29. Places, everyone. Its showtime!
Chapter 29
Places, everyone. It's showtime!
TOMER
I recognize the value of my role behind the console when running an op, but sometimes I need to be hands-on. This is one of those times.
It’s fucking personal.
Fortunately, I have a people at HQ who I trust implicitly to have my back.
We’re divided into two teams with three of us on each. A third team is on call. Boss, Klein, and Junior could be a fourth team if our initial surveillance pass gives us cause for concern.
I’m on alpha team with Leo and Sawyer. Bravo team is Shep, Jonesy, and Aaron. Despite riding together in one van, we’ll be dropped at two different recon locations.
Alexei’s instructions said our contact would meet us behind a strip mall. After we survey the area, the two teams will approach from opposite sides to rendezvous with the target.
Henderson will remain in the van, circling the nearby roads surrounding the target destination to provide additional eyes.
The strip mall parking lot is empty this late at night, and most of the stores have long gone out of business. Given this side of town is a bit rundown, there won’t be many witnesses in the area.
Clearly, our asset wants to keep the hand-off a secret. Discretion is critical in something like this, especially if they’re trying to dismantle the mafia from within.
On the downside, there’s no witnesses if they swoop in with all their fucking goons and try to take us out. For all we know, we’re walking into an ambush.
But like I told Lettie, we’re prepared.
And heavily fucking armed.
We’re about two blocks from the meeting spot when Henderson slows to a roll near a small patch of trees that backs up to some older houses. “Alpha team, this is your stop.”
Leo exits stealthily from the front seat, silently closing his door and opening the slider. Sawyer and I egress, landing on silent feet. We instantly crouch low and disappear into the tree line. Someone in the van will close the door behind us, so we don’t bother.
My hearing hones in on the near-silent purr of the drone as it passes overhead.
Klein pilots our eyes in the sky from HQ. “We’ve got eyes on you, alpha team. Nice dismount.”
Once we’re covered by the overgrown vegetation, we drop behind a wide bank of dwarf palmetto bushes.
Perfect. We’ll get stabbed before we’re even within striking distance of the enemy.
Fucking palm fronds.
Serving as our team lead, Leo provides a status for HQ. “Alpha team in recon position.”
I lower my NODs, resting them on the bridge of my nose, and zoom in on the rear of the building. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the greenish hue of the night vision in these things. I was never a fan, but it’s necessary to carry out missions in low lighting unless you want to wave around a big-ass flashlight and give away your position like an FNG. Nice way to get shot.
Scanning from side to side, I detect no movement along the back of the structure.
“As expected, the strip mall is approximately three hundred feet long. Limited lighting,” Leo mutters.
“Five rear doors for the individual businesses. All closed. No sign of pedestrian activity,” Sawyer adds.
“No visible cameras on the roof or along the fence,” I report.
Calling it a fence is a little generous. The chain-link barrier lining the back of the property is fucking cut, lifted, and rolled in so many directions it’s barely identifiable.
Sawyer continues with his call out. “One vehicle parked behind the building. A black sedan. Dark tinted windows. It’s on the east end, near the dumpster.”
Interesting that the informant would park there when we’re supposed to meet at the west rear corner of the alley behind the strip mall.
Adrenaline begins flowing through me. “Can you run the plate, Klein?”
Klein’s response is gruff and not fucking helpful to the mission. “Fuck no. The way they’re backed up, I can’t see it unless I get the drone between the fucking bumper and dumpster.”
My agitation at these fucking mosquitoes and lack of viable intel approaches throat punch levels. “Do you at least recognize the vehicle from our surveillance?”
“Negative. It’s not one we’ve been tracking.”
“Of course not,” I grumble under my breath like a tantrum-throwing teen.
“Is the car running?” Leo asks.
“I can’t tell,” I answer, then swat a mosquito drinking from my neck.
Another swat, this time on the tiny patch of exposed skin on my forearm. Hanging out in the wooded brush in Florida at night—not a fan.
Fucking fieldwork.
Probably snakes in here too. So many lizards. Lettie would freak. Hope she isn’t paying too much attention to our cam footage.
At least we’re far enough from water to avoid becoming gator food. Most likely.
Boss’s deep timbre cuts through the comms. “Team, target location is too dark for my liking. But my gut says to proceed once bravo gets in position.”
“How’s your gut, Lionheart?” Sawyer asks, oddly accent-free.
“Nice and peaceful,” he responds coolly.
Both their guts are calm? You can take that check to the bank. It’s as good as backed by the Federal Reserve and blessed by the Pope.
Mia cracks her mic for the first time since we arrived on the scene. “Teams, we’ve only got one heat signature in the car. Driver’s seat. Vehicle is running with the air conditioning on. No interior lights on at present, so our vision is limited.”
I lock my eyes on the car, angling to see who is inside. “Can you tell anything else about the tango?”
“Not from how they’re sitting,” she responds with frustration braided in her words.
Klein comes through next. “Bravo team, we see you. Move into your recon position. Jeeves, start circling.”
“Wilco,” Henderson replies, ignoring the joke about him being the chauffeur.
Even the Tomer of old would have had a retort to that.
“Bravo team is in recon position,” Shep announces.
