Days of Rage (24 page)

A
aron said, “Shoshana, I want you to come with me. Daniel, stay here. If I need something, I’ll call.”

Meaning,
Keep your guns handy
.

The meeting was set for one
P
.
M
.
in the business center at the top of the Conrad Hotel. Aaron had tried to establish the linkup in his own hotel room, but Pike was having none of that. Not that that was surprising. Aaron wanted the thumb drive and wasn’t above physical coercion to get it, something he was sure Pike understood.

The executive lounge was a good choice to thwart those efforts. It was close and neutral territory, but most of all it was staffed by members of the hotel concierge and security. There was no way Aaron would be whipping out a weapon and demanding the drive. Not that he thought Pike would be stupid enough to bring it to the meeting in the first place.

Shoshana said, “I’m not sure you want me in the room. I think I’m angrier now than I was this morning.”

Aaron gave a little grin. “Come on. It can’t be that bad. All you did was fail your mission by being tossed in the water by a man you should have seen coming.”

Incensed at the comment, she said, “I get the chance, and I’m going to kill that man. I should have done so in the Cistern.”

Daniel said, “And why didn’t you? It’s bad luck to allow him to continue. The cards said someone would die. You can’t alter destiny. All you did was put
us
in danger. Someone
is
going to die, and it should have been him.”

Aaron saw her eyes flash and knew a fight was close. Shoshana did not take criticism lightly, and she and Daniel butted heads more than they didn’t—especially when Daniel’s superstitions came into the discussion. He, personally, didn’t care about Daniel’s beliefs, but they tended to aggravate Shoshana. It was a volatile relationship that worked well under duress, but was a constant headache for Aaron when bullets weren’t flying.

She took a step toward him, saying, “Keep your ridiculous superstitions to yourself.”

Aaron interrupted. “Stop it, both of you. What’s done is done. Why do you think he wants to meet? Did he say anything in the vehicle?”

Shoshana said, “No. He said they didn’t get the drive. Nothing else.”

“You believe that?”

“No way. They got it. If this is about the drive, then it’s tied into what he wanted before. Vengeance for the men he lost.”

“A trade?”

“Maybe.”

Aaron saw the time and said, “I guess we’ll find out shortly.”

Shoshana slipped a small .380 automatic behind her back and followed him to the door. Once inside the elevator, away from Daniel, Aaron asked, “Why
did
you let him live?”

She glanced away and said, “I don’t know. Perhaps because he didn’t kill me when he had the chance. Maybe it was my ‘destiny.’” She spat the last words out with sarcasm, then, much more softly, said, “Maybe I’m getting soft.”

Aaron didn’t think so. While he scoffed at Daniel’s juvenile beliefs, he would never admit to anyone that he had his own superstitious thoughts about Shoshana. That he believed Shoshana had an ability to see through other’s souls, to discern hostile intent through her mind alone. It was silly, but he’d seen her in action enough to begin to believe it to be true. Watched her go through shoot or no-shoot situations, making decisions that had confounded him given the evidence that was available, but had ultimately proven correct.

She’d been kicked off quite a few different teams because of it, ending up with him. She was the only one in his group who wasn’t originally a Samson member. While the Israeli IDF had female members in combat roles, they still weren’t in any of the Sayeret Special Forces units. Strangely enough, she’d been a helicopter pilot in the Israeli military, then had joined the Mossad when her conscription had ended.

He didn’t know her story beyond the fact that she’d been pretty damn effective on some cross-border missions—and then had become controversial. She’d allowed herself to be used as a honeypot, sleeping with a Palestinian terrorist, then had refused to implicate him, saying they were targeting the wrong man for reasons she couldn’t articulate.

She’d become a pariah after that mission, and had come to him as a Mossad-forced replacement a few years after the Samson element had transitioned from a Sayeret to the Kidon mission. When she’d landed on his team, nobody had wanted her. Word on the street was that she simply didn’t have the mettle to accomplish the mission.

Initially, Aaron had assumed that the Samson team’s enemies in the Mossad had dumped off some dead weight. After working with her for over a year, Aaron had learned just the opposite. She was a stone-cold killer, but only when it suited her internal code. Figuring
that
out was the issue.

