Drone Strike: A Joe Matthews Thriller

by David Austin

  Fuck. Joe needed to brief Langley, so he called for short break. As the others stood to leave the SCIF, he said, “Reed, why don’t you stay for the video conference?” He knew it would stroke Ashton’s ego to be included on the VTC. But Joe had an ulterior motive. He was going to ask for weapons from the station’s stash and had the feeling the COS would balk at having an armed team he could not control running around on his turf. By having him onscreen in front of the heavyweights at headquarters, Joe hoped this would be one battle he would not have to fight. He was going to have enough on his plate in the next few hours and didn’t want to waste time arguing with Ashton over the logistical support he would need to do his job.

  CHAPTER 26

  Now that he had his answers and had reported the findings back to Langley, Joe’s mission transitioned to a protective operation. He, along with Director Sloan and the rest of the CIA’s leadership, had every reason to believe the Russians were aware of Elijah Miller’s presence in Brussels. The GRU had penetrated several NATO members’ militaries and would have had access to the school’s curriculum and email distribution lists identifying the NSA encryption specialist as the keynote speaker at today’s event. It was the consensus of the group that Russian intelligence was not above conducting a snatch and grab operation to bring the designer of the program in to help solve the problem if they were unable to crack the encryption themselves.

  Joe called the guys, had them join him at the embassy, and reconvened the meeting once they arrived. With everyone back in the SCIF, he reiterated the director’s concerns for those who weren’t on the video conference and laid out his plan for getting Miller out of the country.

  Vivian Vernon said, “Why isn’t the NSA handling Elijah’s extraction?”

  Joe explained that while the NSA had a small protective detail that supported their director, it didn’t have the larger, dedicated division on par with what the CIA had to offer. So, on occasion, members of the Agency’s protective operations division, either from the Director’s Protective Staff or the Protective Resource Group, would be detailed over to Ft. Meade to support specific requirements. This operation was a prime example of one of those occasions.

  Eli sat there listening to the conversation, so far out of his element that the talk of a protective detail, a covert extraction, and Russians out to get him was enough to make his head spin. All he wanted to do at this point was to go back to the hotel, get a good night’s sleep and fly home in the morning. “What makes you so sure it’s not safe for me to stay at my hotel tonight?”

  Pointing to the two other members of his team, Joe said, “Because if the roles were reversed, and we were the team conducting the rendition, we’d wait until you were tucked in and sound asleep before sneaking into your room and snatching you. If I had to guess, I’d say the Russians will have a similar plan.”

  The mention of the term rendition caused a visceral reaction from Miller, and Joe could see he was starting to freak out. Not that he could blame the guy. He was a computer nerd whose closest encounter with violence probably came in the form of a marathon session of Call of Duty on his XBOX One.

  “This…this is bullshit,” Eli’s voice wavered, betraying the bravado he was trying to portray. “I came over here to give a talk at NATO. Now you’re telling me I’m wrapped up in the middle of some international conspiracy and Russian spooks are here to snatch me? No way this is happening for real.” He stood as if to leave. “I’m outta here. I’m going back to the hotel for a couple of beers, then catch my flight home in the morning. You guys enjoy your time in fantasy-land.”

  Chris pushed himself off the wall and blocked the exit. The sandy-haired operator said, “You’re not leaving this building without the three of us, so why don’t you sit your ass back down and let Joe finish briefing the plan.”

  From the look in the man’s eyes and the tone of his voice, Eli got the distinct feeling it was an order, not a request. Without a word, he did an about face and returned to his seat. Asshole.

  Joe always preferred to get along with the people he was protecting because it made the job easier on so many levels. He decided to come at Eli from a different angle. Speak a language he would understand. “Look,” Joe began. “The GRU guys hunting you are the real deal, the boogeymen you wouldn’t want to meet in your worst nightmare.”

  “If they’re the boogeymen, then what does that make you?”

  “You a gamer, Eli?”

  “Yeah. What do you know about gaming?”

