Fallen Star (Project Gauntlet Book 1) Read online

“Evening,” said Maclean.

  “Oh, Mister Black is handsome, and, judging by his accent, he is from Australia,” said Tatiana, smiling. “I do like a man with an accent. Do you think you could leave him here with me for a few days after we finish our job?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Andrews.

  “Hey, I’m standing right here, you two,” protested Maclean. “How about we get to work?”

  “He’s all business,” said Tatiana, pouting. “Such a shame.” Tatiana placed her shopping bag on the carpeted floor. “Here are the coveralls you asked for, Colonel, along with the necessary identification badges.”

  “Get changed,” ordered Andrews.

  Grant and Maclean nodded and pulled on the dirty-white coveralls.

  “This fits perfectly,” said Grant. “I’m impressed.”

  “Da, I had your sizes forwarded to me,” explained Tatiana.

  “Along with our photos,” said Maclean, admiring the fake ID.

  “Okay, gentlemen, I will lead you to the hangar where the plane is parked,” said Tatiana. “I have a young mechanic who is quite enamored with me, waiting to let you in via a back door. He’ll go with you as far as the plane, but he’s been told not to step inside.”

  “Armed backup?” asked Maclean.

  “None; you’re on your own,” replied Andrews. “I can’t afford to risk the life of my only agent in Batumi.”

  “But we’re expendable?”

  Andrews shrugged. “Try not to get caught, and this should be over in the next thirty minutes or so.”

  Grant slipped on his contact lens and blinked a couple of times to get it in place.

  “It’s working,” announced Hayes, looking up from his laptop.

  Maclean slid on his lens.

  “Got you, as well,” said Hayes. “Now let’s check your hearing aids.”

  “Can you hear me?” said Grant.

  “Loud and clear,” replied Hayes in Grant’s earpiece.

  “Keep the engines running while we’re gone,” said Maclean. “I don’t want to spend twenty years to life in a squalid Georgian military prison.”

  Hayes raised a thumb. “Got him, too.”

  Andrews placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Captain, I have no doubt that you think I’m acting in haste and possibly throwing you two to the wolves.”

  “The thought had occurred to me, sir,” responded Grant.

  “Trust me, if there had been another way, I would have used it. You two are the only people who have seen this drone, and time is of the essence. All I need you to do is get inside and confirm for me that it is still there, and then get the hell out.”

  “Colonel, what’s going to happen after we confirm the UAV is the one we saw and is still on the plane?”

  “We’ll depart right away, and another team will take possession of the plane.”

  “What other team?” asked Maclean.

  “That’s on a need-to-know basis, and right now, you two gentlemen don’t need to know,” said Andrews. “Now, please follow Tatiana to the hangar, and do your job.”

  Grant looked over at Maclean. “Come on, Mister Black. Let’s tempt fate for the second time in just over a week.”

  Chapter 5

  The night air was hot and sticky.

  Grant and Maclean walked behind Tatiana, as she headed toward the closest of three hangars in a row at the end of the airstrip. Her high heels echoed off the walls as they walked to the back of the building.

  Grant was surprised to see that there weren’t any security guards visible. If this was as important as Andrews had said it was, Grant had expected to see several armed men walking back and forth outside of the hangar. He tapped Tatiana on the shoulder. “Where are the guards?”

  “What guards?”

  “Do you mean to tell me the entire time the plane has been parked here that there haven’t been any guards to stop people from nosing around?”

  “For the first day or two, there were a couple of men, but after that…none.”

  “This stinks,” said Maclean. “I smell an ambush.”

  “Quit speaking English,” admonished Andrews in the men’s earpieces.

  As they walked past a parked forklift, Tatiana said, “Stay here while I make sure if Luka is waiting for us.”

  Grant and Maclean faded into the shadows as Tatiana carried on walking.

  “Sure wish we were armed,” whispered Maclean.

  “So do I,” replied Grant, peering into the night for Tatiana.

  The sound of her heels hitting the tarmac heralded her return. The two soldiers slipped out of the dark to meet her.

  “He’s waiting for you two at the back door,” explained Tatiana. “He speaks good English, but I told him not to speak to you, unless spoken to.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Grant.

  “Good luck, gentlemen. Hopefully, our paths will cross again in the future,” she replied. Her eyes lingered on Maclean for a few long seconds.

  Maclean nudged his comrade. “Come on, time’s a-wasting.”

  They walked to the back door. In the dim light, they could see a thin, young man with scraggly, shoulder-length black hair. He waved at the men, inserted a key in the lock, and turned it. He stepped aside as he pulled the door open.

  Grant stopped at the entrance and took a quick look inside the well-lit hangar. He could see the tail section of the transport plane, and nothing else. “Looks quiet inside,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, but be careful,” said Maclean.

  Grant’s heart was racing in his chest. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he stepped inside and took a look around. The An-12 was parked in the middle of the hangar with its ramp down. The place was as quiet as a tomb.

  Maclean and the Georgian joined Grant. “Where is everyone?” said Maclean.

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” replied Grant. He turned and looked at the lovelorn man. “Wait by the door.”

  The young man nodded and moved back.

  “I guess there’s no time like the present,” said Maclean.

  Grant nodded. He saw a clipboard on the wall and grabbed it. They strode toward the plane as if they belonged there. The feeling they were being watched gnawed at Grant’s innards. At the back of the aircraft they slowed down, half expecting a platoon of soldiers to be waiting for them. They peered inside. Like the rest of the hangar, there wasn’t a soul to be seen on the plane. With Grant leading, they walked up the ramp and stopped dead in their tracks. Strapped to the belly of the plane was the disc-shaped UAV.

