CHAPTER 16
The man was quiet and whimpered occasionally all the way to Tirgovişte. Wade took no chances and kept the AK’s suppressed muzzle in his guts. It was about 120 kilometers, near a two-hour drive with the local road conditions, and at that rate, Kyle was abusing their bodies and the car with road vibration.
“Okay, we’re entering Tirgovişte, where to?” he asked.
“North and east corner,” their prisoner said quickly. Kyle used one hand to pull up a map and kept the wheel steady with the other and his knees. The town was about 90,000 population, not huge, and the roads were sized accordingly—several large arteries and lots of small ones that didn’t matter.
The phone buzzed and Kyle answered. “Yes?”
“Sam here. I’m entering Tirgovişte. Where are you?”
“Stand by,” Kyle said, and found the name of the nearest large street. It was a “Strada” named after somebody “escu,” like so many others. He picked an intersection nearby.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Want to transfer your prisoner?”
“Sure,” Kyle said. “See you.” He disconnected. “Man, that’s a bitch,” he said.
“Oh?” Wade asked.
“Yeah, Sam is coming to get him.”
“Sam?” Wade asked, playing straight and sounding scared.
“Yeah. That’s rough. Tough shit, kid. You’re all Sam’s now.”
“Sam?” he asked, unsure and sounding bothered.
“Yeah. I would do exactly what you’re told if I were you. Sam will kill you if you try anything.” He had no idea what Sam actually planned, but cowing the man into submission couldn’t hurt, and might make him more pliable.
Shortly, they saw a car flash its headlights. A wave indicated Sam, and they pulled in behind him. He was heading toward the river.
Then they were along the river on a quiet street, and side by side. Sam leaped out, opened the rear doors of both cars and helped Wade shove the frightened lump of a prisoner into his vehicle. Heavyweight cable ties appeared, and they lashed him at ankles, knees, and wrists. He was dumped unceremoniously into the footwell and mostly covered with a thick blanket. Wade said, “Good luck, kid. Do what he says and you might survive.”
Kyle almost burst out laughing.
They departed a few minutes apart, giving Sam the lead. He rolled into a housing area and down several streets. Periodically, he’d pause, then drive on. Kyle took a moment to look around. The houses were small, mostly with tiled roofs. There were little flowerbeds and fences. Nice Old World neighborhood, straight out of a book. Who’d think to look for a bomber here?
The phone buzzed and Kyle was waiting. “Yes?”
“He’s not sure which street it was, and I think he’s telling the truth. It’s somewhere around here, he says, but he’s not certain.”
“Terrific. What next?”
“Let’s try that trace. Stand by and I’ll call the boss.”
“Roger, then call Wade.” Kyle left the phone live. “You still awake back there?” he asked.
“Sure am. Are we on it?”
“Going to try the trace and see what it scares up.”
Sam came back. “Okay, he’s ready. Call him and we’ll see what happens. Switching to Wade now.”
“Got it,” Kyle said. This was nerve-wracking. He had no idea what technical tricks were needed to pull this off, and he still felt as if he were responsible. He urged calm on himself and grabbed the prisoner’s phone. How many phones and radios did he have here? Cameras? Weapons? This was nothing like the movies.
It was a bad idea to do all this talking on a phone while driving. But that was pretty far down Kyle’s list of worries right now. He dialed the number next to the work icon and waited to see what would happen.
“Da?” was the answer, in a voice that was male, adult and not much else.
“I work with your employee, and we have problems,” he said. “We’ve been ambushed!”
“Who is this?” So, the man spoke English with a Middle Eastern accent. Even better.
“This is Frankie,” he said. “From the ship.”
“You are most unwise, Frankie,” came the reply, just as Wade said, “They’ve got it, Tirgovişte as he said.”
“No, you’re unwise,” Kyle said, deciding to apply some psych warfare. The guy had to know there were problems. Kyle wanted to see if he could scare him up. “We’re coming to Tirgovişte to splatter your terrorist fucking brains on the bricks. We call it Excedrin Headache Number Seven Six Two. Adios, Motherfucker.” He disconnected at once. No need to let the man get any response in. Act tough, in control and most people would believe it.
“Got it localized pretty closely,” Wade said. “Within a couple of blocks . . . half kilometer south of us.”
“Right. Now to see how fast we can get there.”
“You’ll have to nav,” Wade said. “I’m busy.”
