Endwar_ The Hunted Part 9

The Snow Maiden was connected to the royal family and connected to Manoj Chopra and Dubai. It was no coincidence that all three were in the Seych.e.l.les ... and Haussler, of course, had come for the party, charged with capturing the Snow Maiden.

Was the Snow Maiden after Warda? Or, perhaps, the young sheikh? Or maybe she was after Chopra, the finance man. He wanted to turn over the bank accounts to the sheikh.

Maybe she wanted the money? Interesting. She had to be working for another ent.i.ty, but Dennison's intel had turned up nothing on that organization thus far.

After a long sip of water, Brent said, "So you'll come back to London with us-or if you'd like I can arrange to have you taken to the United States, along with your sisters. Maybe you could work things out with our government."

"I'll go to London to be with my sisters. That's where I belong."

"You'll need more protection-better than what you have. They'll use you to get to your brother."

"I know."

"Then let me help with that."

"Okay."

m.u.f.fled gunfire from above sent Brent's gaze toward the door.

"More trouble," Warda said.

"Stay here."

Brent rushed up to the deck, where he cried, "What do we got?" as gunfire ripped across the yacht and he dropped behind the gunwale.

"Couple of punks still on the cigar boat," said Lakota. Brent stole a look out across the starboard bow, where the cigar boat was rising slowly on the waves.

"Gas 'em and board."

Lakota relayed the orders to Daugherty and Heston, who fired CS gas grenades that plopped into the cigar boat's c.o.c.kpit, hissing and creating a thick column of smoke that sent the thugs leaping overboard. Brent asked the navy boys to bring the yacht up alongside the cigar boat, after which his people climbed onto the sleek craft.

"Sorry, Captain," said Daugherty after a minute's worth of searching. "Looks like another decoy."

EIGHT.

Joint Strike Force V8-99 Sphinx En Route to London ETA: Three Hours Within twelve hours Brent and his team were onboard a V8-99 Sphinx, the next generation of V-TOL troop transport/fighters. According to the Sphinx's designers, many of the problems that had plagued the old V-22 Osprey had been solved, and this new bird was a composite of multiple designs and a complete retooling of that old aircraft.

Despite that, Brent held his breath during the take-off. That this death trap didn't look much different from the old Osprey further unnerved him. There'd been one particular hard landing in the mountains of Afghanistan that had left him wearing his breakfast. Ah, the good old days ...

With noise-canceling headphones pressed tightly to his ears and a small boom microphone at his lips, he stared down at the computer screen built into the seat ahead and positioned just above his knees. He said h.e.l.lo to Colonel Pavel Doletskaya.

The gray crew cut, barrel chest, and broad shoulders were stereotypical for a man who'd spent most of his life in the Russian military and intelligence services. A keen sense of compet.i.tion and pride kept most of those individuals in top shape, more so as they got older because they wanted to prove they were still agile and transformed themselves into athletes comparable to colleagues half their age. That visage of power and prestige was, however, deflated by the baggy orange jumpsuit with a prisoner number emblazoned on his breast. Dennison sat beside him, and it appeared that the conference call was being held in the colonel's prison cell somewhere within JSF headquarters in Tampa. The room was windowless, with a small bunk positioned in one corner and a large stack of books piled ten or twelve high, as though Doletskaya were plowing daily through a ton of material. Access to electronic texts must have been forbidden or limited.

The old Russian c.o.c.ked a brow. "h.e.l.lo, Captain. It's my understanding that you came very close to capturing her."

Brent carefully measured his words and his tone. "Not close enough, sir, but I'm confident we'll bring her in."

"Pride cometh before the fall, Captain. You won't get her without my help."

Brent repressed a shrug. "I will say she's one of the best escape artists I've ever seen, except for a few muhajadeen muhajadeen I met while in the 'Stan. She knows how to misdirect and set up those decoys, that's for sure." I met while in the 'Stan. She knows how to misdirect and set up those decoys, that's for sure."

"Oh, I can a.s.sure you, Captain, she's much better than anyone you've ever met. You'll see."

"I hope I don't. We'll get her in London. What's she after? The boy? Maybe we can get two steps ahead and set up an ambush."

