Dale Brown - Act of War

“I understand, sir.”

“I don’t think you do, or if you do I haven’t changed your mind,” Chamberlain said with a slight bit of sardonic humor in his voice, “so I’ll say it one more time: I strongly suggest you bring your team back to the States ASAP. Let the FBI, CIA, and INTERPOL handle GAMMA, Ruiz, and Khalimov. You received the information I sent on Khalimov and Zakharov?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you should know, Sergeant Major, in case you haven’t figured it out, that you’re playing with some very, very bad dudes out there, and I don’t believe you’re equipped right now to handle them,” Chamberlain went on, his voice showing astonishment at Jefferson’s lack of reaction. “We’re not sure what Zakharov’s game is—he’s pretending to be a big supporter of GAMMA but we think he’s got another agenda. But there’s no doubt at all about Captain Pavel Khalimov: he’s a trained military and government assassin, linked to hundreds of killings around the world over the past eighteen years for the KGB in the Soviet years, for the Russian Internal Security Service, and lately as an assassin for hire. If he’s got PME troops on his payroll, he’ll be unstoppable.”

“I understand, sir,” Jefferson repeated, “but again, the opportunity to grab the head of this terror group and find out exactly who was responsible for Kingman City is paramount. We have to try.”

“I could order you not to do it.”

“Yes, sir, you could,” Jefferson said. “I believe Kristen Skyy would still demand to go.”

“You could force her to stay.”

“Yes, sir, I believe I could, and I believe her flight and production crews would not fight me on this,” Jefferson said. “But then Jorge Ruiz would probably be killed….”

“You told me you think he’s dead already.”

“We don’t know for sure, sir,” Jefferson said. “It’s only logical to think that Pereira would be a secondary target and Ruiz the primary, but perhaps Khalimov went after Pereira first in São Paulo because he’s the harder target and more of a threat to Zakharov. I don’t know. But Abaete was on the way, we’re here, and I think we should proceed.”

“Kristen Skyy won’t be able to save Ruiz even if he is alive.”

“But if I and a few PME troops go along with her, sir, we might get lucky.”

“It’s too risky. We have all the intel we need, Sergeant Major. We don’t need Ruiz…”

“Yes, sir, but it would sure be helpful if we had him,” Jefferson said. “I have no intention of letting this get out of hand, Mr. Chamberlain. We’ll be careful, sir.”

There was a very long pause on the line; then, in a very reluctant voice, Chamberlain said, “I don’t like it, Sergeant Major, but I agree that this is an opportunity we can’t pass up to get the guy who masterminded the attack on Kingman City. I’ll advise the President of what you intend to do and try my best to sell him on the idea. If there’s anyone who can take on the likes of someone like Pavel Khalimov, it’s you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he responded, but the connection was broken before he got all of the words out. He closed the flip and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Major Richter.”

“Yes, sir?” Richter replied. He and Ariadna Vega were both leaning inside the CID unit with tools and flashlights; an electronic diagnostic device was attached to an access panel, with several rows of readouts flashing red numerals. Their jet was parked by itself on an isolated part of Abaete Regional Airport’s parking ramp, about three hundred meters from the terminal building. A blue plastic tarp was slung over the rear fuselage near the open baggage compartment to hide the CID unit from observation, but this section of the ramp was pretty deserted. The PME officer traveling with them had spoken to the local PME patrols, and together they were keeping everyone away. One local PME soldier roamed around the aircraft itself, while two more in a U.S. military surplus Jeep patrolled the ramp area, chasing away curious onlookers.

“Any progress?”

“A little,” Jason replied. “We’ve replaced the hydraulic power pack, but seawater has damaged a lot of other circuitry so we can’t test it yet. We have no idea how long it will take to get it dried out and going again. Maybe not until we get it back to Fort Polk.” Ari looked at Jason with serious concern all over her face.

“Well, you gave it a try, Major, Dr. Vega,” Jefferson said. “Mr. Chamberlain is still advising us to return to the States.”

“Just ‘advising’ us? Sir, he’s not ordering us to return now?”

“He was on board Air Force One before and was reacting to the news of us being in Brazil,” Jefferson explained. “Now that he understands we’re on the trail of the organization that might have been responsible for Kingman City, he’s backed off.” Jason nodded; Ari’s concerned expression only darkened. “So it’s up to us. He has not gotten us any official government support—he says most of the White House still wants us in prison.”

“But he’s not ordering us to return anymore,” Jason observed. “It sounds like he’s secretly urging us to press on, sir.”

“That would be my guess as well, Major,” Jefferson said. “However, Chamberlain maintains that without the CID unit, we could be in real trouble without backup. I agree with him: it’s too dangerous. We should leave it to the PME, State Department, and CIA to get those guys.”

“It may be dangerous, Sergeant Major, but you’re not making the decisions here,” Kristen Skyy said. She and her crew had been unloading her equipment into an old panel van she procured from the airport manager with a lot of cash and a little womanly schmoozing. “It’s my plane, my crew, and my story. The locals will protect you and the plane while you’re here. I’m taking my crew and going out to Ruiz’s farm to try to locate him.”

Jason climbed down off the CID unit. “Khalimov will certainly be out there, waiting for you,” he said, stepping over to her. “Don’t go. The sergeant major’s right: it’s too dangerous.”

“This is the hottest story of the decade, maybe even of the century,” Kristen said. “The story is out there, not here at this airport. I’m going.” She noticed the look of extreme concern on his face and smiled appreciatively. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ve been in lots of dangerous places before—I don’t think a farm in Brazil will be one of them.”

“Kristen…”

She reached out, touched his face, and smiled. “Hey, look at me—I’ve got a man worried about me. That’s a nice switch.” She motioned to the PME officer from São Paulo, now behind the wheel in the van. “I’ve got my friend Alderico there too, so I don’t think we’ll have any trouble if we run into any local PME.”

“What’s your plan, Kristen?” Jason asked.

“I want to make contact with the farm’s new owners and see if anyone else other than the PME has been sniffing around,” she replied. “I intend to look around first, do a little surveillance, and check it out carefully before I go in. That farm is surely under twenty-four-seven surveillance by several Brazilian and other government agencies…”

“And Zakharov and Khalimov,” he reminded her.

She held up a pair of night-vision binoculars, and tapped her chest indicating her bulletproof vest. “Standard issue stuff in our line of work. Don’t worry about me. I suggest you be ready to blast off as soon as I radio you—I might be high-tailing it out of there.”

Sergeant Major Jefferson drew his forty-five-caliber Smith and Wesson pistol from its holster on his right hip, checked the safety was on, then holstered it again. “I’m going with you,” he said.

Kristen looked at the big Ranger and nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”