Ghosts of War (23 page)

M
eglan waited for his headset to explode, but no reporting came through. Whoever was fighting wasn't a part of his element, and they weren't on his net. The squad leader listened for a moment, having the privileged rank to hear both the internal and command nets. He said, “Roger all. Still clearing,” then said to his team, “Come on. The longer we fuck around, the longer it'll take to get some firepower in here.”

They raced down the runway toward the last airport tractor, a baggage cart hooked behind it and straddling the tarmac. Meglan's team leader said, “What's happening?”

“Somebody tried to penetrate the perimeter with a technical. B Co smoked them.”

They reached the tractor and the squad leader said, “Meglan, a vehicle may have flanked them, avoiding a fight. There's too much motion around here for the AC to pinpoint friendly from enemy. Keep your eyes out. But for fuck's sake, discriminate. Last thing we need is for you to smoke a bunch of Ukrainian military coming out to help.”

Meglan nodded, thinking,
How will I tell the difference?
He took a knee and faced down the tarmac, toward the north. The chaos still swirled, parachutes falling from the sky, everything painted an eerie green in his NODs. He caught movement, dimly, a hundred meters away. It was a truck, racing down the tarmac toward them. He shouted, “Contact. Vehicle inbound.”

One of his teammates looked up and said, “It's the Ukrainians. Hold your fire.”

“Why are their headlights off?”

His squad leader, furiously working to hotwire the tractor, failed to hear the discussion. He cursed at the man above him, “Get the damn light on here.”

Meglan watched the truck approach, coming close enough to see camouflage uniforms in the cab. He kept his weapon on them, but waved his off-hand, trying to get them to see him with the lack of night vision. Trying to show he was a friendly.

He shouted, “It's still approaching.”

Working on the stranded vehicle, nobody heard him. The tractor finally fired up, and the squad leader rose from under the footwell just as the pickup truck came within thirty feet. Meglan saw two people rise from the bed, bringing rifles to bear over the cab, aimed at his team.

Later, he would say it seemed to happen in slow motion, and that he was sure he wouldn't be quick enough. But he was.

He rose, his entire world coalescing on the green dot in his sight. He saw the men in the cab screaming, the muzzles beginning to flash, then felt the rounds popping by his head. He ignored it all, focusing on the little green dot, the center of his world. He began firing controlled pairs, just as he'd been drilled in RASP.

One—two, shift, one—two, shift to the driver, one—two, shift to the passenger, one—two. . . . he scanned for another target, and found none.

The vehicle rolled past them, one man hanging over the side, his finger still in the trigger guard, the AK-47 dragging along the ground.

Meglan tracked the truck with his rifle as it went past, looking for another threat and letting out his pent-up breath.

The quiet returned, and the squad leader started reporting the contact, telling the command team to get a friend-or-foe signal on the Ukrainians. They searched the truck, moving it off the tarmac,
confirming it wasn't the Ukrainian military—and confirming Meglan's skills.

They returned to the tractor, the squad leader putting it into gear, saying, “Good shooting.” Nothing more, but it meant the world to Meglan.

Meglan nodded, and the tractor rolled past him, off the runway, the squad leader shouting as it rolled by, “Looks like you got your combat jump.”

They returned to the rally point, and the word had already spread. Meglan had killed four men with four controlled pairs, never missing, even as the men were shooting at him from a moving platform.

It should have been something to revel in, but the airborne assault was continuing, and he had a job to do, with his squad leader shouting at him to get off his ass and pick up security. He did so, and the platoon leader called runway clear.

The first of the Ranger follow-on force landed, a C-17 full of motocross bikes and RSOVs—a
Mad Max
–looking vehicle based on the Land Rover and bristling with guns. They drove off, reinforcing the perimeter, and the assault continued, with wave after wave landing.

They'd made their thirty minutes.

An hour later, the first C-17 with the Strykers from the 4th ID arrived, the eight-wheeled armored vehicles rolling off the ramp and into the night. The chaos subsided, and the airfield took on the characteristics of a peaceful one, with aircraft after aircraft landing and disgorging its cargo. The first Stryker company rallied up their armored vehicles and headed off into the night to link up with the 82nd Airborne. Meglan had no idea how that jump had gone, but assumed it was on track, as nobody appeared to be flustered.

