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CHAPTER 15



Kyle’s phone buzzed. He was finally getting used to that and not suffering what was known as “beepilepsy”—reacting with a jerk when it vibrated.

“Monroe,” he answered.

“Kyle, it’s Mick. You need to get hidden in a hurry. The police are looking for two Americans, one black and one white, wanted for questioning regarding the incident at Bran.”

“Shit,” Kyle replied. He couldn’t think of much else to say.

“Indeed. I’m going to try to shift notice away from you. We still don’t want to come out if we don’t have to.” Kyle translated that as, “At a certain level, you’re expendable to maintain security.” It should by rights piss him off, but he understood it. He believed Cafferty would dig them out if they got caught. He also believed that the man would milk it as much as possible for favors and position first.

“What do you want us to do, then?” he asked for clarification.

“Move again, you rent a room, Wade needs to stay out of sight. There are enough young American males here that you won’t immediately attract suspicion.”

“Will do. We’ll check in when we can.”

“Good luck, and I’ll try to distract them. We’ll get you another target yet.” Kyle doubted that, but they did have two so far.

They waited nervously until well after dark. Then Kyle settled at the desk and headed for the car with most of the luggage. He returned for the rest and cleared the route ahead of Wade, who kept his hat on and collar up to reduce visibility. They encountered no one on their way out the back, and were shortly on the road, Wade sprawled in back with his face mostly covered.

“I could nap like this,” he said.

“Sure, then you can handle the next early call alone.”

Kyle drove out of Braşov and onto E574 toward Sfintu Gheorghe. That was another small town that should have enough tourists and hotels to help them stay hidden. After that, he wasn’t sure what to do. Likely, Cafferty would try to draw attention away from them and onto some other suspect. Then they’d be able to depart. He wasn’t sure they’d get much more done on this mission. Still, a ton of explosives and two terrorists was a good tally. But it irked him to let the bigger brains go.

Ten minutes into the trip, Kyle was sure they were being followed. “I’ve got the same Dacia sedan behind us as two blocks after we left,” he said to Wade.

“Cops?” Wade asked.

“I doubt it,” Kyle said, trying to see past the headlights in the mirror. He’d caught the vehicle once or twice at stops, but couldn’t get much more at present. It had stayed a car or two back so he wasn’t sure how it was manned, but was now following within a few lengths. It was obviously intended to be intimidating.

“We don’t have weapons in the car, do we?” A ripple of adrenalin went through him. They’d wanted to be prepared for a police stop, and shooting it out with the police wasn’t anywhere on their agenda. It wouldn’t have helped any situation.

“All in the trunk that I know of,” Wade said. “Shit.”

Kyle had done quite a bit of off-road driving both stateside and in Bosnia. He’d done plenty of miles on road. He’d even done the usual teenage “stunt driving.” But this was combat driving against a possibly armed enemy. He was fairly sure he could find a way to get lost if they got to another town. But that wouldn’t solve the problem, and would leave an enemy loose, which he hated to do. The ideal solution was to turn the pursuit around.

He just wasn’t sure he had the driving skills for that. The ideal outcome was to disable the pursuing vehicle and stun the driver for capture and interrogation, then follow up against enemy infrastructure. That meant no more than a smashed bumper for Kyle and Wade’s car. Any major damage or disabling of their car would bring the government in. That was a far less desirable outcome, because it would mean a capture of a mere flunky who might get away, and their capture and the resultant incident.

The only thing that came to mind was to try to cause a crash for the pursuer, quickly get control of them and get information. Kyle didn’t think of it as torture, because he intended a simple punching and beating of someone who helped terrorists blow up innocent people. After that, they could be left for the police or Cafferty. The other option was to see if they had a radio or cell phone and threaten them into contacting their leadership, so Cafferty or Kyle could trace them.

Frankly, he had no idea what he was really doing, but couldn’t think of anything good. So he jockeyed for favorable position for the crash. After that, he had only guidelines.

First was to get them close enough and fast enough that he could cause a minor accident. Kyle didn’t know college physics, but he did know some ballistics. Faster velocities greatly increased energy, and in this case would also reduce response time. So he needed to accelerate and act fearful until they caught up, make sure the road was quiet, then lock up the brakes.

He started with some gentle acceleration. He wanted to appear to “discover” the possible threat and run away. Let the enemy, who likely didn’t know exactly who they were, get overcautious.

It worked. Within a couple of kilometers, the tail had matched his speed and closed distance. They had him right where he wanted them. He edged the speed up a bit more and looked for a good spot.

