Hunter (33 page)

Vukasin Petrovic was decided. Today was the day that the great, all-powerful Dragoslav Obrenovic would tumble dead from his throne.

The time for kowtowing to his crazy whims and fucking about with judges was over. But the Wolf wasn't going to make it easy on Drago. No, that was not the way this had to go. First, he would kill the son. He'd watch the little shit squirm right in front of his father before pulling the trigger. Then, and only then, would he turn the gun on
sefa
himself.

Petrovic had played second fiddle to Drago for longer than he could remember but in recent years, as the old man began to rot, the Wolf was the one who had maintained control of the
Zmajevi.
The one who kept the factions, all of them, in line. The threat of Drago was no more. It was the threat of the Wolf that carried the fear. Now, the Wolf had had enough. America was the last straw. By the end of the night there would be no doubt in anyone's mind that the Wolf was finally the real
sefa
of the
Zmajevi.

Driving south from Lake Vlasinsko along the 122 route, he knew this would be the last time he would ever be summoned to Drago. It would be the last time Drago summoned anybody. The hatred coursed through the Wolf's veins, so much that he was barely able to contain his own violence. But he had to. He could not enter all guns blazing. The timing had to be perfect.

Maintaining a safe visual distance behind Petrovic's Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG, the Predator UAV followed his approach as he turned off the 122 route and began the uphill climb along the zigzag of side roads that led to Drago's hideaway. Above the beautiful noise of the Mercedes' AMG 6.3-litre V8 engine, the Wolf was oblivious to the UAV's presence. Meanwhile, back in Germany, 900 miles away, the Predator's mission commander reached for the radio.

"Alpha Mike, this is Predator, over."

"Go ahead, Predator," said Morgan.

"Second package is on approach. We have clear visual. Red Mercedes-Benz. ETA your location: five minutes."

"Acknowledged, Predator. Thanks, out."

On the ground, the operation moved from insertion to recovery.

With their parachute gear cached, the agents regrouped off the DZ and crouched behind the cover of an old stone wall, overlooking the house 10 yards away. Under the NVGs, the position, layout and setting of the building and its surrounds combined to produce an eerie, foreboding atmosphere that both agents found unsettling. There was a cemetery-like lifelessness to it, despite it being occupied, and Morgan wondered how many bodies were buried around them right now in shallow graves.

The Dragon's Cave.

"This place gives me the heebie jeebies, bud," Sutherland whispered. "Feels like the goddamn
Amityville Horror,
remember that movie?"

"Yeah, mate," Morgan replied quietly. "Blood out of the walls and all that. Fucking horrible."

"We should have brought an exorcist."

It was large, designed in split
levels
across three stories and, during daylight, would have sweeping views of the surrounding countryside. It was built to dominate, like a fortress, upon large stone foundations that looked to also contain a cellar or store area at the end closest to the agents. The brick work had been rendered with cement and painted white, common to the area, with wooden window and door fixtures and roof tiles of the red clay variety.

Scanning through their NVGs, they saw that the whole place was neglected and overgrown. Vegetation around the house was out of control and, to the trained eye, had blocked many of the locations where they spotted long-outdated CCTV cameras sitting dormant and useless where previously they would have provided excellent coverage.

"I bet he doesn't even realize how bad his security is," said Sutherland. "This place is a goddamn jungle."

"Might have been OK once," Morgan replied. "But not now."

Lights were on in only two areas of the house: the upper floor on the southern side, which, according to Gjoka's testimony, was Drago's personal living area it would command the greatest views of the area; and the lower floor on the north-western corner, which faced back into the forest behind the house, and was, according to Gjoka, where the guards lived.

Morgan and Sutherland were on the southern side. Drago's living area was directly in front of them.

On the plane, the two agents had used Davenport's iPad to review the intelligence summaries that had been pieced together from Gjoka's confession and the video surveillance captured by the Predator. The UAV had provided invaluable detail and confirmed many of the descriptions and layout provided by Gjoka.

Now the trick was to identify the exact location of the bodyguards; specifically, where they were right now. The guards were the primary threat and had to be neutralized first, before the agents could even consider moving against Drago and the Wolf.

Sutherland tapped Morgan's arm, gesturing toward the lights in the back corner.

"Guards?' he said.

Morgan nodded.

According to Gjoka there were normally three and due to Drago's continuingly erratic bouts of impatience, usually resulting in violence, the guards had been relegated by Drago's son to staying away in the far corner of the house. Basically, as far away from Drago as possible. The son's strategy was designed to protect his father's reputation by minimizing the exposure of the foot soldiers to his increasingly self-destructive and uncontrollable behavior. In any professional security environment, pushing guards out to the extremities of the perimeter would still be effective if they were expected to constantly patrol the premises. However, the obvious decline of Drago's personal influence, evidenced by the dilapidated exterior of the place and lack of any visible presence or deterrent, mirrored the lack of skill and discipline among those expected to protect him. The naive plan to protect his reputation among his immediate people only had the effect of leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

So it was that the Intrepid agents raised their weapons and headed for the back section of the house.

