Direct Action - 03 (40 page)

“What he said,” Bill confirmed. “It seems the client feels it is time the United States gets decisively involved in this Syrian Civil War deal. Hezbollah is calling a lot of the shots for the Assad regime at this point, not to mention that they are providing security around the target itself and in some Shia neighborhoods in the capital. Back in D.C., the President has said that the use of chemical weapons in this war would be a red line. Detonating the package in Damascus guarantees that the President will get off his ass and push Syria's shit in.”

“And strike a fatal blow to Hezbollah,” The Operator spoke to everyone's surprise. They turned around to look at the new Liquid Sky member. “Once Hezbollah is defeated, we move on to Iran.”

“Well, since you guys put it that way...” Rick said absently.

Deckard was grinding his teeth without realizing it. Gassing innocent civilians in the middle of Syria's capital city. Whoever the client was, they had some fucking balls. Pat had better have Samruk International in position somewhere near if not inside Syria by the time he got there. One way or the other, this would be Liquid Sky's last mission, it was just a question of whether or not Deckard went down with the ship.

They were going to launch a chemical attack in order to provoke what could very well become World War Three.

That can't happen.

“From Turkey we will fly nap of the earth during the night and pop up at altitude, dropping in to a drop zone Al-Nusra has secured for our arrival just outside of Homs. We'll HALO in from 18,000 feet with the package in secured bundles, along with an arms cache to help grease the skids with Nusra. From there, we'll stage out of Homs-”

Bill's words were cut off as rustling sounded on the back deck where the work out equipment was set up. Looking through the sliding screen doors, Deckard saw the private security team that kept watch on Liquid Sky's bungalows manhandling someone onto the deck.

The head guard was Alan, a former Royal Marine, and the other three were local off-duty policemen. The man they had captured was handcuffed and his feet duct taped together. The Operator opened the screen door as the prisoner was dragged inside.

Deckard's heart sank.

Because things can always get just a little bit worse.

“We found him poking around behind Deckard's place,” the former British Marine hissed.

The guards deposited their prisoner on the floor where he landed with a hollow thud.

With his mouth duct-taped shut, the prisoner looked up at Deckard.

It was Aghassi.

Liquid Sky took turns slapping Aghassi around. Within minutes his face was bloodied and bruised. Rick picked him up and tied him to a chair. The former ISA operator's head hung down as blood dripped from his mouth. There was little Deckard could do for him without breaking cover. He would only intervene if they were going to kill him. On the other hand, they might put Aghassi under so much duress that he might blow Deckard's cover anyway. They weren't to that point yet, but Deckard knew that no one could hold out forever.

Pushing Rick aside, Deckard decided to get some face time in.

He backhanded Aghassi, sending a spray of blood across one of Bill's billiard tables.

Bill had told them that they were leaving for Turkey today. If Frank and Sergeant Major Korgan were ready to go, Deckard could call them in to rescue Aghassi just as they were flying out. He just had to keep Aghassi alive until then.

Deckard grabbed him by the shirt and out of the chair, right up to his face.

“Where are they?” he whispered.

Aghassi looked at him through the black and blue bruises around his eyes.

“Call. Under your sink.”

Deckard released him and the chair clanked on the floor.

“We need to keep him alive,” Deckard said just as Paul was about to step in for his turn. “You guys said you had another team shadowing you in Pakistan. We can't take it for granted that this guy was just here to break in and steal our flatscreens or something.”

“You're right,” Bill said as he stomped down into the living room from the staircase. “I informed the client and they are sending a couple specialists from Serbia. They will be on a plane heading here in a matter of hours. Our contracted security people can keep this guy detained here until they arrive. We have work to do.

“We're compromised,” Ramon complained.

“Mauritius is compromised for us, but not our mission. We stick to the timeline. Pack what you need and we will be out of here tonight. Don't plan on coming back, because the client may shut down our entire Mauritius operation. Whatever you leave will be destroyed or mailed to you by a freight forwarding company. Let's get moving, we're wheels-up in three hours.”

Paul grunted as he unclenched his fists.

Aghassi was motionless with his head down. It was on Deckard to come through for him now, even if there was a larger objective at hand.

He left Bill's place and walked across the beach to his bungalow. Nadeesha came running up behind him.

“I hope they torture that fuck like a couple kids burning ants with a magnifying glass,” she said.

“I'm sure they will. Serbs are good at that.”

“Hey,” Nadi reached out and grabbed him by the arm as they walked. “Want to get another quickie in before we leave?”

She had an impossible sex drive. Finding an infiltrator in their midst didn't put her off much.

“I've got to take care of a few things before we leave. Maybe we can join the mile-high club on the way over there?” Deckard offered as a compromise.

Nadi now had a wide smile.

“You got it mister.”

She spun around, her black hair blowing in the sea wind as she walked off.

Climbing the back steps to his bungalow, Deckard went inside. Aghassi's words made it sound like he had left a cache behind for him.

