All Necessary Force (16 page)

I heard a scratching through my headset, then Kurt’s voice, sounding like he was speaking through a tube because of the VoIP and encryption.

“Pike, you there?”

“Yes, sir. I got you.”

I gave him an update on Knuckles’ status, and learned that a Taskforce casualty affairs team was on the way. From this point on, it would be out of my hands. More “employees” of my company, including now a doctor, would arrive tomorrow to deal with both the recovery of Bull’s remains and the treatment of Knuckles. Taskforce capability never ceased to amaze me. Neither did the organization’s desire to do whatever it took to take care of its own.

Kurt shifted to the mission. “So what’s up? You still want to execute?”

“Yeah. I do. I don’t have a lot to go on, but finding a thread first may be too late to get a team here. I need to be able to react as soon as I find it.”

“Do you have anything at all?”

“Noordin’s folks are going to the Khan al-Khalili market tomorrow. Three females. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t follow all three by myself. The market’s a tourist-trap nuthouse.”

Kurt paused, then said, “You know, if we weren’t all pissing in our pants here in D.C. over the indicators of a strike, I’d cancel this. The infil alone’s dangerous enough.”

“Sir, I got it. But we both know there’s a link to something here. Did you get the film?”

“Yeah. We developed it. Only seventeen of the thirty-six frames were exposed. All of them pretty much shot by the heat and humidity in Cambodia. We managed to get an image out of six.”

“And?”

“And nothing right now. Just a bunch of shadows and light. A couple have a man in them, but nothing identifiable. We’re digitally working them.”

“Okay. I know it sounds nuts, but those pictures mean something.”

“We’ll keep working it. How’s Jennifer doing?”

“Fine. She’s doing the recce for the drop zone right now. I’ll have the coordinates by this afternoon, before the team launches from Europe.”

And she’s going home after that
. I realized I couldn’t keep stalling about what had happened to the Chinese man. I hadn’t told Kurt how I had made the connection between the camera and the strike, but I knew I had to. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I knew what he’d think.
Get it over with.

“Actually, sir, she’s not fine. She’s coming home tomorrow, after the jump.”

“Why? Was it Bull’s death?”

“No. It’s something I did. I killed a guy.”

I heard nothing for a second.

“Were you in the right?”

“Well, not exactly.”

I told him what had happened, leaving nothing out, knowing I was probably canceling the jump, if not my future in the Taskforce.
Shit, maybe putting my ass in jail
. That’s just the way it would have to be. I didn’t know how the Taskforce would manage that, but I knew I’d go. I finished and waited on Kurt to say something.

“Pike, why?”

“Sir, I don’t know. I went black, like I used to do after my family died. I guess seeing Knuckles tore me up. I didn’t mean to kill him. It was either him or me.” When he didn’t respond, I hurried to get out “It was
self-defense.
”

I heard nothing but breathing, Kurt going through the implications in his mind. When he came back on, he was calm, but his voice was
steel. “Pike… you need to come home. Get the team on the ground, then come back.”

He was remembering my slide into the abyss, and thinking I was just getting started on another run. “Sir, it
won’t
happen again. I mean that. I realize what I did. I know it’s bad.”

He lost his temper. I could hear it even through the Mickey Mouse sound of the VoIP. “Bad? You make it sound like you pissed on the rug. You fucking beat a detainee. Then killed him. Jesus Christ, if we were sanctioned by the government, you’d be arrested.
I
would arrest you.”

“Sir, I told you, it was self-defense, and he had something to do with Bull’s—”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish. We can’t afford cowboys. You know that. We’re doing enough illegal shit as it is. We
do not
lose control. And we sure as shit don’t beat the hell out of people because of our own personal problems.”

The silence extended out. I said nothing, knowing he was right. I’d broken the sacrosanct rule. Because the Taskforce sent men out with the authority to make decisions with national implications, they had to be implicitly trusted to do the right thing. To do what was morally and ethically just. Always. Even when no one was looking. Especially when no one was looking. We operated outside the law, and we were our own police. Kurt took that very, very seriously. Trust was the cornerstone of our existence, and I might’ve lost his.

