Days of Rage (34 page)

A
kinbo saw the DHL sign and attempted to pull over, only to jerk back into his lane after a bleating of horns behind him. Sweating profusely from fear, he circled the block, the task of driving in this place sending a rancid flow of nausea in his stomach.

Unlike Berlin, São Paulo was a free-for-all of vehicle operation, with everyone vying for position as if the most reckless behind the wheel created the driving rules. It scared the hell out of him. All he wanted to do was get the package and find a place to stay. Get some rest before tomorrow.

Everything had gone perfectly fine leaving Germany. He’d destroyed the Russian’s operational phone, buying his own inside the Berlin airport with the credit card he’d been given. He’d accessed his e-mail account—the one supposedly protected from the United States—and seen an e-mail from the safe house, waiting on his response as if they were completely unaware of his theft of the keys. Which was more than he had hoped. He’d responded to the e-mail, saying he was on the way and looking forward to meeting, then e-mailed his contacts in Boko Haram, asking them to create the propaganda tape. They’d replied, telling him it would be done, then had asked him to create a Twitter account for spreading the video. He’d done so, using the handle @Bokoharambrazil. Finally, he’d paid a change fee and changed his ticket. Instead of landing in Brasília, he’d opted for São Paulo. The Russians had an agenda for him, but he’d chosen his own target.

Everything looked to be tracking, including slipping from the noose of the Russians. They expected him to arrive today and attack in two days. Instead, he would attack his target tomorrow—provided he could get the device.

Circling the chaotic streets of São Paulo, he wondered if he was going to fail simply because he didn’t have the nerve to drive among the lunatics in this city. Approaching the DHL location for the second time, he put on his blinker and changed lanes, ignoring the bleating horns and the driver behind him slamming on his brakes.

Sandwiched on the ground floor of a ten-story structure, surrounded on all sides by glass and steel office buildings; there was nowhere to park near the DHL store. Not willing to pass by a third time, he took a cue from a van ahead of him and hopped the curb, parking on the sidewalk.

He exited, eyes downcast to avoid the angry stares of the pedestrians on the street, wondering how on earth he was going to drive the five hours to his destination. It had looked so easy on Google Maps.

He went to the counter and presented his receipt. The clerk asked for identification and he slid across his passport. The man studied it intently. Sweating profusely, Akinbo patted his forehead with a cloth. The clerk disappeared into the back. After five minutes, Akinbo began to suspect that Jarilo had set him up, and that the clerk wasn’t searching for a box, but waiting for a team of policemen. Every minute that passed increased his unease. He called to the back but received no answer. At the eight-minute mark his survival instinct trumped his desire for the weapon. He pocketed his passport and trotted to the glass doors, seeing his car outside. He pushed them open and heard someone shout behind him.

He turned, preparing to flee, and saw the clerk waving his receipt in the air with one hand. The other was pulling a dolly.

He said, “Where are you going? Don’t you want your tools?”

I
took another look at the reconnaissance video, the glow from the computer getting brighter in the back of the van as the sun dropped in the sky. I was searching for an additional breach point, but didn’t find one. It looked like the only way in was either the front door or the two windows in the back. Both had bars on them, complicating the issue.

The house itself was connected to the buildings left and right, with no space in between, the area in a decidedly seedy part of the capital. Called Ceilândia, it was a borough created in the ’70s to relieve the
favelas
or shanty towns being built downtown. Of course, you couldn’t expect a government neighborhood created specifically to house people living in homemade shacks to be a place to brag about. Our target was on a road that wasn’t even paved. I’d read about the
favelas
in Rio, most run by drug gangs and crime lords. I hoped Ceilândia wasn’t a duplicate of that city, because I didn’t want to have to fight my way out if we raised a ruckus. I was beginning to have second thoughts about our little detour to Brazil.

While waiting to linkup with Brett and the rock-star bird, I had briefed Kurt Hale on what we had, letting Aaron and Shoshana deal with Daniel’s body. I don’t know what they did—something with their own Mossad connections—but I felt badly about the loss. Shoshana had taken it hard, and technically she was right: It
was
because of me. He was killed in an ambush targeting Americans, not Israelis.

