Days of Rage (32 page)

I
rolled out of the truck, hitting the ground harder than I wanted, feeling the impact in my bones. I slid to a stop, knowing that damn woman was driving
way
too fast. I saw Aaron tumble out a good fifty meters away, proving my thought. I saw the glow of the taillights disappear and hoisted my backpack in the darkness. I scuttled to his location and said, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Some bruises.”

“What the fuck is Shoshana’s problem? It’s like she wants to punish you every time she does anything.”

He grinned in the soft glow of the moonlight and said, “She’s punishing
you
.”

I had no time for that. Jennifer was going to be on short final for the linkup, and we needed to get in position to lock down the location.

I had no idea why the Taskforce contact had chosen to conduct a linkup on an old Soviet Union air base, but I was sure it was for a good reason. I’d learned early not to question the recce force. Nine times out of ten, as the assault force, you thought the linkup procedures or the information provided was weak, with you being a “smarter” operator trying to “fix” the problem. Then, after the assault had gone down, you found out the recce ground truth was real.

No, you can’t walk right up to the breach point wearing a banana costume. No, we don’t have X-ray vision of the hinges in the interior of the building. Yes, that minefield will prevent your movement from the wood line, but feel free to ignore our report.

This, though, was stretching things. The Magdeburg air base was out in the middle of nowhere, full of decaying buildings that had been abandoned shortly after the wall fell. Why on earth we were meeting here was beyond me, but I wouldn’t put it past the Taskforce to cache a supply bundle at this location. Hell, I’d have done it just for the humor, but I figured whoever had created the caches was more mature.

The linkup location was at the end of a cul-de-sac on the edge of the flight line. It was a narrow strip of asphalt lined with row after row of concrete government buildings, now being reclaimed by nature. Right at the end the road took a turn to the left, running about fifty meters straight up against the runway, with a small cul-de-sac that held what must have been the best of the best for office space. I suppose it was an effort to create somewhat of a view for whichever Ivan had the pull back when the base was active, but for me it caused an issue of security.

I knew the Taskforce guy we were meeting was no threat, but I wanted to prevent anyone from interfering with the linkup. Truthfully, it was overkill, but since we had the manpower, I figured we might as well control the site. In so doing, I also hoped to get a feel for my new teammates. So far, after bouncing on the concrete, I wasn’t too impressed.

In twenty minutes, Jennifer was going to drive up the middle of the pipe, execute the bona fides, then linkup with the asset. Shoshana, the little femme Nikita, and Daniel, the guy who planned his life by a Ouija board, would take the eastern exit. Aaron and I would block the western side, which happened to be across the old runway, leaving us a two-hundred-meter crawl to get in position.

I wasn’t too happy about Jennifer going in alone, but the bona fides from the asset had demanded a singleton linkup, and I’d do more good on the outside, controlling the operation and the team. Plus, it gave Jennifer some extra experience and gave me a chance to evaluate the Israelis.

Aaron took a knee and I pulled out a set of binoculars. They weren’t night vision, but they were better than nothing to determine any activity across the airfield. I scanned the houses, not seeing anything unusual. Just a bunch of broken-down old Communist block buildings, looking like something from a postapocalyptic movie.

I said, “Looks clear. You ready to go?”

Aaron nodded in the dark and said, “You want point?”

Wanting to check him out, I said, “No. You take it. You see the building right where the road turns toward the runway?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s our target. Shoshana and Daniel should park and go dismounted to the house on the other side.”

He nodded, pulled a black watch cap on his head, and proceeded to snake his way down a drainage ditch, the path taking him farther away from our objective initially, but giving him cover. He disappeared into the scrub of the ditch and I scrambled to catch up.

I fell in behind, watching him move, and knew instantly that he wasn’t just an intel collector. He’d done this for real more than once in an operational role, which meant he was some version of Sayeret—Israeli Special Forces. Beyond the fact that he’d picked the exact same route I would have, you could always tell when someone was comfortable moving in the dark. No fumbling around, no hesitation or stutter-stepping, walking with the hands to the front, afraid of running into something he couldn’t see. He glided along at a rapid pace, dodging limbs and stepping over rocks as if he had some Yoda skill. Something that could only be gleaned through experience.