Actually, it was hard not to edge the speed up as they got closer. He didn’t like tailgaters, and this was not the place for it, with the road bumpy and uneven and occasionally pulling the car toward the edge. He used that, since it was going to happen anyway. Let them think he was scared and fleeing.

Right then, he found exactly what he was looking for. The road curved to the left, leaving them on the outside. It wasn’t banked, and there was no other traffic visible at the moment. “Impact,” he warned Wade, and stood on the brakes as he left the turn.

It appeared the pursuit wasn’t in the mood for a wreck. The driver braked hard himself. But he was in the curve, and started to skid. The lights bounced as the car shuddered and slid on the loose pavement. Then it angled off the road, still at a good clip, and plowed through the weeds. It had almost turned on its side when it slammed into some trees.

At once, Kyle pulled half off the road, there being no shoulder, and put the emergency flashers on.

“Get weapons, cover the hostiles, stand clear of the car,” he ordered as he popped the trunk release. Wade rolled out the door and reached for the rear. In a moment, he was down into the growth and Kyle threw the car into reverse. He wanted to conceal the other vehicle from anyone coming the same way they had. Anyone traveling the other direction should see nothing, if all went well.

Wade was good. Kyle had known that, but the man continued to demonstrate it. They needed to keep control of the situation, and Wade did it through the expedient of shooting the headlights out of the vehicle with the AK. The occupants had a good look at him, then it went dark. He had his little xenon flashlight out, which they’d not needed until now, and used it to blind the occupants. They knew he was armed with a suppressed and highly illegal weapon, was aggressive, and had backup. That was an excellent start to an engagement.

Kyle slammed into park so fast the transmission made the ratcheting sound that says it’s been abused. He twisted out, seat belt clattering against the rear door, and reached into the trunk for his Ed Brown. It was right under his ruck, and the suppressor was in the same case. By the time he’d bounded down the slope to the Dacia, he had it mounted. That put him right at the driver’s window with the gaping hole pointed through the frame—the window was down.

“Get out and lie down!” he snapped in English, thrusting the big pistol forward.

“Okay!” the driver said, eyes huge and nodding agreement.

Score 1. The enemy had admitted to knowing English. That made it much easier.

“Wade, get on the phone,” Kyle said. He wanted to ask questions and move quickly. Wade pulled out his phone and Kyle turned to his prisoners. There were three, all locals, males in their 20s. They were facedown and clearly not prepared for a military engagement.

A shot went right past Kyle’s head and scared the hell out of him. He dropped, rolled, and prepared to return fire. Then the driver was on him and wrestling for the .45. He could hear Wade shooting, the suppressed fire in contrast to the appalling reports from someone’s pistol.

Then he ignored all that. The driver was trying very hard to cripple and kill him. Kyle was underneath, his attacker astride a leg, and they both went for the obvious knee to the balls at the same time. The attacker got the better of it, because he could let gravity do some of the work, and Kyle had to clench against the incoming blow. His own strike was weak. The hand that ripped at his Adam’s apple had ragged, long nails, and he coughed and choked. He managed a nice clip against the driver’s forehead with the butt of his pistol, which stunned his opponent just enough for Kyle to break his grip. But then they were both tangled up again.

He didn’t know what this guy ate, but he probably didn’t own a toothbrush. His breath reeked. He tried desperately to roll over, but they were against the car and couldn’t. Up and down, trying to get position and control, they struggled for several seconds. In a fight, that’s a long time.

The muzzle of the AK appeared, and Kyle was glad for the support. But the driver grunted and heaved, twisting them both into a ball again. Wade backed out.

“Alive!” Kyle said, hoping it was neither too soft nor a shout. The others weren’t helping, so he presumed in the back of his mind that Wade had killed them. But they needed at least one alive, and that was a problem, because the driver didn’t need one of them alive.

They were both getting banged about by the car, fists, the pistol, and several broken, rotten but still sharp sticks underneath. Kyle was aching and sore all over. Finally, though, he got a foot against something and pushed. That turned them both over, and he was able to butt his head down against the man’s large, angular nose. That momentary stun let Kyle wrench his hands free, and he delivered a hefty smack across the eyebrows with the pistol. The eyes under him crossed and rolled up.

Wade was moving in muzzle first, and Kyle rolled back to rest. His shins had been kicked, his groin kneed, his ribs punched. His throat and head had taken a lot of damage, and he was abraded all over from sticks and grass, as well as muddy and filthy. He rasped for breath, and took a full minute to cough and clear his throat of phlegm and dust.

“The other two are dead,” Wade told him while he recovered. “One had an old Tokarev, the other a cruddy old Czech revolver he never got to use.”

