Part 20 (1/2)
”Do you want to talk now or embrace in death?”
”That's dramatic. Unfortunately your death won't be. It's all very routine.”
”I'm glad you remember me ...” Surprisingly, he s.h.i.+fted out from behind the car, rifle pointed skyward. He wrenched off his mask to reveal a bearded face and piercing blue eyes.
Jose Nestes (not his real name) was a drug lord from Colombia who had joined the Green Brigade Transnational in an attempt to form a splinter group he called ”the Forgotten Army.” Nestes's dream was to lead a terrorist organization large enough to undermine the efforts of the superpowers themselves. He claimed to have brought together several of the world's most notorious terror organizations, including Hezbollah and the Taliban.
But Green Vox-or at least the original one the Snow Maiden had worked with-had rejected this idea, in favor of his ecological agenda. He fancied himself as more of a n.o.ble terrorist trying to save the planet than a crime lord trying to undermine the global economy, a goal that in and of itself seemed rather laughable to her.
Yet Nestes, if he was being honest, had somehow seized the Green Brigade's reins and was, quite possibly, steering the group in another direction.
”I want to make a deal with you,” he said. ”You know I'm serious, because you could kill me right now. We don't have time to discuss details. But we need to talk.”
”If you wanted to make a deal, then why didn't you just drop by for tea?”
”Can you blame me for trying to kill you? There's a bounty on your head. A huge one. Didn't you know that?”
”You're right. We don't have time for this.” She rose and started toward him, lifting her rifle.
He brought his rifle down and aimed at her. She should've shot him, but his offer sounded strangely intriguing, so here they were now, in a standoff.
”I guess we both die,” he said.
”Yeah, but you die first, and I always get the last word.”
The Snow Maiden's cell phone began to ring. She cursed.
”That wouldn't be Patti calling, would it?”
She froze.
In shock.
If you knew about the Ganjin Ganjin, then you were in the Ganjin Ganjin-or you didn't live long.
”Who're you working for?” she demanded.
”For you now.”
”I don't believe it.”
”There are those who don't appreciate your service and would rather terminate your employment.”
”What the h.e.l.l does that mean?” she asked. ”You're just playing a little game. And I'm not biting.”
The fire trucks' sirens resounded loudly as they turned the corner and barreled down the road.
She tossed a look to them, then summarily shot Nestes. He staggered back and fell to the ground. She bent down over him.
”You just made a big mistake,” he gasped. ”I could have helped you ...”
With a chill, she rose, ran across the street, and screamed for the old man and kid to get in the car. She jumped into the driver's seat and fired up the engine, and they tore away from the curb, riding on two flat tires.
In all her years of covert intelligence work and trade-craft, she had never made a more sloppy or pathetic escape. Maybe they were all correct. She had lost her edge.
Or maybe there were just too many forces working against her this time: the Americans, the Brits, the Russians, the terrorists, and now ...
What the h.e.l.l had Nestes been talking about? Were there enemies within the Ganjin Ganjin that wanted her killed? that wanted her killed?
If they managed to get the h.e.l.l out of the U.K., then she and Patti were going to have a very long talk. She glanced quickly at her phone; indeed, Patti had been trying to contact her.
Brent's team arrived at the docks near Dover. Dennison confirmed that the Snow Maiden, along with Chopra and Hussein, had been at the West Bank Guest House, now ravaged by flames. They'd left, heading northeast up Folkestone Road, but they had lost sight of them at Dover Towne Centre, where a ma.s.sive traffic jam still blocked all roads.
Brent and his Ghosts jogged the short distance to that business center, broke off in pairs, fanned out, and conducted an exhaustive search of a three-block radius. They found the Snow Maiden's car, two wheels shot up, parked along a dense greenbelt near Priory Hill. She'd obviously broken out of the traffic jam and driven right through the woods, judging from the extensive damage to the vehicle, the tracks, and the gaping lines in the pavement from the rims.
Dennison tried to enlist the aid of the local authorities, but the request had been denied because they had their hands full with the ma.s.sive crowds at the docks.
All Brent and his Ghosts had to do now was find the three people amid near-rioting crowds flooding toward the coastline.
Brent stationed Riggs and Schleck up on two of the highest buildings, where they'd maintain surveillance on the docks via Schleck's drone.
Splinter Cell Thomas, still bleary-eyed and distraught over the loss of his brother, volunteered to coordinate with Third Echelon and was communicating directly with them to gain more intel.
They spent the remainder of the day searching in vain, and as night fell, Brent stood near a roundabout opposite the harbor. ”Hammer, you got anything? Anything at all?”
”Negative, Ghost Lead. Negative ...”
He checked in with Thomas. The NSA had nothing either.
”She'll turn up again,” said Lakota, drawing up to Brent's side. ”She might lay low here for a day or two, but I'll bet she'll cross into Europe. They'll keep eyes in the sky focused on this route, and they'll pick her up.”
Brent sighed. ”They'll disguise themselves and slip out in the middle of the night. And we can't stay here forever.”
”What're you saying?”
”I'm saying that ... at least for me ... this is the end of the line. Before the night's over, Dennison will call me back with orders to pull out.”
”We can't give up.”