CHAPTER 83

THE LONE FIGURE STANDING on the rooftop was the sign that President Zubarev had taken the stage. The snipers couldn’t distinguish facial features at such a distance, so everything depended on time, place, and the signal from inside the perimeter. It was time to take their shots. Tasho moved from the spotting scope to his rifle. He took a final look at the wind and decided to bracket the shot. Calling wind was as much an art as a science, especially at this distance. He would make one wind hold himself and give Nizar a slightly different hold, statistically increasing the chances that one of their shots would find its mark. Winds were tricky.

“Confirm twelve-point-nine MILS of elevation. ”

Nizar looked at the dial on top of the optic. “Twelve-point-nine MILS confirmed. ”

“Hold two-point-nine MILS right. ”

“Two-point-nine MILS right, ” Nizar repeated.

“Ready. ”

“Three. . . two. . . one. ”

Boom! The sound inside the container was deafening, the overpressure event of their shots reverberating through the enclosed space. The propellant gases from the muzzle blew the cloth screens off the openings before the bullets left the barrels, the copper projectiles exiting the muzzles at just under three thousand feet per second. The bullets’ arc took them high above the physical obstacles that lay beneath the container and the colonnade during their 3. 171-second flight. Their total drop was over 970 inches from the muzzle to the target, accounted for by the 1, 000-yard zero and elevation adjustments made in the scope. The 13-mph west wind pushed the bullets 221 inches laterally as they flew.

Tasho had called the wind perfectly for his own shot, which meant that Nizar’s 350-grain bullet smashed into one of the colonnade’s pillars, showering the area with a puff of white dust that many onlookers mistook for an explosion.

The Shishani’s bullet created a different, grislier shower as it passed through President Zubarev’s abdomen, sending blood, bone, bowel tissue, and digested matter across the stage. The bullet severed the Russian president’s vertebrae, and gravity sent his body crashing downward before anyone knew what had happened.

Even had the band’s noise not drowned out the rifle’s report or the bullet’s sonic crack, he would have been on the ground before anyone heard it. Tasho and Nizar had completed their mission. Inshallah, it was time for the other shooter to complete his.

Reece saw the formation of agents moving toward the stage react instantly. Umbrella was shoved down and away from the stage by the agents closest to him. The crowd’s confused cries transformed into panicked screams as the band members dropped their instruments and dove for cover. A team of black-clad Counter-Assault Team agents wearing Kevlar body armor and helmets, armed with KAC SR-16 carbines, emerged from around the Vorontsov Palace and moved to dominate the terrain as Umbrella was rushed to safety by his detail.

With POTUS out of the line of fire, Reece turned his attention back to the Russian sniper that Freddy had seen standing alone on the roof. Unable to see him from his current vantage point, Reece moved to higher ground.

• • •

Freddy reached the roof level of the stairway and, not surprisingly, the door had been blocked. With no breaching equipment in his kit, Strain moved the selector switch on his carbine to full auto and emptied a magazine into the door, blasting the dead bolt and doorjamb into splinters of wood and metal. He ejected the empty magazine, inserted a fresh one from his chest rig, and slapped the bolt stop before kicking the door open and taking the corner onto the roof. He moved quickly since the element of surprise had been spoiled by the thirty brown-tip rounds that he’d sent through the door. He stepped laterally and saw a pool of blood expanding across the flat metal roof. As he continued, he saw the source of the blood ten yards away, the supine figure of the Secret Service agent assigned to the rooftop countersniper position. He wasn’t moving. Freddy took another step to his right and saw the long barrel of a Russian sniper rifle turning to face him, the sniper rising from his knees as he turned.

• • •

Freddy found the sniper in his scope and squeezed a half-dozen rapid-fire rounds into his torso, shooting him into the ground as he fell sideways onto the roof, his heavy rifle hitting the deck next to him. The SEAL fired two additional security rounds into the Russian’s head and dashed forward to assess the wounds of the American agent.