He said, “What do you think I should do? If he asks for help in exchange for the drive?”

“I don’t think it’s our call. Headquarters will tell us what to do. Someone
did
try to kill me today, but they were after the Americans, not us. At the end of the day, that thumb drive isn’t going to rise to the level of turning a Samson team loose against a Russian threat.”

“But we might be able to leverage his desire for vengeance.”

She said nothing for a moment, considering his words. The elevator reached the concierge level and she said, “No way. You won’t be able to trick him into giving you the drive. You want it, and it’s going to be paid in blood.”

The elevator doors opened and they entered the Conrad executive lounge. A quick sweep of the area turned up nothing. Shoshana flicked her head to the outside deck, and Aaron saw the brunette named Jennifer, sitting at a table by herself. She didn’t indicate she knew him, but her eyes tracked his movement to the door.

He went through the open glass to the deck and around the corner, at a table adjacent to Jennifer, he saw the man called Pike, along with two empty chairs.

He sat in one, and Shoshana sat at Jennifer’s table, close enough to interdict her if anything happened. He saw a tiny smile flit across Jennifer’s face, an effort at peacemaking. Shoshana glared at her, smoldering anger seeping out. Jennifer broke from Shoshana’s gaze and scooted her chair to the left, ignoring her and watching Pike.

Aaron said, “So here I am. Against my better judgment.”

“Yes. Here you are. I appreciate it.”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want. Help in interdicting a known supporter of terrorists.”

Aaron said, “That isn’t going to happen.”

“Look,” said Pike, “as Shoshana knows, my man was shot today by those same Russian assholes. I can’t prove it, but that’s who it was.”

“So? Like we talked about earlier, I can’t help you with that.”

“Bullshit. After watching Shoshana in action, I’m pretty sure you could if you wanted. And I think I have something your boss might like.”

“Let’s quit dancing around the topic. You have the thumb drive, and you want to use it to leverage us as some mercenary force. What I don’t understand is why. I’m flattered with the request, because we really are better than your bloated special operations forces, but that doesn’t explain why you’re asking.”

Pike’s answer surprised Aaron. “I don’t have the thumb drive, and I’m not using that as leverage. I’ll quit dancing as well: The death of my men by the Russians is something my command is willing to forgo. I am not. What I’m doing is off the books. I’ll get no help from the United States. I want help from you.”

Aaron smiled, outwardly showing confidence, but inside Pike’s words confused him. Without the thumb drive there was no leverage. “Why on earth would I help you kill Russians when you have nothing I want?”

Pike said, “But I do. That thumb drive you were after was offered to us first. I have some of the information from it, and I think your boss would be very, very interested.”

Aaron shook his head. “There’s nothing you can tell me that would get my country to take on Russia. We already know how they support terrorist groups antithetical to our nation. We know all about Assad and Iran. No matter how specific your information is, none of that will cause them to engage in hostilities against Russia.”

Pike said, “You remember 1972? The Olympics?”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Aaron saw Shoshana lean forward, now extremely interested. He glanced her way, telling her to calm down with his eyes alone. He was unsure how Pike knew to push that button, but was convinced more than he had ever been that Shoshana had some ability that extended into the ethereal plane. Some ability to see into Pike even if she didn’t realize how she did it.

Pike noticed the glance and said, “So you guys
are
interested?”

Aaron said, “
We
aren’t interested, but Shoshana is. Do you know anything about that history?”

“Just what I’ve read.”

He waved his hand at her, commanding her to relax. “Shoshana’s grandfather was the wrestling coach. The first one to die, in the Olympic dorms.” Aaron smiled. “So you’ve got her attention, but not my command’s. Why do you mention this? It’s old history.”

Pike pulled out a sheaf of documents from a backpack at his feet. “These are from the file the US gleaned. A duplicate from the thumb drive you were trying to get. The man you call Vladimir the Impaler is mentioned throughout. He’s in charge of Yuri, the man who killed my men here in Europe, and almost succeeded in killing me. I want your help in destroying him and his hit team.”

Aaron flipped through the paper, saying, “I believe you, but I told you there’s nothing that will convince my command to do such a thing.”

