Waterkill (Dave Henson Series) (7 page)

“There’s the drone that found the potential target,” said Ron.

Dave moused over the green dot and double clicked the right mouse button again. Immediately a bird’s eye view transmitted from the Hunter-Falcon came up on the screen. On the right side of the screen was a vertical altitude tape strip. The drone was nearly one thousand feet above ground level and looking straight down at a sparsely forested area that was blanketed in a deep layer of snow.  With a few keystrokes the Hunter-Falcon moved back towards the red dot. As it did, the altitude tape strip showed the drone descending. It was approximately at five hundred feet above ground level when the drone was directly over the red marker.

“Do you see anything gentlemen?” asked the Chief.

“I see several large mounds of snow penetrating up from the blanket of snow,” said Ron. “But, I can’t make out any details.”

Dave tapped a few strokes on the keyboard and the Hunter-Falcon dropped down to an altitude of one hundred feet. As it did Chief Davis blurted out, “It’s just a hunter’s cabin with several large fuel cans and a small outbuilding situated near it.” 

The cabin, fuel cans and outbuilding were covered in snow but there was no mistaking what they were. The Chief was right. Dave nodded his head in disappointed agreement.

“We already radar mapped that cabin two days ago,” sighed Chief Davis in disgust. “It looks like your birds are redundant.”

Just as the Chief completed his sentence another red light blinked at the top right hand side of the screen in a legend area. Dave immediately tapped in another command on the keyboard and the original screen image came up. Another Hunter-Falcon had detected a target in the south central part of the target search area.

“We have another one,” said Ron.

Dave again moused over the small drone which had detected the terrain anomaly and guided it back directly over the red marker displayed on the screen. Two keystrokes later the drone was hovering one hundred feet over the target and displaying a zoomed in view of the area.  The background view was of a rugged mountain wall. In between the trees, pointed upwards towards the sky, were bony rock outcroppings. Again, the initial image of the specific target area consisted of several humps in the unending blanket of snow below. However, this time the humps had a different consistency to them. An elongated bulge in the snow below was intersected by another bulge of similar size. To the right of the intersecting bulges was another more concentrated hump.

“Take it down lower,” ordered the Chief. Dave could smell the Chief’s reeking cigar breath as the Chief moved his head closer to his and stared at the computer screen. 

When the Hunter-Falcon descended to ten feet above the ground Dave placed it into a hover and slowly flew it over the bulges in the snow. From the side views of the humps it became instantly apparent that they were looking at the wreckage of a small aircraft. The two perpendicular raised bumps in the snow were of a mangled fuselage and wing.

“I think we have found your missing aircraft,” commented Ron in a hushed tone.

“Can you make out the tail number on the fuselage?” asked Davis.

“The fuselage is an accordion mess, but we will take a look,” responded Dave.

Dave slowly moved the Hunter-Falcon along the side of the heavily damaged fuselage.

“There, stop there,” ordered Davis. “Can you zoom in to that area?” as he pointed to a spot on the computer screen.

Dave typed a few key strokes into the computer and the image nearly doubled in size.

Part of the tail number came into view. Five out of the six characters were visible. “N5453,” said Ron. “I cannot make out the last character.”

“That’s our downed aircraft,” responded the Chief with excitement. “By God, your little toy actually found her.” Chief Davis slapped Dave so hard on the back he nearly slammed up against the computer screen.

“So what are the GPS coordinates?” asked the Chief.

“She is about forty kilometers northwest of us,” responded Dave.

Chief Davis looked at his watch. “Damn it. It will be dark in fifteen minutes. We can’t get up there tonight to do a recovery. It’s just too dangerous for my men in that rugged terrain at night.”

“Yes, it’s very mountainous in that area and there are no direct trails to it,” replied Dave.

“I’ll plan to send a team out at first light tomorrow morning.”

Just as the three had agreed upon a plan for the search and recovery mission, another red light began to blink in the legend area on the computer screen. It was about ten kilometers away from the aircraft wreckage.

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

“Let’s have a look,” answered Dave.

The Chief, along with the Border Patrol agent standing next to Ron, stepped in closer to the screen. Again, Dave positioned the Hunter-Falcon that had detected the anomaly over the target spot. As he lowered the drone’s altitude, they began to make out four snow machines. Approximately twenty feet away from them were four men setting up a camp. Three were putting up tents and one looked as if he was starting a camp fire.

“Those are the men and snow machines we passed over on the way back to the airfield,” said Ron. “Even though it is dusk I can tell that those are the same snow machines.”

