Love Is for Tomorrow (14 page)

Every square centimeter of the back was filled with consoles, screens and surveillance gear. There was even a line back to Langley and a direct channel to chief Brenneman. It made Don wonder why he had to be here in person.

Another lad sat in the mobile spy post. He didn’t look much different from the first.

“That’s Johnny, IT security specialist,” said the man who had let Don in.

Don gave him a salute by tapping on the brim of his hat.

“You two are living the James Bond lifestyle,” Don observed.

“Yes we are.”

Don chuckled then frowned. He had known some who did. It didn’t last long. It was what had brought him back to drinking and therapy. If his boss ever found out, he’d be gone.

Don noticed a printout picture stuck to the wall. He had seen the face before.

“So that’s the pig’s wife,” he murmured.

The way it was displayed reminded him of pictures of soldiers’ girlfriends in their billets on overseas assignments.

“Kerrie Carter,” Johnny said. “Our center of attention.”

“She’s hot, I give her that,” Don said, gobbling down the last piece of his donut. “Looks Puerto Rican.”

He touched the picture with his hand and left a fat stain with his finger.

The man who let him in seemed visibly displeased by that, but Johnny didn’t seem to notice.

“Jamaican,” the young man corrected him, rubbing away the spot.  

Don turned to Johnny and offered the bag. “
Beignet
?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Don said and began to eat the second donut.

“Her husband Dwayne was reportedly killed on an undercover mission a year ago.”

“Meaning he was one of us?” Don said, licking his fingers.

“Rumour is he turned on his colleagues,” Johnny said, as if talking about a legend. “Killed all of them and faked his own death to get away. At least that is what I heard.”

“This guy is still somewhere out there,” the other man said.

“Why don’t we interrogate her?” Don asked.

“We’re spying on her twenty-four seven hoping he makes contact,” Johnny said.

“No contact. As far as she knows, he’s dead,” his colleague added.

Don nodded. These boys knew a lot.
He used to be one of us
. The colonel left that out.

“Got someone to take care of her?” Don asked.

“There’s this guy,” the young agent said.

“What guy?” Don asked interested.

“Show him, Johnny.”

The computer nut switched images on the screen, flipping through a database of pictures they had taken in the course of their surveillance period. One man showed up multiple times. Johnny stopped the picture and zoomed in on his face.

“That’s her new guy?” Don said.

“Who knows,” the youngster said. “But there’s a connection. Used to be in the same Special Forces team as her hubby.”

Don looked into the empty paper bag, crumpled it in between his palm and wiped his fingers on the paper.

“Special forces, huh? Got a name?”

The young man had his gaze still fixed on the screen as he replied.  

“Yeah. Name’s Hunter.”

“So let’s hunt him,” Don said. He came on a routine checkup, left with a new lead.
Let’s see if Hunter leads me to the one who I am hunting.
The colonel is demanding results.

***

Fort Bragg, The United States of America

Don saw Gabriel Hunter standing in the Major’s portable trailer of an office. The air was dry and stale, with the conditioner coping to resist the Fort Bragg heat. Hunter must have heard the steps long before the office door opened. Yet, he only turned when addressed, facing his superior with Don close on his heels.

Don knew he stood out in civilian clothes.

“Captain, this is agent Blake Griffin, CIA,” the Major introduced Don as he walked past Hunter to his desk. “Mr. Griffin is here to ask you a couple of questions.”

Hunter eyed the secret agent.

“Always a pleasure to work with the CIA. How can I be of service?” Hunter said.

Don admired Hunter’s lush facial hair. The full beard made him look like a civilian. It kept him from being suspected as an elite soldier on first glance.

Don took a half seat on the backrest of a chair next to Hunter, across the table.

Hunter remained standing.  

“At ease, Captain Hunter.” Don addressed him by his rank. “Joint Special Operations Command, is that right? I understand it you are a real American hero then. Delta Force first and now this. Multiple tours with the same squad. Unity and familiarity come in handy. Are you familiar with this person?”

He handed Hunter a picture where half of a face could be seen. It belonged to a Eastern European man. He was smoking a cigarette in a leather jacket, taking a seat in a Parisian cafe. “Not that I remember, sir,” Hunter said. “And I rarely forget a face. Can I ask of what interest is he to the CIA?” 

Don exchanged glances with Hunter’s superior.

“We call him the Dog of Paris,” Don said. “Ever been to Paris, Captain?”

“Yes,” Hunter answered.

Don knew he would remember that cafe. He most probably would remember the man on the picture. He was there when Kerrie Carter wanted to meet Nigel, the reporter he’d questioned before.

Don nodded. “That’s what I heard too, Captain. Tell me everything.”  

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TO THE METAL

“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.” - Mikhail Lermontov

Vienna, Austria

A whole wall of the war room lit up bright white-blue, a supernova in the dark. It was as if a portal had opened to the Caucasus region, through which Rose and her closest staff looked down onto the Earth.

“Verkhniy Lars, at the Russian-Georgian border,” Rose said.

Roads were hewn into solid grey rock. Tunnels and overgrown hillsides led to tight checkpoints between countries. She was well-acquainted with the number of arrivals and departures per minute.

