Ghosts of War (37 page)

K
nuckles walked into the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, his eyes scanning for his contact. He had been told to look for a man reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee in front of him, but when Knuckles saw the contact, he didn't need any bona fides.

Like every other Operator in the United States arsenal, the guy couldn't stop the hard edge from leaking out. Knuckles tugged the knapsack on Retro's back and said, “That's him.”

They walked up and said, “Marty Cressfield?”

The man stood and said, “Yeah, but it's Martin.” He pointed to a man on his right and said, “This is Crutch.”

He shook their hands and said, “You can call me Knuckles. This is Retro. Where's the team?”

“Not so fast. I was told to meet you, but I'll be damned if I know why. Who are you?”

Exasperated, Knuckles said, “Look, we don't have time for a dick-measuring contest. I work for another government agency, and we have the intel on the location of Simon Migunov's room. I was told you'd have a team. That you'd already coordinated with the Austrians for an arrest.”

He said, “CIA, huh. Just up front, you need to know that this is a law-enforcement mission, not some James Bond intelligence collection op. You give me the information, and we'll take it from there.”

“So you don't have a fucking team here?”

“No, I don't. Did you expect me to bring in a bunch of guys all kitted up, sitting around the lobby waiting on you? Give me the
information, and like I said, we'll take it from there. We'll need to do some development first. Tap the room phone, get some intel from the staff here, emplace surveillance, that sort of thing. There's not a rush on this. We expected a month or more of investigation.”

And Knuckles realized that he thought he was doing nothing more than arresting someone on their most wanted list. He didn't understand the connection between the man they were hunting and the war about to break out.

Knuckles said, “You two
are
special agents in the FBI, correct? You can arrest somebody, right?”

Taken aback, Martin withdrew his badge and surreptitiously showed it, believing he was providing proof of his position and not understanding the reasons for the question. He said, “Yeah, we're FBI.”

“And you've already coordinated with the Austrians for the eventual arrest? They're expecting it?”

Now confused, he said, “Well, yes, but they'll be the ones doing the heavy lifting. We'll accompany them, but it's their arrest on our warrant.”

Knuckles said, “Not anymore. You guys are about to be the heroes, because we're going to that room right now.”

He filled them in, and Martin's expression went slack at what he was being told. When Knuckles was done, Martin said, “I can't unilaterally barge into a foreign hotel room. I need to get permission.”

“Is permission from the president of the United States high enough for you? Because that's who sent me.”

“Wait, wait. There are too many unknowns. What if your intelligence is wrong?”

“We apologize to whoever's there, and leave. But it's not wrong.”

“What if he has a protective detail?”

“I've been tracking this guy across Europe. Last time I had him, he had two meatheads protecting him. We're four against two, and it's his room, trust me.”

At the back-and-forth, a thought occurred to Retro. He asked, “You guys
are
armed, right?”

Martin said, “Of course, but I still need to clear this with higher.”

Knuckles knew if he allowed the operation to be briefed to Martin's chain of command, the assault would be delayed by at least twenty-four hours, possibly more, because they would defer to a joint Austrian/FBI operation. And that alone had a chance of getting bungled, just like it had in Moldova.

“Did you hear what I just said? This guy is the key to stopping a war. We don't have time for some giant Mafia surveillance operation or cross-regional coordination. Why don't you think about the problem instead of your career?”

The words hung in the air, a deliberate insult that Knuckles hoped would penetrate. It did.

Crutch said, “Hey, Martin, we already got permission with the Austrians when we landed. I say we go.”

Knuckles threw down his final card. “I wanted to do it officially, with an FBI warrant, but I'll do it myself if I have to, right now. This guy is going to cause the deaths of a lot of people, and I can't look in the mirror afterward simply because you haven't coordinated.”

And that was enough. Martin said, “Okay, okay. Where is he? What's your plan?”

Relieved, Knuckles said, “He's on the sixth floor in a club suite. It has one connecting bedroom, which we think is where the security is staying. I want to do this clandestinely, without firing a shot. We go in through the connecting bedroom, taking out whoever is there, then hit the suite. We overwhelm them with speed and violence of action. Simple.”

