by A. J Tata
Mahegan tilted Cassie’s head as she began to vomit. She spit up some water, but mostly bile and digested Clif Bars. He kept compressing her until more vomit came up, this time mostly water. She coughed, gasping for air, and opened her eyes.
“You’re okay. Stay still. Sean’s working on your arm. You’ve been shot. No biggie,” Mahegan said. She was confused, disoriented. Spittle drained on either side of her lips and chin. She had done well, not that she needed to acquit herself of anything. He spent maybe a second more than he wanted contemplating her actions of the last twenty-four hours, then nodded and stood.
He hustled to where Owens was working on Savage, who began coughing and puking, though Savage sat upright and put his hands on either side of himself.
“Where the hell am I?” he said, spitting out water and coughing, his voice sounding like the gravel upon which they sat.
“You’re in good hands, boss,” Owens said to the general.
“Patch? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.” Savage shook his head, revealing a spark of the flint that was Savage’s signature stare.
“We’ll explain in a bit. We’ve got to get Jake and Sean moving with Cassie,” Owens said.
Savage shook his face again and wiped his mouth, looking older than Mahegan had ever seen him. He turned his head toward Mahegan.
“Jake? They told me you were behind all of this.”
“Not me, General, though I did just save your ass.”
“Technically, we all did,” Owens said.
“What do I tell you guys about taking credit for shit?” Savage barked.
“Well, the good news, General, is that we don’t work for you anymore,” Mahegan said.
“The hell you don’t. The nation is under attack. Those bastards have hacked everything. Even Zebra. They sent us all fake messages that you were in trouble. Fucking en fuego. So we all came to rescue your ass and got ambushed by a bunch of terrorists who immigrated under the refugee protection status. I was conscious for most of the torture and faked passing out, hoping they’d slip up. They did.”
“They tell you what was in that crate near your prison cell?”
“They didn’t tell me jack, son, but I listened when they thought I was dead. These are Syrians who infiltrated with the refugee flow that our genius leadership advocated,” Savage said.
Mahegan nodded. That confirmed his suspicions. A combination of sophisticated cyberattack coupled with a ground force to exploit the chaos.
Savage coughed again. “What the hell is Cassie Bagwell doing here?”
“She’s the daughter of the chairman—”
“I know who the hell she is,” Savage barked. “She’s that Ranger woman. Why is she here?”
“Her parents have been kidnapped,” Mahegan said. “Just like you, Patch, and Sean.”
“Bart Bagwell? Kidnapped?”
“Yes. And his wife,” Mahegan said. “A sniper killed General Sizemore in Iraq. A terrorist team raided General Jackson’s family on Fort Bragg and killed them. General Leland’s computer at CENTCOM was found with child pornography on it. He has been arrested by the FBI. And then there was you, Patch, and Sean. And the president and his cabinet are locked in the basement of the White House. Today there was a cyberattack on about a million vehicles. They just stopped running at nine this morning, wherever they were. Wrecks everywhere. Fatalities. Casualties.”
“Classic,” Savage said.
“Decap op,” Owens said.
“Roger,” Mahegan added. “Hamper our ability to respond as the Syrians hit us.”
“Only means one thing,” Savage said.
“What’s that?” Mahegan asked.
“That somebody knows who you guys are. You’ve been burned as my off-the-books team,” Savage said.
“We get that, but who?” Mahegan said. “What do you know about Alex Russell?”
“Alex? What does she have to do with this?”
“She was in the COOP. I avoided an ambush that I’m assuming was similar to the ones you guys faced. I immediately went to the COOP, as per protocol. She showed up about twenty minutes after I did. Did you give her the combination?”
Savage paused, thinking. Mahegan could see him shake his head. The sound of rushing water drowned out their conversation, as well as the sound of anyone who might be attempting to approach them.
“Alex Russell,” Savage whispered. “I’ll be damned.” Savage sucked in a deep breath. “Just get us moving, Jake. I’ll tell you everything you need to know once we get somewhere safe.”