It was in that moment that the lights of the Wolf's Mercedes flared into the driveway on the far side of the house.

"We better get this done quick, Dave," said Morgan. "I don't know how much time we'll have before Drago and the Wolf try to kill each other."

Chapter 94

With NVGs now flipped up and away from their eyes and Heckler & Koch MP5 SDs at the ready, the agents prepared to assault.

Using the cover of the vegetation at the edge of the forest that grew close to the house, they'd split: Sutherland took the main back-door entrance to the guards' living area and Morgan took a secondary door he discovered on the way around. He tried it. Unlocked. Perfect. It was a side door that also led into the guards' living area but, by the look of it, most likely gave access into the main part of the house, too. Morgan couldn't afford to have anyone get past him and raise the alarm. So he'd be the cut-off as Dave flushed them toward him.

"What can you see back there?" said Morgan into the radio mike on his helmet.

"I've got two here, bud,' Sutherland responded. "Muscle dudes; T-shirts and jeans, with shoulder holsters draped over the backs of the chairs. Watching TV. Not much activity. Can't see any others."

Morgan confirmed that he was in place and that there was no sign of anybody else. "OK, mate. Standby," he said, wondering for a moment if there was actually one out patrolling. But they couldn't wait. They had to move now.

Out in the driveway on the far side of the house, in a brazen display of adolescent testosterone, the sound of the Wolf's Mercedes skidding to a halt on the loose gravel was followed by a series of high-pitched revs, no doubt designed to announce his arrival and unnerve his hosts.

"Let's use the noise," said Morgan rapidly as the revving happened. "Go!"

Under the momentary cover of the V8's high-pitched squeal, Morgan and Sutherland burst into the guards' area from opposite directions.

Without time to determine whether the door was unlocked or not, Sutherland put his foot to it and kicked it open. One of the guards, sitting with his back to the door, eyes glued to the TV, stumbled from his chair as he twisted to see what was happening behind him. Sutherland headed straight for him.

At the same time, the guard to the left lunged for the large-caliber revolver in the holster on his chair. He was fast and got the gun out quickly, bringing it up to aim at Sutherland, but Morgan was right there. The guard hadn't seen him come in from the other door.

There was no time for barking orders to drop the gun. At this range, if Morgan delayed a second, Sutherland would be dead. With thousands of hours of precision training and experience behind the move, Morgan's MP5 came up, and with a single cough from the suppressor, he put a 9mm round directly into the guy's temple. He fell to the floor, dead. Sutherland didn't see it. He didn't have to. He knew Morgan had his back.

Meanwhile, in the scramble to reach for a gun, the guy now missing his favorite TV show had fallen from
his chair. On all fours, he was about to scream the alarm when Sutherland's size ten boot caught him under the chest and lifted him off the ground. Winded, he fell into the fetal position, gasping for air that wouldn't make it to his lungs until his diaphragm regrouped. That was going to take some time. As he continued to struggle, Sutherland wrenched his arms behind his back, fixed plasti-cuffs to his wrists and ankles and, as the lungs began working once again, applied a liberal amount of duct tape to the guy's face.

Turning to look for the third guard, Morgan heard a toilet flush in the narrow passage that linked the room where they were to the back corridors that led to the house.
Christ! Why do I always end up with the blokes coming out of the fucking toilet?,
he wondered, remembering Malta. At least this guy flushed. Morgan was outside the toilet door in two strides. The moment it opened he launched. The confined space made it difficult to maneuver but Morgan was fast. With the HK ready if he needed it, he retracted the top half of his body and, as soon as the door to the cubicle opened, he fired an explosive helmet-enhanced head butt straight down upon the bridge of the guard's nose. Blood instantly flowed and the guy threw both hands up to protect his face from a second attack, stumbling backward onto the toilet in the meantime. Morgan flipped the HK around on its sling and set to work with the plasti-cuffs and duct tape.

Two restrained and silent. One dead. It all took less than thirty seconds.

"You OK?" said Morgan.

"Yeah, bud," Sutherland replied.

"Pity about this guy, though," Morgan said, gesturing to the body at his feet. "No choice."

In silence, Sutherland and Morgan finished tying the two survivors to separate chairs, facing them away from each other, then Sutherland walked over and gave the former paratrooper a grave but very grateful pat on the back.

"Hey, bud, you saved my life," he said. "Don't ruin the moment by regretting it."

"Piss off, Dave."

Drago studied the Wolf carefully, imagining that his son was dragging the dog in on the end of a leash after having kicked the shit out of him, rather than ushering him in on his own two feet looking so smug.

