Kidnap

Book 10 in the Dan Stone series

A Novel

By

David Nees

Copyright © 2025 David E. Nees

All rights reserved

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by electronic, mechanical or any other means, without the express permission of the author.

Kidnap, Book 10 in the Dan Stone series, is a work of fiction and should be construed as nothing but. All characters, locales, and incidents portrayed in the novel are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To keep up with my new releases, please visit my website at www.davidnees.com. You can join my Reader Group by signing up using the prompt window. I never overload my readers, but offer insights to my writing, thoughts on the creative process, and advance notice of new releases and promotions.

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For more information about my writing, please visit my website at http://www.davidnees.com

As always, for Carla

You help me to be my best.

Many thanks to Eric. Your insights make my stories work better, especially catching tradecraft and other critical issues. I greatly appreciate your investment in your time to help me improve my writing.

My thanks also go to Edward. You not only encourage but also give critical feedback from an artist’s point of view, elevating my work above the mundane and making a rough text shine. Your generous gift of time and attention is very much appreciated.

A hearty thank you to Bruce B. I was impressed by your thorough and thoughtful comments. It took some time for me to work through them, but the manuscript was greatly improved by your insights.

A further thanks go to my other beta readers, Brian, Paul, and Alex. You have enjoyed my stories over time and unselfishly contributed to this book’s success with your critical reads. You each seemed to find different issues and, collectively, have made this novel better.

And lastly, thanks go to Diane Donovan of Donovan’s Literary Services. Your comments on my early manuscript help give me the direction I needed.

Table of Contents

Kidnap

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Afterword

Kidnap

"The world has no room for cowards. We must all be ready somehow to toil, to suffer, to die. And yours is not the less noble because no drum beats before you when you go out into your daily battlefields, and no crowds shout about your coming when you return from your daily victory or defeat."—Robert Lewis Stevenson

"Instead of a national commitment to assimilation, a cynical multiculturalism—often state-mandated—sends the message that our culture is no better than any other, so there is no particular reason to embrace the American experience."—Jeff Jacoby

“Not to punish evil is equivalent to authorizing it.”—Leonardo Da Vinci

Chapter 1

G eorge Bixby left the bistro in the Montparnasse neighborhood of Paris at about 10:30 at night to walk the three blocks to his apartment. The neighborhood was in the 14th Arrondissement. It was a trendy area, with a lively nightlife and bustling restaurants, yet still affordable. The location, south of the Seine, was not far by metro from the U.S. embassy where he worked on the north side of the river, just off the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. George was a forty-year-old bachelor enjoying the delights of Paris. He was also a top aide to Harrington Carter, the U.S. ambassador, in charge of maintaining his schedule.

The temperature had become cooler, so he pulled his sports coat close around him. When he turned onto his street, a less-trafficked side road with trees, he paid no attention to a vehicle parked in the middle of the block. He did notice two men who got out of the van and looked at the numbers on the buildings as if searching for a specific address, and began walking down the block towards George, with one of them still looking at the buildings.

The men had studied pictures of the person they were looking for and had been admonished to make a solid identification.

“Make sure it is him. We do not want the wrong man,”

After leaving the van, the two glanced around, performing the pantomime as instructed. Then, they began to walk towards the target. One of them kept looking at the numbers of the townhouses. As they got close, the other man confirmed George’s identity and said something to his companion. That man bumped into George, who stopped. A hurried “pardon” brought a “de rien”, it’s nothing in reply.

At that moment, the other man pulled a chloroform handkerchief out of his pocket. He had it in a plastic bag to keep the odor down. Quickly, before the familiar scent could alert the target, he clamped the cloth over George’s face while his partner grabbed him around the waist, pinning his arms to his side.

George gasped in surprise, which only helped the anesthetic enter his body faster. He wrestled in the second man’s grip, struggling to free himself, but his efforts only increased his breathing rate, which increased his intake of the sedative. It took a long minute, but his legs began to sag, and the two men began to force him towards the van, half holding, half dragging him along.

The van’s side door opened, and two arms reached out to grab George. Just then, a neighbor came out of a townhouse adjacent to George’s. He had a cane and limped out to the sidewalk.

“Que se passe-til?” What’s going on? The man asked.

The two men on the sidewalk turned. The neighbor was taking his phone out of his pocket. Without a word, one of the men disengaged from George and leaped to the other man as he was putting the phone to his ear. The man lifted his cane but was unable to strike as the kidnapper slammed into him. The two hit the sidewalk, with the phone clattering away. The neighbor began yelling for help in a loud voice. The man who jumped him took a knife out of his pocket. The neighbor put up his arm, trying to ward off the blade, but to no avail. The attacker thrust it into the neighbor’s neck and put his other hand over the man’s mouth. He pressed his body on top of the older man as he squirmed underneath him. In seconds, the squirming decreased as his blood and life slipped out of him until he lay still on the sidewalk.

The kidnapper kneeled, wiped his knife blade on the victim's coat, pocketed it, and turned to jump back into the van. In less than two minutes, the van had pulled away, leaving only a dead body lying on the sidewalk.

The driver’s name was Faisal, which means “decisive”. He drove carefully through Paris and into the suburbs to connect to the A5 towards Dijon. As he drove, his mind drifted back to his arrival at this place and position. He had been a nobody, a castaway, part of the human detritus left from the Iraqi war. As a child, he had lost his parents in the fighting and had survived by his wits as a street urchin. He had been befriended by a local imam who had radicalized him against the West, something not hard to do with the suffering that had been brought to him. When he got older, he could see the destabilization of his country increase. It had never been good under the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, but, as a child, he barely noticed it. What he knew was that the war had brought suffering and death to his family. Now, he wanted revenge, to fight back at the forces that had torn his world apart. His benefactor had provided him with the connection to join an underground movement that sought to fight back against the Shiites who now ran the country, not to the benefit of the Sunnis who lived there.

His prowess and enthusiasm were noticed by those who fought under the loose leadership of a jihadist named Muntaqim, or Revenger. It was the man’s nom de guerre. As far as Faisal understood, no one knew his real name.

Now, through a series of fortunate events that included Faisal demonstrating his bravery and willingness to die for the cause, he had been selected to participate in something more significant than the Sunni-Shiite conflict. He was sitting in the van, the man in charge, with a serious mission to accomplish. One, Faisal knew he could not fail in completing.

Once inside, the men bound George tightly so he could only lie straight. When that was done, they clamped an oxygen mask over his face and put him into a long box that matched other long boxes in the back of the van. The stencils on top indicated that rolls of carpeting were inside. Only if one looked closely at the head of the box could the hose leading to the face mask be seen. The mask would allow George to breathe, and the men could introduce more chloroform if needed. The windows of the van were opened to air out the interior, and one of the kidnappers threw the rag out of the window.

After Dijon, Faisal connected to the A39 and successively more minor roads leading to the Parc Naturel Régional du Haut-Jura. He did not speed but drove to avoid any notice by the French police. Getting out of Paris without incident seemed like a significant victory. He was headed to a cabin deep in the park's interior, northwest of Geneva. Months before, Faisal’s leader and benefactor had found this remote cabin where they could interrogate their quarry without being disturbed. It was now Faisal’s job to get him there undetected.

Chapter 2

D an was excited. He’d had his house in the Marghera district just outside of Venice thoroughly cleaned. It was really more than a house. It was an old mansion in the Italianate style with fourteen-foot ceilings and a wedding-gown staircase. Dan loved the building, even though he felt he rattled around in it. But now Jane and Emilie, the orphan girl he had protected and whom Dan, Jane, and her boss, Henry, had informally adopted, were coming to visit. Emilie had enthusiastically supported Jane, Dan, and Jane’s boss, Henry, in their plans to be her caretakers. Henry had become Gramps, Jane, Aunt Jane, and Dan, Uncle Dan. Jane had been a not-infrequent visitor to the mansion, and Dan had beautiful memories of those times together. Now, Emilie was coming for the first time. This would be her first trip to Europe, and Dan would get to show her around his adopted city, Venice, and the rest of Italy.

Tomorrow was the day. Jane and Emilie would fly into Milan via Rome, and Dan would pick them up for the drive back to Venice. As a security precaution, he didn’t allow himself or anyone visiting to fly into Venice. There had to be no connection between him and the city.

His anticipation built as evening neared. He made a hasty dinner of pasta and sausage along with a salad. He knew he wouldn’t sleep much with the anticipation. Dan almost laughed at himself. He never got this worked up for his most dangerous missions. But the chance to show Emilie his Italian home and spend time with her, deepening her relationship with him and Jane, produced a heightened state of eager anticipation. It was a step to becoming almost a family, something which had been taken from him brutally years ago.

He had been married to his high school sweetheart, Rita. After his stint in the army as a sniper in Iraq, he returned home, and they started a restaurant in Brooklyn. Life was filled with excitement and bright hopes for the future. He had lost his parents early in his childhood, and his only close relative was his sister, now married to a rancher in Montana. Although his in-laws didn’t fully accept him because he was not Italian, they were polite as they understood how much Rita loved him.

That all changed one night when the mob torched his restaurant for not paying them protection money. Rita supported Dan’s stand against them, many of whom were his old classmates from school. The tragedy was that Rita was working late that night and was burned to death in the conflagration—along with their unborn son.

This personal catastrophe set Dan on a course of revenge using his sniper skills to take down the mob and kill those responsible for Rita’s death. His deadly exploits attracted the attention of the CIA, which offered Dan a way out as the law closed in around him.

Now, he was blessed to find this opportunity again. His smile stayed fixed to his face as he settled back in his favorite chair with a glass of 13-year-old Widow Jane bourbon to try to relax. He put on Mozart’s Piano Sonata No.12 and let the second movement quietly wash over him.

†   †   †

After proving himself to Muntaqim, Faisal had been taken to a fake village constructed of false facades out in the desert of Saudi Arabia. There, he had been taught many things: how to kill with a gun, a knife, or his hands; how to blend into Western countries; and, above all, patience. He and the other recruits had been given Western clothing; their beards had either been shaved or neatly trimmed so they would not stand out. From this fact alone, he guessed his mission, whatever it was to be, would send him to the West.

He had learned some English as a child to help him survive post-Saddam. Although his language skills were rudimentary, they enabled him to communicate with Western soldiers, mostly Americans. This ability afforded him the opportunity to earn some extra money and ingratiate himself with the conquerors. His tutors built upon that with months of intensive training in Western ways, expanding his English and adding some elementary French and Italian to his speaking repertoire. His training also included surveillance skills and how to grab a target off the street and transport them away to another location without being caught.

The training had not been easy; it was a challenging combination of intensive learning, physical training, and action training, including weapons. Many had dropped out. Faisal didn’t know what had happened to them, some of whom he had gotten to know. They were just packed up and driven away. Dark rumors floated that the dropouts were not allowed to live; too many secrets had been learned along the way for them to be returned to their other lives. Part of Faisal rejected this as just a stupid and dangerous rumor, but part of him understood the brutal logic of such an idea. Faisal was determined never to find out first-hand, so he applied himself to the arduous tasks.

From the local road, Faisal turned off onto a two-track dirt road that wound deep into the hills, following the side of a ravine with a creek flowing at the bottom of it. The forest was thick here, with a mix of hardwoods and evergreen trees blocking the sun. A permanent dampness seemed to lie in the air and on the ground. He shivered. He was a creature of the heat and sun of the desert. These dark forests spooked him and made him think of monsters and evil spirits—jinn—who might snatch him and take his spirit away. There were no long vistas here and no space to see approaching threats.

The road grew increasingly rough and steep before it ended in a stone cabin. Faisal parked the van next to an SUV. He knew the vehicle belonged to Burak, a lieutenant of Muntaqim and the man in charge of the kidnapping operation and whatever else that might lead to. He was a man whom Faisal was cautious around.

The men got out and stretched. The sky greyed with the coming of the light, revealing more of the mist-covered forest. There was a chill in the late spring air high up in the hills of the preserve. Faisal gave the order, and the men began to unload the box containing George. They carried it into the cottage as Burak stepped out to gaze at Faisal.

Burak dressed as a wealthy Westerner. His concession to the woodsy location was a pair of expensive boots, a pair of rustic pants and shirt, and a Belstaff field jacket. His look was that of a wealthy baron out for a shoot. Burak met all the requirements of a properly dressed upper-class man from the U.K. Yet, for all his sartorial splendor and obvious good taste, his image was marred by something the man could not hide.

The left side of his face was deformed from birth. The doctor who delivered him had apparently used forceps to pull him out and pinched his head at his left temple. This caused a malformation of the head, and his left eye drooped, creating an asymmetry that was off-putting for most people. If you looked at his right profile, you saw an elegant Middle-Eastern man with handsome features. From the left, you saw a distorted face that had the look of permanent agony or anger; one could never be sure. It was as if he relived that damaging moment every second of his existence.

The deformity had been his curse as a child growing up in Turkey. It had led to bullying and ostracization, which had resulted in few friends. These formative experiences also left him with a deep-seated anger against his fellow human beings.

“You were not noticed?” Burak asked.

Faisal shook his head. “No, Rayiys. Everything went smoothly.” He used the Arabic word for “superior” or “leader”.

Burak didn’t respond but continued to stare at Faisal. It was those eyes that gave Faisal chills. He had never seen them show any emotion. They were cold and dead.

After a long silence, Burak responded. “Come in. Eat and rest. You have been up all night to bring me my prize.”

He turned and walked inside, with Faisal following.

Chapter 3

H e was a Turk; his name, Burak, meant “lightning.” His father ran a successful trading company that did business all over the Mediterranean and as far as the U.K. His mother was an accomplished socialite.

Burak could clearly remember the hushed conversations his parents had when they thought he was asleep. They were burned into his memory.

“He is an embarrassment,” his mother would complain to her husband. “All my friends look at me with pity. They express sympathy for me, but I can see it in their eyes. They look down on me for having a defective child—one not up to par.”

His father understood but didn’t comment. He had wanted a son to take over his growing business empire one day. To climb higher on the social and economic ladder and provide him with honor and financial comfort as he got older and retired. With his birth deformity, Burak, it seemed, would not be equipped to accomplish these paternal dreams.

“The situation is disappointing for sure,” he said. “But what do we do about it? He’s our son, and you didn’t want another pregnancy.”

“Don’t put this on me,” his wife snapped.

Burak sat on the stairs, frozen, listening. He had heard these conversations before, but his mother’s tone seemed more strident, intense. Something was going to change. As much as he disliked grade school and the accompanying bullying he experienced, he feared worse was to come.

Sure enough, a year later, when he had graduated from his primary schooling, his parents shipped him off to the U.K. for his secondary education.

“This will help prepare you to take over the family business,” his father said.

Burak didn’t buy into the lie. His being sent to England was to save his mother from further embarrassment. Out of sight, out of mind. Once he was gone, she could do what she did best: maneuver in her social circles, doing her female part of enhancing her husband’s reputation and business…along with spending his money.

“We only want what’s best for you,” she had said.

Burak remembered those words, the lie spoken as they put him on the plane.

He could not understand how his mother could not fully love and accept him. He was not responsible for his facial deformity. If anything, he thought, she was. In England, they installed him in one of the finest boarding schools, which would open a path to Oxford for his college education. Burak worked hard to fit in. Away from his mother’s embarrassment of him and her barely hidden disdain for his deformity, he hoped he would finally be accepted.

Once in school, Burak worked hard to fit in. During this time, he acquired the more formal manners of the British upper class, along with their appreciation for proper dress for all occasions. His efforts came to naught, however. Although his classmates were more sophisticated, they were able to communicate to Burak that he would never be a part of their society. His being a Turk and, just as importantly, being deformed, meant that this upper-class British society that he had been grafted into would never fully accept him.

To escape from constant judging or forced ignoring of his facial deformity, Burak began spending time at a local mosque. The imam, himself not very attractive, preached a type of virulent Islam that struck a nerve in Burak. Within this litany of anger and righteousness, which resonated with him, there lurked a call to mission.

Upon graduation, Burak found a position in the financial sector. His educational background provided a ticket into this arena despite his impediment. His anger at rejection did not diminish during this time. He knew he was a tool. A useful one for the wealthy, helping them add to their wealth and, along the way, increasing his own income. Still, his anger grew and spread to encompass all in the West whom he tarred with responsibility for the personal discrimination he felt.

After ten years of making money despite his deformity, Burak returned to the Middle East. He did not contact his parents. There, he was introduced to the Saudi billionaire Rashid al-Din Said. Burak’s imam in England had passed the word through the jihadist network that Burak was a man of conviction and ability and should not be overlooked. Rashid, a good judge of people, saw in Burak a believer who had all the accoutrements of sophisticated Western culture along with a long-simmering anger at his rejection. This would be a man he could make good use of.

Chapter 4

I t was early when Dan bounded out of bed, eager to drive to Milan and meet the two most important females in his life, next to his sister. After a quick breakfast, he pulled his modified Peugeot 607 out of the garage and headed off. The car was an attractive, if somewhat boring-looking, mid-priced sedan that a mid-level businessman might own. Dan’s 607, however, harbored a reworked, supercharged V-6 that gave it pace with a Mercedes S550. The suspension, brakes, and tires were carefully upgraded to balance the increased speed capabilities of the car. The result was a “sleeper” performance car that could run with the fastest, expensive sedans on the road.

When he arrived in Milan, he drove directly to the Linate Airport just east of the city center. After parking in the short-term lot, Dan took a bus to the terminal. There, he paced around, waiting for the transfer flight from Rome to arrive. As was his ingrained habit, he studied the people around him, constantly scanning for threats, anything out of the ordinary that should alert him to danger. It was something he could not turn off after so many years as an assassin. Thankfully, the terminal seemed only filled with people hurrying to catch a flight or leave after arriving.

While he was scanning around, he heard a shriek: “Uncle Dan!” He turned, and Emilie detached herself from Jane and ran to him. Without slowing down, she leapt into his arms, and the force of her impact spun them around in a swirl. After many hugs and expressions of delight, Dan set her down. She looked up at him with her large, soulful eyes, which never ceased to amaze Dan with their ability to grab his full attention and look deep into him.

“Have you missed me?”

“You know I have.”

“Do you think about me often?” She persisted with a hint of childlike flintiness as Jane approached.

“Every day in some way or another.” It was not a lie. His affection for this girl, who had adopted him as part of her new family and christened him with the title of “uncle,” grew deeper as they shared their lives after the terrible incidents that had made her an orphan.

“Did you miss me as well?” Jane asked as she came up and grabbed Dan for a hug.

“As much as I miss Emilie. You both have taken over my thoughts. I don’t know how I get any work done.”

“Well, no need to work for the next ten days,” Jane said. “You just have to be the tour guide.”

Dan picked up the two bags and led them out of the terminal. On the ride to Marghera, outside of Venice, Dan listened as Emilie recounted her time in school. She was ending her sixth grade and looking forward to middle school, where she would be a “big kid,” as she said. There was also the swimming team, which she would be able to join.

“My coach says I’m almost as fast as the middle school kids now. He thinks I’ll be able to make the team if I practice over the summer.” Emilie caught his eye in the mirror. She had a serious look on her face, her large, brown eyes boring into him, pulling his eyes from the road. “Not many kids do that, she said.”

“I knew you had talent when I first showed you how to swim. Now you're showing it to all of us.” Dan turned to look at Jane. “How was the flight? Did you get any sleep?”

Jane smiled. “It took Emilie a while to settle down. She kept watching the GPS track of the plane as if willing it to go faster. Finally, fatigue caught up with both of us. But we’re here and looking forward to spending time with you.”

“Did you read up on Venice?” Dan glanced back at Emilie.

She nodded. “My teacher wants me to write a story about my visit, so I have homework.” Her voice evidenced her lack of enthusiasm for the task.

“And regular school work as well,” Jane said. “It was a condition of getting permission to take her out of school for a week.”

“Not fun.”

Dan started to laugh. It was such a pre-teen comment. How much he enjoyed the new family that Emilie had formed. When her mother and grandfather were killed in Mexico, she had no one except a distant aunt she had never met. The cartel was after her, and her aunt didn’t want to be exposed to the threat. Dan had spent weeks eliminating the threats to her life, something she still didn’t fully understand. When things had settled down, Emilie took an active part in reclaiming some sense of normalcy by making this caretaker arrangement her new family.

“So, what do you want to do first?” Dan asked.

“Can we ride in a gondola?”

“We sure can, although it’s not the best way to get around.”

“But it’s the coolest,” Emilie said.

“We’ll also be doing a lot of walking. Are you up for it?”

Emilie nodded. “My coach says I’m a good athlete.”

Dan smiled and turned to Jane, “How are things at the office?”

This question was their code for whether or not there were any threats on the horizon.

“All quiet. That’s why we could get away.”

“You don’t have to speak in code around me,” Emilie said. “I know what you two do, and Gramps as well. I’ve got a bunch of spies in my family.”

Dan gave Jane a surprised look. She just smiled back at him.

“That’s quite perceptive of you,” Dan said.

“You don’t have to worry,” Emilie continued. “I know how to keep secrets. It won’t let anyone at school or anywhere else know our secret.” She zipped her fingers across her lips. “My lips are sealed.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to trust your spy craft, young lady,” Dan said. He noticed Emilie gave him a large smile. She liked being included in what she saw as an exotic game.

Chapter 5

T he men with Faisal ate some food Burak had laid out and then retired to a side room to sleep. Faisal declined and sat in a corner to watch what would come next. George had been tied to a chair by his legs, torso, and arms. He was slowly becoming more and more aware of his surroundings. Burak stood like a statue, patiently watching the man, waiting for his full senses to return.

“Where…am…I?” George said in a groggy voice

Burak remained still, waiting for the man to become more fully alert. He motioned to Faisal to give George a drink of water.

Finally, George lifted his head to focus on Burak, who stood ten feet from him with his face turned slightly to the left, showing his undamaged side.

“Who are you? Why did you take me?”

Burak remained silent, just staring at the man.

“I’m not wealthy if that’s your aim. I’m not very important.”

Silence.

“I work for the U.S. embassy. They won’t be happy with me being kidnapped. It will cause a scandal.”

Then Burak spoke. “I am not concerned about a scandal. His precise, upper-class, British accent seemed to shock George, who stared hard at the man before him.

“You seem to be a Brit. And a cultivated one by your accent. Why are you doing this?”

“I need some information from you.”

“I don’t know any secrets. I’m mostly in charge of arranging the ambassador’s schedule, although that’s pretty important. He’ll notice I’m missing. Questions will be asked.” George fought hard to organize his thoughts.

The implied threat seemed not to register on Burak.

“Scheduling is important, as you say.” Burak stepped closer and turned to face his prisoner directly. George could now see the man’s damaged face and barely concealed his shock at the sight. “It is precisely because of your job that I had you taken.” Burak leaned closer. “I need to know the ambassador’s schedule. I need to know about his attendance at the upcoming conference on EU security. It’s being held in Milan in two weeks.”

“He’s going to attend. That’s not a secret.”

“I want the details.”

George hesitated for a split second, which Burak noticed.

“I don’t know the details yet. They’re still being worked out.”

A cold smile played around Burak’s face. This man had too many tells to get away with lies. He studied his life: his routine, career, and social activities. George lived a life of ease and, with it, an expectation that all things should be easy for him. He had made it into the upper levels of the ruling class, even if he was just one of their workers. Such proximity to power gave him certain privileges and a sense of entitlement.

Burak had destroyed all of that with the simple act of abduction. The man was now in his hands. His future was in his hands. Burak would take his time for that realization to be driven home. He had noticed the shock and involuntary flinch as the man had seen Burak’s left side. He was like all the rest. If the façade of culture wasn’t complete, you couldn’t become fully a part of the ruling class. And that façade included how you looked as well as all the other elements of pedigree. The cold anger began to well up in him again.

“I suspect you are not being completely honest with me. Perhaps because of my accent, you think I will treat you in a civilized manner. I could. But I must have complete honesty. Trying to deceive me is insulting, and I don’t respond well to those who insult me.

George gave the man a cautious look. His growing alertness only gave him a growing sense of anxiety. Burak could see in his face an increasing awareness of the peril of his situation. He let the moment linger. It felt good to watch as the comfortable bureaucrat began to realize that his life had come apart and he might not survive its disintegration. The man had never known real adversity or real danger. He would let him experience both, along with a full measure of pain.

“Now, I will ask you again for the details of this visit. Please remember what I said.”

Burak went silent. The question remained unspoken and hung in the air. He expected an answer. It was George’s dilemma to decide whether or not to test Burak’s pronouncement.

George began cautiously. “As you know, the meeting is in Milan at the Allianz MiCo Congress Centre. It’s northwest of the central piazza and the Milan Cathedral.” George proceeded to recite the travel dates, which Burak could guess, knowing when the conference was scheduled.

His statement was met with silence as if Burak expected more.

“As you may know,” George continued, “there will be around a thousand participants, including staff. It will be quite large and a bit chaotic.”

“But you control the chaos with your scheduling,” Burak said.

“As best I can.”

“Now, before you ramble around in generalities that I already know, understand I’m looking for the details. The ambassador’s daily schedule, where he’s staying, who he’ll meet with, and where he will go after each day. This is your domain, am I correct? And you will not have left this to the last minute, just two weeks out.”

Burak paused and smiled. It was cold and designed to give little comfort to George.

“I mention all of this to help you avoid what will come from trying to deceive me.”

“As I said, the scheduling is a work in progress. The ambassador is lining up people to meet with outside the conference and people to have dinner with. It can change up to the last minute.”

Burak didn’t answer but went over to a side table and unfolded a leather pouch that contained multiple tools. He pulled out a pair of pliers and walked back to George. Without a word, Burak clamped the pliers on George’s left index fingernail and began to pull.

“Stop! What are you doing? I’ve told you what I know!”

Burak didn’t stop. George’s protests dissolved into screams of pain as his nail was slowly pulled from his finger. When it was free, Burak held it up to George.

“I have nine more to go, and then we can start on other parts of your body if you resist.”

George didn’t respond but only shook his head.

Burak attached the pliers to the next nail on George’s left hand.

“No! Stop! I can tell you what’s planned so far, but it may change. That’s what I was trying to explain.”

Burak stepped back

“Go ahead.”

“Ambassador Carter is going to meet privately with someone from the French Internal Security agency. Someone from MI-5 will also attend. I was working to get a member of the Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz, the BfV. Klaus Buckholz, the head of Department 9, will probably be there.”

“Department 9?”

“It focuses on threats from foreign extremists and terrorist organizations operating within Germany.”

“Anyone else?”

George shook his head.

Burak took the pliers and again attached them to George’s fingernail.

“I’m working on the Italians!” he shouted. “Please don’t!”

“Tell me more.”

George took a deep breath. “I’m trying to get the head of the Operational Department of the AISI to come to the meeting. Since the conference is in Italy, Ambassador Carter wants him to attend. The ambassador thinks he can make more progress in the security arena by getting together with this smaller group outside of the big meetings, which will be just filled with reports from all the expert consultants…you know, graphs and charts. Some of it is helpful, much not as far as developing action plans.”

“I’ll need more details, so go on.”

The interrogation took another two hours, with George alternately screaming and crying as his fingernails were pulled from his hands. Faisal watched from the corner, fascinated. He was not shocked; he’d seen too much as a child in Iraq. But Burak’s cold, methodical delivery of pain and mutilation made a big impression on him. The man was not one to be trifled with.

Throughout the two hours, details emerged: where the ambassador was staying, where he was arranging the private dinner meeting, which day, the security involved, and how long it was expected to last. Ultimately, a clear picture emerged of the participants and the meeting. Faisal knew that, with some aggressive boldness, they could pull off multiple kidnappings.

Chapter 6

D an, Jane, and Emilie parked at the end of the causeway leading out to Venice. There were no cars in the city of canals, so they parked in the multi-story garage and took a vaporetto, or water bus, into the city.

“It’s just like a bus,” Emilie exclaimed as she watched the boat make repeated stops and people get on and off. “Remember you promised me a gondola ride.”

“I didn’t forget, but this is a good way to get into the city. We’ll save the gondola ride for later after we’ve done some walking and sightseeing.”

They got off the vaporetto at the Piazza San Marco, accompanied by many tourists. Although Dan felt like a native after years of living next to the city, he realized that his job that day was to be a tourist guide for Emilie. They strolled out onto the large open square with its brick tower and the ornate church dedicated to Saint Mark.

The open plaza was ringed by white, columned stone buildings with shops and restaurants on the main floor. Massive flocks of pigeons surged around the tourists, drawn by feeding opportunities. The children delighted in flushing large numbers into the air. Emilie gave Dan a questioning look. He nodded, and the girl raced towards a bevy of birds, causing them to fly into the air with a great flapping of wings. She did this a few more times and then returned, smiling.

After a moment, her face turned more serious. “That doesn’t hurt them, does it?”

“Making the birds fly?” Dan shook his head. “No. Think of it as the price the pigeons pay for their snacks. If they couldn’t put up with an occasional chasing from kids, they wouldn’t come here.”

The explanation seemed to work as Emilie’s smile returned. The trio stopped at an outdoor café where Dan and Jane ordered a café Americano, and Emilie ordered a dish of ice cream and lemonade.

As had happened many times before, the old woman caught Dan’s eye. She was ancient-looking but had always seemed that way to Dan. She sold scarves and small souvenirs to the tourists from her kiosk. Her gaze bore into Dan as he looked over the square, and she motioned for him to come over.

Dan broke from her gaze and turned to Jane. “Our Watcher friend wants us to come over.”

Jane looked across the square and saw the woman. “It’s the same person.”

Dan nodded. “She’s ageless, it seems.”

“Maybe she wants to meet Emilie,” Jane said.

“How would she know about her?”

Before Jane could answer, Emilie spoke up. “Who are you talking about?”

Dan casually gestured to the old woman. “That older lady selling the scarves across the piazza.”

Emilie fixed her gaze on the woman. “Do you know her?” she asked Dan.

“I do indeed. She’s a special person. Part of a special group of people. They’ve helped me in the past and still do. They helped me when I was getting rid of the bad people who killed your mother and grandfather.

“Does she know what happened?” Emilie looked shocked.

“Probably. Let’s go see her, shall we? She’s very wise, and I think she wants to meet you.”

Dan paid, and they got up to walk over to the woman.

When they reached the old woman, she stared intently at Emilie, who returned her gaze with her wide eyes.

“This is the little one we heard about?”

“This is Emilie,” Dan said. “Emilie, this is Palmira.”

Emilie held out her hand, and the old woman took it in both of hers. She held Emilie’s gaze and seemed to be absorbing something from their touch. Finally, she released the girl’s hand.

She spoke to Dan and Jane while keeping her gaze on Emilie, who maintained eye contact with the woman. “She has a gift. She will develop great insight into people. She will be a good judge of character and truth. You must nurture this ability. It will give her discomfort and unease at times, but will serve her well in the long run.”

Palmira looked up at Dan. “She will be a force for good in the world. An important one.”

“Are you saying she has the sight? Like you?” Jane asked.

The old woman shook her head. “No, no. But she will be able to measure truthfulness. That is a powerful weapon against evil.”

“You help Uncle Dan?” Emilie spoke up.

The old Watcher turned back to her with a smile on her face. “Yes. I can see things as they develop. I let Dan…your Uncle Dan know about them, and that helps him focus on his fight against the evil in the world?”

“Like the bad men who killed my mom and grandpop?”

“Yes. Like those men and others, even more powerful and therefore more dangerous.”

Emilie looked at the woman with her large eyes as strongly as the woman gazed at her. “Can you keep Uncle Dan safe? I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Palmira didn’t smile at the girl but returned her serious look. “I won’t tell you anything but the truth. Your Dan lives a dangerous life. He is good at what he does, fighting evil forces, evil men. I, and other watchers, do everything that we can to help him. And in helping him, we hope to keep him as safe as possible. You can trust that we will not stop helping, and you can trust that Dan has a special calling to do this work and special skills to do it. Your Aunt Jane also plays an important part in this struggle.”

She now smiled and put her hand on Emilie’s head as the girl continued to stare up at her. “You must not be concerned. Enjoy your time growing up. We will always work to keep Dan safe. I see that you have much to offer the world, but you must take time to develop your gift, which means growing up and doing all the things children do.

As they walked back through the piazza, Emilie turned to Dan. “She is what you call a Watcher, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“And they can see things others can’t see.”

“Right.”

“She says I have a gift.”

“That’s what she said.”

“What does that mean? I don’t feel special.”

They talked as they exited the piazza and entered one of the narrow side canals.

“That’s probably because it is natural for you. You can understand what people are feeling. I noticed it, but for you, it’s normal. You will learn that it enables you to know when people are not being untruthful, even when they don’t realize it.”

Emilie was quiet for a moment.

“But what do I do with that?”

“That remains to be seen. Don’t worry about that now. Just enjoy the things you do and the life we have together. Now, how about that gondola ride?”

Emilie smiled and grabbed Dan’s hand.

Chapter 7

T hey were done with George. Faisal knew the man could not be let go. He had to disappear. It seemed as though George had not yet come to the same realization yet.

“I gave you everything I know. You’ll let me go now? You can just leave me here. You’ll be long gone before anyone finds me.”

Faisal saw Burak give George a cold smile. One that did not comfort or even indicate amusement. “I’m afraid you’ve now become a liability. You see who we are. You know there’s a plot afoot now. It is unfortunate for you. I appreciate the information you have given us. I appreciate being able to inflict pain on you, someone so comfortable and safe in your world.” Burak leaned up close to George, who was still bound to his chair. “I want all the comfortable and safe people to feel stressed. I want them to know they are not safe, starting with someone so exalted as your ambassador.”

Burak stood up. “You see, I hate your comfortable, privileged Western life. It doesn’t allow someone like me in, let alone Faisal here.” Burak pointed to Faisal, who was still watching from the corner of the room. “You are just collateral damage. You will be forgotten, even though you’ve been very helpful to me.”

“No, please! I’ve given you what you want! Keep me hidden until you complete your mission. After that, it won’t matter what I know. You’ll have gone.” His face now showed panic instead of pain.

Burak gestured to Faisal to untie George.

“Tie his wrists behind his back and take him out into the woods. I’ll send the others to follow. Make sure the hole is deep so he won’t be found.”

Faisal nodded and got up while George kept screaming and crying. He gave a half-hearted attempt at struggling against his captor, but he was helpless with his damaged hands and Faisal’s strength. Faisal tried to lead him out, but George would not move. He stepped behind the man and shoved him forward.

“Here,” Burak said. He walked up to George and tied a rope around his neck. “Lead him with this. If he resists, drag him by the neck through the woods.”

Faisal and George exited the door with George’s pleadings dying down to murmurs of agony. Burak went into the next room and woke the other men. He handed them shovels and told them to follow Faisal.

A half-hour later, Burak heard the faint report of a gun being fired. He smiled in satisfaction. His revenge on the West, on people of ease, people who fit in, who were not disfigured, had begun in earnest.

They cleaned the cabin of all traces of their visit and departed later that day. They drove south and arrived in Marseille late at night. Burak and his men went to the Félix Payat neighborhood downtown. It was a majority Muslim area controlled by drug gangs, run mainly by Muslims, and considered one of the most dangerous areas of the city.

They pulled into the parking lot of a row of small townhouses and knocked on one of the doors.

“As-salamu alaykum,” peace be upon you, Burak said to the man who opened the door.

“Wa alaykum as-salam,” and upon you be peace, came the reply.

The door was pulled back, and the five men entered.

“He is waiting in the back room,” the man said to Burak. Then, he led Faisal and the other men into the kitchen to get them something to eat.

Burak walked into the living room at the back of the house. A sliding glass door looked out on a tiny back area covered in mostly gravel and weeds and surrounded by an eight-foot-high stockade fence. A small concrete slab was where one could set a table and chairs. Burak repeated the greeting to the man who stood waiting for him. Muntaqim responded in the familiar manner, and the two men embraced.

“You were successful? Muntaqim asked.

“Yes. I have the details, and the one who gave me the information has been disposed of.”

“Good. Give me the highlights, and then write down the details.”

Burak told Muntaqim what had transpired and how he felt it would be possible to capture several high-level security people from France, the U.K., and Germany, as well as Italy.

“It could be the greatest hostage capture in history,” Burak said with some pride.

Muntaqim remained calm and without comment. He seemed lost in thought.

“You have driven all day. Eat something and then write down the details. When you have done that, we will meet later tonight.”

He got up and dismissed Burak, who headed for the kitchen. After Burak left the room, Muntaqim sat back down, deep in thought. He had what he needed, but the key, in his mind, was how to conceal that from whatever powers were observing him or tuning into his thoughts. He had not let go of his concern that a force similar to the oracles of old, the old wise ones who villages often consulted, who seemed to have supernatural insight into what was happening around them, were arrayed against his and Rashid’s plans. His benefactor did not subscribe to this theory but indulged Muntaqim in his efforts to conceal his plans.

The next morning, after they had eaten, Muntaqim met with Burak. Burak had delivered his notes the previous evening.

Muntaqim leaned towards Burak as they sat across from one another in the living room.

“Listen carefully. What I am about to tell you must be followed strictly.” Burak looked at his leader and didn’t speak.

“There are forces afoot. Ancient forces. Ancient powers that most dismiss are arrayed against our plans, our desires.”

Burak looked at Muntaqim questioningly but didn’t respond.

You have heard of fortune tellers, prophets, soothsayers? All villages have stories of these people who seemed to have extraordinary sight…or insight. They were often consulted when problems arose. Sometimes, they were condemned as witches.” Muntaqim paused for a moment. “Are you familiar with these tales?”

Burak shook his head. “No, Ra’ēs. I grew up in a very western-oriented family and was shipped off to the U.K. early.”

“A shame. You missed learning much wisdom.”

“But I learned the ways of the kafir, which may be more useful to you.”

“True. But let me tell you that such people did and still do exist. Our benefactor does not believe this, but I carry out my activities as if this is true.”

“If it is so, how do we protect against this insight?”

“You do what I do. We do not speak of this after today. We do not think of this after today.”

“How do we plan? I have to develop the plans with my men, the ones who helped me capture the staff person. They will be a core part of our next operation.”

“They must be told only bits of it. The parts they need to play. Keep the full picture from them until the last moment, the where and how.”

“Ah,” Burak exclaimed softly. “Except for Faisal. I told you about him. He excelled at the training, and I put him in charge of the kidnapping. I will need him. He will help me lead this attack.”

“Then he must be educated and understand the burden this possibility places on the mind.” Muntaqim got up to pace the room. “You are a well-trained man—a man of intellect. I do not worry about you being able to control your thoughts. This man, Faisal, he must be able to do so as well…or you must get rid of him. Too much relies on our keeping our thoughts to ourselves.”

Chapter 8

T he next day, Jane, Dan, and Emilie returned to Venice to fill in the gaps. They visited the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore, which did not attract as many visitors as San Marco in the piazza. The church afforded a great view of the more crowded Piazza San Marco. Since there had been much visiting of buildings and admiring the beauty of these old structures, something not at the top of a young girl's to-do list, Dan passed on the suggestion to stop at the Peggy Guggenheim Museum. Instead, they took a vaporetto out to Lido and the beach, where Dan and Jane relaxed as Emilie played in the water.

They were sitting on towels, watching Emilie, when an older man approached. Dan caught his eye and immediately noticed the intense look of another Watcher. How many are in this city? He wondered.

“I am sorry to bother you,” he said in halting English.

“Non c’è problema,” Dan replied.

The man smiled and switched to Italian. “Palmira said I needed to let you know. We have uncovered a growing threat. It is being hidden, but it involves an attack on important people here in Italy.”

“What people? And where?”

The man shook his head. “That is the problem. At this point, we don’t know. We are trying to see, to penetrate the darkness that obscures the information.” He paused for a moment. “It is almost like someone knows they must hide things from us.”

“How would someone do that?”

The man shook his head. “We don’t know. Perhaps not making clear plans, not thinking or talking about what is to take place.” He paused again. “But then, how would they plan? How would they carry out any plans?”

“Tell me what you do know.”

“The information comes from Marseille. But whatever is to take place will occur in Italy. Perhaps it is being planned in Marseille. You have a connection to Marseille. We think you should check with that connection.”

“And that’s it?”

“I am sorry. Perhaps Palmira was being too hasty, but she was adamant that you know about this now rather than later.”

He bowed slightly to Dan and then to Jane and shuffled off through the sand.

†   †   †

Gaspárd controlled part of the drug sales in Marseille. He was Corsican by birth, which gave him French citizenship. His family had been involved in drugs and murder for generations on the island, with both his father and grandfather being infamous professional assassins. Using the money they had earned over the years, they purchased land and became, if not genteel, at least partially reputable and safe from prosecution. Gaspárd took a different approach and moved to Marseille years ago to continue the family tradition in new territory. He was a large man, heavily overweight, who enjoyed his food. He had a sharp eye for weakness and was ruthless at rooting it out in his organization.

His life was filled with challenges as he competed with other gangs, including those run by Muslim gangsters. As part of his efforts to control his territory and even increase it, he had an informer planted in one of the Muslim communities. The man could gather information about the drug gang activities, but he also gathered information regarding jihadist activities, some of which were commingled with the gangs. Gaspárd knew this information was valuable to certain parties. It did not matter to him in his daily struggle to maintain and expand his small empire, but such information mattered a great deal to certain groups who fought against the jihadists’ goals. One of those groups was the CIA, or a particular sub-section of the CIA that dealt in covert operations. He’d met one of their operatives before and had proven himself useful to them. Gaspárd was no fool and knew he could extract favors and money for such information.

Now, he had uncovered some new rumor—information that could earn him a sizeable amount of favor with that group. It was time to call a very special number.

Some of the call desks at CIA headquarters were reserved for calls from certain operatives in the field. Each call had a set of instructions. The operators took down the information, usually a number or contact, and then passed it on to the person or office according to their instructions.

After receiving a call, one desk operator placed a call to the U.S. consulate in Milan.

“I received a call for a Victor James,” the operator said. She had no idea who Victor James was, nor did she know the identity of the caller, only that it came from Marseille and that the caller had her desk number. Her instructions were to relay any calls for Victor James to the consulate in Milan. That was the end of her responsibility.

On the consulate side, there was a set of instructions regarding any calls for Victor James coming from the desk operators at Langley. The person receiving the call opened his book and looked up his instructions. The calls were infrequent enough to require referencing the instructions.

The instructions directed him to make a call to another number.

†   †   †

Jane picked up her cell phone. The three of them were back at Dan’s mansion, pleasantly tired after a day of roaming around Venice, including a trip to the beach on Lido.

“Jane here,” she said. She was relaxing on a couch with a glass of Alois Lageder Pinot Grigio while Dan and Emilie reviewed the day’s photos on their cell phones. Emilie wanted to send an edited collection to some of her friends, while Dan wanted to limit his exposure and connection to Venice. Emilie, understanding his covert role, allowed him to redact himself from the picture selection.

After asking for an authorization code, Jane listened and then hung up.

“Who was that?” Dan asked, looking over at her.

“The consulate in Milan. They got a call from a Langley desk for Victor James.”

Dan got up from his photo sorting with Emilie and walked over to the couch.

“Where did it come from?”

“Marseille.”

“Gaspárd.”

Jane nodded.

Chapter 9

D an crouched down so he could look directly into her eyes—eyes that could capture your heart with their soulful stare. Now, they were ready to overflow with tears. Emilie was visibly holding back from crying as Dan tried to explain that some information had come to him about something bad that might be happening soon.

“It doesn’t involve us—you, me, or Aunt Jane directly,” he said. “But it is my job to try to prevent these things from happening.”

A few hiccups came from Emilie as she choked down impending sobs to respond. “I…know. But I wanted to be with you on this visit. We may never come back.”

“Emilie, this is your home as well as mine. We’re family. Just as you declared. You will spend time here because you also belong here, as well as your house in Virginia. We’ll have time to explore so much, but for now, you and Jane can continue your visit together. I’ll try to join you after I find out what is going on.”

“Can’t you just call someone?”

Dan shook his head. “It doesn’t work well that way. Sometimes, I have to talk to people directly so that I can read them as I listen to them. You already have some of that skill, as Palmira said. You will get better at it as you grow. The best way to know if you're being told something truthful is to be in front of the person telling you.”

Emilie just looked at him without comment. Dan gave her a big hug, which she returned, and got up.

He turned to Jane. “Take the train to Milan, then rent a car. Continue with your visit to Rome and Florence. I’ll keep in touch and catch up with you when I can.”

Jane nodded and embraced him. After stuffing his travel kit in a bag, Dan went to the garage and drove off in the Peugeot, heading to Marseille and Gaspárd. The drive took him west through Verona. At Brescia, he turned south to skirt the coast with its iconic cities, San Remo, Monaco, and Cannes, before leaving the coastal road to cut across towards Aix-en-Provence and then down to Marseille.

Seven hours later, he pulled up to an unadorned high-rise building that screamed of slums and tenements and parked his car. He walked to the entrance and the empty lobby inside. Two men loitered at the front door and eyed him warily.

“I’m here to see Gaspárd,” Dan announced.

“Is he expecting you?” one of the men asked.

“Yes, but not at any particular time.”

“What does that mean?” the other man said. His voice conveyed a hint of aggression.

“Ask him yourself. Tell him Victor James is waiting at the front door and has driven all day to see him.”

One of the men went through the doors while putting his cell phone to his ear. He was almost to the elevator bank when he turned around and quickly returned to the front door. He pushed it open and gestured for Dan to come in.

“Twelfth floor. He’s waiting for you.”

Dan noted that the men didn’t try to frisk him and relieve him of his Sig Sauer P320. He rode the elevator to the twelfth floor and got out. Near the end of the hall, a man sat in a chair and motioned for him to come forward. He got up as Dan approached and motioned for Dan to open his jacket. Dan’s shoulder holster was evident, and the man gestured for him to hand over the weapon.

“S’il vous plait,”he said.

Dan complied, and the man opened the door. From the dingy hall with its threadbare carpet, Dan entered a luxury apartment. It was spacious, taking up over two normal apartments and incorporating them into one unit. A rich carpet cushioned Dan’s feet as he entered. A rather buxom and sultry woman stood aside in a doorway as Gaspárd burst through, heaving his bulk in a surprisingly nimble manner.

“Victor, my secretive friend. You got my call.” He grabbed Dan and engulfed him in a massive embrace. “It has been quite some time since we last met. But I’ll bet you’ve been busy. I read about the anthrax plots that were foiled by some unknown operators. The FBI claimed it was a covert team of their own, but I didn’t believe it. That was you, was it not?”

The man smiled and winked at Dan.

“You know I can’t answer such questions,” Dan said. He could not stop a smile from coming to his face. Gaspárd was a dangerous man at any time, coming from a family of gangsters and assassins, but in Marseille, he was someone to be especially cautious of. Dan’s first meeting with him had been fraught with danger and uncertainty, but the man had turned out to be very helpful and seemed to want to be a part of anti-terrorist, anti-jihadist efforts. It was to his benefit as they competed with him for control of the drug market territory. It was not lost on Gaspárd that his help improved his competitive position. That he could get paid was a bonus. So now, Dan was a welcome visitor when Gaspárd had helpful information to pass on.

“Come sit, have something to eat, drink. You have driven all day to reach me? Where did you come from?” Gaspárd’s hard eyes twinkled as he asked the question that Dan knew he understood would not be answered.

Dan followed the gangster into the next room, where they sat at a large dining table. The sultry woman who had appeared before brought an ice tray of oysters on the half shell. Gaspárd gestured for Dan to begin and then started on his own tray of iced oysters. After nearly a dozen were eaten, the woman entered with bowls of civet de sanglier, boar stew. Once served, she returned with a large bottle of Grenache red wine. Originally from France, it was now grown over much of the Corsican hillsides. Dan’s hunger, awakened by the oysters, had him digging heartily into the stew.

“It is good, no?” Gaspárd said with a smile. “The mainland French think they have the best food, but we Corsicans have some good dishes as well.”

“This is quite good,” Dan replied between bites.

When they were done, the two men retired into an inner room in the double-sized apartment. It was Gaspárd's office. There was a large desk with a window to the right, looking out from the back of the high-rise, giving a commanding view of the city and waterfront.

Dan sat in a chair opposite the window and to the side of the desk.

“What did you call about?” Dan asked.

“We will get to that. First, something to savor after a good meal. Ghjulia!” Gaspárd called out. In a moment, the woman appeared in the doorway. “Bring us some Vin Mariani.” He smiled at her, and she disappeared, returning a few moments later with a tray holding a bottle, ice, and two aperitif glasses.

Gaspárd poured the wine over ice in each glass and handed one to Dan. “This used to be spiked with coca leaf extract that contained cocaine. The drink was banned and only recently returned. Now the leaves have been, shall we say, neutered.” He winked at Dan. “But it is still quite good after a meal.”

Dan cautiously sipped the almost spicy drink and waited. Gaspárd was not going to rush his hospitality and his own enjoyment of the meal and the moment. Relax. We’ll get to the details soon enough.

Gaspárd set his glass down with a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Ghjulia is from the island. She is beautiful, is she not?”

Dan did not respond but waited for him to continue.

“She is quite good at taking care of me. Not only with food but in bed as well. Such a comfortable woman!” He shook his head. “I live a dangerous life. I must be brutal to maintain my territory.” Gaspárd waved his hand at Dan. “I know you disapprove of my business, my drugs. But someone will sell them on the street. We breed despair in this city, and many turn to drugs. At least I avoid lacing them with fentanyl. That kills customers, which is not good for business.”

Dan started to respond, but Gaspárd cut him off.

“I know. That doesn’t make me a saint. I’m still a criminal.” He leaned forward towards Dan with a sly grin on his pudgy features, his deep-set, dark eyes glistening. “But I’m a useful one…useful to you.”

“Gaspárd,” Dan said, “I don’t judge what you do. You’ve helped me in the past, and you’ve been repaid—favors and money. I don’t mean to be rude; you are a gracious host, but I’ve had a long day and want to know what I’ve driven all this way for.”

“Ah, you are too much the serious person. You need a woman in your life.”

Dan smiled. He didn’t need to tell Gaspárd that he had two women in his life, or, more correctly, a woman and a young girl.

“I just want you to understand that while I do things you don’t approve of, I have a concern about the safety of my country, of Europe, and even your country. Therefore, I do what I can.”

He turned serious as if the preliminaries were over.

“My source in the Muslim community is tuned into the jihadist network. He’s not part of it but knows some of the members, just as he knows many of the gang members. My contact makes a fine art of keeping on everyone’s good side so he can run his business. He also stays on my good side so I can keep the city off his back, and he and his family don’t get discovered as having false documents and wind up deported. He comes from Algeria but knows people in the Middle East.

“Last week, he got wind of someone quite important amongst jihadists coming to Marseille. He was here to meet with others who were from Iraq.”

“This happens often, doesn’t it?” Dan asked.

“Jihadists come and go. Who knows what everyone is up to? But the community reacted to this man as if he was someone special. He was called Muntaqim.”

Chapter 10

D an put down his glass, all else forgotten. “You’re sure that was what he called himself?”

Gaspárd nodded. “This name means something to you? I can see it in your face.”

“I have come across it before. He is a man I would like to find.”

“And kill?”

Dan ignored the question. “What did your informant say about the man?”

“Why don’t we go talk to him directly?”

Gaspárd got up and headed for the door. “Do you want to keep your face hidden?”

“I have a mask.”

They sat in the back seat of Gaspárd’s black Range Rover SV. Its long wheelbase gave it luxurious legroom in the second set of seats. The driver navigated the labyrinth of streets as they headed into the Muslim neighborhood. They parked at the curb, deep in a neighborhood of modest townhouses. The area was old and fraying around the edges. The housing units showed their age with some peeling paint and repairs needed to posts, roofs, or gutters. Gaspárd nodded to their driver, who got out and walked down the block to escort Jahsem, Gaspárd’s informant, back to the vehicle.

“You sit in the front with your mask on. You can turn to face Jahsem, but I should sit next to him.” Gaspárd winked at Dan. “It makes him uncomfortable, which is helpful.”

A few minutes later, the driver returned with a diminutive man walking beside him. He opened the back door for Jahsem to enter.

“So good of you to talk to me on short notice,” Gaspárd said. “This,” he pointed to Dan, who had turned around with his ski mask on, “is a friend of mine. He needs some information, which I think you can provide.”

Jahsem’s face took on a fearful look as he saw Dan’s covered face. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you? I’ve always been helpful.”

“No,” Gaspárd said, “we’re not going to hurt you. You have been helpful…and you’ve been rewarded for it.” He put his hand on Jahsem’s shoulder. “My friend needs to know more about this Muntaqim person.”

Jahsem swallowed hard and hesitated.

“Go ahead, tell him what you know.”

“This could be dangerous for me. He seems to be a dangerous man.”

“Jahsem, it could be dangerous for you not to tell us everything you know.”

Dan didn’t say a word but steadily gazed at the frightened man.

Jahsem swallowed nervously. He seemed to be weighing his options. It was probably dangerous to talk, but Dan hoped it would seem just as dangerous not to. And that danger was more immediate.

“Remember my friend,” Gaspárd said, “this man you are afraid of has returned to wherever he came from.” Gaspárd leaned close to Jahsem. “But I am here, close to you.”

“What I know is that he arrived in the neighborhood last week.” He began in a timorous voice. “He was hosted by Dawid al Warfalli, who’s originally from Libya, like most in the neighborhood, but did some fighting in Iraq after the war. He knows Muntaqim. He may have fought under him.”

“But no longer?”

“Muntaqim seems to have another mission. He’s not involved in the struggle against the Shiites, but something larger.”

“I know this al Warfalli. He runs one of the gangs here.” Gaspárd said.

Jahsem nodded.

“Go on,” Gaspárd said.

“Muntaqim met with some other men, all Iraqis. They also arrived from somewhere else. I think they came from the Lyon area, but beyond that, I don’t know for sure.”

“No one knows what they talked about. From what I heard, not even Dawid. But it was something important. Dawid told one of his men that something large was going to happen. It would occur in Italy. But no one knows what or when.”

“That is slim help,” Gaspárd said. “You give us only tidbits of information and try to pass this off as useful?”

“It is what I know. If I knew more, I’d tell you. I have no part in whatever terror they may be planning, especially in Italy. I just want to live and work at my shop. Maybe my children will have a better life if I’m successful.”

“Indeed,” Gaspárd replied. “And they won’t have to give information to a gangster, right?”

Jahsem didn’t say anything.

“How soon?” Dan finally spoke up.

Jahsem turned to look at the masked person staring at him over the seatback.

“I don’t know the date.”

“But your sources know approximately.”

Jahsem nodded cautiously. “Within a week is what I’ve been told. The word is that it will be big enough to be all over the news after it happens. It will shake up many governments.”

“A bombing? A mass shooting? Any guesses?” Dan asked.

The man shook his head. “No one spoke of those things. It seems to be something other than those kinds of attacks.”

“So, something else?”

“Yes. I think that may be a good guess since one has to guess.” He paused and then continued. “It is odd. There should be some idea of how they will attack as well as their target. The details seem to be kept hidden.”

Dan and Gaspárd continued for another fifteen minutes, approaching the issue from different directions until they were satisfied that Jahsem was not holding anything back and that the attack, whatever it was, had been carefully shielded from others in the community.

On the drive back, Gaspárd expressed frustration that Dan had driven so far, from wherever he had come, not to get much more information.

“It is all right. I needed to be here to see him tell his story. One can discern lies better that way. It is thin information, but a start.”

“So you and your analysts will go over this to try to figure out what the attack might be?”

Dan nodded.

“You’ll let me know?”

Dan shook his head.

Gaspárd sighed. Then I guess I can’t manipulate the stock market with my accountant.”

“You have an accountant?”

“Of course. I am a businessman, and much money passes through me. I have to account for it.

“And launder it,” Dan said.

“That too. Then I invest it. Much in real estate and some in stocks.”

“You know something’s coming. Maybe you should liquidate and step aside until after it goes down.”

“And if you stop it?”

Dan shrugged. “That’s the gamble you take. How good am I? Can I do it?”

Gaspárd gave Dan a calculated look. “I’ll give this some thought, but I don’t think it is safe to bet against you.”

Chapter 11

D an declined Gaspárd’s invitation to spend the night in an adjacent apartment.

“There’s little time. Things are going to happen quickly. You heard the man. I still must find out what, where, and how.”

He drove off, heading back to Venice. He’d drive as far as he could and then stop for a few hours of sleep. Along the way, he called Jane.

“What did you find out in Marseille?” Jane asked when she answered the phone.

“There is something big going to happen. Some kind of attack. In Italy.”

“A bombing?”

“No. The informant was pretty clear that it was not a bombing or a mass shooting event. He ruled those out but said it didn’t sound like that from his sources. He didn’t know any more than that.”

“What the hell is left?”

“That’s what we have to come up with,” Dan said. “Have Fred and Warren get looking. There might be a trace of activity on the internet regarding something coming in Italy.”

Fred Burke was a data analyst who could find patterns or anomalies in massive amounts of data and make connections that others would miss. He, along with Warren Thomas, worked for Jane in their small covert ops department. Warren was the hacker extraordinaire who could get into systems, search them, plant data collectors, and get back out without leaving any trace of his intrusions. It was a game of cat and mouse for him.

