Читать книгу Critical Exposure - Don Pendleton - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

Istanbul, Turkey

Gastone Amocacci wasn’t pleased to hear the latest report regarding their operations in Colorado.

The Council wouldn’t be happy, either, although Amocacci worried much less about that than he did about how this would affect the overall timetable. So far they had only managed to counter three of the most recent special operations. So few was infuriating. He pushed down the anger that manifested itself as bile in his throat. In reality, those victories had proved no small feat. Not only had their intelligence been right about the operations, but they’d managed to conduct them at points across the globe. This proved the initial reach of the Council, but more, it proved that reach could expand. Yes, growth potential would be realized if they were able to continue to operate in secret.

This most recent incident in Colorado, however, threatened that possibility, and Amocacci knew his allies would expect him to deal with it. Swiftly and decisively; anything less would constitute a failure of a magnitude Amocacci didn’t even wish to entertain on a hypothetical basis. That idiot Shoup had screwed things up royally, and now Amocacci was forced to clean up the mess. Fortunately he’d managed to provide the diversion they’d needed, so with any luck they would be able to mitigate the damage. The guy from the DIA who called himself Colonel Stone, an obvious alias, would have a very nice surprise waiting for him in Guatemala.

Yes, a nice surprise indeed.

Amocacci tossed the fake paperwork into his briefcase, shut off the lights and left his office in downtown Istanbul. His driver took him across town to the airport, where he boarded his private helicopter and made for his home in the foothills. Amocacci liked to make it look as if he were a successful, fat-cat businessman. His cover as a successful exporter of Turkish goods had served him much better than any other he’d attempted in the past because it allowed him to grease the palms of certain government officials. Unfortunately he didn’t own any of it. All of his belongings, including his very personage, were community property of the Council.

The Council of Luminárii, also known as the Council of Lights, was composed of former and current high-rankers from some of the most active intelligence services in the world. It included representatives from the British SIS, Russian GRU, Mossad, Chinese MSS and the Turkish NIO. The Council also boasted informants and connections from nearly every intelligence service in the Middle East and a half-dozen in Europe.

Thus far, Amocacci had only been able to recruit support from the DIA within North America. There had been no Canadian takers at all, and the one CIA case officer Amocacci had approached had had the poor grace to kill himself rather than risk the exposure that such an organization had been operating in Turkey on his watch. Amocacci had merely shaken his head when he’d learned the news.

Amocacci jumped from the chopper and walked hunched over as he headed toward the house constructed with the funds from the coffers of the Council founders. Amocacci had contributed only a small portion, his funds limited after he’d left his position as an Italian police officer attached to Interpol. He’d been a dedicated officer until the death of his family; the net result of an intelligence operation gone very wrong. The criminals Amocacci had been trying to apprehend had discovered they had an informant inside their organization.

The informant had talked, blown the entire operation wide open, unbeknown to the task force assigned to the takedown. When the time came, there had been no criminals to be found. Many had been luckier than Amocacci, having lost their lives alongside those of their immediate family, but Amocacci had been on assignment when the criminals had killed his wife, two sons and his sister-in-law, who’d had the poor misfortune to be visiting at the time. Amocacci had immediately resigned his post and hunted down every last one of the bastards.

Unfortunately it hadn’t been enough for him and that’s when he created the Council of Luminárii. The Council had grown beyond anything he’d been able to comprehend, though, and although he’d started it he found himself mired in politics. The Council worked effectively, still, but Amocacci was in too deep, as were all the rest of them. Nobody left the Council unless feetfirst, and nobody would dare betray them by becoming slack. There were other punishments worse than death.

But Amocacci didn’t hate the Council. Far from it. In fact, he’d dedicated his life to eliminating special operations and intelligence where it would mean the compromise or death of bystanders, or create political upheaval where none need exist. The other Council members were as tired of their respective superiors creating havoc in the world as Amocacci, and they had finally reached a point where they could do something about it. These first few victories, as small as they might seem, were just demonstrations, a test bench to prove that the Council could work effectively on a macrocosmic scale, a global scale, and that those efforts could make a difference in the international intelligence community.

Amocacci entered the estate, dropped his briefcase on the antique table near the massive double front doors through which the housekeeper had admitted him. She tugged the overcoat from his shoulders as she advised him that the lady of the house had gone out for the evening. Ah, yes, Lady Allegra Fellini was every bit a woman as she was a consummate companion to Amocacci. They’d met while she was on vacation in Crete and Amocacci was on Council business. For more than a year Fellini had shared his table and his bed, and she’d never expected anything of him. It was a perfect match, and he’d been more than agreeable to her taking up somewhat of a permanent residence at the estate.

Amocacci acknowledged the housekeeper’s notice, advised her he would be ready for dinner in about an hour, and then entered his study. He secured the doors behind him and took the access tunnel—hidden behind a full-length mirror that doubled as a door—to the headquarters of the Council. The remainder of the Council of Luminárii was already present and awaiting him. From the looks on their respective faces, they had been waiting for some time. All the rest of them had made their entrance through a hidden elevator set off a private access road that wound its way from the Eastern Thrace regional capital of Kirklareli.

