Days of Rage (30 page)

A
kinbo flipped through the television channels one more time, mindlessly watching the screen with the sound off. Four long hours before lunch, he had nothing to look forward to but more boredom.

His operational phone split the silence, startling him. Aggravated, Akinbo let it continue to ring, debating on whether to answer. After five he snatched it up against his will.

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to fly?”

“Yes. What is the target? Where am I going?”

“A car will meet you in thirty minutes. Be out front.”

Before Akinbo could say anything else, the phone went dead, driving a spike into his mood. He hated being at the mercy of the white
Kafirs
for this mission. They were no different from any Western regime. Corrupt and bloated, destroying every country they touched. And they touched them all.

He packed one small bag and checked out of his budget hotel, the clerk asking if he needed the shuttle. Just outside Tegel International Airport in the northwest of the Berlin metro area, the establishment catered to the cheaper business traveler, with most customers reliant on the hotel transportation. He told the clerk no, that he had a ride, and went outside to wait.

The building butted right up to a six-lane thoroughfare with no benches or other amenities. He considered going to the coffee shop inside but decided to simply lean against the granite wall, his bag at his feet.

He checked his phone to ensure he hadn’t missed a text or call, then noticed a car slow. The man he knew as Kristov pulled to the curb. Akinbo picked up his bag as Kristov leaned over and flung open the passenger door.

Kristov pulled away before Akinbo even had the door closed, not saying a word. Akinbo waited a moment, then said, “Where are we going?”

Kristov said, “Just a short distance.”

Akinbo clenched his jaw at the terse answer and turned toward the window, watching the city pass by. Shortly he was lost in thought, recounting yet again what had happened yesterday, trying to puzzle out the device he’d been trained on. He was absolutely convinced that it wasn’t something Yuri had cobbled together out of spare parts. He was by no means an expert, but one didn’t have to be a demolition man to see the device was purpose-built, with everything fitting tightly together and lying in a custom bed of reinforced foam. There were no indications of improvisation. Nothing taped down, no wires running loose or mismatched screws.

On top of that, the security procedures were unreal. The dual keypads were almost impossible to operate and not something he would have chosen if he were “cobbling together” a bomb out of spare parts. Especially a bomb that was to be passed to another person. Even with no experience in working with explosives, he understood that simpler was better.

Then there was the slip of the tongue about teams and missions. Jarilo was no ordinary soldier. If he was tasked with a mission, and his team had trained on the same device, it wasn’t to blow up a NATO ice-cream factory. It was something strategic, and if it involved that device, it meant the weapon was a strategic asset as well.

Last night, using the laptop Vlad had given him, he’d googled Soviet dirty bombs and fixated on the rumor of a so-called suitcase nuke. Nobody could prove or disprove they existed, with some Russians claiming they’d seen upward of one hundred at one time, and that the old USSR had lost control of them. Others said it was just a myth of the Cold War, a rumor fueled by fear.

He searched further, and had found the W54 SADM, or Special Atomic Demolition Munition, a backpack nuclear device. It wasn’t Soviet, though. It was a weapon created by the United States in the Cold War. So they
did
exist, and if the United States had them, he had no doubt the Soviets had followed suit. He was fairly sure he had seen one yesterday.

The final clue had been the separate initiation keys. The excuse of a backup key and a backup keyhole made little sense. The two keyholes were purpose-built. And he knew the purpose. Now all that remained was to get them.

Kristov pulled into the parking lot of a roadside café and said, “You’ll find Jarilo at a table in the outside section. Leave your bag here.”

Akinbo exited, went through the interior of the café, the heavy aroma of baked goods and coffee reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He found Jarilo at a wooden table in the back, hands around a mug of coffee and a folder next to him.

Akinbo sat down, waiting on Jarilo to speak. He started right in without any pleasantries.

“Inside this folder is a confirmation code for a flight to Brazil. It leaves at two
P
.
M
.
today going through Amsterdam. Also inside is a new passport with a visa for Brazil. You will be on that flight.”

Akinbo said, “I’m getting sick of asking. Do you want me to pick my own target?”

“No. Inside here is a detailed description. You still have the address I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“That is your safe house. Before you fly, you will ship the weapon to that address. They know you are coming, but don’t know when.”

He passed across another slip of paper. “This is their e-mail address. You’ll see it’s the same domain as yours. Nobody from the US will track it. When you land in Brazil, contact them.”

Akinbo nodded and said, “How will I ship the weapon?”

“There is a bill of lading and a prepaid invoice in the folder. The weapon is categorized as tools. If you follow procedures, there will be no issues with customs. All you need to do is drop it off, fill out the delivery paperwork, and sign for it.”

“Where do I do this?”

“You will be taken to a DHL storefront near the airport. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Akinbo opened the folder and studied his passport, then the target. He nodded in agreement, saying, “This is good.”

Jarilo said, “I’m glad you approve. We’ve put a lot of research into helping you.”

He slid across a prepaid credit card. “That’ll get you through until the attack. Pay attention to the expiration date, martyr.”

