A Red Dotted Line (Mike Walton Book 2)

by Simon Gervais

  A loud explosion broke Powell’s concentration. A black vehicle, located less than fifty meters away, burst into the air as an RPG hit it. Glass fragments flew everywhere and a heat wave engulfed Powell. The man under him seized the moment to slash Powell’s wrist with the outside of his hand. Powell yelped in pain as the pistol was knocked away. But the man wasn’t done. He sent a series of jab into Powell’s sternum, stunning him.

  Then Powell felt something cold behind his neck.

  ........

  Igor Votyakov was surprised by the older man’s strength. He was about to plunge his left index into Powell’s right eye when one of his men emerged behind the ambassador. Igor saw the surprise register in Powell’s eyes. But the former ambassador wouldn’t quit and, with shocking agility, pivoted on himself and deflected the gun that was pointed at his neck with his forearm.

  With Powell off him and engaged with someone else, Igor grabbed Powell from behind and started to choke him by compressing his carotid arteries. Powell kicked his shin with his heel, causing so much pain Igor nearly lost his hold. Powell elbowed him, but the ambassador’s strength was fleeing rapidly. Seconds later, Powell become limp in his arms. For good measure, Igor held the choke for three more seconds.

  “Secure him,” Igor said to his man. “We’re leaving.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Damascus, Syria

  Zima Bernbaum pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees and grabbed the woman’s wrist with her injured hand just as the butcher’s knife was about to slice into her shoulder. Zima yelled in pain, as if her hand had caught fire.

  “Stop!” Zima shouted. She understood the woman was scared, but hadn’t she proven she didn’t want to hurt her or her family? She continued in Arabic, “Please, stop this nonsense before someone else gets injured.” Or I pass out . . .

  “Just get out of my house, I beg you.” The woman let the knife go and it fell less than an inch away from Zima’s right foot.

  Was losing a finger not enough for one mission? I’ll keep all my toes if I can. Thank you.

  “Give me one minute,” Zima replied, doing her best not to sound threatening. “I need to take care of my hand.”

  The woman’s eyes moved to Zima’s hand, which was still clutched around her left wrist.

  “Let me,” the woman offered.

  Zima wasn’t sure why the woman suddenly wanted to help her but she suspected it was because she believed it would be the quickest way to get rid of her.

  “Thank you,” Zima said.

  The woman worked well and fast. I’m not the first person she’s patched up, and probably not the one in the worst shape. Still, the bandage around her hand wouldn’t go unnoticed. From now on, it would be much more difficult to blend in. With her hand taken care of, she needed to find out what had happened during the exchange. Was Mike’s father safe? Did he get away? Her secured satellite phone gone, she had no direct way to contact the IMSI. Hopefully, the Canadians had been able to contact their embassy to give them a situation report. It was time to go.

  Zima thanked the woman and gave her two hundred dollars she dug out of her jeans pocket. The woman started to shake her head but Zima used her left hand to close the woman’s hand into a fist. “You keep it. For your troubles.”

  Zima walked past the fallen husband. He was slowly regaining consciousness. His pride had taken a beating but he would be okay. She nodded her thanks one more time and exited the apartment, closing the door behind her. She hurried down the stairs but slowed right down once she reached the ground floor. There was nobody else in the simple lobby. The door leading outside had a small window and Zima peeked into the plaza.

  She was shocked at the carnage that had taken place. And then she saw him. An immense sadness overwhelmed her. Joachim Persky was sprawled on the road, only meters away from the coffee table he’d been seated at less than ten minutes ago. The body of one of the Canadian security men was also in the street, face first. He wasn’t moving. People were starting to move in closer to the downed Syrian soldiers. Zima wasn’t sure if it was to render assistance or to steal any valuables from the dead men. One of the soldiers was still moving, though. Zima waited a few more seconds to make sure no one was going to start shooting again. When it became clear that whoever had done this was gone, she broke cover and ran to the soldier she believed was still alive. Bystanders were within feet of the man when Zima reached him.

  “I’m a medical doctor,” she said. “Call an ambulance.” Nobody made a move, but she could hear sirens in the background. The police would be here in less than a minute. She needed to act fast if she wanted to learn anything.

  The soldier’s mouth was filling with blood and Zima placed him on his side to help him breath.

  “Who did this?” she asked the wounded man in Arabic.

  The man tried to speak but only managed to cough blood in her face and ear.

  Not good.

  The man had merely seconds to live. Zima looked around for any signs that someone else had survived the shootout but had no luck.

  The soldier grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. His eyes were bloodshot but were still burning with rage.

  “Who . . . are you?” he said.

  “I’m a friend of Ray Powell,” she said without blinking. She knew he wouldn’t say anything to a simple Syrian citizen. This was her best shot.

  His grip relaxed slightly. “The . . . The Sheik did . . . this.”

  The Sheik? That didn’t make any sense.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” the man replied in English. His voice was only a whisper.

  “Do you know where he is?” she asked. The soldier didn’t reply. Death had taken over.