“Reece, we’ve got a man down up here. The threat is down, too. I say again, the threat is down. Over. ”

The Secret Service countersniper had been shot in the throat, undoubtedly by the suppressed Yarygin handgun lying on the roof beside the Russian sniper. Strain applied pressure to the American’s wound. He could feel a faint pulse as he pressed on the source of the bleeding, bright red blood flowing between his fingers as he knelt beside the gravely wounded agent.

“Reece, we need a medic on this roof ASAP. I’ve got a critical patient here, over. ”

“I’m working on it, Freddy. Over. ”

• • •

Nizar worked the bolt instinctively and loaded another round from the rifle’s magazine. Per his orders, he transitioned his scope to the three-story building to the right of the stage and corrected his elevation for the closer shot. He had already done the math on the wind and used the reticle to hold for the drift. His target was kneeling instead of in the prone position that Nizar expected, which made for an even easier target. He exhaled and began to take the slack out of the trigger.

• • •

Reece had lost sight of Freddy kneeling behind the roof’s parapet wall but, from his elevated position, he had a view of the SUVs containing the Ukrainian Alpha Group assaulters headed to support.

“Freddy, be advised the Alpha Team is on your street. They’ll have a medic with them, so just hold tight. Over. ”

“Roger that, Reece, is Umbrella safe? ”

“Check, he’s secure, Freddy, but President Zubarev is down. No idea where the shot came from, so stay down. ”

A chirping on the satellite phone alerted Reece to an incoming call.

“Freddy, we have a call coming in on the secure line. Stand by. ”

His right hand squeezing the wounded agent’s neck, Freddy reached his left hand up to activate his radio.

Reece would never get a response.

• • •

Nizar felt the recoil and muzzle blast. Russian down. Two Russians down.

He turned to face Tasho.

“We did it, Tasho, ” a smiling Nizar said.

“That we did, Nizar. ”

The older sniper put his head back to his scope for one last look at the chaos they had created and almost simultaneously felt a strange slap to the right side of his head. His face felt warm and wet as he turned back toward Nizar, wondering why he was having trouble seeing.

Nizar fired two more rounds from the suppressed Stechkin pistol into his sniper partner’s head, just as he had been instructed by General Yedid. A Chechen needed to be blamed for this. Nizar understood that he was an expendable asset, like the legend he had just killed. Today he was thankful that he wasn’t Chechen. He wiped Tasho’s blood from his eyes and saw his lifeless body slumped forward over his rifle in a pool of crimson. The student bests the master. His ears rang both from the suppressed rifle shots and from the even louder blast of the 9x18mm in the close confines of the container; the darkened steel box stank of sweat, blood, and burnt gunpowder. It was time to disappear.

• • •

“Hello, ” Reece said into the phone.

“Mr. Strain? ” the voice asked over the encrypted satellite link.

“No, it’s Ree. . . uh, Donovan, ” Reece answered.

“Ah, Mr. Donovan, this is Dr. Belanger. May I speak to Mr. Strain. It’s an urgent matter. ”

“You’ll have to settle for me, Doc. Things just got crazy here. ”

“Very well. Something didn’t sit right with me on General Yedid’s interrogation, so I spent some additional time with him. I’ll spare you the details but after some additional persuasion, I have something for you. ”

“Tell me, but make it quick. ”

“The snipers are not your only threat. ”

“What? ”

“Have you heard of the nerve agent Novichok? ”

“I have. Isn’t it what killed that Russian spy in London recently? ”

“That is correct. The assassination in Great Britain was of a GRU agent named Sergei Skripal. The Russian government always denied any involvement. It would not be a stretch to think that it was a test of Novichok on an adversary of Andrenov. They would have known each other in the GRU. And remember, that was just a minute portion. Novichok is a binary compound that. . . ”

“Binary? What does that mean? You need to mix it? ”

“Yes. It was made to be stored in two parts in an attempt to bypass the Chemical Weapons Convention. Combined, they are more toxic than VX or sarin. Seven to ten times as lethal, to be precise. It was developed in Uzbekistan but that facility was dismantled by international inspectors led by the United States in 1999. It was always suspected that those binary compounds were sent to Russia and Syria. ”

“What are you telling me, Doc? That Yedid has a chemical weapons attack planned here? ”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. ”

“Shit! Is there an antidote? ” Reece asked urgently.