“At 22:40 hours, an unusually high number of vehicles passed through without being searched,” Rose said. She turned to Bekkend.

“Border traffic cams are blacked out,” Bekkend noted. “Just like Tanya told Olga to do.”

Rose nodded. “They were undoubtedly told to stand down by FSB authority and let the trucks pass. The bomb is probably on one of them. I have a bad feeling about this, but it's now in the hands of the Russians.”

Rose turned around to face her team.

“So Olga has chosen Plan B. They let the bomb into the country. Now it’s up to the FSB to stop it. Our job is to find out who is behind it. Follow
The Treachery of Images
and see who gets it. If they use the same route as the bomb, then we are a step ahead.”

The image on the wall zoomed out and then back in to focus on the freighter, which Antoine followed. It had moved through the Danube and was now heading out into the Black Sea, toward Georgia. It would be there in another forty-eight hours. Possible destinations were the port city of Poti and the seaside town, Batumi. There was only one place within easy striking distance of both.

“Make the jet ready for Tblisi,” Rose said. “You’re going to need some wheels.”

***

Tblisi, Georgia

“Well, can you please walk me through the plan again,” Jason said as they disembarked in Tblisi. “It's been a while since I worked with a team.”

Antoine led them on, their bags full of enough weapons and ammunition to start a small war as well as Priya’s tech equipment to win it.

“We drive. We intercept the truck,” Kovac said behind him. “That’s all”

“We capture Khabib alive,” Rose answered through the earpiece. “We expect he's escorting the painting personally.” 

“And if we fail?” Jason asked.

“We still have the artwork and hope to find the rendezvous point somewhere either in Khabib’s phone or the truck’s GPS,” Priya answered.

“So we can get to the buyer who is behind it all,” Kovac said.

“We are winning now,” Jason said. “If we get that truck, we will actually be ahead of the game.”

Priya got into the driver's seat of the first of two black Land Rovers that Salim had supplied.

“Jason, you are riding with me,” Priya said. “We've got a lot of catching up to do and we need to catch that truck before it reaches the border crossing. It’s heading into the mountains to North Ossetia. That’s where Khabib grew up. He will know the streets. I wouldn't be surprised if he has local support.”

“I guess it’s you and me again buddy,” Antoine said looking at Kovac.

“How come I always get stuck with you and not the gorgeous brunette?” Kovac protested.

He got in anyway.

Priya hit the pedal and let the wheels spin. She and Jason took off before Antoine got his bag into the car. Kovac slid behind the wheel, shifted to first and sped after Priya, pressing Antoine back in his seat.

The rising mountain road outside of Tblisi awaited them. The Caucasus was famous for this. The road went along canyons and grey rocks that caught the first rays of the rising sun. On the other side, a ravine fell, dropping a couple of hundred meters. Priya raced on, the sun at their backs.

“What is our destination in case we lose you?” Antoine asked.

“No destination,” Priya replied. “Just get after Khabib’s truck until we can stop him. Rose, send the GPS coordinates to guide us.”

Antoine ducked down in his seat as he saw an overhanging rock formation coming closer. They were swallowed by darkness, into a mountain tunnel. The Rover shot out the other side like a bullet through a gun barrel.

“Okay, never let it be said that women can’t drive,” Antoine said to Kovac, muting his comms first.

They drove on at high speed. The craggy Kazbegi mountain rose in front of them. Antoine looked into the rear mirror. Apart from Priya ahead of them, they were alone on the road.

***

Georgian Military Road, Georgia

Kovac focused on the red tail lights in front of him. The speakerphone kept Rose in constant communication with her team on the ground.

“Is that Khabib’s truck?" Rose said. "The high definition camera is not responding. I can’t get a clear view.”

Neither driver answered. Staying on track demanded one hundred percent of their attention. Anything less and they would crash into rock or get fishtailed off the road.

“You have to stop it,” Rose said, “before it reaches the border.”

Another long drawn curve made Antoine clench his teeth as they drifted into the oncoming lane, ignoring speed limit signs as if they were mere decorations.

“I'm on it,” Priya managed to say.

Being on a mission was like riding a bike, Antoine thought. Mind, body and soul were all working together for a purpose. Rose set that purpose and directed the two cars towards the GPS tracker.

They reached the riverbank of Chkheri, at an elevation of over two thousand meters.

Kovac pointed out the windshield.

“There’s the truck.”

They got closer to the truck and to danger.

Rose's voice carried into their earpieces. “If the Russian border guards see us trying to high-jack a truck, they will open fire. I thought I should state the obvious.”

Kovac looked at Antoine, and armed himself with an assault rifle. “Lock and load.”

The truck swerved about, trying to keep ahead of them.

***

With the headlights turned off, Kovac used the cover of the tunnel to bring Antoine closer. Antoine unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the rim of his open window. Walls rushed past him. With his rifle in an underarm sling, he edged up onto the car door. He was ready to pounce. The truck was nearly within reach. Antoine leapt. He was a second in mid-air, then crashed against the back of the truck. Clutching the back door’s handrail, his legs dangled. The wind whipped his face. Antoine made his way hand-over-hand along the truck’s length, up to the driver cabin. He ripped open the door and swung himself inside, grabbing the man behind the wheel.