It was in Kirklareli that the Council had established its urban headquarters, and only when the members needed to meet did they travel to their stronghold in the Yildiz Mountains. Their setting up residence in the region hadn’t been by accident. This part of Turkey had proved a most invaluable location from which to base their operations as it allowed them proximity to both European and Middle Eastern theaters. That had paid off more than once, and they’d been allowed to operate with significant impunity and right under the noses of Turkish officials, who seemed to remain woefully ignorant. Of course, their massive infrastructure had allowed them to establish a number of front companies and a paper trail that, if inspected closely, would have led anyone straight to nothing.

And all by design, Amocacci thought with a smile as he entered the massive conference room.

The first to greet him was Mikhail Ryzkhov of the Russian GRU, a pudgy and red-faced man in his mid-sixties who ate too much and drank too much vodka. Not that it mattered, since he still had an uncanny mind and was a genius on the small-unit tactics of at least half a dozen countries, including the United States. But he was a staunch Communist in a time where communism had long lost favor over more modern socialism with a progressive turn, and while the Russians kept him on, they did so at a considerable arm’s length.

“Well, Gastone,” Ryzkhov said. “It’s about time you joined us!”

“Were you worried, comrade?”

“Not so much,” Ryzkhov replied quietly as he turned his attention to his drink, now feeling a bit foolish for his outburst.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I was unavoidably detained,” Amocacci said as he took his seat at the table.

It was massive and as round as a doughnut, again by design. The idea was that all of them were on equal ground and nobody necessarily took the head of Council. Despite that, it had become a rather unspoken edict that while Amocacci was no lesser or better than the rest of them, the Council had been his idea and so in that light he did act as a chair, of sorts. It was more of a figurehead title than much else, and Amocacci had never really taken to it, figuring more that it just gave all the rest of them someone to blame when things went wrong.

“I hope you weren’t detained by bad news,” replied a voice with a cultured but clipped British accent.

Amocacci let his gaze rest on the SIS case officer for Bulgaria, Hurley Willham. A former member of the British SAS and later a military intelligence analyst, Willham was known for his unique affiliations with agents from intelligence services. He had connections on most every continent. In fact, it was Willham who had approached a number of American agents with a proposition to join the Council, but all of them had turned him down. Still, Willham had managed to recruit the chief Israeli representative on the Council, Lev Penzak of the Mossad.

“I wish I could answer in the negative, Hurley, but unfortunately I can’t,” Amocacci said. “All three of our test operations went off without any problems. But...it would seem our potential contact in America fucked up.”

Penzak, a fifty-eight-year-old man with a big nose, square jaw, wild gray hair and deep brown eyes, shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s appropriate to refer to him as ‘our’ contact, Gastone.”

“We share everything, don’t we?” Amocacci replied easily with a wave. “Anyway, I’ve managed to mitigate the circumstances in our favor. Our operation in Colorado has been discovered, but it’s of no consequence.”

“No consequence?” Willham inquired, one eyebrow arching studiously. “And what leads you to draw such a conclusion? The Colorado base provided us with the only way to intercept information on U.S. special operations. Without it—”

“We are no worse off,” cut in Quon Ma, a countersurveillance expert with the MSS. Amocacci and the rest of the group knew the least about Ma— something Amocacci assumed to be much by design—who had served in a number of high-ranking positions. Ma seemed almost apolitical in his views, but he was behind the Council a hundred percent and utterly trustworthy.

“You think not?” Willham asked.

Ma saw the bait his British counterpart dangled for what it was, but he took it anyway. “I do. There was no guarantee the secrecy of that operation would hold. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did, and for this, Gastone is to be commended. However, I also think this American Air Force officer...Shoup, is it? He’s become a liability we could do without. It’s too early in the program to risk exposure.”

“I’m forced to agree with Ma,” Penzak stated. “Shoup has to go.”

“I think it can be arranged,” Amocacci replied, managing to keep the disdain from his tone.

It wouldn’t do to be disrespectful to rebut the members of the Council. They had proved to be his greatest allies and to alienate them over such a trifle issue would have been a stroke of lunacy on Amocacci’s part, no matter how strongly he might disagree with them. Shoup had nearly blown it, but now he had to tell them of this other matter.

“I’m bothered by the fact that there’s another player who has inserted himself into the game now. His name is Colonel Brandon Stone and he’s an officer with American military intelligence.”

“Bah!” Ryzkhov cut in with a wave. “Complete fabrication...cover name, most likely.”

“What makes you think so?” Amocacci said. “Even Shoup couldn’t verify any falsehoods in his story.”

“Would this Stone be the same man who singlehandedly brought down our, er...I meant to say the Colorado operation?” Willham inquired.

Amocacci nodded.

“That’s very interesting,” Willham said.

“How so?” Penzak asked.

