Torching the Crimson Flag Read online

  “Makes sense,” Jasmine said.

  “Yeah. So, I looked into him a little more and found out that he owns a manufacturing company called Sherpa Containers, LLC. His company builds custom made shipping containers.”

  “Where?” asked Leonard.

  “Shanghai.”

  “That makes sense. The largest steel mills in China are in Shanghai. It's also among the top three largest manufacturing centers in the nation.”

  “Right. You're exactly right. So, this guy, his name is Helmut Wagner, is a very well-known container builder. He’s not on par with the giants in the industry, like Maersk or the Mediterranean Shipping Company, or COSCO. But he’s big in his niche: custom containers.”

  “This is all very interesting, Bora,” Lin Lin Ma. “And I’m amazed at what you’re discovering.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Ma. But the best is still coming up. And just to give you an idea … I learned a lot about shipping over the last thirty minutes. Did you know that around 97% of all shipping containers are manufactured in China?"

  Everyone shook their heads, and Jasmine said, “No, I didn’t .”

  “And that right now, there are more than 530 million shipping containers in the world?” Bora didn’t wait for an answer. “There are over 17 million of them in circulation, globally, at any given time of the day. Over 95% of the world's cargo is moved by ship. And, the port of Shanghai, the busiest one in the world, handles more than 33 million shipping containers a year.”

  “Wow, Bora. I knew it was a big industry, but all of those are mind-blowing numbers.”

  “For some reason, I really kept looking into this Wagner guy. And I found something that is a game-changer for us. I hope you’re all sitting down.”

  “We are,” Jasmine said, excitedly.

  “He’s on the international board of The Red Flag Commerce and Development Company.”

  Everyone in the conference room was stunned. They had run into this company several times both when Trey’s family was abducted, and later when they dismantled the Ahmaadi Foundation, a corrupt organization that was directly tied to facilitating the trade of weapons for children.

  “I’m uploading all of the information to your tablet, Dr. Stone.”

  Still, the group at LaunchPad was struggling for words.

  Finally, Leo said something. “Bora, that is extraordinary. So, Helmut Wagner is on the board of Red Flag, a prominent shipping company, and this little-known Carousel Shipping company.”

  “That’s correct, Dr. Stone.”

  Michi’s phone rang. She looked down and saw that it was David. Placing the phone next to Leonard’s, she made sure that the volume was turned up.

  “Hey everyone, David just called, and I'm going to put them on speakerphone so we can hear him. Is that okay, Bora?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  “Hello David, you’re on speakerphone with all of us here at LaunchPad, and I have your phone sitting next to Leonard’s because Bora was just catching us up.”

  The noise from the helicopter made it very difficult to hear. Hirsch’s voice was a garbled mess.

  “David, you need to speak with your mouth right next to the mic.”

  “Is this better?”

  “Yes. Go ahead.”

  “Bruce is sending you guys a message in the app,” David shouted. “He’ll give you the details. The short version is that we are on our way to a pig farm in Falling Creek, North Carolina. We have reason to believe that Iris is on location.”

  Leonard was shocked. “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. We are going to need real-time help with operations. Can you pull something together?”

  “We’ll work on it.”

  “Okay. I’m out. We are going to use our comms system for communication. Justin, can you activate them from where you are?”

  “No. I can’t. But I can walk someone in LaunchPad through what to do.”

  “What did he say?” David said, using his full diaphragm to increase his volume.

  “Yes!” Leonard said.

  “Okay! We’ll be on location in one hundred and eleven minutes.”

  “Copy that.”

  David hung up.

  “Justin, who do you want to work with?” Dr. Stone asked.

  “I think Jasmine and Michi would make a good team.”

  Leo looked at the two of them. Michi nodded.

  “Okay. You’ve got it. Great work, Bora.”

  “Thanks. What was the name of that place in North Carolina?”

  “Falling Creek.”

  “And he said it was a pig farm?”

  “There are a lot of pork processing plants down in that area. Why?”

  “No reason, really. I’ll follow up on the location.”

  “Does anyone have anything else?”

  Nobody did, and as Michi ended the call, Justin and Bora saw a white Cessna Citation X touching down on the airport runway. Their ride had arrived.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bruce and the team were busy in the back of the Iroquois, checking their gear and changing into tactical clothes. David and Gary were sitting in the front, trading memories from the past. The mood was serious.

  “Tank, you know our radio names, right?” Locke asked.

  “Trey is Hemlock, you’re Vegas.”

  “Good. And you’re Lakota.”

  “Had Justin got them up yet?”

  “No. Dad said he’d let me know when they were operational,” Trey answered.

  David’s phone chirped, and the three men in the back glanced up to the front. He checked his phone. “Geeez. That isn’t good,” he said loudly.

  “What is it?” Stone asked.

  “Sokolov. He just got officially transferred to Liberia.”

  “What, seriously?” Bruce asked. “Liberia? Now? At this time of the night?”

  “Why?” Tank demanded.

  “It can’t be good. He doesn’t say. My guess is that he lost his position in the power struggle at the embassy.”

  “Because of us?”