“No problem.” A few blocks wasn’t great, but perhaps they’d catch him on the way out of somewhere. They were closing in, and Kyle would be scared if he knew people were shooting his henchmen, stealing his explosives and tracking his phone calls.
And Kyle found it amusing how many allegedly brilliant people assumed cell phones were secure because there was no wire. This was the second time. And last time had been a satellite phone that hadn’t been able to tell them much other than within a few miles. This time, they had it down to mere blocks.
Al Asfan tried not to panic. He forced calm into his mind and told himself it was all Allah’s will. Allah would not let him fail. The road might be rough, but it was all part of a plan, and he was one of the slaves of Allah.
Still, it was a frightening course of events. He’d have to leave at once. While he’d like to call back and insist he wasn’t afraid and challenge this arrogant American to meet him, he really didn’t know who the man was, how many he had with him, or what the stakes were anymore. He was losing assets and people and needed to withdraw. Only a fool refused to retreat. He was no fool. Leave at once, head for France where the Arabic community would protect him, and regroup. This all would come back in its time.
He needed to hold things where they were until he could get to his other hideaway. From there he could arrange travel and call in favors to slow pursuit. But it was time to leave now. Rafiq bin Qasim, Allah bless him, had tried to hold out in Pakistan and had died because of it, when the Americans had slipped agents into the area. Al Asfan would not make that same mistake.
If he’d known the same shooters who got bin Qasim were the ones after him, he might have been even less confident. As it was, he grabbed an already packed bag and headed for the car. He left the cell phone behind. It was obviously betraying him, and he had another.
The Americans spread out two blocks apart, though “block” here was slippery. The roads wound and crisscrossed. But they were in approximately the right area. Now they had to wait and see what happened. Kyle had a picture of al Asfan onscreen, and assumed Sam did, too. Of course, in the early light, and with considerable time since the pictures were taken, it wasn’t going to be that easy to identify the target.
“I may have something,” Sam said. As before, they were using satellite phones with headsets, and stayed live. The cost per minute was horrendous to Kyle’s budget, but not even a blip on the chart to Uncle Sam.
“What?” he queried back.
“Male of approximately right age and description with a large overnight bag. Looking around, may be nervous. Getting into a Mercedes model echo five zero zero, dark brown. He is facing east. Starting car. Driving.”
“Where should we intercept?”
“Identify target first,” Sam said. “Then we’ll follow if we can,” he warned. “Let me find a good cross street. I can follow him a few blocks.”
“Intel first, then shoot, roger,” Kyle said, as both acknowledgment and for Wade’s benefit. “Camera ready.” He caught Wade’s nod and turned back to the map window on the laptop. The scale was small and the language a bit awkward, but he found the street Sam named. “Yes, I can get there. Rolling,” he said, and gave the engine gas.
Wade had the camcorder ready, as it had the best resolution for night, and any frame of its video could be enhanced. It was effectively an autowinding still camera the way they intended to use it.
The question was, did they have the right target, or was it just a similar-looking businessman on his way to the office early? That could lose them the whole lead. Kyle began to see why espionage could be addictive. It wasn’t as heady a thrill as shooting, but it was plenty exciting, and the high went on for hours. This wasn’t even his part of the gig, and it was a rush.
He reached the intersection and said so as he shut off the lights. Sam replied, “About twenty seconds, start filming.”
“Roger, start filming. Wade?”
“Filming to the west, waiting for target,” Wade said. All the talk and confirmation might not be necessary, but it was better, in Kyle’s opinion, to be redundant. Any errors could thus be caught.
A car came from the west, and the driver was a single male. Kyle ducked so Wade could get a good pan, even if windows did interfere with visibility. “Got image,” he said. “Comparing,” and he reached for the laptop as he scrolled back to a good shot. Sam rolled past the same intersection.
“Want us to wait?” Kyle said, worried that it might be the wrong man and they need to do another search.
“ID him if you can. Follow me if not.”
“Roger.” He looked expectantly at Wade, who was squinting at the image on the viewfinder and looking hard at the laptop.
“Probably him,” Wade said. “Ninety percent certain, and I don’t think I can do better without daylight.”
“Probably him!” Kyle repeated. “We’re following.”
“Roger that,” Sam said. “I will turn off when you join the tail, and take up position behind you. He shouldn’t have seen me as more than headlights yet.”
