Torching the Crimson Flag Read online

  “That would explain the two hostiles on the runway,” Leo answered, thoughtfully. Fox’s gut instinct was exactly why David had wanted the operative in the office area with them. He quickly texted David to break off and go straight to the marina. “I think you’re exactly correct, kid.” He touched his comms. “Vegas, sitrep.”

  “We’re trying to figure out how to get two zip-tied hostiles down from the third floor. The staircase is blown to shreds, and Hemlock tied them up pretty good.”

  “I need you to stay there. You can keep figuring that out, but keep eyes on the runway in case a plane tries to land. We think that was their exfil plan.”

  “Copy that.”

  Trey could hear the conversation. “Hemlock awaiting orders.”

  “Get to the marina immediately. Pick up Eagle. We need to get that chopper in the air and after the Doral. It’s carrying our primary. Lakota will go with you.” There was silence, and Leo knew his son had other thoughts. “Feedback?”

  “I think Vegas comes with me, and Lakota comes here.”

  “Copy that. Vegas goes with you. Out.”

  Dr. Stone nodded to Fox. “He’s more comfortable with Bruce.”

  “And David.”

  Ashley glanced at her fiancé. His brow was deeply furrowed, and she noticed that his fists were tightly clenched on the handles of the walker and that his pulse was elevated. Clearly, not being there with their operator team at this moment was very hard for him to bear.

  “Fox, why didn’t the house catch fire with the grenade?” Ashley whispered to him in an effort to distract him from the source of his anxiety. He leaned over to her.

  “Fire needs three things: oxygen, fuel, and heat. If any of those are missing, you don’t get fire. A grenade detonation is hot, but brief, and the suddenness of it consumes all the nearby oxygen. So unless there is a very quick-burning source of fuel within range, there isn’t enough oxygen to ignite slower-burning fuels before the heat from the blast dissipates. Sometimes wooden houses will burn from a grenade blast if the wood is very dry, but not always. Besides, around here, everything is coated in salt spray. Salt is a natural fire-retardant.”

  “So that’s why the car exploded the way it did? The gasoline is more volatile than wood?”

  He nodded absent-mindedly, then turned to her. “It’s killing me not being on the field, Ashley.”

  “I know. But your input here is so important, and it’s helping.”

  “You were right, Fox,” Saara said. “The Doral is turning at the last minute and heading for the gap between the islands. It looks like they’re trying to get out to the open ocean through the Ocracoke Inlet between Ocracoke Island and Portsmouth Island.”

  Hearing her over their earpieces, Bruce and Trey sprinted for the Scout II.

  “I’ll get them. You stay with the chopper and get set up,” Agent Locke panted to Trey as they ran.

  As they got to the parking lot, there was a police barricade. Realizing who they were, the cops let them through. Bruce raced to the vehicle, but Trey stopped to talk to law enforcement.

  “I need your help with a miserable circumstance,” he said, catching his breath. “Our helicopter pilot was murdered by the Russians. His body is still in the chopper. We’re going to need that bird to go after our extremely high-value target, who has been kidnapped and is on a boat headed through Ocracoke Inlet.”

  The Deputy Sherriff nodded understandingly. “We’ll get an ambulance here right away. I’ll help with him personally.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks. It was a blood bath at the airport. Just giving you a heads-up. The Feds will be here soon. They might want to process Gary, too. So once he’s loaded up, just keep him here for now.”

  “What a crazy thing.”

  Trey nodded as the two of them started jogging to the chopper.

  Bruce was driving hard. He came roaring into the roadside parking area by the Jolly Roger Pub & Marina, just in time to see Tank coming in hot across the harbor, known as Silver Lake, in the trawler. David wasn’t sailing far behind. The seaside boating area was a quaint, simple place, and a few tourists who somehow hadn’t gotten wind of the events transpiring on the other end of the island were finishing their dinners in various restaurants beside the water or just getting started at the bars. With two boats coming in, breaking every speed-limit for the harbor, and Cody’s bright yellow Scout II, driven by some stranger, screaming to a stop, people nearby were startled and staring. But it was also apparent that the place was far less busy than usual. Word had spread through the small town among the locals. A lot of people were staying put tonight.

