“People laugh when I say that,” Lynch replied, a shy smile on his lips.
“Then they’re stupid,” I said, gripping the kid’s arm. “I’ve got Hugh, he’s good, but he’s not into the hacking collectives. Not like you. Help make this thing right. Please.”
Jordan looked at his feet, avoiding my gaze. “You’ll get me a deal?”
“I’ve got leverage,” I replied. “I’ll try my best to smooth things over. Otherwise, you’re going to prison. For a long time. Well, until they find a way to kill you.”
“Okay,” he said. He offered me his hand. “I’ll help, if you promise to protect me.”
I nodded and retrieved my .45. “Consider yourself protected. Now, how about another highly-caffeinated power beverage, soldier? You’re gonna need all the energy you can get.”
“Take my laptop,” he said. “You’re gonna need it.”
“Okay,” I said, shaking the hacker’s hand. “Your target is a man called Jacques Paradis. He’s behind all this. I want you to rock his world, Jordan. You can do that, right?”
“The Gundam Collective?” The hacker smiled. “That’s what we do.”
“So do it.” I scrawled Paradis’ name on a scrap of paper and gave it to Jordan Lynch. “Hugh’s got more details.”
He nodded and put it in his pocket.
I fixed the hacker with a hard stare. “Don’t let me down, Jordan.”
“It’s Blind Angel when I’m working,” he replied. “You’re going to have to trust me, aren’t you, Mister Action Guy?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am,” I shrugged. I walked back to Juliet. She stood by the helo, talking with Harry and Fendt.
“Blind Angel’s gonna help us,” I said.
“You’re very trusting,” said Juliet, hauling herself onto the Rescue Hawk’s deck.
“You coming along?” I said.
Juliet nodded. “Yes, is there a problem?”
I joined her in the helo. “No way. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend the end of the world with.”
Chapter twenty-four
The Crew Chief hollered in my ear. “Forty minutes to the LZ.”
Washed red by fuselage lights, we readied weapons and equipment. Our load-carrying rigs, radios and weapons were taken from the dead. We’d scavenged SIG MCX carbines, part of the shipment brought into London by The Dutchman. The weapons were chambered for .300 Blackout rounds, barrels fitted with SRD suppressors for silent killing. Alex had even retrieved a 66mm Light Armour Weapon from the old clubhouse.
I strapped on an armoured vest. Around my neck, on a length of para-cord, was a sharp scab of black, razor-sharp metal. The Brous Silent Soldier. I’d found it on a dead body, an easily-concealed combat knife the size of your thumb. My assault pack contained water, energy bars and more ammo. And my most potent weapon: Blind Angel’s tablet computer. It was decorated with a hyper-sexy anime angel, a bloody bandage covering her eyes.
London disappeared, the horizon dotted with a hundred fires. Huddled at the back of the helo, we made a plan. The crew-chief’s map was transposed over enhanced satellite imagery, showing the island in high-definition detail. “Let’s take a look-see,” said Fendt, switching on his flashlight.
Nördhaus was comma-shaped, three miles end-to-end, the tail curling around a rocky beach. The centre of the island was a grey-black hinterland of long grass, dunes and stunted trees. The north of the island was the head of the comma, covered with beautifully-tended gardens. Concentric rows of lush trees, soldier-smart, radiated from the mansion.
My bloodstained finger jabbed at a sandbar running north of the beach. Fringed with seagrass and vegetation, it looked suitably isolated. “Drop us here,” I said to the crew chief.
Harry pointed at a squat building on the south-eastern tip of the island, overlooking the beach and mainland approaches. “Drexler, what’s this?”
Erik Drexler stood behind us, hands cuffed. “Old WW2 flak emplacement, we use it as an OP. I’ve got four knuckle-draggers from The Firm there.”
“Can you stand them down?” said Harry.
“’Course. I’ll call and tell ‘em I’m arriving with new orders. They’ll deactivate the security measures. After that, you walk straight up to the house.”
“Oz, Alex, what if you two get dropped first and cover that emplacement?” I shot Drexler a look. “In case there’s a… misunderstanding.”
Drexler shrugged.
Alex studied the map. “Swimmin’ and shit? That’s Oz’s department.”
“No dramas, Alex, I’ll teach you doggy paddle,” Oz replied, eyes scanning the map. “Drop us north of the emplacement, near this scarp. Not much swimming needed. There’s high ground and plenty of cover inland from there.”