“We’re still just tailing?”
“As long as we can,” Sam said. “If he IDs us, go for a shot. Can you do that while moving?”
Kyle replied, “Can, but it depends on the environment. Even if you aren’t worried about witnesses, bystanders complicate shooting.”
“Roger. We’ll do what we can.”
“How’s your passenger?” Kyle asked.
“Oh, him? Quiet. Apologetic. Apparently, he’s not thrilled to find he was helping terrorists. And he seems scared of us.”
“Good.” Kyle was just as happy. If the man had ethics and morals, it would be nice to get him back to his family. Though likely the Romanians would want to deal with him first.
“How are you doing on fuel?” Sam asked. “I can get another couple hundred kilometers.”
“Ah. Not good,” Kyle admitted after a glance at the gauge. “Maybe half that.”
“Right, when you get close, you fuel up, I’ll take the lead. But that means when we swap back he’ll know he’s probably being followed by you. And I’ll be getting low. So if he’s not where he wants to be by then, you shoot.”
“Right. Can you clarify the rules of engagement again? Just for my benefit.”
“No problem,” Sam said. Then his voice took on a dark tone. “If we can’t trace this guy, you’re to kill him, by shooting, wrecking, whatever you can do. Avoid collateral casualties as much as possible. We want the body identifiable, and we don’t care if there’s witnesses. Just wipe this rat-fuck son of a bitch off the face of the Earth, and we’ll handle cleanup and publicity.”
“Understood,” Kyle said. That was encouraging and scary. Encouraging in that they’d nail this dirtbag. Scary in that Kyle and Wade could very likely wind up as pawns for politics thereby. But hell, no one had claimed the job was safe when they took it.
They were on open road again, and heading back toward Braşov. They had a good distance between vehicles, though that had worked against them last time.
“Wade, be ready to shoot,” Kyle said.
“Ten rounds of match grade in each pocket,” Wade acknowledged. “I can be out either side window in five seconds, or shoot out the front or back glass faster.”
They were again climbing the Transylvanian Alps. Despite the dark connotations attached to the name, Transylvania meant “across the forest.” It really was pretty terrain. With the sun rising to the east and burning out pockets of mist and dew, the first blush of spring on the trees and the road a crumbled charcoal line, Kyle decided it really would be a nice place to visit. The mountains were high enough to be fun, not so high as to be work. They reached around 2500 meters.
And even here, there were bomb-throwing scumbuckets. There was nowhere on Earth, from the most productive, most desolate, to most idyllic these trash didn’t pollute. Kyle had met troops from several dozen nations, including Iraq, the former Soviet Union, China, and Vietnam. Some of them were officially threats or enemies, and yet in every case, they could look at each other soldier to soldier and recognize patriotism and the willingness to serve. They could all sit down to a drink together and be comradely, even if they might have to shoot at each other later. Business was business. And despite everything different about their cultures, soldiers all hated terrorists. They were undisciplined, unprofessional, and cowardly thugs.
And Kyle was really hoping to catch this one. As they cleared one rise, he saw a small village ahead. It was after 8:00 a.m., and business was in swing. He grabbed the phone and said, “Sam, I’m gassing up. Shift it in gear.”
“Stand by,” came the response. Behind him, he could see Sam’s car accelerate. Ahead, al Asfan was starting to pull into the village traffic. This was where it was risky. He could turn, go straight, catch them in traffic and lose them. But so far it had gone well. Kyle eased over to the side so Sam could blow past him. “I’ve got him,” Sam acknowledged. “But do hurry.”
“Roger.”
But Wade had to stay hidden when around Kyle. Black man and white man together. That’s what people were looking for. Wade tucked down with a blanket as Kyle pulled neatly into the gas station and popped the fuel door. The attendant was right there as Kyle waved a wad of lei at him. “Umpleţi repede, vă rog,” he said. Fill quickly, please. The man grinned and complied, and pumped away.
Gas, or petrol, was hideously expensive here. It also wasn’t of the highest quality. But it wasn’t Kyle’s car or money, and he was in a hurry. He handed over the cash and waited impatiently for change, because it would be suspicious to leave without it. He wasn’t going to waste time haggling, however. He nodded, said, “Mulţumesc,” and started rolling. The attendant gave him a quick, quizzical stare and a glance in the back, but Wade was hidden. He might think someone was asleep, but he didn’t seem overly suspicious.