  CHAPTER 24

  Moscow, Russia

  Mike Walton’s chest tightened as they approached the Sheremetyevo International Airport.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked his wife, who was seated in the passenger seat of the Toyota Camry Support Two had unearthed for them.

  “We’ve been through this before, Mike,” Lisa replied.

  “I know.”

  “So why are you asking me this?”

  Mike could see his wife wasn’t happy about him questioning her willingness to go to Koltsovo by herself. They both knew the issue was with him, not with her.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Mike maneuvered the car between two taxis parked curbside in front of the departure terminal.

  The simple intelligence-gathering mission had now turned into a rescue mission. To make matters worse, he and Lisa had to go their separate ways. It hadn’t fared well for Lisa last time they split like this. Mike only hoped his wife had learned from her past mistakes and that she wouldn’t rush into situations before analyzing all possible options and outcomes.

  His wife unbuckled her seatbelt and placed her hand behind his neck. The warmth of her hand against his skin felt good and he wished they were home instead of in Russia. But they had a job to do.

  “I love you, Mike.” She pulled him towards her once he had parked the Toyota. Her lips were soft and moist and fit so perfectly against his. Her left hand slipped into his left and her fingers curled around his, their palms touching in the most natural way. She gazed up at him, tenderness in her eyes. “I’ll be okay, but I need you to believe it.”

  Mike had never been afraid of anything. But he was now. Lisa was the only remaining connection to his previous life. She was everything to him and to see her go, all by herself, broke his heart. The only reason he’d agreed to her becoming an asset with the IMSI was because Mapother had promised he’d be her partner. She might have gone through the IMSI’s training, but she didn’t have the experience he had. Good training was crucial, but experience was what would save your life.

  “I do believe in you, Lisa,” he said, chasing away the nega
tive thoughts that threatened to overwhelm his psyche. “Just be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Mike watched his wife grabbed her carry-on from the backseat and disappear into the crowded terminal.

  ........

  Lisa Walton watched the electronic board to confirm her flight was on time. She had booked her flight less than two hours ago. To diminish the scrutiny a last minute purchase usually brought, she had paid for a return ticket. Aware that two hours would be plenty of time to position agents all over the airport, Lisa half expected to be caught by the FSB— the Russian internal security service. Her heart was racing but it helped her remain focused. She fought the urge to buy a coffee as she wanted to be able to sleep on her two-and-a-half-hour flight to Koltsovo. She had no idea what kind of opposition she’d be facing once in Koltsovo, though she suspected it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, and she wanted to be sharp and hit the ground running. A tired mind and body was one of the easiest ways to make a mistake. Lisa had no doubt what kind of pain she’d find herself in if she made a mistake. Her medical training had taught her to listen to her body and, right now, it was screaming, “I’m tired.” The last few hours had brought their share of excitement and danger, and now that the adrenaline had left her system, she needed to rest before plunging into action again.

  Lisa spent the next twenty minutes trying to spot any surveillance. She did identify a two-man team but they weren’t after her. They had their eyes on a well-dressed, thirty-something woman traveling with a toddler. The agents weren’t discreet enough to be conducting surveillance and Lisa guessed they were some kind of protective detail. She yearned for them not to be on the same flight but she wanted to be prepared in case they were. She used her smartphone to snap a picture of the good-looking woman and sent it to Support Two with a note asking for a quick identification. With less than thirty minutes before boarding time, she crossed her fingers Support Two would come through.

  And they did, ten minutes later.

  ........

  Mike Walton swore under his breath.

  “What do you mean?” he asked Jonathan Sanchez.

  “She’s pretty sure these guys are with the FSB,” Sanchez replied from the IMSI control room. “But she’s adamant, Mike, they didn’t once look at her.”

  Mike slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “Were you able to identify the woman in the picture?”

  “Not yet,” Sanchez said, “but we will.”

  “She can’t be on that flight, Jonathan. Why would two FSB agents be on a late flight to Koltsovo?”

  “For a number of reasons, Mike,” Sanchez replied. “Lisa’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

  “I’m heading back to the airport,” Mike said, looking for the next exit. “She needs to get out of there.”

  “Don’t do this,” came in Charles Mapother, who’d been listening in on the conversation. “You have your objective, she has hers.”

  “What if they’re on to her, Charles? What then? She’ll be taken and we’ll never be able to get her out of Russia.” Visions of his wife being handcuffed in a dirty cell flashed into his mind.

  “Listen to me carefully, Mike,” Mapother said, steel in his voice. “Lisa will be fine. You need to stop worrying about her and you need to do this now. Can you do this for me?”

  Mike wasn’t sure he could. He loved his wife more than anything and losing her would mean the end of his own life. He had suffered enough, had lost too much just to let it go. Maybe they should never have worked together in the first place.

  “No, I can’t,” Mike said, bringing the Toyota to a stop. He put on his blinker and turned left onto the overpass.

  “We need you to get Dr. Galkin, Mike,” Mapother continued.

  Mike knew the IMSI director wasn’t pleased, but right now he didn’t care. His wife needed him. He had failed her in the past and wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Family’s first.

