Termination Order: A Team Reaper Thriller Read online

  With the vehicle out of action, they continued to where Thurston was parked. They climbed in, Reaper in the front. She looked at him and asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

  From the back, Axe said, “Asshole made us jump from the fifth floor.”

  The general raised her eyebrows as she shifted into gear. “Really?”

  Kane smiled and gave a shrug. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time. Especially after we were set up like we were.”

  “You’re right about that,” Thurston snapped. “Someone’s going to get reamed over this one.”

  Black Shield Ops Center

  Washington DC

  Three people watched on as the operation went to shit in front of them on the big screens. The small body-cams on the operators relayed everything back to the ops-center along with the drone they had secretly roving overhead.

  Horn shook his head, but when he spoke, there was a hint of admiration in his voice. “I could use people like that.”

  “Those are my fucking people they’re killing!” Ken Drake snapped, watching the SUV pull away from the curb. “Christ, what a fuck up.”

  Drake turned his back on the screens in disgust. He was a small man, no taller than five-seven. Somewhere in his forties, he’d come up through the CIA intelligence ranks beside Horn. That was until he’d made his suspicious fortune confiscating money from secret terrorist bank accounts, then branched out on his own. Now he was one of the richest men in the world and stood on the doorstep of a new venture worth billions.

  He turned to face the third man, Vice-President Jim Forth. “I thought these people were told to stand down. Am I wrong?”

  Forth was in his sixties, with gray hair and a deeply-lined face. “I issued orders for them to stay away from the Jiskani situation,” he growled. “However, this shootout at the fucking OK Corral is bullshit. What happened to a ‘quiet op’? You just attracted attention from across the whole damned country.”

  “It’s fine, the mess will be cleaned up, and everything will go away. The story will be circulated as a drug war.”

  Horn nodded. “I can have a team fix that. But we still have a window of opportunity to get rid of them.”

  “How?” Drake asked.

  “The motel where they’re staying.”

  Drake inclined his head thoughtfully and said, “OK.” Leaning forward he said to one of his op-center technicians, “Have Delta team tasked to the motel. We’ll give it one last shot.”

  West Coast Motel

  East Los Angeles

  “Get changed, your gear packed, and we’re out of here,” Thurston snapped before she took her cell out of her pocket and hit speed dial.

  “Jones.”

  “We have a situation.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Thurston went on to tell him about Black Shield and what had gone down at the hotel. In addition, about the identity of their target, who he really was.

  “Christ. Get out of there, Mary. Get on back to El Paso. This is just getting out of hand.”

  “We’re packing as we speak, sir.”

  “Good. Call me when you land.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thurston hung up and started to help load the SUV. Once it was done and everyone was ready, they headed toward the door to leave.

  Which was when the two Black Shield SUVs sped into the carpark to finish the job.

  Black Shield Ops Center

  Washington DC

  “Delta Team arriving onsite.”

  The voice over the speakers filled the room as they watched the SUVs swing into the parking lot.

  Drake said, “Be careful, Delta One. These assholes can fight. Take no chances. If you see a target, put it down.”

  “Copy.”

  They watched on as the vehicles disgorged eight Black Shield operators who took up positions while two of them approached the motel room where their targets were. Over the open comms, Horn could hear Delta One issuing orders to his men.

  He reached into his pocket and took out his cell. Punching in a number, a voice came back to him. “Newcomb.”

  “Where are you?”

  “About two blocks out.”

  Horn turned away from the others and lowered his voice. “Stay back, Mark. This is just all going to shit. I want you to put a special team together and standby. Sometime in the near future, I’m going to need you and your men.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get onto it.”

  The line went dead, and Horn placed the cell back in his pocket. He turned back to look at the screen. Then his prophecy came true.

  West Coast Motel

  East Los Angeles

  “This is just crazy,” Kane snarled, impatience in his voice. He peered out the window and watched as the operators deployed.

  “In case any of you have forgotten,” Axe said, “there’s no back door to this place.”

  “Backdoors,” Kane said.

  “I count eight,” Cara said.

  “I concur,” Thurston agreed.

  “Bit of a bastard with all our gear packed in the SUV,” Kane pointed out.

  “You got a plan, Reaper?” Cara asked.

  “Working on it.”

  “I’ve had enough of this shit,” Thurston snarled. “These pricks have pissed me off for the last time.”

  “Front door, ma’am?” Kane asked.

  “Damned right. If I’m going down, it will be fighting.”

  Thurston’s cell rang. She took it from her pocket and looked at the screen. Hitting the answer button, she said, “I’m a bit busy at the moment, Luis.”

  “I realize that, Mary. We’ve been monitoring your progress from back here in ops. You’ve got a DEA Special Response Team perhaps three minutes out. I figured that after the hotel fiasco I’d pull a few strings and have something on standby just in case. You need to hold on until then.”

  Thurston felt a sudden release of pressure. “Thanks, Luis. I owe you one.”