“Will do. When will you get back?”

“I’m on my way now, but I’ll have to stop for a few hours to grab some sleep. I’ll be there mid-morning.”

“Emilie and I were planning to go to Rome tomorrow.”

“You should do that. Call Fred and Warren now and give them their orders. Have them report to me, and I’ll keep you updated. We must try not to ruin this for Emilie.”

“Hell of a time to have a major terrorist attack. The one week we pick to introduce Emilie to your home and Europe.”

“Yeah, the timing sucks. Call the boys. Leave a little later so I can see you off.”

Late in the morning, Dan arrived at his home in Marghera, outside of Venice. When he entered, Emilie jumped on him and gave him a big hug.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “But Aunty Jane says you’re not going with us to Rome.”

Dan smiled and shook his head.

“Remember when I said I took care of the bad people who hurt your grandpop and mother?”

She nodded, her face now grave and serious.

“I did that. But there are more bad people out in the world. It’s my job to try to stop them. To try to keep them from hurting others.”

“And that’s what you have to do now?”

Dan nodded.

Emilie continued to look at him while she seemed to digest what he said.

“But aren’t the bad people always out there?”

Dan stared at her. She was showing the insight the old woman spoke about.

He nodded without speaking.

“Can you ever stop?”

“I can take breaks now and then.”

“But not now?”

“No. The danger is too great this time.”

“Are we in danger?”

“No.”

“How do you make the bad people stop?”

Dan reached up to her and brushed back her hair.

“That is something young children, even exceptionally bright young children, don’t need to worry about.”

Emilie thought about that for a moment without commenting.

“Can you go on the rest of the trip with us? After Rome?”

“We’ll see. For now, Aunt Jane will be your tour guide. But I’m glad I got to show you Venice. And I’m glad you got to meet Palmira, the old woman. She was impressed with you.”

Jane came up and hugged Dan as he stood up.

“Have you gotten anything back from Fred or Warren?” Dan asked.

“Not yet. I told them to report directly to you.”

“Did you make Henry aware of the threat?”

Jane nodded. “He’s running it up the ladder so more assets can be put on it.” She paused for a moment and then continued. “I’m not sure I should go off sightseeing while this is developing.”

“I understand. But this is not our core mission. Henry will move this forward at Headquarters. And if Fred and Warren come up with anything, I’ll know as soon as Henry does.”

“We need to make sure we—I mean you—don’t step on anyone if we get actionable intel. Pass it to Henry and me, and he can decide if we pursue it or have other departments go after it.

After a snack, Dan shoved the two females out the door. They would drive to Milan and take a train to Rome. From there, they would take a train back north, through Milan, and on to Paris.

†   †   †

Muntaqim continued to develop his plan with Burak. He tried doing it in chaotic environments as if that could help to keep the plans undiscovered. At no time did they ever discuss the date or mention the security summit. Muntaqim had Burak work with a security technician to locate all the CCTV cameras in the vicinity of the restaurant. He acquired a high-voltage capacitor that could send a surge of current through the system wires located in the area. The current would be large enough to burn the cables, prohibiting any backup system from taking over. Any current flowing would be shorted out. When the time came, they could kill the cameras in less than thirty seconds, leaving the two-block area essentially blacked out. Again, the technician was kept in the dark about the time and place. He would be told at the last minute where to go to set up his equipment. Until then, he was only to get the system ready to deploy.

“Where do we go after…?” Burak refrained from saying the name of the mission out loud. Muntaqim had impressed upon him that he should not even think the thoughts.

“It will be revealed after we complete our task. Until then, there must be secrecy.”

The discussion rambled on with not much to show for it, Burak thought. He felt unsure how they could plan a precise operation while leaving out so many details.

As if reading his mind, Muntaqim said, “You wonder how we can proceed. Remember how thorough our training was? Remember how strict? The ones who failed to measure up were taken away and disposed of. The intensity of what I had you do was for this reason. The team must be able to act with little advance information. They must be able to rely on their training, which had to be thorough enough to enable them to make the right moves and decisions without thinking about them.”

After the meeting, Muntaqim sat alone with his thoughts. He understood Burak would be able to function even if the man wanted more detail. He was smart. The rest? Muntaqim had to rely on the training that they had put them through. In addition, Muntaqim had prepared a surprise, one that no one, not Rashid or Burak, knew about. It sat in the back of his mind. He knew it would help ensure the success of the primary mission.

Chapter 12

D an was startled by the front door chimes. No one came to his house in Marghera unannounced or without him arranging the visit. He grabbed his nine-millimeter, which was never far from his side, stuffed it in the back of his pants, and walked to the door. He checked the camera and found Clementina, Palmira’s daughter, standing on the porch. Dan opened the door and motioned her inside.

“I am sorry to bother you at home,” the girl said.

“Non c’è problema,” he replied.

Dan didn’t ask how she knew where he lived. He hadn’t given it much thought, but a Watcher or a Watcher’s daughter would easily discover his whereabouts.

“Mia madre said I must come to you right away. She said you needed to know what she and the others have discovered.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

Clementina shook her head. “I must tell you and go back right away.”

She paused as if to catch her breath.

“The thing that is going to happen is still not clear. But what can be determined is that it is a large attack and will take place in or around the Milan area. It could be close, but there are no other large cities close to Milan.”

“Does she know when?”

“Now, mia madre says. Within a day or two at the most. You have no time to spare to discover the target and alert people to the danger.”

“But we still don’t know what the attack will be.”

“No. She is sorry. Mia madre says something is blocking her and the others. As if someone knows about them…us, and is hiding their thoughts.”

Dan looked thoughtful. He had never considered this idea. Could it be done? He shook his head.

Clementina reached up and touched his sleeve. “Please hurry. There is no time to wait. My mother says you are the tip of the spear.”

Dan gave her a half smile and showed her out the door. As he closed it, he pulled his cell phone out and called Jane.

“What’s up?” Jane asked. “We’re about to go into St. Peter’s, and I can’t use my phone there.”

“Palmira said an attack, a large one, is going down in the next 48 hours or less. In or near Milan.”

There was a pause. “There’s a conference on EU security in Milan this week. It starts tomorrow.”

“That must be it. But what is the attack? Kill a bunch of security experts? The source in Marseille said it wasn’t a mass shooting or bombing as far as he knew.”

“Could be he was misled,” Jane replied.

“I’ll gear up and head there. Get Marcus and Roland on a plane and on their way. Diplomatic clearance so they can bring gear. I may need them if we can figure out the point of attack. And tell them not to dress for an expedition into Iraq. We’re in Italy, and they can’t draw too much attention to themselves.”

“Maybe I should break off the tour?”

“No. I’m sure you and Emilie are having a good time. Just get some assets in place. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll need.”

“You go to Milan. Keep your head down. I’m going to run this up the chain. We need to alert our counterparts to increase security.”

Dan instinctively shied from alerting the authorities. It would hinder him, but he couldn’t argue. This had to be reported. An explanation of an anonymous tip would suffice for now.

†   †   †

The conference was starting tomorrow. Muntaqim was satisfied. Burak had assured him that the plans were set. He could shut down multiple blocks of CCTV cameras. He had three vans, with six men in each, ready for action. Burak still didn’t know where they would make their attack or exactly when, but he was sure it would be tomorrow or the next day. He pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the men, reviewing each one to make sure he had no weaknesses. They would be as precise as possible, but he had emphasized that ruthlessness was critical to make sure the abductions would be done quickly. Go into the target area, kill any security, and snatch the men. Each of the teams spent the day reviewing their gear, their tactics, and the pictures of the men they were to grab.

†   †   †

When the information regarding the possibility of an impending attack on the conference reached Roger Abrams, Henry’s boss. Roger alerted Garett Easton, the DDO, and the warning was sent out to Interpol and all the European U.S. embassies. Italy, along with the security agencies of the countries near Italy, went into action. Attendees were warned, and their personal security was beefed up.

William Gardiner, the CIA Director, was briefed on what little information they had. He called the president, and an emergency meeting was called for early the following morning by the White House. In attendance would be Charles Rosser, the President; Gardiner, Phillip Coldwell, the FBI Director; John Franklin, the President’s Chief of Staff, a savvy politician who seemed to have dirt on everyone of note in DC, and the directors of the NSA, DIA, along with the DNI and the Chief of Staff of the National Security Council, Deputy Secretary of State, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Gardiner arrived at 7 am and was ushered into the Cabinet Room, just down from the Oval Office. Coffee, juice, and an assortment of pastries were set out on a sideboard. A table in the center had nameplates for all in attendance.

Within minutes, the rest of the attendees were seated, and the president entered.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he said as he sat down. “We’re starting with some pretty thin information, but I was told it was reliable and posed an immediate threat.”

He looked over at Gardiner.

“Bill, you want to summarize what you’ve learned?”

Gardiner opened his folder. “We have some assets in Europe that uncovered some discussions and a meeting involving a terrorist attack. It’s going to take place in or about Milan, and it will happen in the next day or so.”

He paused.

“That’s it?” Coldwell asked.

“Not quite. The source ruled out a bombing or mass shooting attack, which would seem to be the most likely scenarios.”

“What does that leave us…speculation?” John Franklin asked.

Coldwell jumped back in. “What was the source?”

“It seems there was a meeting in Marseille between a terrorist we have been chasing, known only as Muntaqim, and some others, ones who came from France, as it was reported, and who would probably be involved in executing the plans.”

“Do you know where this Muntaqim is or how to find him?” The president now interjected.

“No, sir. We’re working on it with many assets all over the Middle East. But he’s an elusive figure.”

“If we can’t identify the attack or the target, how do we stop it?” the President asked no one in particular.

“If not a bombing or mass shooting,” Coldwell wondered out loud, “bringing down a plane, like they tried to do in Germany?”

“An attack on the water supply, the power grid?” the DNI head offered up some ideas.

“Or could this be misdirection? John Franklin said. “The source is saying what it won’t be, and that is exactly what it will be. Get us looking in the wrong places.”

“You said some of those at the meeting came from France, Coldwell said. “An embassy official in France recently disappeared from Paris.” Everyone turned to look at him. “He was responsible for our ambassador’s scheduling.”

“Was he kidnapped? Killed?” the NSC Chief of Staff asked.

“We don’t know. He’s just listed as missing so far.”

Easton made a mental note of the information. He would get with his DDO when he got back to Langley.

“You’re sure that it won’t be either a bombing or a shooting?” Rosser asked him.

“Sir. As sure as one can be in these instances. You know this is a murky business. There is a security conference in Milan.” He turned to the State Department deputy, “Is our ambassador attending this meeting?”

“Yes, Ambassador Carter is. Our Ambassador in Italy is out of the country at the moment.”

“That may mean there is a connection between the staffer and this possible attack,” Rosser said,

“I’ll contact AISI right away,” Easton replied.”

The discussions went on for another twenty minutes before the President wrapped up.

“We have to identify possible targets,” the president said, “but we can’t cover them all. Put your heads together and come up with the most likely possibilities. Then we can see if we can help or advise the Italians to secure them.” He stood up. “I’m going to call the Italian President. I’m sure I’ll be talking to other heads of state before the day’s out. Have something on my desk by noon.”

He got up and left the room.

The AISI, Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Interna’s, first action was to assume command of security at the convention center, putting the private security that the center had hired on the sidelines. There was little time to prepare, and the situation quickly became chaotic. The private firm did not know what to do with their teams, and the management became more focused on making sure they would get paid than on providing security. The AISI had made it clear that they should stay out of the way and relegated them to glorified door guards, manning the security screening stations inside the center.

Burak followed the security changes with interest. He wondered how they had gotten any hint regarding an upcoming threat, even if it was misplaced. He noted with satisfaction that the increased security would not help if what was planned could still occur.

“Do you think the target will still attend the meeting as planned?” Muntaqim asked in one of their cryptic phone calls, trying not to speak of the actual events.

“One can’t know for sure,” Burak replied. “If the threat seems vague, as it looks from the responses I’ve been able to monitor, then our target may stick to his schedule. He is noted for being independent-minded and not wanting to bow to pressure. What is unclear is how many of the attendees will still come.”

“Probably not the Italian.”

“Agreed. But that still leaves a target-rich event for us to take advantage of.” Burak thought for a moment. “Still, it worries me. Especially if more security is brought to the meeting.”

“I have a solution to that worry. I won’t speak of it now, but you will recognize it when it happens.”

Burak didn’t press Muntaqim. The man was enigmatic and circumspect in his conversations in the best of times. Now, thinking there was something almost supernatural at work to uncover his plans, he had become difficult to communicate with. Burak knew he would have to just move ahead with his team, and if Muntaqim had a diversion set up, it would happen, and he’d take advantage of it.

Chapter 13

H arrington Carter, the U.S. ambassador to France, was at the Hotel Gran Duca di Yorkin Milan. It was established in an 18th century palace and featured historic frescoes in various hallways. He was a man not easily intimidated. He had the instincts of a street fighter that were cloaked in a smooth, cultured presentation. He got his way with elegance and guile, but underneath was a hard-nosed competitiveness and drive to win.

“Do you have any details of this threat that’s been uncovered?” he asked one of his aides.

“No, sir. It’s lacking details, but the report is that there is substance behind the warning.”

“Anyone know the source?”

“Again, the answer is no.”

“Could this have anything to do with George's disappearance?”

The aide shrugged. “Something’s wrong with his disappearance for sure. It’s not like him to go missing. I checked with the Inspectorate back in Paris, and they have no leads. He was with multiple people at Les Paris Montparnasse until about 10 pm and then left alone. No one saw him after that. All the people at the bar had alibis and checked out.”

Harrington thought for a moment. He had been busy getting ready and was mostly irked at the disappearance of his chief scheduler. It had been reported to the Paris Prefecture, and Harrington had talked to his family back in the States. Now, with the threat, however vague, added on top of his aide’s mysterious disappearance, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. It was not something he was used to.

“I can’t imagine what George’s disappearance has to do with this threat. It seems more like a ransom kidnapping. I suspect his family will be contacted with a demand for money shortly,” Harrington said.

“The police said that usually happens in the first twenty-four hours, and we’re past that.”

Harrington didn’t reply for a moment. “Have any security changes been put in place since this threat?”

“The AISI has taken over security for the conference. I’ve been told the manpower has been doubled.”

“And our private dinner meeting?”

“Still on,” the aide replied.

“No one’s canceled?”

“Eugenio Vitale from the AISI will not be there. He was a maybe until this threat emerged.”

“That’s a shame. I wanted him there since we’re in Italy.” Harrington shook his head as if to clear it. “But we’ll progress without him while he chases this phantom.” He paused for a moment. “You should add to our security while we’re at the restaurant. It won’t hurt.”

“Yes, sir.”

The aide turned and left the hotel room. Harrington put his concerns aside. He needed to focus on the meeting, even if George was missing and possibly in danger. He’d get fully involved after he got back from Milan. In the meantime, he had to trust in the Paris police. Harrington had personally told George’s family when he called them that he was putting the resources of the American embassy behind the search. It seemed to give them comfort. For now, George was just listed as “missing”.

The first day of the conference was chaotic at best. The press was treated badly, with credentials being closely scrutinized. The most minor issue could mean no badge, and many calls to one’s media boss needed to get the reporter or cameraman into the conference. Independent and internet news sources fared the worst, and many of them were relegated to waiting outside for snippets from the attendees when they exited.

The first day’s reception was held inside the Allianz MiCo center with lots of alcohol and finger food that Harrington only picked at. He was not a fan of conference food, even if this conference offered a slightly improved selection. During the reception, Harrington spent time confirming the guests at his private meeting the following evening. There was nothing on the official schedule for the evening, and the guests would be on their own.

In his cruise around the attendees, Harrington found his old friend, Clive Randall. Clive was a member of Britain's MI-5. He had been an officer in the SAS and had served in actual combat during the first and second Iraq wars. Afterward, he retired from the military and joined the domestic security agency, which offered him a place to use his battle-tested skills and knowledge of extreme Islamic militants while maintaining a successful marriage and raising a family. It was a balance that Clive considered a success in his life.

“What do you make of this supposed threat?” Harrington asked as the two men refreshed their drinks from a passing waiter.

“Not much substance to it from what I can determine. Your fellows at the CIA, however, are adamant that this is a serious threat even if no one can tell us the source.”

“Or won’t,” Harrington replied.

They walked out to a balcony overlooking the paved entrance plaza. The center was a futuristic design with rectangular sections making up multiple meeting halls, draped with bright aluminum metal strips like a sheet thrown over furniture. To some, it seemed jarring and artificial; to others, it was a testament to modernity, similar to the additions to the Louvre in Paris with its now-accepted glass pyramid.

“Maybe,” Clive said. “But something’s spooked your friends at the Agency. And from what I hear, they’re not bringing us in on the information.”

He took a sip of his wine.

“We’re still on for tomorrow night?”

“Yes. You might want to bring some extra personal security.”

Clive shook his head. “If we all bring extra security, we’ll fill the restaurant with armed men and drive out the rest of the customers. That won’t go over well with the owners. Besides, no one knows about this meeting, and the threat is to the convention. We’ll be fine.”

Chapter 14

Six months earlier

R asul Kurbanov was a thick man. He stood around five feet, eight inches tall, with a barrel chest, thick arms, and neck. His hands were large and calloused, evidencing years of hard manual labor. He weighed about one hundred eighty-five pounds, all of it solid and heavily muscled. As the leader of his clan in Dagestan, his work now consisted of maintaining order, keeping the hotheads under him in control, and fending off threats to his authority while working to expand his clan’s fortunes.

The region’s mountainous terrain created isolated pockets of family groups living by themselves over generations, cut off from absorption into a greater social identity. The clan system evolved over hundreds of years, and no amount of central authority could loosen its hold on the people. The people’s loyalty was, first and foremost, to their own clan. The country was mostly Muslim of the Sunni/Sufi division, with Orthodox Christians comprising a sizeable minority group. There was always tension between the groups, with regular attacks on the Christians and Jews by fanatical Muslims who had “gone into the woods,” as the locals labeled radicalized youths who ran away from home to join one Muslim terror group or another.

The Kurbanov clan’s business and income came from various activities, including farming, raising livestock, and the more lucrative smuggling that went on throughout Dagestan. With a shoreline on the Caspian Sea and land routes deep into greater Russia, all the way to Moscow, the region was well placed to receive consumer goods, weapons, and drugs from Turkey, Iran, and Afghanistan and bring them into Russia. The Kurbanov clan acted as middlemen, delivering the smuggled contraband to gangs in Moscow. Rasul made a point of keeping a good inventory of weapons so that his clan was well-armed to defend their territory against rival groups.

Rasul had three sons and two daughters. The two oldest sons were grown men and worked in the family's many operations. The younger boy spent his time doing farm work, hunting, and helping his mother. The daughters were the two youngest in the family, at sixteen and twelve years of age. They were expected to do the women’s work with their mother. The rules were strict, and they were careful not to violate their father’s rules. Meeting boys outside of the home was strictly prohibited. The young men in the clan were eager enough to win the eye of the older daughter, but none were bold enough to chance crossing Rasul. They or their fathers would pay a heavy price.

Often, skirmishes broke out over territory or which clan got to participate in smuggling certain goods. Rasul was ruthless in putting down any opposition. He and his men would ruthlessly stamp out any conflict with deadly force. It was something his sons observed and learned from. Strength, survival, and maintaining one’s position meant being violent and deadly.

After Muntaqim’s initial contact, Burak was dispatched to a remote village located on the north slopes of the Caucasus Mountains. It was a long, arduous trip from Turkey through Georgia into Dagestan. In the city of Vladikavkaz, a clan member met him. Burak parked his car, a Land Rover SUV, and the man drove them further east, deep into the mountains, in a four-door pickup truck. After two hours, they turned south to the small town of Nizhne Dzhengutia. From there, a dirt road led them east through flat farm fields towards the forested hills that formed an encompassing barrier to the east and south. As they progressed, the road became rougher as it entered the foothills and began to wind around the ever-steepening hills, seeming to search for an easy way upward. The driver steered casually around dangerous bends with no guard rails to protect a vehicle from tumbling hundreds of feet into the valley if it strayed from the gravel. After another two hours, they arrived at a high plateau, an isolated piece of ground where a group of buildings sat on a gentle slope of ground with steep hills dropping off into deep valleys to the front and sides. Behind them, the plateau gently sloped upward and into a thick wood where the terrain steepened. There were two barns with their doors open. Burak could see that one held machinery and one seemed to be used for farm animals. Two of the other buildings looked to Burak like bunkhouses. The main house was easily identified with its two-story construction and stone walls. A generous front porch was attached to the front with wooden chairs set on it.

As Burak got out of the truck, he observed wounded men being tended to just outside the bunkhouse. Others were milling about with their weapons slung over their shoulders. They looked at him, and the man who drove him, but no one called out or waved.

Burak was led into the main house and directed to a seat in the living room. A small group of men sat around, all armed, all seemingly relaxed. Burak had no misunderstanding that they were there to protect Rasul if the need arose. Burak had no weapons on him and had not brought any on his trip. He was dressed, as always, as an impeccable upper-class Brit, albeit in clothing suitable for an outing in a rugged country.

He waited for about ten minutes in silence. No one spoke, and Burak forced himself to relax and not let himself feel uncomfortable. This was a technique to put him off balance for the upcoming discussion with Rasul Kurbanov, the clan leader. After the ten-minute wait, another man entered the room and gestured for Burak to follow him. They walked down the hallway and into a room near the back.

Rasul sat behind a massive desk. It did little to hide his ominous stature, which was made more so by Burak being in the man’s home territory. His concern was momentary. He was there on invitation to discuss an offer that could make Rasul a great deal of money.

“Sit down,” Rasul said in Turkish. He motioned to a chair in front of the desk. The man was dressed for the woods, with his clothes indicating he had spent time lying on the ground. There was a scrape on his large forearm that seeped blood through his shirt.

Burak purposively entered the room with the good side of his face showing. As he sat down, he allowed the damaged side to show. Rasul looked at him without a change of expression. The scarred appearance didn’t seem to faze the clan leader. Not one to be easily shocked. Burak knew he was in the presence of a hard man.

Burak noticed, upon sitting, that his chair was lower than Rasul’s, so he had to look up and over the large desk. He doesn’t miss a trick, he thought. He smiled.

Rasul returned the smile. “Please tell me the details about this offer your boss said I needed to hear.”

Before he could speak, a woman came in quietly and placed a serving tray of strong tea and two cups on the large desk. She poured two cups and departed without a sound. Rasul reached across the desk, took a cup in one hand, and offered the other to Burak, who accepted.

Burak began to present his offer. Rasul would hold some men for him and allow his own men to guard them. The prisoners were pawns in a grand negotiation with some Western governments. When the negotiations were completed, Burak and his men would take them off Rasul’s hands and deliver them to the Western authorities, turning them free somewhere in Georgia. No one would know where they had been and be unable to track their path back to Rasul and his clan. In exchange, Rasul would be paid one million dollars in U.S. currency.

Rasul smiled as Burak finished his presentation. The clan leader had insisted on meeting in person to discuss the arrangement. Does he think this gives him more leverage? Burak could only guess as the offer seemed sufficiently large to warrant little negotiation.

“It is a generous offer you present. We make a good living with our businesses, but this would increase our cash flow significantly.” He paused to sip some tea. “These must be high-value targets for your boss to make such arrangements. We thrive by staying away from notice. We do not want authorities, especially international ones, pushing Moscow to look into what is going on here.”

“I assure you we will not be followed. No one will know where the hostages are kept. That is why we chose your region. Plus, we are brothers in faith, and it would be good to strike a blow against the West.”

Rasul put down his cup and gave a short, disdainful laugh. “Such talk means little to me.” He leaned forward, “Are you one of those fanatics who will do whatever he can to hit the West, even if it costs you your life?” He sat back. “If so, you have come to the wrong place, even for a million U.S. dollars. Such men are dangerous because they have no sense of self-preservation.” Rasul slapped his chest. “My loyalty is to myself, my clan. It is my duty to see it thrive. I care nothing for your greater cause; it does not affect me. Not here…in my world.”

His voice now carried a threatening tone.

“But surely it is…how should I say it? Icing on the cake? Additional sweetness in your tea?”

Rasul snorted. “My tea is sweet enough. You are well-dressed. A man of the city. I’m sure you speak English well, but you know little of our lives here.”

His eyes darkened, and his brows knit together in a scowl.

“Life is hard here. Hard and brutal. One must be tough to survive, and great gifts, such as yours, often come with great perils. That is what I must assess during your visit.”

Rasul sat back and sipped more of his tea. Burak also took a sip to buy time. This was not what he expected. For a million dollars, he assumed that they would spend time discussing the details of how the hostages would be secured and, eventually, moved after the negotiation was completed.

“You wonder that I am not jumping at your generous offer,” Rasul continued. “It did not occur to you that someone would think about not taking the money. Well, I think about it. I think about the complications. That is why I’m still alive.”

“I am not a fanatic. I am dedicated to striking the West. I understand that you are not interested in that struggle. I, my mentor and I, only want to use your services because you are so isolated. We bring the hostages here. You keep them while we negotiate. When it is over, we take them away. You are left with a million dollars.” He paused for a moment, then added. “We are methodical, careful, and plan well. The only fanaticism you will find is a dedication to the successful completion of our mission.”

They talked for another half hour, with Rasul asking more detailed questions about the operation and Muntaqim in particular. Burak talked about the mission but said little about Muntaqim.

“You have come a long way. Let’s stop for now, and I will show you our compound. We will go for a hike, and you can show me how well you shoot. A man in your business must be able to shoot.”

Chapter 15

A fter touring the buildings with Rasul pointing out that the hostages could be locked in one of the bunkhouses, they went back to the main house.

“Wait here,” Rasul said. He disappeared down the hall and returned a few minutes later with two CZ Bobwhite side-by-side shotguns in 12-gauge. “Take this,” he said, extending one of the shotguns to Burak. “We will go see if we can shoot some doves. We will have them for dinner if we’re successful.”

Burak accepted the piece and immediately checked its balance. He was an expert shooter, having learned in England to hold his own with his wealthy friends when they went shooting on their estates. The hours spent at a trap and skeet range were well spent and would pay off here as well. He smiled. This may surprise Rasul…and close the deal.

They exited the main building and headed off to the woods behind the house. Two men accompanied them, walking behind and carrying Kalashnikov carbines. As they walked, Rasul gave Burak a handful of shells to stuff into his pockets. After entering the woods, the slope steepened. Burak worked a bit to keep up with Rasul’s steady pace. The men didn’t talk, and Burak now followed Rasul, carefully stepping where he stepped to avoid making excess noise. The large man seemed to be able to walk without disturbing the undergrowth and avoided twigs that would snap with a sharp report and send any perched doves flying.

They remained stealthy, and Rasul stopped when they heard some cooing ahead. The men scanned the canopy for the birds. Finally, one of the bodyguards tapped Rasul on the shoulder and pointed. To their left, on a low branch, halfway out from the trunk, sat a dove. Rasul nodded to Burak to shoot. He raised his gun, and as he brought it to bear, the dove took off with a loud slapping of wings. Burak swung the rifle to the right and pulled the trigger. The dove flopped in the air and came tumbling to the ground. Ahead, another flapping of wings indicated a nearby dove that had taken flight, startled by the loud report from the shotgun firing.

One of the guards retrieved the bird, still alive, and quickly wrung its neck. He put it in a satchel he carried on a shoulder strap.

“Well done.” Rasul smiled. “Was that beginner’s luck, or do I see evidence of some shooting experience?”

“I spent much time shooting birds and skeet in England. In Iraq, I spent much time shooting Kalashnikovs,” Burak nodded towards the guards.

Rasul didn’t answer and started walking.

The hunt proved successful, with four doves in the guard’s satchel when they returned. Burak kept up reasonably well with the strong clan leader. They sat down in the living room. Rasul fixed himself a vodka, which Burak declined. The host shrugged his shoulders and had some tea brought in.

“You carried yourself well today,” Rasul said. “I can see that you are not a soft man. I respect that. I will take your hostages and hold them for you. I have one sweetener that I need to insist upon.”

Burak raised his eyebrows, which made his face look even less symmetrical than it was.

“You need to deliver fifty AK-47s along with a thousand rounds of ammunition.”

“In addition to the million dollars?”

“In addition. The money should be a net gain to me. After this adventure, I will need more arms to fight off my enemies. Nothing is a secret for long, and they will learn about this adventure to some extent.”

“But nothing will be said on my side. Do you have leaks in your organization?”

Rasul gave Burak a sharp look. “You speak foolishly about what you do not know. You cannot bring in twenty people, hostages, and guards without someone being aware.” He paused for a moment to look out of the window. “It is almost as if the hills have eyes and ears.” He took a sip of his drink. “Anyway, it is what we live with.”

“With respect, I think the million dollars is enough.”

Rasul stared long and hard at his guest.

“Remember, I do not need your million dollars. It will help. It will be nice, but if it is not there, we survive and continue in our ways. Life has its rhythm here in the mountains.” He took another sip. “It is this…or nothing.”

Burak paused only for a moment. He had tried to push back. He calculated that the additional terms would be easy for Muntaqim to deal with, and Rasul was correct. He had no other options.

“I will agree to your additional terms, but I have an addition of my own. I will need some of your men to meet me in Georgia on the shores of the Black Sea. We will need them to get us through the border into the Russian republics.”

Rasul looked thoughtfully at Burak as he contemplated the request. “That exposes me to a greater extent.”

“Maybe, but if we are caught, if we can’t get to you, then you miss out on the money and the weapons. Think of it as insuring your payout.”

“So be it.” Rasul saluted Burak with his glass and drained it in one swallow.

The next day, Burak began his long drive back through Georgia, Turkey, and into Iraq. He met with Muntaqim at a small farmhouse near the Saudi border in the far south of Iraq. It was Sunni territory and far from Shiite strength. He understood Muntaqim felt more comfortable there, even though the Sunni areas north of Baghdad were larger geographically.

Muntaqim did not quibble at the additional payment in the form of weapons and ammunition that Rasul demanded.

“It is a small addition to a large price. He is best positioned to allow us to remain undetected while we negotiate. Remember, most of the Western world will be searching for those we capture.”

“And it is worth it, the risk? For one soldier caught by the Americans?” Burak asked.

Muntaqim nodded. “Rashid’s nephew.”

Chapter 16

T he day before Harrington Carter’s security meeting, Burak met with his team. He had assembled three vans with six men in each. The plan was to be overwhelming and brutal. Casualties were not an issue, except that the men were not to shoot the hostages. The day before, all the men had spent hours studying the pictures of those they were to capture and had been tested to be sure they could quickly recognize them. Anyone else who was in the way and could be dealt with quickly and lethally.

Burak also had his small tech team ready to deploy to black out the area around the restaurant. No one knew yet where the attack would take place. That information would be given only at the last moment. The location didn’t matter; the training did. Even Faisal, a man who had proven loyal and capable, did not know the name and location of the restaurant.

As night fell, Burak assembled the men for the last time. He gave final instructions to the leader of each of the three teams going into the restaurant and sent his tech team out to prepare the blackout. All would wait on his signal. Burak would take up a position across from the restaurant, and when all the targets had gathered, he’d call for the operation to begin. Before that, he had a surprise prepared.

Earlier that day, Dan got a call from Jane saying they were coming through Milan and taking the night train to Paris. The trip would take six and a half hours.

“I’m hoping we can grab some sleep along the way, but Emilie is quite excited about Paris,” Jane said.

“You’re not stopping off in Milan?”

“On the way back. We did the Colosseum and St. Peter's. Emilie has had enough antiquities for a while. She’s looking forward to the Eiffel Tower and a boat ride on the Seine. She even said she wanted to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. Imagine that.”

“Smart girl. Maybe her teacher told her what to see in Paris.”

“Good guess. Have you uncovered anything about the threat?” Jane asked.

“Nothing. The first day of the conference was pretty chaotic, but nothing happened. Nothing’s happened yet on this second day.”

“You said the Watchers are never wrong. Sometimes unclear or vague, but never wrong.”

“I’ll stand by that. But honestly, I don’t see what I can do except hang around the edges and keep out of the way.”

“Use your instincts and your insight. Tlayolotl says you were gifted with a heightened sense of insight from your experiences with him,” Jane said.

The image of the ancient Mexican shaman flashed in Dan’s memory. “I know. But I’m not getting anything except a nagging feeling that won’t go away.” He paused for a moment. “Everything around this conference is a bit of a hassle. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time.”

“But you feel something’s going to happen?” Jane asked.

Dan thought for a moment. “I do. I’m frustrated because just having a sense of foreboding isn’t enough. I need to have somewhere to direct it.”

“Stay with it. I’ll check with you tomorrow after we get to Paris. Hopefully, nothing will happen, and we can call it a mistake.”

“That will be the first time the Watchers have made one,” Dan said.

†   †   †

Outside of Milan, three men parked their small van along a dark section of country road. Across the road was the high-speed rail line run by the TGV company. One of the evening trains heading to Paris would be coming along soon. There were eleven trains per day going from Milan to Paris. It was a profitable route, with most of the trains well-filled.

The men had five pounds of Semtex explosive and a detonator that the train’s passing would trigger. The explosion would happen a fraction of a second after the wheels passed over the trigger. It would tear open the locomotive, sending it off the rails and causing a high-speed derailment that would result in a catastrophic crash, killing many passengers and disrupting service for days, even weeks.

The rail line was sealed off by a three-meter-high fence. If cut, a signal would be sent to alert security, letting them know of a breach and approximately where along the line it occurred. Most of the security issues around rail systems focused on passenger screening and attempting to detect and stop IEDs from getting on the trains. In addition, the authorities had determined that terrorists preferred local trains over the higher-priced high-speed rail systems, which were much more expensive and, therefore, not as densely packed with passengers. Cameras, being an expense to install, maintain, and monitor, were few and far between along the track.

The saboteurs chose a spot clear of cameras. It was also far along a straight section where the train would attain its maximum velocity of nearly 200 kilometers per hour, around 120 miles per hour.

Since cutting the fence was not possible, the men set up a ladder. The first man climbed up, hooked a flex ladder to the top of it, and dropped it down on the trackside of the fence. With someone holding the rigid ladder, he quickly descended to the tracks. A second man followed. The third man kept his weight on the ladder's base, and when the two were over, he laid it on the grass next to the fence. The grass was just long enough to make the ladder invisible to any passing car.

It took only a minute to place the explosive between the tracks and conceal it in the gravel bed. The trigger took a few minutes longer. A battery was half-buried just outside of the rails. A wire ran from the battery to the igniter buried in the Semtex. There was no direct connection. Where the wire ran across the rail, there was an incomplete circuit that was taped to the rail. When the wheels of the first locomotive crossed the connection, they would smash it flat, closing the circuit and sending the electrical charge to the igniter, resulting in an explosion. The trigger had been tested repeatedly back in the Arabian desert, and Burak had pronounced it reliable to use.

In ten minutes, the men were done and exited back over the fence. They put their gear in the back of the van and drove off. The group’s leader called a number and told the person who answered that the installation had been successful. They would now disappear, driving east to the Balkans. In Zagreb, they would drop off the van and separate, each going their own, pre-planned way back through Turkey and into Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon.

Burak received the news with satisfaction. The men planting the bomb had no idea it was connected to the kidnapping. The kidnappers had no idea that a train would be bombed to create a diversion. Everything was nicely compartmentalized, as Muntaqim had directed.

Chapter 17

T he train crossed the fuse link and, as had been previously tested, closed the circuit, igniting the Semtex. It erupted under the lead locomotive and lifted it off the track. It didn’t take much height at 120 kilometers per hour to cause it to land wrong and slew sideways. The enormous energy of tons of train cars moving at high speed flipped the locomotive on its side, setting up a cascade of passenger cars slewing in different directions, crashing on their sides, and smashing into one another. The carnage breached the fence, and one car almost reached the road alongside the rail right of way. The air was filled with an ear-splitting screech of metal as the cars ground along the rails and slammed into one another. Inside, passengers were thrown violently against walls, their limbs bent and broken. Some were driven through the glass windows only to be smashed into unrecognizable smears of flesh and bones by the massive metal cars, now turned into lethal projectiles. For what seemed like forever but was around a minute, the grinding and screaming of metal tearing went on until, at last, there was silence. The enormous kinetic energy of the train had finally dissipated in a foreboding stillness.

Out of that silence now came human screams of pain and horror, along with calls for help. Smoke arose from the locomotives, and various fluids leaked from the cars. The scene was a scramble of cars, broken and thrown in different directions, some lying on their sides, some piled on top of one another. There were bodies strewn along the wreckage. A few people staggered out of some of the rear cars and collapsed to the ground.

Back in the control room in Milan, alarms rang as detectors placed at intervals along the track recorded an anomaly. The security staff sat, momentarily confused by the rarely-heard alarms. Then the dam burst, and they all went into action. Southbound trains were stopped. Calls went out to the emergency crew to investigate what had gone wrong. Soon, calls came in that revealed the level of the catastrophe. Now, emergency and rescue crews in Milan, Saronno, Busto Arsizio, and any other town that could provide fire trucks and ambulances were contacted. The police were alerted, and quickly, a team from the Carabinieri was assembled and headed out to the crash site.

With Fred and Warren monitoring internet and radio transmissions, Dan got word of the crash shortly after it occurred. A cold knot formed in his stomach. He picked up his phone and called Jane.

No answer.

She could receive calls while on the train and wouldn’t be asleep yet. Did she turn off her phone? Or were she and Emilie on that train? His body began to heave with stress. He took a few deep breaths and tried to collect his thoughts.

“Fred,” Dan said after calling his tech guys, “I can’t reach Jane. She and Emilie may have been on that train. You keep trying to get through to her. I’m heading out to the crash site.”

“Oh my God!” came the reply.

“Just keep working the phone and have Warren see if he can find a record of what ticket she bought. There’s a chance he may be able to pin down which train she took.”

“Will do, boss.”

Dan hung up and ran to his car.

†   †   †

Jane and Emilie were in one of the rearward cars. They heard the screeching of torn metal a second before they were launched out of their seats. Jane was flung forward, across the backs of the seats in front, and into one of the car's windows as it twisted sideways. Her head smacked against the glass, cracking it as her shoulder impacted the wall. She landed in a tangle of bodies wedged between torn seats and the wall of the car. Her body went limp as blackness overtook her. Emilie was thrown up against the overhead bins and then forward with the violent deceleration of the car. As her body flew over the seats ahead, her left arm got caught and bent unnaturally before the bone broke. She registered the intense pain as she lay bruised in a tangle of bodies.

The lights in the car were out. In the darkness, Emilie could hear people crying, sobbing, and shouting. The pain in her left arm surged, and she could not stifle a scream, adding to the cacophony. People around her tried to untangle themselves, which only sent more sharp stabs of pain up her arm. She moved instinctively, trying to protect herself against the terrible pain in her left arm.

“Aunt Jane!” Emilie finally called out. There was no answer.

The car was on its side. There was no center aisle to walk down to find an exit. She looked up to see the windows on the other side of the car. Some people were trying to climb out of them. Others were crawling over the seats, which were now sideways, in an attempt to get to an exit door. Getting out would be another matter as one door was pressed against the car in front, and the other had to be climbed up to reach it. Emilie lay without moving. She sobbed with pain and tried to cradle her distorted arm and protect it from jostling from the other injured passengers.

She called out again for her aunt, but there was no answer. Taking a deep breath, Emilie lifted her head and looked around. Ahead of her, she saw a pant leg she recognized as belonging to Jane. With her good arm, Emilie pulled herself up and looked closer. She could see Jane. Her leg draped across the seat, and her body jammed in between. She lay limp.

Emilie screamed at the sight. Was Aunt Jane dead?

A woman reached across to her and touched her cheek. “I can help you out,” she said. She spoke English with a British accent.

“My Aunt Jane.” Emilie pointed to the limp figure ahead. “Is she all right? Please help her!”

The woman crawled forward and put her hand on Jane’s neck, looking for a pulse. “She’s alive,” she called out. “She got knocked out.”

At that moment, Jane began to stir

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“The train derailed. We crashed,” the woman said.

Jane reached towards the woman. “Emilie. Is she okay?”

“The little girl? She’s back two rows. She has a broken arm. It looks severe, but I think she’s okay except for that.”

“Thank God!” Jane let her arm drop. It was too painful to hold it up. She felt queasy and disoriented, along with being bruised all over her body. She tried to pull herself up to get back to Emilie and passed out, falling back to the space between the seats.

†   †   †

Burak was monitoring the police radio, and when the crash was reported, he smiled. He called on his cell phone and put the blackout team into action. With the train crisis, no one would make note of the CCTV blackout in a two-block area, at least not until his work was done. When the cameras were extinguished, he called Faisal and gave him the address for the kidnapping.

Now, Burak sat back in his car along the street across from the restaurant. He watched as his targets entered the establishment one by one. They were all accompanied by at least two bodyguards, except for the British MI-5 agent. It didn’t matter. They would all be taken. When they were all inside, Burak called Faisal again and gave him the word. Soon, he would see the results of more than six months of planning and training take place.

Chapter 18

D an raced down the road. Nearing the crash site, he was stopped at a roadblock. After getting out, he protested that he was related to some people on the train.

The carabinieri shook his head. “You are one of many. We can’t get everyone out of the wreck and to the hospitals if we let everyone in. Let the rescuers do their work. That will be best for the victims. We need to get them to the hospitals quickly.”

Dan restrained himself. Pushing through the policeman would only cause more problems and get him arrested. It was hard to accept for someone who was used to taking action.

“Where are you taking everyone?”

“Many hospitals. Milan and other cities. We don’t want to overwhelm the emergency rooms.” The officer paused, then added. “Call the Ospedale Neguarda first, then the others. They will check the IDs of everyone brought in, so you will find your loved ones.”

He turned to intercept others who were trying to get under the rough barrier. While his attention was turned, Dan slipped under the barrier and quickly headed into the darkness and towards the crash.

As he came closer, he paused to take in the carnage. Floodlights had been erected to illuminate the rescue efforts. He stood in the shadows, behind the lights, as workers helped passengers out of the cars. Welders were arriving and beginning to cut open the cars to get to those trapped inside. People were being carried out on stretchers, and blankets were being laid over those pronounced dead at the scene. Dan continued to watch in frustration and, finally, turned away. He’d have to just start making calls until he found where Jane and Emilie were. At this point, he had to remind himself that it was still not certain she was on this particular train.

The word of the crash spread quickly, and the security community concluded that this was the vague threat that they had been alerted to. It brought clarity, even if little satisfaction. At least they could now focus on investigating this attack and finding out who was responsible.

†   †   †

Burak watched as the three vans pulled up. Not only were the CCTV cameras in a two-block square disabled, but the street lights had also gone out. No one was going to attempt to deal with this issue because of the horrific train crash outside of Milan. Burak listened to the excited reporters streaming their coverage from the crash site while their cameramen tried to get as close as possible. He smiled at the carnage they recorded.

The men piled out and quickly formed up in a double line to begin their assault. They had facemasks pulled down. All carried AK-47 automatic carbines firing a 7.62 mm round. Faisal led the group. They knew to head for the back room, which had been set aside for this private dinner meeting. It would hold about thirty people, so there was plenty of room for the attendees and their personal guards. Faisal guessed there would be more guards than attendees. He and the others expected that the guards could be easily identified as they would not be sitting at the table with the men who were there to meet with the U.S. ambassador.

They burst through the front door and jammed past the greeter standing at his podium with his reservation list, knocking him and the podium down. Diners gasped at the intrusion, but Faisal paid them no attention. He headed to the left, towards the back dining room entrance. To the right, down through the restaurant, were the doors to the kitchen. Along the back wall was a bar with a separate seating area for those not eating.

The attackers slammed open the doors and spread out to the right and left. Faisal quickly saw their targets at a table on the right and shouted to attack the men on the left. The bodyguards were already on their feet, drawing their weapons, when Faisal’s men opened fire. The fifteen men were cut down in the automatic fire laid down by Faisal’s team. Two guards got off shots with their pistols, which hit two attackers. One man was wounded in the arm; the other took a 10 mm round in the chest and went down.

Faisal directed his right flank to secure the hostages. They sprang upon the startled bureaucrats and threw them to the floor. Clive threw a punch and tried to pull his own sidearm from his belt holster. One of the men clubbed him with the butt of his AK, and he collapsed in a heap. Within a minute, the assault team had secured the hostages and led them back out of the restaurant past the frightened diners, most of whom were trying to scramble out of the door. They dragged the unconscious Clive and the fallen attacker with them. Just then, a security man from the restaurant burst out of the door and started firing his pistol at the retreating attackers. The man pulling his fallen comrade dropped him and helped shove Clive into the van, jumping in after him and closing the door. It took less than two minutes, and the three vans were accelerating down the street. The guard emptied his pistol at the disappearing vehicles. Burak’s face formed a cold smile as he started his car and drove forward, turning down a side street in a different direction.

The street stood empty, with people staggering out the front door and calling the police or family on their phones. It would be a full ten minutes before the carabinieri arrived and began to process what had taken place.

Chapter 19

D an hurried to the hospital in Milan and entered the main door. He found himself a part of a crowd of concerned people looking for information about friends and family who were on the Milan to Paris train. He pulled out his phone and called Fred.

“Any new info?” Dan asked after Fred picked up his call.

“Warren just sent me what he found, just as you called. It looks like Jane and Emilie purchased tickets for that train.”

“Ahh, no.” Dan half groaned.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said.

“Ask him to double-check to be sure.”

“I did. He’ll get back to me shortly. But…you know Warren doesn’t make too many mistakes.”

Dan didn’t answer. “I gotta go. I’m at a hospital. There’s a bunch of them involved. I’ll check them all until I find them.”

He hung up and called Henry Mason, Jane’s boss, who lived in the new house in Fauquier County, Virginia, with Jane and Emilie, along with regular visits from Dan. They had closed ranks to become a surrogate family to Emilie after her mother and grandfather were killed in Mexico.

“Henry, Jane and Emilie have been in a train crash. It seems to be the vague threat we were alerted to.”

There was a gasp on the other end of the line. “How are they?”

“I don’t know. It just happened. The injured are being transported to hospitals in and around Milan. I’m at the largest in Milan and trying to find out if they’ve been brought in. Warren is double-checking to be sure he got the ticket info correct. After that, you need to get the boys working on this attack. I need a few clues to know which direction to go to find the perpetrators.”

“You going off on your own?”

“Depends on what the boys find out. If I need help, I have Roland and Marcus standing by. Jane was to contact them to be ready to come over on private jet on short notice.”

“Let’s find Jane and Emilie first and make sure they’re okay or being taken care of. I’ll take care of the two Delta boys.”

“Roger that.”

Dan ended the call and worked his way through a growing crowd to the frazzled woman at the information desk.

“You all must stand in line. I can help only one person at a time. If you all shout at me, I can’t do my job.”

Dan could see she was overwhelmed. Two more staffers showed up, and the lines split. Dan slid in front of one of the new lines and gave the woman Jane’s and Emilie’s names. She consulted her handwritten list of the identities of the victims who had come in and shook her head.

“Non sono nell'elenco,” she said. They are not on the list.

The ferocious look on Dan’s face shocked her. She quickly added, “More are coming in every minute. I will get a new list soon. Check with me later.”

Dan nodded, his face grim with anger, and turned away. Whoever did this would pay. Dan would make sure it was a painful process. He did not doubt that Muntaqim was behind the attack, although, with the danger of being found by Dan, he had probably not taken part. Whoever he had chosen was doomed to a gruesome death on Dan’s part. Later, he’d find a way to get at this new general for Rashid’s war against the U.S.

An hour later, after repeated checking, the woman at the desk confirmed that Jane and Emilie had been admitted to the hospital. No, he could not see them. Jane was in surgery for a head injury, and Emilie had a broken arm, which was temporarily splinted until they could properly set it. The head injury worried Dan, and the admissions lady didn’t disagree with him when he voiced his concern. She did say that Emilie would be fine and seemed to have no other serious injuries. She promised to let Dan know as soon as Jane had gotten out of surgery.

Three hours later, Dan was told that both had been put in rooms. He could see Emilie; she was awake but sore and bruised. She had shown fear at being alone, so he might be able to calm her.

Jane was out of emergency surgery. The doctors had drilled a hole in her skull to relieve the pressure. She was in a medically induced coma in order to protect her brain. He could look in on her but not go into the room. But he could see the girl.

Dan stared through the glass at Jane. She had tubes going into her arms, and her head was wrapped in a bandage. Her eyes were closed. She almost looked lifeless. Dan suppressed a scream of anger. His mate and partner, his love in this new world he had entered years ago, now lay across a barrier from him. It was a barrier of more than the metal and glass door. She was somewhere else. Dan understood traumatic brain injuries. She might not return or be the same person if she did. After staring at her almost lifeless body for many minutes, the nurse touched his arm.

“Vai a trovare la ragazza,” go find the girl. “She needs you.”

Dan followed her out of the intensive care unit. She pointed to the elevators and told him to go to the fifth floor and ask for her.

Dan entered Emilie’s room. It was shared by another crash victim who had her arm and leg in a cast.

“Uncle Dan!” Emilie tried to shout, but her voice came out weak.

Dan went over to her and kissed her on the forehead. She reached up with her good arm, wincing in pain, to touch his shoulder.

“Don’t move. I know it hurts. I’m here now, and you’re going to be all right.”

“How is Aunt Jane? She was not awake. A lady said she was alive, but she was unconscious. Then I lost her when the rescuers came.”

“She’s here at the hospital. She hurt her head and is now resting. She’s asleep, which is best for her now.”

“You’re not supposed to go to sleep when you get hit on the head. I know that.”

The girl’s large, serious eyes stared at Dan with a grave look. He smiled back at her with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“Sometimes, the doctors order rest and sleep. After they check the patient, it helps the healing. She’ll sleep for a while and then wake up with a bad headache. She’ll be okay, but it may take longer for her than for you.”

Dan hoped this slight bending of the truth would suffice for now. The last thing he needed was to have Emilie start freaking out about her adopted aunt. For the second time in her life, massive trauma had entered her world and threatened to take away the ones she loved.

Chapter 20

T he three vans drove southeast through the night, skirting the mountains as they passed through Brescia and Verona. They wanted to get through Slovenia and into Croatia, where they felt they would be safer. They were on their way to Bulgaria, but first, they would stop in Matulji, Croatia, a small city of just over ten thousand people located at the head of a long estuary off the Adriatic. A warehouse had been rented there. They could rest, hide the vans, and remove the black film on the outside, revealing white painted exteriors. They could also prepare their captives for the longer journey that awaited.

After the vans were in and the doors closed, the men hustled their captives out of the vehicles. Their wrists were cuffed in plastic behind their backs. The kidnappers wore face masks, and the captives were hooded.

Ambassador Carter’s good friend, Clive Randall, an MI-5 member, spoke up.

“What are you doing? Are you going to ransom us? This will cause a major uproar. Interpol will have a European-wide search started.” His voice was muffled through the hood.

Faisal did not answer. His men led the captives stumbling toward one of the walls and forced them to sit down, ten feet apart from one another.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Clive asked again. He moved his head around, trying to see.

There was no answer. Two men stood guard while the others went off to get some food and sleep. Faisal stayed. Burak was coming in a separate car, and he needed to be on call when his leader arrived.

“I don’t think these guys are high up enough to answer your questions,” Harrington said to Clive.

“Mio Dio,” Nico Morelli, the Italian assistant to the Deputy Director of the AISI, exclaimed. “I never wanted to come to this meeting. Now look at what has happened.” He looked up at no one. “Where are we? Can you tell us?”

Faisal disregarded him.

“Not talking. There’s a bigger boss coming,” Klaus Buckholz said. He was head of Germany’s Department 6, which was part of the BfV or Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz, the organization that covers Islamic extremism and terrorism. “I’m not sure this is going to end well.”

“Mon Dieu,” Henri Legrand finally spoke up. He was a minor aide to the Director General of the DGSI in France. A small man with a timid air about him, he was neither tall nor large as his last name implied.

“Let’s all try to stay positive,” Harrington said.

“And united,” added Clive. This doesn’t look good now, but a decision-maker will be coming, and then we may get some answers. Remember, we’re some pretty valuable individuals. We’re going to be used for some sort of bargaining. We just have to hope we can help make it a positive outcome.”

Clive took a guess and spoke out in Arabic. “Hal tatakellim al logha al Inglezia?” Do you speak English?

Faisal could not hide his surprise at this Brit speaking passable Arabic. Where did he learn the language? Faisal had no background on the men. Except for Harrington, they had been taken because they attended the meeting. The main target was the American ambassador. The rest were a nice addition.

“All questions will be resolved soon. Someone else is coming,” Faisal said.

“The boss,” intoned Klaus.

“Can you give us some water to drink?” Harrington asked. “It's been a long night.”

“Rules of hospitality,” Clive said.

A flash of anger crossed Faisal’s face. Who was this kafir to lecture him on his religion?

When the rest of his men returned, they got busy taking off the vinyl wrap. Faisal went to another corner of the large space and brought back a case of water. He spoke to the two men guarding the captives.

“I’m going to lift their hoods to let them drink, one at a time. If anyone tries to stand, shoot them in the leg.”

The men nodded, and Faisal began to give the captives some water to drink.

Henri Legrand had his head bowed and began to moan as he rocked back and forth.

“Henri, is that you? What’s wrong?” Harrington asked.

“This is not going to end well, mon ami. I have a wife and daughter, and may never see them.”

“Henri, it’s too early to despair. Don’t let them see you so weak,” Harrington said. “We need to stay strong and united.”

The others began to chime in, offering consoling words to the nervous French bureaucrat until Faisal ordered them to shut up. “I will gag you if you don’t be still. I told you, we wait for someone who’s coming.”

†   †   †

Dan was waiting in the hospital when he got the call from Henry.

“The U.S. ambassador to France was abducted last night. He, along with four other security people from different countries. It looks like it was a two-pronged assault.”

Dan sat in his chair for a moment, digesting the news.

“They’re related.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“Most likely. The train derailment occurred first, so that might have been the diversion for the abduction.”

“Quite a lethal one.”

“Agreed. We haven’t heard anything yet, but I’m sure we’ll get some demands soon,” Henry said. “This has to be something big to involve so many high-level officials.”

“They have to get them out of Italy, maybe even out of Europe altogether. When were they taken?”

“About 9 pm. A couple of hours after the train attack. If they drove all night, they’re already out of Italy. Probably heading to the Balkans.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Dan replied.

“There’s nothing for you to do regarding the train crash. Investigators are handling it.”

“You want me to track down the kidnappers.”

“We’ll have the obvious assets working on it, Interpol, parts of the CIA, MI-6, one of the men was a Brit.”

“Who else was taken?”

“Someone from the BfV, AISI, and DGSI.”

“A real international cluster fuck, Germany, Italy, and France. And all involved in security.”

“It was that type of conference. I think Harrington Carter, our ambassador, was meeting off-site to try to get something of substance done beyond the conference and all its reports and statistics.”

“Someone had to know his schedule,” Dan said.

“Correct. And guess what we’ve uncovered? Harrington’s scheduler disappeared a week earlier. I’m betting that’s related.”

“If it is, it doesn’t bode well for that poor bastard.” Dan paused for a moment. “Look, Henry. Send Marcus and Roland over, but I’m not leaving until Emilie can leave the hospital and Jane’s out of danger. I’ll get after whoever is behind this, but Jane comes first.”

“I thought you’d say that. I can come over and sit with Jane and take care of Emilie.”

“Hold that thought. Let’s give this a day to play out.”

Chapter 21

B urak arrived at the warehouse four hours later. He had stayed around the area of the kidnapping to see what had developed; then he had grabbed a few hours of sleep before heading to Croatia. He got out, stretched, and smoothed his attire, custom casual loafers topped by expensive dress slacks, linen shirt, and silk sports coat. While he was checking himself, Faisal came out.

“I have hoods over them. It would not be wise to let them see your face.”

Burak nodded. He understood the need not to be identified. He might have more operations in the West.

Burak stepped into the warehouse and stood for a moment, looking at the five captives sitting against the wall. A humorless smile spread across his face. Here were powerful, connected people, including a U.S. ambassador, sitting like school children waiting to be punished for some transgression. They were in his control. He relished the moment, feeling all the years of frustration and rage coursing through him. This was his time, his moment. They would feel his revenge and disdain before they met their fates, whatever that would be. Burak hoped, in the back of his mind, that he would be instructed to kill them.

“We are stopping here for only a short time,” Burak said in his precise English. “Then we will be on the road again. We will have to place you in a somewhat uncomfortable position. You will be safe, but you must cooperate. It is imperative that no one sees you during the trip.”

Immediately, multiple voices responded with questions or statements of outrage. Burak stood quietly until the cacophony settled down.

“Where are you taking us?” Harrington asked as things quieted.

“That will not be revealed.”

“You’re a Brit,” Clive said. “From your accent, a well-educated one. I’m guessing from the guy who’s in charge of the others that they are all Middle Easterners. What do you have to do with them?”

Clive spoke not with the cultured Oxford accent of Burak but with a northern, Mancunian accent. He was obviously from a middle-class family. Yet he had climbed high. Burak had done his research and knew his story: a successful career in the SAS with a deployment to the Middle East, and then winding up in MI-5 where he could work his skills and still be home at night with his family. That might not happen again.