Akinbo saw that the card expired the same day as the execution of the mission. Meaning he was supposed to die in the event. He had no intention of doing so.

He said, “I see it. What is your point?”

“I don’t think I need to spell it out.”

Akinbo leaned forward and placed his hands over Jarilo’s forearm, pulling him close. He said, “I will execute. I have not lost my focus. You people are the ones who lose the stomach for the fight at the first bit of trouble.”

Jarilo jerked his arm away and said, “You have three days to create your martyr video. Can you do that?”

“Yes, but I would like a picture of the weapon to prove it was me and not just someone claiming credit. Can I do that?”

“No. No way. The photo might connect my country to your actions. We are willing to help, but only so far.”

Akinbo thought,
Because someone will recognize the device for what it is. Someone will know it wasn’t created in a basement garage out of spare parts.

Yuri continued, “There will be enough evidence found with the DHL shipment and your flight itinerary. The world will believe you.”

Akinbo said, “What about the keys?”

“You’ll get the key when you provide proof of shipment to the address I gave you. Then you’ll go to the airport.”

“I’ll get both keys?”

“No. You only need one.”

“I thought the other was a backup.”

“It is,” Yuri snapped. “Now, if you have no other questions, the next time I hear about you should be because of a radioactive cloud.”

It will be. A mushroom cloud.

T
he wheels touched down in Berlin, the old octagonal airport terminal in the distance. I glanced behind me and saw Jennifer leaning toward the window. Once again enjoying the history around her. Before we’d taken off, she’d explained to me that Tegel International Airport was the famed landing spot for the Berlin airlift when the Commies tried to strangle West Berlin during the Cold War.

I turned on my Taskforce phone, more pressing things on my mind than the history of the place. We were going to need equipment and weapons, and Aaron’s team had left theirs in Istanbul in order to fly commercial. They’d gotten approval to help us based on my voice cuts from the meeting at the 360 restaurant, but getting their infrastructure moving was only marginally faster than ours. When I heard it would be two days before they could set up a pipeline to get their weapons and equipment out of Istanbul and into Berlin, I’d told them to forget it, and that I’d provide the equipment.

We’d pretty much given up pretending with each other about our occupations. Well, at least pretending that Grolier Recover Services was just a business for exploring old shit. They didn’t know who I worked for, but understood it was some sort of US government organization. They couldn’t figure out if it was military or intelligence, which was fine by me, and they were really perplexed about Jennifer.

Aaron and the Mossad had a pretty deep understanding of the United States’s secret squirrel organizations, and they knew that the CIA had no femme fatales like Jennifer. No killers like the Mossad had in Shoshana. Case officers and analysts, yes, but nobody who could have survived the ambush Jennifer had in Istanbul. It really made them curious. Especially Shoshana.

As much as we were allies, Israel was distinctly different from the United States for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that they lived on the edge of annihilation. People in the United States had long forgotten what it was like to live in fear of losing their way of life, but Israel endured with that specter every day. It was like comparing a twenty-first-century soccer mom to a woman fighting wolves on the prairie in the 1800s.

Shoshana lived in a world that may not exist tomorrow, much like the citizens of West Berlin in the Cold War. She was a lethal killer who, while not immoral, was definitely
amoral
.

There were plenty of people in the Taskforce who leaned toward her worldview, including me, but every single one had a Y chromosome. We’d never had a female on the killing end of the spear, and because of it, Shoshana was curious. She saw a skill in Jennifer that might even exceed her own, but also a lack of will to use it.

In Shoshana’s mind, the mission came first, followed by her life. Without question, both were worthy of killing to protect, the ends completely justifying whatever means was used. In Jennifer’s mind,
everything
was up for question. The mission came first, but only if it was worthy, and, unlike Shoshana, she would sacrifice her life if so doing would ensure the greater good. She hadn’t grown up with the wolf, and because of it her worldview was different. Shoshana saw this qualification as weak, but I knew better. Jennifer was stronger than the both of us.

I’d ended up next to Shoshana for the flight out, with her in the middle and Daniel in the aisle. Jennifer and Aaron were in the row behind us. I’d offered to switch, but Aaron had said he was fine. He didn’t fool me one bit. He wanted the opportunity to explore what was next to him, which gave me a little concern. Jennifer had been trained and knew better than to give anything away, but I still didn’t like her in the crosshairs.

It didn’t take long for me to understand we were both in the crosshairs. Like every Israeli government individual I’d ever known, Shoshana began to interrogate me as soon as our wheels left the ground. Unlike the others, where flattery usually hid a quest of information, she started off by poking me in the eye.

“I’m surprised you convinced Aaron to come along. We don’t usually follow someone with such a poor record of success.”

I said, “What the hell would you know about success? You’re the one who slipped in a patch of soap.
I’m
the one who ripped you off your bike.”

I saw a small grin leak out. She was clearly not upset. In fact, it was almost like she was hitting on me. She said, “You aren’t like her. Why is she with you?”

The change of subject threw me off. I decided for sarcasm. “I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t think I had a chance with you.”

“You don’t.”