Chief Davis whispered quietly into the ear of the Border Patrol agent who was standing next to Ron. The agent immediately left the three of them.

“I’ve asked Agent Martin to contact Washington so that I can report our two discoveries.”

“What about these guys?” Ron asked, as he pointed at the computer screen. “What do we do about them? Should you up your timetable for a search and recovery?”

“They are not the priority. It also appears they are not going anywhere tonight. And again, it would be too risky for me to send my men out for a search and recovery in the middle of the night, particularly in this frigid mountainous terrain. We will wait until morning as planned to recover the contents of that aircraft wreckage. After we have completed our main recovery mission we will pay them a visit, if they are still in the area.”

Chapter 9 (April 13, Thursday 8:00am, Iran)

The sound of air rushed loudly through Aref Zarin’s enormous nose, like a saw cutting through wood, as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly. He had just gotten off the phone with Zand and he was livid with anger. Red faced, and with the phone still in his hand, he paced back and forth in his home in an attempt to quell his fury. Zand, along with the three additional men Aref had sent with him, were camped out in the back country of Alaska just a few kilometers away from the downed aircraft. Aref didn’t care about their condition or environment. He had given explicit instructions to Zand and his team that their mission was to recover the vial of Waterkill from the downed aircraft at all costs and as swiftly as possible. He made it vividly clear that mission failure was not an option for them. They would recover the lost vial before the United States government did or they would face the same demise as their deceased colleague Saeed. And if they tried to run and hide from him, they would be hunted down like dogs across the globe, but only after their families were first expunged from the face of the Earth.

Zand had said to him that his team had traveled nearly non-stop from when they left Iran to their present location, and that they were physically exhausted. It was also dark and cold, and they were in heavily mountainous terrain. However, Aref had accepted none of it. He knew the special transponder homing signal that was being transmitted from the body of the dead mule in the downed aircraft was growing weaker by the hour. Even though Zand had indicated they had a fix on the position of the downed aircraft, if the transponder’s encrypted transmission was to cease before they reached the aircraft, Aref knew the difficulty in actually finding the aircraft wreckage would increase tenfold in the snow covered mountains. Also, while Zand and his team slept, the Great Western Swine could potentially sneak in and find the aircraft and recover the vial first. 

Aref ordered Zand to break camp and to get his men back on the spore of the downed aircraft immediately. He was also to report back to him as soon as they had recovered the lost vial.

After pacing for nearly ten minutes, Aref’s rage slowly began to subside and his more normal ruddy complexion returned to his cheeks and nose. He refocused his thoughts on another pressing issue that he’d been working on before being interrupted by Zand. He had been going over the details about an attack he was planning in a small European town near Berlin, Germany. Berlin was the host city for the World Health Organization’s (WHO) Conference on European Health Policy. The conference was in a week and he wanted to send a clear message to the world. That nuclear weapon threats from rogue nations or terrorists groups were now the least of its concerns. That new forms of weapons of mass destruction were now available, and created more clear and present dangers to western civilizations. New bio-engineered weapons, invisible to the naked eye, and easier to manufacture than nuclear weapons, were now their most dangerous threat to their morally corrupt lives. The world would soon learn, he thought to himself with pride, how vulnerable it was to him and his brothers.

He walked over to the table that one of his young servant girls had prepared for his breakfast. Still too tense to sit down he remained standing as he spread butter and fruit jam on a piece of flat bread. He took a bite of the bread and slowly savored it as he thought more about his plans. He then placed the remaining piece of bread on the table and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. As he poured the coffee his prominent nose inhaled the rich strong aroma, like a dredge sucking up gold from a riverbed. Just the way he liked it he thought to himself. He raised the steaming cup of coffee to his lips and nose and momentarily savored its rich smell. He then took a small sip from the cup and felt the coffee’s energetic properties immediately begin to take effect in his body. As he continued to dine on the flat bread and take sips of coffee, his mind and senses sharpened again. He was thinking more clearly and beginning to formulate the details of his plan for the attack in the small European town.

One of the young servant girls came out of the resident’s kitchen area to ask him if there was anything else he desired before she began to remove the leftover food and coffee from the dining table. Aref had moved from the table and was resting on a sofa when she walked in. He had been consumed in the formulation of his plans when the girl’s voice broke his concentration. He looked up at the young girl and stared at her briefly before responding.

