Drama was not the goal of the mission. He would not attack the aircraft.
The Black Wolf folded his arms pensively. He would launch the op elsewhere.
A security guard stopped him on the way out of the airport. The Black Wolf rolled down the window, curious about the procedures. He had not anticipated being stopped on the way out.
“Do you have your papers?” asked the guard, speaking in Czech.
The Black Wolf handed them over. They claimed he was Slovak.
“I have a cousin who lives in Trencin,” said the man.
“I live outside the city,” replied the Black Wolf. “We have an old family farm.”
“It must be very nice.”
“Unfortunately, there is no money for the farm, but the scenery is very pleasing. That is why I have this job.”
The words flowed easily from his mouth. As long as he could remember, he’d had a way with words. The ability to use many different languages had blossomed after the change. Before, his languages were primarily Asian. Now he could wander Europe like a native as well.
They’d made him smarter. Stronger. Younger, in a way.
He’d trade that for relief from the pain. For peace, finally.
“It’s very bad,” agreed the guard. “A shame for common people.”
“We have worked hard,” said the Black Wolf. “But we must take outside jobs. My parents—eventually they will lose the farm. It seems a sin. It was taken from the family first by the communists, then restored. Now we lose it again.”
“And you are here on work? What do you do?”
“A mechanic. Fixing machines.” He smiled, then shrugged. “It is a knack I picked up.”
“I have ten thumbs, I think.”
“Will there be much traffic tomorrow?” asked the Black wolf. “I am supposed to arrive before dawn. They told us to be prepared. But I have such a long way to come. I couldn’t afford to stay in the city. I have a cousin, thank God, with a couch. But he lives an hour away.”
“Oh, that’s bad. I would give myself plenty of time. The security will be ferocious. Even for workers.”
“Which gate would be the shortest?”
The man thought for a moment. “I would use the one we use, at the south. There will be a few trucks, but you should get through the quickest.”
“Then I’ll have to drive across the runway.”
“You can take the inner road—ask for a pass.”
The soldier talked on. The Black Wolf nodded, taking mental notes. He had more than enough information to plan an attack here, but pumping the man was good habit. One never knew when plans had to be changed or what contingencies would have to be followed.
An American C–17 landed as they were talking, its engines so loud the guard fell silent.
“Quite a plane,” said the guard.
“Yes,” said the Black Wolf. I jumped from one, he almost added. The words appeared in his brain and almost made it to his tongue.
Had he really parachuted from a C–17?
Shards of the memory flickered into his head. He saw himself going out…
What life was that? What had he been before the crash?
A killer, as he always had been.
“Was there something else?” asked the guard.
The Black Wolf realized he’d been staring into the distance for a few seconds, lost in the muddled memory.
“Nothing,” he told the man, rolling up the window. “Thank you for your kindness. It was good to talk.”
51
Chisinau, Moldova
With the success at the farm, the Wolf operation now entered a new phase, focused on figuring out who had organized the group. The task force that had originally developed the leads would now revisit everything obtained earlier, adding to it the data Whiplash had developed. Technically, the investigation had always belonged to them—Whiplash was in a sense a hired gun, called into action because of the eminent danger. While Whiplash’s job wasn’t over yet, the investigators would now take the lead. Whiplash was an operational unit; detective work was neither its raison d’être nor its forte.
Danny ordered the team to pack up and relocate to the Ukraine. He decided he’d arrange to officially join the security there, though he’d keep Hera and McEwen and the surveillance network they’d established under wraps for now. He would fly to the city immediately, leaving Boston to coordinate the load out here.
Someone had to orient the medical and technical investigators, as well as the task force coordinator, who were on the way. Nuri, as the lead CIA operative, naturally drew the assignment. And since he was doing that, he took charge of having the site secured and wrapping up the dozens of loose ends the operation had left behind.
It was tedious in the extreme. Rather than using the military base, he arranged to secure the dead bodies in a small food packing plant about thirty miles from the farm. Lacu, the Moldovan deputy interior minister, happily volunteered a dozen men to guard them. Nuri decided that wasn’t enough—he had Lacu detail two dozen more, along with the armored car. And then he made sure that a contingent of U.S. Marines from the embassy in Chisinau could beef them up.
He gave Gleeb a quick summary of what had happened, along with the developing official version—crazy drug dealers had decided to shoot it out with the Moldovan task force, which had shown great bravery while miraculously avoiding casualties.
Lacu’s men were taking plenty of photos of the marijuana. Eventually, someone would want to see the bodies and very likely the actual house, but with luck that could be pushed back a few days—long enough that Nuri would be gone by then.
Lacu arranged for an around-the-clock guard at the farm. Nuri assumed the technical team would want to dig through the ruins for more evidence, so he instructed the Moldovans to keep their distance, warning them there were countless booby traps that hadn’t been disarmed. The wreckage of the training building made the point more eloquently than he could have, and he was reasonably certain the policemen would keep their distance long enough for the technical team to arrive.
By four o’clock everything was under control, at least for the evening. Nuri decided it was time to get some rest. But where?
Back in the village where he’d rented a room? It was as good a place as any, he decided, hunting for a policeman who could drive him back to his car.
52
Old State Castle, Czech Republic
“Daddy, look at this room. It’s a real castle room!”
Zen chuckled as he rolled through the large reception room. The Czechs had arranged for some of the NATO air delegates to stay at a large, government-owned guesthouse about six and a half kilometers from Kbely Airport, where the show was taking place. Guesthouse was something of a misnomer—the place was literally an old castle, converted to government use following World War II.
“It is a real castle,” said Caroline.
“I wonder if there are any dragons in the closets,” said Zen. “What do you think, Caroline?”