Child killed his spin, throwing a hand toward the screen. “What are you talking about? It’s obviously them.”

  Therrien caught on faster than the wunderkind. “I think you’re right, boss. Better double-check just to make sure.”

  Child spun toward him. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

  Packman reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. “Shut the hell up. Everything that goes on in this room is recorded,” he hissed.

  Child’s eyes bulged and his mouth snapped shut. “Umm. I guess I need to get my eyes checked. I think you’re right. Target A definitely doesn’t match. And I think Target B—”

  Leroux held up a finger. It was one thing to play along. It was a totally different thing to overplay it. If there was ever an investigation, they would review the transcripts to see if there was any need to bother listening to the audio recordings, where overacting was easy to pick up.

  “I’m going to go see the Chief. Sonya, keep me posted if anything comes up.”

  “You got it.”

  He headed out the double doors and toward the elevators, debating what he would do if he were in the Chief’s position. Everyone was supposed to share intel, but everyone was also supposed to coordinate their assaults. The French were notorious for things like this, and if he were honest with himself, he would tell him to go to hell. They weren’t contributing to the intelligence effort. That was almost an exclusively American operation. Only the United States had enough satellite capability to cover every square inch of the earth and to dedicate two satellites to the operation. His team had identified four of the five sites already, and no one else had anything like MYSTIC.

  He understood the desire to rescue their citizen, but there was a bigger picture at play here, and them going in and screwing everything up made them just as selfish as the Russians, if not worse, since the Russians were betraying enemies, whereas the French were betraying allies.

  He boarded the elevator and rode it up in silence. He was curious to see what the Chief would decide. If he were sitting in the chair like his boss said he might someday, he wouldn’t tell the French anything. This was a temporary agreement that ended tonight. There would be no stopping the Chinese. What they had planned, he had no idea, but he got the impression they were going to do what he wished America could do. There was an advantage to being a dictatorship. You were not answerable to anyone, and you didn’t care what the world thought. You just did what you felt was best for your country. While he didn’t agree with it, it certainly did open up more options on the battlefield.

  The doors opened to Morrison’s floor, and he stepped out. He cleared security and the Chief’s assistant waved him through. “He’s expecting you. Go on in.”

  He knocked then opened the door. Morrison pointed at a chair in front of his desk as he continued to read something on his laptop. He cursed, tossing his glasses onto the desk as he leaned back. “If I could nuke the Chinese, I would.”

  Leroux sat, chuckling. “Unfortunately, they can nuke us back.”

  “Unfortunately, this is true.”

  “So, I assume that means the president hasn’t been able to talk them down.”

  “No. They’re basically saying that their deadline provides more than enough time to find our people if we’re competent, and that the longer the world goes without a response, the more likelihood there is that they’ll do it again.”

  “Well, they’re right on that.”

  “How goes the hunt?”

  “Well, we found a fourth site, and it’s good news and bad news.”

  Morrison cursed. “Let me guess. You found the Russians and the French woman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re wondering what we do with that intel?”

  “It’s like you can read my mind, sir.”

  Morrison grunted. “What a horrible superpower that would be. Right now, I just believe half the world is made up of morons. That would just confirm it. I’m sure you, being the information junkie you are, read the report about how a quarter of those who caught COVID have permanent brain damage and a permanent reduction in their IQ.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m pleased to say I never caught it.”

  “Me neither, but let’s assume our French counterparts all had it, which means we could be dealing with a bunch of dingbats. If we let them know we found their citizen, we have to assume that it’s not just all bluster. They actually intend to go in before the Russians and blow our entire timeline, putting everyone else at risk. I think Jack’s theory that there’s going to be a handover is actually correct. If I were the Russians, it’s how I would’ve played it, though unfortunately for them, the Iranians have the leverage since they supply the drones that are helping them win in Ukraine.” He checked his watch. “Is the ETA on the Russians still an hour from now?”

  “Yes, sir. We have multiple teams on the ground now securing vehicles for the operation. We should have enough in time, but it’s going to be cutting it extremely close. In thirty minutes, we’re going to have to start inserting the full teams if they’re going to get into position in time. And then if it does turn out to be a handover, we’ve got sixty men on the ground who we either have execute their rescue plans at dusk, or they have to wait another hour or two for nightfall. And they’re not exactly inconspicuous.”

  Morrison agreed. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Insert the full teams, but have them hold at the two rally points. If I’m the Russians, I wanna be on the ground for as short a time as possible, so that should mean before they insert, if it is a handover, the Houthi should be leaving with the hostages to rendezvous with them. We should be able to see the insertion. If they hold, then we hold. But if they go, we go. Let’s just hope our guys can get in there before they do.”

  “So, we’re not telling the French?”

  Morrison eyed him. “Tell the French what? That intel didn’t sound very reliable to me. I think you better double-check it.”

  Leroux grinned. “You can read my mind.”

  47 |

  Sana’a, Yemen

  Niner hopped out of the SUV with Atlas, adjusting the shemagh around his face to hide his Asian features. Atlas did the same, though a Black man in Yemen wasn’t an oddity. The man himself was, just by his bulk. The others pulled away, moving on to the next target, Langley providing a spotter that was directing them to possibly suitable vehicles. Niner scanned the area then followed Atlas into the alleyway where their target car was parked.

