Ted Bell - Spy

“What?”

“See for yourself, my brother,” Khan said, tapping the monitor in question. “This one appears to be lost in the snow.”

Khan stepped aside for Top who peered intently at the image. There was so much snow whirling around the camera lens that it was difficult to see what was being broadcast. “You’re lost?” he said to the young curly-haired controller, whose name was Yashim.

“Only momentarily, God willing,” Yashim said.

“Shit. Police. Two of them. How did this happen?”

He leaned in to scrutinize the scene. Two uniformed officers could now clearly be seen standing at the rear of the truck. Both were looking up at the rear door. One appeared to have some sort of battering ram in his hands.

Khan said, “The truck was stopped by police? Why? And you alerted no one?”

Yahshim trembled visibly and said, “I am most sorry, sir. In the storm, we lost the route through the park. A wrong turn perhaps. The snow. I thought I could find it again. But, then I—”

“Where is the truck located?” Top shouted, “Now! Put up the GPS map! Show me!”

“Here, sir. In Rock Creek Park,” the sensor operator said, his voice shaky. “About three miles from its rendezvous point in this heavily wooded area.”

“What’s this large building? The one here?”

“Walter Reed Hospital. Veterans’ facility.”

“Blow up the truck,” Top said evenly. “Use the anti-tampering explosive device in the trailer.”

Each truck was equipped with an anti-tampering system that could be triggered remotely. Or, in the event that the primary contents of the truck were in any way disturbed, the explosive package would destroy both the vehicle and its contents automatically. So far, the police had only broken a window in the cab. It had not been enough to trigger the automatic explosion.

“Now?” Yashim asked.

“You’d like to wait for the two policeman to discover the contents and alert their superiors? Yes, now. Do it!”

The controller pushed a button marked FIRE and the resulting violent explosion instantly caused the screen to go black.

“Your mission is complete,” Top said to the man seated before him. He put the muzzle of his pistol to the back of the controller’s head and fired one round into his brain. The sensor operator seated next to him screamed and shoved his chair back, struggling to get to his feet.

“Yours, too,” he said to the second man before he killed him, putting the muzzle to his chest and pulling the trigger.

Top made his way to the front of the room, every eye glued to him.

“That was unfortunate. But, necessary. Victory is near. I assume there will be no further trucks lost in the snow. Correct?”

“God willing!” the controllers all shouted in unison. It was standard Arabic courtesy to give God the benefit of the doubt.

“God willing you will all be alive to share the fruits of our victory in a few hours. Now, get back to work. All trucks should be at their designated rendezvous locations and unloading their precious cargo in the next hour. Does anyone in this room see a problem with that? Tell me now.”

Silence.

“Good. Let it be.”

“A thousand pardons, sir,” a technician in the front row said, breaking the silence.

“Yes?”

“Hawke’s vessel has stopped. Here. At an abandoned village called Tupo.”

“How long has he been there?”

“Just pulled in. There’s a dock. Could be loading or unloading.”

“Tanks nearby?”

“One, sir.”

“Send it to the location. And order four drones up. Attack drones. Perhaps Dr. Khan is right. Nevertheless. I want to sink that sitting duck. Now.”

Khan smiled and slipped quietly from the room.

An old song popped into his head and he sang a lyric softly as he entered the elevator.

Send in the drones…

75

THE BLACK RIVER

B rock was late for his scheduled river rendezvous with Alex Hawke. He’d been making his way through the jungle to the outpost at Tupo when he got into a life or death race with some tanks. He’d accidentally tripped a sensor and a whole squadron of Trolls had been sent out to find him. He seemed to have confused most of the joystick jockeys when he’d crossed a wide ravine, deftly tightrope-walking a fallen tree to the other side. Now he realized another of the little bastards was still on his butt.

Before he’d found the ravine, this last group almost got him. He’d carved one out of the pack and tried to climb aboard and bull-ride the damn thing like he and Saladin had perfected. The smartass controller had applied full throttle forward to one track, full reverse to the other. The Troll spun like a goddamn top on its axis and flung him off into the bushes.

High fives in the control room, oh yeah.

This new guy was seriously spitting lead. The air was full of tracer rounds, too, the shrubbery getting chewed to pieces all around him as the guy tried to find his range. Head down, pumping his knees high, bobbing and weaving, Harry ran for his life. He was seeing sunlight ahead now. The river was close. There was the dock through the trees. He could make out a boat, a crazy looking black boat, had to be a hundred feet long, waiting at the end.

Had to be Hawke. Nobody else he knew would have a boat like that. He’d almost missed his ride. Fucking Troll remote operators had gotten their shit together, all right. All that practice with Harry and Saladin had made them a lot better at this game. Harry ran for daylight.

He tripped over a big root, cursed as he went down. Now he was up and running for his life again. The tank was still on his ass, spitting lead at him. He dodged and feinted, using the thick undergrowth as cover. He was almost to the clearing.

Now he had to sprint across open ground. There was dilapidated shed at the foot of the dock, about a hundred yards away. As he got closer, he saw machine gun turrets on Hawke’s boat. Shoot back, you assholes! Get this tank off my ass! Fifty cals on the bow and stern. Christ, there was even one up on top of the wheelhouse! What the hell was going on? Were they all asleep?

No, they were just busy.

Unseen by Harry Brock, armed drones were approaching the black gunship moored at the end of the dock. Hawke was up on top of the wheelhouse with Ecclestone who was manning the .23mm cannon. Both men were keenly focused on enemy craft approaching from every compass point. Hawke had his glasses on the tiny black specks dead ahead, another drone flying low over the water toward his bow. Hawke was straining his eyes, trying to determine if there were missiles on the wingtips or if these were just more recon flights. He’d no intention of wasting another PAM on a mere recon.

“Radar showing four small drone aircraft approaching out of the west-southwest, sir, altitude two hundred feet, speed fifty-five knots,” he heard Fire Control Officer Lewis say in his headphones. “Range one mile.”

“Four bogies?” Hawke said.

“Four, roger. Three bogies are breaking formation. Climbing. Looks like they intend to circle around behind us, sir. The lead one, too, seems to be climbing. Appears to be circling. Looks like a holding pattern.”

Why send four when one would do? Hawke wondered.

“Awaiting further orders, I expect. Keep an eye on them, Lewis.” He told the Fire Control Officer.

Then he heard rapid machine gun fire from the bank and saw Harry Brock emerge from the jungle. He’d been waiting nearly an hour and was about to give orders to shove off. He’d no desire to remain a sitting duck any longer than he had to. But, here Harry came, running flat out toward the clearing. Somebody was shooting at him, but who, or, what?

A tank. Small, but fast and firing twin machine guns at his friend Harry. One of the two robots that had been shadowing them no doubt.