Mahegan nodded, formed the team, and led them through the valley, following the stream downhill as it fed out of a dam. The going was rough, but they needed to get as far away from the terrorist base camp as possible so that they could regroup, share intelligence, and develop a plan.
The feeling of teamwork, however minor, was something that Mahegan missed, but not until the past couple of hours had he realized how essential men such as O’Malley and Owens were to him. Mahegan was a loner, true, and he could operate well by himself, but the concept of reliable teammates was something that had always been important to him.
Mahegan led the team as they trudged through the dense forest. The moonlight was sufficient for navigation, and Mahegan caught the reflection of a white, dirt trail off to their right. He led the team up the hill, through some dense underbrush, and up a ditch. Normally he would avoid a road, considering it a danger area with terrorists in the vicinity, but he needed to trade off speed for security, so he moved his team there. Unless the terrorists had drones or some type of tracking mechanism, Mahegan felt the risk of compromise was minimal given their need to find shelter. The cool night risked hypothermia for the three men who had been prisoners, and he needed to get them to warmth.
The road switched back and forth in a series of hairpin turns as it followed the ridgeline, avoiding diving into the severely undulating terrain. After an hour of walking, they came upon a wide gravel road to the east, their right. They had been moving mostly east and then had started angling north. Now it looked like he had found an old campground. As they walked into the open area, they came upon a rundown A-frame that looked as if it might have once served as camp headquarters.
“In there,” Mahegan said. The building was cut into the woods so that it was barely visible. The circular drive upon which they walked was riddled with overgrown alfalfa and rye grass, some patches reaching chest high. Mahegan walked up the stone porch to the building, tested the rusted doorknob, and leaned his shoulder against the warped door. It gave and he stepped inside, using the flashlight under the rail of the AR-15. Clearing the building room by room, he found nothing but rotting wood and spiderwebs. In the back rooms, there were a few bunks without mattresses. In the front there was a kitchen without running water and a family room with a fireplace.
They were all cold from a combination of being wet, sweating on the walk, and the crisp evening, but a fire was out of the question.
“This is as good as it gets for tonight,” Mahegan said.
“At least it blocks the wind,” Owens said.
Mahegan looked at his charges highlighted by the sliver of moonlight cutting through the milky windowpane. Savage leaned against the closed door at his back. Mahegan could see pain in the man’s eyes as he tried to control his shivering body. Cassie slid her back against the wall until she was sitting upright, legs splayed out, arm in a sling. Owens and O’Malley were standing in the kitchen, looking out the windows.
“We can stay here four or five hours, tops,” Owens said.
“I’m thinking until sunrise. We get some rack. Divide among the five of us whatever is left in Cassie’s rucksack. Drink water. Make a plan. Just like old times,” Mahegan said. “But we’ve got to get you guys warm, too.”
“Roger that. Build a fire,” O’Malley said, pointing at the empty fireplace.
“Maybe for a short while. They’ll come after us,” Mahegan said. Then he had an idea.
“What was in that damn crat
e?” O’Malley asked no one in particular.
“I’ll tell you what they said when they thought I was dead,” Savage said. He leaned forward from the door and walked toward his former charges.
“We’ve got headlights coming down the road,” Owens said. “I’m counting three vehicles. Look like pickup trucks but not sure. Maybe two miles out.”
Mahegan looked at the AR-15 he was carrying. He had maybe half a magazine. He quickly walked to Cassie and started pawing through her rucksack.
“Three mags of 5.56, two mags of 9 mil, five grenades, five Clif Bars, two pair of socks, a space blanket, a pack of matches in a waterproof bag, some kite string, and maybe four water bottles left. That’s what I’ve got,” Cassie said. “Oh, and the hatchet in your belt.” She grimaced as she pointed at his waist.
“You good to move?”
“I’m good. Hurts, but I’m good.”
Mahegan took the hand grenades and ammunition magazines and passed them out to O’Malley and Owens, who each had an AR-15 that they had secured from the first two Syrians they had ambushed in the tunnel.
