Crossing Savage (18 page)

“Ghost, Bull—get this piece of shit out of my sight. Bind his hands and stand him over there by the tree,” said Nicolaou, pointing across the open space in front of the cabin where, not long ago, the hostages had been corralled.

Jim entered the cabin and saw the people kneeling on the floor. He immediately recognized Professor Savage and Peter. Speaking into his throat mic, he said, “Magnum, Homer—report.”

Peter and his father recognized the voice first. But the man standing before them with his face painted and dressed in camouflaged fatigues did not register visually.

“Jim?” Peter asked. The painted face nodded slightly and broke into a half grin. “Man, am I glad to see you!” Peter was exuberant.

“I owe you many apologies. I should not have doubted you,” said Professor Savage with a quivering voice, still shaken.

“Apologies accepted,” acknowledged Jim.

Davis looked up. “You made it here just in time. We were about to be barbequed.”

“We've been here a while. PUMA kept us apprised of the situation. We were waiting for an opening to engage the terrorists without threatening all of you. We finally got the break we were looking for.”

“What's PUMA?” Harry asked.

“It's an unmanned aerial vehicle, or UAV. Much like a sophisticated model airplane, except this one comes with electro-optical and infrared cameras that allow us to have forward and sideways vision simultaneously. It has an advanced propulsion system, so it can remain airborne for ten hours,” Jim explained as he removed a knife from his belt and quickly sliced through the plastic zip ties binding the hostages.

“We launched PUMA immediately upon our arrival at the landing beach. It provided us continuous information on the terrorist assault.”

He counted heads. “We're short one person. There should be nine.”

Davis replied. “The bastards murdered my partner, Jack Murphy. They put his body in the cellar.”

“I'm sorry,” Jim answered. He continued slicing through the plastic ties binding their limbs.

Karen was overcome with joy, and once her hands and feet were free she threw her arms around Jim. Jim didn't expect that and was briefly caught off guard. He gently pulled her arms down and edged her back a step. “It's okay now. You're safe. Everyone is safe.”

Jim spent a few moments to look everyone over. Karen was in a mild state of shock, but otherwise fine. Junichi and Harry looked fine. Daren was having trouble standing, and Harry was helping him. “I'll be all right,” Daren acknowledged. “I just have bad knees. Kneeling on the floor almost did me in.” He mustered a slight smile.

Professor Sato nodded when Jim came to him. “I am all right,” he said. “But Ian-san was struck sharply on the head. He may have a concussion.” Professor Savage didn't say anything, but his eyes conveyed volumes. In those eyes, Jim saw remorse and guilt.

“I'll have the medic take a look at your head, sir,” he said to Professor Savage. “And you too, Davis. Looks like you also took a beating.”

Troy Davis nodded. “Yeah. But it could have been much worse if it hadn't been for Peter's straight shooting. He took out two of them with his rifle from about 300 yards out, including that blonde psycho,” Davis pointed in the direction of the boulder and manzanita bushes part way across the valley. “They never saw it coming.”

Jim strode back to the front door. “Bull. I need you in here now… we have two head injuries.”

When Bull arrived on the porch, Jim spoke to Ghost while motioning toward Ramirez. “If he moves, shoot him in the knee. If he moves again, shoot the other knee. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Ramirez was suddenly afraid. He did not know what to expect as a captive. He had never been in this position before. He had always been the captor, and he had never treated his hostages well at all. Yes, he was very afraid. He believed Americans as a whole were soft, but these men were very different from those he had encountered before.

Inside the cabin, Bull examined Davis first since his injuries appeared to be the worst. His face had been badly bruised, and his nose was definitely broken. Possible concussion, but at least his pupils were responding evenly to his flashlight; that was good.

Bull moved on to Professor Savage who also seemed to be reasonably well, other than having a nasty cut on his scalp. He cleaned the wound and applied an antiseptic. The professor winced at the sting. “I think you two will be good. I'll keep an eye on you both for the next 24 hours, just in case symptoms of a concussion develop. But I doubt that will happen.”

Jim spoke again into his throat mic. “Homer, keep a secure perimeter. Don't stay in one place very long. I want you moving.”