Alex pointed at the LAW. “I don’t wanna get that baby wet. It’s all yours, Cal.”
Juliet raised an eyebrow. “Do we really need a bloody anti-tank rocket?”
“I’m a big fan of rockets,” Oz replied.
Alex grinned. “Me too. You never know when you absolutely have to blow the shit outta stuff.”
I turned to Drexler. “And the rest of the guard force?”
“Four more men from The Firm up at the house,” he replied. “Paradis has two personal security people, German guys. Ex-GSG9. Their orders are to sit tight until I give the signal, then they pop smoke. I’ve got a cell in Norden to run exfil, two RIBS on standby.”
Fendt listened carefully. I hadn’t made my mind up whether the American’s lack of interference with our plan was a good thing or not. He tapped the crew chief on the shoulder. “Chief, we got COMPASS CALL / RIVET JOINT on this, right?”
“Copy that, Sir,” she replied. “All the way to target. We’re invisible.”
COMPASS CALL and RIVET JOINT were classified electronic warfare assets, mounted in high-flying surveillance aircraft. They would jam German radar, rendering the Rescue Hawk invisible. “Good,” Fendt replied. “Last thing we need is Germans SF guys on the island too.”
I sat down and rested my eyes, head fuzzy with fatigue. Juliet padded along the fuselage and gripped my shoulder. “You look pretty beaten-up.”
“I’ll be okay,” I yawned. “Fancy a drink after work?”
Juliet gave me a that-was-a-crap-joke smile as she checked her MCX, adjusting sights and fore-grips. “Remember what happened the last time we took a helicopter trip?”
“Don’t go there.” That was Zambute, a tale as bloody as this.
“Jeez, get a fucking room,” Drexler sneered. The big American’s skin was pale, a crust of blood covering his beard.
Ignoring the American, we dozed, heads nodding to the chop-chop-chop of rotor blades.
“Two minutes,” shouted the crew chief, jolting me awake.
I shuffled to the side starboard door, Nördhaus growing ever-closer. Inland, the island was a place of swaying reeds and dunes, the headland rocky and gorse-furred. The old gun emplacement lay to our right. Horizontal weapon slits resembled a grim mouth, a statue of some alien god. The Italianate gardens covering the north of the island half-hid a futuristic-looking house.
“Okay, talk to me Erik,” I said.
“It looks too damn quiet down there,” he replied. “Gimme your cell. I’ll stand the men down.”
“When we land,” said Fendt, tightening the straps on his lightweight combat helmet. “Not before.”
Harry was watching a news broadcast on the Crew Chief’s iPad. “We need to get a move on,” he said. “The Russians have shot down an Estonian transport plane over the Narva reservoir.”
“That’s on the Russian border,” said Fendt, shaking his head. “It’s starting.”
The Rescue Hawk dipped its nose, descending to wave-top height. Oz and Alex crouched by the open side door, wind and spray whipping at their clothes. Both wore black life vests and goggles, weapons strapped across their chests.
“Go,” yelled the Crew Chief.
The two men dropped into the surf and were gone. The helo whipped across the
dunes, hugging the earth.
Fendt nodded at Drexler. “You stay with me,” he ordered.
The LZ was an inlet abutting a sand-blasted ridge, overgrown with scrubby trees and foliage. We floated over the beach, flattening vegetation like a crazy crop-circler. “God speed!” shouted the Crew Chief.
I leapt into the sand. Juliet followed Fendt and Drexler, Harry bringing up the rear. We scrambled up the beach, seeking cover in the swaying grass. The Rescue Hawk thundered skywards, yawing south towards Germany. It gained altitude, belly-lights winking. We were covered with a spray of muddy seawater as it clattered away. Not quite dawn, the island was washed blue and grey. A footpath wove through a wind-blasted dune-scape, fringed with swaying seagrass. The only sound came from the wind and sea.
My PRR earpiece crackled as Oz reported in. “We’ve got eyeball on the emplacement,” he said coolly. “Four-man team, smoking and drinking coffee by the doors. They can’t see you directly as long as you stay in the trees, but they heard the helo. One of ‘em is on his satellite phone.”
“Roger that,” I replied. “We’ll stay put and let Drexler speak with them.”
