MJ-12: Shadows

31

There was something out there; Danny was sure of it. It was something at the very edge of his consciousness and perception, but it skittered away like a roach when the lights came on every time Danny tried to focus on it. He couldn’t tell if it was consciously avoiding his Enhancement or whether it was a kind of automatic reflex.

He didn’t even know what it was, but he was sure of one thing: there was something else in Damascus — a Variant, perhaps, or something related to the vortex and what he had felt inside it back at Area 51. It was in Damascus and, more importantly, it didn’t want to be discovered. And that made for the most tantalizing mystery Danny had encountered since the MAJESTIC-12 program had begun.

Unfortunately, there was something far more important to do first. And that would likely take him away from Syria for a while. He could only hope that the presence in Damascus would be there when he could return.

“Eyes on target,” a voice crackled over the small Handie-Talkie. “Heading out of the café.”

Danny keyed his own radio. “Roger that,” he replied to Sorensen, who was using his natural camouflage plus another of Mrs. Stevens’s “Enhancement suits” to stay far closer to the target than anyone else could be without detection. “Chris, get into position.”

A shadow crossed the street above, and Danny looked up to see Christina Vanoverbeke leaping from building to building to keep pace. Thankfully, the night sky of this warm Damascus evening was doing a fine job of keeping her hidden — the last thing they needed was a bunch of locals reporting a strange blonde woman making superhuman leaps across their city.

“Looks like he’s following the pattern,” Christina reported. “Same as every night so far.”

Danny acknowledged the report. Ever since Maggie had landed in Damascus again, her job had been to tail Karilov, to learn his every movement. Naturally, the Soviet agent had taken a whole lot of meetings with al-Hinnawi of late, and given the Russian’s involvement in the coup against Za’im, that wasn’t surprising. Yet nearly every single night, Karilov would make his way toward a single café in the oldest part of town, one that only served local fare. It seemed the Russian had acquired a taste for shawarama and manakish, because they were all he ordered.

But it was patterns like those that would get Karilov in trouble. The Soviet probably figured that with Za’im dead and the American agents captured, Copeland and Meade weren’t much of a problem — and indeed, the two OPC men still seemed to be at a total loss as to how to proceed. Their strongman was dead and most of his allies had quickly switched sides. Nobody in Syria’s power structure was very open to chatting with Americans these days.

“Eyes on target,” Maggie chimed in. “He’s headed for the box. Over.”

“Roger,” Danny said, moving a little quicker down the street now. “Rick, report.”

“In position,” the young man replied. “Right by the transformer, the one Tim pointed out.”

“Roger that. Tim, call it.”

As the one closest to Karilov, it was up to Tim to give the signal — three quick clicks on the radio — once the Soviet was in position. The “box” was a choke point in the Russian’s walk back to his residence, a narrow, high-walled alley that was only about ten yards long and with just one exit on either end.

If I were his trainer, I’d rip him a new one, Danny thought as he moved into position. I can only imagine what Hamilton would do to him. It was a comforting thought, for sure.

The three clicks came over the radio, and Danny broke out into a run. “Go!”

The lights went out first.

Sparks flew overhead as Rick sent a surge of electrical power into the transformer, blowing through its safeguards and knocking out electricity over a six-block area. Danny was immediately plunged into darkness, only the full moon above shining the faintest of light down on the shadowed alley below.

He arrived to take position behind Karilov, who was in the middle of the alley with his hand against one wall, moving slowly through it in the blackout. Sorensen was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t surprising — between his Enhancement and the darkness, he could be a hairsbreadth away from Karilov and the Russian wouldn’t even know it.

A shadow flickered ahead of Karilov at the mouth of the alley. That would be Christina, jumping down to block the exit, as planned. Just ahead of her, Maggie emerged from behind a few crates.

“Hello, Sergei,” she purred. “Got a minute?”

Danny saw the Russian pause, then turn and start hustling back up the alley. He got about three feet before he was clotheslined by an invisible force across his chest — Sorensen’s arm, most likely — that sent him tumbling to the cobblestones.

Danny hustled forward, meeting Maggie in the middle over Karilov’s prone body. “Mags, shut him down,” Danny whispered.

Maggie smiled, and at Danny’s feet, Karilov’s eyes grew wide as saucers, the whites reflecting the moonlight. He choked out a gurgling, stunted scream before fainting, a wet stain spreading at his crotch.

“God, you’re scary,” Sorensen said from somewhere behind her, his voice coming out of thin air.

Maggie nodded. “Damn right I am.”

Karilov bolted upright and screamed in terror, then looked around the shabby little hovel, confused and concerned, his Enhancement-powered terror replaced with a very real fear that was just beginning to simmer away.

“Where am I?” he demanded in Russian, his voice seemingly swallowed by the shadowy, dimly lit room.

Danny, sitting in the shadows behind Karilov, replied briefly in the same language. “You’re not cleared for that, Comrade.”

