Crisis point, p.8
Crisis Point, page 8
part #1 of Sam Driver Series
Driver felt all eyes turn to her.
‘Ex-naval aviator and CIA field agent working narcotics and terrorism,’ Gilmore continued. ‘Captured in Kazakhstan and sold to the Russians.’
Gilmore moved onto the British man. ‘Sunny Wells, former SBS Commander, MI5 agent and latterly an operative of MI6. Caught spying on the Chinese and held without trial.’
Gilmore fixed his attention on the man in the suit. ‘Yuri Baptiste, Russian double agent, spying on the French for the past twenty years. Imprisoned for the last eighteen months.’
‘You haven’t mentioned the giant-ass elephant in the room,’ Rios said, as if reading Driver’s mind.
‘Yeah, what the hell is she doing here?’ Wells added, eyeing the East Asian woman with disdain.
‘Ah yes, Isobel Lim,’ Gilmore said.
‘The Isobel Lim?’ Baptiste glanced at Lim and edged away from her side.
She rolled her eyes in response, like a woman who was sick of the same, stuck record.
Gilmore wore a pained expression as he spoke, as if the inclusion of Lim hadn’t been his idea. Driver wondered who she could be, and what she could have done.
Gilmore went ahead and filled in the blanks. ‘For all of you not acquainted with Miss Lim, she was the go-to assassin of the Chinese MSS,’ he said. ‘That is until she went rogue and began hiring herself out to the highest bidder.’
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of contracting,’ the Australian remarked.
‘Speaking of mercenaries,’ Gilmore continued. ‘This charming individual is Russell Pope, Australian special forces. Worked for a US private security contractor in Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya. Captured in Tripoli in the hope the Americans would make a trade.’
‘I’m guessing they didn’t,’ quipped Baptiste, drawing a sarcastic sneer from Pope.
‘And finally, we have Maria Rios.’ Gilmore motioned to the woman in the orange jumpsuit.
‘I’ve heard of you,’ Driver said. ‘When I was working the cartels.’
Rios narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh yeah, what did you hear, weta?’
‘I heard you were a sicario, a hired killer for the cartels,’ Driver continued. ‘El Silenciador, isn’t that what they call you?’
‘I’m called a lot of things,’ Rios said, giving nothing away.
‘I heard you killed some of our agents – CIA, DEA…’ Driver watched for a reaction, but Rios didn’t blink.
Gilmore broke the silence. ‘Miss Rios was one of the first women to make it into the Mexican special forces. She later became a SWAT team sniper for the federal police out of Juárez, before recently running into trouble on the American side of the border…’ Gilmore looked at Rios’ bandage. ‘Which do you shoot with?’
Rios held up her injured hand.
‘Oh great,’ Gilmore muttered. ‘But anyhow, that’s the meet and greet over, let’s get you cleaned up.’
Driver stepped forward out of line. ‘How about you tell us what the fuck’s going on?’
‘Yeah,’ Wells said. ‘Yesterday, I was counting the screams coming from the next cell. Today I’m stood in an airport terminal in Geneva. Why’d you pull us all out?’
‘The Pommy bastard’s right,’ Pope added. ‘You need to tell us what’s happening, mate.’
‘I’m not your mate and I don’t need to tell you anything,’ Gilmore replied. ‘Especially not when you smell like the inside of a camel’s asshole.’
Driver wasn’t the only one to smirk as Pope sniffed his own armpit.
‘The same goes for all of you,’ Gilmore continued. ‘Anna will show you the way.’
As Anna beckoned the group, Driver split from the others and approached Gilmore. He seemed as uncomfortable with her return as her desire for answers. ‘Shit, Sam. I know we haven’t had time to—’
‘What the hell happened in Kazakhstan?’ she asked. ‘Was there a mole, or what?’
Gilmore appeared lost for answers. ‘I wish I could tell you,’ he replied, dropping his head in shame. ‘They shut us down after the mission. Everyone thought you were—’
‘It shouldn’t have stopped you asking,’ Driver said.
‘No, but it did stop the Agency answering my calls,’ Gilmore continued. ‘Look, I know you’re angry about what happened to you.’
‘I don’t care about me, I’m angry about Tom,’ Driver snapped back. ‘I survived. He didn’t.’
