Authors: JT Brannan
STOP AT NOTHING: 'Mark Cole is Bond's US cousin mixed with the balls out action and killing edge of Jason Bourne' Parmenion Books (20 page)
The driving snow was making it hard to see out of the windscreen of the stolen car. Cole had driven the Citroen C9 a little over two hundred miles, and knew he would soon need a new one. He didn’t want to drive too far in a stolen vehicle, for fear that it would attract attention. Changing cars every two or three hundred miles would make the journey a lot safer. There would be one more change before he got to the German border, and then he would leave the vehicle and cross over on foot, only taking another car when he was safely in the new country. He couldn’t take the chance of driving through the border, for fear that the patrol guards might have his picture; he had no idea the extent of the manhunt Hansard would have ordered.
He coaxed the little car on along the highway at a steady hundred kilometres per hour, in quite possibly the worst conditions he had ever come across. The compacted snow under his tyres made grip all but nonexistent, and the snow was coming down so heavily that even with his wipers on at double speed, he could barely see the road ahead.
Even with his concentration on the road, he felt his mind returning to his old master and mentor. Hansard – he still couldn’t believe the man wanted him dead. It was too much to accept, and yet Cole’s experience of the world meant that his views of human nature were essentially somewhat less than optimistic. Cynicism was his watchword, and yet he had never expected Hansard to turn against him. What was the man thinking? He was up to something, that much was obvious; it was also evident that whatever it was, it was big. But, he remembered, Hansard had always had the mental edge; not just over him, but over everyone.
Cole remembered their first meeting, back when he had been Ensign Mark Kowalski with SEAL Team Two during the long, hot summer of 2003 in Iraq. It was only a year after he had fought in the caves of Afghanistan, but he didn’t mind; he loved the action. There was always the fear, of course, but he knew that if he could persevere through the fear, there would be the glorious reward of the supercharged adrenal surge at the other end. Kowalski had learnt early on that there was no more powerful a drug than the adrenaline hit brought on by a real-life fire-fight, with trained men shooting at you, whilst you tried to shoot back. It made everything so clear – movements, sounds, the feel of the air on your skin, the flow of blood pumping around your body – and it was unlike any other feeling Kowalski had ever experienced. The truth of the matter was that he only felt truly alive when his life was in danger. It was a truth that Mr Hansard, as he introduced himself, saw immediately.
Mr Hansard was waiting for him in the operations tent when Kowalski returned from a reconnaissance patrol. The interview took place before he had even had the chance to shed his equipment. As soon as Kowalski entered, the man was on his feet, extending a hand. ‘Ensign Kowalski, I presume?’ the tall, slim man said in a polished, almost seductive tone. As Kowalski took the hand and shook, the stranger continued. ‘My name is Mr Hansard. Sorry for the intrusion, but I would like to have a little talk with you.’
Kowalski looked around the room. Nobody else was there, which told him something; the operations tent was the nerve centre of the troop and was normally a hive of activity. Whoever this man was, he was someone important. Hansard … Kowalski’s mind wandered. He knew the name from somewhere, and it wasn’t long before he made the connection. The dark wood cane leaning against the side of the chair helped the matter. Charles Hansard, a big wig from the DIA. A war hero
and
a special ops legend.
What the Hell does he want with me?
Kowalski wondered.
The Systems Research Group was never mentioned, and Mr Hansard never even indicated that he was setting up a new, ultra-covert military action cell. All the questions came from the DIA officer, and Kowalski answered them as honestly as he could. It was clear that the older man was recruiting, but for what, he didn’t say. The interview went well, Cole remembered, but it was such a strange situation that in some ways it felt like no more than a dream.
At the end of the meeting, Hansard had stood, shaken hands with the American commando, and announced that he would be in touch. He kept his word, although it was four more years before the men spoke again.
The problem, Hansard remembered, was that at the time, Kowalski was something of an adrenaline junkie. The commendations, awards and medals – including a Bronze Star, Purple Heart with cluster, and the Navy Cross, a line-up that made him one of the most decorated men serving in the military at the time – that had looked so impressive in his personnel file, were merely the result of Kowalski’s impetuous desire to be in the thick of the action. Some people called it ‘courage under fire’, and Hansard did indeed find the man’s achievements impressive, but the new head of the SRG had decided, in the end, that such a man would be a liability in the field.
It was a further sad fact that Kowalski had almost been demoted after breaking the jaw of a four-stripe Navy Captain, almost losing his hard-won commission only months after his graduation as an officer.