“Atropine can counter the chemical, but the doses required are in and of themselves lethal. ”

“How would they disperse it? ”

“Airborne would be the most effective. ”

“Airspace is shut down. It’s something else. ”

“Stand by, Mr. Donovan. I’ll ask our new source—General Yedid. ”

Reece waited an excruciating few minutes while filling in Agent Scheer on the latest development.

“With everything you’ve told me, this makes sense, ” she said. “The president is on his way back to the airfield. He’ll be airborne in minutes. ”

“Mr. Donovan. Mr. Donovan! ” the satellite phone barked back to life.

“Yeah. Go. ”

“It’s the catacombs. It’s not coming down from the air. It’s coming up from the catacombs beneath the square! ”

Shit!

“Kim! Where was that entrance to the catacombs? The one that led to the bar that’s sealed up! ”

“Follow me! ” she shouted as she sprinted for the door.

“Freddy? ” Reece keyed his radio. “Freddy! ” Damn radios.

There had not been an attempt on the president’s life since Reagan in 1981, and no matter how well trained, disciplined, and prepared the Secret Service was, an attempt on their principal with shots fired and another head of state down still resulted in chaos.

Reece knew chaos well. He’d lived with it as a constant companion in combat, learned to expect it and thrive in it. In chaos there was opportunity. In this case, it had led to opportunity for the enemy. Reece recognized that fact as clearly as if he’d planned it himself. If the Secret Service was converging on the president, as was their primary responsibility, that left local law enforcement liaisons covering down on the areas that had formerly been secured by the most effective protection force on the planet. It left those locations vulnerable.

Reece and Agent Scheer hit the street at a full sprint. As a member of the advance team, part of Kim’s job was to know all the routes of ingress and egress. She didn’t even pause to get her bearings. She knew exactly where to go.

“This is Scheer! ” The Secret Service agent yelled into her lapel mic as she wove through the street that was now clogged with people moving away from the confusion and congestion of the promenade. Police whistles blared, punctuating an already confusing scene.

Reece wished he had a long gun but also knew that might put him in the crosshairs of a local police officer just trying to do his job. Both Americans kept their sidearms in their holsters as they rushed toward the water.

“Where are we going? ” Reece yelled above the crowd.

“Stay close! We had an agent and local PD at all known entrances to the catacombs in the area. The closest is just at the base of these cliffs, ” she said, motioning ahead. “From what we could tell, none of them led directly under the colonnade. ”

They slowed their sprint as they approached the nearest cross street that hadn’t been shut down for the presidents’ speeches. Kim flashed her Secret Service badge at a police officer, who looked confused as to what to do in all the commotion as they darted through a chorus of blaring horns to the walkway that overlooked the Black Sea.

“There, ” Agent Scheer said, starting to move down the makeshift trail and pointing to the rocky beach about a hundred yards down from their position. “Let’s go. ”

“Hold on, ” Reece said, catching back up with her, scanning the beach and the surrounding area. “Where’s your agent? ”

“He should be moving to a link-up point and then converging on the president’s position, ” Scheer confirmed.

“Okay, looks clear, ” Reece said, “but I don’t see the local PD anywhere. ”

His eyes instinctively took in all the probable hide sites a sniper would use to cover the entrance to the catacombs below.

Take a breath, look around, make a call.

“There should be a uniformed officer down there, but you never really know with the host nation fo—”

Agent Scheer never finished her sentence. Reece was already throwing her to the ground as fully automatic rifle fire raked across their position. Kim was in the lead and took two rounds on her way to the dirt, Reece grabbing the back of her shirt and dragging her as he crawled to cover behind a huge boulder.