‘Tom knew what he was getting into, Sam. And I’m not gonna lie, I’m just glad you’re here. It’s two years since the Agency booted me out and I’ve spent every damn one thinking about what went wrong.’
Driver realised she was projecting her frustrations onto Gilmore. It wasn’t his fault the mission had gone awry, or that the CIA had buried any record of the operation. It was standard protocol. What else did she expect?
‘You’d better get cleaned up,’ Gilmore said.
Driver felt her temper cool. She caught up with the others, trudging behind Anna through a door on the right and along a long sterile corridor.
Driver knew Anna Patel from her Langley days. They weren’t friends, but they’d shared coffee on occasion, traded office gossip and swapped tales about the weekend.
‘You can take a shower through here,’ Anna said, leading them into what must once have been a staff locker room. There were two rows of benches in the centre and showers off to the side. Driver couldn’t wait to feel the blast of a hot shower, to finally tear off her prison clothes.
‘It’s mixed gender,’ Anna said, as they spread out across the room. ‘I hope you don’t—’
‘Nope,’ Pope said, dropping his pants. He peeled off his prison top to reveal old scars, new bruises and a starved set of abs. He looked like a man who’d lost a lot of weight fast, yet at six-four and broad-shouldered, couldn’t help but be big.
Anna pushed a laundry cart out into the middle of the room. ‘Drop your clothes in here when you’re done.’
Lim broke her silence. ‘What are we supposed to wear?’ she asked in perfect English.
Anna tapped a pile of folded clothes in cellophane wrap, waiting for them on the end of a bench. ‘We got your sizes from your service records. Hopefully they’ll fit.’
Baptiste inspected the clothing like it was something he’d stepped in. ‘Are you serious?’
Anna shrugged. ‘Best I could do at short notice.’
‘The men can go in first,’ Driver said, nodding towards the showers. ‘Us ladies will hang back.’
‘Plenty of room for all of us,’ Pope replied, naked and proud.
Lim pointed at his penis. ‘I’m not showering with that.’
Rios’ sneer broke momentarily into a half-smile.
‘Suit yourselves,’ Pope muttered, shuffling off into the showers.
Driver flopped onto the hard wooden bench and prised her pumps off her tired, aching feet. She watched as the remaining men peeled out of their clothes and disappeared into the showers. Baptiste had perfect skin and a lithe body for a man of his age. And Wells, a mess of healed lash marks over his broad, muscular back, was in excellent shape.
Anna hovered awkwardly near Driver. ‘About Kazakhstan, I—’
‘That’s still classified,’ Driver said, standing a little too quickly. The last dregs of the booze lingered in her system – her electrolytes depleted. She steadied herself and squeezed Anna on the arm. ‘But yeah, me too.’
Chapter 9
After a shower and a medical, Driver and the others gathered in what constituted a briefing room. Driver took the third seat along on a row of six. With the lights turned down, Gilmore and Anna stood in front of a projector screen, waiting for them to settle. For the first time in years, she felt almost human again. Well, in spite of the obvious.
‘What the hell am I looking at?’ Gilmore shook his head at the assembled line.
‘Duty free,’ Anna said. ‘It’s all they had.’
Driver looked along the line. The other five wore the same as her: Bermuda shorts, flip-flops and an ‘I Heart Geneva’ T-shirt.
‘They look like they’re on day release,’ Gilmore said.
Rios shrugged. ‘It’s an upgrade on the jumpsuit.’
‘I like it,’ Pope said, his chestnut hair frizzy and wild from the shower.
Driver sipped on an electrolyte drink in a plastic beaker given to her and the others by the medical staff. They’d checked her over and replaced the stitching in her wrist without asking how it happened. Doubtless Gilmore had instructed them not to ask questions.
Driver got the feeling that very few people knew about this arrangement. And that she and the others weren’t supposed to be there at all.
Gilmore confirmed her suspicions. ‘So you want to know what those contracts really mean?’ he said, pacing like a drill sergeant. ‘They mean you’re dead.’
‘Ah shit, this is hell, isn’t it?’ Pope groaned like a guilty man.
Baptiste tugged at his shorts with disdain. ‘That would explain these.’
‘Officially dead,’ Gilmore continued. ‘As far as the outside world’s concerned, all six of you died while incarcerated.’
‘So, what,’ Wells said, ‘you putting together some kind of elite task force?’