Pike said, “He has a long history of killing. A long, long history. Read the file and I think you’ll change your mind.”

“Why?”

“Because Vladimir the Impaler murdered your athletes in ’72. The Palestinians were the tool. He was the one wielding it. He ordered the deaths of your men. He crushed your hopes. He caused your pain. And now he’s done the same to my team. You told me he’s meeting tomorrow with Yuri, and I want your help to build a pattern of life.”

Aaron saw Shoshana leaning forward to hear Pike’s words, the bloodlust clearly evident on her face. The Olympic massacre had been the reason she’d joined the Mossad. Through melancholy stories passed down from her grandmother and mother, it was a touchstone that transcended all others, a pain she had long ago vowed to rectify. He saw her assimilate what Pike said and knew she wouldn’t even need to read the words on the pages he had passed. She’d already sensed it in Pike. Already seen the truth and now understood why she’d left him alive.

Aaron read her face and knew Pike had just won. Shoshana was going on the warpath whether he followed or not.

S
taring at the small portable monitor, Jennifer said, “Vladimir’s here. Moving to the elevator.”

I relayed the call to Daniel, then looked at the screen in time to see him enter the car, lost from view. A few minutes later Yuri entered, our color Wi-Fi camera giving much more definition to his features than the cheap security crap used next to the bazaar.

He had four other men with him, only one of whom I recognized. The one who had attacked Retro after he’d been shot. He wasn’t hard to spot because he had a bandage on his face where Shoshana had clocked him. Or maybe it was from my punch.

Yuri poked the elevator button and I got a full view of his face. Coal-black eyes and skin as pasty as a chalk outline, he looked like a damn vampire. The sight brought enough adrenaline to make my hands tremble. I couldn’t wait to get them around his neck. But, unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen. I was relying on my new friends to execute, a compromise I’d worked out with Kurt.

After I’d secured the help of Aaron and his deadly little sidekick Shoshana, I’d made my fateful call to Taskforce headquarters. Naturally, it hadn’t gone over too well.

Kurt had tried simply ordering me home, then had threatened me, then had finally gotten around to asking just what the hell I was doing. I’d told him the truth: I was going to hang around for a few more days and see if I could help some other players take action. The same players who had killed the Syrians. I didn’t tell him who they were, but it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out.

He’d said, “So let me get this straight: you’re not going to kill anyone?”

“I didn’t say that. My skills might come in handy.”

“Damn it, Pike, you will not execute any lethal operations with Taskforce assets. Do you understand?”

I could feel the frustration vibrating through the phone, like he was screaming at a dog who refused to quit digging up the yard. Knowing his words were doing nothing, and hating it. Through the aggravation, I also sensed a little support, something I hadn’t expected.

I said, “Can I execute nonlethal operations? With Taskforce assets? Truthfully, sir, I don’t have any Taskforce weapons. Only tech kit. Can I use that?”

“Why?”

“To develop a pattern of life so that someone else can execute.”

“No Taskforce fingerprints? No killing?”

“Absolutely not. The intel I’m working came from outside the Taskforce, and all I want to do is refine it for the other players. Let them handle the lethal aspect.”

“How did you get them to play? Why are they doing your bidding?”

“Let’s just say we have mutual interests, like killing the Syrian the other night. I want them gone because they killed our men, and coincidentally, they want them gone for doing the same thing.”

“Are you saying the Russians have killed Israeli agents as well?”

Well, I guess my “partners” are no secret.

I went all in. “Not agents. Athletes. They found out that the Russian guy in charge of the hit team facilitated the ’72 Munich massacre.”

I heard nothing for a second, his mind running over our successful thumb drive mission and the fact that I had held the information. Then: “And how did they find that out?”

I said, “I don’t know. They
are
the Mossad.”

“Did they
find out
about the DNI? About his involvement?”

The sarcasm came through loud and clear. Along with the fear. We’d been as close as brothers over a multitude of combat actions—well, at least as him as the older brother to my younger-brother antics—and for the first time I heard him asking if I would compromise national security for a personal agenda. Like I actually had that in me. It was a little depressing, but given what I’d put him through, understandable.

“Of course not, sir. They aren’t
that
good.”

