Warning Order (13 page)

“Did they recover everything?” David asked once he got within earshot.

“They got all the bodies, sir, if that's what you mean,” the crewman replied, lifting a water hose off the ground. “You might want to step back, sir.”

The man sent a jet of water splashing onto the metal floor, and the smell of iron wafted up to David's nose. The wave surged toward the cockpit, before lapping against the bulkhead, and receded down the ramp in a torrent of rosy, diluted blood. It sizzled on the hot asphalt before licking over David's dusty boots. Angry about the blood spilled that day, he offered up a silent prayer for those who'd given their lives before walking off.

Instead of going through the main entrance, David slipped around the side and entered through a door that was supposed to have been secured a week ago. Just as he thought, it was still unguarded, and the spy was able to walk into the hangar unchallenged.

He didn't want Anderson to know that he was back. He stayed stealthily in the shadows as he made his back to the warren of plywood-lined rooms where the operators had their bunks.

He was about to knock on Renee's door when he saw her emerging from the shower area, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.

“I didn't know you were back,” Renee said, frowning. She unlocked her door with a key hanging from her neck.

“I just got in,” he replied quietly. Stepping into the room behind her, he closed the door with a tiny click. “Okay, what happened out there?”

She was pissed. “We got our asses shot off. How could you send us in there like that?”

“I just found out about this disaster. I assure you, I had no hand in this whatsoever.”

“I don't buy that. They used your assets. Want to try that again?” she demanded, cocking her hip to the side.

“You're going to have to trust me,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his tongue.

“I did trust you, and I almost died out there.”

He was starting to realize how bad the operation was. “Look, I know that you're upset, but I'm in the dark. Tell me what happened.”

Renee stared at him, trying to detect his usual double speak. Then she softened and filled him in on what had gone down.

“So Anderson launched a raid in broad daylight?” David said, outraged. “Who gave him authorization?”

“How the fuck should I know? Isn't that your job?”

Someone had deliberately cut him out, David thought, taking a seat on her bed.

“They knew we were coming,” she said, cold steel in her voice. “Tell me how something like that happens?”

“Renee, I don't know. Look, I don't have a lot of time, and I have no idea what's going to happen when Anderson learns that I'm here. Mason said they took Boland, and he said you have some intel.”

Renee looked like she wasn't going to tell him. He had seen that look before, the first time he'd ever met her.

About the time that Colonel Barnes stepped off the reservation, David had lost two of his assets in Morocco. The spy called in a handful of favors and finally got the name of the assassin: Mason Kane. Up until that point he'd only heard rumors about the disgraced soldier, but once he was sure Mason was responsible, David made it his business to track him down.

It took him less than a week to find the man the rest of the world had spent months searching for, and he sent a team to grab him and his partner Zeus in Libya. David was just getting into his interrogation when Renee appeared out of nowhere and tried to break Mason out. David had been immediately impressed by her doggedness. He realized that she and Mason had presented him with an opportunity to stop Colonel Barnes's illegal operation in Syria. After they pulled it off, he cashed in some favors to get her reassigned to the task force.

“Tell me what happened to Boland,” he asked again.

“Mason gave me a name,” she said reluctantly.

“What is it?”

“How do I know you're not going to cut me out again?”

“You know how this works—”

“That's bullshit. Here's the deal: I'll tell you what I know if you get me the fuck off of Warchild's team,” Renee said defiantly.

“That isn't our agreement.”

“Well, I'm making a new one. You want my help, that's how you get it.”

“If you had done what I asked and kept me apprised of what Anderson was doing, none of this would have happened.”

“How the hell am I supposed to help you when I have Warchild on my ass every second of the day? Do you know that he has me working as his RTO?”

David was surprised she was complaining. “I put you on the team for a reason. Don't tell me that you can't handle that tattooed animal, because I know you can.”

“Don't you dare turn this around on me. This one is on you,” she hissed.

He had counted on Renee to watch his back while he tried to figure out how far those who had supported the Anvil Program were willing to go, but as he looked into her hardened gaze, David knew he'd made a miscalculation.

“There is no new deal,” he spat. “You either do your job, or I'll have you sent to Germany for a psych eval so fast your head will spin.”

Renee staggered back like he'd struck her, her eyes blazing at his betrayal. “Fuck you.”

“The name.”

“Al Qatar,” she said at last.

It hit David like a shotgun blast to the chest. He was unable to hide the shock that came with the mention of the Iraqi's name.

“How do you know him?” Renee asked.

“Al Qatar was a mistake,” he said slowly. He tried to gather himself despite the dark memories emerging from the past. “There was a time when the agency believed that it could flip some of the detainees that were being processed in some of the camps. A directive was issued involving new interrogation techniques that attempted to rehabilitate insurgents who showed certain traits that the psychologists thought we could use to our advantage. Al Qatar was one of the first to go through the program, but he was a lot smarter than we realized—”

A knock on the door ended the conversation, and Renee cursed softly before opening it.

“Hey, I was just checking to see how you were doing,” Parker said. “Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had company.” The smile on his face crumbled.

“I have to be going,” David said, getting up.

“Wait, what—”

David brushed past her, giving Parker a curt nod as he stepped out of her room and disappeared from view.

“What a cluster fuck,” he thought. Whoever was using al Qatar had no idea that the man was a total psychopath. David had always compared him to a pet rattlesnake. Sure, it was safe as long as it stayed in the cage, but once you let it out, it was only a matter of time before it bit you.

David knew that the men who had died today were just the first of many, and as he walked down the hall, he renewed his promise to find out who was responsible.