Karilov turned around and looked for Danny’s face, hidden largely in darkness. “You’re American,” the Russian said in English. “You realize you have committed an act of war against both the Soviet Union and the Republic of Syria by detaining me here.”

Danny shrugged. “You’ve already committed an act of war against the United States by illegally detaining several of our diplomatic personnel. However, we’re willing to concede this might have simply been done in error, given the change in government here in Damascus, and so long as we get our people back, we’ll let it slide. This time.”

Karilov stood up from the rickety cot they’d placed him on. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

With a sigh, Danny stood and looked around the hovel, rented just two days prior and chosen for its privacy and proximity to the alley where they’d grabbed Karilov. “All right, we can play it that way, Comrade. But then we’ll have to go to work on you. See, I don’t know how much you know about us, but I imagine you’ve seen enough to know that the folks of ours you grabbed were different. Special.” Danny walked over to the door and knocked; it opened to reveal Maggie and Rick on the other side. “And frankly, we’re kind of angry that you took our friends.”

Karilov stumbled backward at the sight of Maggie; maybe she was already working on him, maybe he was just remembering the fear in the alleyway. Hard to say, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever they were doing to him, it was working.

“Now, I don’t really condone torture, Comrade. I really don’t. However, when you kidnap American diplomatic agents and take them to Russian soil — and I assume that’s where they went, yes? — then I think the usual international norms are thrown out the window,” Danny said. “So, you’re going to tell us where you sent our friends, one way or the other.”

Rick walked toward Karilov and placed a hand on the Russian’s shoulder. Karilov let out a scream, practically jumping out of his skin and falling to the floor in a heap.

“Too much?” Rick asked, a few sparks still jumping around his fingertips.

Karilov looked up at Rick from the floor, his fear in full bloom now.

“No, that was a good start,” Danny said, crouching down next to Karilov and looking him in the eye. “We don’t want to electrocute him right off the bat. You see, Sergei, we want to give you a chance to do the right thing. Otherwise, we may have to fry you bit by bit.” Danny took off his left glove, revealing his still-withered hand. Karilov could only imagine how it had happened. “Do you want this to happen to you?”

Karilov looked up at Danny’s hand as tears began to form in his eyes. “No,” the Soviet said feebly. “No.”

“Then tell us where our friends are.”

“And after?” Karilov said. “What then?”

Danny smiled. “Then we’ll give you some interesting options.”

Two hours later, Danny was on the phone, waiting for “Victor Davies” to pick up.

“Yes?” Hillenkoetter said over the line.

“Mr. Davies! This is Mr. Walters. I hope you’re well. How are the kids?”

“Fine, fine,” Hillenkoetter said impatiently. “You have some news on those missing packages for me?”

“Yes, sir. I believe we tracked them down to a place called Semipalatinsk. It’s in eastern Kazakhstan.”

There was a long pause and a rustling of paper; Danny figured the boss was digging for a map, just as he himself had done a half hour before. “Well, that’s quite a diversion, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, sir. Amazing how things can get fouled up.”

“So, are the folks in Semipalatinsk willing to send the packages back directly? I’m willing to pay for shipping, even throw in a bonus or two.” Can you do a trade? Ours for POSEIDON and maybe even Meyer?

“Well, the shipping agent I talked to here really isn’t authorized to make that sort of arrangement, sir. I’m afraid we’d have to work with the folks there directly. Is that something you want to handle, or shall I do it?” Karilov can’t deal; only the bigwigs in Russia can. You want to reach out, or should we proceed with Plan B?

“Unfortunately, I don’t really have the kind of export licensing I need to get packages out of Kazakhstan from here,” Hillenkoetter said. “Since you’re already halfway there, why don’t you finish it out?” There’s no way the United States is going to talk Variants directly with the Soviet Union. It’s your show.

“I may have to go directly to Semipalatinsk to make that work, sir. Do we have the budget for that?” Reminder: we would be invading the Soviet Union to effect a rescue.

“Budget isn’t an issue, Mr. Walters. Just need to be sure those packages are secured, and I stress this, one way or the other.” Do it. And remember, whether you trade or invade, either get our people back or make sure they’re dead.

Danny frowned. “Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The line went dead, and Danny went back to his map again, looking over the terrain. The Semipalatinsk area bordered Russia proper, Mongolia — a puppet state of the Soviet Union anyway — and the Xinjiang region of China. Not a lot of great options — the nearest remotely friendly area was Pakistan or India, at least eight hundred miles away.

But Xinjiang might not be a lost cause. The Kuomintang and some pro-Russian forces were holding the area against the encroaching People’s Liberation Army, and large parts of the area were pretty deserted anyway. They just had to find a friendly Kuomintang commander… and avoid the inevitable Soviet advisors surrounding him.

Danny sighed. Nobody had said this was going to be easy. But at this point, it was bordering on ridiculous.