“You’re from the Manchester area, aren’t you?”

“Very perceptive of you. From your accent, it seems as though you are part of the elite. Again, why would you be a part of this, working with these men?”

“That question may get an answer, but for now, you can just assume they work for me. That would be the easiest way to understand the situation.”

“But why? Why would you work with men who are terrorists? They killed all the security guards.”

“As I said, they work for me. Now, when preparations are completed, we will depart. I will make you as comfortable as I can. If you resist, it will be very uncomfortable for you.”

Burak’s words, as well as his tone, were cold and carried little solace or comfort. When the vans were fully unwrapped, the men began preparing boxes similar to the one used with George. The captives would be drugged and then carefully tied so they could not move and placed in the boxes labeled as containing rugs.

“We’re going further East,” Clive said quietly to whoever was next to him.

Burak smiled at the man’s perception, but it mattered little at this point. He had these powerful men in his command. He would show them what it meant to shut someone deserving out of their society. George had found his comfortable life at the fringes of the elite come undone and now lay in a hole in the ground deep in a French forest, never to be found. He almost wanted negotiations not to work out so he could exact the same fate on these men, now helpless before him.

†   †   †

While Dan stayed with Emilie, who also refused to leave while Jane was still in a coma, a Watcher came into the waiting room. He scanned the packed room with its occupants either sitting with worried looks on their faces or half-awake with fatigue. The man had a shock of deep black hair that stood out unruly and untamable from his head. He was dressed as a factory man with rough pants, shirt, and boots. He moved purposefully, his powerfully built body causing others to move aside. He strode over to Dan and stood in front of him, staring at him with black penetrating eyes. Both Dan and Emilie returned his gaze.

“Palmira sent me. We must talk…outside, alone.”

Dan stood up. Emilie also stood.

“I’m going with you,” she announced. I’m not staying here alone.”

She gave the Watcher a defiant look. He stared back at her, seeming to evaluate her, and then nodded. The three of them walked outside.

“She now knows the train crash was a distraction,” the man said. “The real target was the ambassador and any other officials who could be captured at the restaurant. After the attack, it was as if the curtain was raised. As if someone opened the blinds so we could see.”

“See what?” Dan asked.

“Many men were involved in the attack. Three vans. They were black but will change color. They are moving the captives East. We think through Bulgaria.”

“Where are they headed?”

“We do not know for sure…yet. Somewhere in the Caucasus.”

“That’s a big area.”

“More will be revealed when they get closer. They can’t hide the destination when all those involved see it. We will be able to discern it. But you must start. They are most likely going to take a boat across the Black Sea. You can’t drive through Ukraine anymore. You should start after them. Others will contact you.”

“Do you know what they want?”

The man shook his head. There will be negotiations. These are hostages. That is clear. They do not try to hide that thought.” He paused for a moment. “Palmira says that the girl can stay with her. She will be safe. Palmira is quite interested in her. She thinks she is special.”

“I’m staying at your house,” Emilie said. Her voice carried all the conviction a twelve-year-old could muster.

Dan looked at her steadily. Palmira was a good woman, but a stranger to Emilie. Henry had agreed to come over. She would be more at ease with her adopted Grandfather than the Watcher.

“You can stay at the house. Henry will come over to stay with you.”

The man watched the exchange. “Please allow the girl to visit Palmira. She is special and will benefit from time spent with her.”

Dan stooped down to look Emilie in the eyes. “Would you visit Palmira, the lady you met in San Marco Piazza? She’s a good woman and has helped me a great deal. I think she has much to teach you while you wait for me.”

“What about Aunt Jane? We can’t just leave her here alone?”

“No, we can’t. When she’s out of danger, I’ll arrange for her to be transferred to a private care hospital near Venice. You and Henry can visit every day.”

“But you won’t leave until she’s better?”

“I’ll stay here. You go with Henry to the house in Venice. I’ll take care of things on this end. When all gets arranged, you settle in and wait for me.”

Dan got a reluctant nod of agreement from Emilie. He stood up and turned to the Watcher. “Tell Palmira what you just heard. I will not leave until Jane is out of danger. Emilie will stay at the house in Marghera. She will come to visit some days. Tell Palmira that she will meet Jane’s boss, Henry. He still needs to be convinced about your insights. I think Palmira can help him.”

The man nodded but said nothing. He turned and left.

Chapter 22

T he kidnapping hit the news like a bomb going off. On top of the train crash, which was confirmed as a terror incident with explosives involved, Italy, in particular, and all of Europe, in general, felt a sense of being under attack. If these two incidents could be pulled off almost simultaneously, what else could terrorists do next?

The suspicion arose immediately that these acts were the responsibility of radical Islamists. There were protests against Muslim immigrants, and many statements about remaining calm from politicians. The public wasn’t buying it. Marches seemed to begin spontaneously, with the participants demanding mass deportation. In the U.S., voices of reason were raised, condemning not only the violence but the outrage expressed through the protests. Apologetic organizations decried the anger directed at the Muslim community and called for increased security around mosques and in Muslim neighborhoods.

While all this was going on, Henry met with Roger Abrams, his immediate boss, to explain his plans.

“I’m going over to Italy. I have some assets in place that can work the back channels to try to find a trail that could lead to the kidnappers.”

Roger gave him an appraising look. He knew how Henry’s group worked. They had been effective over the years, but had sometimes been difficult to hide or handle.

“Just make sure your team stays off the radar.”

Henry nodded.

“And,” Roger added, “let me know what you find…as you find it.”

“Roger. That’s not how this works. The Agency has regular teams working the investigation, working their contacts, working with Interpol and the state agencies; lord knows there’s enough of them involved. But my team has to work in the shadows. If we get to anything I think we can’t handle, I’ll contact you. If not, we’ll try to resolve this directly.”

“Henry. We’re not talking about just chasing down a terror suspect or someone involved in a prior attack. You do that well. Find them and kill them. It all stays undercover. But now we have an ambassador, and not just any ambassador. Harrington is connected to the president. You find him, you let me know. You don’t want the responsibility for anything happening to Harrington Carter to fall on you.”

Henry stared back at Roger’s stern face. He knew this was different, as Roger had expressed. With a slight nod, he turned and left the room. Two hours later, he was on a Gulfstream to Italy with two ex-military types on board.

†   †   †

After letting the hostages relieve themselves and giving them more water to drink, one by one, they were given a tranquilizer shot that put them to sleep. Burak had studied how to use tranquilizers and other sedatives. He knew the dangers and limits. He felt confident that he could keep the men both alive and sedated for most of the trip. The minimum time needed was to get them to the Black Sea, some fourteen hours away.

Once the captives were sedated and packed into two of the vans, the men headed out to complete their journey. Their route would take them east towards Zagreb. Burak did not want to go near large cities, so he set a slower route and had them drive along secondary roads that wound through the hills and forests.

He had the import documents for a load of rugs packed into the two vans. The packing crates were heavy, and the captives were stored in the first layer. Burak knew the border guards would not be interested in lifting the crates to inspect all the boxes. They might open one of the top ones to confirm the contents and then let them pass.

The route chosen would let them bypass Belgrade in Serbia and Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria, on the way to the port of Burgas. Burak made sure they would give those capital cities a wide berth. He instructed two of the vans carrying the captives to travel together, but told the third van to go the quicker route. Authorities might be looking for three vans traveling together. Even with a change of color from black to white, they might draw some attention. Burak knew he could not rest until they were on the boat that Muntaqim had arranged to take them across the Black Sea. Once past Georgia, they would be safe in the less patrolled and controlled areas of the Caucasus.

†   †   †

Dan and Emilie kept their vigil. The girl had many bruises from the terrible pounding she had taken. The broken arm was the most acute, but as that pain dulled, the other parts of her body that had been impacted began to announce themselves.

She kept trying to find a restful position, lying on one of the plastic couches in the waiting room with her head in Dan’s lap.

“Still hurting, I see,” Dan said as he stroked her hair.

She looked up at him and nodded slightly. “It’s all right. I can take it. Don’t make me leave.”

They spent a day and a half in the waiting room, making short visits to look in on Jane, who was still in the intensive care wing. After two days, her vital signs stabilized, and she was transferred to a regular room. She was still in a coma, and the doctors wouldn’t bring her out of it for another two days. After that, they would just have to wait to see how soon she would regain consciousness. Dan negotiated an upgrade to a private room and had a cot brought in for Emilie. He slept in a cushioned chair.

During that time, Henry arrived, along with Marcus and Roland.

“How is she doing?” Henry asked when the men got to the room.

“She’s in an induced coma,” Dan said. “The doctors are going to end that tomorrow, and then we just have to wait.”

“The prognosis?”

Dan shook his head. “It’s hopeful. But you never know with these things.”

Both ex-Delta Force soldiers stood near the wall, intently watching. They were large men who could not hide their military bearing. As Dan had told them often, they did not blend well with civilians in any city. They were warriors and not of the stealth variety.

“You should stay with Jane,” Marcus finally said. “Roland and I can head off in pursuit. You said they were heading east, probably towards the Black Sea. We can try to intercept them.”

Dan looked over at Henry.

“I’ve been instructed to work on this with our group. But…I’ve also been told to turn over any intel and let the regular operators handle things.”

“Regular, like other CIA spooks?”

Henry shook his head. “More like the FBI working with Interpol and MI-6, along with the French and Italians.”

“Sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Dan said. He gave Henry a sharp look. “What are you going to do?”

Henry met Dan’s steady gaze with his own. “I’m going to turn you loose with these two.” He gestured to the ex-Delta Force fighters. “Emilie and I will take care of Jane. You go find them. Take them out and get the hostages back. If you have to drop them off anonymously, so be it. We’re not in the business of garnering accolades in this unit. We work in the dark, disrupt the bad guys, and take them out. This is no different.”

A grim smile spread on Dan’s face. His Delta Force guys stared at him as if ready to act immediately. Emilie watched the adults with her large eyes, taking in and absorbing the exchange.

“I’ll arrange for a private hospital near Marghera. If I can get Jane transferred there after the doctors end her coma, we’ll head out.”

“Do you know where to go?” Henry asked.

“We’ll start with Burgas. It’s the largest Bulgarian port on the sea. I hope the Watchers will have more information soon. All we need is a lead, a trail to follow.”

Chapter 23

T wo days later, Dan, Marcus, and Roland headed out in Dan’s Land Rover, headed for Bulgaria. They would drive non-stop, switching off for rest at gas stations. Dan had secured Jane in a private clinic near Venice so Emilie and Henry could visit every day. Henry promised to take the girl into Venice and meet Palmira, the gypsy Watcher. Although Henry didn’t subscribe to the stories of their gifts, he agreed to be open-minded.

The weapons they brought were stored in a hidden compartment that Dan had built into the SUV. It was a subpart of the gas tank, accessible from the rear compartment floor, now covered with the third-row bench seat. They would be traveling across borders in the Balkans, many of which were not part of the Schengen treaty arrangement, so there would be customs stops. All three men had their passports and necessary visas. Henry had arranged those before the trip.

“What do we do when we catch up with them?” Marcus asked as they burned up the miles while being careful not to draw too much attention. They were loaded with many weapons, from Dan’s collection, along with the ones brought by the two Delta Force men. Although well hidden, it would not do to get stopped.

“We play it as it develops. How the hell could I plan something? We don’t know what we’re up against or the environment we might find ourselves in.”

“So, reconnaissance first,” Marcus said.

“You can call that the plan.”

“I can’t wait to do some ass-kicking when we do catch them.” Roland turned to Dan. “We will find their trail, won’t we?”

“I’m banking on the Watchers to give us some leads. Driving around the sea is difficult to impossible. Going by boat might be the best choice, so Burgas is the likely destination. Which means they’ve probably got a boat waiting. And you can’t arrange something like that without some locals knowing, especially if there are any Watchers in the city.”

“If not, we’ll have to work the local gangs,” Marcus said. “They’ll know something.”

“Whether or not they tell us may depend on whether or not they’ve been paid off,” Roland said.

The men lapsed into silence. There wasn’t much to say or do except to eat up the miles as fast as possible. Miles that kept them from fresh leads that could help them close in on the enemy. The roads in Slovenia and Croatia were well-maintained, and the ride was smooth. Upon crossing into Serbia, the roads deteriorated, and they had to maintain a slower pace.

A light rain settled in as they approached Belgrade. They had stopped once for gas near Zagreb, and now Marcus pulled off the highway to fill up again. They would grab food and something to drink and head out immediately, eating on the move.

“We’re about halfway there,” Dan announced after studying the GPS on the SUV. Should arrive early in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” Marcus said. He lay down in the back seat. “I’m going to get some sleep. You spell Roland in a couple of hours, and I can finish up if you get too tired.”

“Going to make me sleep in the passenger seat?” Roland asked.

“When your shift is over, wake me, and I’ll let you try to stretch out. Don’t be a whiner.”

“Eff you,” Roland said, grinning in the mirror.

He pulled out onto the rain-soaked highway. The wipers made a soft, rhythmic swishing sound.

†   †   †

Burak sighed in relief as the two vans pulled into the outskirts of Burgas. The city boasted just over 200,000 people, while the surrounding suburbs held another quarter of a million inhabitants. It was the largest deep-water port on the Black Sea for Bulgaria and a major shipment center. The port boasted repair facilities for large freighters and was also a major fishing hub. Recently, Bulgaria took back the concession it had granted to Lukoil and was now running the large refinery. The city was ranked as relatively safe for travel and tourism, although that did not mean it had no criminal element.

A month earlier, his boss, Muntaqim, had spent time in Burgas scouting boats he could hire to take him across the sea. The trip to Georgia would cross the longer part of the Black Sea, which stretched east to west, some 750 miles, and take three days at best. If there was bad weather, the journey could easily stretch to over five days. There were few options for making the trip, however. With the fighting in Ukraine, one could not drive north. The drive around the southern shores of the sea would be long and take them through the length of Turkey. Burak, being Turkish, could navigate that route, but considered the risks of some interference too high. Once on a boat, they would be safe from prying eyes and officials, no matter how long the trip took.

Burak directed the driver to a row of warehouses near the waterfront, south of the main harbor. They were rundown; some were still in use, and some had been abandoned for years. The activity level was low, which was what had attracted Muntaqim to the area. Burak could move into one of the unused buildings and hole up there until they were ready to depart. He felt some elation at having come this far with no problems. But not until he was on the boat could he finally relax, along with his men. When they landed in Georgia, there would be vans waiting for them, and once in Chechnya, he would be safe until he reached his destination.

A remote area of Dagestan was his target. The republic was still a wild place with predominantly tribal/familial groups outside of the urban areas still ruling their separate territories, usually separated by natural barriers. Burak’s boss, Muntaqim, had spent much time researching the area until he found a family group of Sunnis with significant power who would host the hostages for a sizeable amount of cash. With their resources of men and arms, Burak was assured that his team and the captives would be safe and hidden while he negotiated.

Once inside the building, Burak had the captives removed from their boxes. They were in bad shape, just coming out of a lengthy period of being drugged. One of the men, Nico Morelli, was not responding to the stimulant Burak had injected them with to pull them out of their stupor. Burak put an oxygen mask over the man’s face and hoped for the best. Beyond the stimulant, he had few options. As the other captives slowly regained awareness, Burak ordered Morelli to be moved into another room. He did not want the others to notice the man’s plight. Keep them calm. Give them a sense of safety. He kept the mantra running in his head. If the captives felt they were just bargaining pieces and would be returned, they would remain calm and docile. A docile group of captives was easier to handle. Clive may be a problem, Burak thought to himself. He’s a soldier at heart. Harrington could also be trouble. He’s smart. But Clive was the one who would have to be handled carefully.

Chapter 24

W hen all the captives had recovered enough to be given water and fed, Burak went off to another part of the warehouse to call his connection.

“Zdrasti,” hello, a husky voice said.

Burak could speak some Bulgarian, but he knew the man could communicate in Turkish, so he switched to that language.

“We are here,” Burak said. “When can we leave?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“We may have a delay,” the man finally said.

“Please explain.” Burak began to get concerned. Was this the beginning of a rip-off? Setting him up to extract more money? “We had an agreement. For which I paid you a sizeable deposit.”

“Yes, yes. We have an agreement. But we also must come to an agreement with the weather…and she does not negotiate.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A storm is coming. It will hit us while we are well out at sea. It’s a late winter storm and could be a dangerous one. We might need to wait to avoid it.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s forming in the eastern sector. We’ll be sailing right into it.”

“Your boat is seaworthy, is it not? You fish with it? Offshore?”

“Yes. But winter storms, even those arriving late, are to be avoided. We usually wait them out or go where they are not to catch our fish.”

Burak was quiet for a moment. He had no indication of any pursuit or that anyone knew where he had taken the hostages. Yet the idea of sitting made him nervous. If there were, somehow, pursuit, would he know about it? What Muntaqim had talked about and had adjusted his planning for could not be casually dismissed. Burak’s boss was not a fearful or superstitious man. He was a warrior, yet he insisted there were forces at work to undermine their missions, forces Burak could not really understand. If all that were true, waiting could be dangerous.

“How long would we have to wait?” Burak was not ready to concede to the boat captain’s suggestion, and his voice echoed his concern.

“Two, three days at most. We can track the storm, and when we see a way across without meeting it, we can depart.”

“The tracks are so predictable?”

“Not necessarily. We just have to watch. After some time, we can determine how to avoid it.”

Burak thought for a moment and then made a decision.

“We go as soon as possible. We do not wait for the storm. You will keep track of it while we are at sea, and you may do what you must to avoid it. But we do not stay here in this city longer than is absolutely necessary.”

There was silence.

“I do not recommend this. It is foolish to venture into danger when one can avoid it.”

“Waiting brings other forms of danger which I am not willing to invite. Once on the water, we can relax. We can’t be found.”

“But—”

“No more talk. Prepare your boat for departure. Provision it for eighteen people.”

After a pause, the captain said, “As you wish. I will call you when I am ready.”

“Do not try to play any games with me,” Burak said in a cold voice. “Food, fuel, crew, gather them quickly, and we go. Do not try to delay me.”

Later that same night, Burak received a call.

“We are ready to depart.”

“Excellent,” he replied. “Tell me where we are to meet the boat.”

The captain gave him directions. The boarding point was only blocks away on a quay at the southern end of the port. It formed part of the breakwater system to protect the inside harbor. They would drive the vans out on the quay, load the captives, and two men would drive the vans back to the warehouse to park them inside. They would then walk back to the waiting boat.

“We will be very crowded. You bring lots of men, more than I had assumed. I have to bring extra fuel for the trip as we might have to detour around the storm,” the captain said over the phone.

“We will make do,” Burak said. “We will sort this all out once on board.” He was in no mood for more deflection and complaining. Getting on the water had now become an imperative, with each passing hour making him more nervous as Muntaqim’s concerns kept nagging at him.

The captives were carefully herded onto the fishing boat. The vessel was sixty feet long with an enclosed pilothouse on the main deck. Behind the helm station was a table and chairs for eating. Forward, stairs ran below to a galley and crew sleeping quarters. Going aft was a passageway that led to the engine room, nestled deeper into the hull. On either side of the hall were storage rooms that could be used for extra quarters. Behind this area, stairs led back up to the main deck.

On deck, just aft of the pilothouse, was the crane and boom for launching the fishing nets, and further back were the hatches for storing the accumulated catch. Extra barrels of diesel fuel were lashed to the side rails of the aft deck.

Stoyan Petkova, the captain, was frowning as the captives were gingerly helped aboard with their heads still hooded.

“You did not tell me you were bringing so many captives,” he complained to Burak. “You mentioned an important person you had to hide away for your cause. I did not know you meant someone you abducted, let alone five people.”

Burak turned to look at the beefy fisherman. His cold eyes met the captain’s, who did not look away. Some of Burak’s men stood nearby with their weapons still slung across their bodies. The captain’s crew stood aside, eyeing Burak’s men with their weapons out in the open. Burak could see they were nervous. He didn’t need a revolt at this late moment.

“I told you what was planned. The plans sometimes change. You are being paid well to make this trip, far more than you can make fishing for a week. I do not want to hear more complaints. You will assure your crew they are in no danger as long as they do their jobs.” He paused to look back at the harbor. “It is time to go. You will adapt to this situation, and we will make the best of it. I told you to provision for eighteen people. I trust you did that.”

The captain finally nodded and turned to go. One of his five crew stepped up and spoke to Petkova. They had a short, intense conversation in Bulgarian, which Burak could not hear well enough to follow. The man nodded and stepped off the boat.

“Where is he going?” Burak asked.

“He has to get some gear from his car. He told me he forgot his foul-weather boots.”

The man ran down the quay.

“He will only be a few minutes.”

The captain turned to enter the cabin and start the engine. It came to life in a quick roar, then settled back to murmur quietly with a mellow throb and a subtle vibration that flowed through the boat. Burak watched the man disappear around a building on the shore. He kept watching, waiting for him to re-emerge. After two minutes, he stepped into the cabin.

“Where did this man go? He has not yet come back to the quay.”

Petkova stopped his work of turning on the electronics and monitoring the engine gauges and stepped back outside. He shielded his eyes from the overhead lights and stared at the buildings on shore.

“He should be coming back by now,” he said in a low voice.

“Has he deserted?” Burak asked. He stepped up close to the captain, shoving himself into the shorter man’s face.

The captain stepped back and turned to Burak. “How should I know? He said he had to get his boots. They are necessary for doing work on deck in bad weather. I told him to run and get them, that we had to leave. What has happened? I don’t know.” He paused for a moment. “Do you want me to send someone after him?”

Burak felt the tension of the crew still on deck, along with his own men. He also felt the danger of taking more time at this vulnerable point, with the hostages not yet properly stowed and the boat still tied to the quay.

“No. Finish your preparations and cast off. We go now.”

If the man had run off because he was afraid, so be it. It was a loose link, a connection to his disappearance, but the odds of someone pursuing them and finding this reluctant boatman were little enough to warrant any more delay.

Two minutes later, the lines were cast off, and the fishing boat slowly chugged out of the harbor and pointed towards the open sea.

Chapter 25

T wo days after the abductions, a message was sent to the major newspapers in Europe and the U.S. The message was anonymous and gave details of the abduction that verified it as authentic. The message demanded the release of Jabbar Badawi. The public did not know of this person, and the papers and subsequent talking heads on television wondered and speculated who this person was and why he was seen as so important, causing many people to be killed and five highly placed figures to be kidnapped.

Jabbar happened to be a distant nephew of Rashid al-Din Said, the Saudi billionaire and suspected terror funder. Jabbar had gone to the United States to lead the attempt to spread weaponized anthrax spores in multiple large cities. Dan, with the help of his companions, the two ex-Delta Force fighters, had disrupted the attack, resulting in minimal damage to the public. The terrorists had been killed, and Jabbar had disappeared. No one knew he was involved except Rashid and Henry’s CIA black ops unit. Jabbar had been captured and transferred to a dark site outside of the U.S. He had spent the subsequent years sequestered and interrogated in an attempt to learn more about Rashid’s network plans.

The kidnapper’s demands also mentioned a dozen terror prisoners being held in Italy and France. They were minor figures, which made the demands all the more confusing to the press and others who didn’t know who Jabbar was.

After the demand came out, Henry was on the phone with Roger Abrams, his boss at the CIA.

“Henry. This Jabbar. He was involved in the anthrax attack, wasn’t he? What do you know about him? Is he still alive?”

“We captured him. I didn’t think you wanted to know since there was no operational need. He’s at a secure site outside the U.S.”

“You’ve had him…now three years? Did you get any good intel out of him? How long do you think you can keep him?”

“The intelligence was limited. He was a distant nephew of Rashid, who we think was the mastermind and financier of the attack. I think Rashid was using the anthrax attack to see how well he performed with an eye to making him a more important part of the organization. As you know, he was educated in the UK and would have been a good front for the terror network, shielding Rashid even more from scrutiny.”

“But he never got the chance to get fully immersed?”

“Right.”

“So, how long do you think you can keep him? He sounds like a loose end that could cause problems.

“And how in hell do we give him up?” Roger added, almost to himself. “We haven’t acknowledged that he’s alive, that we even have him. As far as the public knows, all the terrorists involved were killed. The FBI confirmed that fact.”

“That’s a problem. If we try to communicate that information to whoever emerges as the contact, will we be believed?”

“We could say he was captured and died—”

“That would blow up in our face.”

Roger sighed. “Yeah. Too many questions would be raised. Why did he die? Why was he kept secret? Did we torture him?”

There was silence on the line.

“Still,” Roger went on, “he’s of no value to us anymore, whereas the men taken, especially Harrington Carter, are of great value. He’s close to the president.”

“At least you don’t have to make that call,” Henry said.

“Yeah. Gardiner’s got to do that. That’s the job of the Director, but I have to brief him and let him know we’re in a delicate situation, running roughshod over the rules of engagement and prisoner protocols. He won’t be happy.

“Tell Gardiner to advise the president to sit on this as long as possible. We should start with a denial of Jabbar’s being alive. I’ve got my team in the field, and they're searching for a trail. The best outcome would be a rescue.”

“You were to report to me when you had something. Are you disobeying that order?”

“No. I don’t have anything. When I have something beyond a vague rumor, I’ll report it. All anyone has are vague rumors. It will do no good to add to them.”

“Just so you do. I don’t want to be left holding the bag for an ill-planned, botched rescue attempt.”

“So, if the FBI or Interpol gets the hostages killed, it’s okay?”

“You know what I mean. Extra-legal action could come back to bite us in the ass.”

Henry put down his phone and thought about the conversation. He felt frustrated. He had Dan on the trail, but of what? Dan didn’t really know. The Watcher people didn’t seem to know. And here he sat in Italy, babysitting Emilie and waiting for Jane to recover.

And when Gardiner finds out about him holding Jabbar, there might be hell to pay. Roger kept his black ops shielded from the hierarchy of the CIA. They understood and allowed for a certain amount of off-the-record actions, but holding prisoners offshore for years might be a step too far.

Oh well, he thought. We’ll continue as long as we’re allowed to do so. We either find them ourselves or the “regular” authorities find them…or not. He could only do what he could do.

Emilie would not let Henry rest but insisted on having them go to the hospital every day to sit with Jane. Henry had to admit to himself that it was boring and felt terrible about that. He, of course, did not let Emilie know his thoughts. She was adamant that their presence would help Jane, and this idea had been reinforced by the gypsy lady. Henry had met her the day after Jane had been settled into the hospital and Dan had departed.

She was the first Watcher Henry had encountered. He was not used to their intensity, especially the eyes. They seemed to penetrate him and see his private thoughts. At Emilie’s insistence, Henry had taken her to Piazza San Marco to meet the gypsy woman named Palmira.

“You are the boss of Jane and Daniel,” she said without introduction when Emilie had led him to her. “I know you fight against the darkness. You began this group out of frustration. You wanted to strike first against the terrorists, the darkness, instead of always responding to attacks.” She paused while she held his gaze. “It is a good plan. But you don’t think we exist or provide real help. Yet here you are.”

“Dan said I should meet you. And Emilie,” he paused to pat the girl’s shoulder, “insisted I come sooner rather than later.”

“Indeed, you should.” Again, the woman paused. “You wonder how I know about you. You tell yourself that it must be what Dan or Jane told me. That is foolish thinking and a waste of your time. You are in a difficult spot. When Dan gets a clear trail, your boss insists you turn the pursuit over to him and the other authorities. They will try to pursue it while they negotiate. That pursuit will lead to the deaths of the captives. The man holding them is clever. He hides his thoughts as if he knows about us. It is a problem, yet knowledge leaks out. He will not allow the authorities near him. He will hide where it will be almost impossible for the regular police to operate.”

“And where will that be?”

Palmira shook her head. “It is not known yet.” Her gaze grew sharper. “And if you are going to turn over all the information to others, you will not know the location.”

Henry’s face betrayed his surprise, even though he tried to control himself.

“Do not be surprised. Dan is the only hope of getting the hostages back alive. You know that deep inside. That is why you sent him off. You must run interference for him and delay giving out information that can compromise his work.”

“But there are no guarantees.”

“Success is never guaranteed. We do not see the future. We are not fortune tellers. We watch and see, and guide Dan in his actions. He is the tip of the spear against the greater darkness that these terrorists serve.” She pointed a finger at him. One bent with arthritis and years of hard work. “You must begin to understand the larger battle which you are a part of.”

As if dismissing him, she turned back to her scarves. Henry and Emilie headed back to Marghera in silence, both digesting the words of the old woman.

Chapter 26

D an, Marcus, and Roland arrived in Burgas the day after Burak had departed. They parked along a street near the waterfront. The men got out to stretch their legs. They were tired and unkempt from the non-stop drive.

“What now?” Marcus asked.

“Now we try to find someone to help us navigate the city. Someone who knows what might be going on that's outside the law.”

“Sounds good,” Roland said. “And just where do we find such a fellow? I don’t think they openly advertise those services.”

Dan shrugged. “Let’s ask someone. But we do it subtly, maybe hinting at what we are looking for.”

“And what are we looking for?” Marcus asked.

“We’ll start with us wanting to hire a fishing boat and captain. If the kidnappers did that, we might find their trail.”

“And if they didn’t?” Marcus asked.

“We still might find some useful information. I’m betting they didn’t depart by a regular ferry.”

“But we don’t know where they headed, even if we’re on the right trail,” Roland said. “My concern is that the trail stops here.”

“Remember, we think the trail still goes east, into the Caucasus. There’s only two ways. Across the Black Sea or down through Turkey.”

“So, this is the bet we’re making.”

“For now,” Dan said. “Let’s go.” He set off down the street, aiming for some local pedestrians.

Dan worked his way along the street, stopping people to see if they spoke any English or Italian. Marcus and Roland trailed behind, not wanting to intimidate the pedestrians. Finally, he found a young man who could answer him in halting English.

“My name is Victor,” Dan said, using his alias.

“I am Todor,” the man said, slapping his chest. “It means gift from God. My mother maybe disagreed as I grew up.” He smiled. “How can I help you?”

“My friends and I want to hire a fishing boat.”

“That is why you are down here. This is not a tourist place. You want to go fishing?”

Todor gave Dan a questioning look.

“A boat trip. We want to hire a seaworthy boat.”

“Where do you want to go?”

Dan thought for a moment. “Georgia.”

Todor didn’t immediately answer but just looked at Dan. Finally, he spoke.

“There is ferry. It takes you across the sea. You can eat, drink, or sleep. Very comfortable. Not too expensive.” He waved at Dan and the other two men. “Come, I will show you where to buy tickets.”

Dan shook his head. “No ferry. We want to be by ourselves.”

“But…why? A fishing boat will be slow, uncomfortable. It smells bad. Old fish.” He put his hand to his nose. “It will cost more. You must pay the captain for both ways. He has to motor back.”

“That is okay. We travel together, but not with others. We like it that way.”

Todor shrugged. “How much do you pay?”

“What it will cost. We can pay.”

Todor gave Dan a sly look. “You pay me to find a boat?”

Dan gave the young man a cold smile. “I pay you to find a boat, yes. I will also pay if you can tell me about others who have left on a fishing boat in the last few days. Can you ask around?”

“That will take some investigation.” Todor was now starting to sound like an amateur detective. “I have to go around to the bars for the fishermen and dock workers.”

“Let’s go,” Dan said.

The four men headed off with Todor in the lead. They went into a rundown café near the waterfront. It served large portions of local food and was filled with men from the neighborhood. Todor directed Dan and the others to sit at a table in the corner while he went around to talk to some of the customers.

Ten minutes later, he came back to the table. A waiter brought them a tray with tea and sweets. Todor gestured for Dan to pay. Dan took out some Euros, and Todor picked out the proper amount and handed it to the waiter, who smiled broadly and turned away.

“Probably overpaid,” Roland said to Marcus in a quiet voice.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dan said, “if it gets us results.

Todor wolfed down his treat and drank his tea with noisy slurps. Then he stood up and announced that no one knew of any boats available or ones that had left recently.

“So why did we take the time to order?” Roland asked.

“It would not be polite to ask so many questions and not spend any money. The owner would think we are…uncivilized? That is the word, is it not?”

“That’s the word,” Dan said with a thin smile.

The same routine was repeated twice more. Dan was thankful that no one seemed put off by the questions. And spending some money in each establishment helped make things go well. It seemed like a polite city. As they left the third café, a man followed them out and stopped Todor. He spoke quietly to him. Todor put his hand on the man’s arm as if to assure him and then turned to Dan.

“This man here is a fisherman. He is crew on a boat. Two days ago, his captain arranged to take some men across the sea to Georgia. My friend here says that they had guns, and some people were like captives. They were tied and had hoods over their heads.” Todor pantomimed putting on a hood. “This man was afraid. They looked dangerous. There is a storm out at sea, also. The boat will meet it.”

“Bingo,” Marcus said.

“That’s exactly what we needed to know,” Dan said. “Does this man want any money for his information?”

Todor shook his head. “No, but if you think I should get paid for finding him and translating, I will not say no.”

“You will be paid. Ask this man if he can find us a boat to follow, to go to Georgia. We are not bad men and can pay well.” 

Chapter 27

T he fisherman went into a long dialogue with Todor. Dan guessed from his expression that he did not think much of the idea. Todor seemed to persist, however, and the man finally threw up his hands in agreement.

“He will try to find you a boat. But he thinks it is not a good idea. You may not be bad men, but he’s sure the others are.”

“Tell him we have a friend who is one of the captives. We are going to rescue him. We are dangerous men also. Dangerous to people who do bad things.”

Todor looked at Dan and then turned his gaze to his two large Delta Force companions. He nodded and spoke to the fisherman. Who turned and set off down the street.

The group followed him, heading to the docks to find a boat. After three futile attempts, the fisherman called out to a captain, who waved him aboard. The others stayed on the docks.

Twenty minutes later, he came back out of the pilothouse and leaped back to the dock. He spoke to Todor briefly.

“The man says he can take you across. It will cost five thousand Euros plus the fuel. He will provide the food and a place to sleep. He will not sail through the storm. If you run into it, he must drive the boat to keep it safe, not just keep heading east.”

“That is fine with us,” Dan said. He reached into his jacket. “How much does your friend want for finding us a boat?”

“Five hundred Euros.”

“And you?”

“Todor smiled. “Whatever you think I am worth.”

Dan thought for a moment. “I will pay each of you three hundred Euros. I think that is fair.”

Todor smiled brightly. “That is fair, Mr. Victor.” He held out his hand.

“I pay both of you when we depart,” Dan said. “Tell your friend. And tell the captain I pay half when we leave and half when we arrive.”

Todor’s smile faded, and he put his hand down. He turned back to the fisherman and spoke to him in Bulgarian. The man went back aboard the boat and talked to the captain. He came back and spoke to Todor.

“The boat will be ready this time tomorrow. The captain must buy food and water and get the boat filled with fuel. It will take extra fuel to make the trip. He has to collect big cans,” Todor held out his arms in a large circle, “to store the extra. It will take time.”

“We will be here tomorrow at dawn. We will wait until he is ready,” Dan said.

Late the next morning, with everyone paid, the fishing boat motored out of the harbor. Todor shook Dan’s hand enthusiastically after receiving his payoff.

“If you ever need help again in my city, just call me.” He handed Dan a piece of paper with his phone number on it. With their gear loaded aboard, they set off.

As they cleared the breakwater, they met the swells from the sea, and the boat gently rode up and over them. The captain spoke only a little English, and they used many hand gestures to enable communication. He showed them the route on the GPS chart plotter and tried to explain that it would be three to five days before they arrived on the Georgian shore. With a paper map on the table, Dan showed the captain where to drop them off. They would sneak into the country and wait for a contact Henry would send with passports and entry stamps from the diplomatic offices in Tbilisi. From that point, they could operate openly to pick up the trail of the kidnappers.

“You think we’ll catch up with them in Georgia?” Marcus asked as the two men stood on the foredeck, breathing in the fresh salty air.

“Doubt it,” Dan replied. “Unless they get hammered by the storm and have boat trouble.”

“Let’s hope the boat doesn’t sink. No one will ever know what happened to the hostages.”

“You’re right about that. And that Muntaqim guy will never let anyone know. Hell, he might never really know.”

Before losing cell reception, Dan called Henry.

“Where are you?” Henry asked when he picked up the phone.

“On the Black Sea, heading for Georgia. How’s Jane?”

“Stable, but still unconscious. Emilie has us going over to visit daily. We talk to her. Emilie insisted on it. The doctors don’t think it will help, but it can’t hurt either. That old woman you wanted me to meet supports Emilie’s plan. She’s quite impressive.”

“But you’re still not convinced.”

“Maybe. But I don’t discount it so readily. Have you been in touch with any of them, the Watchers?”

“No. We will have to work hard once in Georgia to pick up the trail again. We’ll lie low until your documents arrive.”

Henry gave Dan the name and number of the U.S. official who would contact them to deliver the new documents.

“They should work in Georgia. Maybe in Chechnya, but crossing that checkpoint might be tricky with what you’re carrying.

Dan gave Henry a list of items to send in a diplomatic bag. They included camouflage suits, tactical vests, and night vision goggles, as well as a supply of flash-bang and fragmentation grenades.

“You’re planning a war? Remember, we don’t want to get the hostages killed.”

“Just want to be prepared. You going to pass on any of this info to your boss?”

“Not yet. I consider it still hearsay. I’ll sit on it as long as I can. If they go deep into the Caucasus, I don’t think any U.S. group can follow. And Interpol will have to negotiate with the Russians.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Precisely. I doubt if the Russian president is going to be very friendly with what’s going on in Ukraine.”

“All the more reason for us. Let’s hope we can pick up the trail.”

Dan left unsaid how much confirmation he had gotten that the group leaving ahead of him were the kidnappers. It wouldn’t help Henry keep the higher-ups at bay. He ended the call and stared out at the sea.

“How’s Jane doing? Marcus asked.

Dan’s face reflected his concern and sadness. “She’s stable but still unconscious.”

“Such a tragic coincidence,” Marcus said, “to have her on the same train those bastards decided to blow up.”

“They will pay. They will all pay.”

Dan’s voice was cold and hard.

Chapter 28

T he captain of the fishing trawler carrying Burak and the hostages steadily motored east. The diesel throbbed day and night, its vibrations felt throughout the steel hull. Burak and his men all experienced some levels of seasickness. The captain urged them to spend time on the foredeck, where they would not smell the engine fumes or the old fish stink from the catch holds behind the pilothouse. The men were crammed into one of the storage rooms and had to sleep in shifts. The hostages were locked in another. All the food and supplies were stuffed into the kitchen and crew quarters.

Down below, Nico Morelli had not fully recovered from the initial round of anesthesia. He had developed an infection in his lungs and spent his days flat on his back, coughing up thick phlegm. Clive and Harrington tried to look after him, getting him to sit more upright and feeding him hot tea and soup.

“We need some antibiotics,” Clive said. “I think this is an infection…maybe in his lungs.”

Harrington looked at the man lying in their cramped space. “Maybe we could get him up on the deck. The air down here is not healthy.”

“Worth a try. I don’t think they want any of us to die…at least not yet.”

Clive turned and began to pound on the door. When one of the guards came, he spoke in English.

“I want to speak to the boss. The man with the English accent.”

He got some Arabic back in reply.

“Zaeim,” Clive said in Arabic.

He said the word over until the man mumbled something he didn’t understand and walked away. A few minutes later, Burak came to the door.

“What do you want?” Burak asked.

“We have a sick man here. He could die, and I don’t think you want that,” Clive said. “We’d like to take him up on deck to get some fresh air. The air is very bad here in the room.”

“He needs some antibiotics. We think he’s got a lung infection,” Harrington said.

“That can’t be done.”

“What do you mean?” Clive was now almost shouting. “Put a bloody hood over him and one of us. We’ll help him onto the deck. What the hell kind of bargaining can you do with a dead man?”

Burak didn’t answer. A moment later, the door was unlocked. One of the guards, with a face mask on, stepped inside. He motioned for Clive to put a hood over the prone Nico and then over himself. When that was done, he led Clive out, who held Nico up and helped him stumble through the door. When they reached the boat's bow, the guard pushed Clive and Nico down onto a hatch cover with their backs to the pilothouse wall.

At that point, Burak came up. “The air is better here. No engine fumes and no fish stink.”

Clive looked in his direction, but with a hood on, could see nothing. “I suppose I should thank you. But since you are responsible for this man’s condition, I’ll pass on that. Remember, it is in your interests to keep him alive.”

“You can only guess what is in my interests. You know nothing about me.”

“Oxford educated. One of the upper class. Spent many years in England, enough to mask where you might originally come from.”

“So you think I’m not a native Englishman?”

“From your actions, the killing, and kidnapping, the odds are pretty good for that assumption.”

“You British. You are so self-assured. But you are not in your world now. You are in my world.”

“That makes my point.”

“And what does that matter? Except to protect your useless sense of British identity? It does nothing to help.”

“Maybe not. But it makes you a bit more understandable.”

“You could never fully understand. And if you did, you are still a pawn in a much larger game you don’t understand.” Burak leaned close to Clive’s face. “You have sway here. You are among soft civilians. You have been a soldier. I hope you will keep your fellow captives in line. Not try to get a look at us. It is for your protection. If you see our faces, that will cause a problem.”

“So you want me to be your inside man? Your controller?”

“Call it what you like. You are different. I’ve studied your background. You can sense what is at stake. It is in your best interests.”

“I wonder,” Clive said. “I wonder what you eventually have planned for us after the negotiations.”

Burak told Clive the two of them could take off their hoods to get the most out of their time topside. A half-hour later, he and a guard returned with their masks on and escorted the two men back to their locked room.

Chapter 29

T hey met the storm that night. The boat was on an easterly course, and the storm came from the southeast. The wind and waves hit them on the right or starboard side. Waves crashed against the bows, and spray flew up against the pilothouse windshield. Burak stood in the cabin with the captain as he took manual control of the helm.

“How big are the waves?” Burak asked in Turkish.

“Two to three meters. They will get larger. When they do, we must slow down and head into them even if it takes us off course.”

Burak tried to hide his nervousness. He had the acute feeling a landlubber gets when encountering a storm: the dread caused by a lack of understanding of what one’s vessel can handle and a clear sense of being alone, alone, with no help available.

“You know what’s best.”

The captain didn’t reply to such an obvious statement but kept his eyes on the waves as he steered his boat. Every few minutes, he could spot an unusually large one approaching and steer into it while pulling back the throttle. Such waves arose from one wave overcoming a smaller one, absorbing its energy and adding to its size.

The night wore on. The waves were harder to see now. The captain turned on the powerful fishing lights to illuminate the watery onslaught. After one large wave that burst over the bow and created a sudden flood on the deck before it drained overboard through the scuppers, he reduced the throttle and turned the boat to meet the waves head-on.

“We must bow to the sea and not force our way.”

“How long will the storm last?” Burak asked.

“Through the night, for sure. Maybe morning will bring relief.”

Down below, Burak’s men were all in differing stages of seasickness with the increased rocking and pounding of the boat. The captives fared no better. The air was getting more fetid as stomachs were emptied in bouts of retching. Harrington and Clive tried to keep Nico semi-upright. The man’s breathing issues were now coupled with bouts of dry heaves, his stomach being empty.

“Mon Dieu,” Henri LeGrand said. “This is torture. Where are they taking us in this horrible boat?”

Harrington turned to the man. “Somewhere in the Caucasus is my guess. Interpol and our different government agencies can’t operate there.”

“Tout est perdu,” all is lost. Henri put his head in his hands.

“You must have courage, my friend,” said Klaus. “Each of our countries have agencies that can operate outside of normal ways. They are on our trail right now.”

“We can only hope for that,” Clive said.

The men conversed about their role as hostages, what was being asked in exchange for them, and who the kidnappers were, especially the English-sounding fellow. Their conversations were more about taking their minds off their miserable state than trying to reach some conclusions about their situation and their future.

Morning brought some relief. The wind abated and swung around to the northwest as the low-pressure system moved north of them. The captain could now get back on course, although he still drove the boat at a reduced pace due to the confused seas slamming the boat from different directions.

“Two more days, and we’ll arrive.”

On the afternoon of the fourth day, they could see the low coastline of Georgia ahead of them.

“We must wait here, at sea,” Burak said. “I have placed a call, and someone will meet us on the shore. We will use that small boat you have on board.”

As night fell, the captain moved the boat closer to shore. They waited, idling and holding position, the captain would not anchor. Finally, headlights flashed ashore, two rapid flashes followed by a longer third.

“That is the signal,” Burak said. “Get the boat ready.”

In a few more minutes, the crew launched the boat. Clive and Nico were ordered in, along with three guards. The guards wore their face masks. A crew member drove the boat and landed it on a rough beach.

On the fifth trip, the launch headed for shore with the last of the hostages. Faisal and Burak walked into the crew quarters in the kitchen area. The remaining crew not involved in ferrying the hostages and guards to shore were seated around a table, talking and drinking coffee. They knew they would be up most of the night, driving the boat back towards their home port. The three men looked up as Faisal and Burak stepped into the room. Without a word, the two jihadists pulled out semi-automatic pistols with suppressors and fired. The men never got out of their seats before they were hit multiple times. One man fell from his chair to the floor; the other two slumped over the table. Blood spread out on the floor and table. Without a word, Burak and Faisal exited the kitchen and closed the door. They quickly headed to the boat’s bridge, where they met the captain coming out of the door.

“What was that sound?” the captain asked. “It sounded like shots.”

Burak pointed his weapon at the captain. “Get back inside.”

The captain looked down at the gun, then up at Burak. He saw only cold, dark eyes. He stepped back inside the bridge.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just pay me, and we’ll go back. I don’t talk about your business to anyone. That was what I agreed to when I took this job.”

“Just sit here,” Burak said. He nodded to Faisal. “Watch him.” And stepped back outside.

The launch pulled up to the side of the trawler. The men tossed a line to Burak.

“Come aboard,” Burak said. “The captain wants to talk to you.” He tied the launch off to the side of the larger boat.

“Where is he?” one of the men asked.

“Inside, down in the kitchen. He wants you there. We’ll wait here.”

The two men looked at each other. Burak tried to smile, but the effect seemed to do nothing to assuage the crew’s doubts.

“Tell the captain to come up here and talk to us. I don’t understand why he isn’t here to tell us what he wants.”

“I said, he’s busy.”

Burak’s smile faded.

One of the crew leaned forward to untie the boat. Burak pulled his pistol from his coat and shot him in the chest. The man fell back into the launch with a loud thud. The other man looked at his crewmate in horror. Burak, without a word, turned his gun at the man and fired two shots into his chest. The man fell backward and over the side of the boat.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Burak went back into the bridgehouse.

“You don’t have to kill me,” the captain said. “We agreed to keep this trip secret.”

“I know you did. But you are a loose end, and my boss does not want any loose ends. You did a good job. You can take satisfaction in that. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you live.”

The captain’s last thought was that Burak didn’t sound all that sorry. Two shots slammed into his chest, one smashing through his heart and killing him instantly.

“Go to the engine room,” Burak told Faisal. “Find the water intake for engine cooling and break it off. The sea will flood the boat and sink it.” He nodded to the intercom. “Call me when you’ve found it. I’m going to run us out another quarter mile. The water is deeper and will hide the vessel longer. It will eventually be found, but not for months.”

Faisal nodded. When Burak had moved the boat. Faisal knocked open the intake and climbed the stairs as the sea began to pour in. The two men jumped into the launch, threw the dead sailor overboard, and headed to shore as the boat slowly sank into the Black Sea.

Chapter 30

W e can stay on course,” the captain announced as Dan stood with him in the pilothouse.

The trawler carrying Dan and his companions was nearing the storm’s path.

“We will hit the back end of the storm. There will be lots of rain and rough waters, but not the full strength.”

Dan smiled. That could close the gap in his chase, although he wasn’t sure how to pick up the trail once they reached Georgia.

After negotiating six hours of pounding waves and rain, during which Roland and Marcus suffered more rounds of sea sickness, another eight hours of motoring put them within reach of the shore. Dan called his contact when they entered cell range and gave him the coordinates of where they would make landfall. An hour later, the man called back and informed them they had a five-mile hike ahead of them to reach the road where he could pick them up.

The trawler idled about a quarter mile off the shore. The captain had his crew put the small launch overboard, and the three men climbed in with all their gear. The heavily laden boat made its way slowly towards the shoreline. They were south of Shekvetilit on the coast, where a small river entered the sea. The crew navigated the launch over the turbulent bar and into the mouth of the waterway, then motored upstream. Once past the waterfront and water-view mansions, a deep forest closed in around them. After traveling a quarter mile, the crewman steered the bow towards the shore and nosed it up to the bank. The men had to jump out into the water and then climb ashore. Once he had unloaded his boat, the crewman backed out into the channel and set off towards the sea and the trawler.

“They’ll be happy to depart,” Marcus said. “Especially after getting paid. How much did you give them?”

“Five grand U.S.,” Dan said.

Marcus shook his head.

“Okay, glad that’s over with,” declared Roland as he hoisted a backpack and grabbed two duffel bags. “Can’t say I enjoyed the sea voyage very much. Happy to be on land again.”

“Need something solid under your feet?” Dan asked.

“You got it, boss.”

“Let’s get going,” Marcus said. “I’d like to get some dry clothes and a good meal.”

Dan checked his compass, and the three men headed off the beach and into the scrub.

The agency contact was a CIA staffer assigned to the Tbilisi consulate office. After getting notice, he set out on the Tbilisi-Senaki highway, a high-speed, divided, four-lane road that ran east-west through the valley to the Black Sea. From Poti on the coast, he would go South to the designated pickup point and then wait along the highway for the men to arrive. They would use the small river as a rendezvous marker.

After an hour's wait, the three men appeared out of the woods. Dan phoned his contact, and the man flashed his lights. Once the men were in the car, the driver turned around and headed back to retrace his route to the capital. Dan looked through the pouch the driver had given him and handed out fresh passports with their stamped entries.

“The documents include entry visas for Russia. They’re good for three weeks.”

“Did you get the gear that should have been delivered?” Dan asked.

The man nodded. “It will be waiting for you in the house we rented. It’s an isolated farmhouse north of the city on a lake they call the Tbilisi Sea.”

“Must be a large body of water,” Dan said.

“Large, but not warranting the classification of a sea.”

“How do we get into Dagestan?” Marcus asked.

“Not easy,” came the reply. “There are few routes across the mountains. And none to the South. You go north into North Ossetia and Ingushetia, and from there, head east through Chechnya before getting into Dagestan.”

“Sounds complicated,” Marcus said.

“I think the Georgians like fewer ways to cross over to and from those Republics. And then there are the mountains.”

“We’re familiar with them,” Roland said. “Had to climb out over them once before. It was a long hike.”

“And now we go back in,” Marcus said.

“This time, you’ll need a fixer. I found a man, a Georgian, with good knowledge of the neighboring republics.” He handed Dan a card. “Here’s his number. Call him after you get settled in at the farmhouse.”

“What are we driving?” Dan asked.

“Toyota Land Cruiser.”

The Land Cruiser was ubiquitous and quite reliable if it had not been abused.

“In good shape?”

“I had a mechanic go over it…and make a compartment for you to hide your gear. Your cover is that you are a team of adventure travel experts who are doing research for an agency that specializes in travel to the more out-of-the-way spots on the planet.”

“This certainly qualifies for that,” Marcus said.

“Will that seem too strange to the officials?” Dan asked.

“Langley has set up a cover website that anyone can connect to. It will feature you three and have a post about your upcoming new adventure report.”

“We can take videos or pictures of the guards,” Roland said, “and tell them they’ll be on the Internet.”

Fatigue overtook the men, and they began to lapse into sleep as the car droned on.

Chapter 31

O nce set up in the farmhouse, the embassy contact started to leave. “You have my number. The equipment you ordered is in the house. Contact the fixer. You should be able to get to your destination from here. We’ll keep the rental going so you have a safe house to return to when you complete your mission.”

Dan shook his hand and watched him drive off.

“We got everything we need, boss?” Marcus asked.

“Yes. And you don’t have to keep calling me boss.”

“Roland started it, and it seems to fit, even though we wind up saving your ass more than a few times.”

“What’s next, boss?” Roland asked as he stepped out of the front door.

Both Dan and Marcus smiled.

“If you two sluggards are up for it, we should go into Tbilisi and connect with our fixer.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marcus said.

“He know what we’re up to?” Roland asked.

Dan shook his head. “No. I’m sure he doesn’t believe the cover story, but beyond that…?” Dan shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s going to be a time and place where we have to tell the poor bastard what he’s in for,” Marcus said.

“And cut him loose,” Roland added. “We don’t want untrained baggage for what we’re going to do.”

“We’ll set up someplace for him to wait for us,” Dan said.

“That or send him back,” Marcus said.

After putting away their gear, the three men drove off in the Land Cruiser. A phone call resulted in a meeting with Zaza Lukashvili in the city center at Liberty Square. It was mid-morning. Dan gave Zaza the color and model of his Toyota. When they had navigated to the square, they drove around the center spire, and on the second pass, a slim young man dashed out into the roadway and flagged them down.

“I am Zaza,” he announced as he opened the rear door and climbed in next to Roland. He looked at the large man sitting beside him and Marcus in the front passenger seat. Dan glanced at him in the mirror.

“Let’s find a place to park and then we find somewhere to talk. I understand you are on a secret mission.”

He directed Dan to a transportation terminal where there were parking places. After leaving the Toyota, they climbed aboard a bus and headed into the old part of the city.

“We will go to a café. There are many outside places where we can have a coffee or glass of wine and talk without being overheard.”

They walked without comment, all three men taking in the city's sights, with its abundance of art deco styling mixed in with Soviet modern in a sometimes-jarring combination. Zaza led them to a small restaurant on a pedestrian street. They took a table in the corner of the area reserved for outdoor dining. It covered much of the expansive sidewalk, compressing the foot traffic as everyone filed past.

“We can have lunch if it’s not too early,” Zaza said.

“Good idea,” Marcus said.

“With your permission, I will order for you. All Georgian food is good. I hope you like walnuts, though, because we put them in almost everything.”

The waiter came up, and Zaza gave him a long order in Georgian, none of which the other three understood. Marcus looked at Dan, who shrugged. They were hungry, and almost anything would be fine as long as there was enough of it.

Water was brought to the table, along with a large bottle of red wine. Dan gave Zaza a questioning look.

“We Georgians are proud of the fact that we invented wine. There’s evidence of wine being stored in clay jugs from 8,000 years ago. The earliest record of wine production. We grow hundreds of varieties of grapes and bottle hundreds of different wines. It would take you many months to sample them all.”

“And a big headache,” Roland said.

Zaza shook his head. “We don’t put sulfur in the wines that we consume here. That only goes into the ones you import. It’s your government.”

“So we can drink hangover-free?” Marcus asked.

Zaza gave him a thoughtful look. “That I can’t guarantee…but you have a chance.” He smiled. “My name means ‘zest,’ although I think that translated into trouble for my mother. She always said I was trying to live up to my name’s meaning, which wore her out.”

“I’ve noticed that everyone here seems to be in a good mood. They even smiled at us while we were walking around,” Dan said.

“We have a saying here, ‘A guest is a gift from God,’” Zaza said.

“We often say fish and guests stink after three days,” Roland said.

Zaza looked pained. “I’m sorry, but that is an unpleasant thought…and attitude.”

“But unfortunately, true sometimes,” Roland replied.

The food arrived, and the three men dug in with much gusto. Zaza explained the dishes, which included skewered ground lamb, pork slices, a variety of cheeses that no one recognized but Zaza encouraged them to try, and various ground vegetable mixes that would be spread on pieces of bread. After many minutes spent quietly consuming the mix of foods, the men emptied their plates and sat back. Coffee was served, along with more wine.

“That was delicious. Made more so by the fact that we haven’t had a good meal in a week,” Marcus said.

“I am glad to be the first to introduce you to our wonderful cuisine.”

“We keep drinking this wine, we’ll be in no shape to travel,” Roland said as he drained his glass.

“We’ll have the night to rest,” Dan said. “Then we’re off.” He turned to Zaza. “You can sleep at our farmhouse, and we’ll depart early tomorrow.”

“But I wanted to show you our beautiful capital,” Zaza said in protest.

“Maybe on the way back, but duty calls, and we must answer.”

“What is your duty…your mission? The man from your embassy who hired me did not say.”

“We’re videoing an adventure travel guide for the internet,” Dan said.

Zaza gave him a doubtful look. “I know about video blogs. You don’t seem to be vloggers.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Your job is to get us into Dagestan safely without trouble. That is all.”

“And get you back out again?”

“We’ll see. That part is still undecided.”

“I will need to go home to collect some clothes. We may be gone for some days. Travel can be slow sometimes, especially if there are disturbances. Also, I must say goodbye to my mother.”

Marcus looked at Dan. “Maybe he can meet us in the morning. We can pack the Land Cruiser ourselves and leave room for his gear.”

Dan nodded.

“It’s a shame not to show you our beautiful capital. We have one of the oldest churches in Christendom, built in the fifth century. We also have some beautiful parks and a beautiful National Botanical Garden.”

