“I know,” Igor finally said. “I never doubted it.”
The Sheik sat back down. When he spoke, it was as though his recent outburst had never happened. “The woman, the one in the wheelchair, she’s part of the team that took out Omar in Benalmadena.”
That caught his son’s interest.
“She’s part of Charles Mapother’s team?”
“Yes, she is,” he said. “She’s the wife of Mike Walton, one of Mapother’s minions.”
His son took his time to digest the news. “What do you want to do?”
“On my way here, I stopped by Koltsovo to meet with your mother,” he lied. “On Simonich’s order, she gave me two doses of the new Marburg virus she created.”
When his son didn’t reply, he continued, “We’ll inject Ray Powell with the virus, and then we’ll let him escape.”
“When?”
“As soon as we’re done here,” he said.
“What about the woman?”
“I originally wanted to do the same thing with her but she won’t live long enough,” the Sheik explained. “I have something else in mind for her. But trust me, son, she’ll pay for her sins too.”
CHAPTER 66
Mykonos, Greece
Ray Powell did his best to treat Lisa’s wounds, but there wasn’t much he could do with only a couple of wet towels. With the seriousness of her injuries, he was surprised she hadn’t passed away. But she was here, and he’d do everything in his power to keep her alive for as long as he could.
The Sheik’s henchman, Omar Al-Nashwan, had told him his whole family had died. He had even shown him the story about Mike’s heroism, and his subsequent death at the hands of the terrorists who had attacked the Ottawa airport. If Lisa had survived, if the story about her death had been false, was there any chance that his son was alive?
His thoughts were cut short by the arrival of three men, one of them the Sheik.
The hope he had just felt was replaced by a surge of pure hatred. The Sheik, the man who had ruined his life and broken his family apart, was standing, hands in his pockets, less than ten feet away from him. Powell wanted to run at him and smashed his head against the wall. But he couldn’t. Not just because of the two goons standing next to him, but also for Lisa. She needed him.
“I see you guys are getting reacquainted,” the Sheik said. “How nice.”
Powell never saw the tranquilizer gun. The only thing he felt was a sharp pain just above his left nipple. He looked at the dart protruding from his chest. His legs became wobbly and he fell to his knees.
........
The Sheik pushed Powell with his foot and watched him fall to his side. He sensed movement to his right. Lisa had turned her head. Her eyes were on him and they carried the same revulsion Ray Powell’s had moments ago.
The Sheik accepted the Pelican case his man gave him. He kneeled beside the unconscious former ambassador and opened the case, making sure to explain to Lisa what he was doing.
“This syringe contains a new virus. I’m told it is extremely painful and becomes highly contagious seven to ten days after it is administered. Isn’t that exciting?”
Lisa muttered something. “I can’t hear what you’re saying, my dear,” the Sheik said. “Are you wondering if you’ll get the virus too?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “As tempting as it is, I’m afraid you won’t get it. I have another plan for you,” he said, as the tip of the needle pierced Powell’s skin. Once he was sure the whole dose was in Powell’s system, he looked up at Lisa. “See? He didn’t mind.”
“You . . . You’re a. . . sick. . . fuck,” Lisa said.
“Don’t you want to know your surprise, Lisa?” he asked.
“Fuuuuck. . . you.”
“Well, all right, then. I’ll tell you.” He paused for effect. “You, my dear, I’ll burn alive.”
CHAPTER 67
Mykonos, Greece
His father’s plan had impressed him. And it could work. With a little luck, they would pull it off. He imagined Ray Powell at the head table of a gala organized in his honor. Politicians, business leaders and intelligence officials all fighting to get his attention and the opportunity to take a photo with him. And who knows, maybe Powell would get an invitation to the White House. That would be great. Powell would become Russia’s Trojan horse.
But for that, Igor had to make sure that his escape looked authentic. He headed to the security room to discuss this very issue with his second-in-command.
“How are things?”
“Something funny just happened,” his man said. Igor gestured him to start talking. “I’ve detected a transmission going out of the villa.”
Igor scratched his head. He had ordered his men not to communicate with anyone outside the villa until further notice. It was probably one of his father’s men, but this hypothesis didn’t last long.
“And it can’t be the Sheik or his men.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because there was another burst before he had even arrived.”
That didn’t make any sense to Igor. He trusted his men with his life. They had all fought together for years. Except for one. Grigory. Grigory had been forced into his team by someone higher up in the chain of command to replace one of his men who had been killed during a training exercise a little less than a year and a half ago. But Grigory was his best man, the fiercest fighter he had ever seen. He was merciless, and had proven himself in Ukraine. Still, he had to make sure.
“Can you trace back the number to where it originated? Igor asked.
“No, sir. The only thing I can tell is that these communications aren’t phone calls. They’re encrypted text messages.”
“Okay, where’s Grigory?”
“Camera six,” his man replied. “He went out to conduct a patrol.”
Igor left the security room and found Grigory smoking a cigarette on the terrace.