He sat in the dark, covering his sector, thinking about the men he'd killed. Happy that he'd done so, but thinking nonetheless. Killing a man will do that.

He watched the armor rolling off one aircraft after another, and felt no further fear. If all they had were pickups with AKs, the enemy didn't stand a chance.

He gave not a thought to the divisions of tanks and artillery a mere forty-five kilometers away, across the Russian border.

But they were thinking about him.

M
ikhail entered the spacious home to find Simon in the living room, two of his five bodyguards/manservants bringing luggage from the upstairs bedroom.

“You're leaving?”

“Of course. I'd be an idiot to remain.”

“My man won't talk. He's already on the run. I have him in a safe house where the police won't find him.”

“You sure of that? He'll give up his entire business for you? Or will he turn you in, playing the unsuspecting friend who was just helping out?”

“He won't turn me in, and even if he does, it won't lead to you.”

“Did he know what was in the crate? Did you tell him?”

“No. Of course not. He thought he was helping with an official Mossad matter. He doesn't know I no longer work for them. He'll keep quiet for the State of Israel.”

“But now he's learned it was gold from victims of the Holocaust. Something the State of Israel would never hide. What's his history? Do you even know?”

Mikhail hesitated, the thought having never occurred to him.

Simon continued, “What if he lost family during that time? What if he was personally affected? Is he sitting in that safe house wondering if his grandmother's wedding ring was in that crate? How long will he choose you over that?”

Mikhail nodded, saying, “Good point. I'll take care of it.”

Simon said, “Money won't work for this. He might be a Jewish
diamond merchant, but this will transcend anything money can buy.”

“I said I'd take care of it. I won't be using money.”

Simon nodded and said, “Don't leave any evidence on the body.”

Mikhail said, “Unlike him, you forget where I used to work.”

Simon smiled and said, “Any way to get other valuables from his building? At least get something out of this disaster?”

“No. I'm not going anywhere near that place ever again.”

“So you are the only one who makes money out of this.”

“Don't go there. The Torah was agreed upon before any of this happened. It's simply my fee.”

“Yes. I paid you for a service, and that service didn't occur.”

“Don't blame me for the loss. What else did you want? The Israeli team hit an armored car! If they were willing to do that, they would have been willing to do anything. I still can't believe they didn't take the crate themselves.”

“It matters little that they left it alone. My gold is still lost.”

“True, but don't forget, I'm the one headed to Poland to meet up with your uranium source. I'm the one setting those Night Wolves nutjobs loose.”

“Yes, that is certainly worth something. How much can you get for the Torah?”

“I'm not sure. I have a buyer in Vienna, but we're still negotiating. Maybe fifty thousand euros. Maybe more.”

Simon walked to the front door, saying, “A lot of money I'm paying for getting so little in return.”

His security held open the door, and they walked into the front portico, the security men loading his luggage into a black Mercedes.

Mikhail said, “You're getting your damn war. You're getting Putin overthrown. I'd say the Torah's a damn bargain for all that.”

Simon said, “I believe I deserve a little refund. A small insurance payout, if you will.”

Mikhail said, “I suppose that's not a request, is it?”

Simon shook his head.

“What if I refuse to meet your contact instead?”

“Then I'd politely ask for the Torah right now. But you don't want to do that, do you?” The implied threat hung in the air, neither man voicing it.

Mikhail sighed and held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Look, the Torah is in Vienna. I don't have it here. I couldn't hand it over even if I wanted. We can haggle over the refund later. I'll call you when I get there and retrieve it.”

“Conveniently, Vienna is exactly where I'm headed.”

“I told you, I'd handle the diamond merchant. You don't have to leave now.”

“Oh, yes, I do. Have you seen what the United States is doing? I need a buffer country between me and the fault line.”

“I saw, but they're just recovering their dead.”

