by Logan Ryles
“I don’t like it,” Kevin said.
Wolfgang expected Edric to brush the comment off, as was his practice with vague negativity, but instead he looked up. “What’s the problem?”
“We’re dealing with somebody who wants to take out SPIRE, correct?”
Edric made a noncommittal grunt, but the question was rhetorical.
“If they know about SPIRE at all, that means we aren’t dealing with your run-of-the-mill kidnappers. These people are likely highly trained, highly informed, and know exactly who they’re messing with.”
“I wasn’t aware there were a lot of people with such résumés living in the favelas,” Lyle said.
“There probably aren’t,” Kevin said. “Whoever kidnapped Rose probably isn’t Brazilian at all. They knew she would be in Rio, and so they came here to grab her. Then they fled to the favelas because the police wouldn’t follow.”
Everybody chewed on that for a moment, then a unanimous nod circled the group.
“So, my point is,” Kevin said, “if these people are highly trained and highly informed, wouldn’t they expect Rose to be wearing some kind of tracker? Wouldn’t they have swept for that and found it?”
“It’s possible,” Lyle said. “There are devices designed to detect GPS units. They could have swept her down and found the necklace.”
“Right,” Kevin said. “But the necklace is still transmitting, which means they’re either incompetent, and we’ll be out of here before sunrise, or they found the tracker and intentionally allowed it to transmit, which makes this a trap.”
Wolfgang followed Kevin’s logic, searching for any obvious holes, but there were none. Kevin rarely spoke in their pre-mission meetings, and when he did, it was usually to make snide comments or complain about something trivial. This time, however, what he said made sense, and it was concerning.
“You could be right,” Megan said. “What do you propose?”
Kevin leaned over the map, circling the general vicinity of the favelas with his finger.
“In Afghanistan, Army Rangers conducted a number of joint missions with Navy Seals and other spec ops soldiers to track down terrorist leaders. The strategy was simple. They infiltrated the region slowly, developed relationships with the locals, and relied on native informants to lead them to their targets. These indigenous communities are often tight-knit and dependent on one another. They notice outsiders, and they know their own territory better than anyone. We should start with the locals and gain intelligence on what’s happening in the favelas. It’ll take longer, but it’s much more likely to end in our favor.”
Wolfgang listened intently, noting how Kevin said they instead of we when referring to the Army Ranger operations in Afghanistan. It made him more curious about what Kevin had experienced and why he didn’t want to talk about it.
Edric studied the map, then shook his head. “I hear you, but we don’t have that kind of time. There’s only two hours left on the clock before the deadline. What you’re suggesting could take weeks.”
“Which is why SPIRE needs to stall the kidnappers,” Kevin said. “Just a couple days. Give us time to map out the region and make a contact. Somebody who speaks both Portuguese and English and understands the favelas. Somebody who can—”
Edric held up a hand. “It’s not happening, Kev. We’re moving now, before the clock expires. Our orders are clear.”
Wolfgang noticed the muscles in Kevin’s jaw twitching, but he said nothing.
Edric turned back to Lyle. “What have we got in the way of surveillance?”
“I’ve arranged for us to have a live satellite feed, but there're problems with a delay in the signal. I’ve been working on it all night and got it down to about six seconds, on average. It’s not perfect, but at least it gives us a little overwatch. I’ll need a place to set up the computers.”
“You can do that here,” Edric said. “We’ll use the car to infiltrate the favela while you provide surveillance support and communications from behind. After we reach the favela where the necklace is located, we’ll have to leave the car so that we can close in on the beacon without being noticed. By then, it’ll be dark, so at least we’ve got that going for us. Kevin, you and I will take point. Megan and Wolfgang will provide close-quarters support.”
Edric folded up the map and gestured to the table. “We’ll be going in hot, but we don’t want to draw attention. Wear the body armor and take the weapons, but conceal them. There are extra clothes in the trunk of the car.”