The Russian turned to Dennison and grinned darkly. "You've sent a butcher to capture an artist."

"No, I've sent an unconventional thinker. Now then, Captain Brent, we know that Chopra is trying to find Hussein. And we think the Snow Maiden may be after the boy as well. Find the boy and we find the Snow Maiden."

"It's that simple," Brent said sarcastically. "Now what about Warda? She give us anything else?"

"She won't tell us where her brother is, and I don't blame her, so we'll have to tail Chopra. We have to a.s.sume he's gone undercover as well, so it's going to take me a while to pick him up. Once we do, you'll need to move quickly."

"I understand, but that seems to preclude any chance of an ambush. We need to get ahead of them, not chase."

"In a perfect world, Captain," snapped Dennison. "At least the Voecklers will arrive in London ahead of you. They'll remain with Warda and her sisters until we pick up Chopra. I've worked out a deal with the Brits to provide a security force for Warda and her sisters, once we're gone."

Brent nodded and directed his gaze to Doletskaya. "Colonel, is there anything else you can tell me about our target? I mean something not in the files, something you think might help us catch her?"

The old colonel simpered. "If she's going to London, you might find her at a little pub called the Bread and Roses on Clapham Manor. It's run by a trades union council and a.s.sociated with the Workers' Beer Company. They raise money for workers' rights causes. She always fought for the little guy, donated money to lots of causes, cancer research, and many others. She'll be in the big beer garden out back."

"Why didn't you tell us this sooner?" Dennison asked the colonel.

"It didn't occur to me until he asked."

Dennison shook her head in disgust. "Brent, I'll get some people there a-sap."

He nodded. "And I'll send two as soon as we land."

Doletskaya snorted. "Good luck."

"Sir, can I ask you something? You seem willing to help us capture her, but you doubt we will. She's just an individual on the run, and I don't care how many resources she has. Eventually, she'll make a mistake. And we'll bring her in."

Doletskaya's lips curled in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Captain, I've spent enough time with Viktoria to know there are few people in this world who can stop her. If by some miracle you do happen to accidentally capture her, I believe she will have surrendered and that it would have nothing to do with your skills. Her cunning is unmatched."

Brent returned a lopsided grin. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir."

Dennison told Brent to stand by while she spoke off camera with the colonel. He couldn't hear what they were saying, and after a moment, Dennison returned while the colonel was escorted out of the cell by two armed guards.

"Major, you really think that old man can help us?" Brent asked. "What if he's lying?"

"He's not. At least not entirely. He's already helped with a number of items and issues."

"It's my understanding that he had a relations.h.i.+p with the Snow Maiden. What makes you think he's not still working with her?"

Dennison smiled. "You're sharp, Captain, no matter what they say about you."

Brent grinned himself. "Are you setting him up?"

"Of course. We'll give him enough bait ... see if he tries to contact her. That'll give us her location as well-and I know the Voecklers will continue questioning Warda. She still doesn't trust us, but if she'd just give in, we could end this quickly and set up that ambush."

"Can I ask you something? Once we capture the Snow Maiden, do you really think she'll talk?"

"I don't know. But it's clear she poses a major threat to the JSF and the Euros. She's even working against her own government-and that's what really scares me. Now Captain, I need for you to capture her in London. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Brent shrugged. "Yeah."

He remembered the five-minute meeting he'd had with her, just before they'd taken off. Her words were off the record, and they had stung: "You've done some exceptional work in Special Forces and earned your recruitment into Ghost Recon. There's no denying that. You did a fine job up in Canada during the Russian invasion, but since then it's been downhill. I'm just saying that this operation has to go by the numbers-for both of us. I can't promise you what'll happen if you lose her in London. I just can't."

"Ma'am, what're you saying?"

"I'm saying there's no room for mistakes like failing to check that taxi. She slipped away once. That can't happen again."

"Otherwise, I'm gone."

"They were thinking about removing you from Ghost Recon before I brought you on board for this."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I'm taking a risk on you because I need someone who's got more at stake than just a mission. I'll be honest. I figure that if your whole career depends on capturing the Snow Maiden, you'll probably get the job done. Some of your colleagues have less to lose-but you've got it all."

