Command Authority (56 page)

Ryan said, “And now Valeri Volodin has Roman Talanov as the head of all Russian intelligence.”

Oxley started shaking his head back and forth. He looked at Ryan. “Impossible. The fucker is lying to save his skin. Telling you a fairy tale.”

“How do you know he’s lying?”

“Talanov would never have been made
vory v zakonye
. You have to understand how the Russian mob works. You can’t be a made man in the Russian mafia if you ever worked for the Soviet government. Trust me. It’s an organization with heaps of iron-clad laws, but that is at the very top of them. You couldn’t deliver the fucking mail for the Soviets and be made into
vory
, much less work for the bloody security services.”

Jack said, “But if Talanov was put into the gulag as a plant, then maybe he kept knowledge of his former life from them.”

Castor nodded wildly. “That’s it, lad! That’s how it happened!”

Jack said, “Ox, what would happen if the Seven Strong Men found out Talanov used to be KGB and then lied to become leader of their organization?”

Oxley looked at him a long time. Slowly, a sly smile grew on his face. He said, “They’d fucking kill the cunt.”

—

T
he door in front of them burst in, splinters and door frame flew away from it, and Castor spun toward the commotion. He raised his pistol, but Jack took the opportunity to leap at Castor. He grabbed the pistol in Castor’s hand and wrenched it away with a vicious yank. As Jack pulled back hard, he looked into the doorway. A man in dark clothing raised an automatic weapon at him. Jack realized the attacker had a clear shot; he spun and raised the weapon into a firing grip, but he knew he would not be in time to fire first.

Victor Oxley appeared on Ryan’s right, falling through the air, putting himself between Ryan and the Russian coming through the door. A burst of automatic fire erupted, and the big Englishman jolted back from multiple impacts, then dropped down toward the floor.

Hugh Castor was unarmed now; as Oxley fell, he brought his own hands up to protect himself, but the Russian shot him through the chest and stomach, sending him tumbling away.

The Russian spun his gun toward the last standing target, and he pressed the trigger, but his hand relaxed and let go of the gun as a single round slammed into his forehead.

Jack had shot the man dead at a range of twelve feet.

Jack Ryan leapt over Ox and ran forward, kicked the gun away from the dead man, and then leaned out into the stairwell. Another Russian was moving up with his gun in front of him.

Ryan opened fire, shooting the man over and over until he fell face-first and slid back down the stairs.

Jack ran back to Oxley. The fifty-nine-year-old had taken three nine-millimeter rounds to the chest. He heaved and his eyes fluttered.

“Fuck!” shouted Ryan. “Hang on, Ox!”

Oxley squeezed Ryan’s arm, and blood smeared across the American’s shirt. Oxley coughed, and blood wet his lips and beard.

Jack pressed down hard on the man’s chest, but the wounds were too severe, the blood flow too heavy. He looked around for something to help him with the pressure. A towel or a coat, or a bedsheet.

There.
A comforter was on the end of the bed. He started to reach for it, but Oxley squeezed his arm tighter.

He spoke, but his voice was so soft Jack had to lean into it: “It’s all right, mate. It’s good like this. You watch yourself, now. Watch yourself.”

His grip relaxed, and his eyes fluttered and shut.

—

J
ack did not want to look away, but noise on the staircase forced him to swing his pistol toward the doorway to the landing.

A figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

It was Caruso.

Dom lowered his gun quickly, and Ryan did the same. Dom spoke into his headset: “I’ve got Jack. Upstairs. We’re clear up here.”

Dom rushed to Oxley and dropped to his knees next to Ryan, but he immediately saw that there was nothing that could be done.

B
odies lay all over the grounds, both inside the chalet and out on the property. Sam, Dom, and Ding checked the area quickly to make certain there were no more threats, and in so doing they counted eighteen dead.

The chalet was secluded and in a thick forest, but the men knew the gunfire would have carried over the lake itself, so Ding told everyone they needed to exfiltrate before the police arrived. Driscoll hurried through the wreckage, taking pictures of the faces of the dead Russians to send to Biery to run through facial recognition, while Dom pulled mobile phones and pocket litter.

Soon Chavez had Ryan down in the Russian Zodiac boat. Dom and Sam leapt aboard, and they raced away into the fog, just minutes ahead of the first responders.

—

T
hey were wheels-up at Zurich sixty minutes later. They had filed a flight plan for Paris, which meant there was no customs departure check to deal with, although they had no real sure plan of where they would go.