“You got anything to get me out of this stupid-looking Batman outfit?” Savage asked.
“Best we can do right now, boss. Helps you fly if you need it,” Mahegan said with half a smirk.
“I’m freezing my ass off, Mahegan.”
“You always tell us not to snivel. None of us have any extra gear. We’ll keep you safe. Just stay alive.”
“You can use this,” Cassie said, holding up a folded space blanket, a reflective coating on one side. It was a Mylar wrap used by emergency personnel.
“No thanks, Ranger. You need that more than me,” Savage said. Mahegan couldn’t determine whether Savage was being sarcastic or not with the “Ranger” comment.
“We need to get moving,” Owens said, clicking a fresh magazine into the well. “They’re maybe a mile out, winding down the road and coming right at us.”
“Okay, everybody out the back. Cassie, I need to borrow your ruck. I’ll link up in a few minutes. Patch, you take charge and get everyone in defensive posture. Give the general a pistol if we have to arm him.”
“Why?” Savage asked. “So I can shoot myself?”
“Go,” Mahegan said. Patch Owens took charge, moving O’Malley and Savage toward the back door and helping Cassie stand. He ushered her toward the rear of the building.
Mahegan got to work with the hatchet and the contents of Cassie’s rucksack and finished in less than three minutes, then met his team in the dense forest behind the house.
“Smoke?” Owens asked.
“Yeah, smoke,” Mahegan said. “Everyone okay?”
“We’re okay, but Savage told me what was in the crate. It ain’t good,” Owens said.
He looked at them, their eyes peering back at him as if they were feral animals.
“It’s a damn tactical nuke,” Savage muttered as the first shot echoed toward them through the night.
CHAPTER 26
ZAKIR WAS FURIOUS.
He had stood at the edge of the flowing river inside the cave and still wondered how the Americans had escaped.
It was Mahegan, he was sure, but he still was confused as to why Mahegan was not under control. He had been assured that the commando would not be a factor.
Now he led a column of three pickup trucks toward Mahegan and the former captives. Zakir had placed tracking devices in the pants of two of the prisoners. With bare feet and bare chests, and now soaking wet, he doubted they would think to remove their only article of clothing. It had taken a few minutes for their position to appear on Gavril’s computer screen.
Busy with the skimming operation of five major banking networks, Gavril was slow to notice the alert that the prisoners were outside of the compound. Zakir, though, had prompted him, and Gavril shared the screen with his computer in the mountain base camp so that Zakir could follow the two escapees. Zakir made the assumption that they would all stick together, as the blinking lights on the computer seemed to indicate so far.
Zakir waited until he could determine the direction Mahegan and his men were moving before chasing them. When they moved to the road, he used Google Earth to scan likely destinations, saw three possibilities, and determined that they would likely enter the first structure they could. The temperature was dropping into the low fifties, and while that was a very comfortable temperature for hiking at night through the mountains, it would not be comfortable for the wet and hungry prisoners who had escaped.
It was after midnight, and he had other pieces of the plan to put into action. He couldn’t afford the time required to snuff out this menace, but then again could he afford not to? Their entire plan had been predicated on disabling Savage and his crew of independent operators. Thus far, they had been executing well.
The cars had been disabled. They had skimmed millions of dollars from personal and business bank accounts. But these were preliminary missions setting the stage for the slash-and-burn tactics to come. Meaningful destruction coupled with psychological fear—and there was much to fear.
Into the handheld personal mobile radio, Zakir said, “Stop here.”
The three pickup trucks held up short of the wooden building, their headlights off now. The moon and ambient starlight were highlighting the weatherworn structure. Two years ago, in his scouting of this region for their base camp, Zakir had studied this building in depth. He knew the floor plan and the surrounding area. He also knew human nature. The prisoners had been beaten. Mahegan had been on the go for two days. They had exchanged fire with his men. They were traveling with a woman who had possibly been injured in the gunfire. Their adrenaline would be dumping right now.