Kyle just nodded. He couldn’t believe he’d been so overconfident. Even idiot punks were dangerous when cornered. After all, they had no reason to expect to live, so they’d fought accordingly. They would have done so sooner had the wreck not stunned them.

“Let’s talk to the driver,” he said. “And quickly.” He wiped his lip and his hand came away bloody. He’d bitten the inside of his cheek and banged his lips and teeth. Nothing loose, but shredded and cut.

Wade tapped the man on the forehead with the muzzle of the AK, and he recovered with a wince and a jerk.

“You talk and you don’t die,” Kyle said. Part of him was glad for the fight. It now meant he had zero qualms about smacking this asshole around for intel. Chasing them had been one thing, but these guys had been armed, so they’d been sent to kill.

“I don’t know anything!” the man said at once. It was too quick to suit Kyle. He swung the suppressor right between the man’s legs and blew a round into the dirt.

“I think you do,” he said. “Shall we bet?”

“I got only a telephone call,” the man said. He was wide-eyed under his welted and bleeding brow and matted shaggy black hair.

“Cell? Mobile phone?”

“Da, yes,” he agreed, nodding and wincing. “Where?”

“Here,” he said, and reached for his pocket. He stopped when Wade raised his chin with the suppressor.

Carefully, Kyle reached into the pocket. There was only the phone in there. He flipped it open. “Standard phone,” he said. “Maybe Ca . . . our friends can trace it.”

“Maybe,” Wade said. “Yes, I’m still here. We had a mixup. In control now. Send backup. Stand by.” Kyle had forgotten that Wade had had his phone live. “Can you trace a call on a standard cell? Or the number? Roger.” Wade looked over and said, “He says to find the number first.”

Kyle turned the phone around and said, “Which number do you call?”

“Number five on list,” the man said. “Is who sends us orders.”

“And the others?” He looked over the list.

They were all family members or friends, it appeared. Number Five was labeled with a little factory icon for workplace.

“Such nice people you work for,” Kyle muttered. He read the number off for Wade.

“He says it’s another cell number, but not far from here. He’s seeing if he has a way to check it.”

Kyle realized their prisoner shouldn’t be hearing this, and that they were exposed if anyone happened by and wanted to help the people with the flashing lights and open trunk, or had heard the fight. They were in a very bad position if discovered.

“Into the car,” he said. “We’ll talk while we drive.”

It took another few minutes to go through all the pockets and the car. There had to be stuff they were missing, but two cars whizzed by while they were doing so, and Kyle was frantic to get away. Getting caught now would ruin a lot of plans.

It was rather obvious, Kyle thought as they dragged the man up the bank. The car had been crashed, shot, left with two bodies and a third one dragged away. They couldn’t very well stick him in the trunk; modern trunks were easy to open from inside and all their gear was in it. So he’d have to ride in back with Wade. They didn’t have cuffs, he might try to attract attention, and there was the risk of a fight.

The mission had officially gone to hell, Kyle decided. It had taken five days this time? Not a record, but only because there were some missions in hell from the word go.

He did most of the handling, because Wade was still talking on the phone. “Yes. Got it. Okay, we’re about to roll, we’ll need Sam to meet us. Roger, staying live.” Wade lowered the phone and said, “He can get the call traced, but he needs time to set things in motion first.”

“Okay,” Kyle said. He shoved the punk in back, Wade piled in and jammed the suppressor into his belly, and Kyle slammed the trunk before getting back in front with his pistol. It felt good to sit.

Wade said, “He has to call someone else to get the serial number on the phone and set up to trace it. Once that’s done, we call the number and they can ID it within a local area.”

“Right. What do we say on air?”

“Dunno. I leave that to you.”

“Right.” Kyle built speed back up and resumed driving, though with no destination now. Driving was just a cover. “Find out what more he knows.”

“Right. So,” Wade said, turning and prodding with the AK. “Who is this boss?”

“I don’t know.”

“And how did you meet him?”

“Sorin introduced him by telephone. I never met him.”

“And you take money from a man you’ve never met to drive around, cause wrecks, and shoot at people? You must be a loser.” Wade called up to Kyle, “Should I smack him around?”

“I think he’s too stupid and cowardly to know,” Kyle said. “Too much of an idiot to know what he’s doing. Bet he drinks most of his income. I’m surprised he’s literate.”

The ploy didn’t work. The man kept silent, lips tight.

“Well, when we do find out, I can just shoot him and roll him out the door,” Wade said. “Or just roll him out the door and hold his foot, let him drag to death. Should be fun. I’ve never seen that one done.”