  Joe said, “My call-sign is Spartan.”

  “Master Chief, huh?”

  “HALO’s my game, but I play some others as well. Ever tried World of Warcraft?”

  Reed Ashton looked to Vivian Vernon who shrugged her shoulders, having no idea what the hell the muscular red head was talking about. It was like the two men were speaking some foreign language only they understood.

  Eli said, “Sure. Everyone’s taken a spin through the WoW universe at some point.”

  “So, you know what a Paladin is?”

  “Yeah. The knight who fights for good.”

  “Who not only fights for good but is fully devoted to ridding the world of evil. A knight who, with a cause, is almost impossible to defeat in battle.”

  Thinking back to the character descriptions in the game, Eli said, “Yeah. Okay. But what’s all this gaming talk got to do with the Russian boogeymen?”

  Vernon and Ashton were wondering the same thing.

  “Because,” Joe said, pointing to the two members of his team. “We’re those men charged with ridding the world of evil. We are the predators who kill the boogeymen. So, lose the attitude, follow our instructions to the letter, and everything will turn out fine.”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “If you two fourteen-year-olds are done with the nerd speak, can we please get the hell out of here and get on with the mission?”

  *

  After the video game discussion in the SCIF, Miller had seemed to be on board with the program, so Joe finished laying out his plan. About an hour southwest of Brussels, near the town of Chièvres, was a U.S. Air Force base that provided aerial and logistical support to NATO and SHAPE, the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe. In an odd turn of events that Joe could only explain by the conglomeration of units in the region, the airfield and its flight operations were run by the Air Force, but the overall maintenance and control of the base belonged to the U.S. Army.

  Since the primary function of Chièvres Air Base was support, there were plenty of passenger transport aircraft standing by in case the brass needed to get around the theater. Joe’s selection of the base for the extraction made the job of the Air Branch and Office of Military Affairs schedulers back at Langley that much easier. Within minutes of their request being processed, a crew was alerted and began pre-flighting a C-21A, the military version of the Learjet 35, for the quick hop to drop Joe, Miller, and the guys at Ramstein Air Force base in Germany. Once at Ramstein, the team would be met by one of the CIA’s Gulfstream G650s for the leg back to Washington.

  But first they had to swing by the hotel to pick up Miller’s things, namely, the NSA issued laptop locked in his suitcase. Eli wouldn’t leave without the computer, and they certainly didn’t want it left behind for the Russians to exploit. Joe would have preferred to send Chris and John back to grab the bags, but Eli had insisted on going himself. The situation wasn’t ideal, but Joe figured he’d give a little to get a little, hoping that by compromising with Miller on this, he’d be more willing to go along with something else when the time came.

  They set off from the embassy with Chris, who dreamed of being a NASCAR driver in another life, behind the wheel. Joe was in the right front and Elijah Miller sat directly behind him. With the potential of having a group of Russian special forces operators in town looking for Miller, John had been sent ahead to advance the hotel. The last thing Joe wanted to do was walk the man he was charged with protecting into the waiting arms of a GRU or Alpha Group rendition tea
m.

  John sat in the modern, atrium-like lobby sipping a coffee. He had positioned himself so he could see the main entrance and reception area, but did so in a manner that didn’t scream, “I’m a G-man on a surveillance operation.” Like most others in the lobby, he had his tablet opened to a news site and pretended to swipe through articles as he kept an eye on the comings and goings of the hotel’s patrons.

  Activating the talk-around function on his encrypted phone, Joe let him know they were five minutes out.

  Using a pair of generic earbuds as props to conceal his covert earpiece, John confirmed the call, sounding like every other businessman waiting on a colleague. “Sounds good. I’ll see you in a few.”

  Joe didn’t want to parade Elijah through the main lobby, preferring a discreet, low-profile approach, so he directed Chris to the hotel’s side entrance.