We reached the edge of the ditch and he paused. “We have to cross fifty feet of open ground to get to the back of the building.”

“And?”

“And we can belly crawl or we can run.”

“What do you think?”

“Belly crawl will take forever. It’s the movement that will get us compromised, so the less time out in the open the better. I say run, both at the same time.”

I smiled in the dark.
My thoughts exactly.

I said, “Sounds good. Stay away from the line of sight of that back door.”

He nodded, and we cleared the open area as fast as possible, sliding up against the rough cinder block. We remained still, listening for any movement. Nothing happened.

I worked down the back side of the building and peeked around the corner. I couldn’t see the street due to overgrown landscaping. I looked at my watch and saw we were close to the time window. Jennifer would be rolling in shortly.

I whispered, “Time for the belly crawl. Get down the wall until you can see the road. Stay below the windows.”

He nodded and said, “What are you going to do?”

“Stay back here and control things. I don’t want to get a bunch of ticks.”

I couldn’t see the scowl too well in the dark, but I’m sure it was there. He started moving, working his elbows into the ground and slithering forward through the brush like a snake. I sat on my haunches, running through the mission and what I would need out of the cache.

Suppressed weapons were a given, but the bigger issue is what we’d stocked technology-wise for a manhunt. For some reason, Yuri’s cell phone had dropped off the grid, so we’d need another way to find and fix him. Tagging, tracking, and locating gear and whatever else I could think of. Moore’s law caused the tech kit to go extinct very rapidly, and I had no idea what was stored here. If everything was no longer relevant, at least I still had the kit from Istanbul. The Goblin IMSI grabber, Pwnie Express, and other knickknacks.

The mental inventory gave me an idea. I could use the IMSI grabber right now. I set my pack on the ground and my phone vibrated with a text. It was from Aaron and said two words: “Headlights coming.”

I texted back, “Roger,” then switched my phone to Taskforce internal, saying, “Koko, status?”

“Coming in right now. Making the turn to the cul-de-sac.”

None of the Israelis had the capability of tying into the Taskforce smartphones for group encryption, so our commo would be text-only, but at least I could talk to Jennifer.

I set the IMSI grabber on the ground and turned it on, the screen glare flaring out with a blue glow. I violently tapped keys until the display was more muted, hearing Jennifer say, “Got the flashlight signal. Exiting the vehicle.”

I said, “Roger all. Tell me when linkup is complete.”

She assured me she would, and I fired up the Goblin grabber.

The old air base was so far out in the middle of nowhere that anyone close who had a cell phone would register with it. It wouldn’t give me a location, but it would tell me how many people were around. Which should be exactly four, outside of our Taskforce phones.

The computer began listing the cell numbers, and there were a lot more than four. I heard a noise and snapped my head around, raising my fist.

It was Aaron. He held up a finger and whispered, “There’s a guy in this building. He just lost light discipline with a flashlight. He has a weapon.”

Weapon?

I returned to the captured phone numbers, something about them tickling the back of my brain. Then it broke free. They were Russian numbers.

I shut down the grabber and keyed my phone. “Koko, Koko, this is Pike.”

Nothing happened.
Because you just locked her phone. It’s got to find a tower.

I waited a beat, then tried again. I got nothing. I pointed to the door at the back of the house. The one we’d avoided when we ran across the open area. I pointed to the building, then ran a finger across my throat.

Aaron nodded and began sliding that way. I finally heard Jennifer. “Pike, this is Koko. Knocks complete, all bona fides met. We’re secure. He’s unlocking the door. You want to wait until I’ve met him, or come on down now?”

I hissed, “It’s a fucking trap. I say again, it’s a trap. Get out!”

J
ennifer heard Pike’s command in her Bluetooth earpiece, the words shooting adrenaline through her body, burning into her muscles like high voltage. The door cracked open and she saw a brutish man with a thick brow. He pulled it wider, a ghoulish smile on his face. She stepped back, raised her leg, and kicked hard, driving the door into his body and flinging him into the foyer. She leapt through the opening before he could recover.