“Right now, yes. But they won't be in a few days, will they?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“When you go, I want you to take some security with you.” He pointed at two of his men, saying, “Pavel and Adam will travel with you.”

“Why?”

“Let's just say I don't trust my contact as much as I should. He wants the money, but he's also connected to the Russian machine.”

“Great. Anything goes wrong with that meeting and it'll lower your refund.”

Simon laughed and said, “I understand, but I don't doubt your skills. When do you leave?”

“Tonight. Taking a late train. I have to see a diamond merchant first.”

Simon said, “Be sure and tell him I said hello.”

S
itting in the same spot I'd been in a day before, I saw the front door open and keyed my mic. “Get ready. They're coming out.” Jennifer came over the radio. “Drone's airborne. Be there in four seconds.”

I watched my screen, trying to see if I could find the UAV in the air above the entrance. I could not. Off the radio, I said, “Those things are pretty good.”

Shoshana said, “Yes, better than the junk from your agency.”

I laughed and said, “Yeah, yeah, I have to admit, you guys have been on top of that lately.”

For early warning, we'd parked a car with a simple lipstick camera hidden in the dash down the road from the front entrance of Simon's place, then had staged Jennifer and Aaron at their same location from earlier, ready to launch the drone. The lipreading software wasn't that critical this time, because all we were doing was building a target package, but it couldn't hurt to use it. I hoped to hit the place either late tonight or tomorrow. We had the floor plan of the target thanks to the Mossad, but we needed to see the security. A floor plan couldn't kill us.

Shoshana said, “I shouldn't be driving on the mission. You need me inside.”

Staring at the lipstick camera feed, I said, “Someone's got to drive the vehicle. I have a team coming in. People I've worked with for a long time. Aaron is doing nothing but pulling security as well. Don't get all insulted here.”

“Your team hasn't studied the floor plan. Your
team
hasn't even set foot on the continent yet.”

“They'll be here soon enough. This target isn't designated a hostile force. I can't afford someone killing in there just because they want to.”

“So you don't trust me.”

I said, “
Aaron
doesn't trust you. Let it go.”

“I told you I wouldn't kill again. I can disable anyone in that place without killing. I'm who you need.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love the new Shoshana, right up until the old one shows up. You find Mikhail inside, and he's dead. I'm not stupid.”

She got a funny look on her face and said, “I wouldn't kill him.”

I said, “What did he do to you?”

She said, “Nothing. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Come on. I'm your brother, remember? Nobody else is here. What happened?”

I saw sadness on her face, a deep, deep cut. She said, “He was the master. I was the slave. He nearly destroyed me.”

What the hell does that mean?

She reminded me of a child soldier getting reintegrated back into society after the horrific acts he'd been forced to do. She needed a psychiatrist, not my analysis. I said, “Okay, well, I only want the Pumpkin King when I ask. Not when your emotion gets the better of you.”

She smiled and said, “I told you, I'm not the Pumpkin King. I'll never be that.”

Man, she can get under my skin.
I said, “Yes, you will. If I ask for the Pumpkin King, I expect to get it. Do you understand what I'm saying? I can't have this peacenik shit here.”

She looked as if she were depressed at my words. Sad for me. I exploded, “Look, I don't know what the hell is going on with you, but if I need your skills, I'm going to ask, and you'd better produce. Otherwise, you two straphangers can get on the first plane back to Israel. Is that understood?”

She said nothing.

I said, “Is that understood?”

She said, “Yes, Nephilim. If you need me, I will be there.”

I exhaled and said, “What
is
going on with you?”

She said, “Nothing. Or maybe everything.”

God almighty.

In retrospect, I should have cut her right then and there. But fate interrupted, as it always did.

Jennifer came through our radios, saying, “We have a problem. Simon's leaving the building with suitcases. They're talking on the front porch. I'll give you the feed as soon as it's done, but my bet is an assault will not happen tonight.”

Shit.

I'd sent the original transcript from our surveillance to Kurt a day ago, not expecting much, and I'll be damned if my boss hadn't opened up the world to me. I knew what the message said, but had little hope—with the way politics worked in America—that it would have made a blip on the radar given the situation in Ukraine right now. I should have realized that even our dysfunctional government could discern the connections every once in a while.

