Trident's First Gleaming: A Special Operations Group Thriller (11 page)

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F
or several minutes, the Switchblade Whisper remained stationary about a klick northeast of the main terminal. Chris directed the cab driver toward its location, but the main road diverged away from the Switchblade Whisper. There didn’t seem to be a public road between Chris and his destination, so when the taxi reached a private road leading to the northeast, he told the driver to take it.

At the end of the road was a shipping company and a parking lot filled with a fleet of trucks and trailers. Now Chris was within three hundred meters of the Switchblade Whisper.

“Stop in front of the office building,” he commanded.

When the taxi came to a rest, Chris paid the fare and jumped out. He wanted to run but didn’t want to attract attention, so he swiftly walked instead. He crossed the shipping fleet parking lot and found another road that appeared to lead toward the target and followed it until he arrived within a hundred meters of his destination. Only a private airplane hangar stood between him and the Switchblade Whisper.

The noise of nearly half a dozen AKs opened fire, then at least a full dozen rattled off.

Where are you, Hannah?

He ran the length of the hangar, unzipped his travel duffel, and pulled out his HK416. Turning the corner, he discovered a small runway that seemed connected to the larger runway. He took cover behind a plane and some SUVs just as six Chinese fired north at a dozen Arabs, some from inside vehicles and others on foot.

Chris scanned their faces for anyone he might recognize.

Professor Mordet
.

Chris’s soul shuddered. Although he knew that good was more powerful than evil, he couldn’t shake the funk of fear the man’s presence conjured.

Truckloads of reinforcements, roughly thirty men, arrived next. Chris didn’t know if the reinforcements were from Turkey’s local bad guys, al Qaeda, or someone else entirely.

It appeared that the plane belonged to the Chinese, and they were attempting to fly the Switchblade Whisper out on it. As the Chinese fought to board the airplane, Mordet’s men fought to stop them. Even though Mordet’s men outnumbered the Chinese, the Chinese held their ground, battling for their lives.

Standing beside the hangar, Chris was too close to see if there was a sniper on top of the building, and the situation was unfolding too fast for him to do a detailed recon of the area. His gaze darted around, landing on an SUV whose tailpipes emitted thick exhaust fumes. The SUV’s location corresponded with the location of the Switchblade Whisper icon on Chris’s GPS.

When the fighting increased in intensity, he’d use the distraction to break cover and run behind the Chinese to the SUV. He hoped the two groups would be too busy combatting each other to notice him. Or if they did notice him, they’d have a difficult time breaking engagement to chase him. Nerves gripped his body. It would be risky, but letting the Chinese or Mordet get away on a plane with the Switchblade Whisper was unacceptable. He’d never be able to track them once they were airborne. If he was going to make a move, now was the time.

As soon as Chris sprang forward into action, his nerves settled. More often than not, it was the waiting before the action that caused him the most anxiety. Chris approached the SUV, and a Chinese driver with cropped hair became visible through the tinted windows. The vehicle’s electronic locks clicked. Continuing forward, Chris brought his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The SUV window blew out, and Chris’s bullets pinned the occupant to the interior. His rifle only emitted the noise of compressed air, blanketed by the chatter of the AKs. Another Chinese man sprang up inside the rear of the SUV. Chris blasted him through the glass.

Two hisses of air came from behind, and then two bullets whipped past him.

Somebody got the drop on me.

Neither of the shots seemed to have hit him, but it was possible he was too jacked up on adrenaline to notice. The source of the rounds was too quiet for the 7.62 mm enemy rounds; it sounded more like friendly fire from a sound-suppressed weapon. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted someone advancing toward him, rifle aimed forward and shooting.

Hannah!
Her shots dropped a Chinese shooter who’d been aiming at him. Then she hurried toward the SUV.

Chris reached through the busted driver’s-side window and opened the door. Then he unceremoniously dumped the driver on the tarmac before scooting over the console and taking his place in the passenger seat—he was primed for more shooting. The key already rested in the ignition, and the engine was running, ready to go.

