Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

Bor stood in the living room area in the center of the cabin’s main level and scrutinized Day and Perry, seated together on a small couch. Whereas the frail lawyer was looking downward, pulling nervously at his fingernails, and appeared on the verge of evacuating his bladder, the aide to James Brandt gazed directly at Bor with a look of defiance. That look, Bor knew, was not uncommon for strangers to cruelty. They had little conception of the horrors that their fellow man had the capacity to inflict. That would change shortly.

Bor’s primary concern at the moment was the Iranians. While there was no doubt that Bor was in charge, they seemed perpetually perched on the brink of violence. Without Bor’s knowledge, a few of them had roughed up Day in the back of the van on the drive to the Terrapin Estates. Upon discovering this, Bor sent a message to the other Iranians by unceremoniously snapping the principal culprit’s right arm at the elbow. The other Iranians instantly fell into line. Bor was the undisputed alpha dog of this operation. Nonetheless, they continued to hover about Day and Perry like jackals circling carrion.

Bor much preferred working alone or with a small cadre of his own handpicked professionals. He was most comfortable with a team of Spetsnaz comrades, but he’d been impressed with the Omega operators. They were as good as anyone he’d ever worked with. He’d even grown to like and respect them, particularly their leader, Michael Garin, one of the few men Bor considered a peer.

In contrast, these Quds Force men seemed little more than highly trained thugs, with an inflated sense of their own competence. Not that they couldn’t be effective. They were a creditable special operations unit. Provided the mission was relatively straightforward, and their adversary ordinary, they were able to acquit themselves very well. But their limitations became glaringly obvious when tasked to kill Garin.

They’d been thrust on Bor by Moscow, who thought Bor needed help. In the end, Bor ended up killing most of the Omega team by himself anyway. But the Iranians at least provided logistical support.

Bor turned to Atosh Larijani, the senior Iranian. “Take Mr. Day to one of the upstairs bedrooms. We will start with him.” Larijani nodded at two Quds Force operatives, who grabbed Day roughly by each arm and pulled him off the couch. The attorney appeared almost catatonic. Although he offered no resistance, his face was tense and his body was rigid.

“ Gently, please,” Bor admonished. “Mr. Day is a friend. We need not force information from him. He will cooperate. We’re just going to have a little chat.”

Day, his eyes wide with fear, hoped it was true. Why shouldn’t it be? He’d already demonstrated his willingness to provide Bor with any information he needed. He’d proven his loyalty and reliability for nearly three years. Why were they treating him like this? He hadn’t betrayed them in any way. Not really. He’d only acted defensively. This had to be a show for Perry to frighten her. That was it. Of course, that had to be it.

The two Iranians disappeared with Day down the hall and up the stairs. Bor looked at his watch. Ten fifteen. Less than six hours until exfiltration . His exfil. A speedboat manned by three heavily armed naval Spetsnaz operators was hidden in a cove less than half a mile away. A fast trip four miles down the eastern Chesapeake shoreline to a waiting helicopter. Then a short hop to a plane located at a small rural airfield in central North Carolina. He had been given explicit instructions to leave the Iranians behind. After all, their presence would be more evidence for the Americans of Iran’s culpability in the EMP attack. An attack that would occur sometime in the next eight hours.

Bor walked over to the couch and sat next to Olivia, an almost imperceptible flinch betraying her show of defiance. Bor looked at her a moment, his face inscrutable, then patted her knee reassuringly.

“We will have our little talk shortly, Ms. Perry,” Bor said in a calm, eerily detached voice. “As you no doubt have guessed, I’m interested in your conversations with my friend Mike Garin. That’s all. Nothing earth-shattering. But first I need to have a talk with Mr. Day. It shouldn’t take long. In the meantime, gather your thoughts, and if you need anything at all, just ask Atosh.”

Bor rose and smiled down at Olivia.

“Be back in a bit…”

Olivia was sure she’d never heard anything more menacing in her entire life.

Garin crept carefully downhill and through the brush toward the cabin housing Bor and the Iranians. The sky was moonless and the densely wooded forest with its thick canopy reduced visibility to barely five feet in every direction but one. Less than one hundred fifty feet ahead, the lights of the cabin illuminated its immediate perimeter and acted as a beacon for Garin, who would otherwise have no indication he was headed in the right direction.

Improvisation. Garin carried a six-pack of beer in his left hand. In his right he carried a cheap fishing rod he’d purchased at Dumser’s Bait and Tackle Shop next to the 7-Eleven on Choptank. Wedged between his right hand and the shaft of the rod was his SIG Sauer P226, suppressor affixed. In the dark, from a distance of more than a few feet, the SIG and the fishing rod were indistinguishable.

While driving to and from the 7-Eleven, Garin had made several unanswered calls to Dwyer. The lack of response was unusual, but Garin surmised Dwyer must still be at Carl’s bedside, cell phone off in compliance with hospital rules. Garin had left a message for Dwyer, as well as for Matt on DGT’s main line, although he knew any operation of this magnitude and sensitivity could be green-lighted only by Dwyer himself. Garin couldn’t take down the occupants of the cabin alone, not if he had any hope of Olivia’s making it out alive. He desperately needed support from Dwyer’s men.

On his way back from the 7-Eleven, Garin had placed his phone on vibrate and every minute or so he’d hit redial. That was fifteen minutes ago, with no response. He had no choice but to begin moving in on his own.

The darkness provided excellent cover as he approached the rear of the cabin. Although the curtains weren’t drawn, the main- and second-floor windows were too high for anyone at ground level to see everyone inside with certainty. From Garin’s vantage point slightly up the hill, he was even with the main-floor windows but still too far away to see the occupants clearly without a scope. Through the picture window in the living room he could see several individuals standing about, as well as others seated on a couch and chairs. But he couldn’t tell whether they were male or female, American or Iranian.

Slowly, Garin moved closer to the cabin but still well within the tree line of the surrounding forest. He expected there would be guards stationed outside, and Bor was likely to have positioned portable motion detectors and pressure plates around the cabin as well.

When he came within seventy feet of the cabin, Garin was able to discern two figures standing at opposite ends of the structure. Two more were likely stationed on the other side, but Garin couldn’t see them. He needed to take out all of them to ensure getting into the cabin undetected. But to get to anyone on the other side, he first had to leave the cover of the tree line.

Before taking care of the outside guards, Garin had to find out where Olivia and Day were in relation to their captors on the inside. While scanning the windows he continued to move closer to the edge of the tree line, approximately forty feet from the cabin.

There he detected movement in one of the upstairs windows and paused. Taras Bor. The Russian’s head was cast downward and he appeared to be speaking to someone seated to the right. An Iranian was barely visible to his left.