Ryan was still in a state of despondency over Oxley. He couldn’t get past the fact that the man had taken bullets meant for him. He knew he had to call his dad and tell him everything he’d learned from Hugh Castor, although what he had been told was not the same as what he could prove. But he couldn’t make himself pull the cabin phone out of the cradle and dial the number. Instead he just lay there with his head down on the table, while the men around him worked, discussed the battle they’d just fought, and occasionally patted him on the back to check on him.

After a phone call to Clark, the decision was made to go to Kiev, although Clark was adamant that Ryan would not even get off the plane. The other men would deplane to head back to the safe house so they could continue the investigation into Gleb the Scar, while Jack would return with the Gulfstream to the United States.

—

T
hey’d been in the air for less than an hour when Clark called back. Sam flipped on the speakerphone function in the cabin.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve got big news, guys. You hit the jackpot.”

Chavez said, “How so?”

“The dead guys you photographed at the scene. Gavin got zip on seven of them, but number eight came up huge.”

“Who is he?”

“We photographed him here in Kiev at the Fairmont meeting with Gleb the Scar last week. At the time Gavin ran his face through all facial-recog sources we had and there was no match. But we ran tonight’s picture, just to be sure. It came up with a match. There is a BOLO out for him with the FBI. They have a pic of him loaded, and it’s a match.”

Ding said, “The dead picture worked better in the software than the live one? That’s weird.”

“No. The last one didn’t work because there was no pic of him uploaded then. The BOLO is brand-spanking-new. He’s wanted in connection with the polonium poisoning of Sergey Golovko.”

The men in the cabin of the G550 exchanged shocked stares. It was quiet for a moment until Chavez said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Gavin spoke up now: “Yep. And there’s more. He was carrying the phone we’d tied to Hugh Castor’s villa in Islington. The one owned by Pavel Lechkov. We’re assuming that’s his name.”

Caruso said, “So Lechkov is Seven Strong Men and an associate of Gleb the Scar, and was in on the Golovko assassination.”

“Right to all of that, Dom,” said Gavin.

Ryan sat up straight now. He said, “And according to Castor, Talanov, the head of the FSB, is also the head of Seven Strong Men. That puts the Golovko murder in the lap of the Kremlin. I’m going to call my dad. At the very least he needs to get a team into Kiev to pick up Nesterov, aka Gleb.”

Clark came on the line now. “Sending a team to the Fairmont, even SEAL Team Six, isn’t going to be easy. Gleb has a shit ton of security in his suite, and the entire hotel is crawling with armed men loyal to the Russians. More important, the Russian Army is forty miles east of the city and advancing.”

Ryan said, “If the U.S. doesn’t take down Nesterov right now, they will miss their chance. Once the Russians come, or once he flees to Russia, he’ll be unreachable.”

Driscoll added, “And now that Lechkov is missing, Nesterov’s got to be sweating bullets wondering if his man has been captured and is singing like a canary.”

Clark’s voice came over the speaker. “You guys hurry back over here. I’ll try to ascertain the situation at the hotel so we have good intel in case the U.S. decides to go ahead with a takedown. I’ll meet the plane at the airport and give you a lift back to the safe house.”

T
he men of the 75th Ranger Regiment had arrived at Boryspil International early in the afternoon in four Chinook helicopters. As soon as they were off the helos they fanned out into the buildings at a far end of the busy airport, checking the security of the site and making sure the fences, gates, and other facilities were in good condition.

Within an hour, the location was secure and more American helos began landing.

The pilots of the helos landed in a grassy field. It wasn’t optimal; they were on the grounds of a major international airport, after all, so one might imagine there was a piece of tarmac to be had for the Ranger Chinooks and the Air Force pararescue Black Hawks and the JSOC Little Birds and the Army Kiowa Warriors. But the Ukrainian military here at the airport had explained to the U.S. forces that the northern end of the property was the most secure from any potential sappers, so that is where the new American JOC was to be established.

The four Reaper drones had been flying out of this airport for the entire war. Now that the entire JOC and all the aircraft had arrived, the four Reapers had to share hangar space with troops and equipment, but the CIA crews were glad to be under the protection of U.S. forces now and not Ukrainian Army units whose loyalties had been questioned more than once in the past few days by Ukraine’s president.

The relocated JOC was up and running here by eight p.m., and by eight-thirty they were commanding forces on laser targeting missions to the east.

Colonel Barry Jankowski, code name Midas, moved throughout the JOC, talking to intel officers in comms with the teams still lasing for the Ukrainians. The United States and British forces were pulling back, still in an organized manner, but as the Russians continued their advance across eastern Ukraine toward Kiev and the Dnieper River, Midas knew his soft holding action had already turned into a series of less coordinated hit-and-run strikes, and it soon would be little more than small-scale harassment in the midst of a full retreat.

