Direct Fire

by A. J Tata

  She paid the doctor for the ability to self-administer the PKCzeta treatments that helped begin the erasure of her memory. Two solid weeks she had been strapped to the table and given the shots and eaten the pills and came out the other side feeling not normal, but like she could fake normal.

  And that was good enough.

  But there was Ameri, who appeared out of nowhere. And Ameri was pissed off. She was no longer the scared child reaching out her hands to her younger sister as men carted her away. She was a grown woman capable of righting every wrong.

  Ameri wanted to fight America in America, not Syria. Ameri wanted to kill. She was bloodthirsty but knew that her survival within Alex consisted of being able to make Alex survive and fake being Alex when she needed to be Alex, like when walking through the halls of the JSOC compound or reading over inane legal documents, all of which were necessary fodder to keep up the illusion of Alex Russell.

  So Ameri was patient, nudging Alex to perform properly during the day but giving her free reign off duty. The drugs actually hurt Ameri, because the drugs were making Alex forget the horrible murder of her sister, a murder in which she was complicit.

  Ameri knew that Fatima and Malavdi had paid a price that warranted retribution. Ameri would seek that revenge through Alex Russell. She would find a way to make General Savage and Captain Mahegan pay a price worse than being burned to death by a Hellfire missile.

  They would feel hellfire.

  Alex walked along the rim of a ledge that dropped at least one thousand feet straight down. She held her arms out as if she was walking a tightrope, balancing. In her right hand was her pistol, making her lean more toward the open air than the land to her left. She sang the children’s song “Hamama, nodi, nodi . . .”

  Dove. Fly. Fly.

  She slipped but caught herself, or more properly, Ameri caught Alex. Alex was too valuable for Ameri to let her die, just yet. Once the mission in America was complete, then Alex could die and Ameri could be with Fatima.

  Until then, there would be no resolution.

  Then Alex realized why she slipped. Finding sure footing on the ground, she retrieved her night optic and looked through the night vision goggle. The blinking infrared lights helped her spot the eight-propeller drone hovering and firing rockets over the ridge about two miles away.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE MISSILES WERE SMOKING DIRECTLY AT HIM AND HE ATTEMPTED to avoid their impact, swerving the truck, nearly careening over the lip of a vertical drop.

  There was a succession of loud thuds that chewed up the dirt road.

  “What the hell?” Owens shouted.

  “We need some night vision goggles. They’ve got a damn Skunk Copter up there,” Mahegan said.

  “Paintball?”

  “No, those are rockets. They’ve upfitted it.”

  The unmanned aerial system swooped low, spitting .50 caliber chain gun rounds at them and stitching the side of the truck like a rivet gun. A Skunk Copter was a riot control drone the size of an average skateboard with eight mini-helicopter blades and weapons systems attached beneath. The eight blades were necessary to carry the heavy payloads of paint and rubber bullets. Obviously the Syrians had transformed this riot control platform into a kinetic death machine.

  Mahegan needed to find cover.

  “We’ll ditch the trucks when we get over the ridge and down by the river. Then we can figure this out,” Mahegan said.

  Mahegan swerved off the road as the drone came in for another run, the machine gun spitting heavy metal at them until it suddenly veered away.

  “This is going to have to do,” Mahegan said.

  They were in a rare flat spot with a wall of a mountain to the left and about fifty yards of level terrain to their right. O’Malley’s truck stopped behind them.

  They gathered in front of the vehicles, and Mahegan said, “Sean, Patch, take off your pants and put on these bloody uniforms.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty, Jake,” O’Malley quipped.

  “Well, you’ve got tracking devices in your pants.”

  “See what I mean?”

  “Keep it in your pants,” Cassie said.

  “I keep it in my sock, young Ranger,” O’Malley said. “But good comeback. Total respect.”

  “Okay, Cassie, carry your ruck. I know you’re sucking, but I’m carrying the prisoner, and Patch and Sean are helping General Savage.”

  “I’m good with that,” Cassie said. “I grabbed the first aid kits from beneath the truck seats. These are pretty new and well stocked.”