Hannah hopped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. In the back of the SUV, something bulky lay hidden under a blanket. Chris crawled into the back to make sure the Switchblade Whisper was indeed where the GPS showed it to be. He lifted the blanket and saw the piece of wing and black box—the Switchblade Whisper.

“It’s here.” Then he shoved the bullet-riddled Chinese body out of the vehicle.

A hole blasted through the windshield, the bullet just missing him. Hannah shifted into drive and burned rubber. Chris returned to the passenger seat. The wind whistled through the hole in the windshield.

“You know your way out of here?” he asked.

“No.” She drove south. “You?”

“Not yet.” He examined his GPS and spotted an exit in the southeast corner of the runway. He pointed out the window. “There.”

She veered southeast and departed the runway.

“Turn right.”

She cranked on the steering wheel, and the SUV squealed around the corner.

“Take the left fork.”

Hannah swung the SUV left. The road cut straight through wide-open farmland for half a klick.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“Did you miss me?”

He pointed to a street on the right, directing her. “I did. I was worried, but I hoped that if I found the Switchblade Whisper, I’d find you.”

She turned down a long farm road, picking up speed easily. “I went back to the mountain to search for you, but the place had turned into a war zone. I was afraid something happened to you, but I figured you’d stay with the mission and track down the Switchblade Whisper, too.”

Chris looked behind to see if the Chinese or Mordet were following them, but they weren’t. He exhaled in relief. “I was lucky to meet you in Iraq,” he said softly. “And I was lucky you walked into my church in Dallas.”

She grinned. “Was it luck?”

He checked his GPS to see how close they were to the nearest US embassy. “I still hope we can put the world on pause someday.”

She smiled and pressed harder on the accelerator. “Me, too.”

The road they were on curved widely to the west then connected to the main artery, Ozal Boulevard, south of the airport. There was still no sign of the enemy behind them.

“I can navigate to the Embassy in Ankara,” he said. “We’ll see if they can transport us out of here with the Switchblade Whisper.”

“Let’s do it.”

“How’d you track it?” he asked. “I had the GPS.”

She pulled out a tracker similar to the one Chris had taken from Victor. “On the mountain, when I carried the wing, I planted my own tracking device. She paused for a moment and glanced over at Chris. Her eyes mellowed. “I told Jim Bob and Victor to wait for you, you know. But they wouldn’t. Then back at the resort, they invited me to their room, but the whole situation made gave me an uneasy feeling, so I told them I had to use the restroom first. Instead of going to the restroom, I bugged out.”

“Like a true ninja.”

She tilted her head at Chris’s GPS. “How’d you get that?”

Chris explained his trek down the mountain and back to the yacht, where he found Wolf murdered.

“Those bastards,” she blurted out. “Wolf was a good friend, and he saved my bacon more than once. Tell me you killed them both. Tell me you killed those bastards!”

Remembering what he’d done to Victor and Jim Bob brought no remorse or joy. “I killed them both.”

“Good.”

They passed the
gecekondos
, condos constructed hastily on the edge of Ankara, and after half an hour, they reached the heart of the city and passed mosques and government buildings until they reached the turnoff to the embassy. They pulled into the entrance and stopped in front of a large black security gate that remained closed.

“Do you have appointment?” a Turkish police officer asked. Another cop stood next to him. Both were dressed in black, wearing Turkish police insignia on their ball caps and shirts. Each wore a utility belt with pistol, ammo, radio, and other items. Just outside embassies around the world, the host nation was responsible for protecting the premises.

“Yes, we’re here to meet with the ambassador,” Hannah said.

“Do you have copy of appointment?” the officer asked.

“No,” Hannah said.

“What time is appointment?”

“Five minutes ago. We’re already late, so if you don’t mind…”

He looked at his clipboard and shuffled through papers. “What is your name?”

“Hannah Smith.”

The officer glanced through his papers before pointing to his clipboard. “I sorry, I don’t have appointment here.”

“There must be some mistake,” Hannah said. “Call him, please.”

“May I see passport, please?”

Hannah handed it to him.

“You, too.” He pointed at Chris.