Kowalski’s unit had been leaving a ‘hot’ beach in Libya, chased by Gaddafi’s Revolutionary Guard, and the submarine they had been expecting to extract them one kilometre off-shore had pulled back two further kilometres due to the Captain’s concerns over the safety of his ship. The extra distance had caused two of the team’s wounded men to die, and Kowalski had to drag the lifeless body of one of them almost a mile through the powerful current of the Red Sea.
Once aboard the sub, he had lost no time in finding the Captain and punching him straight on the jaw. He would have done more, Hansard heard, had he not been restrained by his team-mates.
It wasn’t that Hansard blamed the man per se; Heavens knew, the Captain deserved it for his cowardice. But it showed a streak of impetuousness that would be dangerous for an SRG operator. Indeed, Kowalski might have been thrown out of the Navy altogether had it not been for his incredible service record.
Hansard had kept a close eye on Mark Kowalski, however, watching as he made Lieutenant – presumably his previous transgression against the submarine commander had been forgiven – and then as he passed selection for the SEAL’s own elite DEVGRU unit, known more famously as SEAL Team Six, and started the arduous training programme for that specialist group. According to Hansard’s sources, Kowalski had exceeded all expectations in training, and was deemed by his instructors to be a natural counter-terrorism soldier. One of his greatest attributes, reputedly, was his patience. Hansard remembered being surprised to hear this particular comment, and made a note to monitor Kowalski’s first few jobs for the DEVGRU in order to see just how far the lad had come on. Although the SRG was a small group – and still a well-kept secret – there was always room for the right sort of person. And Hansard was finally coming round to the decision that Kowalski
was
the right sort of person.
It wasn’t long after training that Kowalski was once again tested in the field, as his Team Six was sent straight to Iraq to make up Task Force Blue, responsible for hunting down the Al’Queda high-command in the western provinces, including regular incursions into Iran.
What impressed Hansard about the operation wasn’t so much the fact that it harmed Al’Queda – he knew they would replace their lost leadership soon enough – it was the fact that the unit had never been seen or discovered, even though it moved throughout a dangerous area, in which allied forces should never have been in the first place. Which meant that Kowalski had kept his cool.
It seemed, for whatever reason, that Kowalski had developed into the man Hansard had been looking for. It was time to meet with him again.
The call came as a surprise to Kowalski; so much had happened since that strange meeting two years previously that he had all but forgotten Hansard and the mystery job.
He had been at home in Dam Neck, Virginia with Claire, his first wife, when the call came. Things hadn’t been good between them lately – Kowalski had been away too often, either training or on operations, and his wife had simply grown tired of being alone - and she had just started another argument when the phone went. Glad of the interruption, Kowalski had picked it up straight away.
The conversation was short, merely inviting Kowalski to meet with him the next day in Washington. There was no question of not going; he was curious about why Hansard should contact him now, after never getting back to him before. Besides which, it would give him a reason to be out of the house.
The meeting was shorter this time. Kowalski could tell Hansard had already made his mind up, and the ‘interview’ was a mere formality. It soon became apparent that that was indeed the case.
‘What do you know about a covert cell known as the Systems Research Group?’ Hansard asked.
Kowalski shook his head. ‘Systems Research Group? Never heard of it.’
Hansard smiled. ‘I should hope not. It doesn’t officially exist as such, you see. Are you familiar with the Intelligence Support Activity or Grey Fox?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Kowalski answered. ‘I even know a few guys who served in those units, met them on joint exercises. Good men,’ he added.
‘They probably were,’ Hansard agreed. ‘The problem was, everyone knew about it. And for a covert unit that does questionable work for the government, that’s really not good. So, we disbanded and had a quiet couple of years. Time to reflect, so to speak.’ Hansard watched Kowalski’s face for a reaction. There was none; he had come a long way in just four short years, it seemed. ‘But the need for such a unit was still there, and on an even wider scale. And so I was asked to establish the SRG back in 2003, to carry on that necessary work. I was of course interested in you then; but I felt that you could do with a bit of maturing.’
Kowalski was not offended by the suggestion; looking back now, he could see how impetuous he had been. He realized now the danger of such behaviour and, although the desire for action was still there, his immense personal discipline now kept it very much in check.
‘Do you have any issues with the work that the ISA or Grey Fox was involved with?’ Hansard asked him directly.
‘No,’ Kowalski answered without a pause.
Why would I?
he wondered silently. The unit performed work that the American government deemed was necessary for the safety of the country; DEVGRU did pretty much the same thing, Kowalski figured. To some, the methods may have been questionable, but Kowalski was a firm believer of the ends justifying the means.
‘Good,’ Hansard said, standing and offering his hand. ‘Welcome to the unit.’ And that was it.