  Bringing the rented SUV to a stop, Chris said, “There’s no parking on this street so I’m gonna have to move.” He could only hang around for so long pretending to be waiting on someone before he would draw the attention of the local cops. “I’ll make the block and pull into a spot across the street. Let me know when you’re coming down and I’ll meet you back here.”

  Finding a parking space with an unobstructed view of the hotel’s main entrance, Chris took a minute to check out his surroundings. Called Place Jourdan, the rectangular parking lot separated two city blocks. Tree-lined sidewalks were packed with a variety of cafés, bars, and restaurants. On the hotel’s west side, just across the Avenue du Maelbeek, was the Parc Leopold. Several government buildings and museums bordered the park. To the north was the House of European History, the state government offices, and the EU’s European Committee of the Regions. The easternmost section of the park was dominated by the enormous home of the European Parliament, and to the south was the Museum of Natural Sciences. With a small lake and plenty of cobblestone and dirt paths, Chris thought the park would be great place for a run. Miller had chosen well, and Chris made a mental note to stay at the hotel if he ever came back to Brussels.

  Using Eli’s key card to access the side door, Joe and the NSA man entered the hotel. Being familiar with the building’s layout, Eli led the way to the elevators. Before stepping in, Joe broadcast, “We’re heading upstairs. Be down in a few.” Both members of his team acknowledged the call as Eli hit the button for the third floor. Moments later a chime dinged, and the doors slid open. Before they exited, Joe asked, “Which way?”

  “To the left. Room 312.”

  Stepping out of the elevator, Joe paused for a few seconds to glance up and down the hallway. Clear. Next, he scanned the area for security cameras and the locations of the stairwells. Satisfied he had a good feel for the floor’s layout, he led the way to the room.

  They stopped short of the door and Joe put a finger to his lips, indicating he wanted Eli to be quiet. Joe listened for a hushed conversation or sounds of movement while eyeing the door for any signs of tampering. Seeing none, he gave a nod of his head, and Eli swiped his key card. The light on the sensor turned green and they heard the lock disengage.

  Joe whispered, “Wait here,” then entered the room, only drawing his weapon once he crossed the door’s threshold and was out of the security camera’s line of sight. The executive suite wasn’t very large, and he cleared it in under fifteen seconds. Confident there weren’t any Russian spooks hiding in the closet or under the bed, he summoned Miller inside.

  CHAPTER 27

  A white panel van eased to a stop and double-parked along a line of cars across the street from the hotel’s main lobby. The driver activated the van’s hazard lights, implying that it was on some type of delivery and would only be there for a few minutes. From the design of the logo on the side of the van, it appeared to belong to some type of mom and pop furniture business. Chris guessed that made sense. Over time, furniture in the hotel was bound to get damaged or need repairs. And if the hotel staff didn’t have the capability to do the work in-house, they would have to contract it out. He was about to dismiss the van as a concern when the side door slid open and three men stepped out. Those are not Belgian furniture makers, he thought.

  *

  “We’re not operating in some backwater town in Syria,” Captain Gennady Kalugin had reminded his men. “We’re in the heart of Europe. Be discreet.”

  “He’s a computer geek,” one of his men said with an almost bored tone. “How hard could it be? What’s he going to do, hit us over the head with his keyboard?”

  The comment drew a few chuckles from the back of the van, but Kalugin stared daggers through the joker. “You should know by now that underestimating your opponent is a good way to get yourself killed in this business, Anton.”

  Given the target, Kalugin could understand the men’s attitude toward the assignment. After being deployed to Syria for the better part of the last year, this assignment had to seem like a walk in the park. He knew the American target would be no match for his battle-hardened men. His bigger concern at this point was being compromised and having to deal with the authorities. Kalugin flicked his head toward the door. “Get moving.”

  *

  Chris hailed the team. “You know those guys we were concerned about? Well, I think they just showed up. Three burly dudes heading your way, John. You should have eyes-on in about thirty seconds.”

