Hunter (31 page)

The Wolf made it through the yard and laneways, and ran up the center of a side street toward the junction with 34th Avenue, where he'd parked the hire car. Right now, that was his best option for escape. If he got there quick enough he'd be out of the way before the cops even had time to get their shit together and spread out to search the immediate area. He'd become invisible again. The ability to vanish off the face of the earth and reappear at will was his specialty.

He chanced a quick look behind him. Nothing. He thought he'd seen someone following from the Clancy house but it looked like he'd shaken them. Good. With this many cops after him, the sooner he got out of America the better. He'd already made up his mind to write off the Clancy plan. He would now have to find another way of getting the ICTY off his back. But that could wait. It was no coincidence the American cops were all over him. The Wolf was convinced he'd been set up and in his mind there was only one person who could have arranged a tip-off like that.

The time had come. Drago was next to go and he would pay for this betrayal.

*

Morgan rushed through the yard and with another vault he was over the back fence and into a long
laneway. Without all the obstacles he could sprint, powering like an Olympic 100m champion, bursting onto the street with the same explosive power. In the dim light ahead, he could just see the light-colored sports coat running up the center of the road, but the Wolf was too far away for Morgan to risk a shot. Besides, a stray round in the middle of suburbia had too many unthinkable possibilities.

In lieu of shooting the shit out of the entire street, Morgan took to the sidewalk. He was keen to avoid what any experienced ex-soldier worth his salt would see as an obvious fire-lane - the center of the road - but it also meant he could gain vital ground while minimizing the chances of being seen by the Wolf until he was right on top of him. Morgan's legs were burning with the effort of the uphill sprint. Still, running was one of his core strengths, ever since his school days back in Western Australia, so now all twelve cylinders were kicking in.

The Wolf made it to 34th Avenue, rushing through a sudden line of cars buzzing by in both directions. Horns blasted and a couple swerved but he made it across the narrow road unscathed.

Meanwhile, hurtling forward at top speed, Morgan was almost at the intersection when a vehicle appeared from nowhere, reversing fast out of a driveway to his left, oblivious to Morgan's rapid acceleration across the front of the property. Fortunately, the Intrepid agent marked the sudden red hue of brake lights followed by the white flash of reversing lights just in time. As the old driver of the equally old sedan stamped on the gas - as he had thousands of times before - powering the car backward into the road,
Morgan leapt, skidded across the trunk and slid off the other side, landing perfectly back on the sidewalk.

He kept running.

Morgan hit 34th Avenue and turned into it with the speed of a passenger train perilously close to derailing around a tight bend. 60 feet away he saw the swerving cars, heard their blaring horns and, there, on the far side of the avenue, caught the Wolf wrenching at the driver's side door of a late-model Nissan Maxima. Fuck!

"Petrovic
"
Morgan bellowed. Vukasin Petrovic
The Wolf stopped cold. He had the driver's door open, had thrown the gun onto the passenger seat and was a breath away from getting in. With a hand on the door, one on the roof and one foot inside the vehicle, he turned his head a fraction, keeping his body partly shielded behind the door. His eyes fell upon Morgan across the street. Morgan's SIG Sauer P226 was up, aimed straight at his head.

"Do not move!" Morgan barked, moving slowly, closing the gap between the two of them, getting as close as possible before crossing the avenue. He was thankful that, for now at least, there was no more traffic in sight. "Step back from the door. Kick it shut and spread your arms out on the roof."

The Wolf didn't budge. He was holding out; buying time to work out a plan - Morgan knew it.

A stalemate ensued with Morgan on one side of the street and the Wolf frozen on the other.

Morgan fought every instinct to just shoot the bastard down in cold blood. He had every reason to kill Vukasin Petrovic purely by virtue of what he had done to Charly, let alone his track record of violence and
murder. But it wasn't the Intrepid way. It wasn't
Mor-gan's
way. The carnage in Albania had been brutal and bloody but there it had been kill or be killed. This was different. The world deserved the opportunity to deliver justice upon the Wolf and his twisted mentor Drago, and Morgan was determined to get them both before the judges of the ICTY. If there was any way to avoid bloodshed today, he had to try.

