He heard it long before he saw it, standing there in the darkness — a pair of chemlights in his outstretched arms.
The unmarked UH-60 Blackhawk came swirling out of the darkness, descending into the snowy cornfield. Its downwash threw up snow and stubble, buffeting Thomas in the face. He never even flinched.
Numb. He felt numb, as if he was living a dream. Two figures slid from the open door of the helicopter, the foremost man limping across the uneven ground toward him.
“Is he still alive?” Kranemeyer demanded. The DCS made a foreboding figure in the night, leaning heavily on his good leg. His black eyes seemed to take on a demonic aspect in the red glow of the chemlights.
Thomas nodded. “We’ve got him on a table in the trailer — Tex is with him, but it’s not looking good.”
“Have you dressed the wound?” This from the man behind Kranemeyer. It took a moment for Thomas to place his voice, and then he remembered — a surgeon on the staff of the Special Activities Division.
He nodded, turning to lead the way back across the cornfield. “The bullet — my bullet,” he added, as if realizing it for the first time himself, “collapsed his right lung. The occlusive dressing sealed the wound, but the cavity hasn’t expanded yet — not completely.”
The surgeon shook his head. “There’s only going to be so much I can do — we’ll need to prep him for immediate transport to a Level One Trauma Center.”
“That’s not happening.” Both men turned to look at Kranemeyer.
The surgeon took a step forward, his mouth opening in protest. “We’re talking about the life of the DCIA.”
“As am I,” Kranemeyer replied, cold resolution in his voice. “He’s been targeted for assassination — he was driven underground, and he preferred to let people think he was dead or taken hostage rather than face the alternative. And my people have risked their lives extracting assets from hostile countries because of it. He’d better have a good reason…or I’ll kill him myself.”
“They’re moving.” Carol’s voice, over his earpiece. Harry’s gaze flickered across the club, toward the VIP.
“Do you have eyes on our subjects, Alexei?”
“Negative.”
A burst of static interference over the connection, and they heard a Russian voice. Clearly himself on the phone. “…don’t care. Find Pyotr and don’t take any of his crap. I want to know where he is every second of the day until this whole thing is over. Stay on him.”
Vasiliev murmured a curse. “That’s Andropov — I recognize his voice.”
“And Pyotr…” Carol left the thought unfinished, but everyone knew what she was thinking.
Harry closed his eyes. Your only safety out in the night was in being able to stay one step ahead of a disintegrating situation. Manipulating it to your will.
Adapt. That was what made the spy. “Do you still have a visual?”
A moment’s pause, then Carol replied, “Yes.”
“You and Han need to make the snatch.” He could hear her sharp intake of breath, hear the hesitation in her voice when she spoke again.
“I–I don’t know if I can…”
“It isn’t a question of if. Alexei and I won’t be able to make it back to California in time. The two of you are going to have to grab him. Right away.”
Silence. Then, “Have you seen Andropov and the Arabs yet?”
“No. You, Alexei?”
“Nyet.”
“The tracker is fifty meters away from your position and moving west,” Carol announced. “I’m picking up street noise…there must be another exit from the VIP.”
Harry pushed back his chair, nearly knocking into a dancing couple behind him. A blue strobe hit him full in the face and he ducked his head down, moving down the stairs onto the club floor. “Stay on them — we can’t afford to lose track of them. Alexei, meet me on the street ASAP.”
The rear doors of the dirty gray van opened and Nasir vaulted inside, taking his seat on the bench along the side of the vehicle. It was a work van, used to transport migrant workers around the city, and his nose wrinkled at the smell.
His hand slid into the pocket of his rumpled jeans, feeling for the cellphone. There.
Jamal slid in beside him, still chuckling. “Good, wasn’t it, brother?”
Nasir felt himself nod, his sweaty fingers closing around the phone, running along the plastic case as he tried to pry off the back. He closed his eyes as more of the martyrs climbed into the van, forcing himself to focus.
The back of the phone came off with what seemed like an unnaturally loud snap, and Nasir’s eyes darted around the darkened interior of the van, certain that someone must have heard it.
Nothing. They were laughing among themselves, backslapping over their prowess of the night.
He felt the exposed battery beneath his fingers, ever so close. Almost there…
The cold night air struck Harry in the face as he burst through the door of the club, descending the steps onto the street. Vasiliev was just a moment behind him, his silver hair glistening in the glow of the streetlight. “Where now, tovarisch?”
“He’s northwest of you now — in a vehicle from the sound of it,” Carol interjected. “Two hundred meters and building.”
There was no time for indecision. “Never going to catch them on foot,” he announced, turning to the Russian. “We’ll need your car. I’ll take up pursuit from here.”
“On what?”
“I’ll find something,” Harry shot back, eyeing a blue and silver Harley parked near the curb. “Carol, can you overlay the GPS map with a street grid and send it to my phone?”
She didn’t respond, and for a moment he thought their connection had been broken. “Do you copy?”
When she spoke again, she sounded surprised, uncertain. “He’s gone, Harry.”
Chapter 19
Two minutes. The figure on-screen hadn’t moved. Carol’s gaze shifted from the laptop down to the phone in her hand.
“Think he’ll take the bait?” Han asked, rubbing his hands together. It was cold in the back of the panel van, but they couldn’t leave it running.
“Our boy’s a player,” she responded. “I had to work back through his chat and SMS history to figure out which of his four girlfriends was the one you see on-screen.”
Actually, all they could currently see of her was an ankle poking out from beneath the blankets, but that was beside the point.
“And?”
“None of the above.” Carol rolled her eyes. “He’s not just getting it on the side, he’s getting it on the side of the side.”
The former SEAL chuckled. “Had a guy like that in the Teams, a ‘geographic bachelor’, if you will. Never did figure out how he pulled it off.”
“Envious?”
“No, more worried whether his pillow talk would violate opsec. Never did, that I knew. What did you send him?”
“A ‘picture’ from girlfriend #3. They had a fight last week and haven’t made up yet. Which is why she wants to meet.”
When she looked over, Han’s face was serious once more. Pensive, even. As if he was remembering.
Carol looked down at her hands, unsure what to say. There were no words that could ease the hurt of those memories.
Movement on-screen and their target emerged from the tangle of blankets, the cellphone in his fist.
He ran a hand through his hair, a satisfied smile on his face as he apparently looked for his pants.