed it perfectly. Bradford arranged the meeting between Colton and Thorsby, which made it look like someone from Syria was involved, then he hired one of his oldest associates, Drago Ancic, to abduct Colton in Paris.”

  “McManus hired Crna Kuga?”

  Stonehill nodded again. “McManus and the Divljak are close friends.”