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  He stared at her and opened his mouth to speak, but Arenas cut him off. “He thinks you are a picture of beauty.”

  She smiled, seeing that Kane was momentarily embarrassed by the words. Kane grumbled something and then said, “Bravo Four, are you still there?”

  “I’m here … ah, copy, Reaper One.”

  “We’re going to need a backstop for Carlos and Captain Ivanov. I was thinking that seeing as he’s Mexican, we could go down the cartel line?”

  “Copy, Reaper. Working on it now. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  “Roger that,” Kane acknowledged. He then said to Arenas, “You two need to get a story straight in your head.”

  “We’ll work on it now.”

  “Good. Once Slick gets back to you with his backstop you go in. Brick and I are going to infil now. Good luck.”

  The man tossed an armful of colorful fabric on the floor and said, “Put these on.”

  Eight young women shuffled forward, picking through the dresses from the pile. Cara stood back and watched as they pawed over the jumble.

  “Aren’t you going to pick one?” a heavily-accented British voice said to her. Cara stared at the slim blonde and saw apprehension in her eyes. “They don’t like it when we don’t do as they say.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Suffolk in England.”

  “How did they get you?”

  “I was at a club in France when I was drugged and taken.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kelly. What about you?”

  “I’m Cara. They took me from America.”

  “Really?”

  “In a way. Listen, we need to get out of here.”

  “How can we? There are so many men with guns. You’ve seen them.”

  “We’ll work something out.”

  The door opened, and the same man reappeared. He looked around the room and picked out a young woman who’d already changed into an opal green dress. “You. Come.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no, no …”

  She screamed out loud as the man took her roughly by the arm and began dragging her towards the door.

  “Hey, asshole,” Cara shouted at him, “let her go.”

  She took a step forward but stopped suddenly when he produced a gun and pointed it in her direction. “Stop, bitch.”

  Cara halted and watched on helplessly as the man and the struggling woman disappeared through the doorway. The heavy door closed with a loud bang. She said, “It looks like it has started.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Getting in was easier than expected. Maybe it was because of where they were. Who knew? But within minutes, Kane and Brick were inside the hotel and navigating the back hallway towards the kitchen. The air had a pungent musty smell to it, and the paint on the concrete walls had long ago started to peel away, forming small piles of flaky color on the dusty floor.

  They reached the large kitchen and found it to be in much the same state as the hallway. Thirty years of dirt and debris was scattered across the floor. Wall tiles lay shattered where they’d fallen after their glue had given way. Previously white appliances were now covered in orange rust, and here too the walls shed huge flakes of paint like a giant with dandruff. An island bench where meals had been prepared was covered in dirt and bird shit, and external pipes had rusted through.

  They found the service elevator and forced the door open. Inside the industrial sized space was much like everything they’d seen since entering; dirt-caked and decayed. “I hope the way up is manageable,” Brick said.

  “Let’s find out.”

  They lifted the panel in the ceiling of the car and looked up. The shaft above them was dark and gloomy and filled with dusty spider webs. Kane lifted himself up and looked around. Behind him, Brick started to do the same, and Kane turned back to pull him up. The elevator lurched, and for a moment, it felt as though the cable would give way. “Start climbing before this thing kills us. Watch out for spideys, too.”

  Fighting their way through the cobwebs, they scaled the framework until reaching the first floor. Not a substantial distance as such, but given the state of the shaft, the journey was still fraught with danger.

  After prying the doors apart, they stepped out onto a grime-covered carpet. While Kane swept left, Brick covered their right. Kane said into his comms, “Reaper One and Five are on the first floor.”

  “Copy, Reaper One,” Swift replied. “If you go to your right, you should find what you’re looking for.”

  “How’s that backstop going?”

  “Finishing it up as we speak.”

  Kane and Brick moved to their right and soon came to a door. Kane tried the handle, and the door clicked open. Going through the door was like being transported into a different world. The grand hall had been cleaned up, painted, and whatever its source, there was power. Kane figured it had to be solar.

  “Good Christ,” Brick whispered.

  Brick and Kane edged forward to a position where they could see almost everything below. The auction was already underway with a girl standing on a stage, a man beside her taking bids. The Team Reaper commander said, “Get pictures of everyone you can, Brick, and send them back as you go. Especially the girls, and if possible, those who buy them. With a little luck, we can ID them and get the poor buggers back.”

  “Copy that,” Brick acknowledged and then spoke softly into his comms. “Bravo Four? Reaper Five. Copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper Five.”

  “We’re in position. I’m about to start relaying happy snaps to you. Some will be of the girls these guys are selling. The rest are their buyers.”

  “Roger that. Ready when you are.”

  While Brick started taking photos, Kane kept up surveillance on those coming and going. Ten minutes after they’d arrived, his comms crackled to life once again. “Reaper Three about to enter target.”

  “Copy.”

  Arenas and Ivanov approached the front door of the hall and were stopped by two men armed with AK-74s. The biggest of the two stepped across to block their path and growled in heavily-accented English, “Who are you?”