The girl kept her eyes aimed at the floor as she nervously waited for a response from him. It took all of her concentration to avoid visibly shaking in front of him. She knew Aref’s reputation from other women that also worked in the house for him. Aref looked at her for a moment before speaking. He estimated her age to be between eighteen and twenty years.

              “What is your name?” he asked.

The young girl stood silently for a moment before speaking. An icy chill ran down her spine. “My name is Misha,” responded the girl in a weak whisper as she kept her eyes fixated on the floor below her.

“Such a pretty name,” replied Aref as he felt a heated stir within his body. “Your name matches your beauty.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Please, come over here and sit down next to me,” commanded Aref.

The girl stood motionless and continued to stare down at the floor, raising Aref’s ire once more.

Controlling his temper and feigning a compassionate fatherly image, he gently asked her once more to come over to him.

Misha looked up from the floor and saw the intensity in Aref’s eyes and knew she had no choice. She slowly walked over to the sofa and sat down next to him. She sat stiff as a board as Aref studied her face and body closely.

“Do you have a husband Misha?” asked Aref as he slowly slid the back of his hand over her cheek.

“No sir,” she lied, as she did not want this man to threaten her husband’s life.

“Would you like to be my wife?”

Misha stiffened at the question and hesitated to speak. The movement did not go unnoticed by Aref and he bristled with renewed and hidden anger. He waited for several additional seconds for Misha to respond. Finally, his anger at an uncontrollable level, he swung the back of his hand across her face with all his might.  Her head snapped sideways from the blow. When she slowly turned her face back towards him, blood dripped from the side of her mouth. Immediately, upon seeing the blood, Aref became fully incensed and pushed her down onto the sofa and began to claw at her clothing. The young girl fought to fend him off, but she was no match for his size and strength.

A short time later he stood up from the sofa and walked to his private office, his eyes looking wild, his breathing still ragged. He had much more work to do. Misha, lay sprawled out on the sofa, her clothing stripped from her, and her body bleeding and in agonizing pain, simply stared vacuously at the ceiling clinging to life.

Chapter 10 (April 13, Thursday 6:00am, Alaska)

Exhaust vapor filled the cold early morning air as the small recovery team stood in a tight circle near their idling snow machines. All of the men were wearing white Polartec fleece parkas and overall bibs, their coat hoods pulled tightly over their heads. They were huddled around Chief Davis who was giving final instructions to his team on their mission to the Cessna 206 crash site. Steam rose silently in the still air from the circle of men as they listened intently to the Chief’s last minute directives.

The recovery team consisted of Davis, three Border Patrol Special Ops agents, and Dave and Ron. Dave had convinced Chief Davis that the two of them should participate in the recovery mission since it had been their Hunter-Falcons that had actually located the wreckage. Davis had agreed to his request under the conditions that the two of them would not interfere with the recovery efforts and stay out of the way if they came across the four men observed in the restricted area the day before.

The forty kilometers distance to the crash site was rugged mountainous terrain and heavily forested. Deep snow also still blanketed the ground. In some cases, the snow was several feet thick. Consequently the team made slow but steady progress through the early morning hours. However, as the morning advanced the mountain terrain became steeper and rockier. As a result, the team had to work their way around exposed rock outcroppings that were bare of snow and too bony to drive their snow machines over. It was during their third detour around a massive rock outcropping that they stumbled upon a fresh snow machine trail. Chief Davis who was leading the team raised his hand to signal the rest to stop and shut off their machines. After turning off the engine, Chief Davis stood up on his snow machine. With all of the snow machines and men silent he removed the hood from his fleece parka and listened intently in the cold silent air. There was a complete and muffled silence due to the snow covered ground. Even the trees were silent in the still mid-morning air. After listening for nearly a minute, Chief Davis got off his machine and walked back to the man behind him. The other men dismounted their machines and approached the Chief.

“We appear to have stumbled upon the trail of the men we saw last night,” said Davis quietly to his team. “The trail appears to be going in a direction that is consistent with the location of the downed aircraft.”

“Do you think they know where the aircraft is?” asked one of the agents.

“It would seem that might be a possibility,” responded the Chief, as he looked back at the snow machine trail fading off into the forest.

Dave spoke up. “The man who was transporting the vial may have also been carrying a specialized transmitter beacon. A signal beacon that we may not have been able to detect, but that his friends most probably can.”

“Well if that’s the case,” responded the agent, “then they might have already made it to the crash scene and recovered the evidence.”

“Based on the conditions of their trail I don’t think they are too far ahead of us,” responded Chief Davis. “Their trail hasn’t yet crusted over. The crash site is also only eight kilometers away.”