They’re stationed approximately eighty feet west of the target destination. No wooded patch for them to hide in, so they’re taking cover on the far side of a dollar store, which is also closed for the night. A few trees on the side of the parking lot and a dumpster behind the building will provide some measure of cover for them. Once in place, they should have an unobstructed view of the alley behind the strip mall. Especially if Jonesy finds a spot to assume overwatch. Most likely, he’ll get on the roof with his rifle.
Since the architect said our contact would meet us on the rear west of the structure, bravo team was supposed to be in backup position while alpha team approached from the east. With the contact’s car parking on the east side near the dumpster, bravo team is farther away, and my team has less room to stage our approach.
Should still be fine, though. I don’t see a reason to alter the strategy at this juncture.
Big Al gives us the okay to continue the mission. “Teams, so far, I see no reason to call for backup. We’re Charlie Mike. Alpha, proceed to your secondary.”
Off we go, moving closer to the alley to prepare for contact.
Lionheart takes the lead, his big strides eating up a path that Sawyer and I follow.“Alpha team on the move.”
Low to the ground, we move swiftly past the trees and bushes, keeping our eyes peeled and heads on a swivel.I’m in the middle, and Sawyer has our six.
“Found my perch on the roof for overwatch. I’m in position,” Jonesy announces, sending a wave of relief cascading over me.
Nothing better than knowing we’ve got a sharpshooter in a bird’s nest.
“Second drone is ready for deployment,” Aaron announces.
Big Al will be piloting that for us. His tone holds a measure of excitement when he says,“And we have liftoff. I’ve got eyes on the front of the building.”
With Boss watching via the drone in the front, Klein controlling the one flying over the alley where the meetup will be, Henderson looping the nearby intersections, and the ground teams approaching from both sides toward the target location, we should be covered.
Leo holds his closed fist over his shoulder, takes a knee, and points his gun at the ten o’clock position.
Sawyer and I freeze instantly, our weapons extended and eyes on our respective sectors for coverage. We each take a third of the 360 degrees surrounding our cluster. Sawyer spins to face the rear to cover the sector anchored in the six o’clock position. Dropping down, I face two o’clock to cover my sector.
“Clear,” I whisper.
Sawyer does the same.
Lionheart doesn’t respond yet, and I lock in on the sound of his breathing. I’m tempted to look over my shoulder to see what he sees, but that’s not protocol, and I don’t want to fucking die tonight.
“Leo, are you clear?” Mia asks.
“Clear,” he finally responds.
A single layer of tension melts from my shoulders. “What the fuck was that, Leo?”
“Heard something. Felt it too.”
Fuck.
“Boss, how’s the gut?” Sawyer asks, his thoughts likely mirroring mine.
“Still good. Proceed.”
We resume, creeping along slower this time. With Lionheart setting the pace, I’m at the mercy of his gut.
About ten steps from our secondary location, Klein alerts, “Movement in the vehicle.”
Simultaneously, Leo’s steps stall, and I bend the fucking knee again, watching my sector.
“We’re fucking exposed out here, buddy,” Sawyer cautions.
“Two more steps, and we’re in the direct line of sight with the driver of that car,” he responds in a clipped tone.“I heard something a-fucking-gain.”
“We believe the target got a call,” Mia explains. “The light from the phone screen illuminates his face. We have visual.”
His face.Our first clue about who it is.
My gut plummets to the floor when I hear a frightened wail in the background, coming through behind Mia’s voice.
“Lettie?” I whisper-yell into my microphone, heart jumping into my throat. “What’s happening?”
“All good. Charlie Mike,” Klein instructs us.
In defiance, I seethe, “No, I’m not continuing the fucking mission until I know if she’s okay.”
She’s not all right. She’s fucking terrified.
I know that fucking cry. I held her while she wailed and sobbed, making the same fucking sound. Far too many times in the last several weeks when flashbacks hit her, I loved her through it. Whatever she saw on the drone footage brought one on. Or whoever she saw.
“She’s okay, T. Stay focused,” Boss tries to mollify me.
“What’s wrong with Lettie? What did she see?”
They don’t answer, which tells me more than words could.
There’s only one fucking person who makes her wail like that.
Every time they open a mic line, I hear sounds that have been haunting me for weeks.
Enunciating each syllable, I demand, “Who is the fucking target? Mia? Klein? Boss? Someone fucking answer me.”
Rage blinds me.
A mic line opens from the lair, and Lettie’s muffled crying from the background reaches my ears once more. Her sobs are muted faintly by a feminine voice attempting to comfort her. Sue or Sammy, perhaps. At least she’s not alone.
With a pained, feminine sigh, Mia’s breath sails over the din, anguish woven into the sound of the air leaving her chest.
Abandoning my sector, I twist my frame and aim the muzzle of my SIG at the front of the vehicle. My finger drifts closer to the trigger, and a shiver born from the vengeance I’ve been carrying runs along my spine. “Who is the fucking informant, Mia?”
When she finally answers, it’s the last name I wanted to hear.
The one person I refuse to negotiate with, even if it means taking down the whole fucking bratva. The man I’ve dreamed of killing since the day Lettie confirmed his involvement.
“It’s Viktor Lenkov.”