Three hundred yards down, halfway down the embankment.

It wasn’t the best position for the shooter. The fully automatic fire told Reece it wasn’t a sniper. Most likely it was the least experienced of the group whose responsibility was to guard the entrance, and he was doing just that.

“Where are you hit? ” Reece yelled, his hands searching for entrance and exit wounds, quite aware that they were in a bad position if there was a flanking element ready to maneuver.

“I, I. . . ”

“Where? ” Reece demanded.

“Leg. . . ” Kim said breathlessly.

Reece finished his assessment, his head on a swivel, going between Kim and the avenues of approach to their location. In the intensity that was combat it was easy to treat the first wound you found, while another, less obvious one drained the life from your injured comrade.

“Pressure, here! ” Reece ordered, placing Kim’s hand on her thigh. Blood had begun to seep through her pant leg. It didn’t look like an arterial bleed or a broken femur but now was the time to do the basics. He knew he should win the fight first but something in his DNA wouldn’t let him leave her in a growing pool of blood. He needed to work quickly.

“Do you have a tourniquet? ”

“Yes, ankle. ”

Reece reached down and pulled up her left pant leg. Nothing. Then the right. Wrapped around her leg, just above the ankle, was a combat tourniquet. Reece recognized the North American Rescue tourniquet as the same type he’d taken downrange on many a deployment, and he knew just how to use it. Sliding it over her leg just above what looked like at least two bullet wounds, he cinched it down, twisted the spindle, and secured it under a plastic catch.

“Give me your radio, ” Reece said, snatching it off her waist and yanking the wire out that led to her earpiece.

“This is James Donovan, ” he said into the radio. “I’m with Agent Scheer at just across. . . Kim, where are we? ”

“Across, across Chornomorsoka Street. Southwest of the colonnade, ” she panted, pain obvious in her eyes.

Reece pressed transmit again. “On the sea side of Chornomorsoka Street. Agent Scheer has been shot in the leg. We need agents and medical personnel on scene. Be aware, we have one enemy combatant approximately three hundred yards south of our position halfway down the hill. At least one shooter with a rifle. We have a chemical weapon threat to the area. Clear the colonnade. It’s Novichok and it’s in the catacombs now. Delivery mechanism unknown. ”

Reece didn’t wait for a reply. Instead he shoved the radio into Kim’s hand, ripped off his long-sleeve shirt, and started shoving it into her wound cavity.

“Fuck! That hurts! ” Kim gritted through clenched teeth.

“You are going to be fine. Keep monitoring the radio and guide them in. How many rounds do you have in that pistola? ” Reece asked.

“Twelve. One extra mag. ”

“Okay. Good, ” Reece said, recognizing the SIG P229 in. 357 SIG that Kim drew from her holster.

“You have a flashlight? ” Reece asked.

“Yes. ”

“Give it to me, ” Reece said, stuffing it into his pocket.

“I want you to start putting rounds into our bad guy or at least in his general vicinity. He’s about three hundred yards in front of us and about halfway down the embankment. There’s a lone tree just above him. Find that tree and start shooting about twenty yards down from it. Can you do that? ”

“Yes. What are you going to do? ”

“I’m going to flank him. You ready? ” Reece asked.

Kim looked up at the man who had transformed before her eyes into an instrument of war.

“Kim! ” Reece shouted. “Are you ready? ”

Kim nodded and pushed her back against the rock that had provided them sanctuary.

Reece moved to a knee, drawing the larger pistol the CIA had issued him for the trip, and handed it to the wounded Secret Service agent.

“I want you to start sending rounds as soon as I break cover. Action is faster than reaction, so I’ll be fine, but I need you to keep his head down. Shoot both your mags. You hold on to mine. That’s a backup in case they have anyone in the area we haven’t accounted for. That’s your last resort. ”

“What about you? ” Kim asked in astonishment. “Don’t you need a weapon? ”

“I’ve got an extra, ” Reece said.