Morgan needed to maintain a covering position diagonally across from the Wolf. If Morgan was directly behind, he wouldn't be able to see the Wolf's hands if he tried anything. But staying where he was also meant that the Wolf was partially covered by the car and Morgan was exposed. He had to get across the road.

"Arms on the roof, Petrovic! Right now!"

No sooner had Morgan placed his foot upon the road and was advancing toward the Wolf than a VW Kombi van pulled from a side street, driving straight toward them. The flash of headlights momentarily blinded Morgan. It was all the distraction the Wolf needed.

In the moments the Kombi was between them, the Wolf got behind the wheel of the Nissan and got the engine running. After the VW passed a hail of gunfire erupted from the Nissan. Morgan threw himself to the right behind a parked car, instantly returning fire. The SIG found the Nissan but missed his target. Petrovic stamped on the pedal and tore away down 34th.

Morgan was back up, firing at the retreating Nissan. The rear window shattered and bullets ricocheted off the body work but Morgan didn't stop. He could hear sirens again. The cops had regrouped. Thank 
fuck! They'd be heading out to help him stop the Wolf. He ran on, harder than he'd ever run in his life. Morgan watched the tail lights of the Nissan get further and further away. The police sirens got thankfully louder. In a matter of seconds they'd meet the Wolf at the same intersection.
Go, boys!
Morgan willed them on.

But the Nissan vanished across the intersection ahead as the cops turned right, missing the Wolf completely. Instead, the red and blues rushed straight toward Morgan down 34th.

"No! No! You're going the wrong way. Turn around!"

From the middle of the road Morgan waved at the blinding headlights, urging them to turn around. There was no use. With a gut-wrenching sense of utter exasperation and failure, Alex Morgan could only watch as the Wolf slipped through his fingers while the police charged toward the only man they could see with a gun.

Seconds later Alex Morgan was surrounded by SWAT, a dozen gun barrels pointing at him, and being ordered to drop his weapon and get on the ground.

NATO AIR BASE, GEILENKIRCHEN, GERMANY
FIVE DAYS LATER

General Davenport stood patiently waiting while the ramp of the NATO MC-130E Hercules Combat Talon I was lowered.

The hangar had been selected for its distance from the main operational area of the base and was perfectly situated for the purpose of both maintaining the anonymity of the Intrepid personnel and enabling the process of preparing the aircraft for their mission to occur in secrecy. Davenport knew that a second identical aircraft was also inbound. Once on the ground it would join its brother within the hangar and the giant barn doors would be closed.

To an experienced eye, the distinctive nose configuration of these particular aircraft would be a dead giveaway as to their purpose. Therefore, it was best to minimize any local speculation by getting them within the hangar and out of view of the base as quickly as possible.

The hangar was brilliantly lit by an array of huge lights high in the scaffolded ceiling. Davenport watched with interest as trucks carrying equipment and petrol tankers emerged, while ground crew pre
pared to load and recondition the aircraft in readiness for the next, much more dangerous leg of its onward journey.

This was to be a quick turnaround. It had to be.

Davenport considered the grave significance of the hours that lay ahead for his agents. This operation would be their last opportunity to drop the net on the ICTY fugitives. If Intrepid missed them this time, the general knew in his gut that the Wolf would vanish forever and Drago, if he survived the Wolf, would die an old man, living in luxury, albeit in self-imposed exile, never to be punished for his crimes against humanity.

No, Dragoslav Obrenovic and Vukasin Petrovic had dodged the hangman's noose long enough. They must be caught and brought to justice. Of course, he mused, the ICTY could never impose so barbaric a punishment. But for Drago and the Wolf, if Davenport had his way, ending their miserable lives at the end of a rope would be an appropriate conclusion and he would happily release the trapdoor beneath their feet.