The brute hit the floor and rolled, reaching behind his back and drawing out a pistol. She threw a low snap kick, knocking it out of his hand and sending it skittering across the floor, stopping short of a hole in the dilapidated structure. He hissed and punched her thigh, bringing her to her knees. She threw her arms up and ducked as he lashed out with a jab, rabbit-punching the back of her head. She rolled with the blow, springing back to her feet and facing him.

He made no move toward his pistol. He raised his hands and said, “Don’t fight me. We won’t hurt you. I have orders not to hurt you.”

She heard the accent.
Russian
. She remained silent, glancing at his weapon on the floor seven feet away.

He stepped toward her. “Don’t even think it. You’ll only get yourself killed.”

She could barely understand his English. He stepped forward again, and she slid sideways. He saw her intentions and closed the gap, both hands out in supplication. He was leaning toward her right, toward the pistol. He took one more step forward, inside her range. She snapped two quick jabs, a left followed by a right, catching him in the nose and popping his head back. She followed with a knee to his stomach, the strike missing and sliding off.

Ending slightly to his rear, she stuck a leg behind his knees and levered his body backward, causing him to slam into the floor a second time. As he went over, his flailing arms grabbed her hair, yanking her to the ground. She screamed and jerked free, scrambling for the pistol in the corner on her hands and knees.

He leapt on her back, circling his arms around her neck, clamping down on her throat and driving her face-first into the floor. She saw sparks flash in her eyes, the pain consuming her. She swept the floor blindly, desperately trying to grasp the pistol. Her hand brushed the grip and she swung it back again, slapping the pistol forward. It disappeared into the hole in the floor.

He pounded her head into the ground, paralyzing her for a moment. She quit searching for the gun and struggled to her knees. She swam a hand between his arm and her throat, using all of her strength to pry it back, but only gaining a half inch of space.

She fought to her feet, then drove her legs backward, forcing him to backpedal to stay upright. She picked up speed and slammed him into the wall near the entrance door. It did little good.

He pressed her head forward, cinching down his arms, his face next to hers. She smelled stale tobacco on his ragged breath, and knew it might be the last thing she ever sensed.

She drove her legs backward again and he used the momentum to whip her around, throwing her into the wall face-first. The impact stunned her enough to make her go limp for a split second. He bent over, holding her weight off of the floor. She saw the light of the stars through a window and feebly flung her right heel back, trying to damage him.

Window
.

She put her hand on the sill and pulled herself toward it.

In between breaths, he said, “Quit fucking fighting. Stop it.”

With her last bit of strength, she whirled her body, making him rotate with her and getting his back to the wall. She staggered to the right, dragging him along. He jerked her neck and she could go no farther, praying she was within range.

She went limp again, forcing him to bend over and hold her weight. She gathered her feet underneath her and exploded off of the floor, driving him backward. She barely heard the shattering of the glass and kept pushing, jamming his body through the window. His lower back embedded in the jagged glass in the sill, causing him to scream.

And breaking his hold on her neck.

She whirled around before he could recover, grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head to the right, embedding his neck in broken glass. She ripped the head down, raking his neck on the transparent razors, then fell back, gasping for air.

He pulled himself out of the window, his eyes wide-open and both hands on his neck, blood jetting out obscenely. Even as she scuttled backward like a crab, she stared in morbid fascination, amazed at the volume of fluid.

He fell face-first, one arm outstretched, the fingers clawing the dirty concrete.

Y
uri heard the early warning call from Peter and a smile crept across his face, a sinister, savage thing devoid of humanity. It was the woman approaching. The one who had killed Dmitri and Mishka. The one he had promised to flay. A promise he very much wanted to keep.

Two weeks ago he would never have considered an operation such as this. One that was so far away from his primary tasking. To do so would be tantamount to treason. He would have simply swallowed the bitter pill he’d been given and continued on, like he had on numerous operations in the past. That had been before the death of Vlad. With it, he’d discovered a newfound freedom. It was more than a lack of oversight. It was something growing inside of him, a desire to make his own destiny instead of blindly following orders.