“Stay down for now,” Kyle advised. “No need to be seen.”
“Roger,” Wade said, muffled under his cover. It had to be stuffy down there.
“Sam, I’m rolling.”
“Straight through town and keep going,” Sam said. “We’re just leaving now. He’s starting to look at me in the mirror, so hurry.”
“Shortly,” Kyle said. He didn’t want to run anyone over or otherwise attract attention. There were goats in the village, and school children, and dogs. He passed a small school, some houses, and then saw fields pocked amongst the trees again with another stop sign ahead. Far in the distance were several cars and one of the ubiquitous horse-drawn conveyances so many farmers still used. The sun was well up and bright now, and visibility was excellent barring a faint haze that was still burning off.
“You can get up now,” Kyle told Wade as he floored it, and drove like the maniac he’d been at sixteen. He piled up behind a little Dacia, waited for a break in oncoming traffic, and rocketed around, revs at five grand and foot to the floor, on the wrong side from his American perspective. Then he jerked back in and braked hard to pace the next vehicle. Over another rise, he saw clear road and stomped it again, running up to 160 km and beyond, the car bouncing and careening on the rough pavement. Then he had to whip back in behind another vehicle, a truck this time.
He slammed against the seat belt as he braked behind the cartful of something, whatever one hauled with horses this time of year, then dodged quickly around. Sam was clearing another rise and the target was ahead of that.
“Arriving,” he announced, blasting up the hill with his foot through the firewall, heedless of the gravel flying. It was quite enjoyable.
“I see you,” Sam said. “I’m turning as soon as you see him.”
Kyle cleared the crest and saw their target down below, heading toward Brasov for certain. “Got him,” he said.
“I see a road to the right. I’m pulling off and will follow about two minutes behind. Good hunting.”
“Will do,” Kyle said.
Hopefully, al Asfan was much more comfortable now that the car following him had pulled off. They’d find out soon.
The downside was that Kyle had to keep him in clear sight, which meant creative dodging and weaving. Everyone drove like that here anyway, but it did stand out the third time he got honked at for almost going nose to nose. Sooner or later, al Asfan was going to catch on.
It was on the edge of Braşov that he finally twigged. He stared steadily into the mirror for several seconds, then nailed the gas from his formerly quick pace to a breakneck one. Kyle was about two blocks behind, just close enough to see the reaction.
“He’s seen us, we’re going to shoot,” he announced.
“Understood, good luck,” Sam said. It was only a friendly comment, of course. Luck didn’t enter into it. Wade was a professional shooter, and if they got a field of fire, they’d take it. But they would have to get in close and be quick.
Traffic built up in a hurry. This was another decently sized town, with a few main routes and a lot of convoluted smaller streets. Kyle was hoping to get close before al Asfan turned off. So far, however, he seemed to want to stay in public, possibly thinking that would protect him.
He would be disabused of that notion very shortly.
“Wade get ready. I’m about a block back.”
“You got it.”
A few moments later Kyle saw him in the mirror as he sat up in the rear, legs across the seat and into the passenger side footwell. The rifle was along his body, held close where it would be less visible, the suppressor near his face. That wasn’t the safest way to hold a rifle, but there wasn’t much safe about what they were trying to do.
Meanwhile, al Asfan had definitely figured out he was being pursued. He drove faster and even more recklessly than was the norm here, and ducked between two other cars.
“I’m not sure if he’s trying to lose us or keep someone between us as cover,” Kyle said.
“I’m watching,” Wade said. “If I think I have a shot, I’ll yell and take it unless you say not to.”
“I trust you. Take the shot,” Kyle said. Wade wouldn’t risk hitting a civilian, and he had already proven he could take shots at moving cars.
“Will do,” Wade said. “If we can get a driveby afterwards, I’ll make sure we finish it.”
“If our cover’s blown, yes,” Kyle said, as he braked hard and slewed through the tail end of a light and cars stopping for it. He was momentarily on the right and it felt both normal and weird, with his American background and his experience here. “If we’re still covered, we’ll risk letting him survive. They can always find him in hospital. No offense to our planners, but I’d rather walk out of here.” He gunned the engine, yanked back into traffic and ignored the honks and shouts.
“Got it,” Wade agreed.