Next, Jim returned his attention to the people clustered in the cabin. “Bull, move everyone onto the porch. Then get out the radio. I need to report to Colonel Pierson.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Magnum, come and help Ghost. I'm not taking any chances with our prisoner,” Jim ordered into his mic. A minute later a large man, six-foot-three inches and weighing 200 pounds, came from the side of the cabin. He was carrying a strange-looking weapon. It was shoulder-fired with a thick barrel and a huge, round drum magazine suspended beneath. It was an AA12 automatic shotgun. Even Davis had never seen anything like it.

Harry, Karen, Daren, and Junichi huddled together at one end of the porch. The spot was arranged as a conversation area, with a small table and four Adirondack chairs. The students were mostly quiet and when they did talk, it was in hushed voices, speaking about their near-death experience. Karen's eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she was slowly recovering her composure. Yet all were traumatized and still mentally very fragile.

Professor Sato, Professor Savage, Peter, and Davis were gathered talking to Jim. “We saw most of the attack through the eyes of PUMA,” explained Jim. “Ghost was watching the live feed from the cameras. He had PUMA in an orbit about 500 feet above the cabin.”

“I did not hear any aircraft,” said Sato-san, surprised and a bit disbelieving.

Jim shook his head. “No, you wouldn't have. PUMA is an advanced version of a UAV. It was designed for stealth reconnaissance missions. Its fuel-cell electric propulsion system is undetectable at that altitude. I'd bet you couldn't hear it even at 50 feet.

“Anyway, we saw Davis's escape and then the capture of the two of you,” Jim motioned to Peter and Davis. “We were still about a mile out when the four terrorists mingled with the hostages and you guys were forced to surrender. That was a tough situation. I was worried we wouldn't arrive in time.”

“Probably not as worried as we were.” Professor Savage had just the tiniest hint of humor in his reply; it was a good sign.

“No, I'm sure. What was that explosion we heard just after you surrendered?”

“Oh that,” answered Peter. “I placed our seismic explosives in their Zodiac early this morning, before they arrived at the cabin. I armed them with a simple timer set to go off if I didn't return and remove it.”

“How in the world did you know to do that?” asked Jim incredulously.

“You could say I've watched a lot of Schwarzenegger movies,” replied Peter. In good time he could explain it all to Jim, but now he just wanted to get safe and then sleep. His body was physically and emotionally drained beyond measure.

“Well, you certainly made our job easier by taking out three of them.”

Bull had been busy on the porch removing the field radio from one of the rucksacks. Too large to be hand-held, the radio had a long antenna fixed to its back. In no time Bull had it operational and was talking into the telephone-like handset, allowing the speaker to have a private conversation. “Sir, I have Colonel Pierson on the line.”

Jim took the handset and spoke in short, almost abbreviated sentences. To Peter it sounded like a lot of jargon mixed with a small amount of English. The call lasted not more than two minutes. Jim terminated the call and gave the handset back to Bull.

“The Colonel wants to interrogate Ramirez personally. He thinks we may get some decent intel from him, depending on how high in the organizational structure he stands. Personally, I'm doubtful. Every terrorist group I've fought has compartmentalized information so that you never can get much out of any one cell.”

“What now?” asked Davis.

“My orders are to take all of you back for debriefing. We'll deliver Ramirez to the MPs at Elmendorf, and they'll place him under custody until he can be questioned. Often it goes better if you just let ‘em sit for a few days and worry about what's going to happen. I don't know—maybe they figure we're going to treat them as brutally as they do their prisoners?”

“So where
are
we going?” asked Peter.

“To The Office… McClellan Business Park. You know, your old stomping grounds.” Peter hadn't been back to Sacramento since college, and truthfully, he had no interest in going back.

Professor Savage said, “I am forever in your debt, Jim. Whatever I can do to help, I will. That I promise.”

“I'm just doing my job, Professor; no need for thanks.”

“I will let the students know we will be leaving soon,” said Sato-san. “We will gather our clothing and personal items.”

“Bull. Call in the chopper. Tell them to be ready for extraction in two hours.”