  Bruce ran down to the main pier and called out towards the bar. “I need help! Please! Anyone who can secure these boats for me. It’s an emergency.”

  A group of three local salts stood up from their drinks and hurried out after him down to the dock. Tank had just maneuvered the Monk Trawler in next to the pier and was throwing his kit off the boat. On the opposite side, David was pulling in too, bringing a sizable wake with him, to the dismay and chagrin of the gathering knots of local boaters who had appeared on neighboring piers to watch the drama. At the last possible second, he jammed the boat in reverse with expert precision and managed to bring it alongside the dock without doing damage either to the pier or the boat. He killed the engines and raced to get off, grabbing a line and tossing it over the side ahead of him as he scrambled.

  The locals from the bar understood what was needed. Two of them clambered aboard to make sure everything was adequately secured, and another grabbed fore and aft lines and cleated them off. Bruce was already hustling Tank and David towards the Scout. “Give the keys to the bartender!” he shouted as they ran. “The cops or the Feds will be here soon,” he called to the staff behind the bar. They appeared somewhat shocked. This was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence at the beautiful marina.

  “Get in!” Bruce said, jumping into the driver’s side.

  As they tore in a u-turn, David was shaking his head. “I’m getting too old for this!”

  “Nonsense,” Tank chided. “It’s making you younger.”

  “So, what’s the plan.”

  Racing back down the island road, Bruce updated the men on the situation at the airport. Then he outlined their plan to leave Tank to guard the airport and chase the Doral by helicopter.

  “Is Gary spinning up already?” David asked.

  Bruce had been dreading this moment. He steeled himself.

  “David, the Russians got to him. He’s gone. They shot him in the cockpit.”

  Hirsch was silent. Bruce suddenly realized he probably knew what David was thinking. He’d just lost another longtime friend on a LaunchPad mission.

  “David. I’m so sorry. I …”

  Tank chimed in, too. “Yeah, Mr. Hirsch. Me, too. I … I don’t know what to say either.”

  The airport was on the way to the beach parking lot, so Bruce dropped Tank off and then sped the half-mile to where the chopper was. By the time they arrived, the ambulance was in the middle of loading Gary’s body. Hirsch had paled at the sight.

  “Dammit, I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Bruce turned around after he’d parked. “We need to get this mission done. Not just for the President of the United States, for our country and for Nathan Harris.”

  A few of the cops were in and around the chopper. They’d done a pretty impressive job of cleaning most of the blood out of it in such a short time, but obviously, they couldn’t get it all. Bruce got his kit and caught up to Hirsch, who had jogged over to the body. He stepped back, respectfully, as David put his hand on top of the zipped black body-bag.

  Trey had been setting up his gear when he saw the lifeguard vehicle arrive. He climbed out, walked over to the ambulance, and gave his “uncle” a big hug. The two held on to each other for a moment.

  “Alright. Let’s get these bastards,” David said, pulling away, but squeezing Trey’s shoulder as he did.

  Chapter F
orty-Five

  Tala Cruz and her son Matteo had never in their lives experienced anything like the day they’d just had. The four-year-old woke up first, of course. But he was too occupied by the room to wake his mom up right away, for over thirty minutes he sat by the portal staring out the glass at the shimmering ocean in the morning light. Then he explored every part of the room. It was only after he flushed the toilet that his mother stirred. She sat up suddenly, forgetting where she was, and then remembering, she fell back into her bed, the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept on, she thought as she did, drifting back asleep.

  Seeing that his mother was waking up, Matteo went to the door and slid back the bolt. He decided to venture out and explore. He could smell bacon, so he decided to follow his nose.