Kim gazed into his brown eyes and shivered.

“Ready? ” he asked again. “Go! ”

Reece broke from cover as Kim rolled around the opposite side of the rock. She searched frantically for the tree, finding it and looking below it just as muzzle flashes began to erupt, sending rounds in Reece’s direction. Kim started shooting.

• • •

Reece charged up the embankment to the road and out of the line of fire, sprinting along the path at the top of the ridge. He felt strong. Traffic was at a standstill to his right, and pedestrians whose curiosity had drawn them to the sound of gunfire stopped to watch the strange man with the black backpack running at breakneck speed along the coast. He could hear the sound of Agent Scheer’s. 357 SIG behind him. The fully automatic fire stopped, its owner either behind cover or trying to find the source of the incoming rounds.

Always improve your fighting position.

Reece swung the backpack off his shoulders and reached inside, still moving at full speed. His hand found the wooden shaft of Freddy’s tomahawk. Leaving the backpack in his wake, Reece flipped the Kydex sheath off the ancient weapon and let it fall to the ground. He needed intel on the opposing force and the hawk would give him options that his pistol couldn’t. His legs pumped, his eyes evaluating the terrain while searching for threats.

Reece spotted his landmark. The lone tree on the slope. It was a hundred yards away, and he was closing fast. He had attempted to track Kim’s shots, knowing that she had only twenty-four rounds, but wasn’t sure of the exact count. It didn’t matter. He was committed.

Reece broke from the trail and cut down the steep embankment. Their assailant had found Kim’s position and was back on target. His fully auto approach was his mistake and it was going to cost him. Reece watched the earth move ahead of him as he charged down the incline. His target was concealed under a brown blanket and had rolled to his side to change mags when Reece pounced from above and just behind his left flank.

Reece drove the tomahawk down and deep just to the right of the shooter’s spine. With no body armor to contend with, the sharp blade made short work of the bone and muscle protecting the terrorist’s vital organs. Reece’s momentum and the intense spasms of the shooter’s body in reaction to the violent intrusion sent them tumbling fifty yards to the base of the hill.

They hit hard but not hard enough to do any real damage. Reece scrambled to his feet as his target struggled to untangle himself from his sling.

Reece was on him in a heartbeat, forcing him onto his back. The human body can take a lot of abuse and Reece’s initial strike was not enough to kill. As much as the primal side of him wanted to end it, he needed information. The former SEAL trapped the AK-type rifle with his left knee, crushing the windpipe with his left arm, tomahawk at the ready in his right.

“English? ” Reece hissed, glaring into the eyes of the man beneath him.

The eyes betrayed recognition and revulsion, but nothing more. Reece had seen eyes like that before. Eyes that revealed such burning hatred that the threat of death had no effect; death only delivered them to salvation.

With a possible chemical weapon attack on a civilian population imminent, Reece wasn’t about to wait for direction. Take charge and lead.

“How many men are in the tunnel? ”

This guy wasn’t going to say a word.

Knowing that he had been an active participant in a WMD attack made Reece’s next decision an easy one. He didn’t have time to take this guy apart piece by piece in the hopes he’d paint a clearer picture of the opposition awaiting him in the catacombs. A city of innocent men, women, and children needed him to finish this, and it didn’t matter how many enemy combatants were in the tunnels, Reece was going in. He pulled away from the man who had moments before had him pinned down with bursts of AK fire and swung the spike on the hilt of Freddy’s tomahawk down at an angle, through his temple into his brain. The body shuddered as Reece removed the hawk, spun it in his hand, and drove it blade-first through the skull to finish the job.

Reece removed and inspected the AK from the dead man. No magazine. He checked the chamber. Empty. He removed the last magazine from the shooter’s chest rig, pushed down on the top round with his thumb to ensure it was fully loaded, inserted it into the mag well, and racked the charging handle before moving back up the shoreline to a cement bunker with a rusted metal door: the entrance to the catacombs.

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