The Ghost Pattern (13 page)

“What are you saying?” Blake continued.

“I’m saying that satellites are our best bet, maybe our only one.”

She reached for the coffee cup to relieve her dry throat, but it was empty. She put it back on the table with a frustrated sigh.

They all remained silent, concern showing on their faces in different ways. Blake had resumed staring at the floor. Lou’s lips were pursed and his jaws clenched, and he was stomping his foot rhythmically, impatiently. Steve had a rarely seen frown clouding his brow, and Tom had clasped his hands together, probably struggling with this kind of powerlessness. Sam seemed unfazed, looking confident, but she knew him better than to fall for that appearance.

“What are we talking about here, in terms of time?” Sam asked.

“About 36 hours, maybe 48. That’s all it will take, and we’ll finally know. That’s all it takes for the satellites to screen that area at high resolution,” she replied, pointing at the circle drawn on the map. “If there’s a Boeing 747-400 out there, in those woods, they’ll find it.”

“How?” Steve asked, hesitantly. “What if there’s no direct visibility, how will the satellites see the plane?”

“Oh, we’ve thought of that,” she said, displaying a colorful image on the screen. “In recent years, technologies have been developed to use satellites for mining and mineral prospecting. Our satellites will use those orbital prospecting technologies, more precisely infrared scanning, advanced space-borne thermal emissions, and reflection radiometer scanning. Just like how satellites would find metal buried in the ground, they can find the plane, no matter how deep it’s buried or hidden in the forest.”

“How would infrared work, in this case?” Lou asked. “That’s more for weather applications, right?”

“Right,” Alex confirmed. “Keep in mind the specific heat of metal is lower than the heat of the forest, or any surrounding natural surface materials, like rocks, vegetation, and dirt. It would stand out simply because it’s colder.”

She looked at everyone in the room, feeling a little overwhelmed again. There were 441 lives, all depending on her judgment calls.
Oh, God… please help me be right about this.

She shook her doubt away, straightening her back, and raising her head with a confidence she forced herself to feel.

“Guys, we’re almost there. One more day and we’ll know where to go.”

“Great,” Lou said, “it’s about time. I’m dying to go out there and shoot the motherfuckers who thought this shit up.”

...34

...Sunday, May 8, 7:42PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)

...Undisclosed Location

...Russia

...Eleven Days Missing

Dr. Davis looked up from the gas chromatograph’s screen, searching for the source of the annoying little buzzing sound. There it was… a mosquito had just landed on the tile-covered lab table. He slammed his palm hard, killing it, and making some test tubes rattle in their stands. He also gave Dr. Chevalier a start. She was sitting at the microscope just a few feet away and looked at him disapprovingly.

“I apologize, Marie-Elise, it was just reflex,” he said in a gentle tone of voice.

Instantly, her eyes welled up, and a silent tear started rolling on her cheek.

He pushed his chair closer to her.

“What’s going on, huh? Would you like to tell me about it? Maybe I can help…”

She sniffled, a little embarrassed, keeping her eyes pinned to the floor and her shoulders forward, seeming small and vulnerable. She hugged herself tightly.

“It’s—it’s my husband. He had a heart attack just a month ago,” she said, her voice strangled by tears. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive. We might never get out of here, you know?”

“Marie-Elise,” Gary whispered, “you have to hold on to hope. You have to—”

The sound of the massive door springing open silenced him. Everyone watched silently as an enraged Bogdanov walked through the door, followed closely by Death and One-Eye, both carrying their automatic weapons.

Without any provocation, One-Eye grabbed Dr. Mallory, who was closest to the door, and shoved him hard on the floor at Bogdanov’s feet. Declan Mallory fell hard and stayed down, probably dazed, too shocked to react. The quiet, composed Brit didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body.

Gary gasped, then covered his mouth. He grabbed Marie-Elise’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Like threatened animals in the wild when predators are near, they all huddled closely together, finding some comfort in one another’s presence.

