R Patterson - The Shadow Hunter

The leaks appeared to be random, sometimes showing up in newspapers and on major television news programs. At other times, the intel would appear in chat rooms on the internet or gossip columns on random blogs. There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to the leaks other than to make the White House nervous. But that changed when an embarrassing cable between the U.S. ambassador to the Philippines and Secretary Wheeler was shared on several websites. While the intel inside it wasn’t all harmful, the frank assessments of other countries’ public officials was at the least embarrassing, at the most diplomatic suicide. The result was a new determination from the White House to expose the source and shut it down permanently.

Alex finished compiling a brief report before she sent it to Mallory, who immediately called Alex back to thank her.

“This is excellent work, Alex,” Mallory said. “I don’t know how we missed it. Using the cash withdrawals with the arrest report to affirm the suspicion that Edgefield was gambling proved to be a great piece of detective work.

“Anything to keep my mind off Hawk being gone,” Alex said.

“Glad I could help,” Mallory said. “And whenever you can talk about that thing you can’t talk about, give me a call.”

“Sure thing,” Alex said as she hung up the phone.

WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES, Mallory was holding for President Norris on her cell. When he came on the line, he dispensed with pleasantries and jumped right to business.

“Sir,” Mallory started, “we believe we’ve identified the man responsible for the leak. Would you like for me to have him arrested?”

“I guess we could,” Norris said. “But what if we waited? Would that be a problem?”

“What did you have in mind, Mr. President?”

“If he doesn’t know that we know, why don’t we use him to our advantage?”

“What do you mean?”

Norris sighed. “I think I know who’s ultimately behind all this, but there’s only one way to find out.”

Central Siberia, Russia

FROM THE PASSENGER SIDE, Hawk looked up at the Verkhoyansk mountains, their jagged peaks casting a dark shadow on the valley. As he continued to survey the area, he squinted at the small dirt road he noticed winding up the hillside and disappearing around a bend.

“This is where you take over,” the Russian man driving said as he pulled the truck over onto the shoulder. “I will expect you to return within two hours. If you don’t, I will assume you are dead. Are you clear on the instructions?”

Hawk nodded as he opened the door. He walked around to the driver side, where the man stood.

“Good luck, Mr. Hawk,” the man said. “I will be right here waiting for you. Just follow the road and you’ll be fine.”

“See you in two hours,” Hawk said as he slid into the seat and gripped the wheel.

The man shoved the door shut and gave Hawk a military salute before hustling over to a vehicle that had been trailing them. Hawk wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant for good luck or condolences.

Hawk eased the truck onto the snow-covered road. The studs on the tires dug into the frozen terrain and didn’t seem to have any problems with traction. And Hawk found that to be a big relief since his task required him to drive up a steep mountainside.

The task was somewhat simple in nature. Orlovsky wanted Hawk to deliver a shipment to another man, Igor Kalinsky. While Orlovsky didn’t divulge the contents of the large package, Hawk could only assume it consisted of some sort of drugs. In preparation for the journey at Orlovsky’s estate, Hawk gathered that Orlovsky’s illegal arms trade business had dried up and so he’d moved on to other lucrative opportunities, though ones that required more work.

Hawk discovered that the estate was also the manufacturing facility for Orlovsky’s operations and contained a handful of meth labs in the basement. The aging mansion had been updated with new ventilation systems that kept the labs’ noxious gasses from catching fire. And while no one had told Hawk exactly what he was delivering to Kalinsky, Hawk figured it out.

Hawk fiddled with the dials on the radio, which could only tune into one station. It consisted of a mix of static and an upbeat style of polka he wasn’t familiar with that included auto-tuned voices and synthesizers.

Listening to this is a special kind of hell.

He turned off the radio and focused on the rugged terrain. After he had driven for about fifteen minutes, the road narrowed. There wasn’t enough room for two vehicles to pass for large portions of the drive, making the conditions even more dangerous. With no guardrail to protect him from dropping down into a rugged canyon, Hawk turned his entire attention to navigating the road to Kalinsky’s estate.

Hawk rounded a corner and eased into a stretch of road that appeared to be enveloped by the trees. The already-waning afternoon sun was all but gone in the dark forest. Hawk rubbed his eyes and continued rumbling over the snow and ice.

After another half-hour of oscillating between flat segments and steep inclines, he started to descend. When he eventually emerged from the trees, he found himself in a valley on the opposite site of the mountain. At the base of the area, he noticed Kalinsky’s estate, just as it had been described to Hawk.

He approached the gate and slowed down as an armed guard lumbered in front of his vehicle and held out his hand. Hawk stopped the vehicle and waited for the man to walk around to Hawk’s window.

“What brings you here?” the man asked in Russian.

Hawk explained the purpose of his visit. Satisfied with the response, the man signaled to proceed, waving him through with the barrel of his weapon.

As instructed, Hawk drove around to the side of a large shed located about two hundred meters away from the house. Once he got out, two men approached him with guns and shouted at him in Russian.

“I was just told to make this delivery to your boss,” Hawk said. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

The men nodded and then worked together to retrieve the package, which was about the size of pallet and no more than a half-meter thick. They hoisted the large item out of the truck bed and retreated inside. Hawk remained inside the truck, awaiting further directions. After a couple of minutes had elapsed, a large bare-chested man with nothing on but a ushanka cap and denim overalls stormed out of a side door and headed straight toward Hawk. He caught a glint of light off an object in the man’s hand and realized trouble was afoot.

Hawk threw the truck in reverse and gunned the engine. The slick surface made Hawk’s truck slip for a second before catching the ice. When the tires caught hold, he flew backward across the open space leading to the exit. Hawk saw the man pull out his weapon and start firing.

With only one escape route, Hawk ducked low enough that only his forehead and eyes peered above the dashboard. He made a straight line for the gate. Guards scrambled to stop Hawk, but they were too late.

When Hawk struck the metal gate, it flew open in a flurry of sparks. Men peppered the back window with bullets but didn’t do any damage that compromised the integrity of the vehicle. Through the new openings in the glass, Hawk heard more clearly the hum of the two-stroke snowmobile engines whining as they pursued him.

Driving a more stable vehicle, Hawk plowed through the snow. Over the next half-hour, he managed to increase the distance between them to about two hundred meters. As he veered around a corner, the road narrowed again, wide enough for just one vehicle to pass.

Hawk saw this as his opportunity to rid himself of Kalinsky’s men. Once he rounded the corner and was out of sight, he scrambled out of the truck and up an embankment. Upon taking up his perch there, he eased into a prone position and waited for the snowmobiles to round the corner.