  The Mexican’s hard stare was designed to give the man the impression that he wasn’t used to being questioned. Once that was established, Arenas said, “Montero. Chihuahua Cartel.”

  “Who’s the whore?”

  The Mexican’s eyes sparked with fire. “You are one word away from death, my friend. You insult my wife in such a manner, back home, I would not only kill you but your family as well. And their family, and their family’s family. Do you understand me?”

  The man’s expression never changed. “Where’s your invitation? I need to see it.”

  Arenas patted down the suit in a fake search and then shrugged. “I do not have it.”

  “Then, you do not enter.”

  Ivanov stepped casually forward and grabbed the man by the crotch. She applied sufficient pressure to make the color of the guard’s face change. Leaning in close, she hissed in a low voice, “First you call me a whore, and now you doubt my husband’s word. You have exactly five seconds to make this right, or I will tear off your balls and give them to Mr. Kazan as a present.”

  The man swallowed hard and, in a strained voice, said, “Let me check the list.”

  Ivanov let him go and stepped back, adjusting her dress demurely. The man checked a tablet he had been holding and after a moment said, “Yes, you are here. Go in.”

  Arenas and Ivanov entered the hall, taking in everything that Kane and Brick had seen earlier. Ivanov said, “This is amazing.”

  “Reaper Three, we have eyes on you.”

  “Copy.”

  They walked through the crowd to where the auction was taking place. Standing just behind the first row, Arenas studied the young lady on stage. He whispered into his comms, “They’re drugging the girls.”

  “That must be how they keep them subdued,” Kane theorized.

  Beside Arenas, Ivanov fel
t a hand slide up the back of her thigh and cup her butt cheek, naked below the smooth fabric. Standing behind her was a thin man dressed in a suit, a leering smile spread across his face. Beside him was a woman dressed in a short black dress with an extremely low-cut neckline, her décolletage and most of her breasts exposed. His other hand was beneath her dress without eliciting any reaction.

  The man jiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive fashion. Ivanov smiled casually and reached out, grasping his erection through his designer pants. The man closed his eyes, fully expecting her to pleasure him, but instead, the Ukrainian Army captain twisted savagely, and the man let out a scream of agony, immediately withdrawing both wandering hands which gingerly covered his manhood.

  All eyes immediately turned to him; the excruciating pain etched on his face. On the stage, the man next to the girl signaled someone, and two armed men pushed through the crowd and seized the man. Then, while painfully protesting his innocence in the matter, the man was dragged towards the door.

  “You need to play nice with the natives, Captain,” Kane said. “We don’t need the attention.”

  “He shouldn’t have grabbed my ass.”

  “Remind me not to do it then,” he shot back with an amused smile.

  Ivanov stifled a grin and went back to scanning the crowd around her. Her eyes lingered on a bald man and then moved once more. “I have Khasan Umarov in the building.”

  “Say again, Captain?” Thurston said.

  “I have eyes on Khasan Umarov. He is at my three o’clock.”

  “Get me a picture, Bravo Five.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Khasan Umarov was a Chechen separatist wanted throughout Europe for multiple bombings. His last was in Russia where a government official and thirty civilians had been killed. “No surprises for guessing what he’s here for,” Kane said in a low voice.

  “Reaper One, we’ve filtered through some of these photos, and it is veritable who’s who of the dark side. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Darth Vader. There is Hwan from North Korean Office 39, Kevin O’Connor from that new IRA splinter group, The New Dawn. Tony Hancock, the British arms dealer, and, get this, Krystal Meth, an Australian who acts as a broker between all the Middle East terror groups. I really could go on all day the way my computer screen is lighting up.”

  “All here for the nuke,” Kane said.

  “That’s about it.”

  Kane looked at Brick. “You’re the SEAL you have any suggestions?”

  “How about we find the nuke?”

  “Is that it?”

  “That’s all I’ve got. They’ve got to have it somewhere close.”

  Kane nodded. “Carlos, Klara, time for some recon. See what you can find.”

  “Copy.”

  “Reaper One, we may have a problem.”

  “Go ahead, Bravo.”

  “General Borisal has dispatched a company of his troops to your position.”

  Kane cursed under his breath. “If they show up here there’s no telling what might happen to the nuke, Ma’am.”

  “I agree. That’s why I’m telling you that you have thirty mikes to find and secure the damned thing.”

  “Copy that, Ma’am.”

  Suddenly down below, the man on the stage called out, “It is time for the next item on our list!”

  “Reaper,” Brick whispered urgently.

  Kane looked down and saw the woman stepping up onto the stage. It was Cara. “Bravo, we have eyes on our package.”

  “The nuke, Reaper One?”

  “No, Ma’am. Reaper Two.”

  “You have a new mission, Reaper,” she reminded him. “Stay on it.”

  “Damn it, General, I can almost touch her.”

  “Stick to the mission, Reaper One. That’s an order!”

  “Fuck!” he hissed fiercely.