  “Okay, good thinking. Let’s move. I hear that damn drone buzzing again.”

  Owens and O’Malley changed while Jake positioned the wounded terrorist on his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

  Mahegan led his team onto the flat wooded surface next to the road and then began a series of steep switchbacks until he found an obvious trail that ran north.

  Above him he heard the incessant whine of the drone circling the trucks about a mile away now. Rockets rained down, and the trucks exploded into bright fireballs that partially lit his path.

  Then he heard the helicopter blades.

  * * *

  Setz flared the helicopter when the eight-propeller drone appeared. She caused the Blackhawk to list to the north and then dive to get away from shrapnel.

  “What the hell was that, Bev?” Oxendine barked.

  “A drone just fired about five missiles into two pickup trucks on a dirt road to our seven o’clock. We’re about five miles from where we took the SAM shot. There’s something in the mountains here beyond Mahegan,” Setz said.

  “We don’t know that. This could all be Mahegan. The cars, the banks, the kidnapping. Everything.”

  “The banks?”

  “Have been getting word that most everyone’s bank accounts are shut down,” Oxendine said.

  “That’s not good,” Setz said.

  McQueary chimed in. “We found two dead Middle Eastern men in that cave. Mahegan had probably been there and killed them, but the two dead men were kitted up to do harm, Agent.”

  Oxendine thought it over. They had picked up McQueary and his men, who had called in the sheriff’s team from Alex Russell’s house to confiscate the bodies and treat the cave as a crime scene.

  “Did you find any weapons on the murdered men in the cave, Q?”

  McQueary paused. “No, Agent Oxendine, we didn’t. Their holsters, magazine pouches, and knife sheaths were empty. Maybe they were just dressing up to play war . . . or maybe Mahegan knows something we don’t and killed two terrorists.”

  “Unlikely. Mahegan killed three defenseless civilians in Charlotte last night, a military police officer, and now two hikers. That’s how I’m seeing it.”

  “Well, I’m thinking your hatred of Mahegan has you blind, then, Agent.”

  The two men traded hard stares.

  “Your mission is to kill or capture Mahegan. End of discussion,” Oxendine said.

  “I’ll let you kill him, hero,” McQueary said. “I’ll capture the dude, then you can put your pistol to his head real brave-like.”

  “I’m the commander of this mission, McQueary. You’re being insubordinate. Do I need to relieve you of command and put someone in charge who will properly execute the mission?”

  “None of my men will obey an unlawful order. That’s the first thing you need to know. The second thing is that . . . accidents happen.”

  “Hey guys, I hate to interrupt the lovefest back there, but on my thermal I’m seeing five people walking on a trail about a mile to our south,” Setz said.

  “Five people?” Oxendine said.

  “Yes. They’re carrying rifles, and one has a large rucksack. They’re in black uniforms, except one guy is wearing something that looks like a clown suit.”

  “A clown suit?”

  “No other way to describe it. Arms and legs are connected. It’s like it is all one thing.”

  “That sounds like a jumpsuit,” McQue
ary said into his mouthpiece.

  Oxendine looked out the window but saw nothing but blackness.

  “So to summarize, we’ve got two burning trucks, an eight-prop drone, and five people with weapons. Plus one highly trained SWAT team,” Setz said.

  “There’s that,” McQueary quipped. “Anywhere to put us down up here in these mountains? Not feeling the night rappel.”

  “There’s a scenic overlook about two miles up I could probably squeeze into. Or I could put you next to the burning trucks. There’s space there, but I’d be worried about getting too close to the fire.”

  Just then the aircraft rocked and two of McQueary’s men barked out simultaneously, “Enemy fire, nine o’clock.”

  “Davis is hit. We need a medic!” McQueary said.

  “Roger that,” Setz said, banking hard away from the drone and the five personnel on the ground.

  The pilot broke contact to fly to the helipad at Asheville’s Mission Health Center.

  “McQueary, we’re going to do a false insertion and drop you and your other three men a mile up the road. You’ll ambush and arrest the five people walking on that trail.”