  Looking up from the tablet, John keyed on the men immediately as he sipped his coffee. Jesus, he thought. Could you be any more obvious? “Got ‘em. Dark suits and operator beards. Not very low-profile.” He set the cup back on the saucer and watched as the men paused in the foyer, scanning the lobby with all the personality of three killer robots from the Terminator movies.

  One of the men approached the concierge and John saw him point in the direction of the elevators. The trio cut through the gray-carpeted lounge, passing within three feet of his chair. They appeared uninterested in the people in the lobby, having dismissed them as possible threats. Apparently, John was doing an excellent job of blending in with the rest of the guests because none of the men gave him a second look.

  When they were out of earshot, John relayed, “Get a move on, Joe. They’re heading for the elevators.” He downed the last sip of coffee, then slid the tablet into his rucksack. Moving with a purpose, he crossed the lobby to a stairwell and paused to glance at the elevator’s floor indicator. Seeing where it stopped, he pushed through the door then sprinted upward, taking the stairs three at a time.

  The elevator doors parted, and Anton stepped out onto the third floor. The other two followed, as he consulted the sign on the wall that denoted which set of rooms were to the left and right. Without a word, he turned left and strode down the carpeted hallway, eyeing the numbers on each door until he found the room he was looking for. The other two men took up positions on either side of the door, ensuring they were out of the peephole’s field of view.

  Anton knocked on the door three times and heard a voice asking who was there. Doing his best to soften his heavy Russian accent, he answered, “It’s hotel management, Mr. Miller. I’m sorry for the inconvenience at this late hour, but may I have a word with you?”

  The door opened, and with an annoyed tone in his voice, the room’s occupant said, “What can I do for you?”

  A confused look fell over Anton’s face. The plan had been to positively identify the American, then the three operators would flood the room and subdue their target. But the man who answered the door didn’t match the description he’d been given. Not even close. He was clearly American, but the man standing before him was no computer geek. This man had a hard look about him. And he was big. His hair was a dark shade of red and his skin was tanned from long hours spent out in the elements. It was a look Anton recognized in himself and the other members of the team who had spent long days in the harsh desert environments of the Middle East. But what stood out most were the man’s eyes. Icy blue, they were the eyes of a predator. Something was terribly wrong. Anton reverted to his defau
lt solution for any problem and went for his weapon.

  Joe took a step forward and used both hands to pin the man’s right hand against his hip, his vise-like grip preventing the Russian from drawing the pistol. Even though he couldn’t see them, Joe knew there were two other men nearby who would be joining the fray any minute. But rather than retreating into the room, or pushing out into the hall, he held his ground and used the big Russian to fill the door, making it harder for the other men to get into the fight. He would much rather take them on one at a time. Three on one would be a little much, even for a man of his considerable abilities.

  With his right hand immobilized, Anton took a step back with his left foot, rotated his torso, and fired a left-handed jab at Joe’s head. He would have preferred to wind up and throw a haymaker, ending the fight with one blow, but their struggle in the door and the room’s narrow entryway made it feel like they were fighting in a phone booth.

  Joe saw the move coming and ducked under the blow. As Anton cocked his arm for another attempt, Joe released his right hand’s grip on the Russian’s gun-hand but maintained the pressure with his left. Using the strength in his powerful thighs, Joe exploded upward, delivering a piston-like palm strike to the underside of Anton’s chin. The blow shattered the Russian’s teeth and broke his jaw. Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, he sagged to the floor. On the way down, Joe grabbed Anton’s head with both hands, pulled it forward, and delivered a knee strike to his face that flattened his nose and knocked him out cold.

  As his limp body fell to the floor, the two men in the hall rushed through the door, stepping on and over their teammate on the way in. Joe began to retreat into the room but caught his foot on the unconscious man’s arm and fell back, landing on his rear end. Using the momentum of the fall to his advantage, Joe rolled onto his back and brought his knees to his chest. As the first attacker lunged, Joe delivered a kick that caught the man in the shoulder. The blow spun him to the left and sent him crashing into the chest of drawers.