The elements of Task Force 99 reached the waterfront in eight minutes, out of breath and full of vigilance. The three teams spread to their assigned positions.
John Clark was no longer a military-age male. The brutal truth was that he was the grandfather of a military-age male. But that hadn’t changed his outlook on life. He prided himself on being exceptionally fit, and his commitment to his country never wavered. If there were threads of white in his hair, deep crinkles around his eyes, he made no effort to deny it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was happy to put it to good use.
As he and Ding hit the sidewalk bordering the broad beachfront plaza, Clark stooped slightly and added a hitch to his gait. Infirmity was hard to mask, simulating it far less so. Ding was in a different category, still young enough to be considered a threat; yet he had his own angle to play. His Latino heritage, sourcedhundreds of years earlier from hidalgo conquistadors, was directly traceable to Spain. And from where he stood at that moment, Spain was clearly visible across the Strait of Gibraltar. Chavez’s dark features were a solid fit on the streets of Tangier.
Together, they seemed an unremarkable pair. A retired European strolling with a local. Friends perhaps, or business acquaintances. Anything but a pair of Tier-1 operators, which was what they could become in the span of a heartbeat.
They moved slowly, both to support their casual guise and to buy time. Until they got eyes on Klaus, they were in no particular hurry. Behind dark sunglasses their eyes swept the streets with radar precision.
“Two o’clock, thirty yards,” Ding said.
Clark shifted his gaze and saw a chubby crew-cut man with Slavic features. Next to him was a brunette woman, ten years younger. “I’d say Russian, but it’d be an odd couple for the GRU. I’d put them down as a fugitive expat and his girlfriend-for-hire.”
“Yeah, I can buy that.”
The comm net crackled to life. “Three is in place,” Toussaint transmitted.
“One copies. Two?”
“Two arriving on station,” Wu responded. “Negative contact with Fulcrum, but we’ve got a bead on two guys straight from a GRU recruiting poster.”
“One copies. Stay chill and keep an eye out for bailout routes. Zero is headed for the marina, but that might have been a mistake. It’s pretty open in that direction.”
Wu and Toussaint acknowledged. Zero was a reference to Charlie—a call sign that had drawn no small amount of pre-mission levity.
From the moment they’d turned onto the boulevard, Clarkhad been gauging the field of play. It was useful to study surveillance before a mission, but he had never seen a battlespace that didn’t look different when viewed from ground level. The plaza across the street was wide, and beyond that a hundred yards of beach led to the sea. The shoreline was a hard constraint, cutting every option in half: ingress, egress, concealment. The sidewalks and plaza were busier than he’d expected, but the crowds weren’t overwhelming.
It was 4:17. He saw no sign of Klaus.
“Zero is on station,” Charlie announced. “I’m in contact with Gamer.”
Clark acknowledged and canted his gaze west. He easily picked out the Sprinter in the distant parking lot. Gamer was headquarters—Clark didn’t know who’d chosen that call sign, but he suspected they were communicating directly with the crew running the DIA’s newest technological marvel.
“Is Gamer on our comm?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Charlie replied. “Working that link.” This had been discussed in the planning brief. Charlie would have a direct line to Gamer via a laptop, but she wasn’t sure she could tie them in on the tactical net.
Clark decided it was time to close in, and he gave the order. He and Ding crossed the street and began meandering the plaza. They checked benches and walking paths, paying particular attention to singletons—it was conceivable that Klaus could mix into a group or conjure up a walking partner, but given his limited operational experience Clark doubted it.
“Three o’clock, across the street,” Ding muttered.
Clark glanced to his right and saw a pair of thugs standing beneath a hotel awning. They might have been waiting for a cab.Except there were three cabs nearby, their bored drivers leaning on fenders.
“Yep,” Clark agreed. “Those are definites.” He advised the others over the net.
“Do you think the Russians saw Klaus’s message to us?” Ding asked. “Figured out that this is the meet point?”
“Doubtful. They’ve got a presence, but the place isn’t crawling with Russians or mercs or whoever we’re up against.”
“What do you reckon their orders are if they see Klaus? Capture or kill?”
“A good question. I think we’ll get an answer in the next few minutes.”
It was 4:28.
51
DIA Headquarters
