McDonald Array - Divide and Conquer

The front door being opened downstairs deterred them from any such call and had them scampering for cover. The only cover they could find was the loft hatch and as the watchers who were obviously keen to hide in the daylight trooped up the stairs, the CIA team was silently slipping into the loft. It was only a matter of luck that they managed to secure the hatch before the first watcher had mounted the staircase.

Hearing the low murmur of the voices from below and with none of the insulation in place, the Team could do nothing but remain still and silent and certainly had no chance to make a call. The Team Leader reached for his phone, he could always send a text but it wasn’t in his pocket, it was in his pack which had been slung across the floor of the loft, with all the others, as they scrambled out of sight. He tried to reach out but the wood beneath him began to squeak. He signaled to his team. They all shook their heads, none could get to a phone without alerting the watchers below. They then had an added concern. What if somebody called them?

As the sun rose, the heat began to build. The un-insulated loft space was not where you wanted to be in the Texan sun. After less than half an hour, the temperature was easily touching a hundred in the confined and airless space and it wasn’t even 8.00 a.m. There was no way they could spend the day there, certainly not without water which was in their packs. Just as he was considering their next move, a noise from below had them all looking at one another. A scuffle followed by feet scrambling across the floor had them looking towards the hatch. Had they been detected?

The American accent saying Sean Fox had the nearest team member to the hatchway lifting it. As far as he was concerned, friendlies were below. After all, it was Sean Fox they were there to assist. As the hatch rose, he saw Sean with one man by the throat and a gun pointing at another. As he inched the hatch higher, a man with a phone to his ear and a gun firmly pressed against Sean’s head came into view.

“Hostiles!” muttered the hatch opener. He couldn’t do anything, both hands were holding the hatch and his body blocked the view for the others. He leaned back offering the second team member a view.

“Shit!” said team member two struggling to get his MP5 raised in the confined space.

“Only shoot if he’s in imminent danger,” warned the team leader as number two depressed his trigger. He was very certain he was.

Sean caught sight of the hatch opening just as he realized the guy was saying yes in Russian. More Russians, he thought.

The putt of an MP5 was unmistakable as was the wetness that hit Sean’s head. With Watcher Three dead, Sean squeezed Watcher One’s neck, snapping at least two vertebrae as he pulled the trigger that sent Watcher Two to an early grave. Three down in the blink of an eye. Fortunately, all weapons were silenced and nobody outside of the house were any the wiser, although as the CIA team with some relief climbed from the loft space, Sean suddenly remembered the phone.

“Shit!” he spun to the lifeless body that had threatened to kill him. The phone was half implanted in its head. The bullet had gone straight through the phone before killing him instantly. A bullet hole in the floor was testament to the fact that he had managed to pull the trigger to kill Sean before he died.

As the hot and extremely sweaty CIA team high fived Sean, the Team Leader looked at the two watchers killed by Sean.

“Was that really necessary?” he asked.

Sean kicked Watcher One over with his foot, a nine-inch blade was in his hand. From its positioning, it would have been pressed against Sean’s gut. He stepped over to Watcher Two and kicked him over revealing a KEDR B silenced submachine gun in his hand. The Russian equivalent of a Mac 10, its rate of fire and firepower would have killed Sean and the CIA team with one sweep of fire up and into the ceiling.

“Fair enough!” he replied. “So what’s happening?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” replied Sean sincerely, looking at the dead Russians. “There were a couple of Russians here yesterday but when they spotted me, they did everything they could not to kill me. These guys it seemed were absolutely intent on killing me!”

The three Russians wore ordinary American clothes, Levis jeans and polo shirts. Were it not for their speaking Russian and their arsenal of Russian weaponry, they’d never have known they were not Americans. The one with the phone had sounded absolutely American when he had said Sean’s name.

“Russian Mafia?”

“If they are, they’re young and exceptionally well trained,” suggested Sean. He hadn’t even noticed that Watcher One, whose throat he had crushed, had a knife in place, until the blade had touched his skin. It was a very slick move and as for the second watcher, the submachine gun had literally materialized in his hand. Had Sean not had the reactions he had, it would be one to the US and six for the Russians.

“We do keep hearing that they employ all the ex-Spetsnaz!” offered the Team Leader.

Sean wasn’t convinced. “We’ll find out soon enough. There are at least another three and I would assume more,” he offered, turning to the stairs.

“How do you know that?”

Sean thought for a second. How could he describe Luis. “Let’s just say an acquaintance of mine told me.” It was the best he could come up with off the cuff. “He’s out back, I’ll just go grab him.”

“Cool, we’ll grab our gear from the loft.”

An ear-piercing scream from outside stopped them all in their tracks.

“Dr Surkov,” offered Borodin cheerily, as he finally got through.

“Good afternoon, General. I am very busy!” he replied as politely as the words allowed.

“I just thought I’d update you that Sean Fox had been dealt with!”

“Good, and his wife and son?”

“I presume so!” replied Borodin uneasily.

“You presume so?” questioned Surkov scathingly.

All Borodin had was the conversation, if you could call it that, with Pushkin, Done? Yes. Borodin thought back at the orders he had given Pushkin which were to kill them all and not just Sean Fox. “Sorry, yes, they have all been dealt with,” he replied more confidently.

Surkov paused before responding, leaving Borodin hanging.

“You’re not convincing me, General. You do understand how crucial your task is to Russia?”

Borodin bit his tongue. The prize was too great not to be part of it.

“Of Course,” he replied. “I will get clarification as soon as possible to you.”

“Good!” replied Surkov.

“I have not heard from the President, as yet?” added Borodin quickly.

“I told you, you would be contacted when the time was right. Under no circumstances do you discuss anything with anybody. Until you are contacted! And that includes the president!” instructed Surkov forcefully before ending the call.

Vasiliy who had witnessed Borodin’s side of the conversation had never before seen anything like it. Borodin was putty in Surkov’s hands. Borodin was the man that people feared, even the president dreaded a meeting with the over powering Borodin. Whatever Surkov had promised Borodin was something Borodin could only have dreamed of in his wildest dreams.

As Surkov considered the conversation that had just taken place, he began to worry. Sean Fox was a concern but General Borodin was slowly becoming a greater one. Surkov needed him. He needed the power that Borodin had within the military for the plan to work. There was no one more revered or feared within the military. Borodin was the modern Russian equivalent of Hoover. He knew all the secrets of anyone who was anyone in Russia. Surkov and Grebnevo had been under his radar. However, if it had fallen under his gaze, Borodin would have been dealt with.