“Smoke,” he said, pointing at the chimney. He chuckled. “They’ve built a fire. Just as I suspected.” From the comfort of his pickup truck bench seat, he radioed his men. “We will approach from the west along that ridge with the shallow ditch. Follow my lead.”
Zakir had his men park the trucks a quarter mile away, and then walk through the woods to the west of the building. He kept his eye on the smoke, spotlighted by the brilliant moon and drifting lazily to the east.
“Remember,” he said to the team leader in Arabic, “we must keep Savage and Mahegan alive if possible. Kill the others . . . and kill them all if you can’t avoid it.”
He knelt next to a large tree and looked across the open area, maybe twenty yards, to the building. To his right were six men, three teams, who would surprise Mahegan and his sleeping crew. He had handpicked six of his best to perform this mission. Already he had lost two men in the assault on the fire tower, two men near the general’s prison cell inside the mine shaft, and several others. His team of highly trained professional killers had now been whittled to fourteen. This was his primary assault force, and his battle calculus told him he needed at least fifteen men to execute the final mission. If he included himself, he could still accomplish his task.
Killing or capturing Mahegan and Savage would pave the way to successful mission accomplishment.
He tapped his first man on the shoulder and pointed at the house. Standing, he watched the first two men dash across the open area. He was not surprised that they had received no fire from Mahegan and his team. Now, more than ever, he was convinced they were asleep. Zakir tapped the second two-man team, and they dashed across the dirt lot and skillfully lined up behind the first two men on the near side of the front door. Finally, he said, “Stay with me,” to the last two men. “We will provide covering fire.”
Zakir’s heart was racing. He had fought in combat with ISIS in Syria and northern Iraq after Operation Groomsman. With every kill he felt a sense of despair instead of the fulfillment he sought. Whether burning someone alive in a cage or beheading them on camera, Zakir knew that he needed to come to America to kill the man who had killed Malavdi, his best friend.
But Jackknife—who was truly in charge—had forbade him to kill Savage or Mahegan before Jackknife said it was time. They need
ed to be off the battlefield, neutralized, but Jackknife, too, had an axe to grind with Mahegan and Savage, apparently.
Zakir didn’t care as long as the men died at his hand. Tonight or tomorrow, it didn’t matter. They would all be dead soon, regardless.
He watched as the lead man ran up the steps and used his boot to kick in the door. Instantly a yellow flame licked out and an explosion blew apart the front part of the house. Zakir had been watching with both eyes open and was now momentarily blinded in the night. He felt the two men to his side stiffen, as if they wanted to run to the aid of their comrades, but Zakir said, “No, wait. Watch.”
When he regained his vision, Zakir spotted two of his men on their backs several yards from the building. He assumed they were dead. The two men who had been the third and fourth in the stack against the building were crouched, turned away from the heat, but still preparing to enter the inferno to find Mahegan and Savage, their last orders. He had trained his men well. Suddenly, both commandos dropped to the ground as if they were puppets and someone had cut their strings.
Without warning, Zakir felt the supersonic rush of a bullet snap past him. He heard the impact on one of his men kneeling against the opposite side of the tree. Another shot rang out. How had their position been compromised? He stood and ran quickly back to the trucks, where he attempted to crank the engine.
As the engine churned, he shouted into his handheld radio, “Launch the Skunk, now!”
* * *
Mahegan had led his team from the south of the building to the far east side, expecting the terrorists to follow the natural drift of the terrain, park, and walk to assault and support positions, as any reasonably trained unit might do.
He tapped Owens on the shoulder and pointed north, toward the trucks, indicating for him to keep an eye on any terrorists attempting to escape back toward their rides. Those trucks would soon become Mahegan’s ride if his plan worked. To his left was O’Malley, whom he had sighted on the men running across the hardpan. Mahegan had Cassie and Savage directly behind him. They carried pistols for self-defense but were wounded and not part of the plan.