Rogue Operator (30 page)

Morrison
pursed his lips, then looked over as his wounded man was pushed up and through
the hole. “Excuse me,” he said, leaving Armstrong. He strode over to his man
and took a knee. “How ya doing, son?”

“I’ll be
fine, sir,” replied the young man, barely out of diapers as far as Morrison was
concerned. “My body armor caught most of it.”

Morrison
looked at the medic who nodded. “Some cracked ribs, minor flesh wound. He’ll be
in fighting shape in no time.”

Morrison
patted the young man on the shoulder, smiling. “You did good today, I’ll come
check on you later.”

“Yes,
sir, thank you, sir.”

Morrison
stood and strode back to his van when he heard the comm tucked into his ear
activate.

“No joy,
sir. We found an open grate at the end. Whoever was with Tucker is gone, over.”

Shit!

Morrison
activated his comm. “Flash the coordinates to HQ, then return to street level,
hand over the scene to the FBI. We’re heading back to Langley, out.” Morrison
climbed in the passenger seat, closing the door. He closed his eyes, then fished
out his phone, hitting speed dial.

“This is
Morrison. I want eyes on the coordinates just flashed to you. Go back fifteen
minutes, see if you can spot anyone exiting and where they went.” He hung up,
his eyes still closed. He was dead tired, having barely slept in two days.

Finch,
where the hell are you?

The Assembly Safe House

Brad Finch sat, feet up, sipping a cognac worth more an ounce than a
working stiff’s best suit. He had been lucky. Damned lucky. The moment he heard
the grate being pulled aside, he had jumped up and yanked the electrical wire
feeding the lights, plunging the underground into darkness. He fired a single
shot at the team, illuminated from the removed manhole cover above, then he hit
the deck. After they ceased fire, he had risen and silently made his escape
while the team in pursuit of him found Tucker’s body, presuming he was the
shooter. Within minutes he was outside, and into the waiting car, whisked away
to this luxury abode overlooking the Potomac.

Now,
with The Assembly’s help, you’ll disappear, never to be seen again.

The
Assembly.

The mere
thought sent a shiver down his spine, and a surge of pride that he was a
member. He’d never forget the day he was approached, fifteen years ago. He had
just filed the papers to create BlackTide. He had grand dreams, but he was also
grounded in reality. He knew it would be a long, tough slog to try and get
contracts, and it would be an even longer time before he would be able to
afford to hire others to help him expand the business.

But when
two men showed up one day with briefcases of cash, saying they represented a
group that wanted to invest, he had jumped at the opportunity, especially when
he heard the terms. None, save one. They would provide the startup capital,
they would provide the contracts, and he would run his company, unimpeded. But
one day they would ask a favor, and he wouldn’t be able to say no.

He had
agreed with a handshake, and never heard from them again. He used the money to
fund the startup, and he won contract after contract with little effort, and
had almost forgotten his anonymous benefactors, until a year ago. He had been
picked up in the middle of the night, driven to some location, the black sack
over his head keeping it a secret, then introduced to a group of men, sitting
around a large, round table, every one of them backlit so he could only see
their silhouettes, he sitting in the center, their voices mechanically altered
so he couldn’t recognize them.

It was
the most nerve racking night of his life.

If he were
asked to describe who The Assembly were, he wouldn’t for fear of death, but if
he could, he would describe them as the one percent of the one percent. The
companies they controlled, the stock markets they manipulated, the central
banks they owned, were stunning. And that was just the sampler he was given to
convince him of their power. He had no doubt they owned far more.

“
We
are the hearts and minds of the world,” had said one of the men. “We control
its destiny, for the good of all mankind.”

He dared
not question them, despite their plan for triggering a war that could kill
millions if not tens or hundreds of millions.