  When Tala finally sat up, she was shocked to find her son gone. She dashed out of her room and down a short hallway only to find Matteo sitting at a large table in the stateroom like a king. There was a woman she didn’t know, serving him.

  “You must be Matteo’s mother,” she said with a sweet smile, her blue eyes sparkling, and her blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail.

  “My name is Tala.”

  “Wonderful! Welcome aboard the Salacia V. My name is Heather, and I’m the steward on board. It’s my job to take care of you. There’s also a chef, a deckhand, an engineer, and of course, Captain Michaelson. Your son has already met him.”

  “So sorry. Was he a bother?”

  “Oh, no! He’s welcome to go anywhere he likes on the boat except the bridge, the engine room, and our bedrooms. But if he wants to see any of those spaces, we’re happy to escort him. Would you like some breakfast?”

  Tala felt a little silly for having been so afraid. At the same time, with everything she’d been through, she couldn’t help her reactions. “I think I’d like to go clean up and get dressed first. Is he okay here?”

  “Yes, he’s just fine,” Heather answered. “After the two of you have eaten, I’ll go over a safety briefing that we take every guest through. It’s a requirement of maritime laws and our insurance agency. Would you like to take some coffee with you?”

  “Okay. Thank you so much.”

  The rest of the day was filled with more food. The chef was from Spain, and the food he produced for them throughout the day was as exquisite and luxurious as the rest of the yacht. The five-man team of operators that had rescued Tala and Matteo were stationed around the vessel, focused on security and nothing else, which led to a lot of personal attention for Tala and her son from Heather and the handsome young deckhand Jeff. At one point, they anchored off a small island, and the two spent a few hours swimming in the ocean. Heather even took Tala jet skiing.

  In the back of her mind, she knew the magic wasn’t going to last. Everything that ever happened to her was expensive. Someone was paying these men who had killed Mako. And someone was paying for this yacht and all the food. Cruz understood that something was going to be required of her. She tried not to worry about it and just hoped it wouldn’t be too dreadful and that her son would be safe. She was grateful that, for this day at least, she could just focus on Matteo. He was enjoying every second on this boat, and even though he was too young to remember it later in life, maybe the joy of the moment would bring some sort of healing. It was all she could manage to silence the nagging negativity in her mind even just temporarily.

  Chen Ma was about to blow a gasket. “Listen to me,” he said threateningly. “You said that if I was the decoy, you guaranteed me a safe exit off this island.”

  The only Russian who spoke English shrugged. “We weren’t expecting to lose both our team at the airport and our boat.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “It is now. We’re all in this together.”

  Chen’s blood was boiling. He looked out the front window and could see the police forming a checkpoint on the only road that led out of the neighborhood. “What kind of weapons do we have?”

  The three Russians pulled out their guns and put them on the table. All were semi-automatic pistols—super light GSh-18s with magazine capacities of eighteen rounds.

  “That’s it?”

  They nodded.

  “What do you have?” the Russian asked.

  “Nothing. It was such a last-minute decision to jump off the boat, that I didn’t bring anything with me.”

  “I think our only move is to take out those cops, steal their car, and get as far as we can.”

  “How do these work?” Chen asked, taking a gun off the table. “They’re used by Spetsnaz, right?”

  The English speaker nodded.

  “Is that what you guys are? Where’s the safety on these things?”

  Before they could answer, Chen flicked the safety off and fired bullets into all three guys. He unloaded the whole gun.

  “You’re hired thugs,” he spat. “Real Spetsnaz would have never laid their weapons on the table.” He stood up and looked out the window, “I’ll be better off on my own.”

  For the next five minutes, Chen rearranged the bodies, wiped the gun he’d used and carefully placed it in the hands of the English speaker. Then he took one of the other guns and shot the guy in the leg. He put the gun he’d just used on the floor after wrapping a dead man’s hand around it to impress prints. It wasn’t a perfect murder-suicide scene by any means, but it would have to do. He took the third gun, tucked it in his waist and then retrieved his backpack from where he’d left it in the bedroom. It had a few other weapons in it.

