“Crap,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Three mil for insertion? We need to get our own helicopters and crews.”
“Maybe,” Nielson said, shrugging. “But the rest is expensive, too. You see, you can’t take off from any of the countries around or nearby. Nobody is going to miss seeing a spec-ops group boarding military helicopters. And most of the area around has Albanians that are going to report it to the mob. Then there’s just the diplomatic implications. So you’re going to have to come in from the sea. You can’t take off from Italy, which is the only place in range of a Hip helicopter, so…”
“We’ve got to lift from a boat,” Mike said, sighing. “How much for that?”
“Three hundred thou,” Nielson said, throwing the full budget brief on the table. “But that includes picking up the Hips, moving to Albanian waters, launch, recovery and taking the Hips back to Georgia.”
“Well, even if I can get the senator to geek, that’s it for a profit on the mission,” Mike said with a sigh. “I think I’ll call D.C. and tell them that I’d like a combat bonus. Because we are going to lose people.”
“And we’ll have to depend on these helicopter pilots not to fuck us?” Adams asked.
“You got a better plan?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, call some of the ‘trainers,’ ” Adams said. “One to ride on each chopper and a group on the boat.”
“Maybe,” Mike said. “But we have to get started on this now. Nielson, get that portion moving right away. Vanner, tactical intel?”
“We got reads from ground penetrating radar on the brothel and the surroundings,” Vanner said, shrugging. “So we’ve got an interior. The building is three stories of concrete with two stories of wooden addition on the top. There appears to be a basement as well—”
“Which is where the DVDs are going to be located,” Adams predicted. “We’re going to be fighting our way in and out.”
“We can get the troops familiarized with the building by doing a mock-up,” Mike pointed out. “But we still don’t know where any of the targets are located for sure.”
“The DVDs are likely to be in a safe,” Nielson pointed out. “Anybody know how to crack a safe?”
“Not I, said Cock Robin,” Vanner replied, shrugging.
“Gimme enough demo and I can move the world,” Adams said, raising an eyebrow.
“We want them back intact,” Mike said. “We need somebody who actually knows how to open a safe. Nielson?”
“One safecracker coming up,” Nielson said, sighing. “We don’t even know what kind of safe.”
“Then find one who can think on his or her feet,” Mike said.
“I’ll take that one,” Carlson-Smith said, smiling. “I’ll simply give Drake over at MI-5 a call. I mean, he’s the fellow who keeps an eye on fellows like that. And MI-6 has people who train in such as well.”
“Thank you,” Mike said. “What are the Italians going to say to a bunch of helicopters taking off for Albania? Or the Albanians for that matter?”
“The Albanians have shit for coverage on that coast,” Vanner said. “They’re not an issue. We’ll have to stay out of Italian territorial waters until we’re done. Or… I hate to suggest this, but we can take some copies of clips and present them to a couple of people in the Italian government. After that, I don’t think they’re going to say much at all.”
“That’s a very slippery slope,” Mike said after a moment’s thought. “Let’s see if the Brits can convince the Italians to look the other way,” he added, looking over at Carlson-Smith.
“It might help to have a pic at least of that Ital general…” Carlson-Smith pointed out.
“Do it,” Mike said with a sigh. “But let’s try to limit that. Otherwise we’ll become a target just like Lunari. Adams, get started on the mock-up. Nielson, get the freighter moving and get those choppers down here. Russell will take point on training for insertion and extraction with the chief in overall charge of the tactical training. Mr. Carlson-Smith…”
“I suppose I have a plane to catch,” the MI-6 agent said with a sigh. “I very much hope that the next time I come to visit that you do have your own helicopter. These roads are torturous.”
“So does Vanner,” Mike said, frowning.
“Say again?” Patrick piped up.
“We need to get Katya inserted, now,” Mike replied. “You’re going to take the Sawn intel team and monitor. You know what intel we’re looking for. Turn over the shop to Lilia for the time being. Take a fire team of Keldara shooters from Team Sawn with you for security.”
“So I’m going to be sitting in the woods for the next week or two?” Patrick asked. “Cool.”
“Hell, no,” Mike replied. “What gave you that idea?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Katya stepped out of the car when she was told, her head down, and headed for the door, lifting her head just long enough to get a good look around. Camera above the door, one of two apparently into the same building, another camera there. More on each end of the street. Windows up the wall, barred. One guard on the door. That should be enough.
The two men who had driven her across the Macedonian border were hired thugs and had picked up some fringe benefits on the drive; she had a fading bruise on her cheek from her one protest about that. According to plan there was supposed to be a backup team out there, somewhere. But she’d anticipated getting hit. A lot. A slap on the face wasn’t anything to cry about and she hadn’t, just sucked him off as he’d told her to. She’d really wanted to jam her new nails into his scrotum and watch his face as he bled out, but she’d resisted.
She’d also resisted clenching her fists. The packet was loaded, although until she manipulated the valve in her palm it shouldn’t squirt out. But she’d been told the poison was “fast acting” and didn’t have an antidote. It was also unlikely that she’d be able to use it more than once.
She had been consigned to hell for at least a week. She needed to save it for when it would actually do some good.
But if they thought she was going to do this mission without just one slaver choking out his life at her hands, they were very stupid people indeed.
“Get inside,” the man on the door said, opening it and moving to slap her.
“No, I’m going,” Katya said, whining, ducking her head and scooting through the door ahead of the promised slap.
“This the new bitch?”
The room beyond was dark with only a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a table with some men playing poker, a few girls sitting on laps and more men along the sides.
“Katrina or something,” one of the men said, standing up and walking over to her. “Look up, bitch, I want to see your face. What’s your name, bitch?”
“Katya,” Katya said, quietly. “They call me Cottontail.”
“Are you?” the man asked, pulling up her skirt and brutally ripping off her panties. “Hey, the carpet matches the curtains.”
“Good looker,” one of the men in the shadows along the wall said. “She’s only going to make a few euros here, though. Send her on to Italy.”
“We need to know that she knows her job, first,” the man standing in front of her said.
“I am good hooker,” Katya said, looking down at the floor again and ignoring the torn clothes. “I was hooker in Ukraine. I know my place.”
“We’ll see,” the man said, picking her up and throwing her on the table. “And we’ll see how tight that pussy is,” he added, unbuckling his belt.
“Just as tight as it was before you, Greva,” another voice laughed.
Katya ignored it and thought about scratching. Just one little scratch…