SAFE HAVENS: Shadow Masters (A Sean Havens Black Ops Novel Book 1) (44 page)

“I suppose somewhere in between they saw you as a threat.”

“Just lucky they didn’t make me out to be family when I first got the pitch.”

“I’d like to say I designed that,” Sean said, “but I think we need more pictures around the house of Uncle Lars. I just can’t believe so many guys from my own crew over the years were involved.”

“Sorry, buddy. I know you were close. I think they resented you, but respected your capabilities. They just couldn’t pull it all off with you at arm’s length. Or like you said, that one guy wanted to get you back for some stuff he had pent up.”

“Yeah, we were all close, but not like my brother.” Sean put his hand on Lars’ shoulder and handed him a book that he had concealed beneath his jacket.

“What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas. Maggie helped me put some pictures together for you. They were able to pull some from the hard drives that were impounded. Some good ones of the three of you in there.”

Lars started to open the book and bit his lip holding back the emotions.

Havens put his hand on the book. “Why don’t you look at this later by yourself when you have things cleaned up. I have to ditch this truck I have parked down the road and get back over to Maggie at Mayo.”

“Maggie’s at Mayo?”

“Yeah. Close to family. She’s looking forward to seeing you when you can.”

“She’s talking?”

“Yeah, a bit. Slowly, but surely. They think she is processing everything but her motor skills need work. With the traumatic brain injury, she is going to need a lot of rehab for limb movement, balance, and of course walking again. Right now they are going to be focused on forming words better and with clarity. She passed a tower building test indicating memory and attention are coming around. Still going to be a long road to recovery as they say.”

“Well, glad to know you guys will be near. Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks. I am going back home for a bit to get some things in order and probably put the house up. We’ll move where there is care for her and work for me.”

“Do you know what you are going to do?”

“I’m sure something will come up. I have some ideas. Just need to figure out how to get paid to do it. I liked the concept of the work I was supposed to be doing supporting military families that were having problems at home. I may see if I can get that going on my own perhaps. Could be a role for you if you’re interested.”

“Like I said, Sean. Anything I can do to help. I have a feeling I am going to need to do something to keep busy. So, we good?”

“We’re good.”

The two embraced again before Sean departed. As Sean was walking out the door, Lars called out.

“I am sorry about that train, Sean. Those poor souls shouldn’t have died that way.”

“We did the best we could. There are some bad dudes out there. Even the ones who are supposed to be the good guys.”

“It’s a black world, Sean.”

“I am afraid this is just the beginning.”

Chapter 73

T
he mild winters left some foliage to highlight the striking formation of the Albanian Alps. Prescott Draeger took in the familiar view as he crossed into the administrative district of Shkoder from Montenegro. The Mercedes M-Class hugged the turns, commanded by hands clad in leather CamelBak light assault gloves. The plush interior hugged Draeger’s torso in style and comfort. The cowhide seat trim looked fitting next to the lambskin black leather barn jacket that Draeger sported. The Czech CZ 110 9mm would have made for a classy advertisement photo laying in luxury on the passenger seat beside its owner. A much classier owner than the last few men who had tugged on its trigger. He passed a small herd of sheep as he wound up a hill through the river valley. Today was a good day. No more migraines. No more coffee.

It had been relatively easy leaving the country. Each time an airplane hatch closed, Draeger’s disposition improved. A signal from Jason meant he had gotten out too. In Prescott’s opinion, Jason was still too uptight despite his time administering over discrete activities, but he did do as he was told. Draeger was amused by the thought of seeing how long Jason would survive in the field.

Driving home after Havens’ call, Draeger realized his vehicle could be traced, his phones that he had so carelessly used could be monitored. For all he knew a hit team could be waiting for him there in the garage, the entryway, a room. It was too much of a risk. He had let ego override his training. That couldn’t happen again.

Plans had not been perfect. Were it not for the satisfaction of seeing events unfold, Draeger would have internalized the shortcomings of his own performance. He would never reap the rewards in the manner he had intended, but perhaps it was fate. He knew his real employer would be fine with the outcome. Mission complete.