That said, his boys were still out there, they were still killing Russian armor, and had it not been for this small coalition of special operations personnel, Russian tanks would likely already be driving down the streets of Kiev.

As Midas reached for a can of cola from a Styrofoam cooler, a voice came through his headset. “Midas, call from the Pentagon. SecDef.”

Midas forgot the cola and headed back to his desk. A moment later, he answered the call from Secretary of Defense Robert Burgess, and ten minutes after he finished that call, he picked up his handheld sat phone and walked out of the JOC. He stepped into a quiet grassy space near the pararescue Black Hawks and made a call of his own.

After several rings he heard: “Clark.”

Midas blew out a sigh of relief. “It’s Midas here. You still in Kiev?”

“I am. How about you?”

“I’m at Boryspil Airport. We’ve moved our operation here.”

“That’s still twenty-five miles east of Kiev. Are you guys safe there?”

“We’d be safer in Idaho, but I couldn’t get command to approve the move.”

Clark laughed. “I’m impressed by a man who can keep his humor in all this.”

“It’s about all I have left.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I need to know if you still have eyes on the Fairmont.”

“We do. Not a perfect location, but we can see the front from our safe house. We can also see the balconies at the top where the POI is holed up. Why?”

“Can you see the roof?”

“Affirmative.”

“What’s up there?”

“Last time I checked, there were a few goons and a pair of Eurocopters. They are civilian models, but they look pretty robust.”

Midas said, “I was afraid of that.”

“Can you fill me in on what’s going on?”

“Any chance you can come over to Boryspil for a chat?”

Clark said, “I’m ten minutes out. Meeting an aircraft with some of my guys on it. They’ll be landing in an hour and heading over to an FBO hangar on the southern side of the airport. Where are you located? I’ll drop by.”

“Tell you what, Clark. You are a little bit like my crazy aunt in the attic. I’d rather as few people knew about you as possible. I’ll meet you at the FBO. Say twenty minutes?”

“Roger that,” Clark replied with a chuckle.

—

C
lark sat alone on a bench in the cold night air. There was no one around, although the airport runway a quarter-mile away was in a constant state of activity as planes landed and took off with no more than thirty seconds’ separation between them.

Half of the flights were civilian carriers full of people getting the fuck out of town, and the other half were military transport or combat aircraft.

Clark had just started thinking of other civilian airports he had seen in war zones around the world and over time, when Midas appeared around the corner of a metal outbuilding attached to the FBO. He was dressed in jeans and a nylon coat, under which Clark assumed he wore body armor and a gun. He was alone, which Clark found fascinating given that this man was in charge of U.S. combat ops in the entire country.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Midas said, as they shook hands.

“Glad to see you are still in one piece,” Clark replied. “How can I help you out?”

Midas didn’t waste time. “I’ve been ordered to send a force to the Fairmont Grand to arrest Dmitri Nesterov, aka Gleb the Scar. Apparently he’s got something to do with the polonium attack on Golovko.”

Clark knew this, but he didn’t bother mentioning it. He said, “Why doesn’t JSOC send SEALs to do it?”

Midas gave Clark an annoyed look there in the darkness. Clark knew there was a little friction between SEALs and Delta, predominantly of the good-natured variety. Both forces wanted to get in on the big hits, and this was most definitely a big hit. “You were a SEAL, weren’t you?”

Clark said, “Guilty as charged. We didn’t have a Team Six back then, though.”

“Yeah, well, Six won’t get here in time. The problem is, they have reason to believe he’s about to make a run for it. Maybe even tonight. If we don’t grab Nesterov now, he can shoot north to the Belarussian border, or east to get behind the advancing Russians. He does that and the only way SEAL Team Six can take him is to enter denied territory.”

“So you need to grab him right now.”

Midas looked out into the night as a pair of MiGs took off on the runway. “Like I don’t have enough on my plate.”

“How many men do you have available for this op?”

“I’ve got A-teams in goddamned pickups smashing through gridlocked traffic trying to stay in front of the Russian armor. I’ve got all my ODAs down below half-strength, and if I pull any of them out of the field there will be no way to reinsert them. The Unit guys I have are split up as well. I’ve got a dozen assaulters and recce men back here in the JOC because their position was overrun this afternoon, but that’s it.”

“Could you use your Rangers for this?”