  “So not a false insertion then,” McQueary said. “An actual drop of personnel.”

  Oxendine didn’t have time to quibble tactical terms with the insubordinate SWAT team commander.

  Setz said, “Gotta make it quick, guys. I’m not having anyone dying on my helicopter. The golden hour and all of that.”

  Setz was referencing the fact that if they were able to get the wounded to a qualified doctor within an hour, the chances of survival were ninety percent higher than if not.

  * * *

  The helicopter took fire from the drone and Mahegan realized that the enemy in the mountains had not only been following them using tracking devices but also been able to cue in on them by finding the helicopter.

  No longer concerned that they had any tracking devices on them, Mahegan had to find a way to disarm the drone. The best way was to find a cover and concealed position from which to shoot it down.

  With the wounded Syrian on his back, Mahegan led the team along the narrow trail to an area that had a slight overhang, providing them some protection from above. The forest was thick, and it was doubtful that the drone could get a clean shot at them.

  He laid the wounded man on the damp ground beneath the rock overhang and turned around. Cassie’s outline was visible against the studded wood line, her rucksack prominent and full. Owens and O’Malley held up Savage, who seemed to not be doing well. He needed medical attention and water.

  “Sean, Patch, you guys interrogate this guy. See if you can get him to talk. I’m going to head up with Cassie and try to find a spot to knock down that drone.”

  “Bossman, that thing fired up the helicopter. It has some serious firepower on it,” Owens said.

  “That’s why we need to get rid of it. Between the cops chasing me for whatever reason and the Syrians planning whatever they’re planning, we’re the only ones who know what is happening.”

  “I’m in,” Cassie said.

  “Sean, you’re the medic and the comms guy, so help Savage. Patch, you’re the operator, so figure out what these guys are up to. I’m most concerned about that wooden crate in the mine shaft.”

  “You got it,” Owens said. “Drones, surface-to-air missiles, cyberattack, and assault rifles. This isn’t some hick from Gooberville with a truck full of explosives. This is a well-synced attack.”

  Savage sat down and put his back against the wall of the overhang. He had finally accepted the space blanket from Cassie and huddled into it. They were looking at the trail fifteen feet ahead. The moonlight filtered through the high canopy of pines, birch, and maples. Owls hooted their nightly call to kill as bears growled and deer rutted.

  The whump of the Blackhawk blades drowned the nocturnal symphony as the helicopter descended over the ridge. The blades changed pitch, so Mahegan knew that they had briefly stopped somewhere, perhaps to offload the SWAT team along the natural egress off the mountain and east toward civilization.

  “I’m thinking the SWAT team is on the ground. It looked like six guys when they came to Alex Russell’s house,” Mahegan said.

  “Alex Russell?” Owens asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  Owens looked at Savage and said, “Man, she’s been acting strange over the last month. Savage was tapping that when he and his wife separated and then she went off the deep end.”

  Savage looked up at them. “Alex has issues,” he said. “Yes, we had an affair. But her issues go well beyond that. Everything for her goes back to Groomsman.”

  “She asked me about Groomsman. What’s the big deal? What does she want to know?” Mahegan asked.

  “That operation was a clusterfuck from Jump Street. Captain Bagwell there and her HVT hunter team sent over a nugget of information that al-Baghdadi’s phone was in that convoy. Sure enough we tracked it, and it was his phone,” Savage said.

  “I’m aware, General. I went in and retrieved the pieces of it. Remember? We found the SIM card with the one picture of al-Baghdadi flipping the bird.”

  “Of course I remember,” Savage said. “You were about a quarter mile away and securing the outer perimeter when I came in with my security team and Alex. She saw the carnage and couldn’t handle it. Just completely lost it. Once we got back to the states I gave her some leave. You guys may think I’m a hard-ass dick, but I’m loyal. I kept her on but kept her stateside. No more deployments.”

  “That intel was good,” Cassie said. “It was a solid lead.”

  “No doubt,” Savage continued. “As Jake said, the phone was there. Baghdadi just planted it. My question is, now that you’re here, where did the tip come from?”

