Black Flagged (The Black Flagged Technothriller Series) (40 page)

"Compliments of the gentleman," the waiter said, gesturing with his hand in the direction of the terrace's far side.

Dario and Natalia both glanced at the lone gentleman sitting at the far corner table. He was dressed in khaki pants and a white oxford shirt, wearing a light brown baseball cap. His shirt reflected the burnt orange color of the sun, which poured around the Palacio and still bathed the corner of the rooftop. The man nodded to them and removed his sunglasses. The man's face didn't register with Daniel, but when he glanced at Jessica, he saw an emotional response.

"Oh my God," she muttered under her breath.

"
Sabes lo
?" Daniel said, emphasizing their need to speak Spanish in order to avoid unnecessary suspicion.

"
Sí.
Give me a minute…and watch the door," she whispered.

"
Bien. Otro martini por favor
," Daniel said.

Jessica picked up a black purse and her drink from the table. She kissed Daniel on the forehead before she walked over to meet the mystery guest. The man looked like he was in his early fifties, trim, and handsome. Daniel wondered if this man had been one of her professors in Boston, or possibly Loyola. Her warning to watch the doors suggested he was a ghost from a more distant past, which left him uncomfortable.

He didn't expect any trouble in Cuba, but underestimating situations wasn't a luxury he could afford, or a habit he wanted to start. He analyzed every object and angle within his view, running multiple scenarios through his head like a computer, still keeping an eye on Jessica. The man didn't get up to greet her; instead, he motioned for her to join him at the table. She placed both the purse and the drink on the table in front of him, which told Daniel everything he needed to know about the situation.

The purse contained the only knife they carried, and she would never have placed it within the man's reach if she didn't trust him. He felt a little better about the situation, but didn't relax. After a long ten minutes for Daniel, Jessica and the man stood up from the table. Poised for action, and wishing they had ordered an appetizer that would have placed a knife on the table, Daniel watched as they hugged. The interaction looked cordial, and the man patted her on the back right before they separated. He watched Jessica walk back to the table, along with every other man on the crowded terrace.

Daniel still wasn't accustomed to the strong machismo attitude found in South and Central America, which apparently allowed men to gawk at women in front of other women. Jessica certainly didn't help matters with her choice of expensive outfits, or the confident energy she exuded simply walking from one table to another. A subtle change had washed over her as they settled into their new lives. She was bolder. Happier. More in her element.

He couldn't help but think that maybe General Sanderson had been right about her. There was still so much that she wouldn't discuss about her time in Serbia, before they had rediscovered each other during a chance encounter in a Belgrade nightclub. Daniel avoided the club scene with regularity, preferring to spend time in the field staring through his sniper scope. On that fateful night, he had relented under pressure from his boss, Radovan Grahovac, agreeing to join him in a few shots of rakija to "ease the memories." As soon as he saw her in the cramped, smelly club, everything finally made sense to Daniel. CIA.

She had disappeared from his life after a casual pizza dinner near Wrigley Field, three days after college graduation. Stoically fighting back tears, she announced that they would not be able to see each other anymore. Daniel had barely noticed the uncomfortable waitress push the check between two empty pilsner glasses and scoot clear of the scene. He remained stunned and speechless as she kissed him lightly on the cheek and told him that she loved him…but they could never be together.

He didn't follow her or try to figure it out that night. He had ordered another beer and sat at the bar, wondering exactly what had gone wrong that day. He was accustomed to her wild mood swings, usually connected to something related to her parents, but this felt different. When he called early the next morning, her roommate told him that she had abruptly walked out of the apartment with her bags to a waiting taxi. She had left no forwarding address and never said goodbye. She just simply vanished.

He couldn't lose her again. They would give this new life a try and look for a way out along the way. Folding into Sanderson's new organization had been the path of least resistance for both of them. For now.

Jessica placed her empty drink and purse on the table and sat down, forcing a smile.

"Everything all right?" he said, stroking her bare arm.

"I think so."

"Who was that?"

She glanced around for the waiter, who was attending to a nearby table, and leaned in to whisper, "That was my former agency mentor." Then she leaned back to speak in a normal tone. "A very good, trusted friend."

Daniel turned his head to examine the man, but found the corner table empty, and no longer in the faded sunlight. He looked to the door that led into the hotel. Gone.

"In Cuba? Must have been important to him. Should we be concerned?"

"No. He was tipped off by our new employer. Sounds like they have an agreement," she said and reached into her purse.

Daniel started to wonder about Jessica's mentor, and if it was possible that…His thought was interrupted by something she placed on the table.

"He told me you left it with him in Georgetown," she said and slid it across to him.

He stared in disbelief at the same cell phone he had thrown into a burning doorway, a little over a month ago. He took a long sip of his martini, contemplating how close he had come to tossing a grenade into the doorway instead.

"You've never met him before, have you?" she said.

"Not really, but we talked briefly."

She grasped his hand, and they quietly watched the last rays of light creep back along the walls of the buildings lining the Plaza. Daniel kept an eye on the street below, until he saw the brown ball cap and white shirt. He tracked the man walking up Calle Obispo, past a small street side café, and into the last beam of sunlight to infiltrate the Plaza. He saw Karl Berg stop and look over his shoulder at the rooftop terrace. Daniel raised his right hand a few inches from the table and acknowledged him. Berg nodded and walked out of sight, chasing the sunlight deeper into Old Havana.

