He’d rubbed too many people the wrong way during the painful process of rebooting the program to trust the sanctity of deals signed and sealed under the old guard. Immunity didn’t protect you from a payload of ground-vaporizing two-thousand-pound smart bombs released from a B-2 stealth bomber. The coordinates to this location were likely in the wrong hands already, which was why part of any training exercise based out of the former headquarters started with a three-day infiltration and surveillance operation to ensure the location was safe.
Electronic sweeps confirmed that no electronic signals emanated from the buildings or surrounding valley, which would have indicated the surreptitious installation of remote surveillance equipment. Most of the Black Flag operatives were familiar with the use of portable radio frequency detectors and handheld spectrum analyzers. Since background electromagnetic noise was nearly nonexistent in the isolated valley, detecting a hidden signal, no matter how cleverly disguised or transmitted, should be a fairly simple prospect. To be on the safe side, he always brought a member of the program’s dedicated electronic warfare along to oversee the analysis.
An array of portable sensors stood guard over the compound during their brief stay, watching the sky and the forest for emissions indicating a potential threat. Of course, a smart bomb didn’t advertise its arrival. You were there one minute, gone the next, which was why he was meticulous about countersurveillance during their short stays.
After checking his watch, he pulled a sturdy-looking satellite phone from one of his jacket pockets. He was about to break one of his own rules and accept an incoming satellite call, only because the originator had been insistent and they were less than thirty minutes from leaving the site. He counted the seconds, reaching “two” before it buzzed.
“It’s been a while, stranger,” Sanderson answered.
“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve had anything for you,” said Karl Berg.
“Been a while since anyone has given us anything,” said Sanderson. “Frankly, it makes me nervous.”
“You and me both,” said Berg. “I was counting the hours to retirement, until I got a call from a friend in Moscow. I might have a mission for you.”
The line went quiet for a few moments.
“I’m not in the mood for theatrics, Karl. What do you have?”
“I forgot what a pleasure it is to talk to you,” said Berg. “We got a possible hit on Reznikov. A Special Forces raid against a hidden laboratory on the west coast of India missed him by minutes, and my friend strongly suspects that one of the ex-GRU mercenaries assigned to guard Reznikov arranged for the convenient last minute absence from the site.”
“Russian Special Forces?”
“Possibly a joint U.S.-Russian operation,” Berg replied. “But that’s purely speculative based on my friend’s assessment.”
“Any way you can confirm it?” asked Sanderson.
“The CIA wasn’t directly involved. I’d know if that was the case. Audra Bauer would definitely know.”
“Maybe she’s trying to protect you — from yourself,” said Sanderson. “Sniffing around for Reznikov is likely to draw the wrong kind of attention.”
“I’m willing to make some noise to catch Reznikov.”
Sanderson understood where he was coming from, which was why he admired Berg. Tolerated might be a better term. The general’s disdain for intelligence professionals was nearly pathological. Berg had been the first intelligence officer to gain his trust in decades. Sanderson sensed a firm commitment to their shared nation, linked by a willingness to take extraordinary and, if necessary, unsavory steps to safeguarding it. Berg understood what it took to protect America under the new rules shaped by global terror organizations and the states that sponsored them. And apparently he hadn’t lost his enthusiasm for upending those rules.
“What are we looking at?” Sanderson asked.
“It’s kind of a long shot, but if this mercenary turns up, he could lead us directly to Reznikov. That’s where you come in. This will be a short-fused mission.”
“I can pre-stage a team for immediate takeoff from Buenos Aires or possibly one of the regional airports. That would be our best bet. We have a few discreet jet services on retainer that can transport a lightly armed team. My guess is we could be in the air within an hour of notification. Give me twelve hours to get everything in place.”
“Perfect. With that kind of response time, it might even be possible to nail them in the same place. My best guess is that they have been attached at the hip since Vermont. Video surveillance of that mess identified the mercenary. Same with Uruguay. If that’s the case—”
“They’ll be looking to blow off some steam,” Sanderson cut in.
“That’s what I’m thinking. They’ll want to discreetly spend some money. A double-cross deal like this cost someone a pretty penny.”
“That was my next question,” said Sanderson. “Any idea who funded and presumably orchestrated Reznikov’s escape? Sounds like they had help on the ground. I’m trying to picture a single mercenary dragging that sorry sack of shit around the jungle, and it’s not happening.”
“That’s the big mystery,” said Berg. “My guess is someone connected to the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. From what my source in Moscow can tell, the raid against the laboratory was real. Someone on the inside tipped them off at the last minute.”
“It almost sounds like the raid provided a necessary distraction,” Sanderson suggested.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“One hell of a risky gamble. Nearly impossible to control all of the variables.”
“Right. But given the isolation of the facility, this may have been the only viable option to snatch Reznikov without making it blatantly obvious,” said Berg.
“The Bratva will figure this out eventually. They have people on the inside too.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. If they have someone deep enough in the Federal Security Service to relay access to all of the evidence gathered and reported by the strike team, I think they’ll assume the Russian government sent a covert team to grab Reznikov, to permanently disappear the guy.”
“Or put him back to work,” Sanderson said.
“Don’t say that,” said Berg. “Please.”
“You have to consider the possibility that this was an inside job disguised to look like an outside job. If that’s the case, he’s probably deep underground inside Siberia.”
“All we can hope to do right now is work with the scant intelligence we’ve been given,” said Berg.
“I’ll stack the deck with the largest team I can fit on a jet in case we’re looking at a complicated mission.”
“I guarantee it will be complicated.”
“You know what I mean,” said Sanderson. “It’s easier to scale back than scale up.”
“I got you,” said Berg. “I’ll keep you updated from my end. Let me know when everything is in place.”
“Copy that,” said the general. “Good to hear from you, Karl. I was worried you might have retired without inviting me to your farewell party.”
“Funny. I won’t get so much as a pat on the back when I leave.”
“Word of advice?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Whenever you decide to leave, do it quietly. And watch your back.”
“I plan to have you watching my back.”