“And even if they’ve already made it to the crash site, they may not have yet recovered what they’re looking for,” chimed in Ron.

“So how do we proceed?” another agent asked.

Chief Davis thought quietly for a moment before speaking. “We will proceed ahead at full speed on the snow machines. If we do not catch up to them within two kilometers of the crash site, we’ll hump the remaining distance in. Their packed down snow machine trail will enable us to walk fairly easily. Either way we’ll probably meet up with them. They’ll either still be at the crash site when we get there, with the element of surprise on our side, or we’ll hear their snow machines coming as they work their way back down this trail. One way or the other we will most likely have a confrontation.”

Chief Davis looked over at his second in command. “Give each of these two a sidearm for defensive purposes,” ordered Davis as he looked over at Dave and Ron. “Do the two of you know how to handle a weapon?” asked Davis dryly.

“Yes sir, we’re both experienced with long guns and handguns,” replied Dave with a smile and a tip of his head towards Ron. “Mr. Blackwell here became an expert hunter and marksman after moving to McCall, Idaho.”

“Excellent. However, the guns you‘re being provided with are for defending yourself, and not for hunting. Do the two of you clearly understand me?” asked the Chief.

“Yes we do,” responded Ron tersely. “Loud and clear.”

“If we stumble upon these men, the two of you are to sit back and stay out of the way. My men and I will make any offensive moves if necessary.”

The Chief turned and began to walk back to his snow machine, while his second in command handed Dave and Ron each a 9mm Beretta sidearm.

The other agents mounted their snow machines and fired them up. Immediately the agents pressed forward again on the trail, with the Chief in the lead. Dave and Ron quickly stowed their weapons, started up their machines and then gunned them to catch up with the agents.

When they reached the two kilometer distance mark to the crash scene the Chief brought his snow machine to a halt and raised his hand, motioning for everyone to cut their engines. They had yet to stumble upon the intruders. The team dismounted their snow machines and two minutes later they were humping it on foot at a brisk, but silent pace, on the snow packed trail. Dave and Ron brought up the rear of the team, not only by design, but from their own sheer physical struggle to keep pace with the younger and fitter men.

“Damn, these guys are going to kill me,” gasped Ron as he jogged to keep up with Davis and his men. “I haven’t exercised like this since I was playing college ball. How in the Sam hell can that old man be that fit?”

“Did you see the Chief with his coat off?” asked Dave. “He’s built like a battleship, but with the lines and speed of a destroyer. He’s lean and mean and most definitely a type-A personality.”

“Well I hope he doesn’t kill us before we get to the aircraft,” gasped Ron between breaths as he continued to run alongside Dave.

              Fifteen minutes later the entire team stood silently in a semicircle around Chief Davis. The Chief was pointing through the trees to a slight clearing on the side of a mountain ridge. Ahead, less than two hundred meters from them, were the four black snow machines they had seen the previous day. And three of the men who were riding them were congregated around the rumpled remains of the aft portion of the downed Cessna 206. One was holding a small hand held piece of equipment and barking orders in a foreign language, while the other two men worked feverishly with small snow shovels removing the snow from around the severely damaged tail section of the aircraft. All of them were covered head to toe in winter clothing so it was impossible to get a read on their physical appearances.

              Chief Davis quickly mapped out a plan for the team. One of his men would flank the intruders on the left hand side, and another on the right. “When you are in position you will radio me. At that point I will go out into the clearing and engage the intruders.” Davis pointed to his final team member. “You’ll sit back and cover my rear, and Dave and Ron will not leave your side. Do all of you understand my orders clearly?” asked Davis.

              All of the men nodded their heads silently. However, Dave spoke up.

              “What about the fourth guy?”

              The Chief took a sharp glance in Dave’s direction and responded tersely. “He’s either standing off in the woods keeping an eye out for us, or he’s investigating another piece of the plane wreck beyond our field of view. In either case, we should all be alert for him.”

              The two agents moved out, one silently moving forward and off to the left and the other to the right. Several minutes went by before the first agent called in over the radio and indicated he was in position with a clear view of the intruders. A minute later the other agent called in with the same message.

              “Alright, I’m going to go out and have a chat with these three trespassers,” said Davis to the other men. “Again, sit tight unless I call for assistance.”

              Chief Davis walked out from the cover of the woods and into the clearing. As he did he yelled out a rough greeting to the three men standing near the plane wreckage.  Instantly, the three men froze for a fraction of a second before regaining their composures.

