Necessary Retribution (38 page)

The Spetsnaz soldier shrugged and said, “Major Popovitch will talk.”

Robin turned around. I have no doubt about that. He keyed his mic. “Gary, where can we meet you?”

“Turn right on Rafiqui Road. It's across from the entrance to the air base.”

“Roger. Alex, you copy?”

“Roger.”

They met Gary on a darkened street just off Rafiqui Road. Alex walked up to Robin.

“Picushkin went to Karachi. That's where the other two bombs are.”

“Yeah, they got into a private jet. I got a partial tail number,” Gary said.

“Alex, did he tell you where the bombs are?”

“He said they were on a boat, but I don't know if he lied.”

“How can you find out?”

“I can't. Popovitch is dead. He bled to death from his wound, but he did say something that has me worried.”

“What's that?”

“He said, ‘Worse than Tunguska.’”

“I don't know what that means.”

“In the early nineteen hundreds, scientists believe a huge asteroid hit Siberia completely wiping out everything for over eight hundred square miles.”

“Damn, we got to get to Karachi and we better do it now, before the ISI gets a bulletin out on us. Alex, you and I need to catch a plane from here. Burke tell Ernie to get the team back to Osh and get the boy from Jonathan. Tell him to do what he thinks is best when you guys get to Fatboy.” Robin looked at Alex. “Alex, I'm going to ask the CIA for help. Hopefully, they can pick up Picushkin at the airport and follow him. I think I can convince them not to talk to the ISI.”

Alex shrugged. “We don't have much choice. Our closest assets are in India.”

Robin got into the car and called Grassley.

“Bill Grassley.”

“Bill, it's Robin.”

“I've been sitting here hoping you'd call.”

“Do you have reliable assets in Karachi?”

“We have a station there.”

“Okay, Picushkin will be landing in Karachi in about two hours in a private jet…or more accurately, an ISI plane with a tail number ending with 712A. We need someone to pick up surveillance. We'll be there in two to four hours.”

“Where are you?”

“Moving and dodging the ISI. Bill, you can't call the Paks.”

“I have to, it's protocol and I have no doubt we will soon be receiving inquiries about your activity.”

“Lie to them. Do you want these Paks to get backpack nukes?”

Grassley didn't answer.

“Look, Bill we'll recover the nukes and take care of Picushkin. We'll be out of Pakistan in twelve hours. Work with me on this.”

“All right, Rob. Call me when you get to Karachi.”

F
ORTY
-T
WO

ROBIN DROVE A RENTAL CAR
slowly through the Karachi Airport looking for Alex. He flew in on Pakistan International Airlines while Alex took a flight with Shaheen Air. He stopped in front of the terminal area for Shaheen. A few seconds later, Alex appeared and Robin honked his horn. Alex jumped in the car.

“Any problems getting here?”

“There was interest in me when I bought my ticket, but nothing came of it. Did you have any trouble?”

“Like you, I got asked some strange questions and a guy tried to get someone on the phone, but he never connected. So, they let me go. Just the same, we should check for a tail. I'm going to stop up here and you need to take over driving while I coordinate with the CIA.”

Robin pulled over and the men changed positions. Robin called Grassley.

“I hope that's you, Rob.”

“It is.”

“We picked up Picushkin at the airport. He was with a man our guy says is a rogue ISI agent, whose job is to assist Jihadist terrorist groups. The ISI doesn't admit he's theirs, but he is. There was also an Asian man and they had a young boy. Standby while we connect you to our agents.”

Robin heard some clicks and static, then a voice.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I'm your contact. I'm Rob.”

“Hi Rob, are you at the airport?”

“Yes, how do we connect with you?”

“Okay, the targets split up. Picushkin and the Asian guy went down to the Karachi harbor at The Defense Housing Authority Marina.”

“Did they have the boy with them?”

“Yeah, he was with them.”

“How do we get there?”

“I assume you have a map?”

“Yeah, I picked one up from the rental agency.”

“Look southwest from the airport to the water and you'll be in the general area.”

“Okay, I see it.”

“You want to get in Shahrah-e-Faisal Highway and head west.”

“I see that.”

“Then come south on Creek Avenue.”

“Yep, I got it.”

“You'll come to Zulfigar Street 1. Go down that street until you get to the Carlton Hotel. I'll be in the hotel restaurant. You better get moving. Shahrah-e-Faisal can get really jammed up.”

“We're on our way.”

The trip was 20 miles, but took an hour. The Karachi drivers drove like they were in a road race with a mix of bumper cars. Robin was glad Alex drove because they went through several serious traffic jams that would have tested Robin's patience, but Alex seemed unphased.

The two men pulled into the parking lot of the Carlton Hotel and made their way to the restaurant. A man in a tan suit with an open collar waved them over to his table.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I don't believe introductions are necessary.”

“Good afternoon. What are we eating?” Robin asked.

“I recommend any seafood here. You don't want to try their meat. It can be an iffy proposition sometimes.”

The waiter came over and Robin and Alex order grilled tuna steaks. When the waiter left, the CIA agent pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the bay, which spread before them in panorama through large picture windows.

“The eighty foot yacht to the right is your boy's boat. He, the Asian and the young boy are on board and have been for several hours. I haven't seen any activity indicating they're getting ready to leave.”

Robin studied the geography and the tactical situation. “We're going to have to do a seaborne assault. Can you provide us with scuba gear, weapons and a RIB?”

The CIA man gave Robin a hard look. “Not without permission from Langley and a RIB on this short notice will be tough.”

Robin looked around. “I'll be right back.” He went down the stairs and through the lobby to the front desk.

The clerk looked up. “How may I help you, sir?” He asked in Arabic.