Bull was back on the radio. After another very short conversation he said, “They're on their way. Extraction in two hours, sir.”

Professor Savage informed Peter and Troy Davis that he would gather up their gear along with his. “What should we do about Jack Murphy?”

“I have a sanitation team arriving this evening,” answered Jim. “They will take care of everything. Murphy's body will be treated with respect and dignity. His next of kin will be notified that he died in the line of duty, but they cannot be told any details. This is classified. None of you can reveal the details of what happened today to anyone. It is very important that you all understand this.

“The bodies of the terrorists will be removed, probably to Elmendorf. After that, I'm not sure where they will go. But they will be thoroughly processed. My boss and his boss… all the way up the chain to the President himself… will demand to know who these guys were and who hired them.”

“I understand,” said Professor Savage. “Professor Sato and I will talk to the students. After what they've been through, I'm confident they'll respect your orders.” And he turned and went in to pack up.

Jim looked at Peter and Davis. “Well, let's go see what Ramirez has to say for himself, shall we?”

Chapter 14

September 26

Chernabura Island, West Side

Peter and Troy Davis followed Jim
off the porch and approached Ramirez. He was still standing with his hands clasped behind his head. Ghost and Magnum had their weapons and eyes fixed on him. Ramirez had no doubt that either man would have gladly shot off both knee caps if given even the slightest provocation.

Jim stopped about six feet in front of Ramirez. He was not about to get so close that Ramirez could use him as a shield. Peter and Davis both stopped about a step behind Jim.

“So what's your story, Ramirez?” asked Jim.

No response.

“We know your mission here is part of a larger effort to murder leading researchers in the field of abiogenic oil production. Why? Who do you work for?”

Ramirez still didn't reply.

“Do you know what we do to prisoners like yourself?” Jim asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. “Have you heard what happens to prisoners at Gitmo?”

Ramirez had, indeed. He had been instructed that political prisoners at the American Navy base at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba were routinely and repeatedly tortured.

“What do you think will happen to you, General?”

Ramirez was beginning to perspire even though the ambient temperature was rather cool.

“Do you think that you will be treated kindly? Do you think your guards will show you compassion? You murdered a good man here today!” Jim's voice was rising. Either he was genuinely angry, or he was a good actor.

“Were you involved in that job in Caracas? That was mass murder. How do you think you will be treated when word gets out that you helped plan that one?”

Finally Jim hit a vulnerable spot and got a response. “I am a soldier, like you. I am fighting a global war against the aggressive actions of the West to oppress my countrymen and millions of other peasants around the world.”

“So, you were involved in the Caracas bombing.” Jim was processing it all. Not just the words but, more importantly, the reactions—facial expressions, body language.

Jim was about to press further when a red blot about the size of a plum suddenly blossomed in the center of Ramirez's chest. In an instant his knees buckled and his head tipped forward, arms falling freely to his side. Like a limp rag doll, he slumped and fell to the ground, his face slamming into the soil.

Then the report of the rifle sounded and Jim knew his prisoner had been shot by a sniper from a long distance, about 800 to 1,000 yards, judging by the time it took to hear the gun shot.

Jim flung himself to the ground as he yelled “Down! Everyone!” Ghost and Magnum hit the ground at the same instant as Jim, and Peter and Davis hit the dirt a fraction of a second later.

Jim spoke into his throat mic. “Homer. We have hostiles. Stay on the perimeter. If you encounter a hostile, terminate the bastard.” Jim then turned to Ghost and Magnum. “Find that sniper. Kill ‘em if you have to—my team isn't taking any casualties. Is that clear?”

Both men affirmed the order as they rolled off for the cover of the trees so they could get to their feet and start their search.

“Bull!” yelled Jim. Bull appeared out of nowhere, crawling on the ground. He quickly checked for a pulse on Ramirez, fingers pressed against the carotid artery on the side of his neck. Bull shook his head, no pulse. “He's dead sir.”

Jim was a proven combat leader, and his team was very loyal to him. He followed the rules of engagement right up to the point where the lives of his team were seriously in jeopardy. At that point, Commander Nicolaou issued his own playbook, and invariably rule number one was to shoot first and sort it out later. This method had kept his team alive on many missions that would never be publicly acknowledged.