  “You need to understand—” Mike started, but Mapother interrupted him.

  “No, Mike, you need to understand something. I don’t know what’s got into your head but you’d better fix it, because if you don’t, thousands of people might die. Is that clear enough for you? You want American kids to die?”

  “What the hell does that mean, Charles?” Mike asked, accelerating back toward the airport.

  “You fucking well know what it means,” Mapother said. “You remember the letter I showed you in my office before you and Lisa left for Russia? Or are you so messed up in the head you forgot about it?”

  Mike hadn’t forgotten about it. The letter written by Dr. Galkin had clearly stipulated that Russia was on the verge of fabricating and maybe mass producing a virus intended to be used against the United States.

  “I didn’t forget, Charles.”

  “Good. Do you also remember what you told me when I asked you if you were mission ready?”

  “I do.”

  “And there’s one more thing I want you to consider, Mike,” Mapother added. “The IMSI’s main objective is to protect the financial well-being of our nation. What do you think will happened to our already fragile economy if we are on the receiving end of a major biological attack?”

  The last six months hadn’t been so kind to the US economy. It was true that the unemployment rate had gone down, but most of the newly created jobs were part time. The stock market had lost over ten percent and the average publicly traded company had slashed its R&D budget by half. You didn’t need to be an actuary to understand that the path to an economic recovery didn’t include a full-scale biological attack on US soil.

  “Nothing good,” Mike said.

  “Do your job, then. And trust your wife to do hers. She’s quite good at this game.”

  Don’t I know it.

  ........

  Lisa Walton certainly didn’t expect this. Russia’s Got Talent? To how many countries did this infection spread? Too many, that’s for sure. She glanced again at the lady with the stroller and looked downed at the picture Support Two had provided her. There couldn’t be any mistake. It was her. Her name was Olesya Slutzky and she was the main judge of the Russia’s Got Talent television show. Why in hell she needed a protection detail was incomprehensible to Lisa.

  But at least she knew she wasn’t the reason these FSB agents were at the airport. Lisa allowed herself to relax. When the announcement to commence the boarding of her flight was made, Lisa realized she and the Russian star would share the same airplane. But that wasn’t what worried her. What bothered her was the fact that the two Russian FSB agents had stopped watching Slutzky and weren’t acting like bodyguards would. They were too far from the TV star to offer any real protection and didn’t even trouble themselves scanning the area.

  If they weren’t there for Slutzky, who were they there for?

  She should have gone for that coffee after all. She wasn’t going to get any sleep on the flight.

  ........

  Mike Walton glanced at the dashboard clock. He had a decision to make. Should he drive back to the airport to get Lisa or listen to Sanchez and Mapother and head to the Domodedovo airport in an attempt to grab Dr. Galkin? There was no right or wrong here. Only confusion. He knew his wife. There was no way she’d listened to him. She’d made her decision and she’d even asked him to believe in her, to stop worrying about her.

  Why can’t I do that?

  He knew why. France. Their first mission together had turned into a bloodbath. Pictures of his wife, stabbed in the back by a terrorist, flashed in his mind. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d be dead.

  Dead.

  But she hadn’t died. She had lived. And, truth be told, she had saved countless lives on that chaotic day. She had made a judgment call and gone for it. She’d been courageous. No, fearless. She’d been fearless and her bravery had saved the day.

  �
��We’ve identified the picture Lisa sent us,” Sanchez said over the comms system. “She’s a Russian TV star. The men are probably some kind of private security hired by the studio.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure, do you?”

  “Mike,” Sanchez replied, “we need you at Domodedovo.”

  If Dr. Galkin really had information on a potential biological attack on the United States, they needed to know. His awareness that he was the only man in a position to do something about it tore him apart. He had to let Lisa go, and if he wanted to have even the slightest chance of pulling Dr. Galkin’s kidnapping off, he’d need all of his concentration. Trust your wife, Mike. She trusts you to trust her.

  “I’m on my way,” Mike said. “I’ll get it done.”

  CHAPTER 25

  New York, NY

  Charles Mapother looked at his second-in-command. “You know him better than I do, Jonathan. What do you think?”

  “He’s confused, Charles,” Sanchez said after a moment. “The last two years have been challenging for him. But he’s one of the toughest sonofabitches I know. You should have seen him in Kosovo . . .”

  “That was then, this is now,” interrupted Mapother. “I’m aware of what he’s capable of. We all are. With what he did in Ottawa before joining us, and then in Europe, nobody will ever doubt his tenacity as a warrior. But my question is this: with Lisa in harm’s way, does he have the mental strength to focus solely on his mission?”

  “The stakes are too high for him not to. He knows that,” Sanchez said. “He’ll come through. He always does.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Moscow, Russia

  The traffic wasn’t as dense as it had been earlier in the day. Mike made good time and arrived at the Domodedovo airport with enough time to spare to conduct a small recce. He parked the Camry at the short-term parking and walked to the terminal. The sun had set for the day and a cold wind from the north motivated him to walk faster. That didn’t mean his eyes weren’t moving and probing for threats.