  “Control, One-One. We’re approaching the vehicle now. It’s an old Ford Mustang, back from when they used to look like an Escort. You’re hurting my image, over.”

  “Copy that, One-One. Our database shows you should have no problem hot-wiring it. If you would like, however, we can try to find you a nice sports car with a leaping jungle cat on the hood.”

  “Negative, Control. One of the criteria is reliability. We’ll stick with the pony.” Niner tried the door, finding it locked as expected. Atlas tried the passenger door and shook his head. “Here goes nothing.” Niner punched his Kevlar gloved hand through the window, making quick work of it. He reached inside and grabbed the handle and opened the door. The car alarm squealed, the sound deafening in the narrow alleyway. He leaned inside and reached over, unlocking the passenger door, then unlatched the hood and scrambled back out. He pushed the hood open and arced the starter solenoid studs with a screwdriver. The car roared to life and the alarm cut off.

  He shut the hood then rejoined Atlas. He put it in gear then peered ahead, noticing a distinct tilt in his line of sight. He glanced over at his friend, easily sixty pounds his senior. “You’ve really got to cut down on the bulk.” He eased out the clutch as he pressed the gas.

  Atlas eyed him. “The day Vanessa tells me to lose the bulk, I’ll consider it.”

  “So, she likes all the puffiness?”

  Atlas grinned. “Oh yeah. I’m like her squeeze toy.”

  Niner put the car in second as they approached the road. “I can’t blame her.” He reached over and squeezed Atlas’ left pec.

  Atlas swatted the hand away. “Just drive.”

  “You’re no fun.” There was a shout behind them and Niner glanced in the rearview mirror, cursing at the sight of a man chasing them. “We’ve got company.”

  “I think we can outrun him in a Mustang.”

  Niner approached the street, the pedestrian traffic heavy, forcing him to come to a near stop. He continued to nose his way in, the locals not keen to cede their right of way. Their pursuer, presumably the owner of the vehicle, continued to shout as he rapidly closed the distance between them. His shouts in Arabic, that essentially amounted to, “Stop, thief! That’s my car!” were now drawing the attention of those he was attempting to get past.

  “Better get a little rough,” said Atlas as he reached over and locked his door. Niner dropped his elbow on his own lock and laid on the horn, pulsing it as he gently pressed on the gas. Hands hammered on the hood and the roof in protest, some of those taking notice of what was being shouted, attempting to block him.

  “No need to be a hero today, jackasses,” muttered Niner as he continued forward.

  He didn’t want to hurt anybody. These were innocent locals, but some bumps and bruises might be necessary. They couldn’t get caught. Not only would they likely be torn apart, their discovery could cost the hostages their lives.

  He glanced at Atlas. “If after everything I’ve been through in my career, I die while stealing a damn car, I’m gonna be really pissed.”

  “What about me? How do you think I’d feel?”

  Niner reached over and patted Atlas’ inner thigh. “Don’t worry, Thunder Thighs. We’ll die together, because I know you couldn’t live without me.”

  “Uh-huh. You do realize you’re about an inch from the Anaconda.”

  Niner squealed. “Impressive. If it were me, I’d be half a foot away.”

  “At least you admit it.”

  Niner shrugged. “I’ve had no complaints. Like they say, it’s not the length of the sword, it’s the fury of the attack.”

  Atlas snorted as Niner hit a particularly defiant pedestrian, the owner of the car smacking his fists on the trunk, continuing to cry for help. Niner pressed a little more firmly on the gas, the man attempting to stop them forced into a choice. Under or over. He sprawled across the hood, his predicament causing those directly in their path to rethink their life choices, allowing Niner to pick up some speed. The faster he could get them moving, the less likely someone would block their path. No one was sacrificing themselves for a stranger’s car.

  Unfortunately, it had given the car’s owner an idea, and he had leaped onto the trunk, scrambling his way up the sloped rear window. They would deal with him soon enough. Their hood passenger had curled his fingers between the hood and the windshield, shouting angrily at them to stop, though there was a hint of panic in his eyes as they continued to pick up speed, the crowd now parting.

  Someone threw a rock through Niner’s broken window and he caught it in the shoulder. He winced as he shoved the car into third gear.

  “You all right?”

  “See, I knew you cared.”

  “Why do I bother?”

  “Because you love me?”

  Atlas rolled down his window and reached out, grabbing the hood ornament by the hand and tearing him away. Niner watched him roll in the dirt through the rearview mirror then jerked his thumb overhead at their other unwanted guest now on the roof. “Could you?”

  “My pleasure.” Atlas reached up blindly, and a moment later, the owner was in the dirt as Niner continued to pulse the horn before activating his comms. “Control, One-One. Would you mind getting us out of this shit, please, over?”

  “Copy that One-One. That looked a little hairier than expected.”

  “Ya think?”

  “One-One, take your next left. That’ll get you out of line of sight, then continue for half a klick and take your second right. That’ll have you on the road leading out of the city toward the rally point.”

