As soon as the sound of the last explosion died down, the approaching heavy transport helicopters became more noticeable. Their rotors spun with a low-pitched sound, and their light-gray, elegant silhouettes contoured in formation against the early dawn.
“All call signs, this is Eagle Nest. Get ready. Move fast. The area is heating up, we have to go.”
She let go of Sam’s hand, and two men carried the gurney to the nearest Super Stallion with the rest of the wounded.
The individuals ran toward the approaching helos, and as soon as the Stallions landed, they climbed aboard, assisted and counted by the Bravos, not wasting a single minute.
“Let’s go, boss,” Lou said, grabbing her arm and taking her toward the last Stallion. “Time to go home.”
Alex looked around, taking in the details of the early dawn battlefield, still smoldering here and there. Some Stallions had taken off already; others were almost full, getting ready to go. She had nothing… not a trace that could lead to V, nothing whatsoever.
Lou didn’t let go of her arm, leading her to the remaining Super Stallion at a running pace. The few remaining people were already aboard; the two of them were the last ones left on the ground.
As she approached the helicopter, she looked up and saw the clear sky, the sky from where DigiWorld’s satellites had watched over them and their mission, sending them valuable tactical information. The sky from where V would have kept a satellite eye on his operations.
She couldn’t leave, not yet.
She hopped aboard the helo, then asked the pilot, yelling to make herself heard, “You got any flares?”
“Huh?”
“Flares, got any?”
“Yeah, over there,” the pilot replied, pointing at a large flare bag secured against a wall mount.
Without hesitating, she grabbed the bag of flares and jumped off the helo, yelling over the sound of the rotors, “Give me a minute, OK?”
With the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of consternated Lou, his jaw dropped, signaling to Martin and the pilot to wait.
She ran a hundred feet or so away from the helicopter, then lit the first flare and put it on the ground. One by one, she lit nine flares, spacing them several feet apart from one another, and placing them in a V pattern. The V, marked by brightly burning red flares, was clearly visible and distinguishable by anyone watching her via satellite.
She looked up toward the sky, where the satellites would be watching intently. She couldn’t see anything, but she didn’t really expect to. She tilted her head a little, smiled, and made a wide, inviting gesture toward the sky. Come on, motherfucker, she thought, take the bait!
Then she ran toward the helo as fast as she could, hearing its rotors revving faster and faster as she approached it. She hopped aboard, taking Lou’s hand and sat down next to him, catching her breath.
The Stallion took off and immediately increased speed. She relaxed a little; they were finally going home.
Lou leaned into her side, screaming in her ear to cover the rotor’s noise.
“What the hell were you doing down there?”
She looked out the window. From their increasing altitude, the red V stood out clearly against the dark landscape.
“Calling him out,” she replied.
“For Christ’s sake, Alex, this is not a game!”
“Ahh, spare me, Lou. You guys don’t even believe he’s behind this anyway. I’m not even sure you believe he exists. So, tell me, what’s the harm, really?”
…67
Vitaliy Myatlev hadn’t moved from his chair the entire night, or day by Moscow’s time zone. His bloodshot eyes, transfixed, glued to the monitors, watched in disbelief how his entire operation was falling apart.
For hours, he watched powerlessly how these strangers, a handful of people, thoroughly destroyed everything he had carefully built. The most secret of his operations, buried deep in the Russian far east, exposed, blown away in just a few hours. How the hell did that happen?
He barked orders every now and then, sending reinforcements, and Ivan rushed to execute them with increasing reluctance. Ivan wasn’t an idiot; he knew very well that all people exposed to his boss’s top-secret operation would have to be eliminated. His Spetsnaz background still fueled loyalties to Russian armed forces, loyalties that sometimes stood in the way.
And yet, no matter how many reinforcements they had sent, how many armored vehicles and how many aircraft, these strangers took them out one by one. Drones, appeared out of nowhere, fired countless missiles, annihilating them.
He had lost… again. This time, there’d be hell to pay.
On the screens, in the early light of dawn, he watched a fleet of American helicopters land. His face a sickly shade of pale, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and his fists white-knuckled in anger, he could do nothing but watch powerlessly as every single person was airlifted away.
Then something caught his attention. Someone was lighting flares in a pattern, laying them on the ground. He watched petrified, through dilated pupils, as the flares lined up one after another to form the letter V.
His blood instantly turned to ice, and adrenaline kicked him in the gut, setting off familiar alarm bells. He zoomed in the satellite feed just in time to see clearly the woman who just finished lighting the flares. He saw her turn her face toward him, staring him directly in the eye through the monitor, as if she were in the room with him. He felt her eyes drill into the depths of his heart, making him shudder. Then she waved at him, smiling, as if she knew he was there, observing.
Shocked, he pushed his chair away from the desk and sprang to his feet, pacing nervously.
“Motherfucker,” Myatlev swore loudly, his voice raspy and strangulated with fear and anxiety. How could they know he’d be there, watching? How could she know? Who betrayed him?
Then he approached the desk where the satellite monitors were installed, and slammed both his fists against the shiny, cherry-wood surface, making the video equipment rattle.
“So, it’s personal, huh? Alex Hoffmann, you fucking bitch… You want to play? You’re on!”
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