Ghost and Magnum kept to the cover of the tree line as they double-timed in the direction the bullet had come from. The line-of-sight suggested the sniper was positioned on the far side of the valley, probably on the slope of the peak to the northeast.

“What happened?” asked Peter, still lying prone in the dirt.

“It seems that someone doesn't want us to question Ramirez. Maybe he was further up the chain than I had thought.”

Jim squatted on the ground next to the general's body.
No more shots. The shooters have probably broken off—mission complete.

He systematically opened the shirt pockets, looking for anything. Then he moved on to the cargo pockets of the fatigue pants. Still nothing. He rolled the body over and checked the hip pockets. Nothing. The guy was a professional. No documents or scraps of paper to betray his history.

Jim touched the ear bud in his left ear and concentrated. Then he stood. “Magnum says they found a single brass cartridge case—7.62-by-54. It's a standard Russian military round. Says they have a trail to the northeast. Probably a two-man team.”

Davis and Peter looked up at Jim, their faces expressing concern. Was this nightmare about to start all over again?

Jim read their expressions, understanding their trepidation. “Don't worry. Ghost and Magnum are the best. They'll follow the tracks. If they catch up to the sniper team, they'll take ‘em out. But I don't think they will. I think the shooters are long gone—their mission ended when they took out the general.

“Bull, get back on the radio and notify the chopper that we will have a short delay and that snipers are in the area.”

On a ridge running down from the mountain peak to the north of the cabin, the two-man sniper team had set up shop. With camouflage fatigues decorated with an assortment of local vegetation—mostly small fir branches to break up the outline of their shape—and with a tight cluster of young evergreens surrounding them, they settled in, ever patient. The spotter was observing the events unfold at the cabin.

They had been there all day. The shooter was watching through the high-power scope on his Dragunov sniper rifle.

They could have engaged Peter and Davis at any moment… but that was not their orders. They continued to watch.

Then, the American Special Forces team arrived, and it started to get interesting. They watched as the general was captured and the questioning started.

The distance was great for most marksmen—over 900 yards. But the effective range of the Dragunov rifle was more than 1,000 yards, and the shooter was very skilled. He had been teamed with his spotter for five years. They were a good team with much experience.

“Range 857 meters. Wind from the south at five,” said the spotter, never removing his eye from the scope. The shooter adjusted the elevation and windage knobs on the scope, then re-acquired his target. He had been trained to shoot for center of mass—a head shot was simply too risky at such a distance. His rifle rested firmly on a bipod, and he was solidly placed in the prone position, legs spread in a wide vee. Slowly he applied pressure to the trigger and synchronized his breathing with his heartbeat… hold… hold…
BOOM!

“Hit. Center of chest. Target down,” reported the spotter. He continued to survey the scene through the spotting scope while the shooter did the same through the rifle's scope.

Seeing that the target did not move and there was no effort to revive him, the sniper team concluded the target was dead, or soon would be.

The shooter continued to observe through the rifle scope while his partner removed a satellite phone from his pack and spoke clearly. “Dark Angel… entire team eliminated. I repeat… Dark Angel… entire team eliminated.” The communication required less than seven seconds to complete.

Now, to escape—they could not be caught. It would be very difficult to explain the presence of crack Russian commandos on American soil with weapons. Despite the fact that they had just killed a terrorist, there would be far too many embarrassing questions.

They grabbed their gear and took off jogging north. They reached the beach and stuffed the rifle, spotting scope, and other gear in a streamlined, waterproof gear bag. Then they pulled on dry suits and scuba gear. A two-man diver tow vehicle, or DTV, was hidden on the shore, covered by some freshly cut pine and fir branches.

They entered the water with the tow vehicle and left the island behind, confident that they had removed all traces of their presence. But in their desire to evacuate the site, neither man had remembered to pick up the spent rifle cartridge. The tow vehicle pulled them swiftly through the water to the pickup location. Guided by GPS, and below the water surface, the submarine would extract them shortly. A warm shower and cold vodka awaited the men.