  The moonlight reflected Cassie’s alabaster face.

  “It was a HUMINT feed,” Cassie said. “One of our operators on the ground gave us the intel, and because it was a high-value target, I immediately passed it to JSOC. You guys.”

  “Right. Who was the source?” Savage said.

  “Even if I remembered we can’t talk about that here in front of this prisoner or outside of a secure facility,” Cassie said.

  “He’ll be dead when we’re done with him, so no worries there. Plus your dad tried to pin all of that on me, which I was fine with. I made the call, so I should have taken the heat.”

  “My dad is a weasel,” Cassie said. “He’s ashamed that I went to Ranger school and . . .” Cassie paused.

  “And what?” Savage pressed.

  “I get that, but a good leader supports his daughter and his generals. He didn’t support you after Operation Groomsman,” Cassie said.

  “Not going to argue with you there. Still, what was your human intelligence?” Savage asked.

  Cassie paused. “The French had a team on the ground in Syria. Their DGSE, that’s the CIA equivalent, reported al-Baghdadi in the convoy and gave us the location and the phone number. The number matched what we had been tracking, and when we listened, the voice matched what we had on file.”

  “I know how to spell DGSE, Captain,” Savage said. “Who was your source?”

  Mahegan listened intently. Savage was driving at something that he needed to know. Perhaps it was what Alex Russell wanted to know as well.

  “He had a call sign of Jackknife. That was all we knew. I had a liaison in my ops cell and he passed on the intel from Jackknife. I’m told Jackknife was one of their best field operatives,” Cassie said.

  “You were played, damnit.” Savage barked louder than Mahegan preferred.

  “I was not played. That intel was legit,” Cassie defended.

  “Jackknife is my call sign. Only my operators know it. There’s no way that some random French guy in the field uses that call sign.”

  “It’s not impossible, General. People have the same call signs frequently,” Cassie replied.

  “No. It was a message to me. We were in too much of a rush to chase the back end of the
intelligence. Someone wanted the people in that convoy dead and used us to do it,” Savage continued.

  “But who? And why?” Cassie asked

  “Was there a guy named Dupree involved? Slick Willie type? He was the lead DGSE guy on the ground. Tight with your dad,” Savage said to Cassie. Mahegan watched Savage bore his glare through Cassie’s eyes, locking on, staring her down.

  Cassie paused.

  “Yves Dupree was my contact,” Cassie admitted

  “Whatever led you to him? Of all the human intelligence sources out there, you have to pick a bankrupt banker turned DGSE?”

  “Bankrupt banker?”

  Mahegan chimed in now. “That’s right,” he said. “Our financial intelligence team traced transactions from wealthy Syrian refugees to Yves Dupree, who was DGSE and working for the UN High Commissioner for Refugees. We sent the information to HQ in Baghdad, but it ended up in the black hole. We moved on to the next mission. But Dupree was definitely on the take.”

  Savage didn’t let go of Cassie. “So who hooked you up with Dupree?”

  Cassie leaned against the rock formation that created the overhang above the trail.

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  “Who?” Savage demanded.

  “Easy, boss,” Mahegan said.

  “Don’t ‘Easy, boss’ my ass. I called that strike in, Jake,” Savage said.

  “My dad. General Bagwell. Made a call on a secure burner phone and told me Dupree would be in a Mosul souk and had information for me. I went and met him and thought we had al-Baghdadi.”

  “Bart fucking Bagwell. The bottom of his boots never met a back he wouldn’t step on. I’ll be damned,” Savage said of his West Point classmate.

  “So who did he want dead?” Mahegan asked.

  “What?” Cassie gasped.

  “You were set up,” Mahegan said. “If this is all about Operation Groomsman, then your father wanted someone in that convoy dead.”

  “Alex’s sister was killed in that raid,” Savage said.

  The team was quiet for a few long moments. The rhythms of the wild overtook their space with the roars and ruts of animals nearby.

  “Oh my God,” Cassie said. And Mahegan could see she wasn’t totally shocked. He decided to get back to Alex Russell.