“How are things, Grigory?”
Even though Igor was his commanding officer, the men under his command were pretty relaxed around him. And as long as they did their jobs, he didn’t mind. Like most special operation forces around the world, the discipline within his unit was different than that in regular army regiments. Grigory threw his cigarette butt on the ground and extinguished it with his foot.
“No complaints. The view is great, and the weather’s nicer here than in Ukraine,” he said, turning toward the ocean.
By the time Grigory turned to face him again, Igor had his pistol pointed at his chest.
“Igor?” Grigory asked. He took a step back and raised his hands. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t play with me. I know.” Igor said. “To whom have you been sending these text messages?”
“Text messages? Igor, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grigory replied. “I really don’t.”
He really looked distraught but Igor kept the pressure on. “Stop lying, Grigory,” Igor shouted. “You’re better than that.”
“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Grigory yelled back. “You believe me or you don’t. I have nothing to do with these text messages.”
Igor could see his man was pissed and he was momentarily caught off guard when Grigory removed his tactical vest and let it fall on the ground. “If you don’t trust me anymore, Igor,” Grigory said, his voice shaking, “then shoot me, my friend, because you’re like a brother to me. I’d never, never betray you.”
This wasn’t the reaction Igor expected. Either Grigory was the best stage actor in Russia, or he wasn’t the one communicating with the outside world.
Igor brought his weapon down. If it wasn’t Grigory, then who?
........
Igor returned inside the villa and saw his father walking with a jerry can in hand.
“What are you doing?” Igor asked.
&nb
sp; “I’m about to set someone on fire,” his father replied. “Would you like to watch?”
“You already took care of Powell?”
His father nodded. “I’ll bring the woman outside. I’m actually thinking about grabbing a spare tire from one of the SUVs—”
“Don’t,” he interjected. “Why don’t you just shoot her and be done with it?”
His father looked at him as if he had gone mad. “After everything she’s done to us, you want me to just shoot her?”
Igor raised his hands in surrender. “Do what you wish. I have something I need to take care of.”
His father cocked his head. “Problems?”
Igor pondered how much he should tell his dad. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, and started walking away.
His father grabbed his arm with his free hand and dug his fingers into his biceps. “What is it?”
Igor looked at his arm. “Get your hand off me.” His father still had his strength.
“Not before you tell me what’s the problem.”
Igor pivoted ninety degrees and lifted his arm in the air before bringing it back down hard on the inside of his father’s forearm.
His father’s face twitched in anger. The Sheik wasn’t used to people who fought back. Igor wasn’t impressed and dug his index into his father’s chest. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he said before walking away.
He didn’t look back. Aware that his father had killed men for less, he half expected to be shot in the back and was rather surprised when he reached the security room in one piece. To his dismay, the door of the security room was open. He was about to reprimand his man but quickly realized it wouldn’t be necessary. His second-in-command lay face first on his keyboard, blood pouring out of a giant gash in his throat.
Shit! Igor keyed his mic. “All, this is One, report,” he said over the air. Right away, his men started to report. Within twenty seconds, he had the location and the status of all except one. Grigory.
“Grigory, from Igor, status check, over.” Nothing. Where the hell was he? Igor pushed over the dead body of his second-in-command to gain access to the video feeds of the cameras. But he had no luck. The keys of the keyboard were flooded with blood. There was nothing he could do from this end. Did Grigory play him?
He ordered one of his men to check on the prisoners and to search for Grigory. He had turned on them.
There was one more thing he needed to do before joining his men. He took his secured phone from the left pocket of his tactical vest and called the man he was working for.
Vienamin Simonich answered on the first ring. “Igor?”
“Sir, we have a problem,” he started. “I have one man down and I believe an attack might be imminent—”
“What?”
“Sir—”
“Stop talking, Major Votyakov, and listen to what I have to say,” Simonich ordered.
“I’m listening, sir,” Igor replied.
“Did the Sheik take care of his business with Ray Powell?”
“Yes, he did,” Igor said. “He told me so himself.”
“Very well. Now, do you love your country, Major?” Simonich asked. His voice indicated he was about to say something unpleasant.
What kind of question was that? President of the Russian Federation or not, Vienamin Simonich should know better than to ask stupid questions like these.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Then I want you to kill the Sheik.”
That, he didn’t expect. He felt as if he had been sucker punched. “Sir?” he managed to say.
“I trust you’ll do your duty, Igor,” Simonich said. “Your father has betrayed the confidence of the Russian people.”
“But—”
“There is no but,” Simonich replied. “Look at your inbox and do as you’re ordered. You’ll call me once it’s done.”
I want you to kill the Sheik. He wasn’t sure he could. His phone chirped in his hand. Simonich had sent him a video. He pressed play. Halfway through the video, Major Igor Votyakov threw up.
CHAPTER 68
Mykonos, Greece
Mike Walton was growing impatient. It didn’t make any sense to wait. “What the hell are we waiting for?” he asked Rafael.