I was convinced some sorry bastard inside Taskforce headquarters had intentionally leaked our information, but Kurt didn’t feel the same way. He was sure the asset in Europe had simply been sloppy and had been penetrated by the Russians, maybe years ago. I thought he was using blinders because he’d personally approved all the operational members of the Taskforce. Admitting there was a mole instead of shitty tradecraft was admitting he’d screwed up. Tough pill, but he might have to swallow it.

I’d told him everything we’d found, from the DHL address to the computer, and made him promise he wouldn’t divulge to anyone the deep web messaging protocols I’d discovered. I was sure it went to the traitor, and I’d used it to send an innocuous message hoping someone would reply. From there, I was going to set up a trap.
If
we had a mole, that is. The communication method could have been used by Yuri to buy anything from black-market firearms to kiddy porn.

After the Israelis had returned we’d taken off from Berlin with a flight plan to Charleston, South Carolina, where my company was located. Aaron had questioned that decision, and I’d told him I didn’t have authority to execute anything yet. That caused Shoshana to demand they fly commercial—in effect, cutting ties with us and continuing on their own. Daniel’s death had bitten deeply, and she wanted Chiclet as much for his scalp as for stopping the attack. She didn’t trust us to continue. After some discussion, I’d managed to convince her that the flight plan was just a formality, but I wasn’t so sure about her judgment. She was on the edge, looking for vengeance.

After my initial outburst at Magdeburg, I’d let what she’d done to Yuri drop. It was clearly wrong, but I wasn’t sure I had room to cast judgment. If I had seen Decoy killed in front of me, then had his murderer in my arms—helpless or not—I was fairly sure on what I would have done.

Jennifer didn’t see it the same way. She
knew
it was heinous. As soon as we were alone she had stated her unease about what had occurred. In return, I had asked her about the man who died from the fall off of the scaffolding, the implication clear: She had killed him out of necessity, but it was necessity wrapped in vengeance.

Her eyes had watered, and she’d said, “Don’t say that. Don’t tell me I’m a murderer. I can’t bear that coming from you.”

I said, “Whoa, that’s not what I meant. Don’t ever think that. It’s just very complicated. Yuri was a bad man.
He
was the murderer, and he got what was coming to him.”

“That’s not our call. Not like that. It makes us like him. By tolerating it,
I’m
becoming like him.”

I shook my head, saying, “No, you’re not. The fact that you question makes you more than Yuri. Make no mistake, he would have killed you without remorse and slept like a baby later.”

She’d nodded as if she believed me, but whispered under her breath, “I wonder if Shoshana used to be like me. If it’s only a function of time.”

I’d kept my eye on Shoshana on the flight, looking for symptoms of a ticking bomb, but she seemed to have returned to the smart ass she was when we’d first met, needling me at every opportunity. Jennifer had sat with her, which was alarming because I knew she was still questioning her actions. I didn’t need Shoshana trying to twist up Jennifer’s moral compass. I let it go, and I eventually saw them laughing together. From across the cabin I’d caught Jennifer’s eye, and she’d smiled.

Whew. One less issue.

The flight was a little over twelve hours, and at the nine-hour mark the copilot had awakened me from some much-needed rest to say that we’d gotten the mission to explore the DHL address. I spread the wealth by waking up the Israelis. The news made everyone happy. I wanted to say, “See, I told you we were going to execute,” but in truth, I’d had my doubts that the Oversight Council was going to allow us to continue. As much as I loved Charleston, I had dreaded going there with two pissed-off Israeli commandos.

We’d landed at the capital and I’d had Jennifer rig up a rental sedan with covert cameras, then launched her and Shoshana on a recce mission while the rest of the men loaded up a panel van with equipment we might need. After they’d returned with the video, I had started deliberating assault options.

The video running one more time, I said, “Man, I would love to breach from the back alley, but I’m not assaulting by climbing through a window. The only way in is through the front door, and a breach out there is asking for trouble from neighbors.”

Brett, sitting next to me in the van, said, “We could go mechanical and get in fairly quickly.”

“It won’t be quick enough to surprise them, and I don’t want to give them time to get ready for a fight.”

“Explosive breach?”

I slowly nodded. “Yeah. It’s looking that way. We’re going to wake the neighborhood, though.”

From the front passenger seat Aaron said, “What about the roof?”

I rewound the video, judging the height of the building. It looked like a story and a half, with some sort of storage on top that wasn’t a full floor. We could get up on the roof with little trouble. Especially with Jennifer. To Brett I said, “You bring a Wasp from the plane?”