Gilmore opened a thin brown folder and leafed through the contents. ‘If by elite task force, you mean six out-of-shape ex-cons who failed their physicals and psychometrics, then yeah, you’re an elite task force.’
‘Hey, some of us were serving our countries,’ Wells countered, with a sideways glance at Rios and Lim.
‘Too right,’ Pope muttered. ‘I’m a bloody war hero.’
‘You were a mercenary for hire,’ Gilmore replied. ‘And no one forced any of you to pick up a gun.’
Driver stared at the carpet. ‘Maybe we got what we deserved.’
Baptiste pinched the front of his T-shirt. ‘No one deserves this.’
‘Tales of woe aside,’ Gilmore continued, ‘did any of your assorted shitholes have CNN?’ His question was met with a stony silence. ‘Then let me bring you up to speed.’ Gilmore snatched a clicker off the desk. He pointed it at the projector screen. An image came up of an office building after a large explosion. ‘This is what’s left of the Russian embassy in Washington. Long story short, the Russians are blaming it on the Americans.’ He clicked again. An image of a second building. The aftermath of another devastating impact. ‘This is the US embassy in Moscow. America is accusing Russia, claiming it’s a revenge-attack following Washington. The White House is denying it, of course.’
‘Was it us?’ Driver asked, only to check herself. ‘Sorry, old habit… Was it the CIA?’
‘The UN line is that a third party is to blame,’ Gilmore continued. ‘Our intel suggests this man was at the centre of both attacks.’
He pointed and clicked. A man’s photograph flashed up. An image taken of him from a distance, dressed for the desert with a rifle on his back, talking to a pair of associates.
Memories of Kazakhstan invaded Driver’s mind. Tom’s face. His dying body. Being dragged to a pickup by her feet.
‘That’s Nurian Serik,’ Wells said.
‘You’re familiar with his work?’ Gilmore asked.
‘Of course,’ said Pope. ‘He’s the leader of Jan Seven.’
‘Jan Seven?’ Rios asked.
‘January Seven,’ Baptiste explained. ‘Libyan terror group. Named after the date it was formed.’
‘Pretty unimaginative if you ask me,’ Pope said.
Gilmore turned the clicker over in his hand. ‘Imaginative or not, Serik, ex-Kazakh intelligence, founded the group with his buddy, Abbas Jemal, now deceased. Until the US flushed terrorism out of Kazakhstan in the early noughties, Serik and Jemal were making a tidy profit as terrorists for hire. After that, they went where the action was, setting up camp in Libya and hiring themselves out to everyone from the jihadis to the Russians. As the money came in, their numbers grew. And Serik set up sleeper cells all over the world.’
‘So not exactly UNICEF,’ Rios said.
‘Jan Seven is behind some of the worst terror attacks in the last ten years,’ Driver added.
‘Point is,’ Gilmore continued, ‘we suspect Serik may be behind these latest attacks.’
Baptiste nodded at the screen. ‘On what evidence?’
Gilmore crossed his arms and paced the floor. ‘Three months ago, a defector from January Seven informed the UN that Serik had activated two sleeper cells. One in Washington State and the other in St Petersburg. Our thinking is that they built the bombs and used radicalised US and Russian ex-servicemen to gain access to both facilities and plant the devices.’ Gilmore stopped in front of the group. ‘After that, they staged the suicide of both men.’
‘That way no one squawks,’ Rios muttered to herself.
Driver looked up at Gilmore. ‘Two huge scalps. Why didn’t anyone claim responsibility?’
‘That’s the million-dollar question,’ Gilmore replied.
‘Surely the intelligence community has this information,’ Wells said.
Anna shook her head. ‘Contacts on the ground will share information with the UN they wouldn’t ordinarily with national intelligence agencies.’
‘How come?’ Pope asked.
‘Because they don’t hate their guts,’ Lim answered.
‘Then pass the intel onto the CIA, the SVR, or both,’ said Baptiste. ‘Simple.’
‘UN intelligence already made contact,’ Gilmore continued. ‘Both agencies said the same thing. That it’s circumstantial at best, and they don’t go after the Seriks of this world based on the say-so of a paid informant.’
Wells reacted with shock. ‘The defector was paid? Then no wonder. They could be saying anything.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Gilmore said. ‘And that’s to go after Serik.’