Harry shook his head. “Tell Oz and Alex to take ‘em out, while we’ve got surprise.”
I shook my head. “Not yet. They’ll alert the house. Drexler, what’s the score?”
“Let me talk,” Drexler replied. “You’re right about the house, they check in every twenty minutes.”
Fendt passed a notepad and pen to Drexler. “Give us your half of the kill-code for the virus.”
Drexler pulled a face. He thought for a moment and neatly copied an alphanumeric code onto a page. “Fifteen characters, okay? Paradis’ will be the same length. It’s case-sensitive.”
“Okay, let’s do this thing,” Fendt replied, pocketing the notebook.
I passed Drexler my satellite phone. “Stand those guards down.”
Drexler made the call, four weapons levelled at him. It was answered immediately. “Emile? It’s Erik. I’m on the island. Yeah, that was my chopper... the plan’s changed. Stop fucking arguing with me and listen. No, everything’s okay. I don’t care what you’re seeing on the news, it’s under control. Stop fucking with me, you sonofabitch, I’ll meet you at your location in fifteen minutes. Yeah, I’m on my own.” He ended the call and handed the phone back.
Harry sneered. “Trouble in the ranks?”
“Dammit, Drexler, you ain’t told these guys what the end-game is, have you?” said Fendt.
Drexler shrugged. “They don’t need to know.”
Fendt and I exchanged glances. “Do it,” I said. I keyed the mic on my PPR. “Oz, Drexler’s heading to the emplacement. You got eyeball from your position?”
“Yep,” Oz replied. “There’s a doorway on the target’s northern aspect. Only visible way in or out.”
“Drexler, stay near that door, where we can see you,” I said. “Go to move inside and I’ll order you shot.”
Drexler trudged away, out of cover and across the dunes. Our guns tracked him as the minutes ticked by. Were Russian tank engines firing in their harbour areas? Fleets of warships vectoring to targets, bomber pilots checking payloads? Drexler jogged up the slope, towards the emplacement. He shouted something through cupped hands and fell to his belly, invisible in the long grass. A smoke grenade went off, plumes of mauve smoke squirting into the air, whipped to and fro by the wind.
“Open fire!” I shouted.
We raked the ground where we’d last seen the American. Our supressed weapons made no sound, beyond the rasp of bolts snapping to-and-fro.
“Contact,” I said into my mic. “Oz, you see him?”
“Nothing but smoke our side,” he replied. “Door’s obscured. D’you want us to engage?”
“Roger that.”
“We’ve got a tango leaving the emplacement,” said Oz over the net. “And he’s down. I can see another body in the doorway.”
“Cover us, we’ll move up,” I replied. “Fendt, Harry, cover us.”
Juliet and I went first. We bounded forward, sticking to the emplacement’s blindside. The smoke drifted away, revealing bullet-pocked concrete. Fendt and Harry followed. We leap-frogged in pairs all the way to the bunker. Fendt and Harry took cover by the wall. Fendt peeked inside the weapon aperture. “Can’t see shit,” he said.
We crept around the circular bunker, to the northern side. I saw a body lying on the ground, face down. It was a stocky, olive-skinned man, wearing dark outdoor gear. He’d been shot. There were no exit wounds, only a neat grouping of bloody red puncture marks.
“He was shot in the back,” Juliet whispered. “From inside.”
Another body lay in the doorway, head split open. He’d been shot in the base of his skull, the bullet exiting through his face. His weapon, a SIG like ours, lay nearby.
Fendt pulled a flash-bang from his belt. Harry, Juliet and I acknowledged the move and stacked up by the door. Fendt tossed the stun grenade inside. Wincing at the thunderclap of detonation, I shouldered my MCX. Darting inside, I made arcs with my weapon. Looking for any sign of a threat. Juliet followed, covering me. Harry, then Fendt, joined us.
“Clear!” I yelled.
The air inside the emplacement was stuffy, whorls of dust and gun-smoke making me squint. A greasy half-light filtered through the weapon embrasure, revealing camp beds, rucksacks and sleeping bags. The place was hooked up for power, a ruggedized laptop glowing in the corner. Two more bodies lay on the ground, hard-looking men with cropped hair and hatchet faces. Each had been shot in the temple. Executed.
“Drexler did this,” said Fendt. “His own people. Why?”