"I don't believe this ..."

"I'm sorry, Captain. They could even bust you down to the regular Army. I can make recommendations, but ultimately it'll be their call."

"So, if we don't get her in London, I'm done."

"Don't think of it that way. Think of it as your chance to bring in the world's most dangerous woman and earn a reputation for yourself as one of Ghost Recon's top operators."

"So it's all or nothing."

Brent tensed as Dennison now nodded and said, "I'll be in touch once you're on the ground."

He returned the nod, and she abruptly broke the link.

All he could do was sit there, the seat straps feeling as though they were tightening like a boa curled around his shoulders and back, ready to suffocate him.

He'd dedicated his entire life to service. He'd tried his best to be a good soldier, a good man, and to atone for his sins. He'd tried to set the world right by taking another man's place. And now they were presenting the ultimatum, as though they'd seen through him, knew that his heart hadn't truly been in it from the beginning, that he'd joined the Army out of guilt, and that he wasn't destined to retire as a Ghost Recon operator. He couldn't fool them anymore. And now they were giving him enough rope to hang himself.

All right. You didn't get into Ghost Recon without rising to the top of SF, he told himself. He needed a stronger bond with his people. He needed them more than ever now, and he wondered how forthright he should be. "If we don't get her in London, I'm done." "If we don't get her in London, I'm done." Would that inspire confidence in them, or would that place them under more pressure? Would that inspire confidence in them, or would that place them under more pressure?

They needed to hear something. Once they landed, the operational tempo would pick up, and there'd be no time for idle chatter. He unbuckled and rose from his seat, turning back to face the group, seated in pairs down the long aisle.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began.

They, like him, also wore headphones and microphones and were patched into the intercom, so they could hear each other over the tremendous booming of the Sphinx's engines.

"I just finished my briefing with Major Dennison. Although we had some complications in the Seych.e.l.les, she's confident we can get the Snow Maiden in London-and so am I."

Lakota raised her hand. "Sir, honestly, I think it'll be more difficult to get her now. Big city. So many places to hide. We haven't even dusted her. And we need to worry about Haussler's people on our back. I'm just thinking this whole op belongs to the NSA and not us."

"We're unconventional fighters. That means one minute we're spies, the next we're stand-up warriors. We think, move, shoot, communicate, adapt, and drink beer." He winked at the group and got a few quick chuckles.

Then he added, "I know you're worried about this. We need a win. But I want to tell you that I couldn't have been more impressed with your performance on Mahe."

n.o.boru lifted a finger and said, "Captain, I know we did a good job-based on the limited information we had-but the mission failed. Not sure how impressive that is."

Brent stared a moment into the j.a.panese man's frown, then quickly responded: "I wrote it up as, 'Due to circ.u.mstances beyond our control and limited intelligence, we arrived at the target location too late to run either an ambush or an effective blocking operation.' We couldn't control that. And I'm not focusing on losing the target. I'm talking about what we did do ..."

"I thought we rocked the house," said Riggs, wriggling her brows at the others, even turning around so those behind her could see. "We took out nearly half that Spetsnaz team-and not a single one of us took a hit."

"Hoo-ah!" cried Heston.

"You're d.a.m.ned right we did good," said Brent. "Now we're going to drop into London and do it again. It's not the misses that count; it's the hits."

"So we're back to wearing civilian clothes, packing very light, and running tight surveillance," said Heston with his Texas drawl.

"I know you'd all prefer a stand-up fight. But you've been around long enough to know how it goes. I'm counting on every one of you to give one hundred and ten percent here." Brent lifted his voice. "Are you with me?"

They all cried in unison, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Brent held up a fist, shook it, then returned to his seat and closed his eyes. He was trembling.

About fifteen minutes before they were set to land, Lakota took the chair beside Brent. She motioned for him to turn on his intercom to channel three so they could talk privately.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I'll help you."

"That's nice," he said, unable to disguise his sarcasm. "I was kind of hoping for that."

"You know what I mean."

He gave her a look. "Uh, I don't."