Al Asfan couldn’t mistake their intent. If they were observing, there should be another car or a stationed spotter. That they came through traffic indicated their purpose was to stop him physically. He seemed to lack the fortitude for that engagement, because he tried to cut farther into the flow.
Cursing, Kyle accelerated again, then braked, slipped into a space that was barely big enough, then back out. But if he could prod him into a wreck, they could cruise by and ping him through a window, with no one the wiser. Conversely, if they got in a wreck, they’d lose him.
It was hard to decide who had the advantage of traffic. Al Asfan was having to break trail, but he had a largely unsuspecting crowd around him who didn’t react until after he wove. Kyle had to deal with traffic that, while slow or stopped or recovering, was already scared and chaotic. But sooner or later, one of them was going to make a mistake, and if he played it right, Wade would get a shot.
Al Asfan still didn’t seem to realize he had snipers on his tail rather than spies or cops. He stayed four cars ahead and looked happy there. On the other hand, four cars was a respectable distance, and far enough to get them stuck at a light. Kyle needed to get closer.
Only he couldn’t. Traffic was snarled and tangled, cars halfway between lanes. He eased between two other cars, ignoring their honks as he rode the white line. There might be four lanes here, but there were no turn lanes to speak of. and he didn’t want to be stuck in the right hand lane when someone decided to turn. The light ahead was turning amber, and he needed to get across quickly. He revved up, honked and pushed forward.
It worked. The cars on either side assumed him crazy and shifted over a few inches. That’s all it took, and he was through as it turned red, ignoring louder honks from the cross traffic.
Their quarry was already through the intersection, and a car behind him was trying to back into a parking space. Kyle cursed and shifted over, forcing another car almost into traffic to avoid hitting him. At this point, he was willing to swap a few fender benders. Three car lengths and closing. If he could offset the car to some degree, Wade would have an oblique shot.
“A few more feet and I have him,” Wade said. He was hunched over the rifle, one leg braced on the seat, one in the floorboards, one elbow over the back of Kyle’s seat. That left the suppressor right alongside Kyle’s face.
For just a moment, there was space ahead, even though the car beyond that was braking hard. If they wrecked, Wade would likely lose the weapon and smash into Kyle, the airbag tossing them both at the roof. But screw it, Wade needed a shot. Kyle maintained steady speed and said, “Shoot!”
A pop like a balloon on steroids blew past his ear. The driver’s window on al Asfan’s car exploded, and he swerved.
“Nice!” Kyle shouted, louder than he expected. He couldn’t help grinning, either. That had been a sweet, sweet shot, and they had their score.
“Not nice,” Wade said, snarling. “I fucking missed.”
“Dammit,” Kyle said, elation turning to depression. That was twice they’d missed now. The two they’d gotten had been sitting ducks. So far, their intel gathering was far outweighing their shooting and stealth. And some of that was luck.
Worse yet, now that he was being shot at, al Asfan was ignoring all traffic laws. He blatantly drove on the wrong side, cars ahead screeching and swerving to miss him. Kyle was momentarily blocked by another car, and that driver, a middle-aged man, looked over in shock.
Then he pulled out a cell phone.
“Dammit, diversion!” he yelled, hoping Wade had an idea. Wade seemed to. He pointed the muzzle in the general direction of the man, who braked hard. That let Kyle slip over into oncoming traffic.
Oncoming traffic was heavy, honking and swerving. Kyle fought for control of the car and himself. Wade leaned out and fired again. He’d been trying for a tire, but missed it by a hair and threw asphalt from the road. Kyle couldn’t fault him. Shooting between two moving cars was rough, and he’d made the last tire shot handily But that driver hadn’t known he was being shot at. This one did, was evading and in front, and Kyle was avoiding wrecks and trying to catch up. On the whole, it was a god-awful situation.
The terrorist seized a break in traffic and dove across to the left, then down a side street.
“Not again!” Kyle shouted and dodged back into their lane, clipping a car which didn’t brake hard enough and missing the turn because of a truck.
“No way to stop or slow down,” he said. “I’m going to zigzag out of the area and we’ll get clear.”
“Roger,” Wade said, tucking the rifle back under the blankets. “I don’t see anything behind us,” he reported.
“Got it,” Kyle acknowledged. He changed lanes, steadied out, and prepared to turn left.
He didn’t get the chance. Two police cars screamed across and blocked him. Two more were behind, lights flashing, sirens silent. Then police were tumbling out with weapons.