Choke Point

THIRTY-FIVE

The shipment containing the bricks of cocaine that Ross and Pepper had tagged was still inside the warehouse and would probably be moved out sometime during the day. If the FARC-Bedayat network was smuggling cocaine into Europe, then they might utilize yet another Fadakno warehouse located in Croatia. Ross shared that hunch with Mitchell, who said he’d deploy another Ghost team to follow the shipment.

Kozak, who was at the wheel of the Tacoma, kept them about a kilometer behind the weapons truck. Even better, they were hidden behind several other vehicles also headed to the airport. They’d sent up the drone to keep a visual on the truck, even as the NSA supplied them with Keyhole satellite imagery of the road and airport. A sensor deployed outside the warehouse just as the truck was leaving revealed that four of the six FARC guards were in the back, rubbing shoulders with the pallets of SA-24s.

Because Kozak was driving, Ross operated the drone, and the young sergeant repeatedly told him to be careful. ‘Don’t worry, buddy, I won’t let it crash.’

‘They’re not cheap,’ Kozak warned. ‘And, sir, I appreciate us going a little more on the offensive here.’

‘These guys can expect to lose a few couriers,’ said Ross. ‘Those kids always get cold feet after a while. I lost a few myself back in the ’Stan. You win over a kid’s loyalty, but he’s only good for a few weeks till he realizes just how dangerous it is, then he bails. Anyway, Maziq will help us cover up the rest.’

‘Cool.’

‘30K say anything to you about last night?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, you know what I mean. I’m sure he said something.’

Kozak shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Uh, you fell off your bed.’

‘Yeah, one of those rollovers, and oops, I’m not in my own bed things.’

‘I’ve done that.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Ross, lifting his tone. ‘I feel good today. Mission tempo is high. And in a few minutes, it’ll be showtime!’

‘Hell, yeah, sir!’

Ross banged fists with Kozak, then glanced through the open window, letting the hot wind whip over his face.

30K marveled over the expression on the guy’s face:

Their not-so-friendly neighborhood pilot, Bakri Takana, had an extremely dark complexion and brilliant eyes, which shone all the more as he watched a miracle happen not two feet from his face.

He’d just parked the truck inside the hangar, had climbed out, and was now staring at 30K and Pepper with pistols pointed at his head.

From Takana’s point of view, these men had materialized from thin air.

And 30K found it difficult to repress his shit-eating grin over absolutely shocking the guy with their optical camouflage.

‘Hands on your head,’ ordered 30K in Arabic.

‘What the hell? How did you … where did you —’

‘HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!’

Takana winced and obeyed.

‘You’re Bakri Takana,’ said Pepper.

‘How do you know me?’

Pepper’s tone softened. ‘We’re not here to hurt you. We just need to talk.’

30K shifted behind Takana and patted him down, discovering a pistol tucked into the small of his back, another in a calf holster. He then grabbed one of Takana’s wrists, slapped on a pair of zipper cuffs, then lowered the other wrist to finish the job. While clutching the man’s bound wrists with one hand, 30K leaned in close and growled, ‘Okay, Sundown, what’s the combination on that lock?’

‘Who are you?’

‘Let’s just say we’re the good guys,’ said Pepper. ‘Give us that combination.’

‘Why should I? You’ll kill me anyway.’

‘There’s no need for that. Just cooperate.’

Takana thought a moment, then seemed to smile, as if over some private joke. He blurted out the numbers.

With that, 30K went jogging around to the other side of the truck. He understood why Takana had, for just a few seconds, looked so pleased with himself. He figured that Pepper and 30K were unaware of the guards inside the truck. He’d assumed that his ‘friends’ would ambush these ‘good guys’ who’d taken him prisoner.

What Mr Takana had not realized, though, was that he was dealing with four of the most highly trained and well-equipped Special Forces operators in the world. Flyboy was about to crash and burn.

30K worked the lock, removed it, then set it down.

He leaned past the truck, smiled, and waved at Takana while speaking through his teeth, ‘Watch this, you mother.’ He slipped on his gas mask and dug into his pocket –

To produce a gas grenade containing a newly formulated incapacitating agent known as Kolokol-7. It was based on the old Kolokol-1 synthetic opioid, and in part a derivative of fentanyl but in a much more stable and safer form that had been rigorously field tested by the Ghosts for several years. The idea was to put your adversaries to sleep, not accidentally poison them, which had happened much more often than not when deploying these types of gasses. Tear gas was okay, but your foes could still fire wildly while blinded. You wanted them on the ground, immobile, done.

Behind the rolling door, 30K imagined all four guards, submachine guns drawn, waiting for him to open the hatch.

He did –

Opened it about six inches, pulled the pin on the grenade, and threw it inside.