But there was something different about the Wolf this time.

Drago noted his gaze, unflinching and uncompromising from the moment he'd entered the sanctum of Drago's private office. The dog moved in with the confidence and cunning of a predator. There was no respect shown. No fear of any kind. Despite himself, Drago felt the sudden shift in their dynamic and the realization unsettled him. But was this change sudden? Had he not been fearful of the Wolf's growing influence over the
Zmajevi,
his
Zmajevi,
for some time? Drago knew most men better than they knew themselves, and this one, he knew, had come here tonight to kill. Or be killed.

Moving in silence up the central stairs of the villa, Morgan and Sutherland headed toward the lights on the top floor.

They'd watched the Wolf's arrival from the shadows below the entrance foyer and Morgan recognized Drago's son from his time stuck in the stairwell in 
Albania watching the heir-apparent interrogating Lorenc Gjoka. Unlike that night, this time Morgan had backup.

When the Wolf and junior Obrenovic moved upstairs with barely a word exchanged, the Intrepid agents followed behind, albeit one floor below. Now, as they came closer to the top floor, they could hear the deep mumble of voices from a room at the top of the stairs.

*

"You've been a busy boy, Wolf," Drago said from behind his Alexander Roux desk. "You're lucky to have made it back here at all, from what I hear. Lucky you're not rotting in an American cell getting fucked by some big black gangster."

Both Drago and son broke into unrestrained laughter at the Wolf's expense. But the Wolf didn't bite. He remained silent, positioned so that he could access them both when the moment arrived; the squirming sycophantic son to his left and the fat fuck father to his right. Ignoring Drago's laughter, he turned his attention to the son.

"You should be very careful, little Obrenovic, and learn to show some respect," the Wolf began. "One day, Daddy won't be around to wipe your ass."

The laughter stopped immediately and the rage that rippled beneath the surface of junior Obrenovic's skin was enough to bring a broad smile to the face of the Wolf; he knew the little shit wouldn't dare take him on — not even in front of his father. At the desk, Drago had also fallen silent, watching carefully, con
sidering his options. Junior's eyes flashed between his father and the Wolf, looking for a green light. A hand ran through his thick black hair and scratched at his goatee, anything to keep his hands from his gun.

"You see," the Wolf continued calmly, noting the son's inaction, "you could never be
.vsefa
of the
Zma-jevi.
You're paralyzed by indecision. You are someone who
needs
to be told what to do. Without your papa, you are nothing."

"You are the one who should be careful, Petrovic," said Drago. "You forget, once again, where you are standing, who you are talking to. That is my son. You speak to him as you would to me."

"That's exactly what I'm here to discuss, Obren-ovic," he replied, deliberately dropping the traditional deference of
sefa.
He noted immediately how much it rattled the old fool. "But, I'm afraid you will not be very happy with the outcome."

The Wolf instantly produced two automatics, one in each hand and each pointing directly at an Obren-ovic - senior and junior. Drago Obrenovic rose from his desk with both hands on the edge of his desk to steady him, the anger and effort purging from him like steam from a locomotive. Junior Obrenovic stood dumbfounded, shaking. The black eye of the Wolf's gun was pointing straight at his face. In any other circumstances he would have shot the man dead, but with less than 10 feet between them, he knew he couldn't outgun him.

"I'm taking over as
sefa,
Obrenovic," the Wolf began, directing his attention at Drago. "Effective immediately. That means you and this piece of shit have to go."

The threat was too much for the son. He was watching as his father stood silent, frozen in shock - or supplication. The junior Obrenovic saw his only chance of becoming
sefa
barreling away from him at breakneck speed. This wasn't right. He was so close. He knew his father was in decline and he had positioned himself as the rightful successor. He was poised, but now this.

Something snapped in him and he reached toward the waistband of his trousers.

*

The Intrepid agents were at that moment moving silently but swiftly toward the partially opened door leading into Drago's private office, his war room, at the top of the stairs. With weapons braced in their shoulders, creeping stealthily forward, one foot after the other, Morgan and Sutherland faced the door.

"OK, this is it," Morgan whispered. "I'll go left, you go right. Whatever we do, we have to try to take Drago and the Wolf alive."

"Ready, bud."

*

On the other side of the door, the standoff between the Wolf and Drago and son had reached detonation point. Each one of them knew before the meeting had even commenced that there would be bloodshed. Just how long it would take to move from greeting to killing was unknown, although it was clear now that the fuse had been lit.

"Wolf!" Drago bellowed furiously. "You dare to come in here and threaten me! I will shoot you down, cut your body to ribbons and serve you to my guests for fucking dinner, you piece of—"

Junior Obrenovic could no longer contain himself. A gun appeared in his hand, it was up and pointing at the Wolf, his finger was on the trigger.

There was an eruption of gunfire.