“Maybe…when we return,”

Dan’s face turned dark, his expression grim. Zaza looked at him with concern and worry showing on his face.

Just then, Marcus stepped in. He patted Zaza on the back. “For now, let’s get you dropped off and us back to our house.”

As they walked to the car, an old man standing behind a street stall called out to them in Georgian.

“What does he want?” Dan asked Zaza.

“He wants you to come over to look at his goods. Just smile and shake your head, and we can keep going.”

Dan noticed the old man’s gaze. It had that penetrating quality that he had seen before in the old woman in Venice, the old man in Rome, and various people around the world that he had encountered in his fight against the forces of darkness.

“No. I will talk to him.”

Dan turned and walked up to the stall.

The man gave him a hard, deep look.

“Are you the man searching for people?” he asked in Georgian.

Dan looked at Zaza, who translated.

Dan nodded his head.

“You must go deeper into the mountains. To Dagestan. Find someone named Rasul.”

Again, Zaza translated.

“What is his full name?” Dan asked.

“That is all I know,” the man answered. “But he is the key.”

His intense gaze never left Dan, but his face gave evidence of his disappointment and frustration at not being more helpful.

“What was that? It’s not about a video blog.” Zaza asked as the group walked away.

Dan could feel the Watcher’s eyes on him as they left. “I’ll tell you…in good time. Meanwhile, do not tell anyone about our trip, even your mother. You will be safe with us, but no one must know.”

Zaza’s face remained doubtful-looking, but he didn’t say anything.

Chapter 32

E arly the following morning, the three men met Zaza near the Tbilisi Sea and headed north into the mountains. The road soon became narrower and less well-paved. As they got closer to the small town of Stepantsminda, the mountains closed in. The road was forced to follow the stream bed, sometimes dry, sometimes flowing. It turned to gravel and snaked deep at the bottom of the steep canyon sides that closed in with an ever-tightening constriction.

“Bet this road floods in spring,” Roland said.

“That is correct,” Zaza said. “It is sometimes hard work to keep it open. It’s one of the few routes north.”

The drive became slower as the road tightened and twisted. Dan kept constantly working the steering. Sometimes, the path climbed the sides of the steep slopes to find some purchase on a bench. There were no guardrails to protect from going off the road and tumbling a couple of hundred feet to the bottom.

When they reached Stepantsminda, a small village located in an expansion of the deep gorge, Zaza told Dan to pull over.

“We will come to the border shortly. I should drive and answer the questions. That is what you are paying me for.”

After the switch, they started up the road.

“You should put some money in here,” Zaza said as he handed Dan a plain mailing envelope. “It should be slipped into your passport after we leave Georgia. It’s for the North Ossetia guards.”

“That won’t get us into trouble?” Dan asked.

Zaza shook his head. “It’s expected. The country has grown economically in the past years but is still poor. The guards are not paid much, so this will help.”

“How much should I put in?”

“You have U.S. dollars? You put five twenties. One for each guard and an extra one for the highest rank.”

“How do I know who that is?”

“Don’t worry. He will assert himself and take the extra bill.” Zaza smiled at Dan.

Throughout the drive, Marcus had been familiarizing himself with some of the camera equipment loaded in the SUV for their cover story. Roland had been assigned to the role of “security,” which he accepted readily.

The border consisted of two barriers on the road with a guardhouse to one side. The Georgian side had four guards who took turns manning the barrier that had to be manually lifted for traffic to pass through. Twenty yards ahead, they were stopped again.

“These are the North Ossetia-Alanian officials,” Zaza said in a low voice. “They will be more thorough since we are entering, not leaving.

Zaza smiled broadly as they were approached by one of the guards. He explained their mission, including his role, and handed the man the four passports. Dan’s held the envelope. The guard looked at the passports and removed the envelope. He turned and carried them to the guard booth. When he returned, he told Zaza to pull over to one side. They were ordered out of the Toyota, and two other guards began searching the vehicle. Dan didn’t let his nervousness show. The hidden compartment where the weapons were stashed was well constructed and integrated into the Toyota’s understructure and looked to be a part of the gas tank. After a few minutes of rummaging through the gear and leaving it in need of repacking, the passports emerged from the guard house minus the envelope, and the men were instructed to pass through.

Before leaving, Zaza asked the men if they could photograph them for the travel blog. There was some discussion, and the guards agreed, so they lined up in front of the house and smiled while Dan and Marcus snapped pictures of them with their still and video cameras. Zaza expressed their appreciation, and they were waved through with smiles all around.

“Now things will go easy,” Zaza announced as he drove off. “Going from North Ossetia-Alania through Ingushetia and Chechnya into Dagestan does not require passing through border checkpoints. You are now officially in the Republic of Russia.”

“Some republic,” Marcus said, “with a dictator for life at the helm.”

Zaza shrugged. “I think it is what the Russians prefer. At least it is what they are used to.”

“But not Georgia,” Dan said.

“No,” Zaza shook his head, “we like to live our own lives. Sometimes, it is hard enough in our small country to make our leaders accountable. It is impossible in a country such as Russia.”

“Yet Stalin came from here,” Dan said.

There was a pause.

“He did,” Zaza replied. “And many in our country still look up to him. But no one wants to go back to that era. We did not prosper under his rule. We are prospering now.” He drove in silence for a long moment. “And we have the best wines in the world!” His face broke out into a bright smile.

†   †   †

Two days earlier, Burak had made the same trip in a box truck with his captives, again drugged and stuffed into carpet boxes. Bribes were paid, but his team was accompanied by their own version of fixers in the form of four of Rasul’s clansmen. The trip took thirty-two hours of non-stop driving with Rasul’s men directing the route.

The compound was in the north foothills of the Caucasus Mountains just to the south of a small village named Nizhni, which was populated by Rasul’s clan. From the village, located in a flat valley laid out in ordered farm fields, the rough dirt road climbed into the hills to the south. Quickly, they were in a different world with no apparent signs of civilization. Just the rough, increasingly steep terrain and dense forests that spoke of isolation.

After two laborious hours of the truck navigating the narrow road, now familiar to Burak, they came out on the high plateau that gently continued to slope uphill to the south. The truck stopped outside of the equipment barn in the compound, and the men exited, stiff and sore from the long ordeal.

Burak asked which building the hostages would be kept in. When pointed out, he immediately had his men transport the boxes into the building.

Rasul came out of the main house to meet Burak.

“You had no trouble?”

“No,” Burak said. “It was just arduous. I must get the hostages out of these boxes. See that they recover.”

Rasul nodded. “I will send a man over to examine them. He has some medical training.”

Burak nodded as he directed his men to hurry.

The hostages were locked in a room in the bunkhouse. Burak’s men were masked so the captives could take off their hoods. They were given water and made to lie down. After examining Nico, Rasul’s medical man went over to his leader and spoke to him quietly. Rasul barked some orders, and his men picked up Nico and moved him out of the room.

“What are you doing?” Burak asked.

The men moved Nico to a corner of a larger room and put him on a bed.

“He is quite sick and should be isolated,” Rasul said. His voice carried no emotion. The health and safety of the hostages were of little importance to him, but he would rather Burak succeed — and quickly. A dead hostage didn’t help achieve that outcome.

“What is wrong with him? What did your man say?”

“He listened to his lungs. He thinks he has pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia? He was not out in the cold. He was not out in public.”

“My man says the label covers the lungs filling up with fluid. That is what is going on. It could be from the anesthesia.” Rasul glared at Burak. “How long were these captives kept drugged?”

“Long enough to get here. But that is not your concern. Can your man make him well?”

“One doesn’t make someone well. One recovers with help. And here we have little help.” Rasul shrugged. He didn’t want the complication of a dead hostage; that would complicate his arrangement. If that happened, it could upset whatever negotiations Burak was involved in. But there was little he could do.

Chapter 33

T he route through North Ossetia-Alania and Ingushetia proved uneventful. Zaza proved his worth in any encounters with local inhabitants and the occasional authority that showed interest in them. The cover story seemed to work, although the locals expressed their wonderment and skepticism at such an endeavor as a travelogue.

Once in Dagestan, they stopped again for gas and some food. Zaza had taken care of fueling and purchasing portable food to limit interactions between his clients and the local residents.

“Now, perhaps you can tell me where we are going and why, now that we are in Dagestan,” Zaza said while they all ate khinkal and ground lamb from paper plates.

“This is good,” Roland said through large mouthfuls.

“It is almost the national dish here in the Republic. A bride's readiness to be a wife is measured by how well she cooks this. It’s unleavened bread wound in a circle and boiled.” He put one in his mouth and chewed it. “It would be pretty bland without the sauce and the meat to flavor it.” He finished his mouthful and asked again, “Why are we here? I can’t help you if I don’t know where you are going…or why.”

Both Roland and Marcus looked at Dan, who sighed.

“I guess it’s time for you to know. Some important people were kidnapped back in Italy. We know they are being transported to Dagestan and held as hostages. Our job is to find them.”

There was a long moment of silence in the Toyota. Zaza finished his chewing and sat staring out of the window.

“Do you know where they are?”

“Not yet,” Dan said.

“Is that why you are looking for this Rasul?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you plan to do when you find them?”

“We will free them.”

Zaza looked confused. “But how? If they were kidnapped and you don’t know who took them and where they’re being held. And I am guessing that the kidnappers don’t want to release them. Or are you the negotiating team?”

“We’re not.”

“That makes sense since you would be told where to go.” He turned from staring out of the window to look at Dan. “Then how do you do it? Especially if those who took them don’t want to give them up.”

“We will make them give us the hostages.”

Zaza’s face evidenced his increasing concern.

“That…that is not what I bargained for. The man who hired me didn’t say anything about this.”

“You won’t be a part of this,” Dan said.

“You say. But you are in a foreign country, one that is not so civilized as yours or mine. You don’t speak the language. I don’t think you can do this without me. And I’m not sure I want to be a part of this.”

Dan put his hand on Zaza’s shoulder. “You won’t. I promise. We just have to find this Rasul and where he is located. Then we can find the hostages. You can return to Georgia before anything begins.”

Zaza gave Dan a doubtful look. “Mr. Victor, forgive me for stating the obvious, but we have one vehicle. How do I get back?”

“Let’s find where this person is, and then we will solve that problem,” Dan said with a smile.

“My mother warned me. She had a bad feeling about this job.” He paused for a moment. “This Rasul. Does he have a last name?”

Dan shook his head. “You know what the street vendor said in Tbilisi.”

“My God,” Zaza exclaimed in Georgian. “Do you know how popular that name is in Dagestan? Thousands of people have that name.”

“We got a problem, boss,” Roland said between mouthfuls.

Dan gave him a sharp look but said nothing.

Zaza held up his hands as if in surrender. “It is impossible.”

“Let’s assume,” Dan said, “that this Rasul is an important person but not a government official.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dagestan has many clans. They are the power structure in much of the country. Maybe this Rasul is a high-ranking clan member or the head of one.”

“Then others would know of this name,” Marcus said.

“Yeah. And that eliminates all the other Rasuls.” Dan tapped Zaza on the shoulder. “Is that possible?”

“Hmmm. Possible. But dangerous. One doesn’t go around asking for a clan leader named Rasul without drawing attention to oneself. Before you…we find him, he may find us. I would not like that if he is the kidnapper.”

“We must be discreet then,” Dan said.

Zaza took out his phone. There was no cell coverage. Suddenly, his face brightened. “We must go to Makhachkala. We will find good cell coverage there, and I can search the internet.”

“That’s on the coast,” Dan said. “I don’t think our Rasul is going to be there.”

“No, but I can research the clans from there. Then we may find your Rasul.”

“And not raise any suspicion or alarm,” Marcus said.

“Exactly!” Zaza’s face showed his delight in providing a solution. One that didn’t involve him in any dangerous adventures. “And when we’ve located him, I can fly home from there.”

“Good enough. Let’s get on our way,” Dan said. Zaza started the Land Cruiser, and they drove off.

The drive to Makhachkala took another six hours. Along the way, Zaza had to negotiate a heavy security presence in the form of the Russian military and local Dagestani police.

“There has been much unrest,” he said after clearing another checkpoint with the officer in charge, who strongly advised them to fly home immediately after reaching the capital city. “Rumors were spread that Israeli immigrants were arriving in large groups to escape the unrest in the Middle East. This triggered a backlash.” Zaza hesitated for a moment. “I think you could call it a pogrom, something that has occurred before in Russian history. This is another reason why we Georgians are happy to have our own country.”

The city was the capital of the republic. Its economy was driven mainly by oil refineries, although there was textile manufacturing and a regional research center linked to the Russian Academy of Sciences. However, the unrest now overpowered much of the life in the city.

“More young men from here were killed in the Ukraine war than men from Moscow,” Zaza said with a wry smile. “I think the locals felt that was a bit unfair with Moscow being ten times larger.”

“I’d heard that the Russian president had recruited somewhat unfairly from the Caucasus region,” Dan said.

“It’s true. And a major cause of the unrest, along with the ever-present fundamentalist activity.”

“Muslim?” Dan asked.

“Yes.”

Upon reaching the city, Zaza found a rundown hotel and reserved two rooms for them. Then, after a meal, he set out with Dan to go to the library to research the clans. Two hours later, Zaza came back from the reading room with a smile on his face.

“I found a Rasul. He was mentioned in some newspapers. This town is a media hub for the republic, so it has many papers and TV stations. A clan leader named Rasul Kurbanov was cited as being behind a major drug smuggling deal involving the Russian mafia in Moscow. It was the one time he had gotten into the news. The report said he likes to stay obscure and not be noticed. But this deal seemed to have blown up at the last minute, the transfer in Moscow, and got the media attention along with the police.”

“He get arrested?”

Zaza shook his head. “No. Probably, the police in Moscow were paid off, or higher authorities intervened…who knows? In any case, this Rasul was able to go back to obscurity.”

“Well done!” Dan said. He was getting excited. Zaza had proven his worth. “Did you get any information on where he lives?”

Zaza sat down, now beaming with his victory. “I did. There is a small town to the southeast of here. It is his center of operations, his clan town.”

“So we can go there and ask about him?”

Zaza’s smile faded.

“What’s wrong?” Dan asked.

“Two things. One, I must leave you here. I will fly home, and you can do what you have to do.”

“And the other?”

“Asking about Rasul in his hometown, his territory, would bring some bad attention to you. No one would tell you anything, and your inquiries would be reported. He would be alerted to your coming.”

Chapter 34

A re you going to help Nico?” Clive Randall asked the man who came into the barracks and gave Nico a shot. He spoke in Russian, knowing that would be understandable throughout the Caucasus.

“Antibiotics,” the man replied. “He has pneumonia.”

“That will cure it?”

“Hopefully.”

Clive was silent. The others asked what the man said after he left the room. Clive told them.

“We should demand better treatment,” Klaus, the German Deputy Director of the country’s anti-terrorism unit, Dept. 6 of the BfV.

“We could ask,” Harrington Carter, the U.S. ambassador, said. “But we’re not in much of a position to demand anything.”

Klaus turned to Harrington. “I disagree. They need us to be compliant and healthy. We need to stand up for ourselves. They don’t want anything to happen to us while they’re negotiating.”

“Why do they need us alive?” Henri Legrand from the French DGSI asked.

“Proof of life,” Clive said. “If our governments even negotiate, they’ll want to be sure we’re alive. “But there’s a lot of room between alive and healthy. We may not die, but things could get a lot worse.”

“The Englishman has left,” Harrington said. “He is a cold one. I don’t know how you felt, Clive, but I think he’d like to have been able to torture and kill us rather than release us.”

“I got the same impression. The other one who speaks English, one of the Arabs, he seems more friendly. There’s not the personal tone of hatred.”

“Not so much friendly as it seems to be just business with him,” Clive said. “It’s the duty he’s been assigned.”

“That still could be difficult,” Harrington said. “But with the English guy gone, maybe we can get some better arrangements.”

“What do you propose?” Henri asked.

“For one thing, more care for Nico. Then we should discuss what would make our current condition better for all of us.”

The group continued to discuss their situation while locked in the room. Harrington was selected to talk for them when he got the chance.

†   †   †

Jane had been released from the private hospital, having come out of her coma. She still had not fully recovered all her mental faculties, but she had improved enough to be transferred to the house in Maghera with a nurse and a special bed. This was a welcome change for Henry and Emilie, who now did not have to travel to the hospital every day.

Henry stayed in close communication with Roger, his boss at the Agency. They worried about the lack of communication from the kidnappers after the initial demands.

“They’re still waiting for us to present Jabbar,” Henry said in one of his many calls to Roger. “And you haven’t told me how we can now produce and deliver him…or even if we want to.”

“I’ve told Garrett that releasing Jabbar would cause a mini-scandal. He’s still waiting on word from Gardiner.”

“Not releasing him might get the hostages killed,” Henry said.

“We’ll probably cave on this if nothing else develops. Gardiner’s hoping to hear more from the kidnappers. It gives him time to mull this over.”

“And the president?”

“The president just wants them back,” Roger said. “Any developments on your front?”

“Nothing to report. I’ve sent a team into the Caucasus, where we think they’ve been taken.”

“It’s a big place. How are they going to find them?”

“It’s part of what we do,” Henry said. “We make the impossible happen.”

“That means you don’t know?”

“I maybe don’t know, but my operatives are working on the problem.”

“Well, I hope you can come up with something soon. Otherwise, we’ll be doing some kind of trade, and that won’t bode well for the future.”

“Agreed,” Henry said. “Even if Jabbar has been drained of all we can learn from him, it still sends the wrong message.”

“I think you should stay away for now. Keep a low profile.”

“That’s what I’m doing here in Italy. That and tending to my assistant.”

“That woman.”

“That woman. I told you she was injured in the train wreck.”

“How is she?”

“Getting better, I think. It’s still early in the recovery.” He abruptly changed the topic. “I’ve sequestered my two tech guys in the basement. Help them stay out of sight. I need them to keep working from their end to track down the kidnappers.”

“We’ve got a lot of tech assets on it, including NSA.”

“I understand,” Henry said, “but these guys have their own routine, and it’s quite effective. Think of them as an adjunct to our standard tech sleuthing.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure they stay off the radar for now.”

Chapter 35

A fter a long, harrowing drive southwest from Makhachkala, Dan and his two companions arrived in Nizhni. They had endured long stops at checkpoints along the way. The easy pass-throughs were not to be this time without the aid of Zaza, who had happily boarded a plane after wishing them luck and saying goodbye.

“I will stay in touch with the man from the embassy. If I can help, let him know, and I will do what I can.”

Dan thanked him.

“Now we just have to find someone who will tell us where to locate this Rasul guy,” Roland said.

“Our cover as adventure tourist podcasters might help,” Marcus said.

“Agreed, but the notice of our arrival will still get back to Rasul. He’s not the clan leader for nothing. I’m sure he has many ears here in his home territory.”

“What do we do, boss?” Roland asked.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“You did, but it fits,” Roland replied.

“Maybe we just stick to our cover and ask around. We can then disappear, and if we take our time, they will lower any heightened security we might have triggered.”

“Strangers will definitely trigger extra security,” Dan said. “But you’re right. We locate the headquarters, find a back way to approach, and then reconnoiter. I told you that was the plan a long time ago.”

“We’ve got provisions for staying out in the field for some time,” Roland said.

“Long as we can boil water, we’ll be fine, although the eating will not be all that tasty,” Marcus said.

“It’s settled then. We go into town, find a hotel, check in, and ask around,” Dan said.

“We have to find someone who speaks English, even a little,” Roland said.

“Find some young people,” Marcus replied.

The men drove along the small main street, trying to find something other than homes and local shops. The town’s layout consisted of many curving streets that intersected and formed loops, which made it easy to get turned around. They came across a large building that seemed to be a government center and police station.

“Stop there?” Marcus asked.

“Let’s use it as a last resort. They may just tell us to move on, and then we’ll have to obey or get into trouble. We don’t want that.”

“Plenty of time for that later,” Roland said with a grin.

Finally, a long building laid out close to one of the streets came into view.

“This looks promising,” Dan said. He pulled over to the side of the street. “Wait here.”

As he hoped, on entering, the inside had the look of a hotel with a counter in front of a set of rooms or offices.

A man sat behind the counter, looking half asleep. Dan approached him, and he looked up.

“Privet,” hello, Dan said in Russian. From his experiences in Moscow, he had gained a smattering of the language and hoped it might be enough.

“Privet,” the man replied

In halting Russian, Dan asked if this was a hotel and did they rent rooms?

“Da,” the man said.

Dan reserved two rooms, and the man asked for passports. Dan motioned to wait and went back outside to gather Marcus’s and Roland’s passports. He returned with them and signed them in for two nights. After some confusion about rates, Dan paid with dollars, much to the delight of the man behind the counter, who probably gouged him on the exchange rate. With their business complete, Dan had Marcus park in the back and bring their gear. The three men then went up to their rooms under the watchful eye of the man at the counter.

Roland flopped on one of the beds and stretched out his large, six-foot-six frame. His feet hung over the end of the bed. “Not too shabby, even if a bit short. Beats the back seat of the Land Cruiser any day.”

“Don’t get too comfy. We still have some sleuthing to do around this little town,” Dan said.

“Where do you want to start?” Marcus asked.

“Let’s find a restaurant, get something to eat, and then see if we can engage anyone in conversation.”

“Conversation?” Roland said, “Good luck with that since we don’t speak the language.”

“My little bit of Russian may get us started,” Dan replied. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky, and someone will speak English.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Roland replied. “We’re in the boonies. Way off the beaten track.”

The men walked towards a busy part of the small downtown. There, they found a restaurant, and they went inside.

“Can we order food?” Dan asked in halting Russian.

“Da,” a waiter responded with a nod of his head.

He showed the men to a table and brought them menus.

“These are useless,” Roland said after glancing at the paper. “No pictures.”

“We can ask for khinkal, the food we got on the drive here. Zizi said it was almost the national dish.”

Dan motioned for the waiter to come over.

“Do you speak English?” he asked in Russian.

The man shook his head and fired off a rapid burst of Russian. Dan shook his head and said, “Govori mediaenno,” speak slowly. The man stopped and then told Dan he did not speak English, but someone who was coming later did. Would they like to wait?

“Da,” Dan replied enthusiastically.

He then explained that the waiter should order food for them since they couldn’t read the menu.

Tea was brought, and the waiter went off to assemble a menu of foods for them.

“Someone’s coming in an hour,” Dan said. He speaks English.

“We’re saved,” Roland said with a smile.

A few minutes later, the waiter returned with a large plate of khinkal and hard-boiled eggs over a meat base, which turned out to be lamb. There were cooked celery stalks nestled among the doughy rings. The men dove in and ate heartily.

They were relaxing over tea after eating all the food offered to them when the waiter brought a young man over to their table. In Russian, he introduced them as his nephew, Anton.

“You speak English?” Dan asked.

“Yes,” the young man said with a nod. “I learned it in school. It will help in my college. I’m going to be an interpreter someday.”

“Excellent,” Dan said. “We are touring the Caucasus for an adventure touring YouTube channel. We do this all over the world. The more remote, the more exotic, the better.”

Dan shook the man’s hand.

“Please sit down and talk to us for a moment.”

Anton looked at his uncle and said something to him in Dagestani. The man nodded and walked away.

“I can sit for a few minutes, but I have work to do here at the restaurant.”

“We can use your help and are willing to pay you for your efforts,” Dan said. “We have heard about a clan leader, someone famous in this region. His name is Rasul Kurbanov. Can you tell us where we can find him? We want to interview him as part of our video.”

Anton’s face turned serious, his smile melting away.

“We learned that this town is his hometown and where he lives.”

Anton spoke slowly in a grave tone. “He is a very private man. He would not want to be interviewed.” He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “I think you came here without success. I am sorry, but I can’t help you.”

He started to get up. Dan grabbed his arm. “Wait, let me explain.” Anton sat back down and stared at Dan.

“We not only want to interview Mr. Kurbanov but get his permission as well. If we got more people to come here to Nizhni, everyone would prosper. There would be more customers here in this restaurant, more business for the hotel, and people could sell local crafts. Tourism can create a lot of income for local people. We would just like to make the case for this to Rasul. If he says no, we will respect that.”

“You don’t understand. He doesn’t like publicity. If I send you to him, it could be trouble for me.”

“Just tell us where to go. I’m sure we’ll run into his men before we get to him. We will make our case to them. Your name will not come up.”

Anton looked doubtful.

“We will pay you one hundred dollars for directions,” Marcus said. Anton turned to look at him. “And we will keep your name a secret.”

He placed a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table and slid it towards Anton. Anton looked at it. Then he reached out and covered it with his hand, pulled it off the table, and into his pocket.

“You take a road west out of town, through the farms and through the gap in the hills. It turns to dirt and then winds further into the mountains. He is at the end of the road. But you will not get that far before someone stops you and asks your business.”

Dan took out his map, and Anton showed him the road to take and pointed to the approximate location of Rasul’s compound. He stood up.

“I never gave you directions. I told you not to go. You found this road from someone else.”

“That is correct,” Dan said. He also stood and put another hundred-dollar bill on the table to pay for the food. “We’ll be going now. Thank you for your help.”

“I have not helped you. You will not be successful. And you may regret trying to see this man.” Anton turned and walked back into the kitchen under the gaze of his uncle.

Chapter 36

T he three worked their way carefully up the slope. As they neared the top of the rise, they began crawling over the rock stubble. They knew better than to skylight themselves at the top of the ridge. Dan peered through the jagged outcropping with his binoculars, examining the compound further down the other side of the ridge. It was placed on an open flat area backing up to the wooded hillsides that climbed towards the rocky ridge where the men lay.

It had been a two-day hike to reach this outlook. They had driven out of town that same day after talking to Anton, not wanting to encounter any of Rasul’s men. A full day’s drive took them on a roundabout route to where they could hide the Land Cruiser and begin to hike to the compound. After packing all the food and weapons they would need, they set out with each man heavily loaded.

“Looks quiet,” Marcus said.

“We’ll be watching for some time,” Dan replied. “We need to confirm the hostages are here and which building they’re in.”

“There are a few armed men around the buildings from what I can see,” Roland said. All three were studying the compound through their field glasses.

“Some of those guys are obviously Rasul’s men,” Marcus said. “I see some that aren’t armed and don’t look Caucasian. They might be part of whoever took the hostages.”

“Maybe Middle-Eastern looking?” Roland asked.

“If the hostages are here, the men who took them will be as well,” Dan said. “We’ll have to try to differentiate. I don’t think we want to start a war with Rasul and his clan.”

“Be kind of hard not to,” Roland replied.

“Not sure that’s a war we could win, though,” Dan said. “We’re in his world now.”

Marcus rolled back away from the outcropping and lay on his back. “We’ve got a hell of a situation here. We’re outmanned, probably outgunned, and we have to try to separate the two groups, neither of which will be friendly…and rescue multiple hostages.”

“Don’t forget getting the hell out of here with them and back to Georgia,” Roland said.

Dan scooted back from the edge. “When you put it that way, it does sound intimidating.”

“You think?” Roland asked. “Sounds pretty impossible, to say the least.”

“I think we first spend time observing. Let’s figure out where the hostages are, which ones are their captors, and which ones are the hosts.”

“Then what?” Marcus asked.

“Let’s get to that point first,” Dan replied.

The three retreated down from the ridge and into the trees to set up camp.

“We’ll be here for a few days at the least,” Dan said. “We need to cold camp since we don’t want to be discovered.”

“You think they’re operating patrols around the area?” Marcus asked.

“Probably, but not over the ridge, this far out. At least that’s what I’m hoping,” Dan replied.

“So, how do we gather more info?” Roland asked.

“Get closer. That’ll be my job,” Dan said as he assembled his favorite rifle, a Sako TRG M10, firing the .338 Lapua round. The rifle was fitted with a Shure Fire SOCOM RC3 suppressor. He also had subsonic and sonic loads depending on his range and the need for extreme stealth.

“You’re the stealth sniper,” Roland said. “You going down there tonight?”

“No time like the present.”

After carefully assembling his rifle and loading three five-round magazines with sub-sonic rounds, he clambered into his ghillie suit, moistened his face from his water bottle, and rubbed some dirt on it.

“We expect you back tonight?” Marcus asked.

“Maybe not. Depends on what I can see. I want to get as much info as possible.”

“We can’t provide effective overwatch from the ridge. It’s a bit too far out,” Marcus said.

“I’d appreciate you trying. You can get rounds down that far if needed, even if they aren’t all that effective.”

“We have to do that, the shit’s hit the fan and our cover blown,” Roland said.

“Agreed,” Dan said, “but still better than me getting killed.” He grabbed his water bottle and some power bars and set out.

Dan skirted the open ridge, working his way around it while keeping to the trees as he went over and began to descend the slope towards the compound. He moved slowly but efficiently, quietly drifting through the mixed pine and hardwood forest like a shadow. As he got closer, the grade began to flatten, and Dan slowed down, stopping for long periods to watch and listen. There were no signs of any patrols in the forest.

Satisfied that any increase in surveillance due to Rasul's learning of their inquiries had not yet reached the level of going out into the woods, he approached closer. He had night vision goggles but wanted to get a look at the compound in daylight as well. It would be easier to identify the people moving around and try to sort out Rasul’s men from those who captured the hostages.

After half an hour of careful maneuvering, Dan reached the edge of the woods. The additional sunlight near there provided the energy for a profusion of thick undergrowth, which offered perfect hiding places. He slowly wormed his way deep into one of the thickets. With his ghillie suit on, he was invisible even to a careful inspection. Only motion could give him away. Once in place, he took out his binoculars and began to study the compound. After watching for some time, he could identify Rasul’s men; they all were armed, all looked Caucasian, and all had easy access to the main building, which is where Dan guessed Rasul lived. Others were outside, mostly sitting around in front of one of the outbuildings that looked like a barracks. They were smoking and talking. They weren’t armed, or at least didn’t carry their weapons. And, most importantly, they were darker and Middle Eastern in appearance.

As he watched, the barrack’s door opened, and some more Middle Eastern men came out. They had five men in tow, all dressed in city clothes, all with hoods over their heads.

As Dan watched, a well-dressed man emerged with the prisoners. He walked over to the main lodge and entered. After ten minutes, he came out, followed by a thick-set man. The guards made way for this person, who Dan guessed was Rasul. The two of them walked to one of the trucks in the yard. Rasul summoned one of his men over and spoke to him. He got in the truck with the dapper figure, and the two drove off. Another captor came up to Rasul, and the two spoke. He then went back inside the barracks.

Dan wondered at the exchange. Did the man in charge just leave? If so, why? Did he put this other one in charge? Somebody has to negotiate. If it’s the well-dressed guy, he can’t do it from here. Rasul wouldn’t want that connection to his compound. If that’s what’s going on, we have some time to figure this out.

Dan watched until it grew dark. He began to see a loose pattern in the clan patrols. The security did not seem to be heightened by what he had to assume was knowledge of their presence in the town. Probably feel secure up here in the foothills with only one way in and out. With the darkness increasing, he made his way back through the forest and over the ridge to where they had set up camp.

“Coming in,” Dan said softly as he approached the area. He didn’t want to get shot.

“Learn anything?” Marcus asked as Dan stepped into the small clearing.

“A bit.” He sat down. Roland passed him a water bottle, and after a long swig, Dan asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“The chef is serving a delicious version of his beef stroganoff MRE.”

“Can’t wait.”

Dan grabbed the offered meal and heated it, mixing the chemicals. The three men ate quickly, enjoying the warm food in the chill evening, even if they were too familiar with the contents.

“Still has some attraction even after so many rounds of this stuff. Being able to eat it warm on a chilly night makes it seem much better,” Marcus said. “What did you learn?”

“I saw the hostages, so we’re in the right place.”

“They all right?”

“Seem to be. Only one of them was missing. Not sure who it was. Four of them were outside a barrack-type building. The other wasn’t there.”

“What do you think that means?” Marcus asked.

“Not sure. He’s sick? Dead? Just lazing inside the building?”

“Let’s hope he’s not dead,” Roland said. “There’ll be hell to pay, especially if it’s our guy Carter.”

“It’s not Carter. I think I recognized him.”

“What about security?” Marcus asked.

“Two groups. As we would assume, this guy, Rasul, has his own security. They’re following a loose plan, patrolling, but only around the compound. No sign of them going into the woods. There’s another group, the kidnappers. Middle-Eastern, as we guessed from up here. They’re not carrying weapons but keeping an eye on the hostages.”

“Rasul probably won’t allow them to have weapons. They’ll be stashed somewhere,” Marcus said.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “I think I saw their leader. A well-dressed guy. Almost too well dressed. He left while I was watching. I saw him talking with someone, probably the man he put in charge while he’s gone.”

“He's the negotiator?” Marcus asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking. Rasul wouldn’t want communications coming from his compound. He’d figure that our government would be able to locate him.”

“And drop him a nice ‘hello’ package from the sky after the hostages are moved,” Roland said.

Dan smiled as he finished spooning the last of the MRE into his mouth.

“So, what’s the plan?” Marcus asked.

“We know where the hostages are. We know that they have guards who aren’t armed. We know Rasul’s men are—”

“And the kidnappers are probably not far from their weapons,” Marcus added.

“That also,” Dan said. “We know where Rasul stays—his house.”

“And we know that we’ll have a hell of a time fitting five men into the Land Cruiser along with us.” He was toying with a stick, making circles on the ground. “Let alone drive the hell out of here and into Georgia.

“Yeah,” Dan shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Hell!” Roland said. “We haven’t figured out how we’ll get the hostages free.”

“One thing we don’t want to do,” Marcus said, “is go to war with Rasul and his clan.”

“There’s the sticking point,” Dan said. “How do we separate him from what we want to do?”

“You going to just sit down and have a heart-to-heart with him?” Roland asked.

Dan stared off into the now-dark woods. “I may have to.”

Chapter 37

T he next morning, the three men sat around their camp. There was no fire, not wanting to give those on the other side of the ridge any inkling they were near.

“You serious about what you said last night?” Roland asked Dan.

Dan looked over at him, seeming not to understand.

“About talking to this Rasul guy.”

“It’s not out of the question. He’s not on any side of this. I’m guessing he’s just doing this for the money. He doesn’t have a dog in this fight.”

“Except for that money thing, as you point out,” Roland said.

“What would you hope to accomplish?” Marcus asked. “That he just look aside while we take out the captors and walk off with the hostages?”

Before Dan could answer, Roland added, “It’s a damn stupid idea. First of all, how do you even have the conversation? And if you do, you’ll blow our cover. What the hell do we do then? We can’t outgun all his men.”

He got up to pace around the clearing.

“What argument could you present?” Marcus asked.

Dan thought for a moment. “I think I could point out that although he represents all the power in this area, we could call in resources that could destroy it all.” He hunched forward. “Look, we can’t threaten him too much. I understand that. But I think he sent that other guy off to negotiate somewhere else because he doesn’t want to get noticed. He’s fearful of some high-level retaliation. I could say that we represent the point of that retaliation. He’s been found, and cooperating with us is his only way to avoid extinction.”

“Interesting idea,” Marcus said. “He probably knows the stories about terrorists being taken out without warning by drones.”

“I don’t know,” Roland said. “I can’t see how you get to that point without him just deciding to wipe us out.” He turned to Dan, who was sitting on the ground. “Look, we’ve been in some pretty tight places, but we’ve always had maneuverability, a way out. Here, we’re deep in enemy territory and without any sure exit plan. His first instinct will be to eliminate us, starting with you.”

“But it could work—” Marcus said.

“Work my ass!” Roland said. “It’s fantasy. How in hell do you even get a chance to say anything before getting shot? Then what do we do? I’ve always got your back, but I don’t like suicide missions. You only get to do one of those.”

Dan started to speak, but Roland interrupted. “And even if he listened to you, we can’t take out the kidnappers in his front yard and expect him to sit by idly. He’d lose the respect of his people. They all know that he made a deal to harbor them, and that would mean keeping them safe.”

“And kicking them out would result in the same conclusion, that their clan leader can’t be true to his word,” Marcus added.

“We might need to trigger some kind of crisis, which would give Rasul cover for taking some action to kick out the kidnappers,” Dan said.

“Before you try to talk to him?” Marcus asked.

“Before. If it’s a big enough crisis, I may not need to talk.” Dan thought for a moment. “But I think the argument that he’s been discovered and in danger of a drone strike wiping him out could be a strong incentive to take action helpful to us.”

“Good luck with that,” Roland said. “Now, what kind of crisis do we trigger without blowing our cover? I hope you’ve got a rabbit up your sleeve 'cause I can’t think of one that doesn’t have Rasul and company scouring these hills for us.”

The three men sat in silence for some time. Finally, Dan spoke up.

“You’re right. The moment we start doing anything to trigger a crisis, our cover is blown. But maintaining our cover only allows us to watch what’s going on, not to do anything about it. As much as I might use a drone strike as a threat, we know that’s not going to happen. First, the hostages would be in danger, and second, no one would authorize such a strike. It would have to come from Georgia, and they would not be happy about that.”

“That may be the understatement of the year,” Roland said.

“But Rasul might not know that or might not be sure that couldn’t happen,” Marcus said.

“Or he might not be sure we don’t represent a group that would take the action outside of our country’s authorization,” Dan added.

“I’m not convinced,” Roland said. “And you’ve still got the problem of getting that message to him without getting captured, or killed, or triggering a massive manhunt for us.”

There was silence in the camp.

“We’re back to the same point,” Roland finally said. “All you’ve said might sound plausible, but it hinges on talking with Rasul and then creating a crisis for him to act.”

“Let’s concentrate on that, then,” Marcus said.

Roland threw up his hands. “Hell. Who wants to grow old, right?”

“Come on,” Marcus said. He stood up and grabbed his friend by the arms. “We can figure this out. I’ll put the three of us up against any gang Rasul can send after us. We just have to do what we do. Be smarter, be more elusive, be more lethal. These guys have never gone up against Delta Force before.”

Roland sighed and smiled. “Don’t forget to include the Army sniper spook.”

Chapter 38

F irst step,” Dan said after the three had finished their food. “We have to find a secure hiding spot. Somewhere we can retreat to if we trigger a hunt through these hills.”

“Just lying low in camouflage won’t cut it,” Marcus said.

Dan shook his head. “Yeah. The forest isn’t quite thick enough, and Rasul can probably put a lot of men into the field.”

“You got a plan?” Roland asked.

“Yep. We split up and go searching for a place to hide.” Dan looked at his watch. “Let’s give ourselves two hours and then meet back here.”

“And if we don’t find anything?” Roland asked.

“One of us will find something. We go east, south, and west. Rasul’s compound is to the north, so that’s not an option. I have faith.”

Roland shook his head. “You’re the boss. He picked up his M4 carbine and a water bottle and headed off to the east.

“I’ll go west,” Marcus said and headed off into the forest. Dan picked up his M4 and turned to the south.

He walked in a zig-zag pattern south, descending the ridge. After an hour, he came to a sharp drop-off. The forest gave way to a cliff that rose a couple of hundred feet from the slope below. Anyone falling would be killed on the rocks at the base, where the downward slope began again. After a hundred-yard-long rock scree below the cliff, the forest began, carrying steeply down into a narrow stream at the bottom.

There seemed to be no going forward. Dan turned and scouted along the ridge. After going a couple of hundred yards in one direction, he turned and retraced his steps to search in the other direction. Walking along the cliff's edge, he kept looking over the precipice. There might be hiding spots down or partly down the face. At one point, peering over the cliff, he could not see the face within a hundred feet of the top. It’s undercut here. The thought was intriguing. There could be a place to hide below the ridge. It would be somewhere no one would think to look.

Dan gingerly stepped over the edge and worked his way down along the cracked and broken face. Shortly, he could not see the ridgetop. Tipping his head back to a point where he felt close to falling still didn’t bring the lip into view. Promising. He worked downward another twenty feet, and to his right, there was a small shelf left in the cliff where a large slab had broken off maybe hundreds of years ago. The cut went deep into the face, creating a place thirty feet wide and maybe twelve feet deep.

Dan stared at it for some moments. Then, he carefully maneuvered over and scrambled up on the shelf. Once there, he lay down and stretched out. Three men could stay here. They could even sleep, although rolling off would be a danger. If rain came from the north or east, they would have some protection. They would be open to the weather from the south. Best of all, they could not be seen from any point along the ridge, directly above or to either side. This could do. He got up and began to climb back to the top.

Back at their improvised camp, the three men compared notes. Marcus had not found anything of significance beyond some thicker copses, which could hide someone well enough, but not from careful scrutiny. Roland found a cave, probably the den of a bear during winter, but safe enough now in the coming warm season for human use.

“But,” he added, “if I can find it, they probably can as well. Some of those guys may even know about it.”

Dan proceeded to explain what he found. The two men agreed that it could provide the cover they would need when their presence became known to Rasul.

“So, it’s settled then,” Dan said. “I’ll show you where it is, and then we have to go to work gathering intelligence.”

“What do we do after that?” Roland asked.

“We start thinning the herd.”

After a trip to the cliff, the men got ready to start their recon mission. They climbed into their ghillie suits with hoods that could be pulled over their faces.

“A bit claustrophobic,” said Roland.

They set out for Rasul’s compound.

“We want to determine how much security they use at night,” Dan said. “Especially if the kidnappers are helping.”

“They’re our targets,” Marcus said.

Dan nodded. “That’s the group we thin out.”

“Once we hit them, we may not get a second round,” Roland said. “They’ll double up on the security.”

“True enough. We’ll try to take out as many as possible in one hit. We want the hits to be stealthy, so no one knows we struck. We want it to seem like they just disappeared. This group is prone to superstition. We’ll prey on that.”

“Where do we dispose of them?” Marcus asked. None of the men had any illusions that disappearing would not mean killing the enemy. They were on the wrong side. They were the kidnappers; they would pay the price.

“We take them to the cliff and toss them over. I doubt anyone will notice the bodies a couple of hundred feet down in the rocks.”

“They might,” Marcus said.

“But it’ll be too late,” Dan replied.

“Let’s not dump them near the shelf we’re going to use,” Roland said.

“And after we strike?” Marcus asked.

“That’s when I need to talk to Rasul,” Dan said.

“That’s where our trouble will begin,” Roland said. He stood up. “Let’s get on with it.”

“First night out, we collect info. Then we can figure out how we proceed,” Dan said.

“And if the kidnappers are not used for security outside?”

“The backup is we go in quick, pull out the hostages, and kill all the kidnappers. Then Rasul’s problem goes away.”

“You think that will be enough to have him not pursue us?” Marcus asked.

Dan shook his head. “I don’t know. What I do know is that we can’t hit Rasul’s men. Then it will become personal for him and guarantee he’ll pursue us.”

Chapter 39

T hey were in luck. Rasul’s men turned the night shift over to the kidnappers. He kept guards at the end of the road where it entered the compound. There was a narrow place with a guardhouse, partially shielded by some rocks. If a vehicle approached, two men would take up positions with their ubiquitous AK-47 carbines, which could fire around 600 rounds per minute or ten rounds per second. Enough to perforate any civilian vehicle, and everyone inside should it be necessary.

Faisal, who had been left in charge of the hostages while Burak was gone, had been instructed to organize his men into shifts. Rasul allowed them to carry their AK-47s during the evening watches but not during the daylight when his men were more present in the compound. Each watch involved four men who lingered around the barracks building. During their reconnaissance, Dan had determined that there were fifteen to sixteen kidnappers. More had been used in the strike, as he had seen at least two depart with the man he assumed was the group's leader.

“We take out the first watch easily enough,” Marcus said when they were back at their camp. The following two will be hard to impossible. There’ll be no handoff, so the rest of them will know something’s wrong.”

“We’re going to do this more subtly. You two are going to be back up for now. Leave it to me.”

They headed up the slope, through the woods, avoiding the open rock crest, and then quietly descended to the compound. Once near, they maneuvered, still within the tree cover, towards the back of the barracks.

Marcus and Roland carried their suppressed M4 carbines along with suppressed Sig Sauer

P226, 9mm pistols. Dan took his Sig and his K-bar knife with him, leaving his M4 with the two men.

“Wait here. This may take some time. It’s not something to rush.”

“Gotcha, boss,” Roland said. “We’ll keep an eye on you from here.”

He separated himself by about 20 yards and then crawled close to the tree line. The thicker vegetation at the edge provided ample cover. With his ghillie suit, he was undetectable in the dark.

Once the guards had distributed themselves on each side of the building, they settled down to wait out their two hours. Dan watched the guard slowly sag into a somnolent state. Probably only half asleep, he thought. Gotta be careful. He crawled out from the cover of the brush and inched his way across the open field. It was grass of some sort, not closely cut, which gave him some cover, but he had to crawl carefully and avoid dried twigs and branches that had blown free from the woods. It took fifteen minutes of careful maneuvering to cover the forty yards between the building and the woods. Dan kept his breathing under control. He didn’t want to be puffing anywhere close to the slumbering guard.

When he got within five yards, he unsheathed his knife. It had a seven-inch blade and was razor sharp. He got into a crouch and sprang forward. The guard mumbled something unintelligible as he struggled out from sleep. He never made it. Dan plunged the knife into his neck, piercing his carotid artery. At the same time, he clamped a hand over the man’s mouth, muffling his dying gasps. In a few seconds, the man sagged into Dan’s arms. He left the knife in the man’s neck, keeping the blood from flowing out. The fewer clues to what happened, the more the mystery would remain.

Once he was sure the man was dead, Dan shouldered his body and walked back into the woods. All that remained was the guard’s AK-47 propped against the barrack’s wall. He walked back to the two waiting men and gently put down the kidnapper’s body.

“What do we do with him now?” Roland asked.

“Cut a strip of cloth from his clothes. I want to tie it around his neck so he doesn’t leave a blood trail.”

Marcus went to work and tied the cloth tightly around the corpse’s neck as Dan pulled out his knife.

“Now we take him to the cliff?” Marcus asked.

“Wait. I’m going to get another one.”

Dan melted back into the dark of the forest. After half an hour, he returned with another body over his shoulder. Marcus cut some cloth and made a tie around the body’s neck as before.

“Another one?” he asked.

Dan shook his head. “There’s too much light on that last side of the barracks from the yard light. This will have to do for now.”

The three men set off back through the woods. Marcus and Roland carried the kidnappers’ bodies. When they were done disposing of them off the cliff, they retired back to their cliffside shelter.

“We’ll stay here for the day. I’m sure there’ll be lots of activity in the woods.”

“Is this going to be enough of a crisis to trigger Rasul into doing something? Especially doing something we want him to do?” Marcus asked.

Dan shrugged. “It’s a start.”

“You still have the problem of getting inside his house to talk to him,” Roland said. “If we take out any guards, it will create the blood issue you talked about. The guys protecting him are all kin.”

“Yeah. That’s going to be a harder challenge.”

When the second shift came on, the two men were found to be missing. One of the men went to Faisal.

“Two of our men are missing,” he said when he woke him. “We don’t know where they went.”

“What do you mean, missing? Where would they go?”

Faisal got up and went outside. The third guard was standing amongst the others.

“You,” Faisal said, “what happened?”

“I do not know, ra’ēs. I heard nothing. We don’t talk with each other while on duty. I didn’t sleep, believe me. But when it came time to change, they didn’t come to the door. I walked around and found no one.”

Faisal grabbed one of the men who had a flashlight and had him walk around the building. A search of the back and side showed no signs of any disturbance. There was no indication of an attack. The men were simply not there.

“What could have happened?” one of the kidnappers asked. “They would not leave. There is nowhere to go.”

“We go ask our host,” Faisal said. He gestured to two men to follow him and started for the main house. They were carrying their AK-47 carbines.

As they approached the house, the guard on the porch stood up. He didn’t shoulder his carbine but held it in a ready position.

“I need to talk to Rasul,” Faisal said in Arabic.

The guard looked at him, seeming not to comprehend.

“Rasul,” Faisal repeated. “Talk.”

“Morning,” the guard said in English, which Faisal understood.

“Now,” Faisal replied in English.

The man stared at him for a long moment and then turned and entered the house.

A few minutes later, Rasul came out with the guard and another man who held a lantern.

“What do you want? What makes you come to me in the middle of the night?” Rasul said in halting English.

“Two of my men are missing. They just disappeared. They were guarding the barracks.”

“This is my problem?”

“They would not leave. Nowhere to go. Yet missing.”

Rasul didn’t answer but continued to look down at the kidnapper. His demeanor indicated that he didn’t have a high opinion of Burak’s second-in-charge.

“You are host. We pay you to stay here, so no one knows where we are. Now, two of my men are gone. They have been taken. You must do something.”

“We are the only ones here. There is no one else. If they ran away, it is not my problem.”

“They didn’t run away. That’s what I am telling you. They were taken.”

“Any signs of struggle? Did anyone hear anything?”

Faisal shook his head.

“I will look in the morning. You go with me. You will see. If they were taken and killed, we will find them. But,” he pointed his finger at Faisal, “they were not taken. There is no one here but us.”

Rasul turned and went back into the house. The man with the lantern followed, leaving Faisal and his two men standing in the dark. They turned and walked back to the building.

Chapter 40

T he next day, Faisal, along with four of his men and two of Rasul’s men, trudged through the woods. They hiked up the slope to the top, went along the ridgeline, past the rocky outcropping, and scanned the downslope on the other side of the ridge. There was no sign of activity or disturbance to be seen. Afterward, they tramped through the forest to the east and west of the compound with similar results. After checking the area to the north, where the road came in, they returned by early afternoon, tired and hungry.

The two groups separated, with the kidnappers eating in the barracks and Rasul’s men going off to the barn where they were staying. Faisal screwed up his courage and made a call to Burak, who had flown to Bulgaria from Tbilisi, Georgia, where Rasul’s man had driven him. Faisal told him about the mysterious disappearance of the two men.

“I will talk to Rasul. I will make sure he treats you with the proper respect. Someone has found us. This is a dangerous situation. You must double up the guards and make sure the hostages are properly locked in at night.”

Yes, ra’ēs.”

Faisal could tell that his boss was not happy. He was not sure how Burak might consider him going forward. Faisal understood that in the dangerous business they were in, one could not allow errors, whether they were his fault or not.

“They’ll probably double up on the guards at night,” Marcus said. “How will we get to them without hurting Rasul’s men?”

“And what’s the goal? When do we free the hostages?” Roland asked.

“Patience,” Dan said. “We’re thinning the herd. I’ll use the Sako tonight…from the ridge. I should be able to distinguish between the kidnappers and Rasul’s men. They dress differently.”

“Then we attack?” Roland asked.

“When the time is ripe.”

“That before or after you try to talk to Rasul? I still think that’s a fool’s errand.”

“I’m leaving that part open. We’ll see how my thinning tactic goes. I want to sow some panic in the ranks first. If I’m effective, Rasul will be more receptive.”

“You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” Marcus asked.

Dan gave him a long look in the fading light but said nothing.

That night, Dan took a position at the ridge. As predicted, the guards were doubled up, and some were walking the outer edges of the compound near the tree line. At 600 yards out, the subsonic round would drop about forty feet, requiring an adjustment on his scope of almost 26 mills. This was mitigated by his elevation above the compound, which Dan estimated to be about 100 yards. He worked out the resultant calculation carefully and rechecked his work multiple times. Won’t have many test opportunities without giving my cover away. He had fitted his Sako TRG with a night scope, which lit up his field of vision in a green glow that showed his targets clearly enough to distinguish between Rasul’s men and the kidnappers, just as he had hoped.

From his vantage point, Dan could see the back and one side of the barracks. I can get two shots off before they know what’s happened. Maybe more if some other kidnappers come around back.

A sense of anticipation grew in him. These men were part of the events that injured Emilie and nearly killed Jane, two people Dan had come to love, two people who kept him connected to the world of human relationships. His dark anger, like a hot coal deep inside of him, needed assuaging. They would all die. However long it took, he would find and kill them all for what they did. This was just the start. Rescuing the hostages was only a part of the more considerable fury he would release on those responsible.

“How long are you going to wait?” Marcus asked.

He and Roland had accompanied Dan to his shooting position as backups.

“Let things settle down. When the night progresses, they’ll be less on edge and take longer to rev up after my shots. It gives me a bit more time to commit mayhem.”

“More rank thinning,” Marcus said under his breath.

“That’s the plan.” Dan’s voice was cold and hard.

The three men lay in position, getting as comfortable as they could amongst the rocks while the time passed and the activity in the compound settled down. The lights went off in the main cabin except for one in what Dan assumed was Rasul’s office. The barracks’ lights were turned off, and later, the lights in the barn where Rasul’s men were staying. All that remained was a yard light between the barracks and the main cabin and one out in front of the barn.

Dan shrugged himself out of his reverie. He stretched and drank some water. Then he roused the other two.

“Let’s get ready. Packs ready for departure, rifles ready in case we’re located, and they charge.”

He turned and settled himself behind the Sako and shuffled in his prone position until he was comfortable and had the rifle well supported. He worked the bolt and chambered a .338 Lapua round, then looked through the scope at his targets. There were two guards in the back standing side by side. They were leaning against the wall. As Dan watched, another figure, one of the clansmen, walked past as he patrolled the edge of the cleared compound. When he was out of sight, Dan turned his aim back to the two figures. They didn’t move. Boredom is setting in, even after the clear threat. It never failed. Have someone do nothing for a couple of hours, and their level of alertness decreases.

Dan turned his aim to the far side of the barracks. From his vantage, he could make out one of the two guards on that side. It was one of the kidnappers. Hopefully, if one of Rasul’s men were with him, they wouldn’t switch positions. Dan adjusted his scope and resettled his aim on his primary target. A headshot would be easy at this distance, but due to the possibility of error in his elevation calculation, Dan chose a torso shot. The .338 round would be devastating, causing a kill, if not instantly.

Roland and Marcus sat quietly, watching the scene with their binoculars. They didn’t move or speak. Nothing disturbed the still of the night except for the distant hoot of an owl. Dan practiced swinging his aim between his primary target and his secondary one until he could zero in on it with minimal adjustment and time needed. Then, he settled back on the primary target. He slowed his breathing and heart rate. The familiar arc of a line emerged from his barrel to his target, the deadly trajectory the bullet would follow, the connection between him and the man whose life he now held in his hands. His heart rate slowed, and then, in between beats, he gently tightened his finger on the trigger. The rifle gave a muffled whump.

Three seconds later, the kidnapper leaning against the wall next to one of Rasul’s men was slammed against the wall. A sharp explosion of breath was forced out of his mouth as his chest exploded from the round. He slid down the wall and sat slumped on the ground. A red smear of blood was left against the boards. Rasul’s man turned to look at the man in shock. Then he dove for the ground.

Even before the first man slumped to the ground, Dan swung the Sako, and as the barrel settled on the second target, he stroked the trigger. Again, there was the suppressed sound burst from the rifle that could only be heard within fifty yards. The second kidnapper was flung to the ground by the impact of the large-caliber round.

Now, Dan swung the rifle back to the rear of the building. Shouts were now heard, and men came running. The guard, standing next to the first man shot, had crawled around the corner of the building. One of the kidnappers came around to see what had happened. Dan’s third shot dropped him when he got to the man slumped against the wall.

A figure ran to the main cabin and called out something. Lights went on inside, and more men came out. The lights in the barn lit up, and men poured out. They ran towards the barracks in a low crouch to present a smaller target. At that moment, no one else dared to come around back. There was much shouting in different languages and much confusion, but little action.

The three men on the ridge watched without comment. This was Dan’s show. While not out of range for the M4s that Roland and Marcus carried, they would not be as accurate or lethal as Dan’s Sako.

Dan identified a kidnapper kneeling over the body of the second man he shot on the west side of the barracks. Dan immediately settled his scope on the jihadist and loosed a round. The man shot forward, falling on top of his fellow kidnapper.

Chapter 41

W hat’s going on?” Henri Legrand of the DGSI and one of the kidnap victims asked no one or everyone.

The hostages were untied and unmasked, crowded into one locked room with only one window located high up on the back wall. Still, they could tell, from the shaft of light under their door and the yelling going on inside and out, that something serious was occurring. No one could hear the shots. The rounds were subsonic, and the muffled report when Dan fired was too far away to hear. Still, men were falling, obviously shot.

Outside, the others seemed confused and afraid to show themselves in almost any direction, but certainly at the back of the barracks. Cooler heads finally determined that the shots had to come from up the slope behind the barracks. Rasul was now shouting orders, and men gathered to him at the front porch. The three on the ridge could see arms pointing in their general direction.

“We’ll need to be going soon,” Marcus said. “They’re figuring out where the shots are coming from.”

It was the first words spoken since the shooting began.

“Looking for one or two more,” Dan said. “Then we go.”

Two jihadists walked towards the main house. They must have felt it was safe since the men standing near the porch had not been shot.

Dan picked them up in his scope, and when they stopped at the back of the group, he fired two shots. Both men dropped three seconds later, and Rasul’s men all dove for cover.

In the next instant, Rasul was shouting and directing from the porch. The men fanned out and entered the woods. More emerged from the barn where they had been taking cover and dashed into the woods as well.

“The shit storm has erupted,” Roland said. “Let’s go. They’ll be swarming all over this ridge.”