  “Has to be.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “Nothing. Here’s what he texted. ‘My friend, I got transferred to the Embassy in Liberia, effective immediately. Peter is being sent back to Moscow. Don’t text back.”

  The group was stunned.

  “Who’s Peter?” asked Trey.

  “It must be the guy who slipped us the gig drive.”

  Tank felt terrible. “It’s probably because I took out those three guys that attacked me.”

  David twisted around in his seat to look at the Lakota native. “Don’t put this on you. We were just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Before we left, Sokolov wanted to tell me something, but we ran out of time. I’m guessing he had a feeling that he was losing his grip.”

  “Alright, gentlemen,” Trey said. “Take a moment to process it and then kick it out of your system. I need everyone one hundred percent. We need to focus on our mission.”

  “Hey Uncle, when did you buy your truck?”

  “Over forty years ago. Brand new. It was the sixth generation of the F-150. Back then, it was pretty modern. Front disc brakes, a bigger cabin, double-walled bed. It's made from galvanized steel, you know?”

  “I didn't.”

  “Yeah. It was a big deal in the 70s.”

  “It still looks good.”

  “I probably sunk way too much money in over the years. But man, I just love this truck. She rumbles right along, eh?”

  Boyd watched her uncle fire up the engine. He was proud of his truck. Always had been. The sun was beginning its journey towards the ocean after a clear day of lighting up the Aloha State. They turned left out of the church parking lot, onto Mamalahoa Highway, a long two-lane road that connected Hilo to Kona. As they did, Carter noticed a gray Ford Fusion that had been parked on the shoulder, to their right, start to fall in line behind them. Instantly, she felt caution. Maybe it was because of what had happened to Fox and Ashley, she de
cided. Tons of tourists rented four-door sedans. As a matter of fact, the one behind them was probably from one of the car rental companies in Kona. She sat back a little, angling her eyes to watch them in her passenger-side mirror.

  The road began a steep, curvy descent that would take them down about three hundred feet in elevation. On their left side was a sheer wall of exposed hardened lava. On their right was a dangerous cliff that fell over a hundred feet. Over the years, several drunk drivers had lost their lives, mis-navigating the turns and falling off the cliff.

  They had just taken the first curve when Boyd saw the sedan behind them dramatically change speed. The driver had punched the accelerator.

  “Uncle! They’re going to run us off the road!”

  “What?”

  Just as he asked that the sedan crashed into the back of his truck, trying to force him off the road and over the right side cliff. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and swerved to the left, coming within a few feet of the dangerous sharp-edged lava rock. The car behind them accelerated and crashed into their truck again, locking into his back bumper. He floored the accelerator and the truck released from the car’s grip. Rounding another turn, they reached the bottom of the hill where the road straightened out.

  “Pull into the ranch!” The highway here was a long straightaway that would favor the sedan, but Boyd knew that the dirt ranch road would even the odds and offer possible protection. Pu’u Wa’awa’a Ranch had once grazed Parker Ranch cattle back in the day. Now it was a sort of ranch conservation and resort property but the terrain was still mostly made up of tree and rock-strewn pasture land, much better navigated in a pickup like theirs than a sedan like their pursuers’.

  Her uncle instantly responded, swerving wildly to his left and spinning onto the gravel road that led up to Pu’u Wa’awa’a Ranch. Just ahead of them was the Pu’u Wa’awa’a Cinder Cone Park. His tires were kicking up dust and firing rocks behind them.

  “Right here, Uncle! Off-road into the trees!”

  He floored the accelerator and charged towards the lightly forested area. The truck was groaning and popping as it navigated the extremely unforgiving terrain.

  The car behind them wasn’t expecting the fast turn and went flying by the mouth of the road. Slamming on its breaks, the driver threw the sedan into reverse.

  The F-150 was bouncing and groaning as it charged forward.

  “Stop! Stop!” Boyd shouted urgently.

  The truck’s tires shredded on the sharp hardened lava rock bed that blankets the island. As Boyd’s uncle tried to control their momentum, the heavy vehicle skidded and slid to a stop, facing east, parallel to the road. Whoever was driving the sedan knew that their car was no match off-roading, so they had parked on the shoulder of the highway, and the occupants spilled out of the vehicle. Boyd immediately recognized their formation. They were trained killers; she was in trouble. She jumped out of the truck and reached into the bed to grab her backpack.

  “Uncle, come out my side! Stay down!”

  He slid across the bench seat and spilled out on the other side, opposite of the incoming hostiles.

  “Run for the trees!”

  “Boyd! What’s happening?”

  His niece didn’t have time to answer. She sprinted towards the trees, reaching into her bag as they ran.

  “You know how to fire a gun?”

  “I think so.”

  She hurried him along. “Run! Run!”

  Diving behind a tree and some shrubs, she pulled him down to the ground.

  “You know how to shoot this?”

  “I think so.”

  She chambered a round, in her silver mini Glock, turned off the safety, and handed it to him. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you need to shoot someone. It’s ready to fire.”

  Boyd was cursing Justin for always being right. She should have put together the kit he’d recommended, but she didn’t know she’d need it right away. She planned to do it in Kona tomorrow. Agent Carter grabbed the only other weapon she happened to have with her. An FN P90. It was a very compact, powerful submachine gun, designed in Belgium for close contact. She didn’t have a spare mag for it, so she’d have to manage her fifty rounds carefully.