I heard him sigh. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was relieved about the protection of the thumb drive information, or whether it was because he was wondering how on earth he’d been saddled with the likes of me.

He said, “I can get you forty-eight hours. Pattern of life only. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly. I have a meeting tonight, and all I’m going to do is interdict the conversation.”

“Keep me abreast of what’s going on. At least make it
look
like you’re listening to me. Give me a reason to help you.”

“Roger that, sir. I’ll shack up a complete SITREP when I’m done. With the time change, you should have it before you go home tonight.”

After that phone conversation I felt a hell of a lot better. It was a clear indication that Kurt wanted the killers of Decoy, Radcliffe, and Turbo as much as I did, and it gave me a boost of confidence that he was willing to let me continue. All I had to do at that point was coordinate with the Israelis.

The meeting was taking place at a restaurant called 360 Istanbul. It was a hot little joint on the top floor of an old multiuse apartment building on the Beyoglu side of the straight. Located on Istiklal Street just a few blocks away from the Russian consulate, the entire area was a walking promenade that had a host of bars and restaurants running down from Taksim Square, the famous chunk of terrain that had seen all of the major protests against the Islamic influence of the government in the recent past.

While I didn’t really care about the politics, the bottom line was Istiklal Street was the center of the universe for “occupy”-type young people, and thus a location where we could get some work done fairly easily. It was counterintuitive, but any focus would be directed against the Turkish population. Being a white guy would cause immediate dismissal from the local security forces, as they only had so many assets to leverage against their perceived internal threat. Something I’m sure Vladimir appreciated.

Jennifer and I had run a recce and—apart from learning I’d be coming back for a beer as soon as I could—I found the two things I needed: a Wi-Fi hotspot and a European wall outlet next to a table.

We decided that Daniel would be the man who’d penetrate the restaurant, mainly because he was the only one left who hadn’t had a close encounter with one or more of the Russians. Shoshana and Aaron would remain on the street as backup, and Jennifer and I had found a little hiding place off of the kitchen one floor below.

Daniel would take up a laptop with an American electrical plug, and would use a modified Pwnie Express hacking device that looked like a European converter. Pronounced
pawny
, the company was a play on words from
pwned
in the gaming world, whereby someone cleans your clock and owns you, and
pony
from the old Pony Express. Its entire catalog of products was hardware and software exploits for “pentesting” or penetration testing of various networks. Basically, they sold hack-in-a-box devices for security professionals to test their system against a multitude of different hacking capabilities.

Or, instead of testing, you could just go ahead and hack, which is what I was going to do.

The original Pwnie Plug looked a lot like a DC power supply. We’d altered the form factor so now it looked like a US-to-European electrical plug converter, and Daniel was going to slap it into the wall, then plug in his computer, ostensibly to draw power, but the computer wouldn’t be getting a charge. Instead, it was going to exploit the Bluetooth of Vlad’s cell phone, turning it into a digital microphone.

Once we had the phone, the conversation stream would be directed over Wi-Fi to my location, where I would record it for future use. Before any of that could occur, though, I had to lock his phone from the cell system, which is where my last piece of kit, the Goblin IMSI grabber, came into play. Just like we’d executed with Chiclet in Bulgaria, it would act like a mini–cell tower, attracting all phones to it and rejecting every number but Vlad’s. When that one triggered, it would hold it in place until we were done.

Over my earpiece I heard Daniel say, “Vlad’s seated.”

I said, “Roger. Locking the phone now.”

Aaron hadn’t wanted to give me Vlad’s number, but since we were now “partners,” he’d eventually relented. I punched the number into the keypad, said, “Executing,” and powered up the Goblin. I saw hundreds of phones sucked in and rejected, but none were Vlad’s. Thirty seconds into the cycle, I shut the Goblin down.

We either had a wrong number, Vlad’s phone was turned off, or he was using a different handset. If the cell given to me by Aaron was active in the restaurant, I would have owned it.

Damn it.

I started working through the ramifications, trying to decide what I could do next, when Daniel said, “Yuri’s just exited the elevator. He took a seat opposite of Vlad. Two men are checking the restaurant, and two men are going down the stairs. Security sweep.”

I said, “They’re coming down the stairs? To the kitchen?”

“Roger that.”