Edric stepped away from the group, drawing a cigarette from his pocket. Wolfgang had never seen him smoke before, but he’d never seen him under this level of pressure, either. Kevin followed Edric, and for a moment the two of them argued in the shadows. Wolfgang couldn’t hear the words, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what the disagreement was about.
Wolfgang turned back to the table and sifted through the weapons, the knot in his stomach growing. He’d never been in combat before, and even though he was religious about keeping his pistol close to hand, he’d never actually killed anybody, either. SPIRE was an espionage organization, not a combat one.
He lifted one of the UMP submachine guns from the table and felt the weight. It was lighter than he expected, with a plastic grip and plastic stock—almost like a toy, except for the black mouth of the muzzle pointing toward the wall of the warehouse like a doorway to Hell.
“You know how to use that?” Megan asked, her voice quiet.
Wolfgang studied the gun, noting the position of the charging handle, magazine release, and safety switch. He laid it back down on the table. “Yeah, I can use it.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s hope you don’t have to.”
Twenty minutes later, Lyle had completed his computer setup, and the others were fully equipped. Wolfgang slid on a set of Kevlar soft body armor, then strapped a Beretta 92 pistol in a shoulder holster on top. He also selected the UMP, along with a magazine satchel that contained four extra magazines of .45-caliber ammunition. Then he pulled on a pair of boots from the Impala’s trunk, which he was surprised to find fit perfectly, threw a light jacket over the entire array, and dropped a knife, a bottle of water, and a flashlight into the oversized pockets of the jacket.
He didn’t feel like a warrior—not even close. He didn’t even feel particularly prepared for a home invasion, but when he saw Kevin standing nearby, fully equipped with a SCAR rifle, a Glock handgun, and enough ammunition to feed them both for hours, he felt better. Kevin was the picture of a warrior, and now that he wore the body armor and the weapons, Wolfgang found it easy to imagine him as an Army Ranger.
At least he knows what he’s doing.
Wolfgang’s attention shifted to Megan, and his confidence instantly plummeted. She also wore body armor and carried a UMP, but the gear was hopelessly oversized on her petite body, hanging off her shoulders and sliding around as she walked. The boots she found in the car's trunk were also oversized, and even the flashlight she selected from the gear pile looked big in her small hands. Wolfgang had worked with Megan long enough to know that she was extremely competent, but something about the prospect of her being shot at rattled him.
God, whatever happens, don’t let her be hurt.
Lyle approached from his computer and handed out an array of radios and earpieces. They weren’t like the micro-units Charlie Team usually wore—tiny devices that slid into the ear canal and disappeared from view. These more robust units reminded Wolfgang of what he saw the Secret Service wear in movies. Each one featured a coiled wire that circled behind the ear and dropped beneath a jacket and to the user’s belt, where a radio clipped into place.
“They engage with a hum,” Lyle said. “They aren’t constantly active like the ear canal pieces.”
“What does that mean?” Wolfgang asked.
“It means you have to hum, dimwit,” Kevin snapped. “Hmmm!”
Wolfgang ignored the aggression and hummed until he heard the radio click
on through his earpiece.
“Testing,” Wolfgang said.
Everybody nodded, and Wolfgang heard the radio click off again.
Edric started toward the car, but as Wolfgang moved to follow, he noticed Lyle motioning him to the side. He stepped close to Lyle’s operational table, scanning the impressive collection of linked laptops. Even in a pinch, Lyle could put together a heck of an operations center.
Lyle passed Wolfgang a bright orange flare gun with a plastic grip.
“If something goes wrong,” Lyle said softly enough that the radio didn’t engage, “shoot this into the air. I’ll catch it on the satellite, and you know . . . do what I can.”
Wolfgang rotated the gun in his hand, studying the warning label and feeling the heft of the device. It looked just like the flare guns kept in boats or airplanes. He looked up and frowned, and Lyle shook his head, indicating that Wolfgang should not ask questions.
Wolfgang slid the gun into his jacket pocket and turned to the car. Edric had already taken the driver’s seat, with Kevin sitting beside him. Wolfgang figured he’d have more legroom behind Edric, and he slid inside. As the car rolled forward, Wolfgang noticed Lyle watching them. There was something in the tech’s face he hadn’t seen before—a dark foreboding that reflected the mood of the entire car.