Draeger felt good about things now that he let it all go and fled to fight another day. He had attacked a weak apparatus and raised awareness for his cause. Havens had likely killed Mann. That was a nice convenience. Sure, Havens would want to kill Draeger, but with his daughter presumably alive, that harness would keep Sean in the U.S. for the foreseeable future. It would give Draeger time to implement his next plan and work internationally again. All it would take was a few keystrokes and Havens would be off running for his life. Draeger had plenty of funds to see it through and more than enough to start his new venture. It had always occurred to Draeger that operating in the black was illegal anyway, so why not reap the profits and go boots and knees together into crime and a completely deniable intelligence apparatus to secure the Homeland. He had just needed a little push to fully commit to the Pond.

Scanning the road, Draeger recognized some of the features and landmarks from the last time he passed along this way. He was only about eighty kilometers from his safe house destination. Another set of IDs, access to the web, plenty of kit, and plenty of underworld contacts still in lists from old jobs.

Yes, Draeger felt good about the future. He felt like he was driving to a new job grinning all the way. As he neared a small farm, an energetic dog ran along the road chasing the car. Draeger smiled as he veered off the pavement onto the side, overcoming the dog with his bumper and front tire and then rolling over the tumbling carcass with his rear wheel. It was good to be in control again. Havens had been right.

Until next time, Sean Havens. If we get a next time.

Draeger looked in the side mirror watching the canine roll broken in the road amid the gravel dust. He toyed with the radio buttons.

How about a little music?

Epilogue

O
n a freezing sub-zero Sunday morning in Chicago, the winter winds gnawed at the old man’s hands as soon as he left the comfort of his transport’s warm interior. The streets were quiet. The wind swirled lingering snow on the concrete. The metal handle on his cane bit his frail fingers as he slowly shuffled up the sidewalk glazed with ice. His gnarled digit pressed the doorbell. Chimes gave way to loud aggressive woofing.

“Oh my,” he responded to the loud bark and reached up to tuck his scarf deeper into his black cashmere overcoat. He pulled his Irish walking hat lower over his brow and shrugged his shoulders up so the scarf would cover his ears.

The wooden door opened with the dog’s master holding its collar with a combination of balance and force.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

The old man gazed into the barking dogs eyes. He slowly reached towards the dog with the back of his hand extended.

“Assez, assez,” the man said, commanding the dog to sit and tilting his head slightly while extending to his full height. The Burberry overcoat extended the size of the frail aged man’s shoulders some but not greatly. Nonetheless, the effect caused Cougar to lower her tail and head.

“Ici. Oui.” She nuzzled up to his hand for a sniff and a lick. “That’s a nice girl. Yeah, you are the queen of the house aren’t you?”

Puzzled at this elderly beast master, Havens regarded the old man’s translucent hand. Before the man opened his palm for Cougar to lick, Havens noticed a gem-adorned Yale graduation ring. Wrappings of yellow yarn now replaced what once was sized gold that met securely on a meatier youthful ring finger. It had been nearly twenty years since Sean Havens saw that ring. It was nearly 6o years since the ring was first put on the graduate’s hand.

The old man looked up at Havens. A warm smile of clean dentures raised his red cheeks to meet pale blue eyes. Eyes that had once known a younger Havens. Eyes that had seen a lifetime of shadow wars.

“Hello, Sean. It’s been quite a while. May I come in? It’s rather cool out this morning. Good for the lungs, but bad for my joints I am afraid. She’s a beautiful Belgian you have there. You should command her in French if you don’t already. I don’t suspect Flemish. Well, I suppose it depends on her youth. Never mind me.”

“Jerry?”

The old man gave a laugh.

“I’m surprised you still remember me. I greatly hoped you would. I was quite realistic with myself that my appearance would not do much justice to your memory of me. Not that I was so young even then.”

“I’d know you anywhere, Jerry.”

The old man chuckled again.

“OK, well enough of the pleasantries out here. Let’s step inside so my friends out here can read a magazine or something and I can die in my sleep instead of your entryway.”

Havens looked up to see the two black Chevy Suburbans in the driveway and street.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, I am afraid all that fanfare is for me, and I suspect for you as well. Land’s sake, I can hardly step down from my seat to the curb from those coaches. It’s nearly as big as my first apartment in Prague in there. My I haven’t thought of that place in quite some time.”