He heard Wu Shen Teng’s stifled sobs somewhere behind him. He turned and looked at him, trying to offer an encouraging look. For some reason, what he’d intended as comfort had the opposite effect on Wu Shen Teng, who covered his mouth with both his hands to silence the sound of his renewed sobbing.

Bogdanov reached down and grabbed a fistful of Mallory’s hair, forcing him to his knees.

“If I don’t have a successful test in 48 hours, he will die,” Bogdanov said in a quiet voice, a threatening, growling whisper. He looked at them with eyes filled with hate, then spat on the floor.

They all stood quietly, huddled together closely, holding their breaths. Gary felt the urge to step forward and do something; he wasn’t sure what. He took half a step forward, but Marie-Elise clutched his hand tightly and whispered, “No!”

Then Bogdanov spoke again.

“You’ve been sabotaging this from the first day,” he said, surprising Gary, and probably the rest of the doctors.

How the hell did they know? They’d been careful, keeping their voices down whenever they spoke, and taking turns keeping their guards busy and discreetly supervised. They thought they had a way to buy themselves some time. They’d been wrong all this time.
Fuck!

“You think you’re smart, da
?
” Bogdanov continued, his voice filling with contempt. “You think you can stall us, and we’re just dumb Russians and we won’t know? We know everything!” he shouted, punctuating his statement with a boot kick to Declan Mallory’s stomach.

Declan curled up on the floor, groaning and writhing with pain, trying to breathe, gasping for air.

Marie-Elise’s grasp on Gary’s hand tightened, as anticipating what he was thinking of doing. But he didn’t have time to act.

“You do that again and you will die, one by one,” Bogdanov added, drilling his eyes into theirs. “From shock,” he continued, his menacing voice dropping to a whisper again. “I will break every bone in your body, one by one, slowly, until your body gives up on you. That’s my promise to all of you lying cunts.”

Bogdanov nodded toward One-Eye, who brought the stock of his Kalashnikov brutally down on Mallory’s rib cage. They all stood there, paralyzed, hearing the bones cracking and Declan scream. Gary felt a wave of nausea hit him.

“This is your final warning,” Bogdanov added, then left briskly, followed by his men.

...35

...Sunday, May 8, 8:22AM PDT (UTC-7:00 hours)

...Tom Isaac’s Residence

...Laguna Beach, California

...Eleven Days Missing

The early morning air pushed through the open window, helped by a scented breeze heavy with spring blooms. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee almost covered that, as one after another, cups filled at the machine, and the team members took their seats around the small table, steaming cups in front of them.

“OK, so we find the plane,” Alex said, jumping right to the heart of things, “then what? Call the feds?”

“I don’t think that would be an option, even if we find it,” Blake replied. “I’d still rather have us continue on our own. They’d have to go through channels; it would take a long time.”

“Sam?” Alex prompted.

“I tend to agree with Blake. We’re looking at getting the feds, or maybe the CIA in this case, more likely, to orchestrate an op in a foreign country, based on some disputable satellite imagery and our stories. I don’t think they’re gonna do it. Not fast enough, anyway.”

She stood and started pacing the little space she had available, between the table and the wall where the map was pinned. She rubbed the back of her neck nervously, grinding her teeth.

“OK, let’s talk extraction scenarios, then,” she conceded, silencing the self-doubt she was feeling. She wasn’t special ops material; she felt overwhelmed at the immense responsibility hanging on her decisions, her actions, and her judgment. “Lou? You’re the closest thing we have to a special ops expert; I think you should lead the extraction discussions.”

“Sure, boss, I’d be happy to,” he replied, then went to the whiteboard with a marker in his hand. “We have two tactical issues,” he continued, writing as he spoke. “One, we’re assuming that the people are still with the plane, and they might not be. In fact, why would they be? Whoever holds them needs to feed them and house them, no matter how precariously. That takes space and resources.”