“It is
time for renewal. It is time for war. The planet will survive, the planet will
thrive. Millions may die, but with death comes life, a renewed vibrancy that
erupts from the hearts of nations wanting to rebuild, looking for joy and
happiness amongst the destruction. Look at Germany today, look at Japan today.
Destroyed, reduced to nothing but their population, and even that, decimated,
so many of their young men gone. But within a generation, recovery, within two,
dominance. It is time for a rebirth in America, and for future Chinese
dominance to be checked.”

“A world
dominated by a Communist superpower is not acceptable,” had said another voice.
“Our plan will prevent that, and save America and the capitalist way of life.”

“But
what if it goes nuclear?” he had asked.

“Then it
goes nuclear. We are prepared for that. Why do you think we have been
developing antiballistic missile shields for years, against treaty? Every
eventuality has been planned for.”

“What if
we lose?”

“America
will never lose,” said a female voice. “With over two hundred million firearms
in the hands of private citizens, no army in the world is big enough to hold
her. American partisans would make certain of that. And once she had tossed off
the yoke of her oppressors, she would emerge stronger than ever, and her
enemies weaker than ever.”

“We have
planned for every eventuality,” summarized the first voice, who Finch took to
be the leader. “We project we will win, decisively, achieving the majority of
our goals, within two years of the war starting. Outlier possibilities have the
war dragging for almost a decade until both sides sue for peace, thus achieving
our goals regardless, only on a longer term, and should the remote possibility
we lose occur, within a generation we shall achieve victory through rebellion.”

“But
what of yourselves? Won’t you risk being destroyed along with America?”

There
were chuckles around the table.

“Son, we
will go wherever we have to go to live however we want to live. Our scenarios
specifically leave Europe alone for that very purpose. However you think too
short term. We are but the current generation of The Assembly. It has been
around for far longer than you can imagine.”

And the
lights had gone out, leaving him in the pitch dark. Hands on his arms had led
him back to the car, and he was returned to his house, and handed a file with
his orders.

And the
plan for three scientists and their families to be kidnapped were soon under
development.

Footfalls
had his closed eyes popping open as he turned toward the sound. It was a woman,
early forties, gorgeous, exuding nothing but class. She owned the room, and one
look at her revealed all you needed to know about her.

She was
power.

And he
had no idea who she was.

“You
failed.”

A pit
formed in the bottom of his stomach as her words cleaved away any confidence he
might have had a moment before.

“N-n-no,”
he stammered, leaning forward and putting the drink down. “The mission was a
success. The scientists are in place, as are their families. You’ll have your
war!”

She
stepped down into the sunken area he was sitting in, and took a seat opposite
him. “You were discovered, the plan has been discovered, and now
we
risk
exposure.”

“It was
Erickson. He must have spoken, not me. Not my people.” He leaned back, trying
to look comfortable, but failing miserably. “Don’t worry about the FBI. They’ll
find nothing.”

“They
found your offsite backup location and raided it two hours before you knew
anything was happening.”

Finch’s
heart sank, then he shook his head. “No matter, there’s nothing in there about
you. I never wrote anything down, never mentioned The Assembly to anyone.
There’s nothing to trace back to you.”

“We are
aware of that.”

Huh?
“You are?” he stammered. “Well, of course you are. You trusted me
enough to bring me in, so you know I wouldn’t be stupid enough to record
anything.” He opened his hands in a gesture hoping to indicate all was well.
“So there’s nothing to worry about. Your secret is safe. Any evidence they have
linking BlackTide to the operation is irrelevant since the operation has been
completed, and BlackTide is just a company easily replaced. I just need to
disappear, and when the President takes action to retrieve his citizens, your
war will begin.”

She
stared at him, her eyes boring into his soul, as if he were being assessed for
some purpose larger than he feared he’d want. She stood up and left the room,
her heels clicking on the Italian marble tile, until they faded to nothing.

Finch
sat there for several minutes, wondering what would happen next, when he heard
a screaming sound, as if Hell itself had just been torn open. His head spun
toward the sound, but it was everywhere. The floor began to vibrate, then
rumble, and moments later an avalanche of flame rolled toward him and he
screamed as the entire interior of the home erupted into a ball of fire,
consuming everything, including one Bradley Finch, CEO of BlackTide, and Top of
the FBI’s most wanted list.

