He purchased enough kaffiyeh for all the men. He spoke in Barzhaani, which he’d learned through deep immersion at home, playing only the Suwan national television station and listening to tapes from Berzhaan.
He’d always had a gift for languages and he’d picked up Berzhaani easily, brushing up on his Russian as well. The language was now a part of him and as he stood in the marketplace letting the sounds flow over him, he felt himself becoming more Berzhaani. He felt it seep into his pores and he was ready for action.
Larry waited in a small alleyway with Jake Brittan and Rodney Petri, two other fathers who’d joined the group. This was Russ’s elite inner militia. Men who knew how to act in a combat situation and weren’t afraid of the risks. Frankly, the ROE on this mission meant there’d be casualties and Russ knew each of the men was unafraid to give his life for the cause.
They donned the kaffiyeh headgear and Russ thought they did a good job of looking like men of Islam.
“Do you have the address for us?” Russ asked Rodney.
“It’s on Sovetski—the name has been changed to something Berzhaani, but the locals still call it Sovetski. Its two klicks from the embassy in a small residential neighborhood. I’ve programmed the GPS coordinates into your devices.”
Russ nodded at Rodney. “We’ll meet there at sunset. Larry and I are going to secure local transport back to the plane. You two make sure we have the carpets needed to get our package out of Berzhaan.”
Rodney and Jake departed and Larry fiddled with his backpack for a minute before handing Russ a Stechkin APS Russian automatic handgun. Russ checked the gun and the clip. He took an extra ammo clip from Larry and tucked it into the back of his pants for easy access.
“You sure about this?” Larry asked. “Once we go in there, we can’t turn back.”
Russ looked the man in the eyes. Larry had been his buddy for more than twenty years and he didn’t want him chickening out before the mission barely got started. This was what too many years and too much grief did to a man. There was a time when Larry would have taken all of Berzhaan with an AK-47 and a few grenades.
“Yes. Are you?” Russ asked, holding his gun easily at his side. Casually he removed the kaffiyeh from his head and folded the scarflike garment into the right size and density for a silencer.
Larry turned his back to Russ and Russ lifted the gun and the cloth. Larry glanced over his shoulder at Russ, eyes widening and hands coming up in an “I surrender” gesture.
Larry took a step back. “Yeah, man. I’m sure. I want our kids back home where they belong, not in this godforsaken place.”
Russ continued to stare at Larry until beads of sweat dotted Larry’s forehead. Then he lowered his gun, tucking it into the large pocket in the middle of the djellaba. “Then let’s make sure they go home.”
Larry nodded. Russ retied his kaffiyeh and led the way out of the alley. They both were careful to blend in with the people on the street. He’d have to keep a close eye on Larry in case he decided he wanted out of the mission.
Both men moved through the street with the ease of pros used to blending in. They were both hunters, well aware of how to keep their prey from becoming aware of them.
Russ felt a surge of adrenaline. There was something to be said about being on a mission with his comrades at his side. They meandered through the city, which had seen too much fighting in recent years. It showed. Some neighborhoods were still intact but others were shelled-out hulls that used to house families that were probably dead.
Russ felt his determination to make this mission a success harden as they arrived on Sovetski and the house that Jake had indicated. The building reminded Russ of some of the pictures he’d seen of Moscow.
Jake and Rodney waited on the first floor landing of the older apartment building. The Kemeni soldiers they’d hired to obtain their package waited upstairs. Russ didn’t want trouble but he was prepared for it. These men had been bought once and could just as easily have sold them out.
“We go in hard.”
“Affirmative.”
All the men pulled their weapons as they slowly made their way up the stairs.
They entered the building and moved in single-file formation up the stairs. They were dark and dirty and smelled of rotting trash and urine.
Jake moved to the front and Russ covered him as the other man knocked on the third door.
“I’m here to see Uncle Fred,” Jake said in Russian.
“He’s still recovering from the car accident, he’ll be glad for the company,” a voice answered from behind the door.
A few seconds later the door opened inward and the men filed in, all of them keeping their weapons drawn.
“I am Jamal, welcome to my home.”
“Where’s the package?” Russ asked, still in Russian. He wasn’t here to make friends. They were on a short clock and needed to get in and out as quickly as possible.
“In a room in the back,” Jamal said.
Russ started toward the room. “Is there a guard in the room?”
“Two of my men.” Jamal edged down the hallway toward a closed door.
“Tell them to stand down,” Russ ordered.
Jamal switched to Berzhaani, calling out, “The men are here and they are armed.”
“You first, Jamal.”
Russ gestured with his gun and Jamal went into the room. Two men sat at a card table, weapons in close range. On the floor were the hostages. All three of them neatly bound, gagged and unconscious. Drugged, as ordered.
They all looked so young, Russ thought, especially the girl. Just like Tommy had. This girl could have been one of his girlfriends.
Russ carefully controlled his burning anger with the kidnappers—they were supposed to take that annoying sensationalist reporter, Shannon Conner, and give the hostage tape to this woman, Andrea something. Shannon was better known—her kidnapping would have put even more pressure on the White House. Just because the opposite had worked out didn’t mean he could let the men off the hook for their mistake. But for now, Russ would work with what he had. As every good soldier did.
The White House should be ashamed of the way it kept the military here in Berzhaan now that the Kemenis were not a threat. If they’d pulled the military back home, then this young woman and two men wouldn’t be here now. They’d be safe at home.
“Where’s the video camera?” he asked Jamal, this time in Berzhaani.
“In the corner.”
“Set it up. We want to make one more tape before we leave.”
The lobby of the Sheraton Suwan hotel was filled with reporters, and Tory kept an eye out for Shannon Conner. She had a history with the newsperson from the rival ABS network. For some reason Tory couldn’t explain, she and Shannon had never gotten along—not even before Tory had exposed Shannon in the scheme that had caused Shannon to be expelled from Athena Academy.
More than 15 years later, Shannon still held a grudge. She’d slept with Tory’s last boyfriend, Perry Jacobs, and almost gotten Tory killed on Puerto Isla in Central America.
Tory was leery of seeing Shannon, yet at the same time she wanted to know where the newswoman had been. Just in case Andrea had been nabbed by mistake.
“Tory Patton?”
Tory pivoted toward the voice. “Yes?”
“Dash McNamara. I’ll be