“Oh, God…” Blake said, “you’re right. We might find the plane, but they could be long gone from there.”

“Long gone, but not very far, I’d think it’s safe to assume,” Alex intervened.

“Why?” Lou asked.

“This is not some random hijacking under the spur of the moment. This was a well-planned op, and, most likely, if they’re housing the people at a certain location, they would have taken them by plane there, or as close as possible—441 people are a lot of individuals to be moving from point A to point B.”

“Agreed,” Lou said, “sounds reasonable. But that means once we find the plane, we’ll have to go there and find them. This is our first tactical issue,” he specified, writing the number one in a circle on the whiteboard, under the phrase, “Unknown hostage location.”

“And second?” Blake asked.

“Having 441 people means a lot of exfiltration,” Lou replied, “a lot of exfil to handle from behind enemy lines, under potential fire. Some might be hurt, weak, or sick. I think the best bet remains the plane. Get them out of there exactly as they came in.”

“Makes sense,” Alex said, smiling for the first time in days. “We’d need a pilot though. One of the 747’s pilots had a Russian name; let’s assume him hostile. We can’t count on him. I’d rather count on Blake’s pilot. And we’re also assuming that the 747 can still be used.”

“Yes,” Lou agreed, “we’re assuming that the Boeing is still airworthy, and has enough fuel to get everyone back to Japan. But we need firepower, serious firepower.”

“Why?” Blake asked.

“The UNSUB has enough people to control 441 hostages,” Lou replied. “We’re talking about anything up to potentially fifty armed forces, maybe even more. They could have air support, heavy weaponry, surveillance, advanced recon, who knows? We have to be prepared.”

Alex fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Umm…and I’m not…I can’t be counted on, you know, I’m no special ops material,” she struggled to say, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed. “I am coming with you, of course, but I’m not that great in a battle. I’ve never been in one.”

“Nope, that’s not true,” Sam said. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re cool under pressure, you keep your head well-bolted to your shoulders, and you don’t hesitate. I’d have you watch my six anytime.”

“Same here,” Lou said. “I’ve trained you and I’ve seen you in simulations. I’ve also seen you in the field; you’re a great shot. Just remember your training, and you’ll do fine.”

She looked at them both, then took in a deep breath and said, “Then we’re set. But we’re still not enough, the three of us. We need some serious help.”

“Four,” Blake said. “I’m coming too.”

“Blake, that’s not a good idea,” Alex replied. “We can’t watch over you while we’re out there. You’re better off waiting for us here, where it’s safe.”

“I won’t need you to watch over me. I’m a damn good shot, and a Desert Storm veteran. Give me some credit, will you? I can’t stand waiting one more second, so I’m coming with you. That’s decided.”

Sam nodded, and Lou whispered, “Welcome to the exfil team then.”

“I’m repeating myself here,” Alex said. “We need help, serious help. Where do we find it?”

“I’m thinking mercs,” Lou replied, “military hired help.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Blake offered.

“No, not this time,” Lou replied. “Let me make the calls, I’ll know better what to ask for.” He paused a little, gathering his thoughts. “We can’t hire them in the States, though.”

“Why?” Blake asked.

“They’ll need to bring a lot of gear with them, including choppers. We’re pretty sure we’re gonna find that plane, only we don’t exactly know where and when we’ll find the passengers. I’d rather have the four of us do the initial groundwork, stealth. With a dozen mercs or so in tow, and their equipment, they’ll see us coming from miles away.”

“Then they’ll need to be located in Japan,” Alex said. “It’s the only friendly area that’s close enough to our op zone.”

“See? What did I tell you?” Sam asked with a chuckle. “You’re already mastering this game. The only thing, just don’t call them mercs; they hate that. Even if they are guns for hire, that doesn’t mean they don’t have principles and a code of honor.”

“Oh…What should I call them, then?”

“Military contractors is better.”

“All right, let’s find us some Japan-based military contractors to help us.”