Kurt finally said, “Okay, get the team on the ground. I’d pull you right now, but we’re in a full-court press. Something bad’s coming, and I need everyone on it. We’ll talk about your future after this is over. You’re lucky that fucker killed a busload of people.”

I sagged with relief. “You got it, sir. I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s not what I want to hear. Do it right. No more bullshit.”

A

Within five minutes, he and Kamil’s men were dressed just like the contact, as Egyptian soldiers, complete with AK-47s. The two pilots and loadmaster were cowering in the back, dressed in Noordin’s travel agency uniforms.

They entered the airport and waited, checking and rechecking their weapons.

Rafik said, “There’ll be another vehicle somewhere. They’ll go to the plane to unload. We need to beat them to the rear of the aircraft.”

They saw the lights of the runway spring to life, bathing the ground in a soft glow. The Arabs tensed, scanning the sky for the aircraft. Kamil saw it first. A blinking dot getting closer and closer. When it began its final approach, Rafik told the contact to drive.

They paralleled the runway, watching the plane touch down, the twin propellers reversing with a roar.

Behind the driver, Kamil said, “There’s the other vehicle.”

Rafik saw a pickup leaving the terminal, heading toward the runway.

“When we get to the plane, act like confused soldiers,” he said. “It will buy us time and lull them. Kamil and I will go inside. The rest of you deal with the truck.”

The driver turned onto the runway and reached the back of the plane as the rear door was lowering. The Arabs exited, Rafik in the lead.

A Caucasian man poked his head out, warily looking at the van.

Rafik said, “What is this? You have emergency?”

The man said, “Uhh… no. We’re meeting that vehicle.” He pointed to the approaching pickup.

Rafik walked up the short stairway, forcing the man to back up. Kamil followed, while the others stayed on the tarmac.

“Meeting someone? This airport is closed. Where is the pilot?”

“Hey, talk to Mansoor. Captain Mansoor? He’s your boss, right?”

The man had backed up to the cockpit, where the pilots were running through checklists, not realizing something was wrong. He got their attention. Both the pilot and copilot turned and faced backward. Rafik now had three heads in a neat row.
Perfect
.

The pilot said, “Hey, come on. You want more fucking money, or what? A deal’s a deal.”

Without a word, Rafik raised his AK and pulled the trigger, splitting the man’s head open. He heard Kamil fire twice on his left as he shifted his aim to the copilot. The man raised his hands in front of his face, as if that would stop the high-velocity round from tearing through his brain. Rafik squeezed twice and saw the man’s head snap back like it was yanked on a string.

All three men were dead, the pilots lolling in their seats as if they had fallen asleep, and the loadmaster crumpled on the deck.

Rafik lowered his weapon and smiled at Kamil. Before he could say anything, they heard gunfire erupt at the rear of the plane, the rattling sound of AK-47s on full automatic competing with a lower popping from pistols.

Rafik and Kamil threw themselves onto the deck of the aircraft and began snaking their way to the rear. In the distance, Rafik heard the Egyptian soldiers on guard begin firing in every direction, with rounds puncturing the thin skin of the aircraft.

They’ll ruin the plane
. “Quit shooting!” he screamed. “Stop firing!” He knew as long as his men kept pulling the trigger, the Egyptians would respond.

Someone from outside shouted, “The truck will get away!”

Kamil said, “If that truck reaches the terminal, they might be able to convince the guards to attack. It’s their money the Egyptians took. We’ll be fighting our way through an army.”

Rafik began running toward the plane’s door, hoping a lucky round didn’t take him out. Kamil followed.

Collapsing behind the van, he berated the first man he saw. “How could you mess this up? All you had to do was kill the men in the truck.”

“They suspected something. They fired first.”

Rafik looked around the corner of the van and saw the pickup fifty meters away, the nose facing the front of the plane. He could see the legs of two men underneath the chassis, near the rear wheel. As he considered his options, one popped up and began shooting. Rafik’s men returned fire, followed by the distant flashes of the soldiers on the perimeter. Rounds began sprinkling around them, most striking the biggest target available—the airframe.