Then he slammed shut the rolling door, threw the latch, and leaped sideways –

Just as automatic fire ripped through the door and began shredding the area around that latch, rounds chewing into the concrete and ricocheting away, the sounds of the hissing grenade and screaming guards inside coming through the fresh bullet holes in the door. The men began kicking the door, trying in vain to pry it open, the gas now leaking from the bullet holes while 30K craned his head toward the hangar door –

Where Kozak and Ross skidded to a stop in their pickup. They donned gas masks, then came running over as 30K checked his watch. The truck grew very still as Kozak and the boss trained their rifles on the truck’s back door, while 30K threw the latch.

With a slight shiver, he used both hands to shove the door upward as hard as he could, the rollers rattling as thick clouds came pouring out and finally thinned to expose the pallets and the four guards lying slumped on the floor or against the wall.

‘Nice work,’ Ross said from behind his mask. He slapped a palm on 30K’s back. ‘Let’s do this!’

30K nodded and ran off, around the truck and toward the gas-powered forklift waiting for him.

A hundred things could have gone wrong, and they usually did, but for now, 30K would keep his head low so that fate would not spot him. He would get those pallets transferred to the plane pronto.

Ross told Pepper to bring Takana over to the office area while the gas was still clearing out. There, they shoved the pilot into a chair and Ross spoke evenly. ‘We’ll be turning you over to your own government. At best, you’ll get life imprisonment for aiding and abetting an international terrorist organization. At worst, they’ll execute you.’

‘I’m just a pilot.’

‘Yeah, a pilot who flies stolen rocket launchers.’

‘I fly boxes of pipes and flanges.’

Ross hunkered down to level his gaze on the man. ‘Bakri, listen to me. If you help us, I can guarantee you immunity. I’m talking no jail time at all.’

‘I don’t believe you. Who are you?’

‘Excuse me, can I have a word?’

The question had come from Maziq, who’d returned to the warehouse. Ross shifted away toward the entrance, and they lowered their voices. ‘I still don’t like this. We shouldn’t have intercepted them here. We should’ve let him take off and tracked the shipment electronically.’

‘Sorry, bro, but like I told you, I wasn’t taking that risk. Not with those weapons.’

‘Yeah, well, now if his shipment doesn’t show up on time —’

‘I understand that. So are you here to criticize or help?’

‘I can get him to cooperate, but you might not like it.’

‘We’re Ghosts. And we do not torture our prisoners. Right now, I just need him to fly the plane. He needs to make it look like business as usual.’

Maziq nodded. ‘I’m not talking about physical torture.’ Maziq pulled an envelope from his cargo pants and shoved it into Ross’s hands. ‘We found Takana’s wife and two girls back in Sudan, in Khartoum.’

Ross closed his eyes for a moment and swore. ‘Do we have to go there?’

‘Hey, man, my team just gathers the intel. It’s always your call.’ Maziq sighed and stepped away, speaking into a radio he’d been holding, checking in on the NLA troops monitoring airport security.

Ross opened the envelope and examined the photographs of the woman and her two daughters, surveillance photos taken of them while they’d been shopping along a busy city street.

He looked up at Takana, then back at the photos. Then he checked his watch. Well, they didn’t have time for long and sensible arguments that might win over the man.

With a surge of adrenaline, Ross marched back to the pilot, shoved the photos in the man’s face, and said, ‘I don’t think I need to say anything else, except … will you please help us.’

Takana glanced at the photos, a sheen coming into his eyes. He looked up and said, ‘I fly the cargo to Port Sudan. I don’t ask questions. Sometimes I fly drugs, money shipments, sometimes weapons. I land, I hand off the cargo, and I fly back. For this they pay me very well.’

‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t know their names. They tell me nothing. I’m paid at the warehouse, usually by a courier. If there’s a boss there, I don’t know who he is.’

‘Will you fly us to Sudan?’ asked Ross.

‘If that’s what you want.’

‘Do the guards always go with the shipment?’

‘Yes.’

‘And do they fly back with you?’

‘Yes. Now I want immunity like you said. I want my family kept safe. Will you keep your word?’

‘I will.’

‘I’m not a bad man,’ said Takana.

Ross raised his brows. ‘Not as bad as the people you work for.’ Ross put his hand on the pilot’s shoulder. ‘You’re doing the right thing.’

Takana pursed his lips. ‘I hope so.’

A thunderous crash came from the hangar, sending Ross and Pepper rushing out toward the truck –

Where they found 30K still at the controls of the forklift. However he, the lift, and the pallet he’d been trying to remove from the truck were now lying sideways, the boxes of launchers now breaking through their shrinkwrap and splaying like dominoes across the floor.