Jerry walked in and propped his cane against the doorframe. Havens seated his CIA mentor at the kitchen table and offered something to drink.

“Well normally this early I’d have an orange juice or a black coffee, Sean, but I am not sure my bladder can hold it for the ride. These men are going to drop me at my sister’s in Park Ridge for a bit after we talk for a few moments. I could be convinced to share a little taste of Scotch, if you would care to join me. Cuts the cold and good for conversation between friends,” Jerry said with a smile.

Two glasses from the cupboard, two three-finger pours, and the two were toasting.

“Your taste in scotch is improving, Sean. I very much like this brand. Dalwhinnie. The Brits like it. MI-6, SAS. Very good. I suppose you know that.”

“I’ve gotten your cards over the years. Have to say, they always made me feel a bit closer to you without really ever hearing from you again.”

“I’m glad. You were one of my finest. I’ve been proud.” Jerry sipped his Scotch and looked around in approval of the domicile. “I’m sorry about your family. I hear your daughter is improving.”

Havens nodded. Clearly, Jerry had been informed and has always stayed informed. How was always a mystery, but it was not worth asking. It would be the least of this old spymaster’s capabilities. Moreover, the least of priorities if Jerry was coming out to reveal himself again after all these years.

Jerry reached over the table and rested his hand on Sean’s. “Sean, a bit of a storm is coming. We have word that some of your old files about those recent attack plans have been loaded on the Internet through WikiLeaks and are being attributed to you.”

“Jerry, I…”

Jerry raised his hand. “Sean, you are not in trouble with us. There has been an investigation and it looks as though it points to some individuals in that outfit you were recently involved with. I looked into some of this as well, and found you know that Prescott Draeger. Those men, or Draeger, or some combination therein, tried to put much of the operational aspects on you. He’s a dangerous man, that Prescott Draeger.” Jerry reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a 3x5 note card. He scanned it and put it back in its former location.

“Great, so is there a warrant out for me?”

“Oh, no, Sean. That won’t happen.” Jerry patted his former protégé’s hand. “No, Sean, you see, you won’t exist anymore.”

Sean pulled back his hand and loudly scooted back his chair startling a sleeping Cougar at his feet. “Why won’t I exist? What do you mean? What have you done to me now?”

“Well, it’s like a witness protection, but our people think it is best if no one has access to your information.”

“Why can’t they just clear it up? Why can’t it just go away? They know it’s all lies.”

“Sure, Sean, we all do. But tell that to the world’s stage who thinks you planned a series of domestic terror attacks. Defense wanted to let it go and make you the scapegoat. There could be a way, but it would take some big favors.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Well, Sean, you need to believe it, accept it, and move on.”

“How am I supposed to move on, leave everything behind, and start over like a fugitive?”

“No, Sean, we will help you. You are one of us. We will take care of you. We will help you with your daughter’s recovery. You will have the power to change your names and access an account set up for you. It’s largely in your hands.”

“Largely?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jerry, I have heard this all before. Same story, same we will protect you, your daughter, give you a job. I just lived through this. Barely lived through this. My wife is dead because of this type of care!”

“Sean, your reaction is perfectly understandable. Unfortunately, you didn’t chose the life of an accountant or doctor. You are an intelligence professional, a clandestine asset. You are a hunter of men. While it was not my desire, you are now a killer. An effective one at that. If you want people to value you and pay for what you do, you either need to change your profession or embrace it and create assets, collect intelligence, and…well…kill. Forgive my bluntness.”

“Jerry, why did they put you up to this? Who put you up to this? No offense, but you are still on the payroll? Don’t they have mandatory retirement?”

“Sean, I was sent as a courtesy. I retired years back, but I still consult. With my knowledge of dialects and certain foreign places and people, I help these young computer kids that the Agency has hired to go in on those Internet jihadi chat rooms. I instruct them on how they should speak, reply, and interpret the conversations going on or how they resonate with readers. They have a comfortable chair for me and it keeps me busy. Just a few hours a day, and I get to see old friends. They give me free coffee,” Jerry joked, trying to make the situation lighter. “My wife passed long ago, and I only had one child who travels around quite a bit. It’s better than staying home waiting for my time to come. By the way, do you remember Rick?”