The United States had launched a bold airborne operation to recover the dead from Air Force One, and in so doing, had put thousands of men within striking range of the great Russian bear.

NATO was going haywire, with rapid-reaction forces deploying to Poland, and because of it, Belarus had invited in Russian forces, who were currently streaming to the border near Kaliningrad. The Baltic states were trembling in their boots, scared to death that nobody in NATO was strong enough to prevent a takeover, should Russia so choose.

It had become a dangerous world that only needed one little spark.

Simon and Mikhail were hell-bent on providing it, for reasons still unknown, and I'd been given unusual leeway to disrupt whatever they were plotting. The remnants of the Oversight Council had agreed to give me blanket Omega authority—something that had never before
happened. Ordinarily I had to specifically detail what I intended to do before I got approval to execute. This time, the only caveat was no DOA authority, which simply meant I couldn't just kill both of them with a sniper rifle.

I'd asked for three things: one, the rest of my team; two, the Rock Star bird with a complete package; and three, the initiation of Taskforce reachback assets, such as our computer network operations cell and intelligence fusion center.

Kurt had readily agreed, but told me only two of my men were available. Apparently, the third, Brett Thorpe—a CIA paramilitary officer—had already been deployed to Europe with the CIA. They'd wasted no time with the Taskforce stand-down and had sucked him right up. The other two—Retro and Veep—were flying over on a specially configured Gulfstream G650, just like the Rock Stars flew.

While the aircraft looked normal enough, packed inside it were a myriad of different intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance capabilities, along with a complete small-arms arsenal hidden in its walls. The Mossad kit had been pretty good, but I was looking forward to flinging our capabilities in Shoshana's face, especially since, beyond the one Browning pistol Knuckles had used at the armored car, Shoshana and Aaron had no lethal tools, and the weapons in the Rock Star bird would solve that problem.

Finally, Kurt was spinning up the reachback assets, recalling the hackers and intel geeks who'd been shelved along with everyone else in the Taskforce, but I had nothing for them at the moment.

My plan had been to capture both men in the target house, either tonight or tomorrow, but it looked like that operation had just hit a snag. Nothing was ever easy.

I keyed the radio, saying, “You got them on tape? Are they talking?”

“Roger. They're chatting on the front portico. I'll shoot you what I have as soon as I can.”

I watched our feed from the camera hidden in the parked car, seeing the discussion playing out. About a minute later, the two shook hands. Simon moved to the black Mercedes that held the luggage, followed by two security men. Mikhail waited until Simon was seated before going to the Volkswagen he'd arrived in, only now he also had two security men. The final bodyguard walked back to the house.

I said, “Okay, Koko, Aaron, pick up on Simon. Carrie and I will be right behind you. Knuckles, you provide backup with the camera car when it's clear to approach it. Let Mikhail go.”

I didn't want to force our luck with Mikhail after our surveillance the previous day. We were more than likely good, but Simon was the ringleader. If we bagged him, we could definitely cause some damage to whatever they'd planned.

Jennifer came back, “Pike, I've got the transcript. He's headed to Vienna. You want to track him all the way there? I don't know if he's driving, flying, or what, but we aren't going to locate a bed-down here.”

Well, crap.
Conducting surveillance on him all the way to a different country was a nonstarter. No way could we accomplish that with the small team we had. We'd be compromised for sure.

“What's Mikhail doing?”

“Apparently talking to a diamond merchant, probably the one who held the crate, then taking a train late tonight. Appears he's going to Vienna as well.”

I asked Shoshana, “How many train stations here in Bratislava?”

“Only one.”

So we can interdict him later.

I got back on the radio. “Okay, let them go. Here's the plan: Knuckles and I will stake out the train station, then pick up Mikhail tonight. Koko, Carrie, and Aaron will conduct a B and E on the house. Break in and search it for anything related to either the attack or those two knuckleheads. For now, head back to the hotel once they're both clear, and we'll do some detailed planning.”