Black Flagged Redux (56 page)

"You have a traitor on your security detail. Someone with very expensive taste."

Radovan rushed up behind him and growled into his ear. "What did you say, thief?"

"One of your guard's is wearing a really expensive watch. I've seen similar watches, I think, in Berlin…while fucking around at a very expensive mall. I noticed it on him when you came by the assembly area two days ago. He was inspecting some of our weapons, and I got a close-up look," he whispered, and Radovan remained silent for several of the longest seconds in Marko's life.

"Which guard?" he demanded.

"Can I point to him?" Marko said.

"Yes, but if you fuck with me, I'll spill your guts all over the ground. Do it. I don't have all day," he said, and Marko sensed that he had taken a few steps back.

Marko turned purposefully, and quickly located Andrija Brujic, who looked amused by what appeared to be a new act in Radovan's travelling psycho performance. A few members of the platoon exchanged glances, and he could tell they were awaiting something horrific, yet enticingly different. Brujic adjusted the brim of his camouflage cap and touched his flattened nose. The man wore the mask of an unintelligent brute, but his light brown eyes betrayed a hint of intelligence not typically seen on Radovan's security team. When Marko raised his hand and pointed at Brujic, the cocky smile vanished, and Marko detected a confused panic settle over the man.

"Andrija, roll up your sleeves," Radovan said, and the man hesitated. "Roll up your sleeves," he said one more time, and when Brujic didn't respond immediately, he lost all composure.

"Wrestle that fuck to the ground!" he screamed, spurring several members of the platoon to grab Brujic's arms and pin him to the ground.

"Roll up his fucking sleeves," Radovan spat.

Without ripping the buttons, the camouflage sleeves only came up midway between the wrist and elbow, but it was enough to expose a thick, shiny watch. Very expensive looking from this distance.

"I want to see that watch," Radovan said and took a few steps away from Marko toward the messy tangle of men sprawled out on the muddy ground.

One of the men stripped the watch from Brujic's wrist and tossed it to Radovan, who took a several seconds to inspect it. Brujic broke the silence, which may or may not have made a difference in the outcome of his fate that day.

"He's the one that gave it to me! He said it was a fake that he stole from some shithead in the Zemun market. This is a fucking setup! Can't you see that?" he said, and although he never actually said it, the tone suggested he meant to add "you stupid fuck" to the end of the sentence.

When several members of the platoon and Radovan's security detail muttered and chuckled at his comment, Marko knew the man was as good as dead. He still had no idea if he'd survive the next few minutes, but he now had a much better chance than standing in line waiting to be shot.

"Mr…?" he paused and looked to Marko to finish his sentence.

"Resja. Marko Resja, sir," he replied.

"Mr. Resja gave you this watch, in attempt to frame you?" he said, turning back to Brujic, who strained against the thick hands pressing him to the ground.

Now the laughter grew, as Radovan's tone implied that Brujic's story was nonsense.

"Yes! He gave it to me a few days ago. Out of the blue. He's trying to pull some shit on us. The watch is a fake. I don't have money to buy expensive watches," he said.

"But you have money to eat in expensive restaurants?"

"That's different. I wasn't paying. It was that whore from the—"

His comment was interrupted by a solid kick to the face by Radovan's black, spit-polished combat boot, which silenced his desperate plea momentarily.

"Haul him up and shut him up," he said and turned around to Marko.

While the men struggled to get Brujic to his feet, Radovan tossed the watch to Resja.

"That's a twenty-eight thousand dollar Rolex Cosmograph. I own two just like it. I could use a keen eye like yours on my security detail," he said, in a more controlled tone.

Marko offered the watch back to Radovan.
Twenty-six thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five dollars to be precise. Arranged through an exclusive jeweler at the Potsdamer Platz Arkaden in Berlin. Paid for, in advance of pickup, by General Sanderson.

"What happens to him?" Marko asked, against Brujic's duct tape muffled screams.

"He goes into the pit with the rest of them, after Nenad's crew works him over," he replied and turned to the platoon leader.