He was already breaking out the case. The Wasp was a very small unmanned aerial vehicle with day/night optics. It had only a little over two feet of wingspan and an electric motor, making it damn near invisible. With the sky rapidly going dark, Brett would have no trouble doing a flyover without compromise.

I kicked him out and waited, going over a potential assault plan in my head. We had a team of five, with three assaulters I could count on and two I wasn’t sure about. I said, “Aaron, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you done a building assault like this before?”

He smiled and said, “In my real job, this is what I do. The intelligence work is a sideshow.”

“And Shoshana?”

“Not the same skills as Daniel and me. She was a helicopter pilot.” He patted her knee to let her know it wasn’t meant as an insult. “She has other skills, though.”

I nodded. “I have no doubt.”

Shoshana said, “What about Jennifer?”

“The same. She’s got some unique skills, but building assault isn’t one of them.”

“What unique skills? That sounds like something I’d like to see.”

My face began to shade crimson, causing her to smile. I blurted, “She’s a great climber. If the roof works out, she’ll get a ladder up there for us.”

I glanced at Jennifer, and I’ll be damned if she wasn’t grinning like Shoshana. She was enjoying my discomfort.
What the hell did they talk about on the bird?

I said, “What is your problem, Shoshana? You drop me out of a car going ten miles per hour too fast, one minute you want to kill me, the next you don’t, and you’re constantly trying to get a rise out of me.”

Aaron laughed and said, “It means she likes you. Trust me, if she didn’t, you’d really feel the pain.”

Looking at Aaron, but talking to me, Shoshana said, “Aren’t you going to pat Jennifer on the knee? Show her she’s still a valued team member while you talk about her shortcomings?”

I said nothing, wanting no part of that fight. Aaron scowled and she turned to me. “If you’re not, can I do it?”

I felt my face flush again and said, “I need to stretch my legs.”

I slid open the door, and Brett pulled up. He climbed in the van with the Wasp case, the UAV now neatly stowed. I said, “And?”

“And Aaron’s idea was spot-on. It looks like Koko’s getting in some climbing.”

S
ix hours later I was watching Jennifer free-climb up her little ninja grapple, a caving ladder made of wire rolled and strapped to her back. The alley was littered with black trash bags, and it stank of spoiled vegetables and rotting meat left to sit too long in the sun. Two houses over I heard a dog losing his mind barking. I hoped he did that every night and it didn’t cause the owner to come out and investigate.

We’d opted for a dismounted infiltration, walking about a half mile through the twisting alleys, holding up at the corners while Brett checked the next block with thermal imaging. It was slow and tedious, but the last thing I wanted was early warning on the target. We needed surprise, which was why we weren’t driving right up to the front door.

I’d outfitted Aaron and Shoshana with our standard gear from the package in the rock-star bird, giving them each a suppressed H&K UMP .45, a Glock 30, and a set of night observation goggles. Since we didn’t have enough Taskforce smartphones to pass out, we’d all reverted to old-fashioned FM radios with earbuds. I’d put Brett on point, me running slack, and staggered Jennifer in between Shoshana and Aaron. I’d given him tail gunner.

We’d made it to the rear of the target without issue, then the damn dog had started barking. Jennifer had tossed up her grapple, taken a couple of tugs, and begun scampering up like the Dread Pirate Roberts on the Cliffs of Insanity. Moving as if someone were hoisting her from above and walking straight up the quarter-inch rope with hand strength alone.

I have to admit, I’d seen Jennifer climb her way up all manner of things, but this was in a whole other class. I was impressed. And a little proud. I looked at Shoshana with a smug grin.

Gun aimed out into her sector of the corner, she leaned in and bumped my knee. I ducked my head toward her and heard, “Wow. I should have patted her knee. She
does
have some skills I’d like to see alone.”

I wanted to punch her in the mouth, the comment and humor completely lost in the middle of a mission. She was no operator. No Jennifer. She was flighty, emotional, and unable to maintain a serious role. It was late to realize that, but it was true.

I rotated around without a word, making sure we had 360-degree security and were all ready to go. I heard the dog go crazy again and turned that way, focusing on the gate to the house. I felt another tap on my thigh. I expected to see Brett or Aaron leaning in, but it was Shoshana again.