The End

Continue the Black Flagged saga by purchasing
Black Flagged Redux,
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Black Flagged Core Bundle—Books 2-4
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Black Flagged
on Amazon

Please visit Steven's blog for more on the
Black Flagged
Series
and future projects.
www.stevenkonkoly.com

Steven Konkoly is the author of apocalyptic bestseller,
The Jakarta Pandemic
(2010).
He recently released
The Perseid Collapse
(2013)
, book one in an epic, post-apocalyptic series featuring many of the characters from
The Jakarta Pandemic.

Excerpts from
Black Flagged Redux
and
The Jakarta Pandemic
immediately follow

From Black Flagged Redux

Book Two in the
Black Flagged
series

Prologue

"Dock Sud" (South Dock)

Buenos Aires, Argentina

August 2006

Daniel shifted his elbows slightly, and stared through a small handheld spotting scope at the building one hundred and sixty meters away. Situated strategically among several dozen stacks of multi-colored maritime shipping containers, the modest, unattractive two story structure didn't attract much attention on any given day. This particular Wednesday proved to be an exception, though to the casual observer, it looked like any other late night in the sleepy, working class barrio, on the southern outskirts of Dock Sud. The areas immediately beyond the container yard's high walls were quiet, except for the cars that passed in the distance on Avenida Juan Diaz de Solis. Since he arrived two hours earlier, only three cars had turned off Juan Diaz, and penetrated the sizable slum squeezed between the container yard and a vast sea of fuel storage tanks that extended all the way to the Rio Plata waterfront.

He reconfirmed the presence of two sentries stationed outside of the building. One on the roof of the two story building, and one pacing a small deck located on the second floor. The sentry on the deck guarded an external door at the top of a metal staircase that sat flush against the building. Lights blazed behind curtains inside the windows on the second floor, leading him to assume that the ground floor was deserted, and possibly not connected to the upper level. The outer staircase further supported his theory. The rest of Daniel's team waited in the shadows of three separate container stacks surrounding the building. The building and all adjacent stretches of flat gravel were bathed in the orangish-yellow glow of several strategically placed sodium vapor lights, which prevented the rest of the team from approaching any closer. Only the two sentries stood in the team's way at this point, and removing them was his job.

Lying prone for two hours on the hard metal container was starting to take its toll on his concentration, and he found himself shifting every couple of minutes. He employed active breathing techniques to take his mind off the fact that his hip and elbows were beyond the point of finding comfort on their new metal home. He gently placed the spotting scope next to his elbow, and pulled the dark gray thermal shielding blanket over his head, nestling in behind his rifle. The rooftop sentry scanned the dark areas of the container yard with a hand portable scope that may have thermal detection capability. The blanket was designed to foil thermal imaging, and worked well against low power handheld scopes. He wouldn't try to hide from an Apache attack helicopter's thermal imaging equipment under one of these blankets.

He sighted in on the rooftop sentry through the ATN MARS6x-3 night vision scope attached to a silenced Heckler and Koch MSG-90 rifle, placing the center red dot on the stationary man's upper chest. At 300 meters, with the ambient light of surrounding sodium vapor lights, the bright green image was crisp. He could have used a conventional scope for these shots, but as soon as the sentries went down, electricity to the yard would be cut to maximize confusion in the building.

Based on intelligence provided by Senior Galenden's contact in the Buenos Aires Police Department, a high level meeting of Chechen street bosses was scheduled for tonight, which always preceded the arrival of a large "tri-border" area, Andean cocaine shipment destined for Europe. He might need the night vision scope to deal with any men left outside to guard the VIP vehicles, which still hadn't arrived. They anticipated a possible total of twenty targets at the building. Their mission was simple. Kill everyone on-site. Senior Galenden wanted to send the Chechen mafia an unforgettable message, and put an end to their encroachment on his legitimate dock interests.

Four minutes later, his patience was rewarded by the staggered arrival of three expensive, oversized SUVs. The drivers maneuvered the SUV's to face away from the building, and parked them side by side, away from the four assorted cars and trucks already parked at the base of the building. All of the truck doors opened at once, and several men walked toward the metal staircase. He didn't count them. One of the breach teams would take care of that. Instead, he noted that two heavily armed men stayed with the vehicles. The positioned themselves on the exposed side of the nearest SUV, a silver Mercedez, and lit cigarettes.

"All teams, this is control. Proceed."

"Overwatch, out," whispered Daniel.

Through his earpiece, he heard the rest of the teams confirm the order. At this point, everything hinged on Daniel's shooting. The three breach teams would move once the roof sentry dropped to the ground, which might require a little more patience. He wanted to hit the man while he stood on the edge of the far roof, so he would tumble to the ground, instead of drop to the roof. He couldn't be sure of the roof's thickness, and an unusual overhead thud during a tense meeting would not be a good start to their operation.

Daniel steadied the crosshairs, which had already been adjusted for the distance and a steady six knot right to left breeze, and waited. The man touched his right hand to his ear for a few seconds, which was a telltale that he just received orders through an earpiece that he was unaccustomed to wearing. It was a hard habit to break for a seasoned professional, and one of the easiest ways to spot hidden undercover security personnel. The guard moved toward the far edge, and Petrovich was willing to bet he had just been ordered to keep a close eye on the areas behind the building. They already had three men watching the front.

He kept the red dot centered on the man's upper chest, and started his breathing drill. Slow, predictable breaths, allowing him to gauge the rifle scope's natural drift. He gently added pressure to the sensitive trigger, and the rifle bucked into his shoulder, the large suppressor barking a sharp hiss that was unlikely to attract any attention. The sentry lurched forward from the impact of the 175 grain hollow point projectile, and disappeared over the edge.