“Well, it would seem that something of that nature would have gone to the FBI, or even the Department of Homeland Security. For anyone to turn over such a potential threat to one officer in the DIA, even a colonel, sounds a bit out of step for U.S. intelligence efforts. After all, they know there’s a problem within the military intelligence circles.”

“Or at least they suspect it,” Ryzkhov said in an uncharacteristically agreeable tone. “So it wouldn’t make sense for them to send in someone from a potential pool of suspects. They’d go to the outside.”

“And so they probably have,” Ma said, inspecting his fingernails. “Clearly, this Stone isn’t whoever he wants to appear to be. I’d vote he be eliminated along with Shoup.”

“Listen,” Amocacci said. “Killing an American military officer is already going to draw significant attention. Killing two would bring down every American agency on us. It’s too risky. I can’t urge you enough to reconsider.”

“There may be another way,” Penzak said. He looked at Amocacci. “Didn’t you say you’d planned to send them on a wild-goose chase to Guatemala?”

“That is correct.”

“Well, then, why not turn the Islamic Brotherhood on to that fact? We know they’re operating in Guatemala, and to score such a victory against the Americans would do their cause well. Nobody would question it if an American special operation in a foreign country met with a few dead military officers.”

Willham nodded enthusiastically. “Not to mention those bloody wimps at the Pentagon would never let something like that go public. It would be too humiliating for them.”

“It might be able to get done,” Amocacci said. “The trouble is I have no contacts with the Islamic extremists in that part of the world.”

“I think I can help with that,” Penzak said. “With one phone call.”

Even as nods of approval commenced around the table, Amocacci couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt.

Tyndall AFB, Florida

“I DON’T LIKE him,” Mack Bolan announced.

“Who?” Grimaldi asked.

“Major Shoup. He just rubs me wrong.”

Grimaldi looked stoic. “You think he’s lying?”

“I think he might be,” the Executioner replied. “Whatever else, I’m going to have to watch my back every second. Or I could wind up with a knife in it right when I’m not looking.”

“So maybe going to Guatemala with him and his team isn’t such a wise thing.”

They sat in the VIP quarters at the base with an array of weapons disassembled on the small, simple table in front of them along with a cleaning kit for various calibers. Bolan ruminated as he worked mechanically on his deadly hardware. “I’m really only going for the lift.”

“I could give you that, Sarge.”

“You will.” Bolan winked at his friend. “In a way.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re going to take the jet down on your own. Once there, I need for you to arrange for a civilian chopper.”

“A civvie job won’t be of much good in a hot LZ, Sarge,” Grimaldi replied. “Although I’m guessing you already know that.”

“I do.” Bolan ran a bore cleaner through the barrel of his Beretta 93-R before saying, “I need something small and quick. There’s a lot of jungle terrain, and you won’t have much in the way of maneuvering room.”

“So there is a method to your madness.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“You think there’ll be trouble.”

“I’m betting on it,” Bolan said. “It all seemed just a little too timely that Shoup and his people had a finger on this from the outset. Don’t you think?”

“It does seem like heavy coincidence.”

“Not to mention there weren’t one but two agents, one working local, that Shoup said disappeared shortly after the first man. And why Guatemala? What’s the connection? There’s nothing down there that would pose any sort of an internal threat to USAF operations here in the U.S. And we don’t have anything going on down there at present in the way of major military intelligence. Just minor CIA work keeping an eye on the drug runners.”

“Weren’t there rumors of al Qaeda using Guatemala as a base of operations?” Grimaldi asked.

Bolan dismissed the rumor with a wave of his hand. “Small-time. Mostly wannabes with the occasional real bad guy in the Islamic Brotherhood thrown in to gain credibility. The one thing terrorists have encountered in Guatemala is a whole lot of resistance from state terrorist groups. Basically drug gangs like Mara Salvatrucha and so forth. Local crime is the big problem there, and it’s no secret that the local gangs don’t like to share.”

“Ah, honor among thieves,” Grimaldi quipped.

Bolan deadpanned. “Really.”

“Sounds like maybe you’re walking into an ambush on purpose.”

“Exactly. I’m betting whoever is behind the compromise in the security of American MI operations is also getting nervous. They’ll want to do some damage control, and they’ll want to make sure they get all the players in one fell swoop.”

“Sounds like a real group of sweethearts.”

“Interesting you say that,” Bolan replied. “Because that’s exactly what I’m thinking. We’re dealing with a group here, and one that seems to have significant knowledge about special operations. At least insofar as ops by the U.S. military. So far, we’ve had a Navy SEAL operation compromised, intelligence signals and data to NORAD intercepted, and the near destruction of an entire platoon of special recon Marines.”

“Plus the Delta Force gig in Germany.”

Bolan nodded. “All military operations, all highly classified, with no rhyme or reason for specific locations. None of the groups these special units were operating against was related in any way. That means the motive has to be centered on intelligence or, more specifically, American defense intelligence operations.”

“You definitely have your work cut out for you on this one, Sarge.”

“Guess that’s just how I roll, Jack,” Bolan replied.