  They observed in silence as the price rose phenomenally. Finally, the last bid in, the hammer fell, and Cara was sold at two million dollars. As they watched on, a man with dark hair and wearing a charcoal suit came forward to claim her. Kane said to Brick, “Did you get a photo?”

  “Yeah, it’s on its way to Slick.”

  “Did she look drugged to you?”

  He hesitated.

  “Brick?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Kane remained silent and watched them leave. Beside him, Brick said, “Is there any way you can track them from here, Bravo Four?”

  “Not at the moment. The best I can do is work out who the purchaser is and track him from that. Sorry.”

  “Victim of circumstance, my friend. It’s not your fault.”

  The next girl was brought out and put on the stage. This one was clearly drugged, her head lolling to the side as she swayed on the spot. Kane ground his teeth together and said, “Reaper Three, any sign of that nuke yet?”

  “Wait one.”

  There was a long pause, and then Arenas’ voice came back saying, “Affirmative, Reaper One. I have the location of the device.”

  “Are we able to extract it?”

  “That could be a problem.”

  Chapter 10

  Pripyat, Ukraine

  “That could be a problem,” Arenas said as he stared at the sight before him.

  “What kind of problem?”

  He was looking through a gap in the doorway at a silver suitcase secured within a clear, what he assumed to be a bulletproof encasement. Surrounding it were five men wearing tactical equipment, all armed with AK-74s.

  “The package in question is a little more secure than we first expected. I’m about to send you a photo.”

  Arenas took a picture and hit send. It appeared on the devices of both Kane and Swift. “See what I mean?”

  Kane glanced at his watch. They only had twenty minutes before the soldiers of General Borisov stormed into Pripyat and blew everything to hell. “Axe, you copy?”

  “I’m still here, Reaper.”

  “I need a diversion. A big one.”

  “Any requests?”

  “Something that goes boom. Do you still carry a grenade with you?”

  “Never leave home without it. Give me ten mikes, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That’s about all you have; get at it.”

  “What’s your plan, brother?” Brick asked Kane.

  “We can’t get the damned thing out of here, so we’re going to have to secure it in place. If Axe can create a big enough diversion, it might get some people out of here, so we can get inside that room.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “The only problem is that once we’re inside, we’ll be like rats in a trap. Everything relies on the Ukrainians getting here on time.”

  “Now that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  “Not me,” said a heavily-accented voice from behind them. “Stand up.”

  “Ah, fuck!”

  “Reaper Three, Reapers One and Five have been compromised. Over.”

  “Copy, Bravo.”

  “Your priority is still the device, understood?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Arenas walked back out towards the main hall where the auction was taking place. On the way, he said, “Axe, did you get that last transmission?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How far away is the diversion?”

  “About five mikes.”

  Arenas stepped into the auction room just as the two Team Reaper men were paraded onto the stage. “You’d better hurry. I don’t think they’ve got that long.”

  He watched one of the guards talk to the guy on stage and then disappear.

  “Axe, keep an eye out.”

  “Copy.”

  Suddenly Ivanov appeared by his side. She touched his arm and said, “This is not good.”

  “Do you have a sidearm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look what we have here!” the auctioneer shouted to his audience. “Two intruders have come into our midst. Two Americans. One can only guess what they
want here. Maybe they’ve heard about what we have on offer.”

  Someone with a thick Arabic accent called from the crowd, “I will give you ten million if you let me kill them!”

  “Who is the man on stage, Bravo Four?”

  “From our pictures, he is Kazan.”

  Kazan continued, “That is a very handsome offer. But I am almost certain that we can achieve a better result than that.”

  The man called out once more, “I will double that. Twenty million.”

  “Come on up here, my friend,” Kazan said jovially. “You’ve just bought yourself a killing.”

  The man came free of the crowd, and Arenas recognized him instantly. After all, he’d seen the face many times on American television. Abu Samara, an Iranian-sponsored terrorist from the Iranian Martyrs. He had once been a colonel in the Iranian army, now one of the most wanted terrorists in the world; the man responsible for the bombing of a U.S. Embassy in Pakistan which killed fifty-four.

  “Axe, you’re out of time.”

  “That’s good because I don’t need any more.”

  There was a brief pause followed by the loud crump of something big blowing up. Then all hell broke loose.

  To Axe, the plan was simple. Place the grenade, a few strategic shots, and boom, job done. He picked the cars clustered closest together. In the movies, the hero is often portrayed shooting the crap out of a car until it blows up, which makes for good theatre. Really, there was no proof whatsoever to back up the notion.

  Now, settled back in behind the M110A1, he was about to squeeze off the first shot.

  “Axe, you’re out of time,” came over the comms.

  “That’s good because I don’t need any more.”

  The M110A1 had an optimum range of around eight hundred meters, but Axe was less than half that from his target, and the box magazine had twenty 7.62mm rounds just bursting to be released.

  He squeezed the trigger, and the suppressed weapon slammed back into his shoulder. Shifting aim, he fired again. He did it five times. His first shot hit an Audi Coupe, his second an Aston Martin, the third was a petrol-powered Range Rover. His fourth shot punched a hole in a BMW.