He’d still accomplish Vlad’s original mission even if he had to set the dirty bomb himself, putting Akinbo’s dead body next to it, but he would have his vengeance here first.

Headlights pierced the window of the building he was in, forcing him to duck beneath the sill. They vanished, and he watched the car coast forward with nothing but its driving lights. It reached the edge of the cul-de-sac and flashed its lights. Once, then twice. On the second flash he thought he saw movement in the shrubbery of the building next to his.

The car door opened, and he watched the female exit and begin walking to the center building at the end of the circle. He returned to the shrubbery, raising his night vision to his eyes. He could barely make out a shadow. Maybe a man, maybe not. He flipped out the folding stock of his PP-19, brought the weapon to high ready, and slid out the door.

He went around the back of the building, away from the street, sliding along the concrete cinder blocks. When he got to the edge, he peeked around the corner, using his NODs. From this distance he could clearly make out a man crouching in the dark, staring at the linkup site.

He saw no weapon, the man apparently just watching. He had to be a member of the American team. Yuri slid the PP-19 around to his back and pulled out a six-inch fixed-blade stiletto. He began to creep ever so slowly toward his prey.

He got within five feet when the man answered a cell phone. Yuri strained to hear what he said, but couldn’t make it out. An instant later he understood why. The man wasn’t speaking English. In fact, he wasn’t speaking a language Yuri recognized.

He listened for a second more, happy for the call as, like a texting driver, it focused the man’s attention on the phone and distracted him from his surroundings. A dangerous mistake on a highway, but positively lethal in combat. All Yuri needed to do was wait until the call was over, get him in the sweet spot while he was still focused on the conversation but after he’d disconnected, preventing whoever he was talking with from realizing something had gone terribly wrong.

He put the knife in a reverse grip and crouched, staring at the grainy green image through his NODs. He saw the arm drop, paused a moment to be sure, then was taken by surprise when the man snapped upright and exploded out of the bushes, running straight toward the linkup building.

Yuri remained still for exactly one second. That’s all the time it took for his brain to assimilate the action, the purposes behind it, and the second-order effects of letting the man continue. He sheathed the knife, ripped off the NODs, and began sprinting, bringing up the PP-19 Bizon. He entered the street and saw the man was almost to the building.

He took a knee, flipped the lever to full auto, and squeezed off a three-round burst. The PP-19 was a submachine gun, accurate at short ranges but not designed to kill at a distance. He watched the dust spray at the man’s feet. He raised his hold and let loose again. This time the man tumbled to the ground, rolling to the sidewalk just outside the building.

He was mentally congratulating himself when the window to the right of the door exploded outward.

What the fuck?

He raised his NODs and saw Oleg holding the girl, him on his back and screaming. Yuri dropped the goggles around his neck and began sprinting again, his eyes glued to the window. He reached the sidewalk and took a knee, raising his weapon and hitting the window with its mounted light. He saw the girl rip Oleg’s neck on the left side of the shattered window, the blood spurting out black in the harsh illumination.

He heard a guttural scream from the right and whirled in time to deflect the charge of another man. The attacker dove at his head, attempting to tackle him. He rolled back, planting his foot on the man’s stomach and using his momentum to flip him neatly over his head and into the ground. The man rolled, springing to a crouch unhurt, charging again. He saw it wasn’t a man. It was another woman.

He pulled his weapon up and she lashed out with her leg, knocking the barrel off. She closed inside his range and began ripping his face with elbows and spear hands, tearing the skin above his nose and pounding his brow, all sharp edges and pain. She jabbed his left eye, blinding him, and he kicked out, pushing her back. She growled and charged again, like some demented being unconcerned about her welfare.

He popped her hard in the temple, then grabbed her hair with one hand and wrapped his arm around her waist with the other. He slammed her into the ground, then raised her head by the hair, exposing her neck.

She looked him in the eye and said, “You are fucking dead.”

He said, “Not tonight.”

And raised his fist.