I nudged a body with my boot. “They weren’t his people. Obsidian Futures were. These guys were from The Firm. Expendable.”
“Drexler fooled them too,” said Juliet.
Harry sniffed about the room like a terrier. He kicked the camp beds away with a booted foot. The old handler sighed. “That’s where the fucker went, like a rat.”
Set in the floor was a metal hatch, fitted flush with the rough concrete floor.
“More bloody tunnels,” I said. I keyed my PRR. “Oz, there’s a tunnel. Drexler’s escaped through it. Can you check the surface for an exit and head him off?”
“Roger that,” came the reply.
“Drexler’s got an exit strategy alright,” said Harry easily. “These poor bastards were witnesses. They had to die.”
Juliet nodded. “Drexler’s a madman.”
“He was only doing what I planned to do,” I replied. “Wipe out The Firm.”
“Worry ‘bout shit like that later,” said Fendt. He joined Juliet and studied the laptop. He spun the computer so we could all see. “Does this make any sense to you?”
I studied the financial data scrolling down the screen. I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s the accounts for De Soto Augur. Drexler’s emptying their assets.”
“Where?” asked Fendt.
“A private bank account in Moscow,” I replied, reading the Cyrillic text. “In the name of Tom Royal.”
Harry snorted. “Tom Royal? The Dutchman told us that was one of Drexler’s aliases.”
Fendt slid open the floor hatch. “Paradis has something Drexler wants. More than gold.”
“Got something to tell us, Fendt?” I asked.
Juliet tapped the laptop and navigated to an online news channel. Smouldering wreckage from the downed Estonian plane was strewn across a field. Grim-faced Russian troops guarded the scene, the aircrew’s mangled bodies left in full view. “If you do, Colonel, best you tell us now,” she said.
The American reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Read that. Need-to-know intel.”
Juliet took it. “I presume now we need to know?”
“Oh shit,” said Harry, “look at this.” A press conference played out on the laptop’s screen, a live feed from the Russian Defence Ministry. A gnarly general, all big hat and medals, hammered a fist on a table covered with t
he Russian flag. He growled warnings about Western provocation and NATO perfidy. Another feed showed Estonian refugees streaming west in cars and trucks.
I read the headlines scrolling across the screen:
ESTONIA FEARS RUSSIAN PARAMILITARY INFILTRATION IN BORDER REGIONS. LATVIA AND POLAND MOBILISE ARMED FORCES. RUSSIA CITES NATO PRESENCE RAISING TENSIONS IN REGION. RUSSIA DEMANDS ‘DUE RESPECT FOR HISTORIC SPHERES OF INFLUENCE…’
“Oh Yeah,” said Fendt, pressing the envelope hard into Juliet’s palm. “You really need to know.”
Chapter twenty-five
Directorate of Operations (File Note 798/120/16) ER/BEACHCOMBER
ER/BEACHCOMBER has dined with DNI & DNCS at Langley and presented with his Outstanding Service award. He is now officially retired. A summary of his citation is provided:
BEACHCOMBER was recruited in 1991 (Special Access Program ER/CONSOLIDATE). He provided superlative reporting on European Union policy at the very highest levels, with perceptive, timely and actionable intelligence on EU member states. BEACHCOMBER also expertly influenced EU initiatives: sensitive policy outcomes in terms broadly favourable to the USA owes much to BEACHCOMBER’S unique access and influence.
COMMENT: BEACHCOMBER remains frustrated his ambitions for fully integrated EU intelligence and security structures were not supported by the State Department. Furthermore, he feels critical failures in the EU project (particularly BREXIT) were partly-attributable to lack of ‘proactive’ US statecraft (and a lack of covert action, of the sort we have long since abandoned in Europe). Although at this time his handlers have no undue concerns, they cannot discount this strong-minded asset allowing his disappointment to boil over into disillusionment.
“Jacques Paradis was BEACHCOMBER,” said Fendt.
Juliet studied the American, arms crossed. “You ran a senior EU official as a CIA asset for twenty-five years? Impressive.” her smile was grim. “Such a terrible shame he’s now planning World-War-fucking-Three.”
Fendt took the report and flicked open his zippo lighter. He lit the flimsy paper and watched it burn. “Miss Easter, I’m a field operator. All I know is Paradis was retired and holds a grudge ‘bout it.”
The Saint Jude Rules (Cal Winter Book 3) Page 19