Every bullet that ripped through the skin caused Rafik to cringe. “Stop pulling the trigger! Now!”

Underneath the truck, he saw one man move to the cab. He’d have to crawl across the seat, but once he was behind the wheel, they’d be gone. Rafik rolled underneath the belly of the plane, stood up, and raced toward the cockpit, the airframe shielding him from the truck’s view.

Circling the nose, he saw the man had reached the steering wheel. The truck sprang to life, the headlights blinding him for a second. He heard the tires squeal, and he ran out, blocking the path of the pickup with his body. He raised the weapon as the vehicle bore down, stitching the front of the windshield with multiple rounds. The truck picked up speed, right at him. He refused to move, raking the AK left and right until the magazine emptied, the bolt slamming home with a clunk. He threw the weapon at the windshield, the vehicle so close it clanged off the driver’s-side mirror. The vehicle veered to the left, missing him by two feet. After thirty meters, it veered back to the right, now going fifty miles an hour. It slashed across the tarmac and slammed into a ditch, the nose crumpling inward with a shriek of twisted metal.

Rafik took a deep breath. The night became still, the only sound the
hissing of the radiator of the truck. He walked back to the rear of the aircraft. The men were looking at him in awe.

“Get the Indonesians and their paint. Clean up that truck.”

He walked to the driver’s-side door of the van. The contact was cowering in the well by the pedals. He pulled him up by the hair.

“Go talk to the security perimeter. Tell them a story. Whatever, I don’t care, as long as you tell them that the transfer was successful and we appreciate their help. Hand me my bag.”

The man did as he asked. Rafik pulled out a thick wad of American dollars. “Give this to whoever is the best choice. Come back when you’re done.”

As the van pulled away, he turned to the Indonesians.

“Get to work on the numbers.”

As all three began to move, he grabbed the loadmaster. “Not you.”

The loadmaster whimpered, making Rafik want to gut him right there. The pilot who was his partner began to panic. “What are you doing? You said we’d all fly.”

“No. I said you’d all be fine. And you will.”

He pulled out the fillet knife, the dried blood black in the dim light of the runway.

“But if you don’t meet us in Prague, I’ll cause him so much pain that you’ll feel it long after he’s dead.”

Han had just settled into his suite, toying with the idea of getting a late-night massage at the spa, when the contact phone began to ring.

“Hello. I’m assuming that
now
this is the twenty-four-hour call.”

Han pulled the phone away from his ear, the shouting coming from it incoherent. Congressman Ellis sounded like he was hyperventilating, babbling about the American they’d tried to kill and the equipment transfer. Han could barely make out what he was saying. He cut Ellis off.

“Stop. Start over. What has happened to the shipment?”

“It’s gone! Someone stole it! I’m not lying. It had to be that Nephilim guy. I told you to do something about him.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“The plane came in tonight. I was going to transfer the equipment to you tomorrow, but someone came in and took it. My Egyptian contacts are all saying the transfer occurred and the plane flew away, but I can’t get any of my men on the phone. Neither the men who were bringing the equipment to Cairo or the flight crew. They’ve disappeared, and so has the cargo.”

Han considered for a second. Ellis could be lying, but he didn’t think the man was capable of such acting. The voice on the other end of the phone was on the verge of breaking.

“How do you know it was the American?”

“I don’t, dammit! But who the fuck else would it be? You need to get it back. Get it back and kill Nephilim, before he can talk. And the woman, too.”

The man Han had tasked to follow the American hadn’t reported in a couple of days, but that in itself wasn’t unusual. He’d been told to report only if something suspicious happened, and it appeared that the American cared about nothing but his friend in the hospital.

“Are you sure the plane’s gone?”

“Yes! The Egyptians told me the plane flew away. Why would they lie?”

“So why aren’t you sure the transfer happened? Maybe your men just have phone trouble.”

“No, no, no. This was too important. I had three numbers. They were instructed to call immediately. I’ve heard nothing and had to call my Egyptian contact to get the information I’m giving you. Something’s wrong, and that American is at the heart of it.”