Sure enough, when he opened the cupboard under his kitchen sink and felt around, there was a phone taped up underneath the porcelain. It was an Apple iPhone inside a Thuraya Sat-Sleeve, which enabled the smartphone to make calls by satellite from pretty much anywhere in the world. There was one phone number saved in the address book.

Deckard took one more look around to make sure he was alone before dialing.

Holding the iPhone to his ear, Deckard listened as it began to ring on the other end.

“YES?”

Deckard recoiled from the loud voice.

“Cody?”

“YES.”

No wonder, it was the hacker he had hired during Samruk International's last mission down in Mexico. He was a genius behind a keyboard but had a bit of an abrasive personality.

“I just picked up this phone. Did the guys set you up as a gateway between me and the two field teams?”

“Correct. I am to facilitate any and all calls you have between the Madagascar team and the Syria team.”

“Patch me through to the Madagascar team.”

“Okay.”

The line began to ring again.

“Hello?”

“Hey Frank, it's me. Don't have much time. How far out are you guys?”

“About an hour. We're just off the coast in a fishing vessel waiting for the word.”

“Push off in another hour and hit the targets here on the coast. Bill's place needs to be your priority target.”

“You all right?”

“I'm fine, but they got Aghassi. He is alive for now, but they are flying in a couple interrogators from Serbia.”

“Holy shit.”

“Exactly. We're about to take off for Turkey so you can hit the targets along the shore as soon as we leave. Any updates from Pat's team?”

“They bought off some folks in Egypt and have secured some transportation by ship.”

“Less than ideal,” Deckard's guts turned in knots. The stress was getting to him. “Cody?”

“I'm here,” the computer hacker answered.

“Get in touch with Pat and tell them to initiate movement for Syria. I will probably be in Homs within 48 hours and will re-establish comms with Pat to guide him and the boys into a position where they can ambush Liquid Sky.”

Looking at his watch, Deckard quickly read on Cody and Frank to the mission brief he had just received on their plan of action in Syria.

“The balls on these guys,” Frank said in response.

“Yeah,” Deckard said. “This one is for all the marbles.”

30

A black-clad man strode up to his captive with a hammer in one hand. With the prisoner strapped to the chair, he swung the hammer in an arc, bringing it down on his big toe. It split open like a bloody grape.

The prisoner screamed, and screamed, and screamed as he pulled against his restraints. The prisoner wasn't a Samruk International mercenary but rather a former informant of theirs. His name was Kenny Rodriguez.

The man in black was a CISEN agent. Mexican intelligence.

“We know you helped the gringos,” the CISEN agent said to Kenny. The leather restraints held his head firmly against the back of the chair. He was stripped naked. The snitch began having the dry heaves as the pain overwhelmed him.

“That was just to show you that we mean business,” he said as he waved the hammer at Kenny.

CISEN had rolled into Oaxaca, Mexico with the Mexican military just as the Samruk mercenaries had left. The Mexican intelligence service had a field office in Oaxaca but it went up in flames. Once the intelligence agents began prowling the streets they began to uncover details about the mercenary operation and how the gringos had taken down a number of drug lords in the space of just a few weeks. Following one lead after the next, they eventually heard about Kenny.

He was in a barroom drinking tequila when the Mexican soldiers arrested him.

After finishing up in Oaxaca, a small contingent of the foreign mercenaries had blitzed to the north, infiltrating Mexican military bases and blowing one sky high. Now CISEN's paymasters wanted answers. With Kenny under the bright lights of an underground interrogation room which had more in common with a dungeon, those answers would be forthcoming.

“The leader of the mercenaries,” The CISEN agent began. “What was his name?”

“They- they- they- called him-”

“I'm listening,” the Mexican interrogator said as he spun the hammer in his hand by the handle, the pry bar at the end spinning around.

“Deckard. They called him Deckard.”

Another CISEN agent materialized out of the shadows in a corner of the interrogation cell. He handed the hammer-wielding agent a set of photographs. One by one, he began to hold the pictures in front of Kenny's face.

“Is this him?”

The first picture showed a Northern European looking soldier. Like the other photographs, it was a close up shot taken from a high resolution camera that had been running at a highly secure and classified Department of Energy site in Nevada. At least it had been until the men shown in the photographs crashed the party.

“No, I never saw him.”

“What about this guy?” He said flipping to the next picture.

“They called him Pat. He was out there the night they took apart the Jimenez cartel.”

“With your help?”

Kenny swallowed.

“Yes.”

“What about this next guy?”

The next picture showed an Arab looking soldier, kitted out like the others.

“No, that's not Deckard. I don't think he was in Oaxaca either. Not with the others.”

The interrogator was getting frustrated. Kenny could see the frown even under the ski mask he wore. He flipped to the next picture. It showed a thin man with high cheekbones and Asian eyes.

“They called him Nikita. He was their sniper.”

The interrogator held up the last picture.

“That's him,” Kenny said with a gasp as if he was about to pass out. “That's Deckard.”

The interrogator stood up straight and looked at the surveillance camera in the corner of the room.