‘Sounds like a CIA op to me,’ Rios said. ‘Predators, SEAL teams and shit.’
Driver caught Gilmore’s eye. ‘Not an option. Serik has someone inside Langley.’
Baptiste eyed her with mistrust. ‘How do you know?’
‘I know,’ Driver replied.
‘So what’s the gig?’ Pope asked. ‘Terminate the bloke?’
Gilmore pressed the clicker. The image changed to Serik, coming in and out of a massage parlour. ‘The UN still has a strong presence in Libya. Sources tell us Serik is in Tripoli right now.’
‘Ah Christ,’ Pope groaned. ‘I’ve just got out of the bloody place.’
‘Well I’m afraid you’re going back,’ Gilmore continued. ‘We go in, grab him, get some answers.’
‘’Cause that went swimmingly the last time,’ Driver muttered.
‘You got any other ideas?’ Gilmore replied. ‘’Cause I’m listening.’
Rios rested a foot on one knee. ‘Like Sasquatch said, we fly in there and waste the guy. Give me a rooftop. I’ll put a bullet between his eyes.’
‘As much as I’d love to see that,’ Gilmore replied, ‘it isn’t gonna stop World War Three.’
‘Why do we have to go?’ Pope grumbled. ‘You’ve got your own soldiers.’
‘Or you can commandeer some,’ Baptiste said. ‘I take it this comes from the Security Council?’
Gilmore wore a straight face. ‘I can neither confirm nor deny that.’
Driver leaned forward to explain. ‘Because clandestine UN operations are illegal. And what’s more deniable than six disavowed operatives who no longer exist?’
‘If it dries your tiny tears, I’m on the disposables list too,’ Gilmore replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Anna. ‘We all are.’
Baptiste chewed on a lip. ‘And we’re all from different sides. Which makes us neutral.’
‘Bargaining chips,’ Driver added with a wry smile. ‘Smart.’
Wells narrowed his eyes at Lim. ‘What I don’t get is who releases a trained killer?’
‘Actually, it was the British.’ Gilmore parked himself on the edge of the desk. ‘And you’re all trained killers.’
‘Fine, trained murderer,’ said Wells.
Lim snorted in disbelief. ‘That’s rich coming from you.’
‘Yeah, but the bloke’s got a point,’ Pope said.
‘And who the fuck asked you?’ Rios snapped.
Driver threw her hands in the air. ‘Can we stop squabbling like schoolgirls?’
‘As soon as you sober up,’ sneered Pope.
‘What’s that mean?’ Driver asked, on the edge of her chair.
‘It means I’ve worked with drunks before,’ said Baptiste. ‘And they’re unreliable.’
Driver felt the red mist descend. ‘I’m not drunk.’
‘Nah, just flammable,’ laughed Pope.
Driver sprung from her chair, hand in a fist. ‘You wanna go? Let’s go.’
Pope leaped to his feet on the end of the row. ‘Maybe you should sit down before you hurt yourself… Again.’
Driver snapped and lunged. Wells was up fast, holding her at bay.
Gilmore hid his eyes behind a hand. ‘Good God.’
‘I heard what happened in Kazakhstan,’ Wells whispered in Driver’s ear. ‘If you want to get Serik, we’re gonna need that Aussie prick.’
Driver shook off Wells’ grip. She regained her composure and dropped back into her chair.
‘Look,’ Gilmore said, digging his hands in his pockets. ‘I know you’ve all been in solitary for a while and you’re not used to playing with the other children – but here’s the deal.’ He strolled to his right. ‘We get Serik, we find out who really planted that bomb in Moscow. We leak the intel. It goes public. All sides of this argument can climb down without losing face. With any luck, the CIA and SVR will both claim credit for our good work. Meantime, we wind up the operation and the six of you walk free. New identities, immunities, the whole damn makeover.’ Gilmore addressed the group squarely. ‘Now, you wanna go back to prison and wait for the end of the world, or do you wanna get on with un-fucking this situation?’
The room fell silent as Gilmore waited for an answer.
Pope put up his hand. ‘I vote un-fucking.’
‘Good,’ Gilmore said. ‘Then welcome to Operation Wildcard.’
Chapter 10
Driver would have pointed out the planning and training time needed for a mission of this kind. But time was something no one had. Not the team, not the leaders, not the world.