“No. I need the Ranger QRF on standby for emergencies to the east, and the rest pulling security here. I’m sure Rangers would get the job done, but shit like this is what the Army pays us Unit guys to do.”

“A dozen guys can’t take that place,” Clark said flatly.

“They don’t have to take the place, they only have to take Nesterov.”

Clark whistled. “Damn, Midas. I don’t know if you are planning on hitting that hotel with a dozen men, but I hope I can dissuade you from that. Delta or no, a dozen shooters is going to mean a dozen dead Americans.”

Midas said, “I’ve got an idea or two. I’m in good with a Ukrainian Army colonel. His battalion has the duty of protecting the government offices of the city, he’s a nationalist, and he’s culled his unit of everyone who thinks differently than he does. He’s worked with the CIA for years, and I’ve known him since I came over here last year.

“I don’t trust him to hit that building to capture Nesterov—he’d probably try to level it with T-72s—but I do trust him to keep quiet about this to the Russians. I’m thinking I can have him send troops to the Fairmont, just park outside like they are going to hit from below, maybe send some armored cars up to the door to engage men in the lobby, just to keep the majority of the Seven Strong Men forces there occupied.”

Clark said, “If you do that, Gleb will fly out on a Eurocopter.”

“Not if we hit the roof, disable the helos, and cut off his escape. Personally, I’d just have a Little Bird fire rockets onto the roof to blow the Eurocopters to shit, but we run the risk of killing the dude we’ve been ordered to take alive. His suite is right below the roof, so we can’t just blast the helos. We have to do an in extremis takedown and get him out of there before the Russians come.”

Clark nodded, and he understood why Midas had come to talk to him. He said, “I’ve got three tier-one-level shooters. The two you met the other day and another guy, who was a Ranger. You can insert your men to grab Nesterov, and my boys will take care of the helos and be ready to support the Unit teams in the hotel if necessary.”

Midas said, “I appreciate it. One question: How are your boys fixed for weaponry?”

Clark answered, “Hey, man. I’ll provide the labor. You are the U.S. Army. You can provide the guns and bullets.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see what I can scare up that might be helpful.”

—

W
hen the Gulfstream landed twenty minutes later, John Clark boarded and explained the situation to his men. Sam, Dom, and Ding were ready to go immediately, of course, but Clark knew he’d have to deal with something else first.

Jack Ryan said, “John, one more gun on that roof might make a difference.”

“Sorry, Jack. I can’t let you go on this.”

“And why is that?”

“You know why. You can’t compromise your dad by exposing yourself like this. Even with your beard, you might be recognized by Delta boys. It’s one thing to operate for The Campus, but you can’t just mix in with military, not even black-side guys like Delta.”

Ryan turned to Chavez, looking for a confederate to help him make his case.

But Ding said, “John’s right, and on top of that, we’ve been training the last few months. You’ve been away from the team. This is going to be an in extremis rush job, and we need to be tight and smooth whatever goes down.”

Dom reached over and squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “Come back to the States with us when this is over. We’ll get you trained in no time.”

Ryan nodded. Not satisfied that he’d have to stay back here at the airport while the operation went on in the city, but resigned to the fact.

—

W
hile Clark met with his men, Midas arrived at the Kiowa Warrior section of the flight line. He found Conway and Page lying on sleeping bags in the corner of a dry-goods storage room next to the cafeteria. Both men were in full combat gear, they even had their boots on, but they were trying to catch an hour of sleep before their next mission.

They were awake now, though, and both young men stood when Midas approached.

Midas said, “Evening, chiefs. Dumb question. Do you guys have the capability to carry troops?”

Conway rubbed his eyes. “Yes. We’ve got a thing called the Multi-Purpose Light Helicopter kit. We can take off our weapons pylons and attach benches so we can carry up to six guys on the outside of the fuselage.”

“Have you ever done that before?”

The two young men looked at each other. Conway shook his head. “Never.”

“Well, this will be a new experience for everyone, I imagine. We’re going to need you to insert men onto a roof. We don’t think the opposition has any real air defense other than assault rifles and maybe RPGs, but we’ll have to go in without much of a picture of the terrain.”

He then sat down with the men and told them exactly what he needed. When he was finished, he said, “I can’t make you do this, and it’s going to be pretty much the definition of dangerous, but that’s the deal.”

Page and Conway exchanged a look, and Conway spoke for both men, confident he was expressing Dre Page’s sentiments as well as his own: “We’re good to go, Midas. We’ll get the helo outfitted for the op.”

Midas shook both men’s hands and then hurried back to the JOC. He still had a hell of a lot to do.