Red Eagle Read online

  “ETA?”

  “We’re over halfway there, just a few more minutes.”

  He slapped a pulse oximeter on the Chief’s finger and frowned at the results. “I don’t think he’s got five minutes. Floor this damn thing. That’s an order.”

  “Finally! Taking responsibility!”

  The vehicle surged and Herrera laid on the horn as he hopped the curb onto the sidewalk. Jackson stole a glance out the front window, his eyes bulging as the crowds scattered and they gained speed. They rounded a corner, merging into smoothly flowing traffic with no screaming pedestrians.

  “Two hundred meters!”

  “Okay, the moment we get there, park it, get out, we get him inside. I don’t give a shit if you have to park it in the road.”

  “Roger that. One hundred meters.”

  The Chief groaned and Jackson returned his attention to him, gently lowering him back onto the seat.

  “Pocket.”

  Jackson stared at him. “Sir?”

  But he said nothing.

  “I think he said ‘pocket,’” yelled Herrera from the front seat.

  Jackson searched the Chief’s pockets, finding his wallet and keys, but nothing else. He grabbed the jacket he had cut away and began squeezing every square inch of it. He paused. There was something in the inside pocket. He reached in and pulled out a pack of gum. He flipped the top off and found half a dozen individually wrapped sticks of double-mint gum and smiled.

  “We’re here!”

  The vehicle jerked to a halt. Herrera threw open the door as Jackson reached behind him and unlatched his, kicking it open with his foot. A horn honked and a truck ripped the door off its hinges as it barreled past. Jackson cursed, but inched out as Herrera halted the traffic. He pulled the Chief from the back seat and Herrera grabbed him by the legs. They quickly carried him across two lanes of traffic and the door to their destination opened. Two men rushed out and helped them inside, then placed the Chief on a gurney and took him into the bowels of the building.

  A man turned to them. “Get that vehicle out of here. It’s drawing too much attention.”

  Herrera bolted outside to take care of it and Jackson activated his comm.

  “Control, this is Watchdog. The package is delivered, over.”

  “Copy that, Watchdog.”

  “And Control, he said something.”

  “What?”

  “He said ‘pocket.’ I found one of our chewing gum flash drives in his jacket pocket.”

  “Find a secure terminal immediately. We need whatever’s on that drive.”

  “Roger that.”

  6 |

  Somewhere over Virginia

  CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane checked his equipment one last time, making sure all the straps on the front were tight, as his girlfriend, Lee Fang, made sure everything was good with his chute from behind. She slapped him on the back twice.

  “You’re good.”

  He turned and did the same for her, as the other two jumpers crammed into the tiny Cessna performed their own checks. The pilot glanced over his shoulder.

  “We’re in position.”

  The jumpmaster gave a thumbs-up. “Copy that.” He twisted the handle and slid open the door, the cabin dropping in temperature as the wind whipped at them. Skydiving was routine for Kane due to his job, though Fang hadn’t done it since her exile. She had been a major in the Beijing Military Region Special Forces Unit, but after helping bring down those involved in a coup attempt in the United States, backed by corrupt Chinese generals, she could never return home.

  And she was bored.

  He was back home for at least a week, and she had planned a string of outings for them, all involving adrenaline. She was as much a junkie as he was. Tomorrow, she had arranged time on a nearby raceway where they would be driving stock cars. It was something he couldn’t wait for, and though today’s outing was routine for him, it would still be fun. They were diving from 10,000 feet. Nothing compared to the HALO jumps he’d been involved in too many times to count, but jumping from an airplane was about as much fun as you could have with your clothes on.

  A Mötley Crüe lyric flashed through his mind for a moment as he regarded the other two that were with them, strangers assigned to the same airplane. One appeared calm, but it was clear the other was nervous, though had to be an experienced jumper. You didn’t jump from 10,000 feet solo, if you didn’t have some previous jumps, but the first time was always nerve-racking.

  They were positioned in the aircraft by weight, so that the heaviest would jump first. The nervous one appeared to be carrying an extra 30 or 40 pounds, his companion perhaps 10 or 20. Nothing that anyone would notice. Fang was the lightest for obvious reasons, and Kane didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, leaving him lean on the scales.

  The jumpmaster slapped jumper number one on the back. “Okay, Richard, take your position!”

  Richard nodded, his forehead and upper lip beaded with sweat. He took his position in the door frame, carefully placing his feet and hands, his eyes bulging with fear.

  “You got this, buddy!” yelled his friend, trying to infuse his companion with some confidence.

  “Jump when ready!” shouted the jumpmaster in Richard’s ear.

  Richard didn’t budge.

  The jumpmaster leaned back in. “Are you okay?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Okay, then let’s do this! On three! One, two, three!” The jumpmaster slapped him on the back and Richard stepped away from the aircraft in perfect form, but made one critical mistake.

  He didn’t let go of the strut, and instead latched on to it with his free hand, his legs extending behind him as he hung on to the airplane traveling at almost 90 miles per hour, the wind mercilessly flapping him. The jumpmaster cursed as Richard’s friend laughed, not recognizing the danger.

