The low caliber of the rifle would turn away most snipers, but for Petrov it was a way to level the playing field, albeit slightly. Using a rifle with less power left no room for error. He thought of it as giving the target a chance. For him, it was a way to add some thrill to taking down an unsuspecting victim.
With this particular marksman behind the scope, making a mistake was never expected to enter into the equation. Everything would have been perfect if it wasn’t for that damn dog.
Petrov prided himself on his shooting ability, but when he lined up the sight and squeezed the weapon’s trigger, something unusual happened. The massive Great Dane owned by his target affectionately nudged its head under the man’s arm. The resulting movement caused the shot to hit low.
The barking started immediately. The deep sound of the canine’s voice reverberated through the broken kitchen window and overwhelmed the once-still neighborhood. The Russian had never heard an animal project so loudly. Its cries of desperation punched through the night air as it stood guard over its master’s body.
Petrov was forced to retreat through the wooded park to his rental car and head back to his hotel in Tysons Corner. It was sloppy, but he managed to finish the job in the end.
Chapter 11
Trent Turner pulled into the Inova Fairfax visitors’ parking lot and blasted his horn. “What an idiot,” he said under his breath. The car that had just pulled out nearly clipped his rental car. He scowled at the driver noting he had squeezed himself into a hospital-issue scrub top that was too small.
“Here’s a tip: check the mirror first, pal. Your lack of fashion sense is cutting off the circulation to your brain,” he grumbled with a shake of his head. Bad drivers, poor dressers, and hospitals were all things annoying on different levels.
Emotions he had suppressed for many years hit him all at once. Being anxious was uncharacteristic for the experienced operative, but seeing his family under these circumstances would be difficult for anyone. He scanned the area and didn’t see signs of a welcoming committee from The Island waiting to bring him in. He knew blowing off Addy Simpson’s order to stay in New York would be cause for some serious tension back home. The operative was unsettled by the fact that he hadn’t heard from his handler yet. It was normal to expect a delay, since he wasn’t on an operation, but this time it was different. Trent had sent the code to put himself into stealth mode more than three hours ago. It was something he’d never done before, and his handler knew it would cause some major waves.
The code meant Turner had disabled the ability for The Island to track his movements. He would use aliases that only he knew, and his devices would be masked. Trent Turner would disappear from the radar. His handler, Tak, was the only person who could contact him when he went dark.
He and Tak had hit it off from the second they exchanged call signs, and over the years they had become extremely close. Turner had chosen Goldfinger for his handle. It was an inside joke that reminded him of the drawn-out arguments he had with his father and brother. He liked Sean Connery as James Bond, and they preferred Roger Moore. The instant his handler replied that his call sign would be AVtaK, he knew they would get along just fine. A View to a Kill was one of the Bond flicks that starred Moore. It was like a small taste of home.
Trent’s alias morphed into several nicknames that his handler used to lighten up tense situations. Solid Gold, Goldilocks, Golden Boy, Stinky Finger, but as they gained more experience and grew closer together, he finally settled on calling him Finger. Trent ended up shortening his handler’s name to Tak.
They never met in person — protocol wouldn’t allow it — but in a world of evolving communication, the absence of physical contact seemed increasingly normal. For security reasons both men — at least Turner believed Tak was a man — had their voices altered by computer software when they spoke. The program was designed to catalog speech patterns and develop a profile for each individual. The software provided a consistent, normal flow and experience during conversation.
Turner decided the security measures were to protect his handler. Since there was no traceable connection between them, Tak could lead a relatively normal life. He wouldn’t have the threat of a rogue operative hunting him down, or the risk of his identity being revealed under extreme torture.
BOMBTRACK. That was the code that switched Turner into stealth mode. The twist was that nobody at Island Industries or The Shop, the nickname for the company where Tak worked, had any idea the two would still be in contact. Turner knew going underground would be the biggest test yet for their trust.
A trip to the hospital was a risk, but Turner decided there wouldn’t be any alarm bells ringing unless The Island had tried to contact him in the past four hours. Going to visit his brother was too important; it was something he couldn’t pass on.
The operative didn’t know how long it would take to track down the person who executed the hit on his brother, but he knew The Island wouldn’t tolerate a personal operation like this. That was something he’d have to worry about later. He would have to figure out a way to repair the damage when this was over. He knew what he signed up for, what this meant, and realized, if he was accepted back into the fold, there wouldn’t be a welcome mat.
Chapter 12
“Hey, Addy. Any word on Trent yet?” Gordon Peterson asked as his boss entered the training facility.
Addy Simpson shook his head and said, “No, not yet. Word sure gets around fast in this place.”
Peterson flashed him a knowing smile. “We’re fast. That’s why you pay us the big bucks,” he said.
Simpson shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Good point, Gordo.”
His friend had the typical résumé of an Islander: a former Special Forces soldier handpicked by Simpson who specialized in covert operations. The two sailors met when Simpson was a team leader on SEAL Team 6, which had since changed its name to the United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group, or DEVGRU for short.
Simpson went on to earn the rank of vice admiral after his time with the SEALs. He played an integral role with the SEAL team’s move under the United States Naval Special Warfare Command, and became the original commander of the Joint Special Operations Command. He was then appointed to run the CIA, until an incident with an old adversary forced him from his post. It turned out to be an opportunity in disguise, and the resignation saw him start up his private firm, Island Industries.
“You can’t beat yourself up about this,” Peterson said. He could see the concern hanging on Simpson’s face and knew about the death of Turner’s brother. “We all know the risks. Trent knew the risks. I feel like shit about it too,” he admitted, “but it’s not our first tragedy, and it sure as hell won’t be our last.”
Simpson looked his good friend in the eye and said, “I just—”
“Look,” Peterson interrupted. “Beating yourself up about it isn’t going to help anyone. It’s not like you could have pulled him off the operation. We couldn’t have known he was compromised and someone put a hit out there. We did everything we could on our end, Addy.”