Blackmail

48 VELIKIY NOVGOROD, RUSSIA

The faint beat of a helicopter’s four-bladed rotor dissipated in the darkness as an MH-60M Black Hawk skimmed fast and low over the thick forest canopy. Although it could carry nine combat-equipped troops, there were only four men aboard the helicopter piloted by a Night Stalker, a member of the U.S. Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, a special operations force providing helicopter support. Unseen but not far behind, a second Black Hawk, also transporting four men, followed an identical flight path east.

In the lead helicopter, Army Captain Joe Martin checked his equipment one last time. Like the three men beside him and the four in the other Black Hawk, Martin was a member of the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, commonly referred to as Delta Force, an elite U.S. Army unit trained for hostage rescue, counterterrorism, and missions against high-value targets.

With no security forces to deal with, this mission was as straightforward as they came. Break in, kidnap the scientist, and the Delta Force unit and Russian egghead would be on their way in only a few minutes. Although this mission posed little danger, they weren’t taking the operation lightly. The area surrounding the villa on the outskirts of Velikiy Novgorod had been extensively surveyed via satellite, and an eight-man team had been assigned. In case they encountered mechanical difficulties, two Black Hawks were being used, with one helicopter capable of transporting the full contingent of Delta Force personnel and the Russian to safety.

The only item of concern was the cameras mounted atop the security fence surrounding the villa. However, with no one inside the villa besides the Russian scientist, analysts had concluded they were part of a home security system, which at best would be monitored remotely. With the nearest civilization fifteen minutes away, Martin and the rest of his Delta Force team would be long gone before anyone arrived.

The Night Stalker’s voice came across Martin’s headset, announcing they were approaching their destination. Martin and the other three men pulled their night-vision goggles over their eyes and retrieved their weapons. The Night Hawk airframe shuddered as the pilot pulled back on the cyclic and adjusted the collective, and the helicopter dropped toward the trees and into a clearing with startling speed. The wheels bounced once, then the Black Hawk settled into the grass. The second Night Hawk touched down nearby and Martin led his team from the clearing into the woods, stopping to examine the GPS display on his wrist.

They were two hundred yards west of the single-story villa. Martin moved forward, stopping at the edge of the trees. After increasing the magnification of his night-vision goggles, he examined the villa. It was surrounded by a security fence, with an automatic car gate and a manual pedestrian gate. The villa was dark, and at 2 a.m. local, the Russian scientist would likely be asleep in bed. The internal arrangement of the villa was unknown, but it wouldn’t take long for Martin’s team to complete its search.

Martin examined the security cameras, mounted at intervals atop the fence. It was difficult to tell which direction they were pointed, but they appeared fixed, rather than sweeping back and forth. Martin signaled to his two four-man teams; one team would enter the villa and extract the Russian scientist, while the other took positions outside along the villa’s perimeter, should unexpected guests arrive or the occupant attempt to escape.

Martin gave the signal and the two teams sprinted across the open expanse, with Martin’s team heading toward the pedestrian gate while the other team fanned out along the villa’s perimeter. Upon reaching the gate, the operator beside him, Patrick Terrill, pulled out a set of universal keys, and fifteen seconds later, the four men passed through the open gate and moved up the sidewalk. When they reached the front door, Martin spotted a security panel beside it. After a close examination, he determined it was wireless rather than hardwired.

Child’s play.

Terrill pulled a jammer from his backpack and selected the appropriate frequencies. Not only would they jam the signal between the sensors and the control panel, but they would jam the system’s anti-jam feature — a signal sent to the monitoring station if it detected it was being jammed.

Terrill activated the jammer and used a universal key to unlock the door. He pushed the door open and the four operators surged into the dark foyer. There was no one present, and Martin closed the door softly behind him. As the door closed, Martin’s sixth sense kicked in. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his gut instincts had never misled him. With a sense of urgency, Martin led his team through the villa, weapons raised.

They entered the living room — unoccupied.

Dining room — unoccupied and immaculate.

Family room — empty and neat.

Kitchen and breakfast nook — several plates and glasses in the sink.

Martin spotted a narrow hallway leading farther back into the villa. He led his team into the corridor, stopping by the first door. He turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open. A study with a built-in computer desk and bookcase. No one present. Martin moved to the next room and opened the door. A queen bed — empty and made up. That left the room at the end of the hallway.

Martin stopped at the door, placing his hand on the doorknob. With this being the last room in the villa, there was no more need for stealth. Martin turned the knob slowly, then burst into the bedroom, followed by the rest of his team.

There was a man asleep in bed. He jolted to a sitting position, and a quick look at his face told Martin he was their target. The man’s mouth dropped open after seeing four men with weapons pointed at him, then he clamped his mouth shut. Two operators moved forward and the Russian’s hands were quickly bound and a black hood shoved over his head. Martin led his team, with the Russian in the middle, to the villa’s exit. Upon reaching the front door, he twisted the doorknob, but it didn’t rotate.

He tried again, but it wouldn’t move. He searched for a security panel nearby, but there was none to be found. Upon examining the doorknob more closely, he understood the reason for his nagging feeling when he’d entered the villa: there was no keyhole or lock mechanism, just a plain, inoperable doorknob. They were locked inside. Peering out the nearest window, Martin examined the cameras atop the security gate. They were pointed inward.

Martin yanked the hood off the scientist. “What the hell is this?” he asked in Russian.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he replied with a grin.

Martin shoved the hood back onto the Russian’s head and forced him to the ground while the other three operators took up defensive positions in the foyer. There was no indication of anyone else in the villa or nearby, however. After evaluating whether to blow the door or bust out through a window, Martin spoke to the second team outside, explaining the situation. A few seconds later, one of the team members moved swiftly up the sidewalk. Upon reaching the front door, he twisted the knob and the door opened.

Martin led the way from the villa, recalling the other team as they approached the tree line. It wasn’t much longer before Martin’s men and the Russian were aboard their Black Hawk, which lifted off swiftly at a tilt, barely clearing the treetops as it raced west toward the Russian border. Not far behind, the second Black Hawk followed. As Martin removed his gloves, he glanced at the Russian, lying on his side, still bound and wearing the black hood.

Why was he a prisoner in his own home?