  The pilot shouted over his shoulder. “I’m about to leave our airspace! Get him in or get him off!”

  Richard’s friend continued to laugh, not understanding what was going on. The jumpmaster reached out to grab Richard in what could be a deadly move. Kane shoved the friend out of the way, stepping forward and bracing himself in the doorway as he and the jumpmaster got a grip on Richard, careful not to accidentally undo any of his buckles and send him tumbling 10,000 feet to his death. They pulled him inside as the pilot throttled up the engines.

  “Get that door shut!”

  “I got him,” yelled Kane as he held Richard, bracing them both for the sharp bank about to occur. The jumpmaster let go and struggled to slide the door shut as the plane banked hard to the right. Kane reached back and grabbed some cargo netting to make sure he didn’t fall out while still holding Richard. Fang gripped him by the collar, contributing her strength to the struggle as the jumpmaster finally managed to close the door then latch it, removing the threat of anyone tumbling out of the plane. The din in the cabin settled and the plane leveled out.

  The pilot glanced back at them. “Is everybody okay?”

  Kane and Fang responded. “Affirmative,” but Richard and his friend, who had now recognized just how dangerous the situation was, were still trembling.

  Kane pushed Richard off him, returning him to his former position at the door, as everyone righted themselves. The jumpmaster grabbed the shaking man by the shoulders, staring him directly in the eyes.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Richard’s eyes were wide, his face white as a sheet. “I don’t know! When I jumped, something just told me to grab on!”

  The jumpmaster laughed. “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Nobody is forcing you to jump.”

  Richard stared at the cramped cabin, recognizing what Kane already had. If he didn’t jump, there wouldn’t be room for the rest of them to get around him, so they could complete their jump. The plane would have to land to let him off. “No, I’ll do it. I can do it.”

  “You sure?”

  Richard appeared anything but. “Yes.”
/>
  “Okay.”

  Kane’s CIA-customized TAG Hauer watch shot mild electrical impulses into his wrist, stealthily indicating to him he had a message. He turned toward Fang as he pressed the buttons along the side of the watch face in a coded sequence. Fang noticed and repositioned herself to shield what he was doing from the others. A message projected across the back of the crystal, and his eyes widened.

  Chief in critical condition. Urgent you make contact ASAP. CL.

  His heart leaped into his throat at the message, but he took a calming breath, centering himself.

  Now wasn’t the time for emotions.

  He cleared the message from the display as the pilot announced they were in position again. The door opened, the wind whistling once again, and the jumpmaster turned to Richard. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I think so.” Richard moved into position and the jumpmaster pulled out the pilot chute, gripping it in his hand before he slapped him on the back, ending the planned freefall.

  “On three, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “One! Two!” The jumpmaster shoved Richard out of the plane, tossing the pilot chute out after him, the blood-curdling scream quickly fading away. He turned to the others with a grin. “I always get them to go!” He contacted the ground. “Confirm Jumper One has a good chute, over.”

  “Confirmed. Jumper One has a good chute. Contact established. He’s pissed at you, over.”

  The jumpmaster laughed then slapped Richard’s friend on the arm. “He’s okay, but if you do your freefall as planned, you’ll probably beat him to the ground.” He reached for the door to close it for the next pass, when Kane stepped forward.

  “Sorry. Can’t wait.” He shoved Richard’s friend out of the way then leaped out of the side of the aircraft, the protests of the jumpmaster heard for a brief second. He spun onto his back and spotted Fang above him, the love of his life having followed him without hesitation. He gave her a thumbs-up and she returned it. He flipped back over and pressed his arms against his sides, aiming toward the ground as the protest became official over the speaker strapped to his chest.

  As the ground rapidly approached, Kane finally had a few moments to think about the message from his best friend, Chris Leroux. Over the years, Kane had had his run-ins with the head of Clandestine Services, Leif Morrison, but the man had always ultimately backed him, Kane’s loyalty no longer ever questioned, nor his abilities. In his business, you were given a mission, very few rules of engagement, and then sometimes let loose not to be heard from again until either the mission had succeeded or failed. Other times, you had the watchful eye of a controller, like Leroux, with billions of dollars of assets watching your back. But ultimately, you always needed someone at the top who had your back should something go wrong.

  And Morrison had been that man for years now. He was somebody he trusted. The question was what had happened to him? Was it something innocent, like a heart attack, or was it something more related to their line of work? He was leaning toward the latter—a medical issue wouldn’t merit Leroux using official channels to call him in.

  He checked his altimeter, waiting for the last possible second to deploy his chute. Whoever was on the other end of the speaker had already decided he was well past the time, pleading with him to pull his ripcord. Kane gripped it, continuing to monitor his altitude, then finally pulled. The chute yanked at him, giving him the false impression he was actually gaining altitude. He checked for a good chute, finding all four corners visible and the lines untangled, then grabbed his toggles. He spotted Fang with a good chute above him. He acquired his target below, the person on the other end of the speaker finally calming down and giving him instructions that were unnecessary.