"Give him the special treatment, reserved exclusively for the Kosovar whore queens…and get rid of that shit over there. What the fuck are you keeping them around for?" he demanded, pointing at the huddled women and children sitting off to the side, under armed guard.

"We wanted to save a few of them for you and your men," Nenad replied.

"Get rid of them, and get out of here. I want this wrapped up in thirty minutes."

"Grab your rifle, and hop in the rear vehicle. You smell like donkey shit," Radovan uttered, still glaring at Brujic's battered, duct-taped face.

Marko ran off to grab his gear. When he returned, Radovan and his entourage were already on their way to the Range Rovers, forcing him to sprint to catch up with them. Radovan glanced at him.

"Sniper, eh? Any good?" he said.

Nenad stood a few feet away and answered the question for Marko.

"One of the best I've seen in a while. Don't embarrass us, Resja," he said and slapped Marko on the back.

They exchanged momentary glances, and Marko nodded before climbing into the back seat of the rear SUV. The rich smell of leather penetrated the stench he had choked on for the entire three-day field operation, easing him into the vehicles luxurious interior.

"Fuck, man. You do smell like shit. Crack the windows," the man directly in front of Marko in the passenger seat said.

"Bojan," the burly guard next to Marko said, extending his hand.

"Thanks. Marko. What’s going to happen to them?" he said.

"Your buddies in front of the pit?" Bojan asked. "They're going into the pit…where they belong."

Marko stared out of the window at Sava, who looked slightly relaxed, despite the fact that they hadn't been allowed to face away from the pit. He was glad that the Range Rover's tinted windows hid his face. If Sava locked eyes with him for even a moment, the boy would know that he was as good as dead. He just hoped they made it quick for him. His thoughts of Sava faded, and the SUV started slowly moving away from the center of the village. He had to start planning phase two of his operation.

Marko had just passed the most critical test for any covert field operative. What the psychologists and psychiatrists involved in Black Flag's mental readiness division program called a "permanent trust point," or PTP. They had told his training class that most operatives will never reach a "permanent trust point" with any of the organizations they are attempting to penetrate, and of those operatives who do, even fewer will survive the circumstances surrounding it. Once an operative survives their unique PTP, they will achieve the next level of security and access within their organization. This term was reserved for significant, high-level penetration, and Radovan Grahovac's personal security detail was only a few tiers away from Srecko Hadzic, his ultimate goal. From an operational perspective, Marko had passed with flying colors. From General Sanderson's point-of-view, he had far exceeded all expectations.

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Black Flagged

Excerpt from The Jakarta Pandemic

A novel by Steven Konkoly

Prologue

Alex checked his watch for the tenth time in less than twenty minutes. 5:50 PM.

Where are they?

He had started to lose his patience early, which came as no surprise. He had been lying under the McCarthy's play set for nearly an hour, as a vicious Nor’easter dumped thick waves of snow on him. This would be enough to test anyone's patience…and physical limits.

He lowered his night vision scope for a moment and rubbed his eyes. Now, even the green image in the scope added to his discomfort. He just hoped that Charlie was keeping a better watch
over the stretch of ground that defined the ambush site.

He’d better be, or they could stumble right through here undetected.

Alex had doubts about spotting them with his night vision scope. The near absence of ambient light, combined with a blinding snowstorm, continued to degrade the already grainy image formed by the inexpensive first generation night scope.

He twisted open the green ceramic thermo, and poured the last of the hot tea prepared for him by Kate. He sipped the steaming tea from the thermos cap and placed the cap down next to the rifle in front of him and took another look through the night vision. He could still see the Hayes' house, but the image was even grainier. He knew the batteries were not the issue; he’d just changed them. Soon enough, he'd have to rely solely on Charlie to spot them in time to spring a coordinated ambush. If not, he'd have to take the three men down himself, which wasn't optimal, but was still well within his range of capabilities. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if they slipped by him. Nothing would stand between these psychopaths and his family.