  Nathan had gotten most of his puke into the boat’s head. He stood up, found a towel and wiped the rest of it off the floor, putting the cloth in the trash. Then he turned to the sink and splashed water on his face. With nothing to dry off with, he rubbed his face against his sweat-drenched sleeve—everything stank. Harris looked in the mirror and saw the pallor returning to his face. He left the master cabin and climbed up the boat stairs, clinging to the railings as the vessel continued to surge forward wildly through the waves. The Chinese man who never spoke, was sitting on the bench at the stern, staring behind them. He was looking aft for David’s boat, but not seeing it. The captain was focused on steering, standing in front of a white leather bench-seat in the cockpit. Sasha was seated beside him and turned around when Nathan came up. He noticed she’d taken off her shirt and was just wearing a sports bra. When she turned back around to face the bow, Nathan spotted the tattoo on her shoulder. He recognized it immediately. The pyramid, the eye, the serpent wrapped around it, and the dragon fire. Although there were many variations, he was sure he knew whom she served. There had been many meetings at the White House to discuss the threat of Chinese gang influence in the United States. They were involved in everything from trafficking illegal liquor in Arab nations and moving weapons through North Korea, to running prison gangs in Southeast Asia and leveraging elections in parts of Africa.

  “You’re Triad?” he shouted above the engine noise.

  Sasha turned around. She got up and came over to him, and as she did, he sat down on a bench that ran parallel with the side of the boat.

  “I am. But I’m just a low-level computer programmer.”

  “Why do I think you’re lying?”

  “You’re a smart guy, Nathan Harris. And you know exactly where I’m from, don’t you?”

  “Portland, Oregon. Bethany, actually. You went to university in Seattle, but then lived in London, Sydney, Singapore, Boston, Paris, and Dallas.”

  “Wow!” she responded, genuinely shocked. “How’d you do that?”

  “Subtle ways that you pronounce certain words.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting a place?”

  Dr. Harris nodded. “Your most recent place of residence.”

  She waited.

  “Rome.”

  Sasha turned away from him and looked straight ahead, they had passed through the Ocracoke Inlet and the breakwater outside it and were heading into open ocean water, now. The waves were much bigger out here, and somehow that
made the motion of the boat more manageable. Instead of launching off the crests of the smaller waves and landing in the troughs as they’d been doing, the captain was able to angle the boat through the waves so that it maintained better contact with the water.

  Sasha wasn’t a highly trained operative, Nathan realized now. She was a programmer, a code monkey. Rather than work creating apps for insurance companies, she’d decided to risk her life for a more significant cause—whatever that was. Her blonde hair flowed behind her in the wind, and the sun shone off her lithe frame. Even in this environment, she was a very self-contained person. Everything about her was both methodical and competent. Suddenly he had the thought that if the circumstances had been different—very different—he might have even been interested in getting to know her better. But right now, he just wanted to build rapport and hopefully stay alive.

  “I’m guessing this wasn’t the plan?”

  “Not exactly,” she admitted. “My team was supposed to use you and then hand you over to the Russians who were going to ask you some questions.”

  “Torture me, get me to talk, and then kill me?”

  “Probably. I don’t know.”

  He shuddered. “They would’ve succeeded. I’m sure. I’ve got a very low tolerance level for pain.”

  She grinned. “Me, too.”

  “So, I’m confused. You have Russian heritage. But, are you working with them or the Chinese?”

  “That’s the problem with Americans. They like to lump everything together. Just because a Chinese person does something doesn’t mean it’s ‘the Chinese.’ I work with whomever I feel like.”

  Nathan noted that she didn’t answer the question. He decided to push a little further. “So there’s no foreign government involvement.”

  Again, she didn’t answer. Instead, she faced Harris, and her eyes turned to ice. “Tell me something, Nathan. “Are you just an innocent translator, neutrally serving whoever is in office? Or do you pick sides?”