“That’s true,” Kyle said, getting into it. “We grenaded that one asshole across a cliff face. We dropped that other guy out of a helicopter. We crushed one under a tank. Fed one to sharks. That was kinda neat. Then there’s the one we drowned in the toilet. Think his head will bounce and concuss him to death? Or just grind away until his brains smear?”

“Dunno.” There was silence for a few minutes, and it was obvious the man was bothered. His kept pulling his eyes away from the door, but soon they’d dart back again. “Fuck it,” Wade said, shifting quickly. “He won’t talk, let’s give it a try.”

“Sure, how fast?”

“Oh, hundred K should do fine,” Wade said. “Better than a good belt sander.”

“He’s in Tirgovişte,” the man said, believing they meant it. “But I don’t know where.”

“Pity,” Wade said with a snarl. “That means you just gave us information for free and we’ll still grind your head off. Ready, boss?”

“Ready. As soon as we hit this straight.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” was the insistent response. “I know they smuggle drugs, but I never was told names. I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Drugs, yes,” Kyle said quickly. “And the DEA sent us to deal with it.” Better to use that story than to let anything slip. On the other hand, this cretin was even more of a mercenary. There was no cause for him, no end goal. He’d kill someone for a few lei just because that was his job. Kyle’s teeth clenched as he gripped the wheel. It was morally right to smear this scumbag. But it wasn’t his job to deliver that justice. When they found a terrorist organizer, however . . .

The phone buzzed and Kyle stole a glance at it. “It’s Sa . . . another element,” he said. He clicked the button and raised it. “I’m here.”

“Where is ‘here’?” Sam asked.

“On E574, now heading back to Brasov and then to Tirgovişte. We’re going to try to scare out this punk and nail him.”

“Okay, it might work, though we can only get a rough estimate on the phone’s location.”

“Yes, but we have a prisoner who’s deathly afraid of having his face ground off as we drive.

“You don’t mind if we waste him? The government’s okay with it? Right. We’ll hide the body so no one has to ask any questions.” Most of that was pure bull, but Sam should figure out what he was doing and ignore the extra chatter.

“Clever,” Sam snickered. “If you’ve killed a couple already, it really doesn’t matter actually. Though we don’t endorse it and officially forbid it. I’ll head in that direction. If time permits, I’ll take your prisoner and we’ll see if he’ll tell us more. Though as we can’t use force, it might take a while. Meanwhile, please do keep him alive.”

“Thirty minutes and dump him in a river. Understood. We’ll meet you there,” Kyle said. He clicked off. Over his shoulder to Wade he said, “We don’t need him. If he won’t talk, grind his face so it’s not recognizable and we’ll chop off his fingers before we dump the corpse. The local cops won’t know and the government just doesn’t want anything that can be traced.”

“Got it.”

The prisoner spoke. “Domnule, sir, I have a family,” he said weakly.

“Good, your widow can marry a man, then.” Kyle was trying to sound as callous and casual as possible.

“I really don’t know any more,” he insisted. He was quivering and squeaking in fear.

Then Wade wrestled him face down on the seat. The man might be 140 pounds and Wade was in much better shape. It took only a few seconds.

“Say when,” Wade said.

“Straight road, no witnesses, any time.”

And Wade pulled the door handle.

The man screamed and flinched hard enough to make Wade jerk as air rushed past.

Almost, Kyle thought. “Just so you know,” he said. “This isn’t about drugs. The man you work for blows up children on buses in Israel. He’s also killed people in Egypt, Spain, and France, and some of my buddies. You picked the wrong people to play with, and you’re going to die very slowly because of that.”

Wade was good. He gave about five seconds for that to sink in, then knelt and thrust the man’s head out the door. He started leaning forward, weight on the man’s neck.

“I KNOW AN ADDRESS!” came the shriek. Wade yanked him back up into the car.

Kyle exhaled as quietly as he could. He was sure Wade did, too. Because no matter how much they hated these assholes, they couldn’t really torture someone like that. And this poor bastard was just a flunky who likely didn’t endorse terrorism.

“So tell us,” Kyle said.

“I . . . I,” the man stuttered, forgetting his English.

“Wade, grind his face off, I’m sick of this crap.”

“I’ll have to show you!” he insisted. “I don’t know the name, but I visited there once.”

“Man, this is getting good,” Kyle said with mock glee. “First you know nothing, then you know a phone number, now an address, I wonder what else you know?”

“That’s all! I swear!” he insisted.

“Likely true,” Wade said. “This little coward just pissed his pants all over our back seat.”

“One more reason to get rid of him. But let’s see if he knows where this place is. And you better not be lying,” he said. “If we don’t find him in Tirgovişte, we’ll find an even more painful method.”


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