As long as I see them before they're right on top of me I'll be fine.

Alex swigged the rest of the warm tea and replaced the lid. He tucked the thermos into his backpack and checked his rifle again. Looking through the Aimpoint scope, he saw that the red dot still glowed brightly in the center of the sight. He pulled back on the AR-15's charging handle and ejected the bullet loaded in the chamber, leaving the brass cartridge in the snow where two other bullets lay. He’d ejected one bullet every half hour to ensure that the freezing temperatures had not affected the weapon's mechanical action. A malfunction tonight would spell disaster.

He suffered a sudden, violent, and insuppressible full body shiver, which rendered him useless for a few seconds. He couldn’t last out here all night, and he knew it. He looked through the night vision scope again, and the green image confirmed that he was still alone. Staring through the scope, he wondered how it was possible for things to have spiraled so far out of control.

So far gone, in fact, that he now found himself lying under a neighbor's play set in a blizzard, eagerly waiting to kill. He never thought twice about doing this in Iraq. It was his mission. He didn't really have any problem with it here either, and he could rationalize this act on several levels. He had to do it: for the good of the neighborhood, and probably society in general, but most importantly…for the immediate safety of his family.

And in the end, that was all that really counted for Alex.

Arrival

Chapter 1

Friday, November 2, 2013

Alex was jarred awake by a loud pulsing vibration
.
He squinted in the darkness and labored to turn his head toward the source of the persistent buzzing sound.

Shit, my iPhone.

The phone’s display illuminated a half empty glass of water on the nightstand. He watched, still helpless as the phone moved closer to the edge with each vibration. Breaking through the murk of a broken sleep cycle, he reached for the phone to check the caller ID.
Maine Medical Center.
A jolt of adrenaline shot through his body, and Alex headed out of the bedroom to the hallway.

“Alex Fletcher,” he answered in a whisper.

“Oh…Alex. It's Dr. Wright. I thought I’d get your voicemail.”

Dr. Wright was the head of the Maine Medical Center's Infectious Disease Department.

“No problem, Dr. Wright. I usually don’t keep my phone on the nightstand. Just happened to end up there tonight,” he said, closing the door to the master bedroom.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Alex. I’m fairly confident we’ve seen our first cases of the new pandemic flu tonight. Cases started rolling into the ERs early this evening.”

“You said ‘ERs’. More than one?”

“Yes. Three cases at Maine Med. Two came from Westbrook and one from Falmouth. And one case at Mercy, patient walked over from somewhere in the west end. I also have a confirmed case at Maine General in Augusta and possible cases at Eastern Maine Med up in Bangor.”

“Confirmed as what?”

“Confirmed as nothing I’ve ever seen before. That’s why I think we’re dealing with this new virus out of Hong Kong,” Dr. Wright said.

“That’s more than six cases. How did this pop up here first and not Boston? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Boston has been hit with several dozen cases, possibly more.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t see anything on the news or on any of the websites. We’ve been keeping an eye on this,” Alex said.

“I don’t know what to tell you, but I know for a fact that Boston has been slammed. A friend of mine at Mass General called to tell me to get ready. He said that area hospitals in Boston saw dozens of cases trickle in overnight Wednesday, with more showing up as the day progressed. Several dozen more by the time I talked to him.”

“Why didn’t the media catch this yet?” he asked.

“Well, between you and me, and I don’t have to remind you that this entire conversation never happened—”

“Of course. Absolutely, Dr. Wright,” Alex said instantly.

“We have been instructed by the state health department to report all cases directly to them so they can coordinate resources and notify federal health agencies. I assume that direction filtered down from DHS. They also asked us not to notify the media, in order to avoid a panic. I can understand part of that logic, but if you ask me, I think they’re trying to keep this under wraps because they’re not prepared. Unfortunately, this is the only direction we’ve received so far from the state or feds. Or maybe that’s a good thing for now. Aside from rushing us more useless avian flu detection kits, nothing else has been done. Alex, I have to let you go. I have a long night ahead of me.”