Robin replied in the same language, “My friend and I are staying at the Hilton, but we like your hotel so much, we'd like to get rooms here. Do you have any available?”

The clerk gave a condescending smile. “The only room I have available is one of our Royal Suites, which is quite expensive.”

“On the top floor?”

“Why yes, sir.”

“Fine, we'll take it.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“A week.”

The clerk raised his eyebrows. “I will need the room rent in advance.”

Robin handed the man a credit card.

The clerk looked at the name on the card. “Well, Mr. Al-Alani, you don't look like you're from the Middle East.”

“My father is Saudi, but my mother is Irish. My father is of the royal family.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry to have questioned you, sir!”

“Apology accepted.”

The clerk looked relieved as he handed Robin two keys.

Robin made his way back to the restaurant and sat back down at the table.

“You can forget about the RIB. We'll launch the assault from here.”

“How are you going to do that?” the CIA man asked.

“I just got the penthouse here for a week. All you need to do is get us scuba equipment, a couple of hundred feet of rope and suppressed weapons. If you need juice to get authorization, call Grassley.”

“My boss doesn't like jumping the chain of command.”

Robin sat back and drummed his fingers on the table. “What's your boss’ phone number? I'll have Grassley call him.”

“All right, all right, calm down. I'll get the gear. It's just doing this op without telling the Paks is downright dangerous.”

“And if we told them, the ISI would warn Picushkin and get him out of here.”

The CIA man took a deep breath. “What time do you want the gear?”

“After dark.”

“I'll be here.” The CIA man rose to leave and reached for his wallet.

Robin held up his hand. “Don't worry about it. I'll bill the room.”

The CIA man nodded and left. Robin and Alex went up to the suite, which was spacious and had a balcony overlooking the bay. It gave a direct view of Picushkin's yacht.

“Well Alex, we have a great surveillance location.”

Alex laughed. “You're truly an amazing person, Robin.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would have never thought about renting a room here and you had the CIA man terrified of you when he left.”

“I don't know about that. We need to be careful. He might just decide he needs to tell the Paks what we're up to.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Not really because he probably believes we'll kill him if he does.”

Alex broke out laughing. “Yes, he had that look in his eyes.”

Robin reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of binoculars. “I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep.”

Alex reached for the binoculars. “No, my friend, you have done most of the work today. You get some rest. I need that crazy mind of yours working in high gear tonight.”

Robin shrugged. “All right, partner, I'll grab some shut eye.”

Alex laughed again. “Sometimes you sound like the cowboys in American westerns.”

“That's because I am a cowboy at heart.”

Robin glassed the yacht as he saw a motorboat heading out to it, it's wake jumbling the reflection of the lights on the other side of the harbor. He had relieved Alex four hours before. It was dark, but he could see the boat pulled up alongside the yacht. Robin could make out a man climbing on board. The lighting on the yacht revealed a well dressed man whose head moved surveying the area. Definitely an operator and probably Pakistani ISI. Picushkin appeared and warmly greeted the ISI man. They went below.

Robin walked to the room where Alex rested. “Hey partner, wake up. We have activity.”

Alex immediately jumped to his feet. “What is it?”

“It looks like Picushkin's ISI contact has showed up. It's time to go to work.”

They moved swiftly, packing the gear delivered by the CIA man. They were already in the wetsuits. They put on their air tanks and masks. Robin stepped out to the balcony and looked four stories down. The area below was clear and quiet in the sticky warm air. The area was basically under construction. The hotel was new and the grounds around it didn't have much in the way of shrubbery for concealment, but there wasn't much in the way people traffic.

Robin secured a rope on the balcony railing and threw the other end over the side. Alex slid down the rope first and disappeared behind a small building. Robin went next and knelt down next to Alex. The water was one hundred yards away.

The men remained still, listening and surveying the area. Minutes later, Robin looked at Alex and gave a thumbs up. Alex returned the hand signal and they crept across the barren dirt using shadows for concealment. They reached the beach and slipped into the water.

Once in the water, Robin put his flippers on and started towards the yacht on a compass bearing he previously plotted. A long cord connected him to Alex. Robin barely surfaced twice to check their course. Twenty minutes later, they were at the swim platform of the yacht. They took off their tanks and removed their weapons from waterproof bags. Each man had a suppressed MP5 submachine gun, a suppressed Glock 9mm pistol and KaBar knives. They put their pistols in thigh holsters.

The only sound they heard was water lapping against the hull of the boat. Robin raised his head over the stern and covered the area with his submachine gun as Alex climbed over the gunwale and ghosted to the cabin door. He knelt ready to shoot and waved Robin over who went to the other side of the door and knelt. Alex rose to the bottom of a window. He quickly looked and then dropped back down. Turning to Robin, he put his fingers to his eyes and then held up one finger, indicating he saw one bad guy. He then made a throat slitting motion indicating he would use his knife to kill the enemy.

Robin held up his hand for Alex to wait and pointed up to the bridge of the yacht. He wanted to clear high ground before they assaulted the main part of the boat. Alex nodded.

Robin turned and climbed the ladder to the bridge. He approached it in a crouch and then rose slowly to look through the door window. He saw a large man bent over the chart table. He also saw Ahmed sitting on a chair, his feet and hands bound. Robin tried the door handle and it moved. He thumbed the selector switch on his submachine gun to semi-auto, raised it to eye level and silently entered the bridge. The man started to straighten up and turn as if he sensed something. Robin squeezed the trigger and shot the man with one bullet into the base of the brain. The man pitched forward, but Robin caught him before he crashed onto the chart table and quietly lowered the body to the deck.

He turned to Ahmed, whose eyes were wide and terrified. Robin put his finger to his lips and moved next to Ahmed and spoke in Arabic.