With the ramp finally down, Morgan and Sutherland walked out of the aircraft clad in black combat parachute jumpsuits with dive bags thrown over their shoulders, full of the same banter and camaraderie of shared experience that had so marked Davenport's own early years of service.

"Gentlemen," he said, shaking their hands as they reached him.

"Good evening, general," said Dave Sutherland. "Good to see you again."

"Sir," Alex Morgan responded. How like the boss, Morgan thought, to make a field visit resplendent in 
his finest navy blue pinstripe three-piece courtesy of Somerville & Son. Impeccable as ever.

"I'm afraid I can't overstate the urgency involved. It's imperative we get you back in the air the moment the aircraft and the equipment are ready to go."

"Understood, sir,' said Morgan.

"I expect Commander Sutherland has brought you up to speed during the flight:' Davenport began, "and you've had a chance to go over the new equipment?"

"Yes, sir. Dave's brought me up to speed on all the main points and the new gear he was trialing with the special forces back in the US." The two agents exchanged conspiratorial glances. Sutherland looked like the cat that got the cream.

"I think this is the perfect system for the extraction,' Sutherland said, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. "And I can't wait to personally strap those bastards into it."

"Well, let's hope they're still there so you can have your chance," said Davenport cautiously. "On that note, let's get underway. The pilots are advising me that they're planning on a three-and-a-half hour flight time. When you factor in the additional half an hour you'll need once they've dropped you in, we don't have a moment to spare. As soon as this briefing is concluded you'll be on your way. Come with me."

The general walked them to the back of the hangar where a huge shipping container bearing the logo of an international frozen foods company sat ominously upon an eight-wheeled trailer attached to a Volvo truck. A set of metal steps provided access to a door in the middle of the facing side of the container and 
the hum of activity from within told the two agents it wasn't designed for hauling refrigerated peas.

Like a captain returning to his ship, Davenport led them both inside and turned left, toward the back of the trailer. Hot on his heels, Morgan noted that the front half of the trailer was divided from the back by a heavy canvas curtain that, at this time, was zipped shut. There was no sound or light emitting from that end.

The rear section was a different story.

A surveillance operations console for remotely piloting an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, or UAV, ran a quarter of the length of the trailer along the opposite wall. Half-a-dozen large digital screens, a couple of keyboards and joysticks, and an array of communications and navigation gear filled the space from floor to ceiling. The screens were already relaying live infra-red footage from a UAV somewhere over the target area, while color stills taken during daylight of a remote mountaintop villa were displayed on the top right-hand screen. In front of it all sat two operators, who Morgan immediately recognized from the Intrepid Intelligence, Investigations and Communications Section in Lyon. Morgan knew them both to be former military surveillance experts.

He tapped each on the shoulder as he walked behind them.

"Pilot," he said to the first one, and, "mission commander", to the second. Both nodded. "And two more consoles like this back there?" he added, jerking his thumb toward the sealed-off front section of the trailer.

"Yes, sir," said the mission commander. "Not needed this time, though."

"Understood. So, what are we using," Morgan asked, "Reaper or Predator?"

"MQ-1/9 Predator;' answered the mission commander keenly. "Fitted with the Raytheon multi-spectral targeting system; on loan from the Italians."

"When you're ready, gentlemen," the general summoned.

The last quarter of the container was fitted out as a state-of-the-art briefing and operations room. More digital screens filled the available wall space, depicting not only the live-feed full-motion video from the Predator, but also satellite imagery and detailed map sections of southern Europe; specifically the southeastern corner of Serbia, with Kosovo to the west, Macedonia to the south and Bulgaria to the east. A round table sat in the middle of the room with seats along one side. Davenport was standing to the front of the screens, ready to commence proceedings.

"Right," said Davenport. "Pull up a pew, you two, and let's get started"