Dan carefully picked up his spent cartridges, pocketed his magazines, and crawled back from the edge of the rocks. Marcus and Roland followed.

“Be careful not to leave any trail to follow. They may have some experienced trackers,” Dan said.

The men made their way in a circuitous route back to the cliff and carefully climbed down to their hiding place on the ledge.

“Now we wait it out,” Dan said. He packed away his Sako and lay back, using his backpack as a pillow.

“You going to sleep?” Roland asked.

“What else is there to do?”

“Maybe we should keep watch,” Marcus said.

“I doubt it will do any good, but go ahead,” Dan said. “Put me down for the third shift.”

He closed his eyes and tried to let the tension seep out of him. There was still much to do and much he had yet to figure out.

“I think the compound’s under attack,” Clive said in a low voice. He had stood on his toes and was looking through the window. The other prisoners had stopped clamoring in confusion and had settled down to listen and try to interpret what was going on.

“Someone coming to rescue us?” Henri said.

“I doubt it. How in hell would they know where we are? Klaus said.

“Maybe a satellite survey revealed our whereabouts,” Harrington offered.

“Not likely,” Clive answered. No one knows where to send the satellites.”

“But an attack of some sort is going on,” Klaus said. “We can hear gunfire, at least from our end. Who. is the question. Maybe a rival clan, and this has nothing to do with us.”

“Let’s hope not,” Harrington said.

“In any case, there’s nothing we can do,” Clive said. He was now pacing the room. “We can’t get out, and if we did, where would we go? All we know is we’re deep in the Caucasus region, and we’ve got a sick member of our group.”

He paused for a moment.

“We can do something,” he finally said. “We should be ready to bolt. Either to strike out on our own or to go with any rescuers if we’re lucky enough to have some out there.”

“And what does that mean?” Henri asked.

“First, figure out how we move Nico. We will need to take him with us. Second, check out clothing. Our shoes are the weak link. We’re all in dress shoes. Not exactly what’s good for cross-country travel.”

Klaus gave out a short, bitter laugh. “Do we just order some from a catalog?”

Clive smiled. “I don’t have an answer, but even getting boots that don’t quite fit right might be better than dress shoes.”

“Sounds fanciful to me,” Klaus said. “I’d like to think we could be rescued. I’m betting that negotiations are going on and they’ll be successful. Our governments can’t afford to abandon us. We’ll get driven out of here, either by our captors or by the group whose camp we’re staying at.”

Rasul’s men walked the hillsides with no luck. They found no one and saw no signs of people. Yet, men were shot and killed. He called off the search with directions to resume it after dawn. Rasul sat in his office with a coffee and thought about the situation. He felt confident his men would find signs of a shooter in the daylight. He knew this was not an attack from a rival clan. None of his men were killed, only the hostage-takers. Their location has been discovered. That was the only conclusion he could come to. That means my location has been discovered. A chill ran down his spine. He shivered. He feared no one in Dagestan. Nor did he fear the mafia from Moscow or the smugglers coming in from the Caspian. These men could not reach him, safe in his territory.

But Rasul knew the stories from the Middle East of how jihadists were taken out without warning by a drone from the sky. An assassination they could never see coming. Such capabilities were to be feared. Could a large power like the U.S. know about his compound? Could they send a drone to destroy his house? It could strike him and leave the other buildings untouched. The presence of the hostages could not guarantee he would not be hit. Were they monitoring his activities all day? His comings and goings?

He began to pace back and forth. He had hosted the captives for only five days, and now they were discovered. He had to do something. He had to get in touch with Burak. Something had to be done to speed things up, or the hostages would have to be removed. Keeping them here endangered himself and his family.

Chapter 42

A fter the sun rose, Rasul sent ten of his men out again to search for signs of the attackers. After they had left, Faisal came up to the main house.

“We were attacked last night,” he said without any greeting after he was ushered into Rasul’s office.

Rasul just looked at the man. Faisal was stating the obvious, and it didn’t warrant a reply.

Faisal looked at his host briefly before adding, “What are you doing about that?”

“I have sent a search team into the forest to look for signs of the attackers. I expect to find where it came from, where attackers might be, and how many they are.”

“You were paid a lot of money to provide us with a safe place to keep our hostages while we negotiate. This is not safe. Six of my men were killed last night. The attackers are a danger to us all. Will they strike again tonight? Will we all have to stay indoors and out of sight?”

Rasul shrugged. He didn’t tell Faisal, whom he didn’t think much of, that the only men killed were the kidnappers. Whoever had attacked knew the difference and was careful not to target his men. This interesting fact was not one Rasul considered worthy of sharing with Burak’s underling.

“I can only do what I said. We will try to find out if anyone is still in the area.”

“We may come under attack again tonight. You say only that you will look for them, but I don’t hear you guarantee that there will be no attack.”

Rasul shrugged. “I cannot guarantee that. Just as I cannot guarantee that one of your men will not fall and hurt themselves, or,” and he paused for a moment, “that your sick prisoner will not die on you.” He pointed his finger at Faisal. “That will be cause for much trouble. Trouble I do not want.”

“His being sick is not our fault.”

“You are his jailor, his captor. He is your responsibility, not mine. Even though I let my medic attend to him.” He dismissed Faisal with a wave of his hand. “Go do what you do during the day. Take care of your prisoners, call your leader. Do not waste my time telling me what I know already and asking me to do the impossible. I will address this attack as I see fit.”

Later, Faisal called Burak, who had arrived in Burgas, Bulgaria, and had rented a small apartment. From there, Burak had contacted representatives of the five countries from which his captives came. Faisal described the attack on his men.

“Somehow, we have been found out,” he said in conclusion.

“Maybe. Are you sure this was not an attack on our host, and we just got caught up in it?”

“It seems that only our men were killed.”

Faisal had determined that none of Rasul’s men had been shot in last night’s attack.

“I don’t see how only our men would be killed if it was a general attack,” he said. “There was a crowd of Rasul’s men standing near his porch. Two of our men were in the group, and they were killed. Whoever is doing this can distinguish us from Rasul’s men. And he is an accomplished shooter.”

Burak said nothing. A sniper with great skill brought to mind Muntaqim’s story about the killing of some of his fighters in Iraq after a bombing in Israel and the U.S. That was also the work of a skilled shooter. He didn’t like the conclusion he was coming to, but it did no good to pretend the reality of it wasn’t there.

“We may have to move the hostages.”

“Where will we take them, sa’ēd? We have no other connections.”

“I will work on this. For now, you keep your men inside during the night. Ask Rasul to patrol at night.”

“I do not think he will agree, but I will do as you ask.” Faisal ended the call with a sour taste in his mouth. Things had gotten complicated, and he was not sure how to maneuver. He felt trapped, but he also felt relieved that he did not have to solve this problem alone.

Burak relayed Faisal’s information to Muntaqim, along with his concerns.

“Negotiations are not going very quickly. The Americans say they do not have Jabbar in their custody, even though I told them that there was no evidence that he had been killed. All the other fighters were identified, but not Jabbar.”

“And their explanation?”

“They offer none. They say that if he was a part of the attack, he might have gotten away, only to die later and not be found. They claim there is a great deal of untracked terrain in their national forests, and someone’s body might never be found.” Burak paused for a moment. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You think they are lying?”

“It is hard to tell. But I think it is unlikely that he died somewhere, and they don’t know about it. They have not talked about the other fighters we demanded to be freed, some by them, most by France and Germany. I think the Americans know that Jabbar is our prize.”

“Which means they know he is related to our benefactor.” Muntaqim was silent for a long moment. “I think we should tell them we can keep Jabbar’s release a secret. The press doesn’t know any details of our demands, only each of the countries involved. If they can keep secrets, so can we. We can help make this transfer go without embarrassment or scandal.”

“I can try sa’ēd. But what do I do about this attack? Could the Americans have found us so quickly? And if so, what will they do?”

“Be prepared to move them. You contact our host, Rasul, and discuss this with him. Faisal cannot present this demand. He will need to hear from you or me.”

With that, Muntaqim ended the call. Burak sat in the apartment and thought about his options. None of them seemed good, except for a quick conclusion to the negotiations. But if the Americans had found where they were, they might prolong the discussions.

Chapter 43

D an and his guys spent the day lounging on their rock shelf. It was only mildly uncomfortable. They spoke little and only in whispers, not wanting to give their presence away to anyone who might be standing on the cliff face above them.

“Kind of boring,” Marcus said. “We need to stay here all day?”

“Why risk exposure?” Dan said. “They must be scouring both sides of the ridge for any signs of us. I doubt they’ll spend the night looking as well if a daylight search didn’t uncover anything.”

“So we go back out at night?” Marcus asked.

Dan nodded.

“Attack again? I doubt they’ll be such easy targets tonight.”

“Probably not. They may not even patrol outside.”

“What’s the plan, then? Attack the buildings?” Marcus asked.

“I think I need to talk to Rasul,” Dan said.

“Good luck with that,” Roland whispered. “I still haven’t heard you say how you’ll get in to see him without getting killed or taking out some of his men. Then, as you so carefully point out, we go to war with the clan.”

“He works late. We learned that from our initial reconnaissance. There are probably only a few guards inside. He lives there with his family and doesn’t want a bunch of unattached men, even from his own clan, hanging around his personal space. We also know there’s not much security patrol around his house.” Dan sat up from his reclining position. “He is, after all, at his home base. He’s safe here.”

“But we just broke into his home base,” Marcus said. “I think we may have shook him up a bit.”

“I’m sure we did,” Dan replied. “That’s the point. But I’m figuring he realized it was only the kidnappers who were targeted. He’s smart enough to conclude that whoever attacked is only after the kidnappers.”

“Big assumptions there, boss,” Marcus said. “I hope you’re right.”

“Me too.”

“Alright,” Marcus said. “If we’re going to do this, do you have a plan? How do we get into the house undetected?”

“And, better, how do we get out?” Roland added.

Dan outlined his plan, and they spent the rest of the afternoon going over it in detail.

When night came, the three carefully climbed out of their hiding place and back to the top of the cliff. They wet their faces and hands and daubed themselves with the black earth from the forest. They wore watch caps and had night vision goggles attached to head harnesses. After listening for five minutes, they silently moved out and started climbing up to the ridge.

Unlike before, they avoided the rocky outcropping and stayed in the trees. They slowly descended towards the compound, stopping along the way to listen for any movement in the woods. All was silent. They moved forward. As they neared the edge, where the undergrowth grew thicker, the men moved more slowly. It was tight going, but they were thankful for the extra cover the underbrush provided.

Once at the edge of the trees, they settled down to watch and wait. The best time to try to enter the house would be very late at night, but Rasul might then have gone to bed with his wife, and Dan didn’t want to add family members to the encounter. He had to get inside and confront the clan leader before he retired for the evening.

As they watched, the lights went off inside the house as people went off to sleep. The light in the office, which Dan had earlier identified, remained lit.

“He’s working late,” Marcus whispered.

Dan nodded. “We’re in luck.”

When activities had seemed to settle down, Dan turned to the two men. “You stay here on overwatch. We’ve got our coms, so if someone comes in or lights go on inside, let me know, and I’ll double-click the coms button to confirm. If things go sideways, we’ll fight our way out.”

“No restrictions then, boss,” Roland said.

“Affirmative. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Dan slipped out from the cover of the undergrowth and ran in a crouch to the back of the house. When at the door, he took out a rake and pick from his pocket and began to work on the deadbolt lock. It took a few minutes longer in the dark, even with his NVGs on, but he got the pins all lined up and retracted the bolt.

“You in?” Marcus asked.

Dan clicked his mic twice.

After quietly closing the door, Dan stood against the wall and let his senses roam, listening to the house and its sounds, listening for anything out of the ordinary that would signal someone being alerted to his entry. He began to navigate through the room to a hallway that would take him to Rasul’s office at the west end of the building. Once in the hall, he turned to his left. To his right, the hall led to the entrance and a staircase to the upper floor that contained the bedrooms.

When he reached the office, he could see the sliver of light escaping from under the door. Dan positioned himself on the hinged side of the door and tried to relax. He couldn’t go inside as Rasul would notice his entrance, and the man would either call out an alarm or shoot at him before he could neutralize and talk to him. Waiting outside the door, where he could gain control over the man quickly and, hopefully, quietly, was his only option. Now, the wait begins. There was always the wait. Dan was long used to it, but standing on his feet, having to be absolutely quiet, made things more challenging. He also had to hope no one came to talk with Rasul this late at night.

A half-hour later, with Dan alternating his weight on each leg to keep them from going to sleep and doing isometric contractions of his core muscles, he heard a chair rasp against the floor inside the room. Dan pulled his suppressed Ruger .22 caliber pistol out of his pocket.

He readied himself for the attack. It had to be lightning fast and silent. In a moment, the door opened. Rasul stepped into the hallway. As he began to close the door behind him, Dan took one step forward, grabbed Rasul around his neck with his left arm, and pressed his pistol in his right hand to the back of the man’s head.

“Nyet zvuka,” no sound, Dan whispered in his ear. He spoke in Russian. “This is a .22 pistol with silencer. No one will hear it if I shoot. Cooperate, and I don’t shoot.”

He could feel Rasul’s body tighten.

“Nyet. You can’t move before I shoot. One shot, back of head. You are dead. I want only to talk, not kill.”

“Are you the one who shot the men?”

“We talk inside,” Dan said. “You go slowly.”

They turned almost as one body, with Dan carefully balancing himself so Rasul would have no chance to throw him off with a sudden lurch. He had already decided that if the man tried to fight or escape, he would kill him. A leaderless clan would be easier to deal with than one led on a mission of vengeance.

They stepped inside the office.

“Kneel down,” Dan said.

When Rasul had complied, Dan made him lie face down on the floor with his hands spread wide. Then, Dan frisked him, removing a 9mm pistol from his belt holster. He stepped back and gently closed the door.

“Stand.”

After Rasul had gotten up, Dan pointed to a straight-backed chair and told him to sit, after which he turned the latch on the office door, locking it. The lights were out in the room, but a soft amount filtered in through the windows from the yard light outside. It was enough.

Dan pulled up a second chair in front of Rasul, but out of reach of his legs. He held his small pistol on his leg with the barrel pointing at Rasul.

“Are you the one who killed those men?” Rasul asked his question again.

“Da.”

“How did you find them?”

“We have been tracking them. My country knows about this place. You have been discovered.” Dan leaned forward. “That is why I am here. I also want you to know that I can call down a drone strike at any moment.” He pointed to the sky with his left hand. “They are overhead now, and if I don’t report in at certain times, a strike will be called, and everyone here will die.”

“You can do this?”

“My country has many abilities to track people. We can call down death from the sky…you never hear it coming.”

Dan could see Rasul digesting this, what had to be, unsettling news.

“What do you want?” he finally asked. “You didn’t kill any of my men.”

“I want the captives, and I want their kidnappers. My country has no quarrel with you. Even though you provided a hideout. We just want what I said.”

Rasul looked at Dan. His eyes were black spots in the dim light. Dan watched the man’s face as it reflected a fleeting array of emotions, from anger to fear to calm. “What do you do now?”

“Good question.”

“Are you alone?”

“Not a good question. You do not know how many I have waiting outside. You do not know how fast the drones can strike.” Dan waved his left hand. “They are circling up there right now. There is no way for you to see them. They change in and out as they need to refuel, so you are never out of sight or danger.

“The question,” Dan said, “Is what do you do? I will tell you. You must separate your men from the kidnappers. They are the only ones we are after. Our job is to rescue the prisoners and take them away.”

“How will you do that? You have no vehicles.”

“We will use the vans they came in. You will refuel one and make it ready to depart with the keys in it.”

“How do I do that?”

Dan smiled. “You are the boss here, are you not? The clan leader? You will find a way.”

“If I am to do this, what is in it for me?”

“You and your family get to live. I’m guessing you have already been paid for your hospitality. You can go on with your life. We don’t care about you unless you cross us. You will not receive more money from me or my government.” He pressed forward again, his voice quiet but harsh. “Understand, there is death waiting for you in the sky. Once I complete my mission and have the hostages, that death departs, and you can go back to what you do. Make any mistake, and death will rain down on you and your family.”

Rasul paused, seeming to consider Dan’s words, looking for some leverage.

“What guarantees do I have you won’t call in the drones after you’ve gone? That would leave no witnesses.”

“You can have my word. There is no more guarantee than that.”

“You don’t want to shut me up? Keep this quiet?”

“I said before. We don’t care about you, and I don’t think you want to talk about this incident. It will not help your reputation. It doesn’t matter to me or my government. But if you become a problem, you must understand that we will strike back. Otherwise, we leave you alone.”

Chapter 44

D o we have an agreement?” Dan asked after a long silence.

In the long pause between them, Rasul seemed to be weighing all his options. He didn’t doubt the Americans had the technology to strike. He knew the stories of how they could kill the terrorists in the Middle East. What stunned him was how quickly they could arrange to do that here, in his home territory. They must have some help from the Georgian government, no friend of Russia.

Finally, he nodded, “Yes.”

“Good. You will have the van ready tomorrow. Keys in the ignition, a full gas tank, and enough food and water for three days. You will keep your men away from the barracks tomorrow night.” He proceeded to give Rasul more detailed instructions, some of which involved keeping his men safe from getting shot if there was a firefight. “If I determine you have alerted any of the kidnappers. I will have the drones strike your house and the barn where your men stay. They can do that. Then I will rescue the hostages without worrying about you.”

Dan stood up. “You want to live, you want your family to live, you do what I say. I have no interest in spending time killing you. I am just after the hostages and their kidnappers. I’m going to go now. The first test is if you keep this conversation quiet.”

“How did you get in?”

“I am like the jinn those jihadists believe in. I can go anywhere.” Dan smiled at Rasul. “You will wait five minutes. Look at your watch. Then you can go to bed. Tomorrow, you do what I said to do.”

With that, Dan moved to the door and opened it. He took a quick peek out into the hallway and then looked back at Rasul. The man hadn’t moved.

“Remember, I will know if you are not doing what I instructed.” He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

In a few short moments, he was back in the woods.

“How did it go?” Marcus asked. “I can’t believe you got in and out undetected.”

“The ninja sniper,” Roland said.

“As I guessed, there were no guards inside.”

Dan went on to relay the conversation.

“You think he’ll do what you said?” Marcus asked.

“Tomorrow will tell. However, I think he believed me when I told him there were drones right now watching and that I could call them to strike at a moment’s notice. The fact that we’re here, that we found him, made the difference.”

The three men watched the house. Nothing unusual went on. A light was lit upstairs, and then it went out after a few moments.

“Looks like he is following orders,” Roland said.

The men hiked back to their hideout on the shelf below the ridge. Once back there, they sprawled out, trying to relax on the hard rock platform.

“We got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow,” Marcus said. He propped his head on his partially empty backpack.

“Can we discuss tomorrow?” Roland asked. “We still have another big task to get through.”

“Yeah. Rescuing the hostages,” Dan said.

“And overcoming the kidnappers,” Roland added. “I assume we don’t worry about leaving any alive?”

“I’d like to learn who the boss was. I saw him leave and assign one of the men to be in charge. He might be able to tell me who that man is. He needs to be caught. He’s got a lot to tell me and a lot to answer for.”

“You think he’s the one who organized the train wreck?”

“I do. That diversion kept everyone off their guard and ensured we didn’t focus on the kidnapping for twelve hours.”

“Also, the diversion injured Jane and Emilie,” Marcus said.

“I’m thinking of that as well.”

Rasul lay in bed thinking. He forced himself to remain calm and not wake his wife. He was not a man used to being told what to do. Now, some American had invaded his home, his personal space, and had forced a bargain on him that left him feeling both furious and powerless. It was not a feeling he enjoyed or was used to.

After an hour, he had a plan in his head. He got up and dressed again. He woke his wife and told her to get dressed and grab their kids.

“Do not turn on the lights. I will have the car out front.”

They had to leave right away. She didn’t question her husband. He was not a man to be questioned.

Then, he slipped out of the front door. He told the guard to bring the car around to the front but not to turn on any lights. Then, he quickly walked over to the barracks where the jihadists and their captives were staying. Once inside, he called out for Faisal.

In a moment, the man came out into the front room.

“What do you want this late at night?” Faisal asked.

“There will be an attack on this building. On you and your men. The attackers are going to try to free the hostages.”

“You will help us defend against this?”

Rasul shook his head. “There is much at stake—more than you know. I must remain on the sidelines to protect my men and this compound. You are alerted. You can have your weapons, even during the day. That is all I can do.”

Faisal seemed to choke down a rising anger and, with it, harsh words. “When will this take place?”

“Tomorrow. It may be during the day, but I think it's more likely at night.”

“You won’t lend us any men?”

Again, Rasul shook his head. “The Americans have somehow found you. I have done all I can. My job was to give you a place to stay, to hide out. My job was not to go to war to defend you from an attack. One that could get this compound blown up and my men killed. Do not turn on any lights. You will alert those watching that you have been warned, and they will attack. Quietly get your men ready.”

With that, Rasul turned and left Faisal standing in the dark, wondering just what had happened.

Back on the cliff ledge, Dan talked over his developing plan with Marcus and Roland.

“We know the hostages are in the middle room. There is a small, high window in the back wall. It won’t be useful to get the prisoners out, but I can use it to talk to them.”

“You’ll go there tonight?” Marcus asked.

Dan nodded. “The guards still don’t go to the rear of the building after our attack. I can sneak up there and alert them to what will happen tomorrow.”

“Why don’t we attack tonight?” Roland asked.

“Rasul needs to get the van ready, gas, food, water.”

“We just drive out?” Roland asked. His voice expressed his incredulity at the prospect.

“That’s the plan.”

“We won’t get across the border like that,” Marcus said.

“We’ll cross that bridge later. First, we get the hostages freed and our asses out of here.”

Chapter 45

L ater that same night, Dan climbed back to the top of the cliff and made his way over the ridge to the compound. As he expected, no guards were at the back of the barracks. In his ghillie suit, he was almost invisible in the tall grass and weeds growing between the building and the forest's edge. As he studied the compound, watching for the pattern of activity. He noticed the car pulling away from the front of the house. Probably getting his family out of harm’s way. Dan considered the implications. It didn’t change his plans. He didn’t think Rasul had a death wish, and the fact that he took his threat seriously enough to move his family increased Dan’s expectation that the clan leader would remain on the sidelines.

He watched for another fifteen minutes. Patience was always called for when he was going to expose himself. Satisfied that no one was doing more than a periodic peek around the barracks every ten minutes, Dan crawled from the forest and started for the back wall of the building. It took ten minutes with a stop while one of the guards looked around the back. He saw nothing and so assumed all was fine.

After the last look, Dan reached the wall and gently tapped on the window. He waited for an answer. None came, and by his watch, another look from the guards was due, so he sank back down in the grass against the wall. After the guard looked around, Dan again stood up and tapped on the window. This time, there was a return tap.

Dan stood on his toes and pressed his face to the window. “Can you hear me?”

A muffled “yes” came back to him.

“I’ve got some men here. We’re going to free you tomorrow night. Be ready to leave, but don’t be obvious. There’ll be some shooting. When it starts, get on the floor and stay there until I open the door. I’ll call out the word, ‘Boston,’ so you know it’s me. If anyone else tries to get in, defend yourself. Don’t be passive. They’ll be trying to kill you.” He paused for a moment. “Got all of that?”

“Copy it all,” came a British voice from inside. “We’ll be ready.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Dan dropped down and crawled back to the tree line.

“What was that about?” Harrington Carter asked Clive after he sat back down.

“Some Yanks are here.” Clive was grinning as he whispered. “They’re going to attack tomorrow to free us. It will come at night. We have to be ready.”

“Ready? How?”

“First, we stay on the floor when the attack starts—stray bullets and all that. Then we wait for them to open the door. The code word is ‘Boston.’”

“Why a code word?”

Clive shook his head in the dark. A gesture Harrington couldn’t see. “Not sure about that.”

“What about Nico?” He’s still not very strong.”

“I’ll carry him if necessary. I’m guessing speed will be important, so it won’t be pretty or comfortable, but I’ll get him to whatever transportation they’re going to use.”

“We may have to just hike out of here.”

“That could be the plan. We’ll deal with whatever comes. Better than waiting around here, not knowing anything, and hoping our governments will be successful in the negotiations.”

“That part worries me as well. We have a no-negotiating position in the U.S. I know you do as well.”

“That may be a sticking point, but you’re a pretty high-value capture. It would be quite bad publicity for your government to say no and have you killed. Probably be worse than breaking their rule.”

“Then why are they coming to free us? This could put us in danger and result in our getting killed.”

“I don’t have an answer. What are you going to do? Just stay here? Say, ‘Thank you very much, but I’d like to remain a prisoner while my government makes up its mind to break its long-standing rule?’ I’m going with them.”

“Put that way, we don’t seem to have much choice.”

“That’s the fighting spirit,” Clive’s voice now carried more than a hint of sarcasm. “Whatever decisions were made that resulted in some rather intrepid individuals locating and reaching us are done. Now, we must make the best of what’s to come.”

The two lay back against the wall. Neither could relax and sleep, thinking about what was to come. None of the other hostages had woken, and both Clive and Harrington decided not to alert them until tomorrow.

After his conversation with Rasul, Faisal woke two of his men and quietly took them to a corner of the barracks. They talked in the dark. He explained what had taken place between him and Rasul. His men swore under their breaths about the clan leader’s betrayal of his duties. Faisal let them vent their anger. Being forewarned, he had a chance to have the upper hand. That was his task. The enemy would not expect him to be aware of any coming attack. He would be prepared and make short work of them. It could not be a large force, as Rasul’s men would have found evidence of their presence. It had to be only a few men. Yes, they had taken out six of his men, but he still had a dozen, counting himself. He felt a quiet confidence growing. He would be prepared and deliver a surprise to the Americans. They were a small group deep into enemy territory with no backup support.

“The attack will probably come at night. But we must be ready tomorrow and remain alert through the day.”

He talked for an hour as a plan formed in his mind. It was ruthless, as the situation called for. Faisal remembered the severity of his mentor, Burak, and how he treated those who failed to measure up. He would approve, thought Faisal. The men did not react to his plans. They were used to hard situations that sometimes called for brutal actions. These men were not novices. Faisal felt they would measure up to the demands of the pending attack. And after they successfully defeated the enemy? Faisal had an encounter with Rasul in mind. It was not lost on Faisal that the man didn’t respect him. He would show respect after Faisal’s victory, and Faisal would exact a price for not supporting him as the host should. Such a lack of hospitality, especially for another believer, was unacceptable.

Chapter 46

D an and the two ex-Delta fighters tried to relax on their rock ledge throughout the day. He didn’t expect a scouting party from Rasul, but one never knew. He preferred to stay hidden until the sun went down. After their gear was checked for the third time, everyone grew increasingly fidgety.

“Let’s get off this ledge,” Roland said. “I won’t miss it. We can reconnoiter while there’s still daylight. See if the kidnappers have changed their procedures.”

“Good idea,” Marcus said.

“Okay. But let’s be careful. Rasul may have sent out some men to try to find me…or us.”

“Roger that, boss,” Roland said. “I’m always careful.”

The men put on their armored, tactical vests and shouldered their packs. They did not plan on coming back to the ledge. Dan had to agree with Roland. While a good hiding place, it was distinctly uncomfortable. Sleeping on dirt was softer.

Once on the ridge, they fanned out and sat still, watching for any signs of patrols. The men were mic’d up with their coms.

There were no signs of any patrols as the men went over the ridge, again skirting the open rocky area, and descended towards the compound. They took their time, moving slowly and quietly. They had their ghillie suits pulled on over their other gear, their faces and hands daubed with dark earth. Each man wore his NVG on a head strap over his watch cap. They carried their suppressed M4A1 carbines with 30-round magazines. The rifles were fitted with red-dot scopes. Each man had three extra mags in his pouches, along with two extra 15-round magazines for his 9mm sidearm. In addition, they each carried two fragmentation grenades and two flash-bang grenades. They all had a tactical knife of their preference strapped to their waist. Dan’s backpack had his Sako sniper rifle strapped to it. The men would leave their packs at the forest's edge while engaging the kidnappers. Once they were successful, one of them would retrieve all three packs before they headed out.

When they reached the edge of the woods, the men assembled and watched from the thicket as the day faded into evening. Fully camouflaged, they were unable to be seen from the compound. They observed and listened with an occasional whispering among themselves.

“No special signs of preparation so far,” Roland said.

“I don’t see Rasul’s men,” Dan said. “He may be keeping them in the barn.”

They could see the kidnappers making their rounds of the building. In the daylight, they were braver, making complete rounds of the building but going along the rear at irregular intervals.

“Notice the stance of the guards,” Dan said. “Some of them seem tense. They’re carrying their AKs at a more ready position.”

“You think they’ve been alerted?” Marcus asked.

“Not sure. Some of them could just be getting more nervous as each day passes. I bet they thought this would be over in less than a week. Now that it’s taking longer. They could be getting antsy.”

“Still can’t rule out that they might have gotten a heads-up from Rasul,” Roland said.

“You might be right. He might think he could alert them, but still stay on the sidelines. That’s the most important thing…he stays out of the fight. The rest, we’ll just have to deal with.”

“Let’s assume they have some idea we’re planning an attack,” Marcus said. “They don’t know when, and they don’t know how many. Makes it hard to prepare.”

They lapsed into silence as they watched the irregular parade.

“Where’s the van we’re supposed to take?” Marcus asked after some long minutes of quiet.

“At the barn. If we can, we’ll disable the other two when we leave. I didn’t let Rasul in on that detail, but I don’t want any of his men in hot pursuit.”

They proceeded to discuss the attack plan again.

“We go in stealthily at first,” Dan said. “Take out as many as we can without making any noise.”

“Thin the herd,” Roland said.

Dan pulled out a sheet of paper on which he had drawn a rough building plan.

“You two will take out the guards on the building sides. Then we’ll go around to the front.”

“How many men do you think are left?” Marcus asked.

“We already took out six. I’m betting there are nine to twelve men left, total. They probably didn’t use more than fifteen men for the whole operation.”

“We never did get a count of how many were involved in the kidnapping,” Marcus said. “The report was unclear.”

“Chaotic event and civilian observers. You couldn’t expect them to be very accurate,” Dan said.

“Okay,” Roland said, “we take out the guards at the sides of the building. Then, a couple in front. If we do that without raising an alarm, what’s next? They’re doing guard duty in shifts, so there are still…four or six men inside?”

Roland paused to look hard at Dan.

“That’s clearing room by room. Dangerous stuff.” He pointed to the drawing. “Best we know is that you go in the front entrance. There are rooms right and left. The entrance connects to a long hall stretching both directions, with bunk rooms along it. Where are the hostages? Don’t want to kill them.”

“From what I can tell, the hostages are here.” Dan pointed to the middle of the building sketch. “About the middle room.”

“Every other room could contain hostiles? In both directions? We have to go in both directions so we don’t get hit from behind. That means we have no backup. We clear on our own.”

“Yep,” Dan answered. “When we get in, I’ll head for the hostages and get them out. You two will have to do the rest.”

“Fuck, boss,” Roland said. “This could be a major shit storm. Bullets flying everywhere, and you leading civilian hostages out the door? Good chance someone will get shot.”

“He’s got a point,” Marcus said.

“Our biggest advantage is surprise. We can remove all the sentries outside, and no one will know—”

“That’s not the problem. The problem is when we have to go in and clear,” Roland said.

“I got it. We take it room by room until we’re noticed.”

“Or use the flash bangs in each room and flush them out. Easier to kill them out in the open than checking each room.”

“Something tells me they won’t be sitting around in their rooms once we use the grenades.”

“We may get lucky, and there’s a break room, and some of them are in it,” Marcus said.

“Speed up the body count, limit the room clearing,” Roland said.

“Exactly.”

The three men talked through the rest of the afternoon, working on various scenarios. They knew their plans, with severely limited knowledge of the building, would not survive the first contact. It would have to be adjusted and improvised with limited room for mistakes. Everything had to go right, or the men could find themselves desperately fighting for their lives.

Chapter 47

F aisal was nervous. He had briefed his men about a pending assault on the building. The men were told to be extra alert as they kept watch. Rasul was adamant that he would not participate, and Faisal could see that he was holding his men apart from the barracks building, both in the barn and in the main house. He was clearly on his own. Still, he had enough men to deal with the small force he expected. A large company of men could not have remained hidden from Rasul’s clansmen when they scoured the forest after that first attack. And he had the element of the warning. Still, he remained nervous. The enemy, whoever it was, had proven quite lethal.

The sun sank lower towards the mountain ridge in the west. Faisal knew the attack would come that night. His men were reluctant to patrol the rear of the building where someone from the cover of the woods could snipe at them. They had experienced that with six of their fellow warriors dead. He had to impress on them the need for increased surveillance.

“You will patrol in the back overnight,” Faisal had told the men he had assembled as the sun dipped below the mountains and the evening began to deepen. “You will pay special attention to the tree line. That is the mistake the others made. They thought there was no threat out there. Now, we know different. If you see something, hear something, shoot. The others will come, and we will investigate. No one will be able to attack without making some noise. Be alert!”

This last was said with force, which indicated no reluctance was to be permitted.

“You are warriors for Allah. Act like it!”

Despite his admonishments, Faisal had to compromise with the men so that the four guards would circulate, with some time spent watching from each side of the building. Then, none of them would have to spend all their time at the deadliest place, the rear, where the dangerous woods were so close.

In the woods, the three men watched the patrols circulate around the building.

“They keep going around. We might be able to take them out as they come around to the rear. That makes it easier,” Marcus said.

“I count four separate guards, one for each side,” Roland said.

“We could take them out without alerting any of the ones inside,” Dan said.

“That would leave…what? Four or five inside?” Roland asked. “Makes better odds.”

“Let’s hope our count is not too far off. I don’t want to rely on that and be surprised,” Dan said.

The men ate some power bars and drank some water as they tried to relax. They would not move until the night deepened further. The later they attacked, the more likely the enemy would be fatigued.

Finally, around 2 am, Dan nudged his two companions. “Time to get ready.”

“You want Roland and me to take out the ones in the back?” Marcus asked.

“They’re coming around, one at a time,” Dan said. “Going counterclockwise. One of you take out the man at the rear, the other take out the man to the east. No one will see the body on the east side—”

“No one gets there alive, that it?” Roland asked.

“You got it. But we’ll have to move the body at the rear of the building so the guard coming around from the west doesn’t see it. “I’ll help with that. Then you wait for the next man to come, and we repeat the process.”

“Sounds simple, boss,” Roland said. “I’ll take the one at the back.”

“It always does. Let’s hope it plays out that way.”

Marcus and Roland separated, with Marcus moving east of their position before starting his crawl out of the woods. It took three revolutions of the guards for the two men to get into position. They moved during the guards’ rotation and waited, hidden in the tall grass, while the guards stopped to study the area around them before beginning to circulate again. It was a patient dance of moving when the guards moved and lying silent when they stopped.

Through his night vision goggles, Dan watched the slow, quiet progress of the two men who would bring a quick and silent death to the jihadists. In the greenish light, he could easily see the men lying in wait with the guards completely unaware of their presence.

“In position, boss,” Roland whispered as the guard in the rear began to walk to the corner of the building.

Dan double-clicked his mic in acknowledgment.

“In position,” Marcus said, and received a double-click response.

“Next rotation. Take them out,” Dan whispered—two sets of double clicks came back.

Roland tensed his body. The man he had been watching had just turned the corner to watch the east side. That would be Marcus’ target. His target came around the corner from the west side and walked part of the way across the rear of the building. He stopped to scan the tree line, probably as he had been instructed.

Roland had placed himself closer to the building. During their surveillance of the building, they noted none of the guards wanted to stray far from the wall, not wanting to go nearer the woods than necessary. When the guard stopped, he was to Roland’s right, about twelve feet away. Roland would time his attack when the man scanned to the left, away from where he lay. He would have to cover the distance before the man turned or could call out a warning. No room for error, he thought. Then he put all thoughts out of his mind. Like a predator on the hunt, his gaze never wavered. He gathered himself slowly, digging his toes in the dirt to accelerate up from prone into a full lunge forward.

When the man turned to the left, Roland sprang. He made almost no sound, but the little he made, this close to the guard, was enough to cause him to turn and look back. The man’s hesitation to bring his weapon up simultaneously, to look before responding, ensured his fate. Roland was upon him and grabbed him around the neck and mouth with his left hand while his right drove his knife deep into the man’s neck, severing his carotid artery. Muffled gurgles and choking sounds came out as Roland held the man in his iron grip. The guard’s struggle diminished, and he finally relaxed in death. Roland laid him gently on the ground and then turned to watch in case another guard came around the corner.

Marcus moved at nearly the same time on the east-side guard. While not as large and powerful as Roland, at six feet, four inches, and 220 pounds, he was more than a match for the shorter, lighter man, who was also caught by surprise. The result was the same. The man sank to the ground with only minimal sounds marking his passing.

Dan emerged from the woods and helped Roland move the body to the tree line. In the meantime, Marcus placed himself against the east wall to guard against anyone coming around from the front while Roland waited for the next rotation.

When the guard stepped around to the back from the west side, Roland sprang from where he was pressed against the wall. Again, the surprise proved lethal as Roland quickly clamped his large arm and hand over the jihadist’s face and thrust the dagger deep into his neck. He held him tightly to his body as the man squirmed. It was futile, and his efforts slowly weakened as he bled out. Dan came up and helped Roland carry the body back to the tree line.

“The last guard is on the west side now. Do you want me to go take him out?” Roland whispered. He wiped his bloodied hand across his thigh. There was blood on his face and neck.

“Let’s let him come to us. It’s darker and less open back here.”

“Copy that.”

Roland again pressed himself up against the back wall, partially shielded by a large downpipe taking rain off the roof. After ten minutes, the unsuspecting guard turned the corner. Dan was back at the tree line, ready to help if Roland needed it. Roland pounced, and again, the surprised jihadist died in his arms.

“All down,” Dan whispered in his mic to Marcus. “Come around back.”

There were two clicks in his ear, and a moment later, Marcus came around to the rear of the building.

“Now it’s going to get interesting,” Roland said.

Chapter 48

T he men were sitting around in a common area off to the right of the front door. Some were looking at their cell phones, others were trying to sleep. They were uncomfortable using what seemed like private rooms of their host’s clansmen, so they had gravitated over the days to staying in the same room. Sleeping on the floor with pads was not uncomfortable for men accustomed to the harsh living in the desert.

Faisal sat in silence. He was waiting. Rasul seemed certain they would attack this day. The day had gone by with no signs of any attack coming. Now, they were halfway through the night, and still no signs. His guards were rotating around the building in two-hour shifts. They could keep that up all night. If any of them saw anything or heard anything, they were to shoot immediately. The gunfire would alert the others, who would come to them along with his seven men inside on the off-watch. The twelve men, including himself, would be enough to overwhelm any attack. They were ready. Yet, Faisal could not shake his concerns. The first attack, from a sniper, proved effective. The attackers were unseen, undiscovered, even by Rasul’s men, who knew the surrounding territory. It indicated some very stealthy and effective fighters. Men not to be underestimated. Faisal glanced at his watch. Still four hours to go until daylight. The question remained: if the attack didn’t come tonight, could they relax? He had his doubts about that.

One of his men got up and headed for the front door. Probably to get some fresh air, thought Faisal. The combined effects of days spent sleeping and eating in the same room were making the air close. Faisal didn’t mind. It smelled of brotherhood, of security found in a tightly-knit group. He went back to his ruminations about the pending attack.

The man stepped out of the front door, took a deep breath of the clear mountain air, then promptly dug out a cigarette and lit it. Once lit, he relaxed and looked around. There was no one at the front of the building. He knew the routine: one man on each side of the building, rotating around about once every ten minutes, continuing for two hours, and trying not to get bored. This last part was not the problem this night, as Faisal had warned the men of a possible attack and told them to be on high alert.

Perplexed, he began to walk towards the west side of the building. About halfway to the corner, he stopped. He had no weapon. Something was wrong. It would be foolish to continue unarmed and alone. He turned back and quickly walked to the front door. He entered and went into the common room.

“Sa’ēd, there is no one out front. He’s missing.”

Faisal was jerked out of his reverie. Was this the attack?

“Did he go off to piss?”

The man shook his head. “I looked around. Why would he go anywhere? He was by himself. I started to go around to see if he was with one of the other men, but I thought I better come and tell you.”

Faisal nodded in approval. He could not ignore this change in the routine.

“Everyone,” he called out. “Grab your weapons. One of our guards is missing. Do not make any noise. The attack may be coming.”

The men looked up, startled momentarily, and then went into action. They grabbed their Kalashnikovs and extra magazines and quickly assembled. How would the attack come? He wondered if he should send all his men outside, but they could be shot down as they exited the door. Better a few to see what is going on.

“Five of you take up positions guarding the front door. If anyone comes in other than our men, shoot. Two of you,” Faisal pointed to two jihadists, “go out and check the building. Go together to see what has happened.”

The men looked doubtful.

“Go,” Faisal commanded. He grabbed his own AK-47. “I am going to the captive’s room. They must not escape.”

He stepped out of the room and went down the hall to where the hostages were held; a grim smile showed on his face. He had his own surprise in store for any would-be rescuers. He would make sure there was no one to rescue. The Western governments would be angry and at each other’s throats to find their precious diplomats all dead from a rescue attempt. If they were going to be so arrogant as to send men this far into strange territory and think they would not have to deal with his mentor, Burak, he would show them they had miscalculated. To Faisal, an attempt to rescue the hostages meant the Western governments were not going to release the prisoners. He would make them pay for that mistake.

“We split up?” Roland asked.

“No. We might wind up shooting one another. We’ll go around together. We’ve eliminated the guards, so we should be able to get to the front door and breach it.”

“Go in hard?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah. Smash open the door, throw a flash-bang, and go in shooting anyone you see. There are no friendlies or hostages inside except for the room in the back. I’ll go in the side door and secure the hostages, then come at any tangos from the rear.”

The men nodded and started around the side of the building. Dan stopped at the side door.

“I’ll wait for your attack before I go in,” Dan said.

The two men nodded and continued to the front. As they turned the corner, they saw the two jihadists Faisal had sent out. Without any hesitation, the two ex-Delta Force fighters opened fire. The jihadists, having reacted to the surprise too late, went down, dead before they hit the ground.

With a glance at each other, Marcus and Roland ran to the front door. Marcus yanked it open, and Roland threw in a flashbang grenade. Both men shrank back against the walls of the building and held their hands over their ears.

At the side of the building, Dan heard the shots and then the ear-splitting burst of the grenade.

“Shit.”

Things were already off-plan.  He yanked the door open.

At the front, the two ex-Delta fighters looked at one another and stepped through the door. The men loosed bursts of automatic fire, sweeping the room. It was an uneven contest with the men inside partially blinded and disoriented from the blast of the grenade. They were not able to return fire and went down with only a few shots blindly sent towards the front door.

The sound of glass shattering broke the sudden stillness after the initial bursts of shooting. Roland glanced at Marcus and turned back to the door. As he stepped outside, a shot rang out. Roland fell to the ground with a burst of profanity while getting off an automatic burst from his M4. The jihadist, one who had not been in the common room, had jumped out of the window and shot him. It was the last act of his life.

Roland’s body armor stopped the 7.62 mm round, but the impact had knocked him down. Marcus came out of the door, and, after checking the perimeter, knelt down to look at his buddy.

“You okay?”

“Fuck no. The son of a bitch shot me.” Roland’s voice croaked as he continued to wheeze and try to fully refill his lungs. “My fucking chest feels like someone hit me with a sledge hammer.”

“Or the equivalent. You’re lucky you were partially turned towards him.”

Roland studied his friend.

“It looks like it was a glancing blow. Head on…who knows what might have happened.”

“That makes me feel a shit-load better.”

“Just saying. It could have been worse.

Chapter 49

I nside the hostage’s room, they heard the first burst of automatic rounds.

“On the floor!” Clive shouted to the others. He jumped to one side of the door and waited. If someone came through without the code word, he would try to wrestle them to the ground and disarm them. Harrington flattened himself against the wall on the other side of the entrance. The door burst open, but no one stepped through.

Faisal was heading to the back room when he heard the first round of fire. Now they die. He opened the locked door to the hostages and let loose a long automatic burst of fire without aiming. He wanted to sweep the room and then go in to finish off the captives. He saw some of the bodies but could not be sure he had hit everyone.

At that moment, shots rang out from down the hall.

They’re coming in the side door! Faisal thought. Without hesitation, he sprang back across the hall to a facing door and dove through it. He peeked around the corner, and as the door opened, and fired off more shots.

Dan fell back as shots whistled past him. He pressed himself to the outside door frame made of heavy wooden beams, hoping it would stop a 7.62mm round. After the first burst, he dropped to the ground and maneuvered his carbine around the corner. More shots rang out, but they went over his head. Dan fired at the figure and heard a cry as it disappeared behind the doorway. He jumped up and ran forward, not wanting to give the enemy a chance to reset. He didn’t want a standoff in the hallway. Something had not gone right with Marcus and Roland. He had to eliminate this threat before he could go forward. Finish this, he thought as he ran down the hall.

Dan reached the door and stopped. He muffled his breath so he wouldn’t be easily heard. On the other side was someone waiting to kill him. What they didn’t know was that he was doing the same on his side of the door.

The barrel of an AK-47 poked out of the opening. Dan grabbed it with his right hand and yanked it forward, pulling Faisal out of the room. Dan left his carbine hanging in its sling and drove his left fist at Faisal’s neck while throwing his body against the jihadist. The blow missed, and both men went down in a tumble of limbs and rifles. Faisal pulled a knife out of its sheath as Dan grabbed his neck with his left hand. The knife slashed upwards, and Dan leaned away from it. The blade cut into his upper left arm. Ignoring the pain, Dan punched down hard on Faisal’s face with his right, breaking the man’s nose. Faisal drew his arm back for another thrust, but Dan grabbed his wrist with his hand, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his bicep and shoulder muscle. His right fist slammed down again on Faisal’s face and, with the third blow, knocked him unconscious.

“Clear!” Dan heard Marcus’ voice ring out from the front room.

“Clear!” Dan called out in reply.

The two men came around the corner, still on alert but not firing. They ran up to Dan, who stood, blood running down his left arm.

“You okay, boss?” Marcus asked.

Dan put his hand to the stab wound and nodded.

“He alive?” Roland asked, looking at the unconscious Faisal.

Dan nodded. “Secure him. I want to see to the hostages.” He got up and stepped to the door across the hall. “Boston!” he shouted and stepped through.

Dan could see men on the ground, bleeding, some moving, some not. Clive came up and peered past him to the hallway. “The bastard tried to kill us all. Just swept the room with automatic fire. I guess you coming in saved us.”

He turned to check the men on the ground. Harrington Carter came up and shook his hand. “Glad to see you, but this turned out to be a bit of a mess.”

Marcus came into the room while Roland stayed with their prisoner. “I’ll get the backpacks. We have some triage gear.” He ran down the hall to retrieve the packs left in the woods.

A survey of the men in the room showed that two of three of them were hit, and one was killed. Henri Legrand from the French DGSI had been shot with multiple rounds that had hit his chest. Klaus Buckholz, head of the German Department 6 of the BfV, was holding his left arm and side. Nico Morelli of the Italian AISI, the man who was recovering from pneumonia, had been hit in his right shoulder. Both Clive Randall and Harrington Carter were uninjured.

Marcus returned with the packs and pulled out some packages of hemostatic bandaging and began to work on Dan before attending to the hostages. Dan and Clive had torn away the clothing from the wound areas of both men.

“Looks like a bullet went through your arm,” Clive said to Klaus.

“I think my ribs are broken,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

He groaned as Clive turned him to discover another round hitting his side with an entrance and exit wound. A round had just penetrated his left side, below the wound in his arm.

“Probably right,” Clive said. He took out the bandage and stuffed some of it into the entry and exit wound areas, then wrapped it with another roll of gauze. “This will stop the bleeding.”

“Infection?” Klaus asked.

“Don’t worry about that now. The bullet is essentially sterile coming out of the gun. We just need to control the bleeding.”

Meanwhile, Marcus was working on Nico. The bullet had also exited his body, so he stuffed the hemostatic, clotting gauze in both wounds and then wrapped his shoulder as best he could.

“You may have some bones broken,” he advised him.

“Feels like it,” mumbled Nico.

“Don’t try to move it. It’ll hurt like hell.”

“Any medical help nearby?” Harrington asked. He had been watching the men working on the wounded hostages.

Dan shook his head. “We have to go as quickly as we can. I negotiated an accommodation with the clan leader, but we don’t want to push this too far.”

“What about the nearest city?”

“Sketchy. Let’s get out of here and then talk about it.”

“Shouldn’t we ask the man whose compound this is? He sent someone to treat Nico for his pneumonia.”

Again, Dan shook his head. “Our best bet is to get gone. He doesn’t want us here. He doesn’t want the publicity, not even with the local authorities.”

“I don’t understand,” Harrington said.

“I’ll explain later.” Dan turned away and went back out into the hall. Faisal lay there, blood all over his face from his smashed nose. He was conscious and glared at Dan.

“We taking him with us, boss?” Roland asked.

“For now. I want to talk to him, but I don’t want to spend any more time here than we have to. My agreement with our host is shaky, and I don’t want to stretch his cooperation too far.”

The wounded men got some water to drink, and both received a shot of morphine. They lay there, now more relaxed but still conscious. The two ex-Delta fighters, with help from Clive and Harrington, got the wounded men across the open ground and over to the three vans parked outside. They found the one with the keys in it and loaded the wounded in the back where they could lie down. Faisal was tied up and thrown into the rear bench seat beside Roland. Clive and Harrington were also crammed in with them.

Marcus punctured the tires on the other two vans and they drove out of the compound with Dan in the passenger seat.

Chapter 50

R asul was sitting in his office when the shooting started. He had not been able to rest that night and so had resigned himself to staying up to await whatever attack his visitor had promised. Whether or not they would be successful or whether his warning to Faisal would make a difference, in the end, meant little to him. He wanted this intrusion to go away and to return to his regular activities, running his clan and defending his territory and his smuggling contacts from rival clans. He was happy for the payout and weapons, but was now tired of how long this intrusion had dragged on. This man, Burak, had spoken as if this would be a short, simple imposition on them for a fantastic reward. That implied promise had not played out as Burak had expressed it. Not only were the hostages here too long, but the Americans had found them, which meant they had found him. This fact made Rasul very uncomfortable since he was aware of their capabilities. Now, the final part of this game had started; how it would play out was unclear. He had staked out a middle position as best he could. His men had been alerted and told to stand on the sidelines—not to interfere. They would wait to see who came out victorious.

Shortly after it began, the shooting stopped. Then, Rasul heard the van start up and drive away. The Americans overcame the Arabs. Rasul was neither elated nor distressed. He got up and had his top lieutenant go out with some of the men to survey the damage. Ten minutes later, they came back.

“The Arabs are all dead,” the lieutenant reported. “The hostages are gone.” His voice expressed wonderment. After the first attack, he had searched for the snipers and had found no sign of them. How many could there be?

“Clean up the site. Bury the bodies in the woods and remove any sign of them having been here. We must now get back to normal.”

†   †   †

Once they got to the paved roads, Marcus sped up.

“Head for our Land Cruiser,” Dan said.

Marcus pushed the van down the road as fast as he dared.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Roland asked from the second seat. “And what do we do with our friend?”

“We split up. We’ll take the Toyota, and the hostages will take the van.”

“Where do we go?” Clive asked.

Dan thought for a moment. There were no good answers. He could not escort this group, wounded as they were and carrying a dead body, through Dagestan, Chechnya, North Ossetia, and Ingushetia before they could get into Georgia, where the Western governments could directly help them. The wounded needed more immediate help.

“Let’s get to the Toyota first, then we’ll talk.

They finally arrived at the Land Cruiser. Marcus and Roland got out. Roland took Faisal to the vehicle while Marcus loaded their gear. Dan grabbed Clive and Harrington and took them aside.

“You should drive north towards Makhachkala. It’s the capital of Dagestan. I’ll show you on the map. Whatever you do, don’t stop in Nizhni. That’s the clan’s home village. When you get cell phone coverage, call your people, both of you. Let them know where you are and where you're trying to get to.”

The two men nodded, their faces grave with concern.

“You probably won’t get all the way to the capital. If you’re stopped, tell the authorities your story.”

“And what is our story?” Harrington said.

“Just what happened. Only leave out the identity of where you were held. The clan leader, Rasul, honored my bargain with him to stand aside and let us kill the kidnappers. Without that, we wouldn’t have prevailed.”

“So, you owe him?” Harrington asked. “Remember, he provided the place for us to be taken to.”

“I know. But the kidnappers would have taken you somewhere. He didn’t help them in the end.”

“Don’t forget,” Clive said, “he helped Nico.”

“Look, a shit storm will erupt when you announce yourselves whether on the road or at the capital. They won’t know what to do with you, but you should get some medical help for your two wounded people. Your people will go into action right away, contacting the Russian authorities. I’m betting the locals will be anxious to get rid of you as quickly as possible.”

“Or higher officials tie us up with some diplomatic maneuvering,” Harrington said.

“At least you’ll be safe, and the wounded will be getting care.”

“Yes, the wounded…and the dead Henri,” Harrington said. “I wonder if you did the right thing? We were all alive before your attack. We were waiting for the negotiations to be completed, and then we would have been sent home.” He paused to give Dan a penetrating look. “Just who authorized this mission? And who are you guys?”

Dan stared back at him. He was dirty, his clothes blood-stained; he knew he looked bedraggled with a week’s growth of beard and unkempt clothes.

“You aren’t cleared to know who we are,” Dan said. “We were tasked to find and rescue you, even if it cost us our lives—”

“Or the lives of the captives?” Harrington asked.

“That was always the risk. But it was also a risk that you might never have been released. The negotiations didn’t seem to be going well.” Dan pointed a finger at Harrington. “Did you ever think what might have happened if the negotiations had failed? The jihadists who took you would not have simply returned you to safety. Think about your capture. There was a lot of killing involved. They showed no mercy.” He paused for a moment. “And there was more killing that you don’t know about, just to create a diversion. You grant too much magnanimity to these people. They are a death cult and would include you in it when you were in their power.”

“I never thought this would go well,” Clive said, jumping into the exchange, “or that we shouldn't try to escape on our own.” From where I stand, you did the impossible. It’s a shame about Henri, but that could have been all of us. This guy you took with you would have gunned all of us down if you hadn’t come through that side door right at that moment.”

“But if they hadn’t come at all, he wouldn’t have shot us,” Harrington said.

“And if there were problems with the negotiations?” Clive said. “If they didn’t progress? And if this Rasul demanded they leave? What would this guy have done?”

Harrington lapsed back into silence.

“You tell us,” Clive said, turning back to Faisal, who was standing at the Land Cruiser with Roland. His voice was harsh and angry. “Tell us what you would have done if your demands weren’t met.”

“He probably doesn’t speak English,” Roland said.

“He does,” Clive answered. “Tell us. You were in charge. The Englishman put you in charge. What did he tell you to do?”

Clive repeated his question in Arabic, but Faisal kept silent.

“His boss was British?” Dan asked.

“He had a British accent, Oxford, upper class.”

“He was not an Arab? That’s strange.”

“Indeed. I find it hard to believe that an Englishman, an upper-class Englishman, would get involved in something so murderous as this.”

“We’ll talk to him about this…after you’re gone,” Dan said.

Just then, Faisal’s cell phone rang. Roland fished it out of his pocket and held it up, giving Dan a questioning look.

“I can answer it,” Clive said. “I speak a bit of Arabic.

Dan shook his head. “No, no. Better whoever is calling is left in the dark rather than know things have gone sideways.

“That’s probably his boss, the Englishman,” Marcus said.

“All the more reason to leave him in doubt about what’s going on.”

The call finally ended.

Faisal stood quietly, listening as well as he could to the conversations going on with the man in charge and the hostages. He knew the call was from Burak. Now, his leader would be worried and become cautious. He only needed to hide Burak’s identity from these infidels to protect him, even if it cost him his life.

Everyone was quiet after the phone stopped ringing. Finally, Harrington spoke up again.

“You know there’ll be repercussions,” he said. “We’ve got a dead Frenchman and a wounded Italian and German in this van. The fur will be flying, and there’ll be demands for some heads to roll. I predict whoever authorized your mission is going to regret it…as may you.”

Silence followed his outburst.

“Well, that’s some gratitude, isn’t it?” Marcus said to no one in particular.

Dan went over the map with Clive so they could find their route towards Makhachkala.

“You should drive and let Harrington tend to the wounded. Make sure all of you all agree not to divulge Rasul’s part in this. He’s the reason we were successful.”

“Along with being exceptionally deadly in your own right. I’ll get everyone on board. Don’t worry about Harrington. He’s a bit of a stickler for the primacy of negotiating over kinetic action.”

“It takes some of both to manage things in this world,” Dan said.

“Indeed.”

When the gear was loaded and the wounded made more comfortable, Clive shook hands with the three men and climbed into the van.

“Good luck,” Dan said.

“Good luck to you,” Clive answered.

“What next, boss?” Marcus asked as the van drove off.