And
outside the residence, there was no evidence anything was amiss at all as The
Assembly cleanup crew arrived to help Brad Finch disappear, never to be seen
again.

Sino-Korean Friendship Bridge, North Korean Border, Dandong, China

If the wood floor Kane was under collapsed, he’d most certainly die.
He had no idea how many pounds of potatoes were on top of him, but it had to be
in the thousands. This was Chan’s insertion plan. And it was a good one. The
truck was specially designed with a false bottom, and a raised bed near the
cab, that if emptied of its load, looked perfectly natural. It was used to
smuggle goods and people in and out, feeding the elite within the country with
their contraband, and allowing them to escape when needed, sometimes just for a
vacation in China, other times for good if they felt the regime were about to
turn on them.

But it
was uncomfortable. Kane had loaded his equipment inside, then lay down, face
first, in the cramped space. The cover was nailed into place, the truck loaded,
then it bounced off to the border, Chan’s trusted man at the wheel. The dank earthy
stench of the potatoes was overwhelming, and mixed with the diesel fumes from a
vehicle that would make an EPA inspector flee in horror, it left him gasping
for breath. But it wouldn’t be for long, assuming they had no problem at the
border.

Unlike
the southern border with their mortal enemy South Korea, the northern border
with their lone friend in the world, China, was fairly relaxed. Yes the guards
were armed to the teeth, but there was no worry about invasion, and the North
Koreans were eager for the goods that China brought across the border, so much
so that several free trade districts had been set up where Chinese merchants
freely entered the country on a regular basis to hawk their wares to the
populace.

A double
smack on the driver’s door rang through the frame of the truck, alerting Kane
they were nearing the border crossing. He rested his head on his hands, a rag
over his mouth and nose to reduce the chances of him sneezing, and closed his
eyes, relaxing. There was nothing he could do now. If they searched the
vehicle, he should be fine. If they thoroughly searched it, he’d be caught.

And
killed. Eventually.

The
truck stuttered to a halt, its brakes probably long ago worn past any pads it
might have known, and he heard chatter between the driver and the Chinese side
of the border.

This
wasn’t the problem area. The Chinese didn’t care what left their country; they
were only concerned with what came in. And for the right bribe, they would
happily look the other way regardless. After a few minutes, the truck rumbled
forward again, and he heard the distinct sound of the metal bridge as they
crossed the Yalu River. The truck stopped again, and he heard yelling. This he
expected, the North Koreans of the mindset that the louder they were, the more
intimidating and important they appeared, and the more likely their superiors
would assume they were doing their jobs well.

Korean
was a language he hadn’t yet mastered, but he had the basics. The very basics.
But that wouldn’t have helped, since everything was so muffled from the still
running engine, and the load of potatoes over his head. But he could recognize
when voices moved, and suddenly the yelling moved from the front of the vehicle
to the back, then the engine shut off, and he heard the distinct sound of a
round being chambered. Shots rang out, and at first he thought they had shot
the driver, until he heard the dull thuds as shot after shot erupted from a
submachine gun, exploding potatoes uncomfortably close to his hiding place.

He
winced, biting down hard on the handkerchief covering his face, as something
hit his shoulder. His eyes squeezed shut, he gritted through the pain as the
gunfire stopped, along with the voices. In the eerie silence, all he could hear
was his own pulse pounding in his ears, as he controlled his breathing, making
certain he remained painfully still.

There
was a shout, then the engine roared to life, was put in gear, and the truck
jerked forward. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but not daring let out
anything louder until they were several minutes from the crossing. His greatest
fear in this entire endeavor wasn’t dying as one might expect, it was the
driver losing his cool. He was supposed to deliver him near Yongampo, which was
only a few miles from the coast, and the same general area the satellite call
had been traced to. He knew it was about thirty minutes travel time, and as
each minute passed, he gained additional respect for the size of the set of
balls in the front seat.