T
he moon was just beginning to rise when Mason and his team slipped out into the streets, intending to recover T.J.'s body. However, they soon learned that the house they had occupied that very morning was now crawling with fighters, making it impossible for them to get closer. Just as Mason was about to call it, Zeus handed him the night-vision scope he'd taken from Grinch's rifle and pointed at an old light post.

“What is it?” Mason demanded.

“Just look.”

Mason brought the optic up to his eyes and slowly refined the focus knob. Hanging from the spot where the light had once been, he saw T.J.'s body swinging gently in the wind.

“Those motherfuckers,” he cursed.

Mason had to fight back the anger growing inside of him. If he was alone on this mission, he would risk his life to reclaim the body, but he knew that Blaine and Grinch were counting on him to get them out of the city.

He handed the scope back to Zeus, harder than he meant to, and before he let it go, he pulled the Libyan in close. Looking over the man's shoulder to insure that Grinch and Blaine were still pulling security, he said, “We don't say a word about this.”

Zeus nodded, and the two men slipped back into the shadows.

  •  •  •  

It took fifteen minutes to make it back to the SUV they had left hidden on the outskirts of the city. Mason headed to the back of the truck to grab the night vision from the safe they had built in the back, before taking his spot behind the wheel. Once the men had loaded up, he set off on the drive east toward the border—keeping the headlights off to avoid detection.

In the seat next to him, Zeus draped a tan
shemagh
over his head before opening the Toughbook on his lap. The scarf blocked out most of the light, allowing Mason to focus on driving as the Libyan pecked away at the keys.

Mason leaned forward, adjusting his NODs, or night observation device, as he drove. The moonlight gave him excellent illumination, but he still had to pay special attention to the dips and potholes as the vehicle bumped across the open ground, heading for the highway.

“I think I have it,” Zeus announced.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm as sure as I can be, considering I'm illegally accessing a CIA database with a stolen password,” Zeus said lightly, pulling his GPS from his kit.

Once they were clear of any outlying buildings, Mason yanked the NODs from his head. He turned on the headlights, blinking rapidly against the sudden illumination. The road appeared ahead like a gray snake in the silver light of the moon, and he hit the gas to get the truck over the ditch that separated the desert floor from the highway.

Taking a cigarette from the pack on the dash, he lit it with his Zippo, and cracked the window before blowing out a plume of smoke. “Guess it's all we have.”

“You know he's probably dead. Why would they risk taking him into Iraq?”

Mason knew that Zeus wasn't trying to save his own skin. They had been together so long, they could be totally honest with each other.

Zeus was the kind of friend Mason hadn't realized he needed but had unconsciously spent his entire childhood searching for. His mother was an alcoholic, his father was a no-show from day zero, and Mason had never fit in anywhere. By all rights, the differences between him and Zeus should have made them enemies, but somehow it drew them closer together. They were men without a country, and in the fire of combat, the two had become their own strange kind of family.

Sure, Mason had made sure that the task force paid Zeus more than he'd ever make in Libya, but their bond had nothing to do with money and everything to do with a loyalty most people in the world would never know.

“You may be right, but you know I have to find out.” Mason spoke finally.

  •  •  •  

Three hours later, they reached Zeus's coordinates, and Mason once again shut off the lights, looking for a spot to hide the truck. He found a wadi four hundred meters from the target house. He cut the engine, and they scanned the area as they got out.

The car door creaked on its rusty hinges as Mason eased it open. The dogs barking in the distance told him that the village was definitely populated.

Moving into the unknown was not the way he liked to operate, but he knew their only chance was to hit the target as fast and quiet as possible.

He followed his team to the back of the vehicle. Grinch pulled a dusty blanket off the floor of the SUV and unlocked the hidden compartment where they stowed their extra kit. The team switched out its AKs for the more versatile HK 416, which were equipped with PEQ-15 IR lasers and the suppressors they would need to maintain noise discipline.

“Grinch, once you're in position, give us a call,” Mason said.

The sniper attached his night-vision optic to the rail of his Remington Modular Sniper Rifle and unfolded the stock before nodding his assent and then disappearing into the darkness.

“Let's take this nice and easy,” Mason said to Zeus.

The moon was low enough not to cast long shadows as Mason moved out, using the wadi to skirt around the village. Through his NODs, he could see lights flickering inside some of the houses and a few stray dogs sniffing at the air as they milled around in the dusty streets.

The floor of the wadi was covered in a thin layer of shale, left over from a stream that had cut the shallow depression through the desert floor long ago. Thousands of years ago, the terrain had been much more lush. Fed by thousands of similar streams, the land had provided plenty of pastures for the herders who called this place home.

Mason scanned the ground carefully as his boots crunched on the sand. He was looking for any trip hazards or antipersonnel devices that might have been placed against an enemy intrusion. Mason knew that the men they were tracking were obsessed with security, and if it had been him, he would have left a few surprises for anyone trying to sneak up on his position.

The wadi continued straight for another fifteen feet before making a dogleg to the left. Mason called a halt so he could check out the area before committing his men.

A light desert breeze carried the smell of wood smoke and animal dung from the village. Wiping the back of his glove across his face, Mason realized how tired he was. He carefully slipped out into the open, maintaining a low profile to avoid being silhouetted by the moon.

Mason settled into a crouch and scanned the area around him. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes for a few seconds when he sensed movement ten feet to his front.

Mason adjusted his NODs, his heart thumping in his chest, as he focused on what looked like a mound of dirt. He knew that fatigue sometimes played tricks on the senses, but still nothing moved. Mason was just about to take a step closer when the pile of dirt stirred, and he realized that what he was looking at was actually a blanket.

Forcing himself to breathe, Mason prepared to slip back to his men, when a shadow loomed over the edge of the wadi. It began to elongate as the man standing above him drew closer, and then stopped, right above him.