“Next, we see what we can get out of our prisoner.”

Chapter 51

T he van with the freed hostages made it just north of Nizhni, Rasul’s hometown, before they were stopped. After a lengthy interrogation and explanation that left the authorities in confusion, the hostages were taken to a hospital and kept under armed guard. After getting permission, they called their supervisors in their home countries, and the diplomatic community exploded. Communications were initiated at the highest levels between the governments involved and Moscow.

The story that had been hammered out between a reluctant Harrington and an insistent Clive was that they did not know where they had been taken, and the compound where they had been kept came under attack. They assumed it was from a rival clan or gang. Their captors were either injured or killed in the exchange, as had happened to themselves. Despite that, they managed to escape the confusion and just drove north towards the capital when they were stopped. The wounded men corroborated the story. The Russians vowed to search for the location and bring those involved to justice, but many didn’t believe their rhetoric.

Back in Washington, DC, the president was happy that his friend, Harrington Carter, had been rescued alive and well. At the CIA, there were questions about the story the hostages gave, but no one raised them publicly. Inside the agency, though, a quiet search was begun to determine if any agents had had a hand in the rescue. Apart from the action not being approved at the highest levels, there was the uncomfortable fact of the death of Henri LeGrand, who was part of the French security agency. No one wanted responsibility for his death on their hands.

“Henry,” Roger said over the phone, “I think you should stay in Italy for a while. Things are unsettled at headquarters, and it would be better if you and your team were not around.”

“One of my team members is here, trying to recover from that train crash the terrorists caused. She won’t be coming back soon.”

“Right. How is Jane doing?”

“Good of you to ask,” Henry said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “She’s not in a coma anymore, but fades in and out of awareness. There’s slurred speech and limited memory, and it seems like some problems processing information, but she’s progressing. The doctors say it will take time, so she’ll be here for a while.”

“Well, I hope she recovers fully. I know you think highly of her, and she showed herself well during high-level briefings.” Roger paused for a moment. “I have to ask, did you have anything to do with the attack that freed the hostages? Was it really an inter-clan clash?”

Henry thought for a moment. He really had no confirmation one way or another about the attack. Dan had not yet checked in, so he hadn’t heard from him in a week. He didn’t even know if Dan and his team had found the hostages.

“I don’t think any of my agents were involved. I haven’t heard from all of them, but from my last communications, none of my team had found the hostages, other than discovering they were taken to somewhere in the Caucasus.”

“Okay. That’s a good answer. Let’s leave it at that.”

“I do have one request of you,” Henry said.

“Name it.”

“I’ve got two computer guys in the basement. Can you let them remain and shield them? They don’t make waves and are innocuous enough not to garner suspicion, but they’re still doing helpful work for me.”

“What kind of work?”

“Roger, it’s nothing out of the ordinary—just our ongoing monitoring of the internet from our particular point of view. We take an approach that the NSA doesn’t have and, as a result, find threats that they miss. Don’t worry. We’re not stepping on toes and going where we shouldn’t—somewhere that might embarrass the agency or the administration.”

Roger sighed. “Okay. Tell them to keep their heads down and not to make waves, even physically. The less anyone knows of them or where they hide out, the better. But don’t burn me. Don’t have them breaking into some system that will cause an uproar in DC. Things are unsettled enough as it is.”

“What’s the president’s position on this kidnapping?”

“He’s accepting the story. Everyone is. What is anyone going to say? That our own ambassador is lying? What would he be protecting?” Roger paused for a moment, “But those responsible for the planning are still unknown and still at large.”

“What about that English guy who’s been doing the negotiations?”

“He’s stopped communicating. There’s nothing more to say. They managed to get one high-level security man killed and two more wounded. But the main target, we think, our ambassador, escaped unscathed, and we didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of handing over Jabbar. Speaking of whom, I’ll want a complete update on him after things settle down.”

“Will do. In the meantime, it would be nice to find this Englishman,” Henry said.

“See what you can do,” Roger said as he ended the call.

Henry called Warren as soon as Roger hung up.

“Warren, get a voice imprint of the kidnapper’s negotiator. He called to talk about the ransom demands. He’s got an English accent. Then I want you to scour the internet and see if you can find a match somewhere.”

“That’s more than a needle in a haystack search.”

“Maybe, but you have to lay low for a while. That order came from higher up. So, you and Fred stay in the basement and search. We need to find who this guy is and then where he is.”

“Then you send Dan after him?”

Warren was always fascinated with Dan. The man scared him at first, and still could. He lived in a violent world. Warren, as well as Fred, could only imagine his life from the snippets of information they received. He was the team’s heat-seeking missile. Get a lock on the target and turn him loose.

“I haven’t heard back from Dan. Just find this guy and let me know.”

With that, Henry ended the call. He went upstairs to the room they had set up for Jane in Dan’s home in Marghera, just outside Venice.

Chapter 52

F aisal stayed strong to the end, giving up only that Burak was originally from Turkey, before they dispatched him. Dan and his two Delta Force soldiers did not lament his passing.

“Say what you will, he was a tough guy,” Roland remarked as they set out on their return journey.

“Tough, but on the wrong side,” Dan replied. “He had a simplistic view that the whole of the West was bad and needed to be wiped out or subjugated.”

“A man with no subtleties,” Marcus said.

“His boss, this Burak guy, is more complex,” Dan said.

“And harder to find,” Marcus replied. “You still going after him?”

“Him…and the others, if I can find them.”

After getting into Georgia, the three men drove the Toyota to the safe house north of Tbilisi, where Dan called their contact. He met them and arranged passage for the three men and their vehicle on the ferry from Batumi, Georgia, to Burgas, Bulgaria. From there, the two ex-Delta operators flew home via Frankfurt, Germany, while Dan drove like a man possessed to his home outside of Venice. He arrived two days later, exhausted and dirty, with the strain of the past ten days showing clearly on his face and body.

Henry looked up from his chair in the sitting room of the mansion in Marghera when Dan walked in. “It’s you!” He jumped up from the chair and went to greet Dan. “My God, you look a mess!”

“Happy to see you too.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just shocked to see you. The world has heard of the release of the hostages. I was informed you were headed back here, but didn’t expect you for a couple more days.”

“I was in a hurry.”

Dan dropped his gear, went into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water. He drank it down and let out a long sigh.

“How’s Jane?”

“She’s upstairs. We set up one of the extra bedrooms with a hospital bed. She’s aware of everyone but has difficulty with speech and memory.”

Dan nodded. “Emilie?”

“She’s fine. Ferociously protective of Jane. She reads and talks to her every day…as do I. It seems to help.”

“Is she going to school?”

“We’ve arranged online courses. We explained that her guardian was injured and couldn’t fly, so she was stuck here. I don’t think she’ll fall behind, but what do I know? I haven’t done direct parenting for some time.”

“I want to see Jane.”

“You should. But can I offer a suggestion?” Henry said. “Maybe shower and change clothes? You won’t look so shocking to her then.”

At that moment, a diminutive figure came limping through the entrance to the kitchen.

“Uncle Dan!”

Emilie hurried over to Dan as quickly as she could. Her arm was still in an awkward cast. Dan knelt and gingerly put his arms around the girl as she tried to hug him with her one good arm.

“You’re back! I’ve missed you so much! Aunt Jane misses you, too. She has trouble speaking, but she’s getting better. She said she’s worried about you going after those men.”

Dan set her down, and Emilie looked up at him with her large, grave eyes, which gave her a presence beyond her twelve years of age.

“Did you get them? The bad men?”

Dan nodded. “I did. The ones who kidnapped those people.”

She studied him for a moment and then flashed a smile. “Good. You have to come and see Aunt Jane.”

“Henry says I should shower and clean up a bit first.”

“Don’t worry. Jane will be so happy that you’re back.”

She grabbed him by the hand and started for the staircase in the main hallway.

Upstairs, Dan entered the bedroom with a cautious step. He felt some trepidation at what he would see. Would this woman, who had won his heart over all obstacles, who had managed to combine the roles of boss, companion, and lover with him so successfully, be the same woman? Would she be a shell of her former self?

She was sitting up in bed. Her head, which had been shaved in the hospital, showed a short, almost crew-cut re-growth of hair. There was a stand beside her bed for IVs, but none in her arm. She looked over as Dan came into the room. He could see a light go on in her eyes. A smile slowly crept across her face.

“Daniel.” Her voice came out soft and slightly muffled. She had never called him ‘Daniel’ before. “You’re back.”

She raised her arms slowly towards him, inviting him to her. He came over to the bed, gingerly put his arms around her, and leaned in close, not wanting to put any weight on her.

“I won’t break,” she said. “Hold me. I’ve done nothing but worry about you. They told me you had gone off to rescue the hostages.”

Her speech was slow and slightly slurred.

“He rescued them,” Emilie said. She had walked over to the other side of the bed.

Jane turned to the girl and smiled, then turned back to Dan. “I knew he would, but I could only worry. I’m stuck in bed.”

She reached up to touch Dan’s full beard. “You look like you had a hard time. I’m so glad you’re back.” She dropped her hand, and her smile faded. “But me, I’m not what I was. I have trouble walking…Henry and Emilie help me.” She paused as if gathering her thoughts. “I’m not the same woman you left.”

“Jane. You’re the woman I hurried back to. I drove day and night. I couldn’t wait.”

Jane looked up at him, and a hint of her smile returned.

“I love you,” Dan said. “That doesn’t change, even if your physical condition changes. You have me. You have Emilie and even Henry. We’ve become family, as weird as that seems.”

Her smile broadened. “Now that you’re back, I’m feeling better already.” She touched his face again with her hand. “I’m going to become the woman you remember again. I promise.”

“I’ll help you, but remember, you are still the woman I love. That will never change.”

Henry led Emilie out of the room while Dan and Jane held each other, whispering together.

“Let’s give them some time alone,” he said.

“So they can say mushy things to each other?”

“Yeah. Grown-ups do that, especially when they haven’t seen one another for some time. You’ll have the whole evening with Dan.”

Chapter 53

L ater that evening, after cleaning himself up and spending more time with Jane, he sat with Henry in the living room. They had finished a large meal, the first good one Dan had eaten since departing. He poured himself and Henry tumblers of the best bourbon he had at the mansion.

“Here’s to a successful mission,” Henry said, raising his glass.

He went on to recount the story the hostages had given to their superiors when they contacted them. It was now the official story that the press carried.

“I wonder if Moscow will investigate this much further,” Henry said.

“Who knows? What I do know is that if they do, they will uncover the truth—”

“That it was your team that freed the hostages,” Henry said.

Dan nodded. “And they won’t want that information to be public. It makes them look bad.”

“Even if that gives them leverage against the U.S.?”

“Even if that. The President can’t be seen as someone who can’t control his borders. He’s got enough trouble with the Ukrainian war. But what about the agency? Will there be a witch hunt?”

Henry frowned at his glass. “Not sure, but I don’t think so.”

“Carter was not really on board with the deception we set up. He had too much faith in the negotiations and feels that Henri’s death was on us.”

Henry looked over at Dan with some concern.

“Clive Randall was all in for the story,” Dan continued. “He’s MI-5. He got everyone to go along…at least for the moment.”

“And it’s the official story now. It’ll be hard to change it.”

“I can imagine Carter telling his buddy, the president, the real story. It may not become public, but could result in some quiet searching for those involved.”

“Roger already told me to stay here for a while under the guise of helping Jane recover.”

“Good advice.”

“What about you?” Henry asked. “Is the mission over? You killed all those responsible.”

Dan shook his head. “Not all. I still need to find the ones who attacked the train and their boss.”

“The Englishman. I’ve got Warren looking into that. But it could be a long, futile search.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Dan’s voice had turned hard. His body tensed. He stared at the floor. “As long as it takes. I’ll send them all on their way to whatever awaits them in the afterlife.”

“What about Jane? She needs you now.”

“I’ll devote all my time to Jane while I’m here. But when Warren and Fred find something, I’ll act on it.”

“I can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later, I’ve got to go back. If for no other reason than to run interference for the rest of the team if there’s going to be some investigation going on.”

“The master of misdirection.” Dan raised his glass to Henry.

“Here’s to Jane recovering,” Henry said, raising his glass.

“And to making the rest of those responsible pay.”

†   †   †

Dan was sitting at a table set back from the window. He was in a rented apartment in Borj El Chemali, a suburb of the coastal city of Tyre in Lebanon. He dressed as a native of the area. His full beard and dark, sunburned skin allowed him to blend in. His Arabic held an Iraqi accent, which only added to his cover. The Mosul area dialect would render him ambiguous regarding his association with either the Shiites or the Sunnis. It would not survive any detailed examination, but it allowed him to navigate through the general population. His Syrian passport might cause some questions with those identifying his accent, but it enabled him to be different, though not suspicious. Syrians were considered important in their relationships with Lebanon.

On the table was his favorite rifle, the Sako TRG. This time, Dan brought the model T3x TACT, a lighter-weight sniper rifle that was more compact and more easily hidden when broken down. It was outfitted with the same Shure Fire SOCOM RC3 suppressor he had used previously. He sat at a table with the rifle supported from a bipod, alternately looking through his scope for a close-up and looking over the barrel for a wider-angle view.

His focus was on an outdoor restaurant seating area 300 yards down the street, where the two men who had participated in the train attack met regularly. Their internet communications had betrayed them. Fred and Warren had spent long hours sifting through messages using some of Warren’s algorithms to sort the massive amount of data.

Sometimes, the men met to talk between the two of them; sometimes, they seemed to hold court with a small but intense audience. It didn’t matter to Dan. He had staked out this position and confirmed that the men met here regularly, which was a big mistake for anyone wanting to remain anonymous and hide the fact that they were involved in the attack. He imagined that their ultimate boss, Muntaqim, would not like them being so complacent, but the man probably had little time to focus on the lowest-level jihadists, and they felt safe in their home environment. You think you’re safe, surrounded by members of your own group. Well, retribution has come even in your hometown.

Dan’s car, an old, beat-up Nissan sedan, was packed and fueled. It was parked behind the apartment building where he had rented a unit. He was ready to go. Today was the day of reckoning.

One of the men arrived and sat down. The waiter brought him a pot of tea and set it on the table. A couple of other locals, not involved in the attack, stopped to say something to him. Another man came up and sat down. Finally, the second man involved showed up. The two embraced and sat down. Three other men sat near in chairs so they could be part of the conversation that would take place. Dan reckoned it would be another recounting of how clever they had been and how many casualties they had inflicted on the stupid Westerners right under their noses. They would bask in the glory and their seeming untouchability in their home country, a place that was mostly off-limits to Western operatives.

The subsonic round would drop six inches at 300 yards and take half a second to reach the target. It was enough time to reset and fire the second round, but Dan would have to adjust for the man’s reaction to his first shot. He settled in and let his heart rate slow, his breathing quiet. It was a familiar routine. That invisible thread that connected his rifle to the target seemed to form, assuring him of his kill. Nothing intruded on his concentration—predator and prey. The connection that spelled death for the one on the other end of it.

When his heart rate and breathing had slowed, he gently closed his finger on the trigger in between heartbeats and breaths. It was not a pull, which would take his rifle off target, but a squeeze. The gun gave a muffled bark that could not be heard on the noisy street below. Before the round hit, Dan moved his rifle slightly and settled on the second target. Without a wait, he squeezed, and the second round flew downrange.

The first man’s head exploded with blood and brains spewing out behind him, splattering on other patrons. His body slumped back and fell to the ground. The others stared in disbelief. His fellow attacker reacted first, starting to jump up and duck for cover. As expected, the round destined for his head slammed into his chest as he was now almost upright. His body spun back and twisted to the ground, bouncing off the table behind him. Screams and shouts erupted at the restaurant and on the street.

Dan stood up and, after collecting his two spent cartridges, dismantled his rifle and packed it away. He turned and left the apartment. Everyone in the building would be looking out at the street. Dan descended the stairs, climbed into the Nissan, and drove away.

Chapter 54

A month later, Dan was hunting his next target in Turkey. This time, he wasn’t able to rent a convenient apartment. Warren’s intel gave him an address that was in a suburb with row houses mixed with individual units—no apartments. Dan spent time driving the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the jihadist, not wanting to risk exposure with a stakeout. The man had a job working in a shoe factory. He spent little time socializing, creating few opportunities to encounter him on the street or at a restaurant. After watching for three days, which neared Dan’s limit for staying, he determined that he would have to strike him at home. The man lived with his parents and, as far as Dan could tell, one sister.

Getting into the house would be no problem; finding the man without waking the other family members was much more difficult. He would have to search the house without a map or diagram. He had night vision goggles, which gave him some advantage. It would have to do.

He watched from his car, now parked along the street, away from the streetlight. It was after midnight, two hours after the lights went off in the house. Dan exited the car and quietly closed the door. He wore dark clothes and a watch cap. Night vision goggles were in the pocket of his jacket. He would put them on with a harness attached to his head when he got to the house. Now, he walked casually but quietly down the street, his senses alert to any unusual sounds that would signal someone noticing him.

Thankfully, no one kept dogs in the neighborhood—the Muslim disdain for the animal remained strong in modern Turkey. When he reached the house, he stopped to tie his shoelace, using the action to give his surroundings a last look. Satisfied, he opened the gate and headed towards the back of the house.

Once at the back door, Dan put on his NVGs and took out his lock-picking tools. He carefully worked on the lock, and once he heard the tumblers click into place, he turned the handle. The door released, and Dan stepped silently inside.

He pressed the door closed behind him and stood still, now sensing the house and its sounds. There was nothing. The limited light from the street, amplified by his goggles, gave him enough vision to navigate. At least I won’t stumble into a table or knock over a lamp.

Satisfied that everyone was asleep, Dan stepped forward. He was armed with his suppressed .22-caliber assassin's pistol. It was quiet and could barely be heard outside of a room. He also had his tactical knife, which was even quieter. He entered the kitchen area. The hallway was ahead. Dan hoped he would find a staircase as he assumed the bedrooms were on the second floor. His target had no wife, so Dan expected to locate him alone in one of the bedrooms.

He stepped along the side of the steps where they tied into the wall to avoid any creaks. Still, there were a few along the way. With each sound the floor made, Dan froze and listened. He had no desire to involve any of the other family members. A general alarm by them, however, would change that calculus and not to their benefit.

Once at the top, the hallway went in both directions. He could see what was probably a bathroom at the end of the left hall. On that side, there was only one door. Probably the parents’ bedroom…closest to the bathroom. To his right, there were two doors. Fifty-fifty chance of getting it correct.

He padded down the hall with its bare wood floor. At the first door, he paused and put his ear to the wood. No sound came from within. He moved to the second door. Here, there were sounds of heavy breathing with some snoring coming from the inside. Maybe this one. Dan would need to identify the target before acting. That created a possible moment for an alarm to be raised. A panicked shout would be all it took. Even if he dispatched his target, he might still have to cause more injury or death to escape.

He slowly turned the knob. When it was fully turned, he put his arm to the door and began to push ever so slowly. A creak now would certainly waken anyone with some training. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t complain, and the door didn’t stick. It opened with only a soft swish. Dan slipped in and quietly closed it behind him, careful not to latch it.

He stood still, looking carefully at the body in the bed. It was the right size, but the person’s face was turned away from him. Dan started around to the other side of the bed to get a better look. He bent down, but not too close. There was only a slight amount of light coming through the window, so his view was not as straightforward as he would have liked. Still, a moment’s study confirmed. This was the man he had been watching. This was the man who had helped injure both loves of his life. This was the man who may have taken away Jane as a fully functioning human being.

The knife slipped from its sheath. It had a six-inch blade and was razor sharp. Dan leaned forward without putting any weight on the bed. Just then, the man opened his eyes. Maybe it was his training, a sixth sense of someone close, another body, another being. He stared at Dan, now hovering over him in shock and disbelief, looking into the mechanical eyes of the night vision goggles. It was his undoing. As he began to cry out, Dan dropped on him with his left hand pressed against his mouth, his body pinning the man to the bed. Only a small, startled gasp escaped the man’s mouth. He began to thrash as he tried to pull his arms out of the covers. Before he could get them free, Dan plunged the knife into the side of his neck and pulled it forward.

He cut the carotid artery and then half of the throat. There was more squirming and thrashing, along with muffled gurgling. The dark stain of blood spread across the sheets. Dan kept his weight pressed down on the man. He could feel the thrashing diminishing as his life seeped out of him. In less than a minute, the body went limp. Dan rose from the bed and wiped his knife clean on the sheets.

“That was for Jane and Emilie.”

His whisper was barely audible in the room. He sheathed his knife and turned to the door. Pulling it open, he listened. There was no sound coming from the other rooms. The occupants would sleep away the rest of the night and, in the morning, find their son, the jihadist, had paid the price for his path in life. They would shed tears, wail, moan, and wonder what had caused this tragedy. Would they ever connect it to the murders their son had been complicit in? It didn’t matter in the end. Another dirtbag terrorist was gone from the earth, and hopefully, a message was sent to the others. Retribution is coming. It will find you.

Chapter 55

T he next target was more elusive. He was finally tracked to Syria. Warren had come across some texts about the train attack that contained information only someone involved would know. From that slight lead, Warren was like a bloodhound, relentlessly tracking the emails until he had uncovered a location in the city of Homs. It contained nearly 1.5 million people. Warren had only been able to pinpoint a section of the city from where texts and emails had been sent. He still had yet to get a visual identity of the person. Despite these shortfalls, Dan had headed out anyway. He had his Syrian passport. Homs was a large enough city for him to remain anonymous. He would stay in-country and in the city until Warren had drilled down to give him a name and, hopefully, a face.

The city was still marred by the recent civil war, with large sections in rubble from the bombing. These sections were contrasted with the untouched areas, which showed a business-as-usual vibrancy. Dan found a hotel in one of the relatively untouched areas and rented a room. He paid for a week in advance. From there, he communicated with Warren over an encrypted phone, getting updates from Warren’s search.

The break came three days later. Warren had found an internet hotspot café where the target had sent out a string of emails. He was using the café as his place to send and receive information, probably in hopes of disguising his home. It was enough for Dan.

He located the café and proceeded to recon the area regularly. His updates from Warren were not quite real-time, so he had to keep cruising the area on foot to try to identify his target.

“Warren, I need you to monitor these email transmissions and give me info quickly enough so I can put eyes on who’s sending them.”

“This is an internet café; won’t there be a lot of people on their computers? Even if you’re watching when I update you, you’ll still have multiple people to sort through.”

“We’ll sift the data,” Dan said. “You tell me when it’s happening. I photograph the people on their computers. We do this another day. Any people not showing up the second time, we can eliminate. Pretty soon, we’ll have it down to one person.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t take too many rounds and that your target keeps coming back.”

“That’ll be my worry. You just get me the updates fast enough so I can take the pictures.”

Sure enough, after three more days of surveillance, Dan had eliminated all the senders in the initial photo except for one man. He now had a face. Unfortunately, he had been accosted by a member of the Public Security Police. They were the primary force in Syria, performing routine police functions throughout the towns and cities. They were also closely linked to other forces that focused on internal security. With the country’s fragile stability due to recent conflicts, they were on high alert. The questions started out casual and then became more pointed.

Dan had been noticed loitering around the café over the course of some days. What was he doing? Why was he here? What was his business in Syria in general? The local police would not find any problem with Dan’s documents, but he had less faith in them holding up to greater scrutiny from the security arm of the government.

Dan said he was looking for a man who would introduce him to some businessmen with whom he could negotiate contracts for buying and selling goods for his employer. His documents included a business card indicating he was a sales agent for a company dealing in truck parts.

“And you don’t have an appointment with this man? Tell me his name,” the policeman asked.

“No. I only know he frequents this café. I am trying to be here when he comes. Then I can introduce myself and try to begin a relationship.”

“Is this a normal way you do business?”

The officer’s questions indicated a sharp mind. The truth was that not many people would spend time on a business trip to another country, especially to as unsettled a place as Syria, without a solid meeting arranged.

“No, it’s not normal, but we are desperate to get involved in helping Syria recover. Repair parts for trucks will be necessary. We had no luck reaching out to the more established importers. We are a small company, so we are trying a different approach. If we can make this connection, if I can impress this contact that we can be a good partner, then we will have an opportunity to prove our worth.” Dan paused for effect. “It could change the path of our company to get this man’s approval and help.”

“What is the name of this influential man?”

Dan gave the officer a name that had been agreed on. It would take some time to discover that the name didn’t exist.

“He is very reclusive. He doesn’t operate under any business. He is his own business—a go-between, a connector.”

The officer was finally satisfied and departed. Dan’s time was now severely limited. He had to act right away.

His target usually stayed for an hour. Then, the man walked off down a side street—the same one in the same direction. Dan turned and left the area. He walked in a long loop that would lead him back to the side street where he could intercept his target while checking for any tails along the way. Once on the side street, Dan entered an alley. It was narrow and dark, just what he needed. He ducked into it and found a pile of rubble to hide behind. He had been timing his target’s visit, and when he reached an hour, Dan stood and moved to the corner of the alley and street. He could not stay here too long without being detected. It was evening, which helped, but not yet fully dark, so anyone walking past would notice him. If nothing else, they would be afraid that he might be lurking there to do them harm. That could trigger a call to the police, as there were criminals still taking advantage of the recent disruption in civil order.

Dan didn’t have to wait long. His target was a man with very established habits, not a good thing for a jihadist who might have serious enemies. But, as with the other two he had dispatched in Lebanon, this one felt secure in his home country and town.

Dan watched from his place behind the rubble. The man came walking by with his cell phone to his ear. Dan quickly stepped onto the street. There, he quietly began to walk in the same direction. He took out his phone but didn’t make a call. If the man looked back, he would see another pedestrian, a local by his outfit, talking on a phone. He would not see a predator. Maintaining his deception, Dan closed the distance between them. He had his tactical knife under his jacket within easy reach of his right hand. His left hand held his phone.

As the distance closed between them, the man turned his head to look over his shoulder. Dan spoke into the phone in Arabic. “I will see you tomorrow at the café for coffee. Sleep well, my friend.”

He put his phone away and smiled at the target as he started to walk past him.

“Masa' alkhayr,” good evening, he said.

The target responded in kind, although without a smile.

As Dan pulled his hand out of his pocket, he thrust himself against the jihadist and, at the same time, wrapped his arm around the man’s neck with his hand covering his face. He stiffened and tried to turn into Dan, but at that moment, Dan drove his knife into the man’s neck. Blood spurted out from the wound like from a pump as the carotid artery was cut open. Dan leaned back, holding the man tight but trying to avoid getting fully splattered by blood. The man twisted and struggled to no avail, with his muffled cries growing fainter. Finally, his body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground. Dan immediately pulled him to the side of the street and laid him against a wall.

A light went on in an upper window of a building along the street. Dan could see a figure trying to look out, seeming to be alerted by the scuffling that had occurred. Dan turned without hesitation and quickly walked out of visual range of the window. He sprinted to the intersection, where he resumed a more casual pace, crossing the larger street and then making his way to the back of his hotel, where his car was parked. He got in and drove in a roundabout pattern, heading out of the city.

Once clear of the city, Dan stopped and changed his blood-stained clothes for clean ones. He drove through the night towards the Turkish border. He would drive through the country, now with a different passport that identified him as a parts salesman from Jordan, which had a close and cooperative relationship with Turkey. His Iraqi accent would be noticeable but not suspicious. He could easily pass himself off as a refugee from the Iraq War with the U.S. fought over twenty years ago.

Chapter 56

I n the two months since Dan had freed the captives, he had dispatched four of the six jihadists who had been identified as taking part in the train attack. The world had settled down somewhat, and the kidnappings had lost the attention of the press. The search still went on at the CIA for anyone who had been involved in the rescue. Harrington Carter had told his friend and president, Charles Rosser, the true story. This was never revealed to the public, as the questions it would trigger would be uncomfortable. Better to blame it all on an inter-clan conflict and the courageous actions of the U.S. ambassador to France, along with his friend from the British internal security agency.

Henry had gone back to the U.S. and was effectively diverting the search for any covert agents with the help of Roger Abrams, his boss. Garrett Easton, the DDO, knew Roger was hiding something, but since things had settled down, he didn’t press the issue. Roger was put on notice, however, that in the future, no independent activities would be allowed without his approval in high-profile situations. Apparently, killing jihadist dirtbags was fine as long as it wasn’t intruding on other security groups’ turf, such as the FBI, Interpol, or any number of foreign intelligence services.

“With this new directive,” Roger told Henry, “we can’t strike back. Every time there’s a terrorist attack, there’ll be other agencies involved. It’s like we can’t do half the work we’re supposed to do.”

“I get it. However, my group is designed to be proactive. This kidnapping was more reactive.”

“I know. Usually, you’re on top of things, but this time. They pulled off quite a shitstorm without anyone knowing about it.”

Henry thought about the old gypsy woman, Palmira. Maybe she and the others whom she claimed existed were a key part of Dan and Jane’s early detection system. He remained less than fully convinced, but if they felt these people helped, it was not up to him to dissent. His method had been to give them as much tactical freedom as possible. That directive still held as long as Roger helped cover for him.

“We’ll be doing even more intensive monitoring,” he said, through our own channels to get back in front of threats. This was an anomaly. I’ll try to keep it at that.”

“Your two tech guys I kept hidden in the basement.”

“Yep. Now that I’m back, I’ll be working them hard.”

“See that you do. We know threats exist, and new threats are being planned. What we don’t want is to be caught out again.”

“I’m on it, Roger. You just protect my back. I’ll continue to do what I set out to do, what you allowed me to do: take the fight to the bad guys before they take it to us.”

†   †   †

Back in the Venice area, Dan settled in with Jane, turning his focus completely on her, except for a small whirlwind of energy named Emilie. Her arm was healing at a rapid pace. Dan had found a school for expats that he enrolled her in. She refused to go back to the States, even though she had great affection for Henry. She insisted that she stay with Dan and help him tend to Jane.

Dan was sitting in a café in Marghera, a suburb of Venice. He was there for a meeting with Marco Favero, a local hustler whom Dan had hired years ago to watch his house when he was away. Marco had figured out that Dan was not a businessman selling security to various European businesses. Victor James, the name Marco knew him by, was something much more, but what, he didn’t know. Dan left it at that. Marco could draw his own conclusions, but Dan would not certify any of them.

“You are asking me to be a babysitter?” Marco said after Dan explained the additional work he wanted him to do. They spoke in Italian, which Dan was fluent in, with an occasional switch to English, which Marco was working on.

“You can call it that. Better to think of it as being a bodyguard for someone very important to me. Someone who must never be threatened or harmed.” He emphasized the word never.

Marco studied Dan. He was a savvy man who made a good living hustling tourists. Dan had discouraged him from getting into the more obviously illicit activities, such as running a pickpocket gang or a string of prostitutes. Such actions would only lead to closer police scrutiny and possible notice by the more organized and connected gangsters. Either way, the attention would not be healthy for Marco and not at all helpful for Dan. He paid Marco enough to keep him dissuaded. That, and Marco had enhanced and improved his tourist services, providing extra spicy tours for the more adventurous travelers, especially the Germans, who loved coming to such an exotic location as Venice.

“You’re becoming quite the entrepreneur,” Dan said. “I trust you can take this extra task on. You know I’ll pay you well.”

“My concern is that if anything happens to this girl, my head will be, how you say it? On the chopping block.”

Dan smiled. He knew it would not make Marco feel any easier, just as he knew Marco was correct. Taking on the responsibility for someone so close to Dan, which Marco had figured out early on, was a dangerous calling.

“I come to you because you’ve proven to be smart, resourceful, and, with my occasional guidance, show good judgment. That’s why I’m calling on you. And, yes, the girl is precious to me. That is why I turn to you.”

Marco smiled. “You flatter me, but the hard truth still is. I know you are more than a security expert and salesman. I think I have figured it out. You don’t confirm, but how you live, how you carry yourself, tells me I’m right. If I am, you are a more dangerous man than I first understood when we met. Watching your house, your things, bringing you any information about any activities out of the ordinary, those things are not personal. Being responsible for someone dear to your heart, that is a whole different proposition.”

Dan held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “Marco. I am at your mercy. I thought you were my friend. I pay you well. I give you good advice. You have prospered, and our relationship has grown. Think of this as another step in that progression. Who knows?” Dan winked at the young man, “You might become a closer part of my team.”

Marco smiled back. “And what team might that be?”

“All in due time. For now, take on this responsibility. There are no threats. I just want to make sure that Emilie is protected if one emerges without our knowing. You know most of the kids who go to that international school have drivers who double as bodyguards.”

“So you do have a team?”

Dan only smiled.

Marco stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he sighed. “I will do this. But only because you say there are no threats. I am trusting that if you thought there were, you would not even put the girl in this position.”

“You are correct in that assumption.”

“And I do want to know more about your team. Maybe we can consider this a step forward in our relationship and my career.”

“As a hustler of innocent tourists?” Dan asked with a smile.

“They are not so innocent tourists. But no, as a new direction.”

Chapter 57

D an was back in a familiar environment, although not one he really enjoyed. He lay in the sand and dust of Iraq, south of Baghdad, at the edge of the largely uninhabited desert near Lake Al-Razaza. He was in a shallow depression rimmed with various rocks that would effectively disguise his head as he peered over the edge at his target.

Warren and Fred had steadily uncovered internet traffic about the train wreck associated with the kidnapping. Their patience and continued searching had paid off, as some of the ones responsible had let their guard down and engaged in bragging and garnering some amount of praise.

Three of these senders were bragging about how well it went and hinting at their involvement. Their posts attracted a small group who gave them accolades and seemed to enjoy basking in the reflected glory of such a successful operation. The traffic had been coming from a coffee shop in a small shopping mall located in the village of Karbala. This village was near the edge of a largely uninhabited desert. From the coffee house, Dan had tracked the men to this farmhouse compound that presided over some irrigated fields fed from the nearby lake. He was waiting for the men to collect as they often did after spending time in Karbala. Dan imagined they were now local celebrities and enjoying their moment of fame. Their ultimate boss, who Dan assumed was the elusive Muntaqim, would disapprove but probably had not yet heard of the group’s indiscretion. Dan had, however, and that was not going to be a good thing for them.

He waited patiently; the men would collect, and he would strike. If not today, then another day. He was hiding out, and as long as he remained undetected, he was not under any short time limit. He had brought food and water for two weeks, although staying that long stretched the limits of his ability to remain anonymous. Sooner or later, someone could stumble over his presence, and that would cause problems.

These were the last three of the ones identified. Whether or not they had heard of the fates of the others, Dan could not know. He suspected that they had little contact with the other members of the attack team. They were from different areas and backgrounds, sharing only their jihadist sympathies and the fact that they worked for the elusive Muntaqim, who Dan assumed was the original mastermind of the operation. In the end, it didn’t matter. If they were foolish enough to get together, Dan would ensure their trip to whatever paradise awaited them.

He gave a smile of satisfaction as a pickup truck approached, and two of the identified jihadists emerged to join the one already inside the farmhouse. Soon, two more trucks arrived with five other men.

Having a party tonight? Gonna have to crash it.

There was a total of eight men inside the house. It would be almost impossible to differentiate between them in the heat of an attack. Dan paused for only a moment. None inside were innocent. Three were directly involved; the rest were either part of the loose jihadist group, not assigned to the train attack, or supporters of those who carried out such attacks. In effect, not innocents. Be careful who you associate with. Dan’s mother’s words floated back into his thoughts. It certainly applied here.

The farmhouse was 250 yards from Dan’s position. An easy distance for shooting, even at night, with his night scope. But with night coming, he could easily miss some of the men as they would scatter after the first shots. The work would have to be done at close range.

Night descended, and the stars were like diamonds in the clear desert sky. The moon had not yet risen to alleviate some of the darkness. Dan crept out of his hide and started for the farmhouse. Inside, the lights were on. There was no one keeping watch. All the men felt safe; they were in their home environment.

Dan traversed the distance, stopping only to crouch behind a scraggly bush when he thought he heard any noises coming from outside of the house. It was only the general night sounds. When he got to the parked trucks, he crouched down behind one of them and took off his backpack. He reached inside and pulled out two incendiary grenades. They would kill or wound many inside and start a fire, which Dan hoped would burn down the farmhouse.

There was the convivial sound of conversation coming from inside. All safe and secure…or so you think. Dan crept forward. A window near the front door looked to be the best direction to throw. The grenades would smash through the glass and land in the large main room where Dan guessed most of the men were sitting. He could throw both before having to duck back behind one of the trucks.

At twenty paces from the window, Dan stopped. He had a grenade in each hand. He pulled the pin on the one held in his right hand and threw it through the window. Without hesitation, he took the other one and did the same, then turned and sprinted for cover.

Inside, the conversation stopped when the window shattered. The grenade could be heard and seen falling to the floor. Shouts erupted as the men tried to scatter. The second grenade landed just as the first one detonated. There were two large explosions. The front door opened, and two of the men staggered out and fell to the porch. They got up from their knees to move away from the building when Dan stepped out from behind one of the trucks with his M4. The two jihadists looked at him with shock and surprise on their faces. Dan’s bearded face with its ferocious expression, coupled with his carbine, was the last image they saw as Dan shot them both. His rounds hit their faces. Their necks snapped back as the bodies were flung to the ground.

Screams continued inside as a fire began to spread. Dan sprinted around to the back of the house and aimed at a figure running into the desert. He had escaped through the back door. One shot brought him down.

The fire grew quickly, feeding on the dry wood construction. There was nothing to slow it down, and the house construction provided easy-burning material. Soon, it was engulfed in flames. There were no more sounds from inside, only the crackling and whoosh of the fire’s draft. Dan looked at it for a moment. There was no time or way to let his victims know why they were going to die. He had learned long ago that postponing retribution for final words only increased the danger. In the end, it didn’t matter. That they were dead and had paid the price was all that mattered. He watched for a moment longer, then turned and loped off through the desert to his truck parked two miles away. The flames would attract people, but Dan would be long gone.

Chapter 58

T he sun shone in the bedroom window. Dan sat by the bed, watching Jane stir. She yawned and stretched her hands over her head. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about her recovery. Before, she would wake almost inert and ever so slowly begin to move. A month ago, her movements were hesitant and uncertain to the point of Dan being fearful of her falling. Falling in her state could be disastrous. She didn’t need another blow to the head. Now, she seemed more in control of her movements.

An hour ago, Dan had seen Emilie off to her school outside of Venice. Marco and a driver had picked her up. Marco participated in the daily transporting of the young girl in his care, having a separate driver so he could focus all his attention on security. If his other businesses called him away, he always informed Dan and added a substitute, a man whom Emilie seemed comfortable with.

“Sleep well?” Dan asked.

Jane turned to look at him and smiled. She nodded. “I’m sleeping better now. Getting a good rest seems to help my recovery.”

Once Dan was assured that Jane had her balance and could manage, he left to go downstairs to prepare breakfast for the two of them. The domesticity didn’t bother Dan. He enjoyed the cooking and taking care of the woman he loved. He usually would become antsy after a few weeks at home, wondering what the jihadists, the scumbags as he thought of them, were up to. He always felt time at home was like sitting on the sidelines in a game while the other side went on the offensive. Now, his attention stayed focused on Jane.

After some of Dan’s famous or infamous, depending on who you asked, “eggs with stuff in them”, the two sat on the comfortable couch in the living room, savoring their second cup of coffee.

“I think I’m about ready to get back to work,” Jane said. “In these past two weeks, I’ve begun to feel far less fragile.”

“I think Henry may have something to say about that.”

“But he’s not here.”

Dan smiled. “Right. He’ll ask me for an opinion.”

Jane turned to look at him directly.

“And what will you tell him?”

“The truth…always.”

“And what is that?”

Dan paused to sip his coffee. Despite his enjoying taking care of Jane and having Emilie around, the three of them are playing family, not playing if he thought about it, but acting like a real family with all the dynamics and interchanges and love expressed along the way. Despite that, he had begun to think about one last item on his payback list. All the men responsible for the train attack and kidnapping had been killed, most by his hand. The word among the jihadist network was that the Angel of Death, Milak Almawt in Arabic, was alive and at work, seeking revenge. And he had found the attackers.

But there remained one piece of unfinished business: the Englishman.

“It would be easy to tell Henry to bring you back. I still have unfinished business, so if you and Emilie returned to the States, I could get on with that.”

“Then it’s settled?”

Dan shook his head. “I’m not sure yet.

“This unfinished business,” Jane said, leaning forward towards Dan. “It’s the man who ran the operation, the one with the British accent?”

Dan nodded. “He’s still out there. Still able to cause trouble. I need to find him.”

“My condition didn’t stop you before, but now it is? I don’t understand.”

“With you getting more active, I get more worried about an accident happening.”

Jane smiled. “I’m safer in bed. Safer when I’m like an invalid. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. But now seems to be a critical time. I’d like to get through it further before I go hunting.”

He took a sip and put his cup down.

“Besides, Warren and Fred haven’t come up with anything yet. This guy seems to have gone to ground.”

Jane reached over to Dan. Her eyes, which had been bloodshot for so long, had finally cleared, and their piercing stare returned. “Look, Emilie has to finish the year out here. We can’t keep changing schools. She’ll fall behind. She’s settled into a routine. We’ll stay here. I can get back to work remotely for a while. You go hunting.”

Later that night, the three of them, Dan, Jane, and Emilie, sat together around the kitchen table and talked. Emilie was adamant that she didn’t want another disruption in school. The current arrangement suited her. She liked learning Italian, which she had set out as a goal for herself. Many of her classmates didn’t bother since most of the curriculum was in English, and the students were, for the most part, not Italian. But Emilie saw it as an opportunity. She badgered her teachers to talk to her in the language, even if they didn’t use it in the classroom setting. At the mansion, she made sure to communicate with Dan mainly in Italian and only talked in the tongue to Marco, with whom she had grown comfortable.

He was younger, handsome, and certainly had a dangerous air about him. She could discern that fact. He was not the innocent entrepreneur that he made himself out to be. Emilie had talked about her perceptions with Dan, and he confirmed them, although he made sure she understood that Marco was very loyal and would not let any other business get in the way of protecting her. Emilie understood. Marco wanted Dan’s continued approval. She sensed he thought it would lead to bigger and better things. She also could sense he was afraid of her “Uncle Dan.”

The three agreed that staying at the mansion in Marghera was, for now, the best option. A call to Henry confirmed his approval. Monitoring her agents and the two tech guys from a distance was prudent, especially at a time when there was an increase in searching for clandestine activities that may have gone too far and needed reining in.

Emilie was also adamant that Dan find the last member of the attacking team that had injured her and almost taken Aunt Jane from her.

That night, Dan and Jane lay together in bed, snuggling. Dan didn’t want to engage in anything more athletic while Jane was still recovering.

“I’m not as fragile as you think,” she said.

“Still, it’s better not to get your blood pressure raised too high. Let’s keep things calm. We have plenty of time. And,” he said while stroking her hair, “anticipation is a big part of the thrill.”

She laughed quietly. “Anticipation. I think I’ve had enough of that. But I’ll wait, as you say.”

Her face turned serious as she stared into Dan’s eyes.

“You go find this man with the English accent. Eliminate him. Strike fear in the hearts of all the jihadists. The world will never know of your exploits, but they may notice a decrease in terror activities as you send the bad actors off to their particular heaven or hell.”

“More like hell, I imagine.”

“Indeed. Go find him. Send this Muntaqim a message. We are killing all those involved, all those around Rashid. We will be coming for him soon.”

Chapter 59

C live Randall was frustrated. He had been thoroughly debriefed since returning to England three months ago. He told the MI-5 and MI-6 agents all he could about the hostage experience, sticking to the established story. All the details seemed to be of little help. They had gone over the story multiple times, hoping he would come up with a fresh morsel of information that could be helpful, but Clive was thorough. His story had been complete, with little to add after the first telling. The team examining the negotiation recordings had not been able to penetrate the voice disguising that had been applied to the negotiator’s speech. It was not his voice that was recorded but one generated by a computer. There was no voice behind the mask to unearth. That left them with syntax, choice of vocabulary, and emphasis only, assuming the emphasis was not also computer-generated. It was thin material to work with.

He lived with his wife of twenty-two years, Margaret, in Acton, a suburb of London. They had a comfortable, three-bedroom townhome on Church Path about two blocks from the train station. It was a convenient morning walk for Clive to get downtown to the MI-5 headquarters. His wife had suffered through his stint in the SAS, where she would never know his whereabouts when he left on an assignment, and whether or not he would survive. She could only wait, grateful to have him return, but still never knowing where he went or what he fully experienced.

She remained his rock. The reason their marriage had survived, where many of his fellow SAS fighters’ marriages had failed, was that they negotiated between the two of them an agreement that Clive would let her in on some of the details of his deployments after he returned. She maintained his secrecy and was grateful for the limited knowledge of what he was doing.

Still, his exit and transfer to MI-5 was a Godsend to their marriage…until the kidnapping. Now that he had returned, he shared his experiences with her, including the real story behind the official one. She marveled at the deadly efficiency of the rescuers and the odds they had overcome.

“You must not let this problem derail you, love,” she said one night after dinner.

“I’m not, but it’s frustrating. And I don’t even know the name of the operator who led the attack. I’d like to know who he is.”

“From what you said, he didn’t want anyone to know his identity, even you.”

“I know. But I’m one of the few who heard the kidnapper speak. I know where he’s from, or at least where he grew up.”

“It hasn’t helped in finding him, though. Clive, dear, he may not even be in the country anymore. From what you said, since the operation failed, he may be in hiding. I certainly would not hide here when I know some of my victims could identify my voice.”

“Meeting with this operator who rescued us could help.”

“If he’s still looking.”

Clive turned to Margaret. “He’s looking.

†   †   †

Warren and Fred were also having no success. Their expertise was in finding nuggets of information on the internet that might be overlooked, connecting the dots that other snooping agencies might not connect. The NSA, which was better equipped for the technical work of finding its way behind any masking, was having no success either. It seemed as though the search for the Englishman was at a dead end.

Time to bring in some help, Dan thought. He arranged a trip to Great Britain under his Victor James alias.

Two days later, Clive was getting lunch at Steakhaus, in Camden Market, a short bus ride from the MI-5 headquarters building. It was a place that served the bavette steak sandwich, something you might get at an upscale restaurant, except that it came in a cardboard box and was to be eaten on a park bench. It was accompanied by fries with truffle and cheese, and charred cabbage served with yogurt and hot honey. Clive sat on a bench placed in a small mini-park setting just off the street. He started to dig into his sandwich.

“Too much of that will give you a heart attack.”

The voice came from behind him and froze Clive.

“It’s you,” he said as he turned around.

“In the flesh.”

“I thought you wanted to remain anonymous.”

“I do. But I need your help.”

Dan had a cup of coffee in his hand. Clive grabbed his cup of tea and slid over to make room for the two of them on the bench where there was a modicum of privacy.

“Have you had lunch yet?”

Dan shook his head. “I’ll eat something later.”

“I can recommend this. It’s addictive.”

He took a large bite and, for a moment, seemed to be transported.

“Worth the risk,” Clive said after swallowing.

Dan gave him a quizzical look.

“Heart attack, as you so correctly pointed out. What brings you to our mighty kingdom and to me in particular?”

“I’m looking for someone. You’re probably my best lead.”

Clive chewed on his sandwich for a moment.

“The Englishman.”

Dan nodded.

“What about Harrington? He has as much knowledge about him as I do.”

“But he’s not trained. I know you were SAS before joining MI-5. You’ve got the instinct and background to help figure out who this is.”

Clive shook his head.

“It hasn’t helped. The man’s a shadow. I’m beginning to think he’s not in England. It would be foolish to return here after that operation went sideways. And, if he has a boss, he might be in some hot water for the failure.”

“He does have a boss. One even more elusive than he is.”

Clive looked at Dan directly. “You know who this is?”

Dan nodded. “The boss, yes. The Englishman, no. I’m thinking that maybe we can work together. Two heads being better than one…and all that crap.”

“You’re with some agency. I can’t, in good conscience, work with you on English soil. You should not even be here in an official capacity without checking in.”

“I’m not official. That’s not my mission directive.”

Clive thought for a moment. “Black ops, then. Even worse.”

Dan leaned forward, staring at the ground. “Don’t tell me you aren’t frustrated that this dirtbag gets away with what he’s done. Remember those killed in the train attack. That diversion was part of the plot. And that Faisal was trying to kill all of you when I stopped him.”

“You saved our lives. I’ll grant you that. But he was there only because of your attack.”

“So you buy into Harrington’s analysis? If I hadn’t interfered, everything would have gone just fine, and no one would have been injured. You believe that?”

Clive shook his head. “Not really…at least not completely. There was no sure outcome ahead of us.”

“I can let you in on a little secret. What they were after, we weren’t going to give up.”

“We being the U.S.?”

Dan nodded.

“There was a lot of stalling going on in hopes you could be discovered and rescued before the kidnappers pulled the plug. There was no way they were going to let you go free.”

“So, better odds of dying than living if you hadn’t shown up. You tell Harrington about that?”

“Not my job, thankfully.” He turned to look at Clive. “So, you can thank me for saving your life by helping me find this guy. He killed and maimed a lot of people.”

Clive grimaced. You’re asking me to put my job, my freedom, on the line. I could not only be fired but jailed for helping you operate here clandestinely.”

He paused for a moment.

“Are you carrying?”

Dan just looked at him, his face expressionless.

“Jesus. You don’t make this easy.”

“Look,” Dan said. “Sometimes you have to not only think outside of the box but work outside of it as well. This is what I do. I can be discreet when needed. I can be an attack machine also when needed. You saw that side. I’m pretty good at the subtle as well.”

He paused.

“You want this piece of crap to get away? To continue to do harm? Let’s work together and send him off to his virgins or whatever awaits.”

Clive thought for a moment. He was putting his career on the line. But he went to bed every night frustrated. And there was an anger deep inside of him that he couldn’t assuage. He couldn’t search for this guy on his own. Soon, his home leave would end, and his boss would want him back doing his regular job, which now seemed insignificant. Tracking down this Englishman appeared to be the most important job to him, but no one else in MI-5 seemed to hold that point of view.

“I’ll work with you. I’ll review what I know based on his voice, and I’ll use the resources of the agency to help you. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“No kinetic action without alerting my bosses. You can go through your embassy, but we’ll have to be in on it or handle it ourselves.”

Dan just looked at him. It seemed a big ask.

“I’ll help you find him, but we take him down together.”

Finally, Dan nodded. If that were the only way to get to this man, he’d take it. All his other paths had gone nowhere.

Chapter 60

H e definitely had an Oxford accent. I could tell he wasn’t a native, but he had assimilated the accent pretty thoroughly.”

“You think he lived there?”

“Or close by. I’m guessing he attended one of the colleges.”

Dan and Clive were studying a map of England, focused on the city of Oxford.

“There are a lot of small villages nearby. He could have lived anywhere. And we don’t have a description of him. If he’s not a native, where did he come from?”

“If I heard his voice, I’d recognize it. I have a good ear for that.”

Dan thought for a moment.

“It’s a real long shot, but I have a couple of internet sleuths who could search for recordings from Oxford.”

Clive looked at Dan.

“That borders on the ridiculous. They would not know his voice. It’s not something I can describe, and I don’t have hours to listen to tapes.” He shook his head. “There has to be a better way.”

“He’s a jihadist, no matter what his origin is, Great Britain or some other country—”

“He’s definitely from another country.”

“Okay. But he has a special gift with his British accent. He might be asked to use it to move public opinion. Sometimes these terrorists fight by shaping public opinion, not killing directly.”

“He’s done enough of the latter.” Clive paused for a moment. “You think he’d be used as a voice of the community?”

“Could be.”

“But a few of us know his voice.”

“There may be earlier recordings from before the kidnapping. And he may not think it will be of much importance that anyone heard him. He may not think you’re on a mission to find him, so he might feel little risk in speaking out again. He’s got to know that interest has died down. The U.K. has their man back, unharmed. They can just go back to normal, trying to keep their large Muslim population from creating too much trouble for them.”

Clive thought about that for a moment.

“I could spend time listening to the voices of the Muslim community, especially around any demonstrations.”

“They exist from before the train attack, and there are plenty from after the kidnapping. It sounds like a good way to spend your time off. We might get lucky,” Dan said. “I’ll leave you to it since you’re the only one who’ll recognize him.”

Burak had returned to London after the collapse of the kidnapping. He owned a townhouse in Islington, a close-in suburb just north of downtown London. The neighborhood held many Turkish immigrants, many of whom were well off financially. He also spent time in the Hackney, Tottenham, and Stoke Newington areas, where the poor Muslim communities were located in large, public housing apartment buildings. He met with leaders and agitators who worked to keep the Muslim agenda advancing. With the election of a Muslim mayor, they felt they were on the offense. Burak lent his cultured appearance and voice to their cause, giving them an air of legitimacy despite the rabble-rousing many of their more violent members engaged in.

After he had returned to London, he kept a low profile while he waited for the fallout from the botched kidnapping scheme. Muntaqim had not been happy, and Burak was relieved that he seemed to blame most of the failure on Faisal’s actions. Details of how things went wrong were not fully clear. Burak’s conversations with Rasul did not go well. The man had refused to get involved in the active defense of the prisoners. As he explained the situation, he was being paid to host the hostages and their captors, but not to fight to defend them. Of course, no one expected that their whereabouts would be discovered, so such a scenario was not anticipated. Burak had set up this location with Rasul for that very reason. It was so far out of the way and distant from the reach of Western powers, especially the U.S., that he deemed it safe. Muntaqim ruled against any retaliation…for now. Rasul might be slated for some sort of payback, but now was not the time. Besides, said Muntaqim, the Russian president might dish out his own retaliation for bringing unwanted attention to him during his ongoing war with Ukraine. The man certainly did not need further bad publicity.

After a few weeks of quiet, Burak decided he could lend his hand to some PR work. The anti-Muslim demonstrations that had swept much of Europe after the kidnapping and subsequent recovery of the hostages with their injuries and the one death added to the toll from the train attack and the attack at the restaurant had finally reached Great Britain. It was time, Burak thought, for the Muslim community to go on the offensive. He would use his voice to push back. As a board member of numerous Muslim activist organizations, he had multiple platforms from which to voice opposition to the demonstrations. Among them were the Islamic Foundation, the Oxford Centre for Islamic Studies, the Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs, and the Islamic Society of Britain.

Clive went to work. Dan, or Victor as he knew him, had helped him focus on something that gave him a purpose, a path to fight back against what he had experienced. He spent his leave time listening to hours and hours of rally speeches and interviews by Muslim members of the community who spoke up against the anti-Muslim sentiment sweeping across Britain. Some of the speakers were refined and reasonable-sounding; some were pugnacious in their approach. He didn’t pay much attention but focused on the voices. The ones that sounded similar he spent time with, the obviously different voices, he quickly put aside.

It was a grey, overcast morning in late spring. Clive sat down at his computer and called up his search for interviews, steeling himself with a cup of tea for what would be hours of mind-numbing listening for an elusive voice.

Then, there it was. The Englishman! He stopped the replay, rewound, and played it back. His ear was finely tuned to British accents, and it didn’t fail. This was the man. After the third listen, he called out to his wife, Margaret.

“I’ve found him!”

“Found who?” she responded from the kitchen.

“Come here! The man who organized the kidnappings.”

There was the sound of things being dropped or put aside and footsteps. A moment later, Margaret entered the study where Clive was holed up to do his search. She stood next to her husband and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Listen,” he said, and he ran the recording. “That’s the Englishman, the man whom I talked to. He’s the one who organized the whole thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You know I’m good with dialects. He’s a cold character, not the sympathetic sounding person you’re hearing…but it’s the same guy.” Clive went back to the beginning of the interview.

“Burak Karahan,” he said. “He’s speaking for the Islamic Society of Britain.”

“Sounds like a respectable group.”

“They all have respectable names. Some are, and some are bent on converting our country into an Islamic state. We have a team assigned to monitor many of the groups. They are pretty well hampered, though, by political correctness. Being labeled ‘anti-Muslim’ is worse now than being labeled ‘anti-semitic’.”

“What a state we’ve come to,” Margaret said.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’ll alert my superiors.”

“But you never saw him. You told me that.”

“No, but voice recognition is a form of identification, and I can provide that.”

“I’m not a lawyer, but I’ve learned a lot from you over the years. You’ll still not have any direct evidence to connect the man to the deed. Won’t it be your word against his?”

Clive sighed. “It might be, especially if he’s got a good alibi—”

“Which you can be sure he has.”

“I still must tell my bosses. We can put him under tighter surveillance. Maybe he’ll give us a reason to arrest him.”

“Are you going to tell that American you met with?”

Clive thought for a moment. “I will. He can’t operate here in Great Britain, but at least he’ll have a name and face. Maybe if the man travels outside of our country…”

“From what you told me, it sounds like he’s an assassin. I hope he doesn’t get you in trouble.”

“Remember, I was SAS. I’m used to trouble.”

Chapter 61

D an received the news from Clive with a rising sense of enthusiasm. He had been waiting patiently since meeting with the MI-5 agent, hoping the man could come up with something to give him some direction towards his target. The forced inaction had begun to grate on him. Now, Clive had brought him a name and face. His home address and affiliations were attached.