Grudgingly, Chris handed over his passport.

The officer studied both documents. Then he made a call in Turkish on his radio. He had an earphone in his ear connected to the radio.

Chris and Hannah waited.

Finally, the officer returned their passports, and the gate opened.

Hannah drove through, only to be stopped by a second black gate. The first closed behind them. With a concrete wall to their immediate left and a small concrete security building to their immediate right, the only conventional way out was through the security building door.

Chris remained patient for the first fifteen minutes, but each subsequent passing minute made him feel like a caged animal. He stepped out of the SUV and knocked on the security building door, but no reply came.

“In case you forgot about us, we’re still here!” Chris called. No one responded, so he returned to the SUV. “If they don’t hurry, I’m going to climb on top of our SUV, jump onto the building, and lower myself into the embassy.”

“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet,” Hannah said.

He imagined someone dropping a lever and closing the walls on them. “I feel like they’re about to squash us like two halves of an orange. Make orange juice,” he said.

Another fifteen minutes later, voices and shuffling feet emanated from the security building. The door flew open, and a young armed Marine and three armed Americans wearing civilian clothes and flak jackets surrounded Chris and Hannah. The leader was the oldest of the three men in civilian clothes. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. “Put your hands up where we can see them!”

Chris and Hannah raised their hands. Then the front doors of their SUV opened, and M4 barrels were pointed at the pair. “Step out of the vehicle slowly!” Salt-and-Pepper commanded. It wasn’t clear who the men in civilian clothes were, but Chris guessed they were diplomatic security, tasked with protecting the embassy and its people.

As Chris and Hannah eased out of their vehicle, Chris contemplated making a break for it. As if Hannah could read his mind, she shook her head. On the roof of the security building stood another armed American in civilian clothes. Chris recognized him as a guy nicknamed Two-Face. During Army Ranger training, he’d cracked his temporal bone, which paralyzed one side of his mouth and left him with a permanent snarl. When he’d earned a spot in Delta Force, a.k.a. the Unit, the guys gave him his nickname. There were three main squadrons in the Unit: Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Two-Face was from Bravo Squadron. Later, in Iraq, Two-Face and his mates had operated alongside Chris and his Team as members of Task Force 88.

Two-Face was the only one kind enough not to aim his rifle at Chris. “Evening, Reverend.” He remembered Chris’s call sign.

“Evening, Two-Face,” Chris replied.

“Some nasty rumors floating around that you murdered some Agency boys in Syria, mate. Went out in a flash message to numerous embassies, in case you showed up.”

“Murdered?” Chris swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the charge and wondering how word traveled so fast.

“I don’t believe any of it, but as you can see, some people in the embassy are pissing themselves.”

“So that’s what this welcome party is about?” Chris asked.

Two-Face nodded. “Afraid so.”

“Hannah wasn’t involved, so you can release her.”

“I don’t know all the details,” Two-Face said. “I just think you two should let these gents do their job—clear up this misunderstanding. If you choose to escape, I can’t vouch for the others here, but I won’t try to stop you.”

Salt-and-Pepper seemed upset that Two-Face wasn’t going to stop Chris from escaping. “Put your hands behind your back!” he ordered.

Hannah shrugged her shoulders and put her hands behind her back. The Marine, sweat beading on his brow, snapped a pair of handcuffs on her.

No SEAL had ever been held prisoner of war, and Chris wasn’t about to break that tradition, but the embassy was not the enemy. “What exactly are we being arrested for?” he asked.

Nobody answered.

“Just humor them,” Hannah said. “The faster you let them put the handcuffs on, the faster we can sort this out.”

Chris sighed and put his hands behind his back. The handcuffs trembled as the young Marine put them on Chris. He removed Chris’s Glock from its holster and took his pocket-knife from his pants. Chris was feeling more and more like a trapped tiger, and more and more, he wanted to lash out at his nearest aggressor.

Salt-and-Pepper and his posse escorted Chris and Hannah through the small security building and out the back door. They walked outside along a road and into the back of the embassy, where they entered a brightly lit hallway.

Now what?