  “Keep your head down, Mary.”

  “Listen up. Our guardian angel has a DEA Special Response Team about three minutes out. We just have to hang in until then.”

  “We have two men approaching the door,” Axe said in a low voice.

  Kane glanced back out the window at the two figures. He set his jaw firm and brought his M17 up. “Prepare for incoming,” he snapped. Then he opened fire.

  The foremost Black Shield operator fell to the ground in a pool of blood. His friend joined him a moment later with a bullet in his head from Axe.

  The front of the motel seemed to explode as the rest of the operators opened fire. Glass shattered as 5.56 rounds from the shooter’s CQBRs punched through the windows not already broken. They hammered into the walls as Kane, and the others took cover on the floor.

  “You just had to fire, didn’t you?” Cara shouted above the din.

  “Beats getting shot. Besides, didn’t you hear? Help’s on the way.”

  The light-fitting in the center of the room erupted and sprayed glass across the room. “Help is no good if you’re dead!” Axe shouted.

  Thurston shook her head. This lot would be staring down the barrel of a gun and, they’d still be cool and calm.

  “Hey, General. Buy you a drink later after we’re done here?” Reaper shouted across to her.

  Gunfire smashed the lamp next to one of the beds. Thurston ducked and then called out, “It’ll have to wait until we get home. Then I’ll buy you all one.”

  “OK. But –”

  “Ah, shit!” Cara exclaimed. “One of them has a two-oh-three.”

  An M203 grenade launcher put a whole new spin on things. Fire one of those things through the window, and in the close confines of the room, they were all screwed.

  “We’ve gotta put him down,” Kane snapped as he came to his feet in a bold move. Axe followed suit, and both blew off the rest of their magazines in the attempt to take the shooter out.

  Both ran dry, and the operator with the 203 was still alive,
down behind the engine block of an SUV. “Damn it,” Kane cursed.

  Cara rose and fired two shots before dropping again. She shouted at Kane. “So, it’s true!”

  “What?”

  “You two can’t shoot for shit.”

  Kane slapped a fresh magazine home and rose once more to fire at the man with the 203. He needn’t have worried. Cara had put him down with the last burst she fired.

  Black Shield Ops Center

  Washington DC

  Horn shook his head as he watched Delta Team die one by one. They’d started with eight shooters, and now they were down to four.

  “Christ, Delta One! What the fuck are you doing?” Drake snarled into his comms.

  The team leader said something, but through the din of the gunfire, Horn couldn’t make out his reply.

  “Sir, we have two vehicles inbound!” one of the technicians said in a loud voice. A picture appeared on a different screen. Two Humvees.

  “Looks like backup is on the way,” Horn observed. “Get your people out of there, Ken, or you’ll lose them all.”

  “We’ve almost got them.”

  “No, you haven’t. Get them out; we’ve lost.”

  “Damn it,” Drake cursed. Then, “Delta One, break contact. I say again, break contact. They’ve got reinforcements on the way.”

  The speakers crackled. “Copy. Delta Team is breaking contact.”

  West Coast Motel

  East Los Angeles

  “They’re bugging out,” Cara said as the Black Shield operators piled into their armored SUVs.

  The noise of the shooting died away and was replaced by the roar of engines and the squeal of tires as the vehicles tore out of the carpark, leaving the dead in their wake.

  The Team Reaper members slowly emerged from the shattered motel room and out into the blazing sun. Four bodies lay in the lot, pools of blood around them. Thurston turned to look back at the façade of the motel. It was riddled with bullet holes. She turned back at the sound of revving engines. Two Humvees appeared, roaring into the parking lot. Armed men spilled out and took up defensive positions.

  One, a tall man dressed in tactical gear, walked across to them. He studied the motel façade and said, “Looks like you folks have had some trouble.”

  Thurston shook her head. “Not really. Just another day.”

  Chapter 7

  Team Reaper HQ

  El Paso, Texas

  One Week Later

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Axe blurted out. “That’s it? That little fucker kills my sister and gets away with it.”

  There were four of them in Thurston’s office. The general, Ferrero, Kane, and Axe. But the voice that had spoken wasn’t one of theirs. It emanated from a speaker on Thurston’s desk phone.

  “What I’m saying is that you will all stand down,” Jones’ voice filled the room, deep, commanding. “This is a whole lot more complicated than was first thought.”

  “Seems pretty simple from where I’m standing, General,” Axe snapped.

  “The order has come down from the vice-president,” Jones said, his voice calm.

  “Sorry, General,” Kane interrupted. “But you know he’s tied up in this too?”

  “Yes, damn it, Gunny. I do,” Jones snapped.

  “Well, what are you doing about it?” Axe snarled.

  “Stand down, marine,” Jones demanded. Even though he could understand Axe’s anger, he was only willing to let him take it so far.

  “What are we to do then?” Thurston asked, interrupting.