“You can’t act on this. You do, and you’ll blow my career out of the water as well as get yourself arrested.”

“I can take care of this dirtbag and be gone without anyone knowing.”

“No!” Clive said, his voice now more forceful than Dan had ever heard. “I respect that you’re involved on the kinetic side of things, not sleuthing or collecting data, but not here. Not in my country without permission.”

“And you’ll get permission?”

Clive shook his head. The tone of his voice dropped noticeably. “It’s just my statement and no corroborating evidence. I spoke to my bosses. The most I got is that they agreed to do some close monitoring of the man.

“For how long?”

“It will be limited on such a slim connection. But hopefully he’ll make a move that will allow us to arrest him.”

“The killer goes free.” Dan’s voice conveyed his frustration. “He not only goes free but gets to peddle his propaganda in your media.”

They were meeting in a small micro-park. Not more than a building lot with a tree in the middle of it and a few benches around. Dan stood up and stared across the park.

“How do you live with that? He killed so many with his plans.”

“I don’t like it, but I want to keep my job.”

Dan shook his head. “I can’t promise you anything. I’m going to check out where he lives.”

He understood that Clive would know what he meant.

“You do that, and I will have to alert my bosses. They’ll have you pulled in and deposited at the American embassy. Probably to get you thrown out of the country. Your cover would be blown, and any future visits would be very hard to pull off.”

Dan turned to look at the ex-SAS operator, trying to read his conviction. “You’d do that?” It was as much a statement as a question.

Clive just stared back at the man who had saved his life and rescued him and the others from the kidnapping. Dan could see him wrestling with conflicting emotions.

“Go have a look. But promise me not to take any action. We already have men watching him closely.”

“You might spook him,” Dan said.

“You’re right. But if we do, he might bolt and go somewhere else.” Clive paused for a moment and gave Dan a decidedly sly look. “That might give you an opportunity.”

“Somewhere outside of your country.”

Clive only smiled back at him.

Burak sat in a side room of the local mosque. He was meeting with a fellow Muslim, someone from Turkey who worked at MI-5. They were countrymen who had immigrated to Great Britain. Both held dual citizenship. It helped them navigate in and out of their birth countries. The two had known one another for many years. They were both British-educated, yet shared many of the same sympathies regarding the plight of Muslims. What Burak’s friend didn’t know was how far Burak went with his sympathies. His friend saw him as a successful UK operator in the world of finance who was also a strong voice for Muslims in the country, standing up against discrimination and working to secure strong, even special rights for members of their faith. All done within the law and the generosity of the British government.

“What was so important that you needed to meet with me immediately, Ozan?”

Ozan almost looked embarrassed.

“I regret to say that you are being monitored.”

Burak gave his friend a stern look and waited for him to explain. His friend looked nervous.

“It seems as though someone thinks you are linked to that disastrous train attack and kidnapping. Authorities believe the two incidents are connected.”

“No one has proven that.” Burak sat and thought for a moment. “I have been outspoken about the surge of anti-Muslim protests, some of which, you know, have led to violence.”

“I know. You do good work.”

“Is that why the government is now watching me? And just what are they doing? Do you have any specifics?”

The questions came out sharp and measured. Burak knew Ozan would quail if he used too harsh a tone, so he moderated his voice to hide his anger and contempt at the authorities.

“I don’t know why they decided to watch you. Maybe due to your public statements. Maybe they think you might be in contact with those involved.”

“Do they think I’m involved?”

“No, no,” Ozan said hurriedly. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay. What does this watching, as you call it, consist of?”

“I don’t have specifics, but I think they’re putting an agent at your home, switching them out. I think they’re doing around-the-clock surveillance.”

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

Ozan shrugged. “I think the whole idea is a bit extreme.”

“Do you know where this came from?”

The man shook his head. “I can only guess it’s from your public interviews and speeches.” He paused for a moment. “The idea is preposterous. You speak out against discrimination, and you get put on a watch list. How could they connect you or think you’re involved? You were here during that time, weren’t you?”

Burak looked at the man. He called him a friend, and maybe he was, as much as Burak could be friends with anyone. His hatred for the West had gradually spread to a general hatred for all those who bought into the Western style of living. Strict Islam, people in their place, being proper servants of Allah, and showing the appropriate hatred and disdain for anyone not submitting to their god, was the correct way to live. When he thought about it, he held Ozan in as much contempt as he did native Brits. The man expressed sympathy for the Islamic cause but was happy to be a part of the machinery that helped hold British society together. He had and would continue to use the man as a useful idiot.

“I was back in Turkey visiting family. That can be corroborated.” He paused for a moment. “Although it galls me to need to have to make that statement. Let them watch. There is nothing to see. If they intrude, I will subject them to lawsuits and drag them into the courts.”

“It should not come to that.” Ozan’s voice now carried worry.

Burak knew that his friend didn’t want to see things get upset. Calmness and peacefulness were what he desired. It made him soft.

“I think,” Ozan continued, “they will grow tired of this, and the supervisors will decide it is not worth the budget expense to continue. This seems to be a response to some pressure. Maybe from the man who was kidnapped.”

“But why pick me?”

“I think to placate him. You speak out. He is pushing for something to be done. The focus turns to you. It will pass.”

Burak decided to calm his friend. He stood up.

“Thank you for telling me this. It won’t stop me from speaking out, from defending fellow Muslims. They will find nothing and, as you say, soon grow tired of this.”

The two left by different doors, Ozan wanting to be careful about this meeting.

That night, Burak sat alone in his home study with a cup of tea. How had he been targeted? It had to be that fellow Clive. Somehow, he had picked out his voice. The man had demonstrated he had a good ear for accents. But what caused him to spend what Burak could only think was a large amount of time listening to the many Muslim voices opining on the attacks? And if he uncovered him, was he in touch with those who killed Faisal and his men?” The public story was that it was an inter-clan dispute that the captives took advantage of, but Burak had talked to Rasul and knew differently.

The attack consisted of a small but deadly force led by a ruthless man who had threatened Rasul with drone strikes that could wipe out him and his family. Burak knew it must have taken a considerable threat for Rasul to step aside. A considerably threatening person.

If Clive had talked to his rescuer, staying would only expose him to such a man who he had no doubt could get to him.

Burak packed a small bag. In it, he had cash, clothes, and his British and Turkish passports. Tomorrow, he would drive to the Channel Tunnel, or “Chunnel” as some called it, and head to Paris.

Chapter 62

O ur surveillance team has noticed you,” Clive said. There will be questions. You may be taken in.”

“For just hanging around?” Dan asked.

“You know why. Suspicious persons loitering around a surveillance target. That’s enough to get you arrested.”

Dan sighed. He had gotten a look at the man, and since his identification, Fred and Warren had assembled multiple photos, including the ones showing Burak’s damaged face. He would not be hard to identify or locate. For now, he had to step back and wait. As Clive had indicated, the teams watching Burak would be called off eventually. That Burak knew about the surveillance, Dan had no doubt. At his level, he would be well-trained in identifying tails and those watching him. How he would react was unknown, but Dan guessed he might also be waiting out the surveillance teams. Budgets often ruled over operations.

Burak took the A2 southeast out of London. At Blue Bell Hill, he turned south to connect with the M20 to Folkestone just south of Dover, where there was a terminal for the Channel Tunnel train. The train could take passengers and cars under the English Channel to France, where it emerged just south of Calais.

When he got his car loaded and the train pulled out from the station, he sighed and sat back. He had no hard data to go by, but his instinct was that Clive had discovered his identity. This was not what his zaeim, Muntaqim, would be happy about. Muntaqim wanted him to be a voice in Western countries to undermine opposition to any anti-Islam activities. Now, he might have limited use. He took out his phone and made a call.

“You tell me that one of the participants has identified your role in the events?”

Muntaqim used purposefully bland language, but they understood one another.

“Yes. But he has nothing to go on except for his contention that my voice sounds like the one he heard. While under some stress, I might add. There is no hard data to make a connection.”

“You should take some time off. You have been working hard. Go, get away, and relax. I will monitor things while you are away.”

The words meant to go into hiding. Don’t be seen. Go underground and let the momentum of this supposed link fade. Burak understood.

“I will do as you suggest. I may be out of communication for a while, but will check in when I can.”

“When you can and when you feel you are ready. Do not hurry.”

After hanging up, Burak sat back. He had an apartment in Paris. It was a tidy place located in Belleville, northeast of Jardin des Tuileries, along the Seine and with the Louvre on its eastern end. In less than a mile, the world changed from the quintessential Paris of the brochures with its formal garden and world-famous art gallery to a no-go zone for the police and most citizens. It was a neighborhood of long rows of five-story apartments lining the streets with massive high-rises housing thousands. The area was mostly populated by African Muslims, but Burak could fit in with his dark complexion. He would be safe there. It wasn’t high-class, but he would be safe.

The others in the Middle East also thought they were safe. The disturbing thought came back into his mind. He had heard that all the members of the train assault team had met their ends at the hand or hands of some unknown assassins. Was it the work of one man? The unknown number of men who had attacked Rasul’s compound and killed all of his team? Burak didn’t know. What he did know was that they were all dead, and he did not want to join them.

After clearing customs, something he would not have to do from then on if he traveled more in Europe, he set out for Paris. The sooner he got to his apartment nestled inside the neighborhood, the better he would feel. It was like being wrapped in a protective envelope. He would make acquaintances again and develop a warning system to alert him of any Westerners who might enter the neighborhood. Strangers were noticed.

On reaching the city, Burak stored his car in a long-term garage. He would not need it in Paris. The roads were too congested, and he had learned the complex metro system, which allowed him to go almost anywhere. Taxis complemented the possibilities, filling in the spots not well-served by the subway.

The next day, Clive contacted Dan. “Our bird has flown.”

“What do you mean?”

“Meet me in the park.”

When Dan got to the mini-park they used as a meeting place, Clive was already seated on the bench, feeding the pigeons.

“He left last night and boarded a train for France,” Clive said as Dan sat down.

“You lost him? He must have made your surveillance team.”

“Or been notified by someone.”

“You have a mole in MI-5?”

“One can’t rule that out. Our recon teams are very discreet.”

“What do you know?”

Dan couldn’t worry about Clive’s possible mole. He was like a bloodhound, now looking to pick up the scent of his quarry and close on it.

“He put his car on the Channel train. We have the ID.” He handed Dan an envelope. “There’s a picture of the car and the license plate inside. Now, you can follow and deal with him.”

“I’ll be somebody else’s problem, right?”

Clive smiled. “You said it, I didn’t. I’ll be waiting to hear about your success.” With that, he stood.

Dan got up from the bench where they were sitting. Clive shook his hand, gripping it for a long moment.

“You saved our lives, no matter what Harrington might say. I don’t know who you are, but I know how deadly you can be. Good luck hunting.”

Chapter 63

D an boarded a train to Folkestone. From there, he would board the TVG, go through the tunnel, and on to Paris. He didn’t want to rent a car as he did not know if it would wind up abandoned or destroyed. His mission was one of targeting and killing. It was not the sort of thing you want to do with a rental that would have a GPS system in it. Better to get to Paris and visit his mechanic, Luc Tsiganes, the man who had modified his Peugeot and often provided other services. He would purchase a vehicle from him. The transaction would provide as much anonymity as Dan could achieve.

On the train, Dan treated himself to a pleasant and overpriced meal along with a glass of wine. No telling what the future might bring. He decided to make the trip enjoyable. He called Jane, who answered in a clear voice.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m getting better. And you?”

The conversations had to be discreet since neither was on a secure line.

“I’m well. I went hunting in England and almost bagged a catch. It got away, I’m sad to say. Now headed to Paris to do some sightseeing. Looking for a car to purchase.”

Dan gave Jane the car model and license number.

“See what Fred and Warren can find about this vehicle.”

“I’ll pass the info along. Henry should be updated. I’ll take care of it.”

“How is our charge doing?”

“School is going well. She’s amazingly adaptive to new situations and changes. She has an instinct for people and can make friends with good kids while keeping clear of the troublesome ones.”

“There are troublesome kids at that expensive school?” Dan asked.

Jane gave a short laugh. “You don’t know the half of it. Rich kids with a strong sense of privilege and entitlement.”

“She’s not being bullied, is she?”

“No, she’s too adept at social maneuvering. From what she tells me, and she is at the age of not telling me everything, I think she’s developing her own clique.”

Dan smiled. “If you can’t join the cool kids club, make one of your own.”

“Something like that. Anyway, she’s doing fine. I think she’s got a bit of a crush on Marco, but that’s to be expected. He’s quite the charmer.”

Jane paused for a moment.

“She’s also spending time with Palmira. I go into the city with her.”

“What are they doing?” Dan asked.

“I think she’s tutoring her on her gift of insight. She will pick out people and have our girl tell her as much as she can about the person. It’s an exercise in picking up clues from subtle signs. I hang around but don’t see half as much as she can read from Palmira’s instructions.”

“It’s not your gift. The old woman saw instantly that she had a gift.”

They talked about small things for some time. It not only masked the serious elements of their conversation but also provided a connection between them during Jane’s recovery. Both felt the need to communicate as a way to bond from a distance.

Finally, Dan indicated that he should ring off.

“Good luck if you go hunting again. I hope you catch your prize.”

“I will. Tell Henry I’m on it.”

After reaching Paris, Dan took a taxi to a repair garage in the twelfth arrondissement, northeast of the center of Paris, to a garage with the rather grand title of L’Art de l’Automobile. Luc Tsiganes owned it. He was a Roma man who decided to plant himself in Paris and had developed a reputation in the area as a very reliable mechanic. He had also developed a reputation amongst others in society as a man who could modify vehicles, especially with hidden compartments that were cleverly disguised. Such an ability attracted a host of smugglers and others who operated outside of the lawful society. Luc was circumspect and only took in work from those whom he could connect back to trusted people he knew. No stranger ever got a whiff of his side business, even if they probed aggressively. They would be met with a Parisen’s outrage amplified with a good measure of gypsy heat. The result was to send the inquirer packing with a clear understanding that they had the wrong assumption about the man. Because of this, Luc managed to stay well under the notice of the authorities while adding substantially to his income.

Dan arrived at Luc’s entrance, located to one side of the larger roll door on which was painted his sign and which remained closed except for moving vehicles in and out. He knocked long and loud, knowing Luc would be back in the bowels of the shop.

“Patience, patience, je viens,” I’m coming.

Dan could hear the steps approaching the door. There was a click, and it opened.

“Victor!” Luc said with heartfelt enthusiasm. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

He used Dan’s alias, which was the only name he knew Dan by.

“Entrez, entrez,” Luc stepped back to allow Dan to enter.

“You keep your door locked during the day?”

“It is getting late. I have no appointments, and the neighborhood has some bad elements in it. Better to keep the door locked and have a sign to knock. My customers are used to this change.”

He shook Dan’s hand.

“What brings you to my shop?”

There was a glint in Luc’s eyes. Dan’s showing up always involved an interesting project that generated a substantial bill.

“Come, let’s go into my office. I have some good wine for you to try. My cousin brought it up from the south. It’s a bit new, but not rough—from Provence.”

Dan followed Luc into a dusty office cluttered with stacks of repair bills sitting on his large desk, a substantial safe in one corner, and a couple of old wooden armchairs placed around the desk.

Luc went to a cabinet beside the safe and took out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He pushed some papers aside and set them on the desk. After pouring, he handed Dan a glass and raised his own.

“Santé,” he said, taking a long sip of the wine.

“Santé,” Dan said and took a sip. The taste of Provence came rushing back to his mind. The time with Christina, the pianist, and her neighbor, Emile, who grew grapes and made local wine, flooded into his memory. The shock was almost visceral.

“Are you all right, my friend? You don’t like the wine?”

“No, no. It’s a good wine, as you say. Young but not harsh. It just brings back some strong memories of my time in Provence.”

Luc eyed him carefully. “Good memories, I hope.”

“Doux-amère,” bittersweet.

Luc didn’t respond. Dan could see the concern on his face, coupled with doubt about how sensitive the topic might be. Luc, he understood, was not a man to probe sore places. He made his way through life with his clever mechanical skills, coupled with adroitly navigating a wide variety of people and interests. He knew well enough when to let a topic go undiscussed.

“So what brings you to my shop? Another difficult task that challenges my skills? I always enjoy those puzzles you have for me.”

Dan shook his head. “Non, mon ami, this time it is something quite simple.”

Dan’s French had become much more fluent over the years, and he could easily carry on a conversation with Luc.

“I just need a car. One that is anonymous and cannot be traced back to me if abandoned.”

“No secret compartments? No special motor? I am disappointed. After seeing you at my door, I was getting excited about a new challenge.”

“Not this time. But don’t worry, there will be other opportunities.”

At this point, Dan didn’t know where his trail would lead. First, he had to find out where this Englishman, Burak Karahan, was going. If he hid out in Europe, Dan would find him and end his life. If he went to the Middle East, Dan would need his own Peugeot or have Luc add a clever hidden compartment for the tools of his trade to the car he would purchase.

Chapter 64

D an spent the night in a small hotel near Luc’s repair garage. Luc said he would go through his automobile inventory and find a car with a mixed history. He often purchased cars from scrap yards, rebuilt them, then sold them. They could only be tracked back to him from that point forward, and he assured Dan that no one would know any details of his new ownership. He would arrange the licensing as a restorer and seller. The name would be Dan’s alias. Luc had no question that Victor James was not Dan’s real name. It didn’t matter. His work usually involved people who did not give out their true names. Luc actually liked that. It gave him deniability if it ever came to dealing with the authorities.

The next morning, Dan received a call from Jane.

“I don’t have a secure line,” he said. “I’ll get a burner phone today and send you the number.”

“Do that. But I have some information you requested. The car you are trying to locate is in Paris. You’re in the right place.”

“Do we have an address? I’d like to deliver the package soon.”

“No address. He was last seen in the Belleville neighborhood. As you know, it’s easy to blend in there. We’ll keep an eye out for him on our end. It depends on how much he goes out.”

“I’ll take a look around. See if you can narrow things down a bit.”

“Will do.”

Jane ended the conversation. Her phone was secure, but without security on both ends, the conversation was open to interception and listening. As she hung up, she couldn’t help but wonder if the jihadists had gotten that sophisticated. Still, it didn’t hurt to be careful.

After a croissant and coffee, Dan headed out for the Belleville area using public transportation. He got off the Metro at the Saint Fargeau stop next to the Réservoir de Ménilmontant. It was the first of six reservoirs that supplied Paris with water. It holds 95 thousand cubic meters and provides fifteen percent of the city’s daily needs. Unlike many urban reservoirs, this one did not have a park setting with a city building nestled up against its borders, offering little room for trees and green space.

Dan had about a five-block walk to get into the Muslim area. He had cleaned up since his forays into the Middle East. His beard was now trimmed, and he wore old jeans and a long tunic-style shirt under a loose-fitting brown jacket. Since it was summer, Dan also had on sandals, as many Arab men would. The effect was to not attract attention but to be able to wander the streets without much notice. A close examination of him would not reveal anything unusual unless one looked closely at his eyes. They bore the intensity of a predatory animal searching for prey. Dan wore a baseball cap that would shield his eyes somewhat while he scanned the passing pedestrians.

He spent over an hour strolling through the streets, trying not to duplicate his path. He stopped at a street vendor for some food, which allowed him to sit and watch the foot traffic as he slowly ate.

With nothing to show for two hours of walking, Dan headed southwest to a Metro stop near the Canal St. Martin. He would go back and wait for more information. Finding Burak in such a large neighborhood, especially if the man was cautious enough not to venture out often, would be nearly impossible. Still, he was here, in Paris, and his target was here. Dan was determined not to leave without engagement.

Burak had begun to relax. He only had to minimize his trips outside of his apartment. There was no way any pursuer could locate him, even if they could determine he was in Paris. And that, Burak thought, was highly doubtful. Despite his optimism, a kernel of doubt remained. The enemy had found him in Dagestan. Would Paris be so hard? Did the vague concerns expressed by Muntaqim really exist—people with special sight? He shook his head as if to clear it. Such thoughts only led to paranoia and inaction. He would lie low as his zaeim had told him to do, but he felt he could get back into action as a spokesman for Islam, sowing seeds of doubt and confusion in the soft Western governments.

On his way back to his room, Dan stopped and purchased two burner phones. He texted Jane both numbers with no explanation. She would understand. If she called one and the call didn’t go through, she would just call the other number. Dan would change it out when he thought it best.

By the time he got back to his room, his phone rang.

“What do you have?” Dan asked.

“Something helpful,” Jane said. “The boys picked up the vehicle from the street cameras. It pulled into an underground garage that seems to serve a block-long apartment building. It’s a six-story structure just off a busy road near Parc de Buttes Chaumont. I’ll send you the address.”

“Good work.”

“Your cover still good? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine. This is better done solo.”

He ended the call. The less time spent on insecure lines, the better. Who knew if the terrorists had developed listening technology? He didn’t want to experiment with the limits of what could be done on unsecured lines. And if the Parisienne authorities picked up on his activities, he’d be out of luck and probably arrested. They had lost one of their own, Henri LeGrand, but they would not tolerate action from an outside country, even an ally, inside their borders. Rather bungle things themselves, Dan thought. He had mixed feelings about the French security apparatus.

He would have some dinner at a nearby restaurant and then go out for an evening stroll on the street where his target hid. He would need to find the exact location of the apartment where Burak was staying. Taking him on the street was fraught with increased danger. It was a nice summer evening, and many would be out enjoying the soft weather. He’d join them, and if he was lucky, so would his quarry.

Chapter 65

A fter getting settled in his apartment, Burak called two of his contacts, fellow jihadists who were embedded in Paris, Hassan and Amal. Hassan was the larger of the two, with a muscular body that showed evidence of time spent lifting weights. Amal was slim and wiry. He had a sinewy frame that could move quickly. Both men had faces that would give anyone approaching them caution. They could barely hide their violent natures. They knew who Burak was and how well connected he was to Muntaqim, a man they had never met in person. While these men were local fighters, able to either stir up trouble or kill someone, Burak knew he represented a level of authority that they had to obey.

The men showed up at his apartment within half an hour of Burak placing his calls. They came in expressing deference in their greeting.

“I may have someone following me from Great Britain,” Burak said after the three of them sat down. “It is important that I discover this man before he finds me.”

The men nodded, but didn’t seem to fully understand.

“Do you know what he looks like? Amal said. He seemed to be the smarter of the two.

“That is the problem. I do not. And I have to assume that he may know what I look like.”

A cold smile spread across Burak’s face. He knew it did little to soften his looks. That didn’t matter. These men were underlings. They knew he was connected to Muntaqim and that they needed to do his will. He reinforced that with a presence that indicated a ruthlessness that matched or exceeded their own.

“You must spend time watching this block. If this pursuer knows I’m in Paris, it is likely he would find out where I am staying.”

“But in this neighborhood, you are surrounded by friends. He could not get to you here.”

Burak stared hard at Hassan, the larger man who had spoken.

“You do not know the abilities of this man. He is not ordinary. He is an accomplished killer. I will take no chances with him. You should do the same.”

He pointed his finger at Hassan, whose face began to reflect concern.

“You will watch this block and report back to me any strangers who appear. Both of you will watch in shifts. You will photograph all those whom you do not recognize or know.”

“How will we know which is the man who is chasing you?” Amal asked.

Burak turned to him. We will look for those who show up on more than one day. That will limit the number. Among them will be our target, a man who wants to kill me.”

“When we find him, do you want us to eliminate him?” Amal asked.

“We will set a plan. He is extremely dangerous and, I assume, hard to kill. We will only have one chance. We must not miss.”

Dan enjoyed the evening stroll despite the serious nature of his outing. Paris on a soft night was a magical place, even in a bland, run-down neighborhood. Nearby was a park that boasted a small lake with almost an island in the middle. It was a high promontory that one accessed from a causeway, and when getting to the top via a stepped walking path, one had a good overlook of the downtown skyline in the distance. Many came to enjoy the vista and mild evening. This night, though, Dan spent his time loitering on the block where Burak was staying.

The evening proved uneventful and unproductive. He felt the weight of his quest as he walked back to the metro stop and boarded a bus back to his hotel. He’d take a similar walk tomorrow, once in the late morning when people were considering eating lunch from various food vendors, and once more in the afternoon when they returned from wherever they worked. It ensured the maximum pedestrian traffic, which allowed him to better blend in and gave him more faces to examine. Patience. It was the guiding word of a sniper. Also, the guiding word for a hunter.

After two days, Hassan and Amal sat down in Burak’s apartment. Amal had printed out the pictures they had collected from the two days of observing. The pictures involved people whom neither Hassan nor Amal recognized as regular neighborhood people. There were forty pictures. Burak laid them out on the large kitchen table and studied them for a long time. The men sat quietly waiting for him.

Finally, Burak pulled ten photos from the large collection.

“These are of four different people who showed up more than once.”

He laid them out while gathering the rest of the photos in a stack. The two men came over to the table.

“The woman can be eliminated.” He took her photos off the table.

“Here are the remaining ones. Two of them are accompanied by others. One is alone.”

“The man alone. Is he the one?” Amal asked.

“Not necessarily. The man who is trying to find me may have brought others with him.”

Burak straightened up.

“These three are the repeats. Make copies of them. Concentrate on them. The one after me will keep showing up. Be careful not to be seen taking pictures. Pretend to be talking on the phone, through your speaker. Call each other so it sounds real.”

“What do we talk about?” Hassan asked.

Burak gave him a withering look.

“Amal will instruct you. Now go.”

When the two men had left, Burak sat back and looked at the three men. One of you is the killer. One of you is the one who killed my men and ruined my mission. I will avenge my fellow Muslims. We have no quarter between us. When you are gone, I will continue to subvert your beloved West. Your culture is weak and corrupt. It needs Allah’s fire to be purified. I will bring it.

Chapter 66

D an spent three days making visits to Burak’s block. They were all at different times of the day. Patterns of repeat behavior were a good way to get discovered during surveillance…and killed. On the third day, he saw Burak coming out of one of the buildings. The man walked to a bakery shop nearby and bought some flat bread. He then headed back inside. Now I know which building you’re in. Dan felt a surge of adrenaline even though he was only halfway to his goal. Inside that door were six different floors with at least four apartments each on them. Now he had to find a way to narrow that down.

He left the area to consider this challenge. While leaving, he took little notice of the man talking on his cell phone across the street. He was one among many pedestrians in the area.

Burak knew that he had to put himself out on the street to lure his stalker out. The man would know which apartment entrance he used, but there were many choices once he made it inside. He had studied his picture after the other two repeat visitors had been eliminated. They had stopped showing up, but this third man had returned. Now that they had identified him, his actions spoke volumes about his intentions. No one else would notice anything out of the ordinary since the man varied his routine, but show up, he did. The block was not a place people visited. This was the man.

Burak studied his picture. He didn’t present a threatening look either with his face or his posture. That, Burak concluded, was part of the man’s skill. He knew how deadly this pursuer was and how he was able to move undetected. He would have to be very careful. But Burak had no other plan of action. The man had to be killed in order for Burak to continue his work and not go into permanent hiding. Even if that option were considered, he knew it wasn’t a sure bet. His enemy had found him. He had resources that Burak could only guess at. Hiding might be a futile choice. No, it had to end here.

Would he try to attack on the street? Burak only went out in daylight and when crowds were on the streets. That situation would make it hard for the assassin to make his move and escape. He guessed the man was not on a one-way mission, but wanted to be able to get away. The attack would come in his apartment, at night. He needed to be ready. He needed to lure the man in under his terms, with Hassan and Amal waiting in ambush. Burak’s body tingled with the thought of killing such an asset of the West. The plan slowly developed in his head. He brought Hassan and Amal in on the plans and could see that these experienced fighters approved.

Dan pondered his options. He could not easily follow Burak inside. He might get in the door when Burak or someone else opened it, but to then follow him up the stairs or elevator would risk spooking the target and exposing himself. Climbing up balconies was out of the question. It created an even greater risk of exposure, and he still needed to know what floor and which unit Burak inhabited.

While he was going over what seemed to be dead ends, his phone rang. Luc was on the line.

“I’ve found the right car for you,” he said with some enthusiasm. It’s a Dacia Duster, a mini SUV. Small, easy to maneuver, blends in, and has the extra room and higher seating height of an SUV. It’s a good find, better than my current inventory of rebuilt autos.”

“What the hell is a Dacia?”

“It’s a Romanian nameplate. But don’t worry, it’s really a Renault. They combined models and badging for sale in France. It’s more basic than a Renault, and very anonymous.”

“Sounds small and slow.”

“You wanted to blend in. This car does that. And I can put a larger four-cylinder motor in it, 2.5 liters with some mods that will get you to 190 kilometers per hour from 160. Unless you want to challenge BMWs or Mercs, that should be adequate.”

“No problem with the title, past history?”

“No, my friend. It was owned by an older couple who stopped driving. No history of wrecks and clean registration. I just need to know how to register it for you.”

Dan gave Luc the name and address of the fictional security firm that he worked for. They would be the owners. Dan was employed by them and could establish that fact if it ever came up. He was just a traveling salesman and technician driving the company car around Europe to visit customers.

“How soon can you have it registered and ready?”

“Give me two days. You are one of my special customers.”

Dan sensed that Luc was happy to have added the engine swap to the transaction. His bill would now be quite a bit more substantial. He smiled. Keep him happy. He does good work.

“Go ahead and do it. I’ll expect it in two days. Don’t disappoint.”

Dan hung up the phone and then sat back. Things were falling into place. If Burak bolted, he’d be able to pursue. If not, he had another vehicle to add to his fleet, which consisted of a highly modified Peugeot 504 with a supercharged V-6 that could run with the larger luxury sedans on the roads, and a Range Rover, both with hidden compartments for transporting his weapons and tactical gear across non-Schengen borders.

He sat back down and returned to the challenge of identifying Burak’s apartment. His surreptitious look into the lobby showed mailboxes for each apartment. Bingo! He just needed to get into the lobby while Burak was there and, hopefully, the man would check his mail. Two large “ifs” for sure, but it would yield the exact apartment where the man was staying.

Dan continued to gnaw away at the problem. He could only go into the lobby a few times without becoming obvious. He couldn’t be sure that Burak didn’t have people on the street keeping watch. It would be a basic protective move. The challenge required more thinking. After an hour, he felt he had a solution.

He called Jane.

After checking in, Dan told her what he needed. She agreed and said the gear would arrive at the embassy the next morning. She’d arrange for a staffer to meet him with the package.

“Have him go to Mado à Paris,” Dan instructed.

This was a highly rated pastry shop only two blocks from the embassy. Dan would be there to enjoy a coffee and some of the best pastries in Paris, as well as receive his package.

Chapter 67

O ne visit. That’s all I need. One time in the lobby. Then, I can sit back and wait. Dan packed his gear in a briefcase and started for the lobby in Burak’s building. He could only risk one entry, and that was courting being discovered if Burak had any people watching. Still, it had to be done.

He slowed when he got to the block and carefully scanned the street. There were not a lot of people out early in the morning. He stopped at a food stall where he could watch the lobby. He purchased a coffee and two bourekas, small hand pies often eaten for breakfast. They were made of phyllo dough and filled with cheese, spinach, potatoes, and mushrooms. He stood quietly, savoring the flavor while watching the lobby. When the elevator door opened, Dan bolted down the final pie, took a gulp of coffee, and strode across the street. He arrived just as the person was leaving, awkwardly bumping them to create a distraction while keeping the door from closing. He mumbled “Shabah alkhayr,” good morning, as he stepped inside.

The greeting was returned, and the man walked down the street without a look back. Dan quickly opened his briefcase and took out two small cameras. They were wireless and came with an adhesive backing for mounting. They were cream-colored to make them as innocuous as possible. He placed one in the front corner of the lobby, trained on the mailboxes. The other went in a corner just past the elevator and was positioned to show the mailboxes from the rear of the lobby. They were wide-angle. Between the two, he hoped he would capture Burak’s mailbox and apartment number. The cameras would not survive a close inspection of the lobby, but Dan only needed them to work for one or two days at the most. He was betting on no one bothering to check for surveillance in such a mundane location. The installation took only two minutes, and Dan walked out and down the street.

One of the Burak’s lookouts came up the street on the other side. He barely glanced at Dan as they passed on opposite sides of the street. Dan’s eyes caught the man’s glance, which seemed casual enough. He continued to the metro stop. All the while, in the back of his mind, a concern began to rise. He had a sense that he’d seen this man before. The glance was innocent enough, but not many people in this neighborhood made eye contact with others. Still, for people who lived or worked here, he would naturally see them more than once. That had been his own worry, being seen repeatedly, especially when he had no business there. Dan tried to shove the thought aside. He was looking forward to another cup of coffee and opening his laptop to finally pinpoint Burak’s location in the building. From there, his work would be easy.

Back at his apartment, Dan poured himself a cup of coffee, passing up on a bottle of La Goudale beer he had in the fridge. He opened his laptop and sat back to watch and record the feed from the cameras.

Amal called Burak after Dan had left the block. “He came from the lobby. I could not see what he was doing in there. He’s gone now.”

“Go check. He was not just hanging around.”

A few minutes later, Amal called Burak again. “He put two cameras in the lobby.”

“Don’t act like you know they’re there. Ignore them. Come up to the room. Hassan is in the hall. Bring him inside with you.”

A few minutes later, the three men sat down in Burak’s living room.

“He is monitoring the lobby to find where I live. It’s a large building, and he can’t proceed without knowing my apartment.”

“Should we let him do that?” Hassan asked.

Burak smiled. It was almost an indulgent expression. Hassan, while a good fighter, was not as bright as Amal.

“If we take them down, he will know we have discovered him. He will retreat and wait. I don’t think this man is going away. He must be stopped here…now. Only then can I continue my work.”

“How will we do this?” Amal asked.

“I will tell you.”

The two men still kept watch on the street, changing shifts at irregular times. They worked to keep themselves even more in the background and undetectable. Burak told them not to expect to see their stalker again. He would spend his time watching whatever feed the cameras were giving him.

Partway through the second day, Burak went down to check his mailbox. He made a point to be easily noticed and not to shield the box number from the cameras. His mailbox had his floor and apartment number on it. In this case, 604, the sixth floor, and the fourth apartment on that floor. Once he was satisfied he’d allowed the cameras to capture what his would-be assailant was looking for, he retreated to his apartment and called Hassan and Amal. He told them to come up at different times as if they were not connected to one another.

Later that afternoon, Dan reviewed the footage and got the information he sought. Apartment 604. I’ve got you now. The surge of enthusiasm for his upcoming rendezvous with Burak was tempered by a thought that intruded in the back of his mind. Had it been too easy to read the number on the box? If someone stood right in front, the cameras might be unable to capture the number. This had worried Dan. His only backup, if that had occurred, would be to visit the lobby again, an increasingly risky prospect, and manually locate the box and get the number. Now, that wasn’t necessary. Burak had dropped a package on the floor and bent over to pick it up, revealing the box number clearly for both cameras to record. The action seemed normal and not forced. There was nothing obvious to give him pause, and he put the thought aside.

Tonight. Tonight, justice will be served. Dan closed his computer, packed his travel bag, and began to assemble his mission gear, dark clothes, boots, watch cap, lock pick, his suppressed .22 Ruger, and his 9 mm Sig Sauer. He packed his M4 away along with his Sako sniper rifle. He wouldn’t use these. They would go into the car Luc had purchased for him, which was now parked nearby in a garage. Finish the job, no drama. Get to the car and leave Paris. Be long gone before any shit can fly.

Chapter 68

I t was well past midnight when Dan set out. He took the Metro to the Belleville neighborhood, then walked to Burak’s block. He stopped part of the way up the street and stepped back into a dark alley. He watched the entrance. No one was coming or going. There were no pedestrians on the street. No one’s going in or out. I’ll have to pick the lock. Picking the lock wouldn’t be a problem, but Dan would be vulnerable while in the middle of it. With a last glance up and down the street, he walked up to the lobby door. It had a simple lock for the latch bolt that slid in and out of the strike plate. Dan inserted his lock-picking tools and settled himself down. If he were calm, it would only take a minute or two, and he’d be inside. Anyone coming past after that would notice nothing out of the ordinary.

A minute later, Dan pushed the spring-loaded thumb button down, and the door opened. He stepped into the lobby, quickly retrieved his cameras, and punched the fifth-floor button on the elevator panel. In a moment, the door opened, and Dan stepped inside. At the fifth floor, he got out and headed down the hall to the stairs. Along the way, he noted where apartment 04 was located, just past the elevator. Burak’s apartment would be in the same position. At the top of the stairs, Dan paused. He took his Ruger, checked the weapon, and stuffed it into his coat pocket. Then he took out his lock-picking tools. He’d use them again to gain entry. After that, it would be a quiet search for the bedroom and eliminate Burak while he slept.

Dan stopped at 604 and began to slowly work on the lock. He wouldn’t make enough noise to be heard in a bedroom. If there were no safety catch, he would be able to enter quietly. If the door had a safety latch, Dan would have to break it from the frame. That would probably wake the target, but it wouldn’t matter. A quick shot or two and the job would be done, quietly or loudly.

He felt the tumblers all notch into place and carefully turned the knob before they could drop back down. The door slid open. It was not safety latched, which seemed odd since the apparatus was in place, mounted to the door and frame. Something’s not right. The safety latch should not have been left unhooked.

Dan stood inside the apartment and listened. In his world, some things could not be taught. They could only be learned…if one lived long enough. The unlatched safety stop made his sense of caution tingle. It was a massive oversight for a man on the run. Burak had left England because he sensed a threat or was warned. He placed himself amidst his fellow Muslims to try to insulate himself. Yet he left the simple latch undone. Why? The question rang loudly in his head. One not only had to be quick when the situation called for it, one also had to correctly anticipate and be ready when things seemed to be too easy. This was now beginning to seem too easy.

He put the lock pick in his pocket and took out his Ruger. With the gun at the ready, his senses reaching out into the dark apartment, looking to pick up on any unusual sound, Dan stepped forward. The hallway was to his right. The bedrooms would be in that direction. He turned down the hall, not walking upright, but in a crouch in order to present a smaller target. He didn’t know why, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Four steps down the dark hall, and the world erupted. A loud shot rang out, and Dan felt the searing pain of the bullet as it gouged its way across his left shoulder. He dropped flat to the ground and, at the same time, rolled over. The Ruger puffed out three muffled shots, and the figure staggered back and fell to the floor.

To survive in Dan’s world, you had to hit your target…the first time. You might not get a second chance. Unfortunately for Dan’s attacker, he didn’t hit his target solidly, and he got no second chance.

Dan didn’t waste a moment. As the figure dropped to the floor, Dan could see no other threat from that direction. He heard a door open down the hall and twisted around just as a figure peered around the corner. Dan squeezed off three more rounds, and the figure disappeared back into the room, not without firing a volley of unsilenced rounds down the hall. As Dan hoped, the shooter assumed a man’s height since he was not aiming, and the shots went high overhead. Still, the situation was not good. Dan was stuck in the hall with no cover. One confirmed threat further down the hall and possibly more in the other direction.

How many men? Dan didn’t have any idea. Before the shooter could lean back around, Dan slithered back towards the front hall. To his right, further into the apartment, was the kitchen and living room. He crawled around the corner as a flurry of bullets sprayed the hall. He felt the sharp shock as a round went through his calf muscle. From the sound of it, the shooter had an AK-47. He had let loose on full auto.

Out in the hall, Dan heard shouts. They were in Arabic and Turkish. He would find no support among the other residents. Soon, the police would arrive with many questions. The AK started up again. It sounded like the shooter was approaching. It was a bitter thought. The conclusion come to in an almost instantaneous moment. He had to abort.

Dan turned, still on his stomach, and fired down the hall. He heard a grunt and then launched himself across the gap towards the front door. Shots erupted again in the hallway, but they were a tick of a second behind him. Dan yanked the door open. A small crowd that had gathered at the door shrank back as Dan, bloodied and limping, with his gun out in front of him, stepped into the hall. He motioned them back and hurried towards the stairs. He entered the stairwell as Burak and Amal came out of the room.

In Turkish, Burak asked where the attacker went. The men pointed to the stairs, and the two ran for the door. Four more men from the crowd disengaged and followed.

“We will help. This attacker has endangered all of us. We will find him and end him,” one of the men shouted.

Burak looked back and nodded. “We find him and kill him. He is an enemy of Allah. He tried to kill me.”

He opened the door but didn’t go through it. The men heard Dan’s footsteps on the concrete and metal stairs a floor below. They charged down. Burak peered over the rails to see further below. He caught a glimpse of the retreating figure and fired off a short round with the AK he was carrying. Then, the men flew downward, hoping to catch the fleeing attacker.

Dan reached the street-level door and lurched through it. He was bleeding from his left shoulder. The bullet seemed to have grazed him, leaving behind a deep trench of damaged flesh. The wound to his calf was more serious. He limped badly, and even if no artery was hit, he was going to bleed until he could elevate it. His car was parked in the garage near his hotel room. It was out of reach. For now, he had to run to escape the pursuit. If Burak caught him, he would be killed. From the sounds in the stairwell, Dan guessed other tenants had joined in the chase.

He turned away from the street and went south in the side alley. As he neared the corner, shouts came from the apartment building. The men had exited and seen him. A shot was fired. He heard one voice shouting. Multiple steps were coming in his direction. Dan crossed the smaller street and then turned down another alley. Two blocks to the south, there was a large park, Parc des Buttes Chaumont. Maybe he could get lost there, hiding amongst the trees and bushes.

He lurched forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain that shot up from his leg with each step. Just get to the park before they catch me. Maybe he’d have a chance. Part of his mind knew it was a false hope, but he kept telling himself, One step at a time. Once in the park, he might be able to try to staunch the blood from his calf wound and figure out how he could evade the mob following. There would be no help from the police, even if he were to try to contact them. He’d be arrested and charged with murder. Dan was sure Burak would not be found with an AK on his person. He was sophisticated enough to play the victim. And if the police weren’t involved, he was ruthless enough to kill Dan if he got the chance. Those with him would approve and keep his secret.

He got to the park with only moments to spare before the men chasing him arrived. Dan forced himself deeper into the green space. Unfortunately, like most French parks, it was carefully landscaped and manicured. The undergrowth around the trees was trimmed or eliminated, and the grass in between was closely cut. Dan pushed on towards a denser copse of trees. If there were no shrubs, a close group of trees would have to do.

Once inside the thicker trees, Dan dropped to the ground. He could hear the voices behind him. The pursuit was now slowed by the need to search carefully. They knew Dan was armed and lethal. He took out his knife and cut some cloth from his sleeve. He stuffed this into his calf wound and then tied his belt around the hole. It would have to suffice to slow down the blood flow. He couldn’t stay where he was. While the search slowed, he had to put distance between himself and those behind him.

Dan took a breath and got to his feet. He grimaced as the pain shot through his left leg. It didn’t matter. It was pain or death. He’d take the pain. He staggered forward towards the south side of the park, forcing himself to keep moving south. Once the men chasing determined he was not hiding in the park, they would fan out to cover the streets in the direction he was going. He had to be ahead of them. He shuffled along, dragging his left leg. It was getting harder to walk.

If I stay on the streets, they’ll catch me. But where to go? There were only apartment buildings and closed, small businesses in the area. Even if he found a hotel, checking in was out of the question.

A car was stopped at a light. It was late, past 2 am. Dan shuffled up to the driver’s window, which was open, the man savoring the night air. Dan stuck his pistol through the window and up against the man’s face.

“Sortir, j’ai besoin de ta voiture,” Get out, I need your car. Instead of complying, the man stomped on the accelerator, and the car sped away through the red light, spinning Dan to the ground. He got to his hands and knees. They’ll be here soon.

Dan forced himself to his feet and limped across the intersection. He kept moving south, ever more slowly. His options were closing in. In training, his instructors emphasized that when options closed down, you were losing. As long as one had options, they could be exercised to extract oneself from a dangerous situation or turn the tables on an opponent. But when options diminished, one’s ability to maneuver—to control the outcome—also diminished. Eventually, there would be no way out. Drastic measures, the trainers emphasized, were always called for when in this situation. It was drastic measures…or death.

He lurched forward. Got to keep going. Got to look for a way out. As he crossed the next avenue with its wide-open space, a risky move in his condition, Dan looked forward and saw the bridge. In his pain-induced fog, it didn’t register immediately, and then his mind cleared with the recognition. Canal Saint Martin…water!

He stumbled towards the trees lining the banks. A shot rang out from a block behind him. They were catching up. It was now or never. Dan disappeared into the trees and limped forward along the bank. Ahead were canal boats and barges tied up. Beyond the boats, the canal seemed to disappear into a thicket of trees that overhung its width.

Dan limped to the bank and jumped into the water. He spluttered momentarily, then side-stroked forcefully with his good arm towards the barges. He needed to be out of sight, or he’d be a duck in a shooting pond.

As the men arrived at the bank behind him, Dan rested in the water against one of the barges. He pressed close, holding on to the rough side with his good arm. He quieted his breathing. They would be looking closely now; soon, they would be convinced he had dropped into the water.

Not safe yet. But now he had a chance. One chance could lead to more, could lead to escape.

Chapter 69

T he men gave chase, egged on by Burak. They were all sympathizers, and he had little trouble igniting their anger. An enemy of Allah, an enemy of their cultured neighbor, needed to be dealt with. They spread out after reaching the park to search. Burak told them not to spend too long and took a smaller group with him. He guessed his attacker would not long remain in trees but head out to put distance between him and his pursuers. The smaller group split up, with Burak taking the most direct path to the south.

Then, he saw the figure beyond the wide boulevard. He fired and then shouted, drawing the others back to him. The man disappeared into the trees near the canal, looking for shelter among the trees again. His attacker’s options were getting reduced. Burak sensed victory.

When they reached the canal, he had one group search the trees and another search the water. The man could not be far ahead.

Dan stayed still in the water. The cold had an immediate positive effect on the pain in his leg and shoulder. He could smell the pollution, a combination of fecal and industrial waste. The thought that he might survive the pursuit only to die of some horrible disease flashed through his mind. He shoved it aside. Get out of this jam first, then worry about infection.

As the pursuers started to investigate the barges and boats tied to the bank, Dan quietly worked his way in the direction of the dense tree cover ahead. It was downstream, and a slight current helped move him silently towards his goal.

He got to the end of the first barge and stopped. There was a gap that needed to be crossed. He’d be exposed, easily seen while between the cover of the boats. Fighting off a surge of bile, Dan took a breath and ducked below the surface. He pulled himself forward with his good arm, careful not to break the water's surface. His eyes were closed. He didn’t want to open them in the polluted water, and he wouldn’t be able to see anyway. He moved forward with his good arm, reaching out to feel for the boat ahead, and pulled himself forward. His body’s demand for breath escalated as his hand touched the hull of the canal boat. Dan moved to his right, towards the center of the water, to find the corner and slid around it. Once there, with the hull shielding him from those searching, he surfaced and resisted the urge to exhale loudly, forcing himself to let his breath out slowly and take the next one quietly. He then worked his way along the boat.

He was staying just ahead of those searching for him. Some of the men had jumped aboard the boats to search them more carefully, which slowed them down. That helps. He hoped they would keep up the careful search. He moved along the boat and repeated his underwater maneuver to reach the next boat tied to the shore. This was the last one before the thicket of limbs that hung over the canal where it narrowed.

The last boat had a rubber fender attached to the canal side of the hull. Dan reached up with his knife and cut the line holding it to the boat. He cradled the fender, which allowed him to float without effort, and moved ahead. In a moment, he was inside the canopy, and the darkness increased. He could not see his hand in front of his face. Relief spread through him. If it were that dark, no one could see him in the water.

Drastic action. It may have increased his options. He drifted forward, and the sounds of those searching for him grew fainter. But when and where could he get out? And what would he do once out? He was injured and now probably infected. He still had problems. And would the men chasing him give up their pursuit? They would shortly conclude he had gone into the canal. He couldn’t assume they would just return without success. Burak would at least keep some of them searching, even if some had to return and clean up the mess left in the apartment.

Dan tried to ignore the obvious stench coming from the water as he gently stroked forward. He moved carefully so as not to splash and give away his position. His pursuers would be coming as they discovered he was not on any of the boats. He couldn’t outrun them on land and certainly not while in the water. The water only allowed him to hide, and he couldn’t be sure how long that deception could be played out.

For now, Dan concentrated on looking ahead, searching for some way out. Out of his dilemma, out of the canal, preferably on the far side. One might lead to the other, but something had to give. He felt his options closing down again.

It was hard to make out, but the canal seemed to end. That couldn’t be right. Dan kept moving steadily along with the lazy current, with his pursuers behind him. Was he getting hypothermia? Was he beginning to hallucinate, or were his eyes playing tricks on him with the intense dark of the overhead trees, which blocked out any street lighting?

As he got closer, just where the trees ended, a road crossed the canal. The waterway seemed to disappear under it. A tunnel? Dan couldn’t imagine it. Did the boats go through? He couldn’t make it out well enough to know. How long was it? The questions raced through his mind. But the answer was clear. He had to go into it. It was the only way out. Any other option had too high a probability of his death. He hoped the boats indicated that there would be enough space above the water for him to breathe.

He swept inside the enclosure with a sudden surge of current as the canal narrowed and disappeared from sight. From the momentary lights having emerged from the shadow of the trees, Dan was plunged back into total darkness.

Chapter 70

B urak stalked the bank of the canal with three others, including Amal. He sent the other men back to the apartment to remove Hassan’s body and clean up any spent shells from the gunfight. The police would come, and the story would be told of an attempted robbery foiled by their resistance. The issue of gunfire, even from the intended victims of the robbery, was a sticky point, but the community leaders would be brought in to mollify the police with threats to expose their unwillingness to either protect the Muslim community or let them defend themselves. It would be a no-win situation for the gendarmes, and they would let things lie. No one was killed, a robbery was foiled, and the suspect was wounded and on the run. He would be found, and they would come out looking good. It seemed like a satisfactory conclusion to what could have been a public relations disaster.

For Burak, the situation was more frustrating. If he could find the attacker, he could end things here and now; no more hiding and looking over his shoulder. His credibility in the active Muslim community would soar, and he could again perform his job as a spokesman for Muslim propaganda, helping to paralyze the West.

He moved through the trees along the canal. It was so dark he could not see into the water. He realized that if the man didn’t move or splash, he could walk by his target floating out in the middle and never see him.

Burak and his three men came out from the trees and looked at where the canal disappeared into the tunnel. There were only inches of clearance between the surface of the water and the ceiling of the tunnel. Downstream, a lock must be closed, which would raise the level of the water. Only when boats had to traverse the tunnel was the water lowered to provide clearance. Did his attacker go in there? He couldn’t tell. The tunnel was long. Burak hoped it had sections with no clearance, and if the man went into it, he would drown. For now, he had to search more thoroughly along the upper part of the canal, especially the darkest part under the trees.

He called for one of the men to get some flashlights to illuminate their search.

Dan floated along, clutching the fender to support him. The air inside became more humid and fetid with the stink from the canal pollution. Still, it was air. He noticed the ceiling of the tunnel getting closer. He pushed down a rush of panic. All he needed was a few inches, and he’d be okay. But lacking that, he’d die in a very nasty way.

The tunnel’s roof kept getting closer. Dan rolled over onto his back, cradling the fender across his chest with his face looking up at the ever-closer ceiling. He presented the least amount of body above the water while still being able to breathe. He stopped kicking with his good leg or trying to pull himself along with his good arm. The ceiling was too close now. He could only drift slowly with the current and keep breathing.

Soon, it was inches. Dan forced himself to concentrate on just taking steady breaths. Hyperventilating would not help. He felt his nose or forehead scrape the top of the tunnel at times. Almost at the limit. He pushed away the thought.

Then, more space opened up in his face. The ceiling began to recede. Soon, he had enough space to roll over and look ahead. There was a light in the distance. The opening! He’d make it, after all. He began to push forward with his limited ability, trying to move faster than the current would allow. Was Burak there, waiting for him? The thought chilled him. He’d be an easy target with nowhere to hide. It was still night, but there were street lights. Enough light to see and kill him.

The flashlights were brought, and Burak and three men began a careful walk back along the section they had come, back through the dense trees. They moved slowly, scanning their beams across the water in a careful pattern to try to spot a head floating further out or on the far bank. It was slow going, but Burak needed to be sure his attacker had not hidden himself well enough to be overlooked by casual scrutiny.

Dan emerged into the glow of the street lamps. No one took a shot at him. Just ahead were the large lock doors. They were holding the water back. When opened, the boats could travel down the canal to its termination at the Seine. From there, cargo could go all the way to the Atlantic at the port of Le Havre.

To his right, on the far side of the canal, Dan spotted a ladder attached to the wall. If someone fell in, this would be the only way to escape the water. The walls lining the canal at this point could not be scaled. He pulled himself to the ladder with his good arm. From there, he climbed up. It was slow and painful, with only a good right arm and leg. Dan forced himself through the pain. At the top, lay options. His options were opening up again.

Once out on the walkway along the water's edge, Dan lay still for a moment, gathering himself. Get going. His mind fairly screamed as his body just wanted to rest. Get going, get away!

He got up and lurched forward towards a street leading away from the water. They’d come looking soon. He had to be gone.

Chapter 71

I t was just before dawn, the light was growing, and the street lights were going out. The air was brisk and chilly. Dan shivered as he staggered along the road. I have to get off the street. When more people come out, I’ll attract attention. Too much and the wrong kind. He didn’t know where to go, but kept moving away from the canal and the danger it presented.

He was in a block of small businesses. One of them was a pharmacy. That was hopeful, but Dan couldn’t risk breaking in. It would be alarmed, and he was in no position to execute a “smash and grab.”

Then he passed a veterinary clinic. Dan stopped. There was an alley along the side of it, which led to one running behind the shops. He headed into the alley. A veterinarian could help with his wounds, and he wouldn’t run into the police. He stepped into the shadow of the building and sat down with his back against the wall.

A half-hour later, a man came up to the door of the clinic. Dan lurched to his feet. The man heard him and stepped back to look into the alley as Dan limped forward.

“Mon Dieu, tu m'as fait sursauter.” You surprised me, the man said.

“J'ai besoin de votre aide,” I need your help, Dan said.

The man looked at Dan carefully. “What do you need?”

“Let’s talk inside. It is chilly out here and, as you see, I am wet.”

“Did you fall into the canal? It is not clean. You should go to the clinic. They will help you.”

“Non, non. L’intérieur.” Dan pointed to the door.

“No. I am not open for two hours. And I cannot help you.”

He started to point down the street to where Dan should go when Dan pulled his .22 Ruger out and held it close to the man.

“Mon Dieu! What is this?” the man said.

“Inside,” Dan repeated. “Now.”

The man unlocked the door, and the two stepped into the room.

“What do you want? I have no shower, only hoses to wash pets.”

“I need you to tend to my wounds. Someone shot me.”

“Go to the police.”

Dan shook his head. “You will help me. Clean my wounds and stop the bleeding.”

The man shook his head. “I work on pets, not humans.”

“You know what to do. You know how to clean wounds, how to sew them up. You will do that for me.”

The man gave Dan a look of distress.

“What is your name?”

“Julien, Julien Chapelle.”

“You can do this, Julien. You will do this. I will pay you.”

Dan motioned with his pistol for Julien to go into the back room where he worked on the animals. When they got to the inner room, Dan directed him to sit. Then Dan shrugged out of his coat and shirt. He worked his right arm while holding the pistol and then let the clothes fall to the floor. His left arm was stiff and moved only with much pain. Next, Dan dropped his pants and stepped out of them, leaving his boot on.

“My left shoulder and my left calf.”

Dan raised his leg, then half turned away so Julien could see his shoulder.

“First, the calf. The bullet went through, but the wound needs cleaning and sewing, especially the exit side, which is ragged, as you see.”

Dan sat on the stainless steel table. It was cold, and shivers assaulted him again. Julien knelt to look at Dan’s calf. Then he stepped around to examine his shoulder. Dan kept his Ruger in his hand.

“Do not try to do anything stupid. You are in no danger unless you try to do something like call the police or present a danger to me.”

Julien ignored Dan’s comment. “You were in the canal with these wounds?”

Dan nodded.

“You risk much infection. The canal is very polluted.”

“I know. I could smell it.”

“How do I close the wound in your calf? I have no local anesthetic to put on it.”

“You will do it without anesthetic.”

“You will have much pain.”

“Ҫa n'a pas d'importance. You will do it.”

Julien looked at Dan’s left shoulder. It had an angry gouge along the shoulder blade running vertically.

“I can’t sew this. The flesh is gone. There is just a large channel.”

“Clean it and tape it as close as you can. Let’s begin. We must hurry.”

He shivered violently again.

“You are freezing. Do you want something warm to drink?”

Dan shook his head. He was concerned about the vet putting a sedative in coffee.

“Just get going.”

Julien shrugged. He put on an apron, scrubbed his hands in the sink, and filled a bowl with antiseptic soap and water. With a clean cloth, he dabbed gently at Dan’s back. Dan grunted with the pain.

“Don’t hold back,” he said. “You must get the wounds clean.”

“I will do my best.”

Julien increased his pressure, putting aside any gentleness.