Only a couple of hours after losing the agents at the mall, Sarah and her family were making their way down I-87 towards Louisiana, and Louis Armstrong International Airport, from where they would catch the 19:15 flight to Munich.
The mood in the car was jovial. After they had gone up three flights of steps back in the Miami apartment block, Sarah had taken them through a service door and into a brightly-lit corridor.
The group had then entered Apartment 1209, where they had all had the chance to get washed and changed into new clothes. For added fun, they had all dyed their hair too, and Amy had been particularly happy with her new blond locks.
The apartment was owned by Mark Cole, who had bought it some time ago as part of the intricate escape plan he had developed for his family. It had taken him a while to find such a location – with service doors backing onto those of the huge neighbouring mall – but he had eventually managed it. He had also put in the remote-controlled door, and had it checked periodically.
And when the happy party were ready, the Ford 4 × 4 with blacked-out windows they found in the secure underground parking garage was also owned by Cole, who had thoughtfully placed the keys in a drawer in the apartment kitchen.
As they drove along the parched concrete of the interstate, Sarah finally began to relax, at least a little. After all, they’d done it; they’d finally managed to get rid of their pursuers, and would be in Europe by early morning.
And soon after that, she hoped above all else, her family would be reunited.
The collision was inevitable. The expressway southwest to Reims that Cole had wanted to use had been closed due to a large-scale accident caused by the horrendous weather, and so he had been forced to go straight down along the A16 to Paris. He now planned to skirt around the city and take the E54 out east on his way towards the German border crossing near Strasbourg.
But by the time Cole had got to D104 eastern ring road towards Attainville just to the north of the city, the weather was so bad that visibility was limited to mere inches, the ice on the road making progress even more treacherous.
Cole barely had time to turn the wheel when he saw the muted glare of headlights swiftly approaching from the side, out of a concealed entry road. The lights were swinging wildly from side to side, and in the instant before impact, Cole understood that the car must have lost control coming down the hill, picking up speed as it careered forward on the ice.
Cole managed to turn the steering wheel just in time to angle the car so that the brunt of the impact was taken on the rear end. Because he had a few precious instants to prepare, the collision didn’t shake him as much as it might have done. The icy conditions were merciless, however, and Cole felt his own vehicle start to spin wildly. He tried desperately to correct the wheel, but it was no good, and less than two seconds after the initial crash, the Citroen was straddling the opposite lane of the highway.
Cole had no time to prepare for the impact of the second vehicle as it ploughed straight into him; he merely felt the car roll, and then everything went blank.
Sarah, Ben and Amy arrived at Louis Armstrong International fresh and ready for their ‘holiday’. Sarah had been telling her children all about Europe during the car journey, and they were excited to see Germany.
Sarah had been born and brought up in New York, sometimes in the city but mainly at her father’s huge estate in the Catskills, and she had travelled widely across Europe in her youth. As a teenager she had gone backpacking with two of her girlfriends, visiting most of the continent’s capital cities, and had soaked up everything she could of their history and culture.
Although dangerous, travelling around Europe hadn’t worried her; she had been brought up to be self-reliant, and was more than capable of handling herself. Some parents would have balked at letting their daughter travel unprotected around Europe; Sarah’s father hadn’t really cared. Indeed, since the death of her mother, he hadn’t really cared about anything.
She sometimes reflected if his apathy was what let her leave her old family behind so easily, to live with Mark in the Caymans.
She accepted Mark’s way of life without question, and she realized that this would have seemed strange to many women. After all, it wasn’t until they were engaged that he had confided in her his real name, his real history, and his real job.
They had met at a dive centre in Cyprus, and the attraction had been instant. She was an instructor at the centre, and he was there on holiday, although it turned out he was an instructor too. It wasn’t until later that she found out that he had really been there recovering after plastic surgery, the final step of his transformation from Mark Kowalski – a Navy SEAL from Hamtramck, Michigan declared Killed in Action two years after being seconded to the secretive Systems Research Group – to Mark Cole – apparently a professional diving instructor from Phoenix, Arizona but who was really a covert agent for the US government known only as ‘the asset’.
She had been shocked initially, of course, but the truth was that Mark’s background excited her. She was a woman who loved adventure, and hated boredom – and Mark’s life, a life that he let her into and share, was anything but boring.
And, she figured, what he did now was no different from what anyone else did in the military – they followed orders sent down to them by politicians, for the good of the country.
She had been scared by the recent events, that much was true; but Mark’s training and his well-laid plans had worked, and now they would soon be in the air, on their way to their rendezvous.
She was confident her husband would meet them there.