I leaned in close, brushing her thigh as I did so. “Really? You sure about that? You seem to be pretty interested for someone who doesn’t swing my way.”

The invasion of her personal space didn’t affect her at all. With my face inches away from hers, she frowned and said, “I guess I was wrong about you. And so is Jennifer.”

I pulled back and said, “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t even know me. Or Jennifer.”

“I know you. You’re right, though. I don’t know Jennifer. She’s strange.”

I’m talking to a female Spock.

I said, “You don’t know me at all, damn it.”

She said, “You just rubbed my thigh in an attempt to get me to back down. You use your sex as a weapon, and it’s very clumsy. You are no different from every man I’ve ever met. I
do
know you. What I can’t figure out is why Jennifer is with you. She seems to see something everyone else on the planet misses.”

I felt anger, then embarrassment. Who the hell was she to diagnose my psyche based on a single conversation? She had no idea what had happened between Jennifer and me. I gave up on the tricks and looked her in the eye, “Jennifer saved my life, and I don’t mean in a physical way. When we met I was in bad shape. I was within a couple of months of killing myself. Maybe not by my hand, but it would have been suicide all the same. She pulled me out of the pit. You asked why she’s with me, but you don’t understand the relationship. I’m with
her
.”

She studied me for a moment, searching behind my eyes for the lie that didn’t exist. It felt like she was reading my soul, and maybe she was. She slowly nodded and said, “Perhaps Jennifer was right to do so.”

I broke the gaze and said, “I’ll never know why she did it. I don’t know what drives her. She has her own moral code, and it’s pretty set in stone.”

“And you think it’s better than your own.”

“It
is
better than my own. Better than yours too, I’m sure.”

“Can she kill on command? Will she do what’s necessary?”

“She’ll kill, but not like a robot. She has to know why she’s doing it.”

“You Americans always want to know
why
. It’s a weakness we cannot afford.”

I looked between the seats and saw Jennifer talking to Aaron, a smile on her face. I said, “It’s not a weakness. It’s a strength, and it’s served us well.”

She said nothing, reading my glance at Jennifer. I got a little sick of the Vulcan mind meld and said, “You don’t mind, I’m going to get a little shut-eye.”

She put her hand on my arm, stopping me from closing my eyes. She said, “Your recording said they were targeting Israelis, and that’s good enough for me. You think any of these other Russians had anything to do with Munich?”

“You really get a hard-on about that, huh?”

I saw the feral glint return to her eyes. The same one she’d shown when she’d found out about Vlad. She said, “More than you know. The world needs to understand how far our reach is and how long our memory runs. It is the only way to prevent future attacks.”

“You don’t think it just starts a cycle? Your grandfather was killed in Munich, and now you take the lives of the killers. You know Ali Salameh had a baby before he was targeted? A son? You ever wonder if the daughter of that son is now hunting you?”

She snorted. “So what you do is better? Because you kill them from the air with a Predator strike, it’s more humane than what I do?”

“Don’t insult me. Did you see a drone in Istanbul when I found you? And yes, I do wonder sometimes. In the end, I know there are things that can only be resolved through violence. Certain men only speak five-five-six, and I’m more than willing to talk to them in their language. There are plenty in America who don’t understand this, but I do. I also understand that violence alone isn’t the solution. All it does is keep the bad man away for a little bit. It creates some distance.”

She said, “You don’t need to worry about any of that with the Russians. They’re as bad as they come. You need to know that going in. We tangled with them once before, and I learned early to shoot first, period. You don’t, and you’ll be dead.”

I said, “I get that, trust me. I could give a shit about any second- and third-order effects with them. They picked the wrong team to hit, and now they’re going to pay.”

The little devil grin flitted across her face and she said, “Sort of like Munich.”

I scowled at the comment; her ability to twist my words and back me into a corner grated on my limited good nature. Before I could respond, she said, “You better get Jennifer in the same mind-set. She starts questioning why she’s doing something with these guys, and she’ll be dead before the thought settles.”

I said, “Don’t worry about her. When her back’s to the wall, she finds a way to win. She always has.”

She traced her finger across my thigh very close to my groin, causing me to stiffen then slap her hand away. She smiled at my reaction, completely opposite of her own response to the same approach just minutes ago. She won that round, and she knew it.

She said, “I’m glad. I’d hate to lose my chance at showing her the light.”

I gritted my teeth, furious at her getting the better of me. Daniel tapped her on the shoulder from the aisle seat. She pulled back, maintaining eye contact. He whispered in her ear and our conversation ended, the two now debating something I wasn’t privy to.

I’d leaned against the window, spending the rest of the plane ride pretending to sleep, the discussion playing in an endless loop. Once on the ground, I focused on the mission and ignored her ability to mess with my mind.

Just as our plane arrived at the gate my phone locked on to a cell signal and began a data transfer. I had an e-mail from my “company,” and was relieved to see it was the linkup plan with the asset. The good news was the person who maintained the cache was available to meet tonight.

The bad news was he wanted to execute the linkup in Magdeburg, Germany, two hours away.