“How are we going to get in?”

“Well, honestly, I was told all that crap was in your ballpark, and you would have already coordinated with the hotel. I take it none of that has happened?”

“No, but it can. It'll take some time, because we'll need to get our
Austrian counterpart over here, and he'll probably need to get authorization from the Austrian government. Get them to serve the hotel their version of a warrant.”

Retro shook his head, saying, “I told you so.” He walked away, heading to reception.

Knuckles said, “Don't worry about it. We rented some rooms on the sixth floor. When he gets the key, he'll recode it for the suite.”

In a few minutes, Retro returned, and they took the elevator to the sixth floor. Knuckles glanced at the room direction placard and said, “He's to the left. Where are we, Retro?”

“Right.”

They followed him, Crutch saying, “How are you going to reprogram the key?”

“I have a portable encoder. All the keys work off a central system, but they aren't centrally connected. Each lock is just run off a battery, but it keeps the last key used in memory. The next key wipes the authorization of the last one, if it presents the correct code.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I rented two rooms adjacent to each other. What I'm going to do is read the keys of both rooms. There will be an access code assigned to each. I'll get them, then match up the access code to the room number. Once I have that, I'll simply do the math to his room, because they're run sequentially. If the first code is something like 123, and the next is 124 or 122, I'll know which way to count. I'll enter the access code, reprogramming my key for his room.”

He reached the first room, swiped, and entered. He sat on the bed, opening up his knapsack and pulling out what looked like a portable credit card reader seen all over Europe. He started working, saying, “The key—no pun intended—is the encrypted security code that tells the lock the card is legit. I can't duplicate that, but fortunately, it's the same code on every keycard in the hotel. Which is why I needed to rent a room.”

Crunch said, “Maybe we should just knock.”

Martin glared at him, and he said, “Just kidding. How are we entering? What's the order?”

Knuckles let Retro work, thinking about it. On one hand, they
were
the FBI. On the other, he was much more comfortable with Retro's skills. He said, “Retro and I will lead into the connecting room. If it's empty, we'll continue to the main suite. If there's someone there, we'll clear it and you enter the main suite. Get guns on anyone in there. We'll flow in behind you and clear whatever is left.”

Crutch nodded, but deferred to Martin, his boss. Martin said, “You guys ever do anything like this before?”

Knuckles said, “Yeah. Trust me, we've got the skill.”

“Why didn't you take him down before, if you were tracking him?”

“We didn't know what he was doing then. By the time we figured it out, he'd slipped our net.”

Retro interrupted. “I'm done. I've reprogrammed one key for the connecting bedroom, one key for the suite, and the spare key for the first room I rented with the code for the second. Let's go test.”

They entered the hallway, and Retro went to the room next door. He inserted the card, saying, “Drumroll, please.” Nobody obliged, but the reader light turned green. He opened the door a crack and said, “Looks like it's showtime.”

Knuckles could see the pace was a little bit fast for Martin. He said, “You guys good? We get in, and you start throwing those badges around. Nobody gets shot who doesn't deserve it.”

Overwhelmed with how quickly the operation was progressing, but gaining confidence in the skills of the man asking the question, Martin nodded, saying, “Let's do it.”

Knuckles smiled, and said, “Okay, then. Let's go.”

They walked past the elevators, took a left, then continued down the hall toward a large double door at the end. Knuckles said, “That's the main suite.”

They speed-walked toward it, Retro stopping at the last room on the right, mouthing,
Connecting bedroom
.

Knuckles checked the hallway behind them, finding it empty. He withdrew his Glock 27, and the other men followed suit. He moved to the right side of the door, next to the handle. He waited until the other men stacked behind him, then nodded at Retro. Retro stuck the card in, and the light went green.

He flung the door open, only to feel it slam into the U-bolt latch after an inch of travel. Retro's eyes popped open in surprise, and someone inside shouted in Russian.

Retro slammed his shoulder into the door, ripping the U-bolt out of the wall and flinging the door open. It hammered into a man walking forward from the other side, knocking him into a wall. Retro dove on him.