5
If Rio was beautiful from a distance, it was enchanting up close. By the time Charlie Team reached the main highway and turned toward the core of the city, the sun had vanished behind the mountains, allowing Rio to come to life in a pattern of bright lights. Downtown sparkled next to the bay, and tall towers were framed in shadow against the water, while the condominiums along the coast gleamed in a half dozen different colors.
The favelas were shrouded in darkness. They faded into the shadows of the hillsides, only illuminated by the occasional glimmering light that escaped through a window or an open door. Wolfgang couldn’t make out the details of the shantytowns, but the vast swaths of black between Rio’s wealthier districts told him all he needed to know about how truly impoverished these people must be. They literally couldn’t keep the lights on.
Edric drove while Kevin navigated, holding an iPad housed in an industrial case that featured a GPS navigation app leading them toward Rose’s still-transmitting beacon. Every few minutes, Kevin would direct Edric to change lanes or take a turn, and slowly they worked their way outside the heart of Rio and toward the North Zone. The car creaked and rattled the whole way, the engine straining with every acceleration as if it were on the verge of explosion.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Megan asked.
Wolfgang turned to see her staring out her window, focused on the bright lights of downtown. He watched the city for a moment, then found himself watching her instead. She sat forward to allow room for the oversized body armor to ride up on her torso, the UMP cradled between her knees, and her hair held back in a ponytail.
He saw the lights of the city reflecting in her eyes, twinkling like a million stars, and he swallowed. “Yes . . . it’s stunning.”
The Impala lurched over a pothole, and Wolfgang’s head slammed into the roof of the car. He grunted and rubbed it. “Nice driving, Grandpa.”
Edric ignored the comment, but Kevin smirked. It was the first sign of relaxation from him in two hours, and it gave Wolfgang a little gratification. He didn’t like seeing Kevin this strained. It made him feel like whatever was about to happen was even worse than Edric wanted him to believe.
The car rattled down a side street, and as quickly as the lights of Rio came, they vanished. What was once a paved four-lane quickly diminished into a narrow, unpaved two-lane with more holes and ruts. The incline also grew steep, the nose of the car rising as Edric powered upward and away from the civilized part of the city.
Then they reached the favelas. It happened in a flash. One moment Wolfgang saw open spaces and empty skyline, and then they were surrounded by shanty shacks on all sides. Constructed of pallets, concrete blocks, and makeshift carpentry with metal roofs, the little huts rose out of the mountainside as if they grew out of the dirt. They were crammed so close together that in many cases, there wasn’t enough space between them for a chicken to run. Other houses were built off the roofs of the structures below them, stair-stepping up the side of the mountain in a colorful display of desperate ingenuity.
Wolfgang leaned closer to the window, peering upward at the dimly lit community in unabashed awe. Occasional pedestrians stood next to the streets, watching the Impala approach with suspicious eyes, and every couple minutes, Edric had to navigate around a parked car, many of which were far more dilapidated than the Impala. Occasional lights shone through the narrow gaps in the covered windows of the shacks, twinkling like the stars of downtown far below. Wolfgang twisted his head and looked up to see a spiderweb of wires running between the houses, as tangled as the power lines of a first-world nation after a hurricane.
A slow smile spread across his face as he remembered his earlier assumption that the favelas couldn’t keep the lights on. Megan had said that many of these communities siphoned electricity illegally off of the main power grids of Rio. That meant that the blackness he saw from a distance was intentional. Residents of the favelas were blocking their windows to keep their electric supply from being too noticeable and getting cut off.
Smart people.
“Two miles ahead, we cross into Vila Cruzeiro,” Kevin said. “The GPS beacon is another half mile inside. We should ditch the car.”