“Roll up a small towel,” Dan said. His voice was cracked and harsh.

The vet stopped and grabbed a towel from the cabinet over the sink. He rolled it up and gave it to Dan, who put it into his mouth and bit down on it hard.

Dan nodded to Julien to go back to work. After scrubbing his shoulder, he focused on the calf. The bleeding had slowed with the cold. Julien tried to scrub the wound, but there was little he could do on the entrance side. He concentrated on the exit where there was a larger opening. Dan’s grunts became more ferocious, but he didn’t move to stop the vet.

Julien poured antiseptic into the wound from both sides, probing with multiple padded-tipped swabs to get the solution as far inside as possible. He spent ten agonizing minutes making as sure as he could that the wound was clean.

“I can’t guarantee that you won’t get an infection. I can only do so much.”

“You do the best you can,” Dan said, his voice muffled by the towel he was biting on.

Finally, Julien stood up. “It’s as clean as I can get it. Do you want me to sew the calf up now?”

Dan only nodded.

Julien looked at him for a long moment. “This may hurt more than the cleaning.”

“Dan tried to smile, but could only grimace. He shook his head. “Non, non. Go ahead.”

The veterinarian shrugged and took sutures and needles from a sterile pack in his cabinet. He motioned for Dan to swing his leg up onto the table. Then he began to sew, thrusting the needle through the ragged flesh at the exit wound. Dan gasped and held tight to the table as Julien worked on the calf.

After the first wave of pain, his body started numbing itself to the onslaught. Dan concentrated on biting down on the towel and not watching the progress. His mind blocked his focus. He would get through this. Pain didn’t kill. Pain meant he was alive, and he’d rather be alive than dead.

After five minutes, which seemed like half an hour to Dan, Julien looked up.

“It is done.”

Dan nodded and dropped the towel out of his mouth.

“Now tape it up, and then tape my back, and close the wound as much as you can.”

Julien went to work. In another ten minutes, he was done. Dan was lightheaded. He sat still, not wanting to risk standing and passing out.

“I can give you some tramadol. It is in pill form. It will help with the pain. All other opioids are administered by injection. I assume you don’t want me to do that.

“You assume correctly.”

“You should go to a pharmacy and get an antibiotic, something like cephalexin. It will disturb your digestive tract, but that is preferable to an infection that could cripple you.

“Thanks for the advice. Now I need one more thing, then I will pay you and go.”

Julien looked at him quizzically.

“Give me your pants and shirt.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Mine are wet and they stink. I will also need your jacket.”

“What will I wear?”

Dan glanced around the room. In the corner was a washer and dryer. “You can wash my clothes and wear them. We’re almost the same size. Then you can buy new clothes.”

“I have an assistant coming in later this morning. What will I tell her?”

“Whatever you want. I expect you will tell the police, although it will do no good. They will not find me, and it will complicate your life. Just buy yourself some new clothes with what I will pay you.”

Dan motioned for Julien to strip. Then he had the vet help him put on his pants and shirt.

“Next, the jacket,” Dan said.

Julien slipped his left arm into the sleeve and then the right after Dan had transferred the gun to his left. When they were done, Dan pulled his wallet from his old pants and took out five hundred Euros. He gave them to Julien, who looked stunned at the amount.

“I told you I would pay you.”

“Yes. But this is too much.”

“It is enough to help you consider not talking to the police. To make it easier for you to forget. I did nothing bad last night. But a bad man tried to kill me. I got away, but the police would complicate things and make my job impossible.”

“And what is your job?”

Dan smiled. “Five hundred Euros means you don’t get an answer to that question. But I am on the side of the good ones.”

He stood up and limped to the door. His whole body seemed cauterized by pain. It was now numb, which helped with walking. He motioned Julien to the door.

“Lock this behind me. Clean up and go about your day. Tomorrow, this will only be a memory, and a month from now, you can use it for a good story to tell your closest friends.

“What’s your name, and who are you?”

Dan shook his head. “In some sense, I’m someone defending civilization. I get to do the dirty work that needs to be done. That is enough for you to know.”

With that, Dan stepped outside and headed down the street. There was a Metro stop in the next block. He needed to reach it and disappear.

Chapter 72

D an got back to his room exhausted and still in pain. He locked his door and lay down on the bed. After some time, he forced himself up, went to his closet, and took out his emergency med kit. In it were wrapping and clotting bandages, along with antiseptic dressings. There were also some measured injection capsules of morphine for pain. Dan stabbed one in his left leg and went back to his bed. He sighed as the narcotic took over and fell into a troubled sleep.

Burak sat in his apartment. He’d spent four hours after losing sight of his attacker, pacing along the canal from the lock after the tunnel to the bridge, where he saw his would-be assailant enter the woods. He found no evidence of the man anywhere. If he had drowned, Burak knew he would not surface for at least two days. There had to be time for decomposition gases to inflate the corpse. But something told him that there would not be a body floating to the surface. The man was clever…and tough. He’d had the report from Rasul about how devastating he had been. Now, he was on Burak’s trail. If his voice had been recognized, the man would know his face. And Burak knew with bitterness that his face was unforgettable.

Where could he go? Turkey was a possibility, but with the rejections he had experienced, he felt like an alien in the country of his birth. His parents had found him embarrassing and had shipped him off to England.

No, Burak realized, he had no country. He had no place to call his own in society. He was estranged from his homeland and had never achieved acceptance into the society he longed for, that of an upper-class Britisher. The world of jihadists, of Islamic revolutionaries, had become his home. Here, he was accepted and lauded for his adroitness in navigating the ways of Western society. It did nothing to soften his dislike of humanity but gave him a satisfying outlet for his anger and hatred. The Islamic solution, subservience to Islam for everyone, an Islamic state throughout Europe, and eventually, the whole Western world, had become his north star. It was as if this Islamic ideal would provide the vengeance he sought on the West. A part of his mind knew this was twisted logic, but he didn’t care. His lifelong anger at humanity and his thirst for revenge on society needed satiating. His jihadist struggles would provide it.

But he had to go somewhere. And Paris was not viable. If his assailant had escaped, then he would attack again. Burak needed to leave. Marseille had an Islamic community. He had visited it before the kidnapping. He could travel there, but would that location eventually be exposed?

First, a change in vehicles was called for. Then, anonymous travel. Not in his own name but an alias. Burak sighed. He would prepare but wait the two days to be sure. Then he would have to go. The man who pursued him was not clairvoyant. He was human. He might be dangerous, deadly, but he was a man in the end. Burak knew how to shoot and how to defend himself. He also knew how to hide and blend in when necessary.

Two days later, he was on the road after trading his car with another man who lived in the neighborhood. It was an older model Peugeot, not ostentatious but comfortable. Now was not the time for standing out. He headed out early one morning before dawn and took the A7 south, skirting Avignon as it angled east to Marseille.

After a long sleep, Dan woke the next evening and forced his stiff body to move. He spent some time limbering up. A hot shower was out of the question as he didn’t want to get his wounds wet. He’d do a distance check on the apartment now that he knew where it was in the building. There would be time to plan another assault, but Dan wanted to be sure his quarry hadn’t disappeared.

Checking from a safe distance, showed lights going on and then out. He’s still there. Dan relaxed and went back to his room. He’d get some antibiotics when the stores opened and try to stave off an infection.

The second night’s check showed his target still in his apartment. Dan’s wounds still hurt, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. He considered that a good sign. The pharmacist had looked askance at Dan’s description of his wounds while leaving out how they were caused. He purposely had gone to a far distant district, as he knew there would be talk of the incident involving shooting and someone possibly going into the canal. All in all, Dan felt lucky to have escaped and avoided the police. As he suspected, Burak had no desire to involve the gendarmes who might look too closely into his past activities. France was still unhappy about the killing of a senior member of their security organization.

The third evening, there were no lights on. Dan watched intermittently throughout the evening. No lights, no sign of activity. His target had gone. But where?

Chapter 73

A s a trusted lieutenant of Muntaqim, Burak would be welcome and provided for in the Islamic community. It was true they involved themselves in the drug business, but Burak didn’t mind. Their leader, Dawid al Warfalli, an Arab originally from Libya, was committed to the struggle. He had hosted Muntaqim when he visited earlier, and now he was pleased that Burak showed up again. Everyone knew this dangerous-looking Turk had been the mastermind of the train attack and kidnapping. Dawid didn’t know what had happened after that, but the train wreck and casualties, the disruption, were enough to cement Burak’s reputation within the tight-knit community. For the first time since leaving England, Burak began to relax.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Dawid asked after welcoming Burak into his home.

“I don’t know. A search is going on for me, and I need to stay hidden for some time. You must find an apartment for me. I don’t want to stay at your house.”

Burak had no desire to insert himself into Dawid’s family. His children might be put off by his deformity, and Burak didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. He preferred being alone. He would be in touch with Muntaqim but only communicate on his leader’s terms. Burak hoped they would plan the next action against the West. While he was very good at misleading the Western governments, especially in the UK, he longed for direct, kinetic action. He had experienced a taste of it and wanted more. For now, he’d wait and lie low. In time, he hoped his pursuer would be pulled away from what would become a fruitless search.

“With respect, zaeim,” Burak’s host said, “would you not be safer back in Turkey or somewhere in the Middle East?”

Burak looked hard at the man. He could see no guile or hidden agenda. The man seemed to be asking the obvious question.

“The men involved in the train attack and kidnapping came from both Turkey and Iraq. They are all dead. Some died in the Caucasus, some in the Middle East. No, those areas do not seem to be secure.”

Dawid looked incredulous at this fact. He assumed that the Middle East would be a sanctuary and almost off-limits to any kafir that tried to infiltrate and find people. Burak could see the man didn’t understand the power of the Western governments.

“I’m just a lowly soldier in the large struggle. I do what I can, support where I can. I will make a place available for you for as long as you like.”

Burak nodded as if that was what was expected of the man. As a drug dealer, he would be of little use beyond his local area of operation. But he knew Marseille well and could make Burak aware of any inquiries from strangers regarding him. First, his pursuer, this assassin, had to find where he had gone. Then, if he was lucky enough to learn he might be in Marseille, he had to make inquiries to find him in this large city. Burak would have some warning if that unlikely event were to happen. He would have time to leave.

The thought angered him. He didn’t want to have to run again. How long could this man pursue him? And how would he ever find him if Burak stayed out of the public eye? I must call Muntaqim tonight, he thought as his host drove him to a row of townhouses in a rundown neighborhood. It was a small, two-bedroom space, but more than adequate for his needs. Importantly, it was surrounded by other Muslims who were members of the gang run by his host.

†   †   †

Dan was at a loss. His tech guys, Warren and Fred, were no help. Burak was gone. His car was still in the area, now driven by someone else.

“I’m stuck here, healing, with no clue where to go.” He was speaking to Jane. She had sent him a phone with encryption on it so they could communicate without much worry about intercepts, either from enemies or their own people.

“Perhaps it’s time to come home. We would like to see you. Emilie misses you. She understands your mission and how you want to exact payment for what happened to the two of us. But the more this drags on, the more toxic it will be for her. Leave it for now. She needs the safety and stability of our presence—both of us.”

Multiple arguments welled up inside Dan, but he choked them down. They fell flat on the reality that these two people in his life had complicated his existence and, to some extent, his mission. But they also provided him sanity and allowed him to maintain his humanity. To continue would be to sacrifice them. And for what? Even if he found Burak and killed him, it would be an empty victory if it damaged his relationship with Jane or Emilie. Jane might understand. She was part of this world; she had introduced Dan to it. But Emilie was grafted into his world. The girl had done her best to understand and find a way to accept it. Mostly by making it seem somehow normal, her caretakers being spies. She had made them family in her mind, calling them aunt and uncle, and had also papered over the brutality of what Dan did in her mind as well. Dan would shatter that deception at his peril, or more accurately, at Emilie’s peril.

“I’ll leave the car with Luc. He’s getting used to this. I purchase a vehicle and then leave it.”

“Plans change. Tell him it’s his to use in exchange for storage, but you might want it again someday. It never hurts to have a car stashed in a different city.”

“I’ll take the train to Milan. I’ll call you when I know my arrival. You can pick me up.”

“Thank you.”

Dan could hear the relief in Jane’s voice. She was still not a hundred percent but didn’t want to burden him. He sensed she was grateful he would shortly be with her to support her in her recovery.

Chapter 74

F or two months everything was quiet except for the fact that Burak wrote opinion pieces for the major British publications. Clive had alerted Dan to what was happening, and Dan set Warren and Fred to try to find his location from the source of his transmissions.

“We tracked back the communications, and they’re all over the map,” Fred said after they had done some research.

“Explain,” Dan said.

“The transmissions originate from various cities in Europe. All from public spaces and all from different computers, as close as we can tell. Some of them are from public computers in libraries.”

“He’s not traveling around Europe,” Dan replied. “That would be too dangerous. He can be spotted with his facial deformity.”

“Maybe he’s doing it old school. Maybe he’s sending the communications by courier or mail and having someone key them into a computer.”

“Clever. But it limits his effectiveness. He can’t go on TV, and he can’t give live interviews. He’s become a fugitive in some respects, even if Clive can’t prove he was involved.”

“But,” Fred said, “I’m thinking you want more than just having him compromised.”

“Quite right. You know how much he was involved.”

“I’m with you, boss.”

There were a few audio interviews that Burak gave. Warren and Fred immediately tracked them down, but when they located the source of the interview, he was nowhere to be found on any surveillance videos they could hack into.

During this time, Dan concentrated on the two females in his family. Jane’s rehab efforts were proceeding slowly. It looked like she might have a weakened left side, especially her arm, from her injuries. She worked hard at her physical therapy, not wanting that prognosis to come true. Her vision was diminished in her left eye, a result of the brain trauma, and now she wore glasses to compensate. The three of them joked about it, but Dan had to admit it gave her a schoolmarm look that was oddly enticing. Emilie’s arm healed, and many physical therapy sessions, including resuming her swimming, had given her back mobility and strength.

One morning, Warren called.

“You have something for me?” Jane asked.

“I think so. Dan said back when Burak disappeared that his car had been left behind. We monitored it and found it was driven by someone who probably knows Burak. Then I got to thinking, what if the two had traded cars?”

“You found a lead—”

“Maybe, maybe not. I was able to uncover the ID of the man who is using Burak’s car. From there, I uncovered what car he owned. That car showed up in Marseille. There’s no way of knowing if Burak is there or if he drove the car there, but it may be worth a closer look.”

Warren went on to give Jane the details. After she hung up, she sat back and did some soul-searching. Dan was out running and, with Emilie in school, she had the large house to herself. They had an almost idyllic life with the secure mansion, a driver and bodyguard for Emilie, leisure time for Dan, and her ability to run her operation, at least for the moment, from afar. It was what Henry wanted while there was some pressure at the CIA to find any rogue ops that needed closing or exposing. But it couldn’t go on. She knew that. There was work to do. Hard work. Uncompromising work. Find and kill the jihadists, the terrorists, the criminals who helped them, the financiers who funded them. Kill them before they could kill. Disrupt their operations, strike fear in their hearts like they struck fear into the civilians trying to go about their lives each day. This was her job. It was Henry’s, and Dan’s, and her small, dedicated staff. Her life at this point was deceitful in a sense. It wasn’t the true path she had chosen to follow.

Jane sighed and stood up. She willed her body to work properly; she suppressed the momentary unsteadiness. It was time to get back to work. The school year was ending. It was time to go back to the States. Emilie would, once again, be uprooted. This time, though, she would return to familiar spaces and friends she knew. And Dan would once more be sent back out on the trail of a jihadist with orders to kill.

“You think he’s gone to Marseille?” Dan asked after sitting down with Jane.

She nodded. “It’s as good a guess for a lead as anything we’ve got so far.”

“I’ll check with my source there.”

“The Corsican?”

Dan nodded. “Gaspárd. He wants to be involved, so he’ll do a thorough check. I don’t have to give him the full back story.”

Jane was quiet for a moment.

“Is there something else?”

“The school year is ending. It’s time for Emilie and me to go back to the States. It’s time to return to our version of normal.”

Dan looked at her carefully, trying to read any hidden meaning in her words.

“There’s nothing more to it than that. Emilie is now part of our lives. But our lives don’t change. We, you, me, and Henry haven’t retired. We still have a job to do. It will be better for Emilie to be back home. There, we can put a normal filter between what we do and her life with us. It will be easier there.”

“With me here?”

Jane started to speak, but Dan held up his hand.

“I get it. I’m the front line. I make all this more immediate, harder to disguise or gloss over. It’s better if I’m not present.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. She still needs you. The father she never had. Don’t you ever think you’re not important to her. That’s too simplistic an analysis. Her reality, our reality, is much more complicated than that.”

Dan smiled. “Okay. I’ll take that. I’m glad you think I’m important in her life. She’s important to me. But I understand. I should be at a bit of a distance.”

Jane tried to smile but couldn’t. Dan could see the sadness on her face as he spoke the painful truth.

“We must go back to the struggle, the battle, so our enemies don’t get the upper hand.”

“I agree,” Dan said. “I’ve been feeling antsy with no leads to work. Now I’ve got something. When Burak is eliminated, this Muntaqim guy and his ultimate boss, Rashid, will feel my presence. Hopefully, they won’t sleep well at night.”

Dan leaned over to Jane and kissed her long and hard. “I’m already missing you.”

“Wait until I leave. There are two more weeks of school before we pack up. You should get in touch with Gaspárd.”

Dan got up and took out his phone. He walked into the library and punched the number for the Corsican gangster.

“What do I owe this call to, my friend?” The man asked when he answered. “You have some spy work for me to do?”

“I do indeed.”

“Tell me.”

Dan told Gaspárd about Burak and how he had been involved in the train attack. He left out the kidnapping and the subsequent elimination of all those involved.

“I will start with my sources. If he is in the city, I’ll discover it. What is in it for me? I have much affection for you and enjoy helping, but I must make a living as well. It would not do for me to engage in charity when you work for an agency with a large budget. My grandfather would not be amused.”

“You mean the Corsican assassin?”

“The very one. He’d turn over in his grave, thinking I have become soft. It’s a matter of family honor, you understand.”

“I understand that you are a complete rogue and scoundrel.”

“You hurt my feelings now. I am a scoundrel, as you say, but only to those who are not my close friends. With them, I am helpful and…” he paused for emphasis, “they are helpful to me.”

Dan sighed. “Your logic defies analysis. But, yes. There is some money for you. How much do you want?”

“I don’t want to sound greedy, but I think 50,000 euros would be proper. I may have to burn a source to find out this information.”

“Done and done,” Dan said. “Call me when you know something.”

He ended the call and walked back into the living room. “Now we wait.”

Chapter 75

T hree days later, Gaspárd called. “Someone big in the jihadist network showed up about two or three weeks ago.”

“Got a name?” Dan asked.

“My source says he doesn’t know. He’s the same guy we talked to before. He was quite skittish about giving me the info. Seems as though the newcomer is not someone to be messed with. A cold customer, as you say, dangerous.”

“So, he doesn’t know the name. Does he know anything else about him?”

“Only that the man has the respect and support of the local gang leader, Dawid al Warfalli. He’s Libyan and has jihadist sympathies. He’s a believer but more interested in pursuing his drug-dealing profits.”

“Which you don’t like very much.”

“How perceptive of you. He competes with me. He’s why I set up an informant within his community. It helps me stay ahead of him.”

Dan didn’t pursue the line of conversation any further. Gaspárd’s criminal activities were, of necessity, no concern to him. But if this new arrival had as much clout as Gaspárd was hinting at, it might be his quarry.

“I’ll come to Marseille. See if you can find out where this man is staying and what his name is.”

“I don’t want to burn my source. If he aroused suspicion, he’d be eliminated, and I’d lose my window inside Dawid’s operations.”

“I’m sure you’ll move carefully. But for 50,000 Euros, I expect more information.”

“Victor, you are a hard man.”

“I will be there in two days.”

“To do…what?”

“That depends on who this visitor really is. A description, if not a name, would be helpful.”

“I will do what I can. You know I am a loyal helper of the U.S. and its fight against the Islamists.”

“I will tell my superiors about your commitment to the cause.” Dan spoke with some sarcasm in his voice. Gaspárd did not respond, even if he recognized Dan’s tone.

†   †   †

“I know Dawid is a good host, and he will take care to keep you hidden. But is it safe for you to stay in France?”

The questioner was Muntaqim. Burak was careful in his response to his sponsor. Muntaqim’s position was only exceeded by the Saudi billionaire. Burak knew he was now involved at the highest levels and had to be correct in his decisions. This was a position where mistakes would not, could not, be tolerated.

“What I know, zaeim, is that all who were involved in the train attack have been killed. You know that. They were hiding in Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq. I think the Middle East is not as safe as we assume. I can also be effective here even if I must do it anonymously. My work is not as strong as when I publicly appear, but my voice, the information I present, still has its effect.”

“But you have people in Turkey, do you not? You could be safer there, in your community, surrounded by family and friends?”

Burak refrained from telling Muntaqim that he had rejected his family for the social status climbers they were. He had found a deeper path.

“I will think about this. I do not want to endanger those relatives. The people here, although they deal in crime. They are fighters. They can keep me safe.”

Did he hear Muntaqim sigh? The man was not prone to any expressions that gave away his mood. He was all about the struggle, the jihad.

“You do what you think is best. We are agreed that you stay out of the public eye until this assassin, whoever he is, is called off.”

After ending the call, Muntaqim sat and thought about what he had said. Part of him doubted the assassin would ever be called off. The man had killed all those responsible for the train attack and kidnapping. It was worse than the public knew. He was the plague that trailed Rashid, attacking his operations. Their plans would always be subject to discovery and interdiction as long as this man was alive. Was he genuinely empowered by some second sight or helped by some people who had this power? Muntaqim knew Burak didn’t believe him. That was to his peril. He should have reminded the man not to think about his situation or his location. Like asking him not to think.

He got up in disgust and paced the room with growing anger. He was in his secret residence deep in the Iraqi desert, near the Saudi border. Few lived there, and fewer ventured there. It was safe from discovery, especially by those who might be searching the thoughts of others around the world, searching for him. If only his boss, Rashid, would take his concerns more seriously.

†   †   †

Two days later, Dan arrived in Marseille. He had driven his modified Peugeot, taking a southern route through Piacenza to the coast, enjoying the spectacular roads and scenery as he passed through Cannes and St. Tropez. He enjoyed drinking in the beauty before he immersed himself in the brutal business that awaited him. With only occasional traffic slow-ups, it was before the start of the season, he arrived in Marseille and parked in front of the large apartment building where Gaspárd stayed.

A call ahead had prepared the Corsican’s men who watched the door to let him pass and go up to the top-floor apartment. As usual, Gaspárd welcomed him with exaggerated enthusiasm. Always on the make, Dan thought. It was impossible to avoid the invitation to eat since that seemed to be one of Gaspárd’s primary sources of pleasure. As Dan had learned, it was always a multi-course affair, this time starting with oysters, cheese, dried meats such as figatelli, a pork and liver dried sausage. The main course was slow-cooked wild boar served with onions, carrots, and chestnuts. This was all accompanied by a strong Corsican red wine.

The two men walked into the living room and sat down. Two snifters of brandy were brought in by Gaspárd’s ever-solicitous female attendee, a woman of ample proportions seemingly fit to take on Gaspárd’s large frame. Dan wasn’t exactly sure about their relationship, but she had been there long enough for Dan to notice her continued presence.

“You are injured, my friend?”

Dan shook his head. “It is nothing. Comes with the job.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you limping. What happened?”

“It’s nothing to talk about. What about this visitor?”

“Ah, to business,” Gaspárd said. He took a sip of the brandy. “My source says the man has a scarred face. It is odd and strikes some fear in otherwise fearless gangsters. One side is harsh and painful looking, the other normal and cultured. It is as if the man had two faces.”

He paused for a moment.

“Does that help?”

Dan nodded; a sense of satisfaction welled up inside of him. “It does. That is the man I’m looking for.”

“What do you plan to do? This must be handled carefully. If you step right in and assassinate the man, something I’m sure you can do, the others will know there is a leak in their organization. They will start hunting for my source.”

He took a long sip of the brandy he had poured for them.

“And they treat informers harshly…as do we.”

“Let’s take this one step at a time,” Dan said. “First, find out where the man is staying, and then I can reconnoiter. From there, I can develop a plan.”

The discussions went on for another hour. Gaspárd tried to trick Dan into disclosing more about himself. Did he have a home in Europe, and where was that? Who else was on his team, or did he work alone? Dan avoided being sucked into such disclosures, even at the risk of being impolite. Paying Gaspárd fifty grand U.S. helped keep the situation on a business level, not a personal favor.

Chapter 76

W e may have a problem.” Dawid al Warfalli hesitantly spoke to Burak over the phone. He was nervous since his charge was to keep Burak comfortable and safe while he hid out.

“What is the problem we have?”

“I am concerned that someone is lurking around the neighborhood near your apartment.”

“Explain yourself. Many people are on the streets. They come and go. It is not unusual.”

“First, he is not a Muslim. He dresses like a local, but my people do not think he is one.”

“How do they know? Have they heard him speak?”

“He speaks French. One of my people heard him on the phone. But it is not with a native accent.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes, rayiys.”

“Describe him to me.”

Dawid gave Burak a description that was devoid of definitive details. The man could have been anyone. His image was not, according to how it was reported, in any way distinctive. But that would be appropriate for a man who operated in the shadows. He needed to take some corrective action, but he was not yet ready to flee again. If this was the man who had attacked in Paris, he was not only dangerous and clever, but also had great resources. Burak could only guess that he would find him again if he left the city. And where would he go?

“You must find me another location. We will move at night when no one is watching.”

“Yes, rayiys. I will find another apartment. May I suggest that I keep some guards in the apartment with you? They can stay in a spare room.”

Burak agreed.

Dan spent the following three days walking the neighborhood at different hours, trying to get a feel for the area and possibly locate the exact whereabouts of his target. He dressed in the rough clothes of a laborer, either at the docks or a construction site. His complexion was dark from long days in the sun, but his beard, still growing out after shaving when he returned from Paris, was too sparse to allow him to blend in comfortably in this monoculture neighborhood.

Gaspárd’s informant had not been specific about where the target was staying. He increasingly complained that trying to get more information, such as pinning down the visitor’s address, might compromise him. Gaspárd expressed little sympathy for the man’s plight but told Dan privately that he didn’t want to press much further, fearing having his source discovered. Such a discovery would eliminate his mole, destroy his family, and, what was worse in Gaspárd’s mind, set back his informational advantage over a rival gang.

Three days of wandering around parts of the neighborhood produced no new information. Gaspárd’s informant, however, was able to identify a street where he thought the visitor was staying. There was no exact address, but just the street helped narrow down Dan’s search. He decided to spend a few nights watching the block with his night vision goggles. If Burak was lying low, he might only come out at night.

Dan headed out to a watching post he had found, a small cluster of struggling trees in an unkempt and neglected pocket-sized park. It was not a good spot during the day; he would easily be seen and generate suspicion, but Dan hoped the thin cover would serve to hide him during the night. A nearby street lamp was burned out, which helped his concealment. He nestled himself carefully into the meager bushes, put on his NVG, and waited.

The evening produced no sighting of Burak. Only a few people came and went, but Dan was able to identify two townhouses that potentially held his target. He noted a larger presence of men around them, men who seemed to be just hanging out, like guards or sentries, rather than inhabitants of the units. Dan decided to concentrate his surveillance on these two locations.

On the third evening, the activity around one of the two units increased. A car arrived after midnight, and three men got out. They formed a perimeter corridor at the front door, along with the other men who had been hanging out. A figure emerged, accompanied by two other men, and he was hurried into the waiting car. Dan noted the make and part of the license plate, illuminated by a street lamp. The car drove off. That’s Burak! Dan felt a surge of elation course through him, followed by one of anxiety. They’re moving him. They’ve gotten wind of me? He’s here, but now I have to start all over again.

He waited for another fifteen minutes after all the men departed and then made his way out of his hide and down the street.

After calling ahead, Dan headed for Gaspárd’s apartment.

“You found something? Something important to interrupt my sleep?” Gaspárd asked when Dan arrived.

“Yes. But I doubt you sleep all through the night. This is when you do business, is it not?”

“It’s when my people do business. I get to slumber peacefully while they earn what they are required to earn. It is a business, my friend. Never forget that. Here, have a glass of wine, or would you prefer coffee?”

“A glass of wine will do.”

Gaspárd went to a sideboard in the living room, uncorked a bottle of Corsican red, and poured two glasses. He handed one to Dan and took a long pull from his glass as he sat down.

“Tell me what brought you here tonight.”

“I found Burak’s apartment, where he’s staying. It’s on the block that your informant said it was.”

“Wonderful! Your money was well-spent with me. Now, you can eliminate him as you wish.”

“There’s only one problem.”

Gaspárd gave his guest a questioning look.

“I think they’ve discovered your mole. Whoever is taking him in moved him last night. They must know someone is looking for him.”

Gaspárd frowned. “That’s unfortunate. That may cause great harm to my informant.”

Dan wondered briefly if Gaspárd actually cared about the man and his family.

“It will be hard to replace him if he is found and liquidated. I worked long and hard to get leverage over him.”

“And his family will suffer as well.”

Gaspárd shrugged. “Life is hard and unfair. Everyone does what they can to get ahead and to avoid suffering or calamités, but,” he shrugged, “sometimes the worst happens.”

“There is no way you can help him?”

Gaspárd shook his head. “The best I can do for him is to stay far from him. He will have some story if the focus turns to him. The man is not without cleverness. Now, I must consider him untouchable for at least a month until the suspicion goes away.”

“Or he is found out and killed.”

Again, Gaspárd shrugged. “This is why I charged you as much as I did…for this possibility. Now we are on our own…or, I should say, you are on your own.”

Chapter 77

D espite what Gaspárd said, he provided his own eyes and ears to the challenge of finding Burak’s new hideout. The Corsican’s cheery disposition returned, and he assured Dan that they would uncover the man sooner or later, and how did he plan to dispatch him? Did he want Gaspárd to do it? He would be happy to help for a fee, but warned Dan it would be costly as it could initiate a gang war. Dan told Gaspárd to just use his men as eyes and ears, and he would do the rest.

Burak was angry. Dawid was nervous. He didn’t want the man’s wrath to be directed at him, which would mean his leader’s wrath, Muntaqim’s wrath, could come down on him.

“You said you could provide security for me, a safe place until my pursuer has been called off. Now he seems to be here in Marseille, looking for me.”

“Rayiys, I do not know how he discovered you were here. You said he attacked in Paris, yet somehow, he followed you here. I can keep you safe, even if we have to move you regularly. No one can get to you in our neighborhood.”

Even as he said that, Dawid remembered a jihadist he had harbored years ago after a bombing in Frankfurt went wrong. Someone had tracked him down and eliminated him in Dawid’s neighborhood. His men, being superstitious, said it was a jinn. The man had disappeared seemingly into thin air when they thought they had him cornered. Could this be the same man?

Burak’s face was red with his fury. His damaged side would strike terror in anyone looking at him. He had a Janus appearance with one side, even when angry, retaining a cultured appearance, and the other side, looking like a minion from hell.

“I do not care for moving around every two or three days while waiting for a bullet. This man can kill from a distance, and he is clever. I’m afraid you have failed me.”

Dawid swallowed uncomfortably. He needed to defend himself, but didn’t want to escalate Burak’s anger. That way would lead to bad things. Yet he had to speak.

“I will do what I can to protect you. But how can I be responsible for this man following you here? I had nothing to do with that. You said he was clever. He may have many resources. Was he able to track your car?”

“I left it in Paris—” Burak stopped speaking. He realized that his pursuers could have identified the driver of his car, the man he had traded with. They could then uncover the man’s car, the one Burak now drove, and track it to Marseille.

“You may not be responsible for how he knows I’m here.” Burak’s words carried less anger now. “But I still cannot go around hiding, changing places, waiting for this man to strike.”

Dawid didn’t say anything. Burak’s anger seemed lessened, and that was enough.

“We must lay a trap for him,” Burak said.

Dawid nodded. This was better. They would go on the offensive. If he could eliminate the attacker, he would be recognized and lauded within the jihadist community. The fact that this man, if it was the same man, had eluded him years ago when he was in hot pursuit with the man vastly outnumbered. That was different. Now, they would plan the ambush, not just react to the killing that had taken place.

Burak sat down. “You have to move me into a new townhouse. We will make a show of it and place guards around the place. We want him to know the new location. Then we find a way to secret me out and leave your men armed inside. He will try to enter if I’m not coming out. Then you will kill him.”

It was a simple plan, but Dawid understood the advantage of a simple plan; less to go wrong.

“We have found him again,” Gaspárd said. “Come over. I will show you where he is on a map.”

“How do you know this?” Dan asked.

“Come over. I will tell you everything.”

A half-hour later, Dan showed up at Gaspárd’s apartment. This time, He declined the wine and took a coffee, dark and intense. It would last the whole afternoon.

“We had our men watching the neighborhood, some from the fringes where they could place themselves in buildings and scan into the area. Some I put in disguises and sent them driving through, always on an irregular schedule. They noticed some cars and an SUV at one townhouse. Many men got out. They took pictures. I think you’ll be interested.”

He took out a folder and laid it on the table. Dan opened it. Inside were shots of the cars, the men, all armed, getting out. A lone figure emerged from the SUV. He stopped for a moment and seemed to look around. The pictures were taken in rapid succession, and one of them showed his damaged face as he turned to look up and down the block.

“That’s him,” Dan said.

“I guessed as much. And now you confirmed it. It looks like they are doubling up on their security. You will have a lot of men to fight through to get to your quarry.”

“They don’t seem to be hiding the move like the last time.”

Dan’s sense of something not right started to nudge at his consciousness.

“Why would you almost make a show of changing locations when you’re trying to hide?”

“Or,” Gaspárd said, “are they trying to put on a show of force, letting you know you can’t reach your target? Maybe hoping you’ll give up when faced with such firepower.”

“Maybe, maybe.” Dan looked off across the room. “Or maybe they want to let me know where he is. Lure me in.”

“But why put on the show of force?”

Dan shook his head. “I don’t know. Except to make sure I’d know where he was. It was just this show that caused your men to notice.”

“Ah, my friend, you have a conundrum, a puzzle. You have your target, your pigeon. Now, how do you get to him?”

Chapter 78

A fter a careful recon of the area via auto, Dan took a long, circuitous route to an observation position that he had chosen. Again, it involved limited cover with a few trees and bushes fronting a small playground for the apartments in the area. As with his first hide, it would only work at night. There was even less cover for him to feel secure in the daytime.

Late at night, the men guarding the front of the townhouse, while not trying to be subtle, went inside. Dan left his hide and headed down the block, keeping to the shadows as best he could. All the houses were dark. He kept his M4 close to his torso so anyone seeing him would not easily notice the firearm. At night, with his rough clothes, he looked like a working member of the local community.

Once down the street, Dan turned and headed for the alley that ran behind the townhouses. It allowed for pull-off spots to park at each unit. Dan counted down the units until he came to the target house. All the backyards were fenced with boards that shielded them from view, giving the owners a bit of privacy.

He found a chink in the fence and studied the house carefully. An attack from the front would send everyone out the back, including his target. Dan had no doubt men would be waiting inside, more men than he had encountered in Paris. They won’t make the same mistake, especially if they're expecting an attack. Dan guessed the whole house would be filled with shooters, armed to the teeth and ready. Even an attempt at a stealthy entrance would be discovered. I have to find another way. Got to drive Burak out where I can get to him. After carefully reconnoitering the alley and the front of the house, Dan left for the night.

The next day, he made a call to Henry back in the States, who made a call to the Chief of Station in Paris. A day later, a package arrived, which the Chief sent by courier to Marseille. After the package was delivered, a message was sent back to the Chief in Paris, who phoned Henry. Henry then called Dan and gave him a number to arrange a pickup.

“Gaspárd,” Dan said over the phone. “I need you to send someone to pick up a package for me.” He gave Gaspárd a code word and a location. It was a side road that sloped down to Rue Jobin and Tunnel Décore, where the road went under the vast array of train tracks just outside of the Marseille Gare St. Charles, the massive train depot in the heart of the city.

“That’s a location easily blocked and ripe for ambush,” Gaspárd said.

“It’s also out of sight of those who might want to track me, friend or foe.”

Gaspárd paused before answering. “You have to protect yourself from your own people? Mon Dieu. What a life you lead.”

“Excessive caution can keep one alive a lot longer than carelessness. You know that well.”

In the end, Gaspárd agreed on the condition that he send a backup car in case there was an ambush.

“What is in this package that is so important and so secret?”

Dan smiled. “You keep asking questions I can’t answer. You have been paid well and done a good job. Now it is time for me to do my part.”

“Do you have the men I requested?” Burak asked Dawid.

“Naem,” yes, he replied.

“Good. You must get them in place today. Our assassin may not wait much longer.”

“And you will be there?”

“I decided I must. If there is a chance, he, or others with him, see me leave, they will only keep pursuing. The trap will not close.”

Dawid nodded. Burak could see the concern in the man’s eyes. He had an important guest under his care. He would not like to explain to Muntaqim if anything went wrong and Burak was killed.

“This is how we end it. I am not a man to keep running and hiding. When this assassin is killed, his people will know they have encountered a formidable foe.”

Dawid looked unconvinced but remained silent.

That evening, Dan drove to within a half-mile of the townhouse. He parked in a lot at the rear of a cleaning and clothes repair shop. He would walk from there with his M4 and its suppressor broken down in his backpack. The gun was safely hidden from any outside view, and Dan tried to affect the look of a Muslim day laborer, coming home on foot, tired, after a long day at work. The look must have worked as Dan received a number of “Masaa al-kheir”, ‘good evening’ greetings. He returned with “Masaa al-ward” in a tired voice, which means ‘evening of flowers’, and kept trudging onward. He ignored the pain in his left leg and shoulder. His limp only added to his cover. Near the townhouse, Dan turned off the street to approach from the back of the homes facing across the road from his target. There, he settled into the thin cover of the small green space to wait.

The hours passed slowly. Dan had long ago gotten used to the waiting. That was a large part of a sniper’s modus operandi. It was the same in his role as an assassin of jihadist terrorists as well. Always the waiting. The never-ending sounds of a large city like Marseille slowly diminished as the night wore on. They never went away like they did in the countryside and smaller villages. But one could tell most of the city had gone to sleep for the night.

At 2 am, deep into the night, Dan stretched his limbs, unpacked his carbine, and assembled it. He put a 30-round magazine loaded with incendiary rounds from the package that had been delivered earlier that day. The 5.56 mm rounds produced a momentary flame of 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit when they struck their target. Next, he removed a PSRL-1 or Precision Shoulder-fired Rocket Launcher from his backpack. The round would explode a grenade inside, causing much damage and confusion. The incendiary rounds striking the wood-framed townhouse with its wooden siding would ignite the building, causing the occupants to flee. Both assaults would cause the enemy to run from the house. Force them out. I’ll be waiting at the front. The plan was simple. If you wanted to shoot pheasant, you first had to flush the bird from its hiding spot. It had to feel that it was no longer safe, and flight was the only escape…except that the hunter was waiting.

Dan stuffed another four magazines loaded with regular rounds into his jacket pocket. He would not have time to rummage in his pack. After attacking the rear, he would sprint around to the front to ambush those who emerged. The street light, plus any illumination from what he hoped would be a growing blaze, would have to be enough to see Burak and take him down. Anyone else was secondary. But there were no innocents. He would take them down to get to Burak.

This is where he comes to an end. Payment for his cowardly attack finally made in full. It would send a message to Muntaqim. Hopefully, he and the other jihadists would not sleep well after this. Your angel of death is coming. I’m out here. Dan felt alive. This was his purpose. While governments alternately appeased, fussed, accommodated, threatened, he exacted payment—in full and final—to those who dared attack the West.

Chapter 79

D an quietly made his way to the alley behind the target townhouse. Thankfully, few Muslims kept dogs as pets, so there was no barking from an alerted animal as he slipped through a side yard separating one group of four townhouses from another. Once at the rear of the target, Dan shouldered the rocket launcher. Now, it begins.

The launcher gave a sharp, explosive sound as the rocket left the barrel at over 900 feet per second. At that rate, it smashed through the wall of the townhouse almost instantaneously. Dan dropped the weapon and took up his M4, sweeping the walls and windows with incendiary rounds. When he had emptied the 30-round magazine, he quickly disengaged it and inserted another into the rifle. Then, grabbing both weapons, he ran back to the space between the units and across the street to his original hide, ignoring the pain in his leg.

Lights went on in the target house as well as homes up and down the street. Dan could hear shouts coming from the building. Dan could see the flickering light of fires inside. Success! They know the attack came from the rear. They’ll come out of the front and try to regroup for a counterattack.

As expected, men started pouring out of the front door. Dan leveled his M4 and swept the front door area in a deadly hail of bullets. This is the only way. They have to come out the front. He waited, centered in a quiet calm. He was the predator. He was the assassin. Those men were caught in his trap and would not escape. No subtlety this time, just pure force. Five more men dashed out of the front door. Dan fired again on full auto, dropping all the men before they could get to any cover. Now, men began to dive out of windows along the side of the townhouse with a small walkway between it and the adjacent unit. These walkways divided the long row of houses into four-unit clusters. Dan dropped the first man with one shot. Others jumped out and scrambled away from his assault.

Dan got up and ran across the street. Someone from a neighboring townhouse shot at him, and he dove to the ground near the curb, then quickly scrambled forward in a half-crawl to the walkway for cover. Once there, Dan could see some men disappear into the alley ahead. He forced himself up and limped forward as fast as his injured leg could take him.

As he reached the alley, he heard an engine come to life. An SUV roared down the alley towards Dan’s position. He shouldered his carbine and emptied his magazine into the windshield, then dove back into the walkway as the vehicle lurched towards him. He rolled on the hard-packed dirt sprinkled with thin patches of grass and ejected the magazine. He inserted a fresh one as other combatants rounded the corner from the front. Dan stayed on the ground and let loose short bursts, dropping most of the men and causing the few remaining to retreat around the corner of the townhouse, which was now burning more fiercely. Enough to cause Dan to get out of the small walkway.

The driver of the SUV was slumped over the wheel with the front passenger lying dead beside him. Two figures ran down the alleyway in the same direction as the vehicle was headed. Burak? The glance seemed to show a distorted face on one of the men. Dan raised his M4 just as they disappeared around the last section of townhouses. He lurched forward. He could hear sirens in the distance. Firemen and gendarmes. He had to be gone.

The explosion from the RPG was almost ear-shattering. The concussion drove the air from his lungs. Before Burak could make sense of the situation, rifle rounds were zinging past him. He dropped to the floor and crawled towards the front of the house.

“We have to leave!” the man in charge of Burak’s safety said.

Burak nodded and started for the front door.

“No!” the man called out. “My men first.”

A group of his men gathered at the door and then threw it open and ran out. Gunfire erupted outside, and the men all fell before they could reach cover.

“Go, go!” yelled Burak’s protector as he gestured for more men to exit. Burak understood. They needed to gain a foothold outside to pin down any shooters so he could get out of the now-burning townhouse. This second wave of men was also shot down. Burak’s protector looked around wildly.

“The window he yelled, pointing to the window at the side of the house. Burak went with him, followed by two others. They jumped out in quick succession, and Burak heard shots ring out. Four of them ran down the walkway to the rear and turned to the right.

“The BMW!” Burak’s protector yelled. They ran to an X7. Burak and his protector jumped into the back with the other two men in front. They started up the alley as a figure stepped out and began to fire. Both Burak and his protector dove down in the back. The two men in front took the rounds, and the SUV veered off track and stopped just beyond the walkway.

“This way!” shouted the man as he opened his door and beckoned Burak to exit on his side, away from the shooter. They heard shots as they ran down the alley and turned the corner at the end of the row of houses.

Dan ran down the alley and emerged on the next street. The two figures were 50 yards ahead. His M4 was now out of rounds. Dan dropped it and kept running. He realized they would outrun him with his injured leg, so he stopped and pulled out his 9 mm Sig Sauer. He braced himself and fired off multiple rounds. Both men were hit. One dropped to the ground, the other limped on and turned another corner.

Dan ran past the fallen jihadist with only a glance to confirm that the man was not Burak. He kept going. His prey had turned another corner. The streets here were narrow and close. They were in the third arrondissement, downtown, near the large St. Charles train station. It was a lower-income class area with many poor and unemployed people, mostly Muslim. It was still dark. Dan needed to close on his target quickly. When daylight came, he would be discovered either by the gendarmes or residents of the area, none of whom would be sympathetic to his presence.

He limped forward. The sirens had now collected behind him and Burak, both now four blocks away from the fire and shooting. Did he know where he was going? Was he after help or just running? It didn’t matter in the end. Dan knew he had to close on the man. This was his opportunity. The rest, how to get away, he’d figure out later.

Chapter 80

B urak was now slowed. One of Dan’s shots had hit him in the side, and he was bleeding. He had a sidearm but didn’t dare stop running to turn and fire. The man chasing him was a crack shot and could probably hit him at a distance before Burak could shoot him. Burak’s competency centered around long guns, not sidearms. Keep on running, trying to hide, trying to find someone to help. That was his only plan. The sidearm would be a last resort.

He ducked into a passageway between two high-rise apartment buildings. The structures formed an “L” shape, and inside it was an attempt at a courtyard, complete with paved crossing paths, benches, and, most importantly for Burak, trees and shrubs. He limped forward towards the promise of cover.

Dan saw his prey go into the passageway. He followed as fast as he could go. At the other end, he saw Burak entering the foliage. Dan stopped and fired multiple shots at the disappearing target, then ran forward. By his mental count, he had two or three rounds left in his magazine. Shots rang out from the bushes. Dan felt a round go through his left arm. He staggered sideways and dropped to the ground. Instinctively, he began to crawl to his left to get to some cover. More shots rang out as the rounds whistled over his head. Dan took a chance and fired at where the shots came from, trying to suppress fire until he reached cover. More rounds came from the bushes. Burak must have been hit as the shots were off-target. He heard a cry as he got to a tree.

Got to finish this. Can’t stay here long. The apartments facing the courtyard would have heard the shots. People would be awakened. They would either come to investigate or call the police. Either scenario was not good for Dan.

There was cover between him and his target. Dan began to crawl forward, ignoring his bleeding left arm. Between trees, another shot rang out, flying past Dan’s head with its deadly whistling sound. Then he caught sight of Burak. The man had steadied his hands and was taking aim at Dan. Dan fired. The man flinched as he fired back. Dan’s shot hit his arm. Burak’s went wide. The chambers on both men’s pistols locked open, empty.

Burak looked at the pistol and dropped it to the ground. Dan did the same and stood up as he unsheathed his tactical knife. He could see Burak’s face, wound up in a snarl. The man took his own knife out of his coat pocket with his good arm. He almost leaned against a tree for support as Dan closed on him.

With both men injured, Dan knew he had to be careful. He was moving slowly, with only one arm working. His prey was also injured, but Dan had no idea what the man’s skills were. He was not just a soft Englishman of the upper class. Limping, his left arm hanging, Dan closed on his target.

Burak’s snarl turned into a dangerous grin as Dan got closer.

“American. You think this is the end for me? Do not be so sure.”

His voice was filled with anger and hate. Dan didn’t answer but stepped forward, shortening the distance between them.

“Even if I die, you will fail. Your society is soft. Your time is over. It is now time for the faithful. We will take over Europe and then your country. Your fight is futile.” Burak juggled his knife in his left hand. He was almost as tall as Dan and had a similar reach.

When Dan closed, Burak swiped his blade across his chest. Dan leaned back, just out of reach. Before he could counter, Burak dove for his legs, and Dan felt his injured right leg collapse before he could bring the blade of his knife down on the man’s back. He hit the ground hard on his injured left arm. The pain flashed through his body, and his eyes blurred with a bright light. Just as Burak’s arm began to descend, Dan countered with his right, and their two wrists slammed together. Burak pressed down on Dan, trying to use his leverage and weight to force Dan’s arm down so he could stab him.

Dan tried to twist away, but Burak kept his legs wide, stopping himself from being turned over. The two men, almost face to face, pushed against one another. Dan forced his wounded arm up to their locked hands. He reached past Burak’s blade and pressed his thumb on the Shenmen pressure point at the wrist.

Burak’s eyes went wide. He let out a howl, and his hand went limp, dropping his knife on Dan’s chest. Dan used his momentary disorientation to flip him over and put his weight on the man. Burak responded as Dan released the pressure point and tried to block Dan’s knife. Dan lay over him, pressing down with his blade towards the man’s throat. Burak pushed back with his good arm. They locked eyes together. Burak’s face was full of anger. Dan just kept pressing down. Both men were panting loudly. The knife inched closer. Burak’s look changed from rage to fear as the tip of the blade touched his throat. He let out a gasp, which turned into a choking gurgle as Dan’s knife slowly penetrated Burak’s neck.

Burak’s arm reached towards Dan’s face, clawing at him. Dan twisted his face away, but kept his body pressed down, and the knife sank to the hilt. Burak’s movements lost their strength. Dan, lying on top of his target, could feel his life slip away. Finally, Burak’s body relaxed, and his face went blank, the anger and fear evaporating from his features.

Dan got up from the body and stared at his enemy. Burak’s lifeless eyes were pointed to the heavens in what seemed an ironic gesture. The man’s face, Janus-like in life, was now fully peaceful and calm in death.

Dan was hollow; he felt no elation, no sense of victory. Shouts were coming from the apartments. It was time to leave.

Chapter 81

H e hobbled off, away from the courtyard and towards the tracks leading from the St. Charles train station. Got to get off the street. He knew that, if spotted, he’d be associated with the mayhem he had left behind. His wounds would give him away.

He limped down an embankment to the tracks below. There was little shelter, but Dan did the best he could among the scrub bushes and small trees growing from the bank. The growth would usually be cut down to keep the right of way clear, but Dan took advantage of the city’s lack of strict maintenance.

A local freight train soon came lumbering along. Dan got up and steeled himself for a burst of movement. He waited until the engine had gone by. The boxcars had small platforms on the rear. There was a grab rail for workers to climb on. Dan took a deep breath, thrust himself out of his hiding place, and sprinted towards the cars. Pain erupted everywhere in his body, but he ignored it as he leaped for the rail. He grabbed it with his good arm, and the momentum of the train caused his legs to swing out and up. He used the motion to plant his good leg on the platform and, with one last heave, rolled up onto the metal grating.

He lay there panting in pain as the train slowly lumbered forward. Getting off would be another mountain to climb, but, for now, Dan had fled the scene of the crime.

Two miles down the tracks, Dan called Gaspard.

“I need a pick up.”

“Where are you? My sources said that the neighborhood blew up. Many dead bodies. Some say it was a gang warfare attack.” Gaspard paused. “That was you?”

Dan ignored the question. “I’m not in great shape and need a pickup.”

“Yes, yes. Tell me where you are.”

“I don’t know. I’m on a train. I’ll drop off and figure out where I am. Then you need to get to me quickly. I need to get off the street.”

“I’ll come for you.”

Dan ended the call and rolled over. He looked around. The setting was still urban and would be for many miles, but the train was picking up speed. He needed to get off quickly. He peeked around the edge of the car and looked ahead. When some more trees and bushes came into view, he got ready, and as the boxcar approached, he dropped off, crashing to the cinders along the tracks.

He rolled down the embankment and, ignoring his pain, crawled away from the tracks and into the bushes just before the last car passed. After gathering himself for a moment, he crawled up the bank and, from the cover of the scrub, scanned the street, looking for a name. When he had it, he called Gaspard and gave him the information. Then he lay back, exhausted. The sun was breaking over the sea to the southeast and beginning to bathe the city in its luminous rays. The noise of the traffic was beginning to rise. Another busy day was starting in this bustling city.

“You are quite a mess, my friend,” Gaspard remarked as a doctor he had called in worked on Dan’s wounds in the Corsican’s apartment. “But you have almost single-handedly wiped out that Muslim gang. I should be paying you instead of the reverse.”

“So, you’re going to give back the money I gave you?” Dan looked up at the gangster.

“I can’t go that far. It was my help that set you on your target’s tail.” He smiled. “But the collateral damage…Mon Dieu, that is sweet.” A broad smile broke out on his large face. “I like working with you.”

“You also like the fact that you’ll make a lot of money from this new reality.”

“It is a win-win, no? The jihadists are dead, and I increase my territory. That is the best for both of us.”

The doctor finished cleaning and bandaging, all of which hurt, but it was a good hurt. The kind that led to healing. The doctor offered Dan some pills for his pain, but he declined. Still in pain, Dan departed over the sincere objections of Gaspard and the doctor, both of whom said he should stay a day or two to get stronger. Dan declined, wanting to not only shed himself of the city but get back to the ones he loved.

Chapter 82

T he next day, after a grueling drive from Marseille to the Venice area, he hobbled to the door of his house in the Marghera suburb and let himself in. Jane called out, and Dan announced himself.

She came down the stairs and shuffled to him with her cane as fast as she could.

“You’re back! Thank God!”

She grabbed him in a big hug. Dan winced.

“My God, you’re wounded again.” Jane stood back as Dan explained his injuries.

“Where’s Emilie?” Dan didn’t want her to see him in this condition, in pain, disheveled with blood-soaked clothes.

“Still at school. She has some sort of activity afterward, so we have time alone and time to get you cleaned up.”

Dan gave Jane a concerned look.

“Don’t worry. Marco is aware of this and will wait for her. He’ll be there when she’s done and bring her home.”

After getting sponge-bathed by Jane and helped into a change of clothes, the two of them sat on the back veranda and watched the afternoon light play off the canal. The smooth water acted as a reflector and caused the sunlight to wash a nearby building in its brilliance, making the rather pedestrian structure glow.

Dan recounted the events in Marseille while Jane listened intently. He sipped a coffee and a bourbon, poured over Jane’s objections.

“Medicinal.”

When his recital of the events ended, they sat silently for some time. The noise of the suburb faded as the afternoon grew older.

“I don’t feel any sense of victory. It feels hollow. It’s odd…”

Dan paused as if to search for the right words.

“Vengeance is ultimately unsatisfying,” Jane finally said.

“Perhaps. But isn’t that my mission?”

“Vengeance? No,” she said thoughtfully. “Proactive attacks on jihadists, on the enemies who want to kill civilians, terrorize a population, and bring down our country? That’s your mission. This one became personal for you.”

“That's why it feels so different, Doctor Jane?”

“I’m not trying to analyze you, just speak what I think is the truth. Maybe as it became personal, you unconsciously expected more satisfaction, more fulfillment.”

“So I shouldn’t feel fulfillment?”

Jane took his hand in hers. She stared into the eyes of the man she had come to love, whom she had joined herself to beyond being co-workers in the fight they were engaged in.

“You should feel the fulfillment of a job well done. That’s what you do. You are called Milak Almawt, Angel of Death, by your enemies.”

Dan thought about Jane’s comments for a few moments.

“How about Emilie? Can we really pull this off? Help her grow up into a normal girl?”

“Emilie will not be a normal girl,” Jane responded. “She saw her mother and grandfather killed. She’s been chased by a drug gang, and the only people who would, or could, take her in are spies.”

“And an assassin.”

“She knows that. Her young mind has already parked that problem somewhere in a corner of her brain. She’s a survivor. She will create her own reality about her situation.”

“But is that healthy?”

Jane shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows? We all do that to some degree. We’ll do the best we can. Remember, she has a gift of insight and perception. I think similar to yours.”

“That could be a blessing or a curse.”

“She’ll make the best of it. Have faith in her. She’s strong.”

Jane reached over and kissed Dan. It was long and gentle.

“That’s nice. I needed that.”

“You don’t live a normal life. Maybe none of us do. In your work, your missions, you must move between the realms of order and chaos in the extreme. It would be easy to lose your humanity. That, as you can imagine, would be disastrous—for you and for Emilie an me. I recognize this and…maybe Emilie does so as well on her level. We can’t protect you directly, while in the field, but both of us, me and Emilie, will do what we can to keep you sane and make a life for you outside of the violence you have to inhabit.” She touched his cheek tenderly. “That’s my promise to you.”

The End

Afterword

Kidnap is the tenth book in the Dan Stone series.

If you enjoyed this tale, please consider writing a review on Amazon. Reviews do not have to be lengthy and are extremely helpful for two reasons: first, they provide “social proof” of a book’s value to a reader unfamiliar with the author, and second, they help readers filter through thousands of books in the same category to find choices worthy of their investment in reading time. You provide an essential service to other Amazon readers with a solid review. I very much value your support.

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Other novels published by David Nees:

After the Fall series

Jason’s TaleBook 1

UprisingBook 2

RescueBook 3

UndercoverBook 4

EscapeBook 5

Dan Stone series

PaybackBook 1

The ShamanBook 2

The Captive GirlBook 3

The Assassin and the PianistBook 4

Death in the CongoBook 5

The ScorpionBook 6

Rogue MissionBook 7

RevengerBook 8

The Orphan GirlBook 9

Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review on Amazon. Reviews provide “social proof” of a book’s worth and help readers unfamiliar with my writing to give the story a try.

As always, your reading pleasure is why I write my stories.