Knuckles jumped over the fight, shouting, “Bathroom!” Martin broke that way, and Knuckles entered the main suite with Crutch directly behind him. He went left and Crutch went right. He swept the main living room, crossing his fields of fire with Crutch, but it was empty, with a bathroom on the left and a bedroom on the right. Knuckles pointed at the bedroom, and Crutch started running to the door. Knuckles caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned, seeing a bear of a man coming out of the bathroom, barreling at him and screaming.

The man leapt through the air like he was tackling a fullback running to the end zone, but Knuckles was no longer where the bear had intended.

Knuckles rotated out and down, tucking at the waist. The man landed on his back, and Knuckles gained control of one of his arms, then used the man's own momentum against him. He sprang up, flipping the bear off his back and sending him crashing through a glass table in the center of the room, controlling the fall by leveraging his arm.

Knuckles held on to the man's wrist with one hand, aiming his
pistol with the other. The bear groaned, attempting to get up, and Knuckles shook his head.

Crutch shouted, “Jackpot!”

Martin entered the room and Knuckles said, “Other target?”

“Down.”

“Cover this shithead.”

Martin leveled his pistol and Knuckles went into the ornate bedroom of the suite. He saw Simon Migunov sitting on an ottoman and wearing a robe, showed not a whit of concern.

Before Knuckles could speak, Simon said, “American FBI, I presume?”

Crutch said, “Yes,” then began to read him his Miranda rights. Simon waved his hand and said, “Don't waste your breath. My lawyers will keep me from being extradited.”

Crutch finished anyway, then looked to Knuckles for guidance. Knuckles said, “Mister Migunov, let's not talk of lawyers just yet. I have a deal for you, and when I'm done, I'm pretty sure you're going to want to play ball with the United States.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

“Because if you don't, your lawyers will be pleading with President Putin, and I'm pretty sure you know how that's going to end up.”

Knuckles waited, and knew he'd won when the blood drained from Simon's face.

P
resident Hannister said, “How long before we know?”

Kurt said, “He just took him down ten minutes ago. Let Knuckles work on him a little bit.”

“And you believe this will work?”

“Yeah, I think so. He's feigning complete ignorance of any planned attack in Poland, but he's admitted knowledge of both Belarus and the downing of Air Force One. He's blaming Putin, but that should be enough. No way will he want to go back to Russia. Because of that, I'm pretty sure it'll work on Simon's end, but getting Putin onboard will be up to you, sir.”

Alexander Palmer, Kerry Bostwick, and Mark Oglethorpe entered the Oval Office in a rush, followed by George Wolffe. George said, “Found them.”

Palmer said, “What's this about Simon?”

Kurt said, “We got him.”

Kerry said, “And you think you can turn him? Why would he do that?”

“Because he'd much rather face American justice than Russian. Hell, with our justice system, he's liable to get off, claiming Russian persecution.”

Palmer said, “So what's the deal you're giving him?”

“Pretty simple. A, if he keeps his mouth shut, refusing to play ball, we hand-deliver him to Putin. Or option B, he admits that he—and he alone, without Putin's involvement—attacked the Russian airbase in Belarus and instigated the shoot-down of Air Force One.”

“How does that help us?”

“Well, if he agrees to play ball, we then turn the story around on Putin, telling him we
know
that Simon was working for him and that he set up the Belarus hit—and we can prove it with information Simon's providing. We also know that he had nothing to do with Air Force One.”

Kerry interrupted, “Do we know these two things?”

“Not yet, but I strongly believe that's the case. Anyway, we tell Putin this through back channels, then tell him we're willing to forget about Belarus if he's willing to pull the hell back. Basically, tell him we'll make a splash about arresting Simon, and Simon will take the fall. We can both blame it on ‘terrorism,' just like he did initially. It gives him an out, and gives us a way to diffuse the situation. If he refuses, we threaten to expose the Belarus operation on the world stage.”

Palmer said, “That's a pretty risky gambit.”

“Yeah, and it just might work.”

Mark Oglethorpe said, “We're forgetting about Captain Tatum. You guys are talking about a two-man decision, but if that attack occurs in Poland, it won't matter one damn bit what we or Putin want. We'll be going to war.”