The Israeli shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “It doesn’t matter. We wait.”
“Assault team for Ari, you’re on in two minutes,”
“Assault team copy,” Mike replied, relieved the wait was over.
“We got confirmation that there are two hostages,” Ari said. “They’re both in the same room. Male is confirmed to be Ray Powell.”
Ari continued with his briefing but Mike wasn’t listening anymore. His father was there, only a few hundred meters away. It was hard to believe after all these years. Rafael kicked his boot. “Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you get that?”
“What?”
“Get your shit together, Mike,” Rafael warned him. “There are twelve people in the villa, two hostages, nine hostiles, counting the Sheik, and one friendly.”
“One friendly?”
“He’s one of ours. Deep cover. He’ll be wearing a green bandana on his left arm. He took care of one tango for us, so there are eight left.”
“Got it,” Mike said, holding himself steady by pushing against the side of the van with his feet. Zima was driving like a maniac.
“Five hundred meters,” she yelled from the driver’s seat.
Then Eitan was on the air. “I got one tango exiting the front door. Can I engage?”
“Engage at will,” Ari replied.
Two seconds later they heard, “Tango down. Seven left.”
Then Zima yelled again, advising them they were one hundred meters away. Mike braced himself for a rapid deceleration, which came moments later. As soon as the HiAce came to a stop, Rafael opened the rear door and jumped out of the van. Mike was a little disoriented but when he saw Rafael go left, he followed right behind him.
They were thirty meters from the front door when they were engaged. Bullets whizzed past him and Rafael yelled out in pain as he was knocked down by numerous hits. Mike dove to the ground, unsure where the fire was coming from.
“Two tangos spotted, second-floor balcony. Angle isn’t right. I have no shot,” Mike heard Eitan said.
Mike saw one of them and fired three two-round bursts at the silhouette, but the man had already ducked behind a balustrade. Behind him, Rafael was groaning. Mike fired five more two-round bursts and jumped to his feet. He grabbed the Israeli by the drag handle of his tactical vest and started to pull him out of the danger zone. Bullets kicked up dirt all around them and Rafael was struck again, this time in the thigh. Another round grazed Mike’s neck, leaving a painful furrow behind his left ear.
Fuck! They wouldn’t make it.
........
Zima Bernbaum tried to get out of the van as soon as she had put it in park but couldn’t. She had forgot to unbuckle her seat belt. Stupid!
The moment she set foot out of the vehicle, someone started to engage them. Zima dropped behind the engine block as round after round went through the windshield. She heard Eitan call out the shooters and heard Mike’s silenced UMP45 return fire. Things weren’t starting the way they had hoped. Being pinned down less than ten seconds after they had started the assault wasn’t a sure way to win the battle.
Taking two deep breaths, Zima rose from behind the engine block with the butt of her MP5 firmly into her shoulder. She looked through the weapon’s sight. One of the tangos had just stepped out from behind the balustrade he used as cover and was shooting at Mike and Rafael. Zima pulled the trigger and the man went down in a mist of blood and bones.
“Cover me, Zima,” Mike yelled. “Rafael’s hit.”
“Covering,” Zima yelled bac
k, continuing to pump rounds at the second-floor balcony.
........
Thanks to Zima, Mike was able to pull Rafael to relative safety behind the HiAce. He quickly assessed Rafael’s injuries. He could see at least three hits, none of them fatal.
“I’ll be fine,” Rafael said through his teeth. He tore open his own trauma kit. “Go.”
Mike nodded. “Hang on, I’ll be back.”
He then joined Zima who was in the process of inserting a new magazine into her MP5. When she was done, Mike did the same, and then he tapped her shoulder to let her know he was ready. Just as they were about to advance, Ari came on the air.
“Assault team from Ari.”
“Go ahead,” Mike replied.
“SITREP.”
“Rafael’s hit. We have another tango down, six left,” Mike replied, while scanning for any threats. “We’re about to advance.”
“I’ll join you on the assault,” Ari said, out of breath. It sounded as though the Israeli team leader was running. “You won’t make it if you’re only two. Let me surprise them with a dynamic entry through the rear door.” That wasn’t a bad idea. “Give me thirty seconds,” Ari added.
“Copy that, thirty seconds,” Mike replied, looking at his watch.
“Mike,” came in Eitan,” you’re clear to advance to the front door. I’ll cover your movement.”
“Copy,” Mike said. He looked at Zima. “You’re ready?”
She was smiling. “I’ve been ready all my life.”
Good girl. He was happy to have her by his side. “Let’s go.”
They dashed across the driveway and reached the front door without being shot at.
“Tango down,” Eitan announced. “Five left. Got the other guy on the balcony as he was trying to get back inside.”
“Assault team copy. Five tangos are left,” Mike said. He took three deep breaths as he visualized what was about to happen. He had breaching charges in his kit but they wouldn’t be necessary. The first hostile Eitan had killed had left the door open an inch.
A Red Dotted Line (Mike Walton Book 2) Page 26