  He spotted the circle marking the landing zone and aimed for it, and then as he gained his bearings, redirected his trajectory for the parking lot, for if something had happened to Morrison, then the shit was probably hitting the fan at Langley, and every minute wasted would mean another minute lost to either bring in whoever was responsible for what had happened, or deliver a message to the world that it should never happen again.

  7 |

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  “Transmission is coming in now.”

  Leroux turned to Tong. “How long?”

  “Sixty seconds, if the connection holds,” said Tong. “It’s coming in slow for some reason.”

  Randy Child spun in his chair. “Maybe it’s bouncing through India where all those damn call centers are trying to scam us.”

  Leroux grunted in agreement, though he doubted that was the cause. Thanks to the massive volume of scam phone calls, owning a landline had become almost pointless. He no longer had one, and used a cellphone app to block most calls. His parents continued to cling to the old technology under the false assumption that in a disaster they would be more dependable. That might have once been true, however everything was digital now, and once the power ran out at the switching station, those lines would fail as well, and the cellular towers had the same diesel generators that would keep them running.

  With cellular in an emergency it was always an issue of capacity. The system would function for the most part, but could become overwhelmed. The landline as a backup in those circumstances could arguably be a smart move, yet to never answer the phone because 99% of the time it was somebody trying to steal from you, was ridiculous and completely unnecessary. The phone companies knew where these calls originated. The vast majority were Voice Over IP calls passed through the Internet, the caller IDs spoofed to make it appear local or at least from your country. These could be blocked in the originating countries like India. Their governments had the ability to know where these calls were coming from as well, and it would be a simple matter to shut them down.

  Part of him believed it would never happen, because money was trading hands, so there was no incentive for these governments to act. But Western governments could act very simply if they had the courage. All they would need to do is simply pick the most egregious offenders such as India, and tell them, “We’re shutting down all incoming phone calls.” No, it wouldn’t block all the Internet-based calls, but it would target the population of the country, the individuals and businesses, and the government would be forced to take action and get serious on this plague that cost the economy billions upon billions of dollars, not just in money successfully scammed out of the unwitting victims, but of the time wasted. Every one of those calls cost time out of people’s lives, out of their personal productivity, and a business’ productivity. If the government ordered all incoming calls from India shut down tomorrow, the Indian government would act the next day, and once shown to be serious, the ban could be lifted the following day.

  Sometimes, all that was needed for the right thing to be done was to light a fire under someone’s ass. Governments did it all the time through sanctions. With bold, swift action, they could address the problem quickly. Would it stop it completely? Of course not, though other methods could reduce it to the point where it would merely be a nuisance.

  But for some reason, nobody seemed willing to act.

  “Got it,” said Tong.

  “Send it to our terminals, segregated. I don’t want any damned lockdowns triggering again.”

  “On its way.”

  Leroux took a seat and stared at the list of files showing a collection of documents, emails, and images. He squinted as he attempted to figure out just what it was he was looking at with little context to go on.

  “Check out ES-dot-doc,” said Tong. “It’s an executive summary.”

  Leroux pulled it up and quickly scanned it, his jaw dropping as he read what this was all about. Child, Therrien, and Tong all cursed almost in unison as they finally realized who their opponent might be, and why they were so willing to kill Americans with impunity.

  His head shook in disbelief the entire time as he worked his way through the summary of the flash drive contents found on t
he Chief. It was a complete dossier on Red Eagle and what he had done during the Cold War, and who he was today—a senior-level bureaucrat deep inside Russia’s new democratic dictatorship. He dealt with the financial side of things, and according to what Leroux was reading, had full access to the financials of the government.

  But none of that could explain what had happened minutes ago.

  “Holy shit,” muttered Tong.

  Leroux glanced at her. “What?”

  “Keep reading.”

  He returned his attention to the summary, Tong evidently ahead of him. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  “Could this be true?” she asked.

  Leroux shook his head in disbelief. “If it is, it explains exactly what just happened.” He kept reading as rapidly as he could, typing notes as he did so, and when he was finished, he sent everything to his laptop, his heart hammering with the implications of what he had just read. “Keep going through everything, focusing on who the hell Red Eagle actually is. We need a name and we need to find him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m going to brief the Director.”

  Tong pressed a finger against her ear. “Sir, I’ve got Kane on the line.”

  Leroux returned to his station, fitting his headpiece in place. “Hi, Dylan. Chris here.”

  “What’s going on? What’s happened to the Chief?”

  “He was shot four times in the back while at a meeting in Helsinki.”

  “What? Didn’t he have a security detail with him?”

  “Yes, eight people. Six are dead, the other two critically wounded.”

  “And the Chief?”

  “We got him to a secure medical facility alive, but whether he’s going to stay that way, we don’t know.”

  “What was the op, and what the hell was he doing on one?”

  “He was meeting with your handler, Thorn.”

  There was a pause. “Is she okay?”

  Leroux could hear the concern in his friend’s voice. “We don’t know. She was abducted at the same time.”