They have guilty written all over them thought Chief Davis to himself, as he continued to approach the men. The leader of the group who had been barking orders responded back to Davis forcibly in broken English, while the other two slowly placed a hand on their waists as if to grab holstered weapons. For their fortunate sakes they both stopped short of actually drawing any weapons. The two Border Patrol agents that were in the woods flanking Chief Davis each had their rifles trained on the two men, their fingers on their triggers and their safeties off.

              “We stumbled upon the wreckage of an airplane,” replied the leader of the group.

As Davis approached he could see that the three men were of Middle Eastern decent and that the leader’s accent was of a Persian dialect, most probably Farsi. The leader had a hard face that looked like it had been weathered in the sun for many years. He also had a thick hypertrophic purple scar running the entire side of his face. Most probably caused from a scimitar knife edge, thought Davis.

“You are in a restricted area,” responded Chief Davis. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“We were simply out snowmobiling over the past couple of days and we stumbled upon this aircraft,” responded the scar faced leader in an acidic tone. “We did not see any signs posted in our travels indicating we couldn’t be here.”

“Well the area has been posted for no trespassing and I’m going to have to escort you and your friends out of this area and back to my base for questioning.”

The agent on Davis’s right sat quietly off to the right in the woods, approximately fifty meters from the clearing. He could clearly see the Chief and the three intruders, as well as hear their conversation. He kept his rifle sighted in on the leader, his finger on the trigger. With the sun behind him he had a clean kill shot if he needed to take it. As he maintained total focus on the scene before him he suddenly saw a shadow slide directly in front of him. He turned his head to see what had caused the sudden shadow. In mid turn, his head was ripped backward by a strong hand that covered his mouth, while the cold silver edge of a knife blade slid across his exposed throat. There was only a brief muffled gurgle from his covered mouth before he sagged over seconds later, blood spurting from his jugular veins. The terrorist slowly lowered the agent’s face down in the snow as his life quickly faded from him. He then began to move silently in the direction of Dave and Ron.    

“I don’t think that will be possible,” said the terrorist leader.

“Well unfortunately you don’t have a choice in the matter,” responded Davis in his most commanding voice. “I’m not alone and I have a team of men with their weapons trained on you.”

The leader looked ever so slightly in the direction of his two colleagues who had begun to slowly walk in his direction. As they had been trained, they maintained some level of separation from one other as they moved in the general direction of the leader. Never make a large group target.

“Good, your buddies seem to understand what to do,” commented Davis as he saw the men slowly working their way forward and in the direction of the leader. “I suggest you do the same. And all of you, keep your hands visible for me to see.”

The man approached from the rear position of Dave, Ron and the Border Patrol agent, as he had previously done with the other now deceased agent. Suddenly, Dave sensed something and turned his head slightly. He saw the approaching man out of the corner of his eye. The man was three meters away and drawing a weapon. As he did, Dave yelled to Ron and the other agent to get down and cover. Ron and Dave both ducked instantly behind trees. The agent, however, turned and simultaneously drew his weapon. The terrorist, pumped two quick shots from his pistol into the head of the agent before he even had a chance to aim his weapon at the man.  

Hearing the gun shots, one of the two sidekicks standing next to the lead terrorist suddenly drew a Glock-18 sidearm from his waistline, and apparently in fully automatic mode, shot all ten rounds of the magazine in the direction of the Chief in the blink of an eye. If the man had maintained better control of the gun, and if the Chief had not reacted as quickly as he did to drop down behind a small rock outcropping, he would have been instantly shredded.

Before Dave had a chance to react to the grizzly scene of the murdered agent, the assailant was on top of him with a knife in his hand. Dave kicked viciously and used his gloved hands to fend off the terrorist who was slashing at his head and throat with the knife. In shock for a second with what was playing out before his own eye’s Ron hesitated. Then, woken from his trance from the sound of more gunshots emanating from the clearing, he moved into action. Without wavering, he lifted his Beretta M9 up to shoulder level and pointed directly at the back of the terrorist that was savagely swinging a knife at his friend’s face. He fired three successive shots. The terrorist instantly arched backwards, fell over, and dropped the knife. Blood gushed from his chest wounds where the three bullets had exited his body. As Dave stood up, he looked shakenly down at his attacker. Bright red blood foamed from the man’s mouth. Ron approached the terrorist with the Beretta still extended out in front of him, his body hunched, and ready to pump additional rounds into the man if needed. As he neared the man, the terrorist made one final gasp before his body went limp.