  She carefully moved her head around the tree to get a better look. The men had fanned out and were coming from different angles. Boyd could see three of them from where she was hiding. Her uncle was on the ground beside her, burrowed down behind a large rock, fronted by shrubs. She didn’t think they knew exactly where she was, and her logic proved correct when they started firing at the truck.

  Agent Carter recognized the sounds of their guns. They were using a weapon that was one of Bruce’s favorites. The M4 Carbine assault rifle. That made her and her uncle seriously outgunned. She would need to leverage the element of surprise. She waited patiently, not wanting to fire carelessly and give her location away. One of the men had reached the truck and was carefully scanning the terrain. The other two that she could see were flanking him on either side - about forty feet apart and ten feet behind him. It was a spread wedge formation designed to make it hard for Boyd to shoot them without getting shot.

  “Uncle,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “Make sure you stay protected. But watch our okole, alright? I have a feeling one of these guys is going to flank us.

  “Okay,” he answered, cautiously twisting around and putting his back to the big rock.

  Boyd waited until the middle guy came around to the near side of the truck. “Ten o’clock. Noon. Two o’clock,” she said to herself, practicing the movements with her weapon. Her movements were extremely quick and precise, the results of over a decade of intense practice. She knew this was going to be like a draw in a western movie. Carter had to kill them all before they could train their weapons on her. “Ten o’clock. Noon. Two o’clock.” She took another few seconds to rehearse. Her version of the P90, was not the one available for civilian use. Hers had a fully automatic selector switch, like the kind used by the U.S. Secret Service. The two-stage trigger setup allowed her to pull on it slightly and produce semi-automatic fire, or squeeze the trigger all the way back to produce fully automatic fire. Agent Carter toggled the switch to automatic and shifted her trigger finger from alongside the gun barrel to resting on the trigger.

  Bracing the gun against the inside of her right shoulder, she snuck out from behind the tree. The sound of her firing, caught the hostiles by surprise. The gun was magazine fed from the top and the shell casings ejected from the bottom, clinking on the rocks by her feet as she shot. Just like she’d practiced she fired groups of bullets at ten, twelve and two o’clocks. Three sequences of rapid fire shooting and the men were all dead.

  “Boyd!” her uncle shouted.

  She instinctively hit the ground and rolled over. The fourth hostile was crouch-running towards them, from behind. By the time his weapon fired, he was just a little late. The bullets sailed over Boyd’s head, right where she’d been standing. Carter was faster. Holding her weapon with one stiff outstretched arm, she fired a string of bullets into his head.

  The whole thing was over in less than half a minute. She looked down at her uncle. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, petrified.

  “It’s over, uncle. I got ‘em.”

  She could see that he was truly terrified. It reminded her of how different her life really was from the average person.

  “Uncle. I’m sorry about your truck. Go check it out and see if it will get us to Kona. I’m going to see who these guys were.”

  He stayed frozen in place.

  “Hey, Uncle. It’s over.” She knelt down and shook his shoulder. Then she gently caressed his face. “You okay?”

  “I saw him but I couldn’t shoot him.”

  “It’s okay. It’s o--kay. He’s dead now. I got him.”

  “I couldn’t shoot.”

  “You saved my life with your voice,” Boyd said, gently prying her Glock out of his hand. S
he helped him to his feet and he exhaled a deep shuddering breath.

  “Boyd. You’re bleeding.”

  She looked down at her legs. Multiple scrapes and cuts were producing blood. It was trickling down her legs in various locations. “Not the best day to wear shorts, huh? These will all heal up.”

  “It looks like you might get some new scars.”

  “Do you have a First Aid Kit in the truck?”

  He nodded. “I’ll get it.” Tasked with something to focus on, he seemed to come out of shock.

  “Just wait at the truck. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

  “Okay, Boyd.”

  She stooped down and carefully picked up her shell casings, putting them into her pockets, counting twenty-two them. “Pretty efficient shooting, there, Hellcat,” she said to herself, heading towards the fourth hostile. She wanted to find out who had been trying to kill her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Leonard was shaken and angry. He couldn’t believe that another LaunchPad member had been attacked. Boyd had just texted him a cryptic text:

  Kill team hit. I’m fine. Update in 60.

  He came out of the conference room and walked up to Michi and Jasmine. “Did you get Trey’s comms up and running?”

  “We just tested it. We’re good to go,” Michi answered. “They’ll be Blue Team.” She noticed an agitated look on his face. “Dr. Stone, are you okay?”

  “Gather everybody back in the conference room,” he said, turning around and heading back to where he had just come from. “When are Justin and Bora going to be here?”

  “In about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay,” he said, sounding more relieved. He realized that the two ladies might think he was angry at them, so he turned to face Michi and Jasmine. “Boyd was just attacked in Hawaii. She’s fine. I don’t have any other details. But a professional group of operators just tried to kill her. They were unsuccessful, and she’ll give us more in an hour. I’m guessing she’s processing the scene and then finding a safe place to go.”