  “Nothing. Just go about doing what you do.”

  “Excuse me, General,” Ferrero said.

  “What is it, Luis?”

  “Sir, our computer tech has been doing some digging around into Marek and his son,” Ferrero continued. “This guy is up to his eyeballs in something illegal. I think the story that the gang leader told us about them supplying drugs could be true.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact, Luis, that he is the Polish Minister of Defense and is the linchpin to a billion-dollar deal which involves the biggest donor to the president’s election campaign.”

  “The same people who tried to kill us,” Kane pointed out. “Have you seen the video, sir?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “Without more evidence, it’s just that. A video. They could dismiss it by saying it was doctored.”

  “Shit,” Axe swore.

  Jones ignored it and continued, “However, I’m still looking into it and all of the other bullshit which has been going on. Just keep your heads down.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Thurston said and hung up.

  The silence which ensued was broken by Axe. “That’s fucking bullshit. We all know it.”

  “You heard the general, Axel,” Thurston’s voice grew hard. “We are to stand down. Take a few days off, and get your head around things.”

  Axe lifted his chin in defiance. “Is that an order, ma’am?”

  “No, a suggestion. But if you wish me to make it one, then I can.”

  “Fine,” Axe growled and turned, storming out of the office.

  “He’s right, ma’am,” Kane said.

  “Of course, he’s fucking right,” Thurston swore savagely. “And it grates against every bone in my damned body to let it go. But that is just what we’ll do. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Team Reaper HQ

  El Paso, Texas

  Four days later Kane knocked on Thurston’s door, a worried expression on his face. She took one look at him and knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “Axe has disappeared,” he said.

  “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  “I went to see him, and he’s gone. The bed hasn’t been slept in, clothes are missing, and I checked to see if I could find his passport and came up empty.”

  Concern was etched on the general’s face. “You don’t think …?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  “God, I hope we’re wrong,” she said and came up out of her chair. “On me.”

  Kane followed her out into the operations room where they found Swift. The redhead was sitting at his station, looking at something on the screen. Thurston said, “Slick, you got a moment?”

  He spun around. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Reynolds, Teller, and Ferrero were also in the room and stared in their direction when they heard the tone of their commander’s voice. She said, “I want you to check any outgoing flights over the past few days and look for Axe’s name on the flight manifest.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and spun back around.

  “Do we have a problem, Mary?” Ferrero asked as he approached.

  She looked up at him. “I pray not, Luis.”

  It didn’t take long. A few minutes later Swift had what they wanted. He put it on the big screen. “There, ma’am.”

  Highlighted on the screen amongst a list of names was one Axel Burton.

  “Damn it,” Thurston hissed. “Do I have to guess where he’s gone?”

  “No, ma’am. The flight’s destination was Europe. To be more precise, Warsaw, Poland.”

  “Christ.”

  “This is bad,” Ferrero said. “You can bet Black Shield know where he is. And if they do, there’s no way in hell that they’ll let him get close to his intended target. They’ll kill him, for sure.”

  “If they don’t know,” Thurston said. “They soon will. Damn it, I need to talk to General Jones.”

  Langley, Virginia

  Paul Horn stood at the plate-glass window and stared outward at the forest. The day was drab-gray, with rain tumbling down, small rivulets of water sliding down the glass, obscuring part of his view. Clouds hung low like a dense mist. That very same view earlier in the day had been clear of everything. Even the sky had been clear of the gray beasts which dumped their excess condensation.

  The office was a large space. When Horn had first moved into
the office, the walls had been wood-paneled. Since the renovations, the office was white. There were a few pictures on the walls, a couple of chairs, and one solitary artificial plant in the corner. Just the way Horn wanted it. Any files he required were kept in a storage space behind the wall along with other things. A button on his desk opened a hidden door which was quite well camouflaged.

  The phone on his hardwood desk buzzed, drawing his attention. Horn walked across to it and pressed one of the buttons on it. “Yes?”

  “Deputy Director, an envelope just arrived for you. It has urgent marked on it.”

  “Thank you, Naomi. Bring it in, please.”

  A few moments later, the thick wood door opened, and a young lady in her twenties walked in holding a yellow A4 envelope. She handed it across to Horn who took it and said, “Thank you.”

  “Welcome, sir.” She left, closing the door behind her.

  Horn held the envelope in one hand and picked up an antique letter opener from beside a tin full of pens. He used it then lay it back down, emptying the contents onto his desk. Three things came out. Two were photos, black and white, but clear. The third was a piece of paper with a message printed on it.

  The deputy director read the message first. Frowning, he then picked up the photos. They looked to be stills from different security cameras. One was in an airport. The other looked to be from a street camera.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered and checked the time stamps. He’d arrived in Warsaw the day before, which meant he could only be there for one reason. Horn pulled his cell from his pocket.

  “Hello,” Newcomb said.

  “Mark, you and your team are flying out to Poland today. I’ll send you the details.”