She pulled my sleeve, drawing our heads together. She said, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. I’m not really flighty. We’re about to get in a gunfight and you don’t know me well enough. I won’t let you down.”

The fact that she used the same words that had flitted through my head freaked the hell out of me. Aaron had said she was an empath, but it was clearly more. She was fucking Carrie.

I nodded, unsure what to say. I was saved by the caving ladder rolling down with a soft clatter on the ground. I looked up and heard in my earpiece, “Pike, this is Koko. Roof secure.”

Shoshana whispered, “Koko? That’s what you call her on the radio? Sexy.”

My mouth fell open at her words.
She is insane.

I grabbed the ladder and hissed, “Koko’s a fucking talking gorilla.”

I saw the whites of her teeth in the grin. “Touché, Nephilim.”

I said, “You ever crawled up one of these things?”

“No, but how hard could it be? Anyway, I thought I was on the ground. ‘Squirter control’ or something.”

I said, “You are. Squirter control, that is,” then keyed my mike. “Jennifer, Shoshana’s going to need you to stabilize the ladder. Come on down.”

She said not a word. I saw the ladder whip a little and knew she was on the way. I pulled the cable taut, letting her scramble down without the end flailing all over the place, something she would have to do for Shoshana. Getting up such a ladder wasn’t easy on the best of days, but it was made infinitely harder if someone wasn’t pulling down on the end, turning it into a facsimile of a real ladder instead of a whipping beast that had to be conquered into submission. Jennifer could handle it, but the task was definitely not something I wanted Shoshana to attempt for the first time, in the dark, on an assault.

Jennifer dropped between us, giving me a look, questioning why I’d made her leave her security position on the roof. I said, “You and Shoshana have squirter control. You’ve seen the terrain. We’re coming in hard. Hopefully, we trap them all before they can react, but you know how that can go. Anyone escapes, they’ll be coming out the front.”

Jennifer understood the situation immediately and said, “Can Shoshana do that?”

With a little bit of venom I said, “Probably not, so be prepared to do a singleton takedown.”

I got an up from my three-man team and started climbing, Jennifer pulling hard on the bottom of the ladder. I heard Shoshana below me say, “What is he talking about?”

Jennifer answered, sounding embarrassed. “The buildings are connected all the way to the end of the block. There’s nowhere to hide. We can’t circle around and sit in the street, waiting for someone to run out. We’ll be spotted. We’re going to do it from the roof. If someone comes out, we’ll have to drop to the street below. I understand if you can’t do it. I’ll handle it.”

I reached the top, pulling myself over the parapet, and heard, “Fuck that guy. . . .”

I smiled.

Two minutes later my three-man assault element was on the roof, the squirter control still climbing. I said, “Okay, Brett, where’s breach?”

He led us behind an old AC unit, now defunct. Through my NODs I saw a plywood hatch. I leaned down and stuck a knife in the seam, then levered it up. It fought me for a moment, then sprang free with a pop like a party favor. We all stopped movement, waiting. I heard a scrape behind me and said over the net, “Koko, Koko, freeze.”

The faded scuffling from the ladder went silent.

We waited for an additional minute, then I hoisted the thick piece of plywood out of the way, saying, “Koko, good to go. Continue.”

Laying the plywood on the roof, we all stared down into the pit, the IR lights from our NODs providing an eerie
Blair Witch
movie view. I saw a shelf below full of discarded insulation and pieces of machinery. No movement. I signaled Brett, and he lowered himself down, taking a knee. I pointed at myself, making sure Aaron saw me, then followed. Thirty seconds later, we were all inside, the attic space barely five feet tall, forcing us to kneel. Brett pointed to the closest side and I saw a glow of light penetrating from below, illuminating a wooden ladder affixed to the wall fifteen meters away.

I nodded, and he began moving toward it slowly, one step at a time. I felt the floor crinkle with his steps, making a popping noise. He stopped, glancing back at me. I raised a hand, giving an unspoken question.

What’s up?

He slowly shook his head. I broke noise discipline over our earpieces. “You see something?”

He whispered, “I can’t move.”

“Why?”

“The ceiling is dry-rotted. I’m on a sheet of thin ice.”

I said, “What?” then heard multiple pops, like bubble wrap being twisted. And watched him disappear through the ceiling.