  “Copy that, Control. Keep us apprised of any excitement ahead. One-One, out.” He made the left turn, taking them out of sight of any witnesses to their crime, and breathed a little easier, exchanging a relieved look with his best friend. “Well, that was easy, though I do feel a little guilty.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ontario plates. You just did to this guy what was done to some poor Canuck. And I do mean poor if he was driving this.”

  Niner groaned as he took the second right, putting them on a busier road where the pedestrians kept to the sides rather than risk getting hit. “That’s cold, dude.”

  “It’s a Canada reference. Of course it’s cold.”

  “You do know they have a summer there, right?”

  48 |

  Sana’a, Yemen

  Dawson cursed as gunfire rattled behind them. Spock leaned forward, hugging his knees, but Dawson didn’t have that luxury—he had to watch where they were going. He crouched over, peering through the narrow gap between the top arc of the steering wheel and the dash, giving him a sliver of visibility of what lay ahead. He activated his comms as he swerved in a zigzag pattern, the pedestrian traffic fortunately scattering with the AK-47 demanding to be heard.

  “Control, Zero-One. Get us out of this, over!”

  “Roger that Zero-One. One hundred meters turn left. That’ll take you out of the line of fire, then continue and take your third right, over.”

  “Copy that,” said Dawson, the rear window shattering as the pissed off gunman, whose car they had presumably stolen, finally stopped to take aim rather than shooting at a run, something rarely accurate unless you were well trained. “I should have known that was too damn easy.”

  Spock agreed. “Yeah. Why can the mafia boss leave his car unlocked?”

  Dawson grunted. “Because nobody’s stupid enough to steal it.”

  Spock grinned at him. “Apparently, we are.”

  Dawson laughed. “Yeah, they didn’t count on us.” He checked his rearview mirror and cursed at the sight of a pickup truck now in pursuit, the passenger hanging out his window brandishing an assault rifle. “We’ve got company.”

  Spock twisted in his seat. “What do you wanna do?”

  “We clearly stole the wrong vehicle. We can’t think like soldiers, we have to think like car thieves. If you were a car thief and you realized you had stolen the mafia boss’ car, and his men were in pursuit with guns and you couldn’t shoot back, what would you do?”

  “Ditch it.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Hang on.” He cranked the wheel to the right then hammered on the gas. “Control, Zero-One. We’re ditching this car. It’s too hot, over.”

  “Copy that Zero-One. Take your next left. It’s narrow enough that if you go to the end, you should be able to block the road then escape on foot and blend in with the crowd.”

  Dawson cranked the wheel again then gunned it down the narrow road, honking his horn repeatedly, scattering the locals. “Get ready!” He checked the rearview mirror to see the pickup truck turning into the road. He reached the end and locked up his brakes, spinning the wheel to the left, placing the car diagonally and blocking the road.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” He threw open his door and jumped out then slid across the hood, sprinting after Spock. Gunfire erupted and they both ducked then darted right and out of the line of fire. They continued to run as fast as they could through the crowd as Dawson cocked an ear behind them. Locked up tires skidding on the dirt road were followed by shouts, then the sounds of doors slamming. He reached out and grabbed Spock by the arm, bringing them both down to the speed of those around them. He jerked his chin toward an alleyway just ahead and they ducked inside. They jogged down the narrow lane, continuing to put distance between them and their pursuers, when Control chirped in his ear.

  “Zero-One, Control. You can take it easy now. They’re not pursuing. It looks like you stole someone’s pride and joy. Looks like they’re just happy to get it back.”

  They both eased up. “Copy that, Control. How about you guide us to something else? Hopefully something parked alone without a pursuit vehicle right there.”

  “Roger that, Zero-One. We’ll add that to the profile for any future recommendations.”

  “You do that.”

  Spock elbowed Dawson and gestured ahead at a car that had just nosed into the alleyway, its owner rushing inside a nearby building.

  “Did he just leave that thing idling?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, if he’s that stupid.”

  They broke out into a jog again and as they approached, it was obvious the engine was still running. Dawson hopped into the open driver’s side and gently closed the door. He put it in reverse as Spock climbed into the passenger seat. Dawson backed them up onto the street, then shoved it in drive and floored it. Shouts rang out behind them and he checked the rearview mirror to see the owner running after them, waving his hand in the air.

  But this one had no gun.

  Dawson made a quick left, taking them out of sight of the car’s owner and anyone who had seen what had just happened, then activated his comms. “Control, Zero-One. We found our own ride, thank you very much. Now, please direct us to the nearest highway out of Hell.”

  49 |

  Operations Center Alpha, The Unit Fort Liberty, North Carolina

  Maggie was certain she tasted blood, having bitten down on her knuckle so hard, she was sure she had pierced the skin. She was inside the ops center at the colonel’s invitation. They weren’t controlling the mission, they were merely observing, her husband and their friends currently under CIA control. She was fine with that. She knew from her husband that those whose hands their lives were now in were the best at what they did. She was surprised at first at how informal the comms traffic was until she realized half the conversations were coming from civilians. But Dawson and the others seemed more relaxed as well, quips exchanged that normally wouldn’t be if this were a Pentagon-run op.

 

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