Edric nodded. A mile later he pulled the Impala to the curb, and Charlie Team piled out. The streets around them were truly dark now with no streetlights and no leakage from the covered windows and doors of the surrounding houses. Wolfgang’s spine tingled as he pulled his jacket on, then tucked the UMP inside. At this altitude, with nothing between him and the open coast several miles away, the salt wind chilled him to the bone. It wasn’t anything like the savage sting of Moscow, but the Brazilian chill brought with it a strange uneasiness. Or maybe that was just in his head.
Where are the people? Why is it so quiet?
Edric circled the car and checked his watch. “We’re forty-five minutes from the deadline. Kevin and I—” He stopped as a soft buzzing erupted from his pocket, and he withdrew a compact satellite phone. The lines on his face hardened under the glow of the screen, and he hit the answer button and held the phone to his ear. “Mr. Director?”
Everybody stood perfectly still as Edric listened.
“I understand, sir. My team is in place. We’ll call you on the way out.” Edric hit the hang-up button and deposited the phone into his pocket. “SPIRE has been unable to reach the kidnappers. We are to proceed with aggression.”
Kevin started to speak, but Edric shook his head. “I’ve heard you, Kevin. We’re deploying now.”
Kevin closed his mouth, and the muzzle of his SCAR rifle twitched beneath his jacket.
“Megan, Wolfgang,” Edric said, “you’ll trail us by fifty yards. Keep us in sight where you can, but stay in the shadows. When we approach the target building, your job is to cover us from behind. Understand?”
Megan and Wolfgang nodded.
Edric chambered his weapon. “Let’s roll.”
Kevin and Edric started up the road, splitting off to opposite sides of the street and keeping close to the buildings. In mere moments, they were lost in the shadows.
Megan turned to Wolfgang. “Stay calm, and don’t overthink this. It’s just another mission, okay?”
The thought of an impending gunfight made Wolfgang’s stomach flip, but Megan was right. This was his job. He was good at his job.
And a girl’s life is on the line.
“I’ll take left, you take right,” Megan said. “Keep me in sight where you can, and, you know . . . don’t screw up.”
Megan shot him a reassuring wink, and Wolfgang felt a little of his courage return. He started up the right-hand side of the street, keeping Megan on his left shoulder and Kevin about fif
ty yards ahead. It was almost impossible to keep up with Kevin in the shadows of the favelas, but he hustled to close some of the gap, glancing down each alley and side street he passed.
“Com check,” Edric said.
“Charlie One, awake and alive,” Megan said.
Kevin’s voice was deep and grim over the radio. “Charlie Two, loud and clear.”
“Charlie Eye, I’ve got you on visual,” Lyle radioed in.
“Hmmm . . .” Wolfgang said, waiting for his radio to click, signaling that the mic was live. He heard nothing, and he hummed again.
“We hear you, idiot,” Kevin said. “You only have to hum when nobody’s been talking.”
Wolfgang blushed and looked to see if Megan was laughing but couldn’t tell in the shadows. “Charlie Three. I’m here.”
The radio grew quiet, and Wolfgang pressed on up the hill. It was only an hour after sunset, but the interior of the favela was strangely silent and empty. From time to time, he heard soft rattling or voices inside the shacks that he passed, but most them were both soundless and dark. In most cases, even if he leaned close to a window and peered through a crack in the curtain, he couldn’t see light.
Where is everybody? Is it always this empty?
There were no animals, either. No dogs or chickens, even though piles of animal feces littered the ditches. Wolfgang felt the uneasiness in his stomach grow, and he glanced up the hillside into the rows of shacks that still lay between them and their target. There were hundreds of them, all packed together in irregular blocks that resembled nothing like a planned city.
“You’re approaching Vila Cruzeiro,” Lyle said. “The GPS beacon is still strong.”
Why is it so quiet?
Another half mile passed under Wolfgang’s boots without event. He checked on Megan every few seconds, ensuring that she was still visible. Sometimes the street would widen or a building would appear directly in their path with narrow alleys on either side, and she would vanish from view. There seemed to be no rationale to the streets. Every once in a while, a street would simply end or turn back down the mountain, and Wolfgang and Megan would have to take directions from Lyle on where to go to keep up with Edric and Kevin.