The Sniper and the Wolf

80

General Couture watched Gil disappear from the infrared screen the second he shrugged into the ghillie suit. He snapped his fingers at an aide de camp. “Get the president on the horn, and tell him that Dokka Umarov is dead. He’ll want to inform Putin.”

Then he picked up the phone. Mark Vance, the CEO of Obsidian Optio, was waiting on the line. “Mark, I’m gonna need your helos again. Shannon and six Russian Spetsnaz are headed for the bridge in the Sba Mountain Pass. They’ve got about a hundred Chechen militants hot on their ass, so it’s gonna be shittin’ and gittin’ the whole way.”

“Bill, I’m sorry as hell,” Vance said, sounding very official, “but I can’t send my helos back into Russia. I’ve already got the Russian ambassador to Turkey on my ass. They know we were in there, and they’re hotter than a whore in a peter patch over it.”

“They don’t need to invade Russian airspace this time, Mark. I just need ’em to stand by on the Georgian side of the bridge. Maybe fire a rocket or two across the river if it becomes necessary.”

“Bill, I can’t do that!”

“Yes, you can! We just bagged Dokka Umarov, for Christ’s sake!”

“What? You’re shitting me! That’s confirmed?”

“I’m confirming it!” Couture growled. “And now your precious pipeline is safe again. So get those helos inbound!”

“Okay, but if there’s any international flack over this, the State Department better cover my ass, and I’m not kidding. We’re trying to expand our business into the Russian market.”

Couture rolled his eyes. “Your ass will be covered, Mark. Don’t worry.” He hung up the phone not knowing if it was true or not, and not really caring. Mark Vance was a millionaire many times over. He looked at the White House chief of staff. “We just bagged Dokka fuckin’ Umarov, Glen.”

Brooks chuckled. “I wonder if Moscow will send us a thank-you note.”

The secretary of defense came back into the room. “I was just told that Dokka Umarov is dead. Is that confirmed?”

Couture looked across at the air force liaison. “You got it cued up, Major? Play it for the secretary.”

One of the screens blanked out for a moment. Then they watched as Dokka Umarov threw down his plate and stepped over the log. A second later his head exploded, and the body went down in a heap, falling over onto its back to reveal the obliterated face.

“Christ,” the secretary said. “All that’s left is the goddamn beard! What was Shannon thinking, taking a head shot?”

Couture chuckled. “Well, Mr. Secretary, he was probably thinking he wanted the bastard dead.”