  “Is that the same drone?” asked Hayes.

  “It looks likes it,” replied Grant. “But I can’t be completely sure.”

  “You don’t need to be, Captain. I’m convinced it’s the genuine article. Get out of there and head right back here,” said a man’s voice Grant didn’t recognize.

  “I don’t know who I’m speaking to, but give me a couple more seconds,” said Grant, staring at the disc. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Now, Captain.”

  Grant ignored the voice and walked to the craft. He looked at the ship and marveled at its simplicity. The craft was smooth and looked to be made from one piece of metal. Grant couldn’t see any welds or rivets anywhere on the disc.

  “Come on, sir, you heard the man, it’s time to go,” said Maclean.

  “Grant, I gave you an order,” barked the man.

  Grant reached out and slowly placed his head on the surface of the craft. In an instant, he pulled his hand back and spun around. “It’s fake. The damned thing is made of wood!”

  The sound of many pairs of combat boots echoed faintly outside of the hangar.

  “Time to leave,” said Maclean, running down the plane’s ramp.

  Grant sprinted after his friend toward the exit, when the love-struck mechanic was shoved out of the way, and a dozen well-armed men wearing black uniforms and balaclavas ran inside, yelling in Russian.

  Maclean came to a sli
ding halt and threw his hands up in the air, as did Grant, a split second later.

  Most of the Russians formed a cordon around the two soldiers, while a couple of men ran to the back of the An-12 and up inside the plane.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” demanded a man in Russian.

  “Sorry, I don’t speak Russian,” replied Grant.

  The man lowered his AK and repeated the question in flawless English.

  Grant knew there was no point in lying. “Sir, we’re a pair of NATO soldiers looking for the men who attacked our camp a few nights ago in Iraq. We were told they were hiding in here. Unfortunately, the information turned out to be false.”

  One of the men who had run in the plane jumped down from the ramp and called out in Russian to the team leader. The officer shook his head and took in a deep breath through his nostrils. “What can you tell me about the wooden craft inside the An-12?”

  “Nothing,” responded Grant. “I didn’t know we would find a mock-up, or whatever it is, on the plane.”

  The Russian officer stepped close. “Don’t lie to me, Captain Grant. What happened to the original disc that was found near your camp in Iraq?”

  “Bloody hell, how do you know his name?” blurted out Maclean.

  “I know yours, too, Sergeant Maclean,” replied the Russian. “I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I didn’t know that there were two survivors from the attack on Camp Bayonet.”

  Grant stood there, attempting to maintain an outward calm, but inside, it was as if a hurricane was racing through his mind. Who were these soldiers, and how did they know so much?

  “Get down,” said Andrews in Grant and Maclean’s earpieces.

  Both men looked at one another not sure what to do.

  “Now!” ordered Andrews.

  The two soldiers threw themselves to the ground, just as the hangar’s front doors flew off their hinges. Before the sound of the blast had faded away, another group of armed men ran inside and formed a line facing the Russians.

  Grant looked up. The tension in the air was palpable. Both teams of men in black uniforms faced each other with their weapons at the ready.

  “Captain Grant, Sergeant Maclean, are you all right?” asked one of the new arrivals, a short man with a smooth head, a thick, salt-and-pepper goatee, and a Texan accent.

  Grant nodded.

  The Russian officer lowered his rifle and pulled off his balaclava. “Major Wright, it would appear once again that our respective intelligence services are, as you Americans like to say, a day late and a dollar short. I hate to say it, but we have both arrived too late to catch the prize. There is nothing of value in the back of that plane.”

  Grant and Maclean got to their feet, unsure of what was going on.

  “Are you sure, Yuri?” asked Wright. “Because my people were certain this time around that we’d find something.”

  “Sir, he’s telling the truth,” said Grant. “The craft in the back of the plane is a fake. It’s made of wood.”

  “Goddammit,” said Wright. He looked at his men. “Lower your weapons.”

  Yuri motioned for his men to do the same thing.

  “Okay, I’m really lost,” said Maclean. “Can someone tell me what is going on around here?”

  “Sorry, Sergeant, but I’m not at liberty to tell you,” replied Wright.

  “Nor I,” said the Russian team leader.

  In the blink of an eye, the power to the hangar was cut, plunging it into darkness. Grant dropped to one knee and instinctively reached for a pistol on his hip that wasn’t there. The bone-chilling sound of silencers firing all around him made Grant drop to the floor. In the dark, men began to fall. Terror took hold, as the two teams fought together against an invisible assailant. Men fired blindly, trying to hit whatever it was killing them. A hand reached out and grabbed Grant’s arm.

  It was Maclean, who said, “It’s a setup. Run!”

  Grant didn’t need to be told twice. Like a sprinter hearing the starter’s pistol firing, he was on his feet and running for the blown-open front doors. Less than a meter from freedom, a darkened shape stepped in front of him and tried to bring his weapon up to fire. With a cry on his lips, Grant hit the man with his shoulder and sent him flying outside onto the hard tarmac. He came to a halt and saw the man was dressed from head to toe in a suit identical to the ones worn by the men who had attacked their camp.

  The assailant’s face was hidden behind a darkened glass faceplate. The stunned man reached for his rifle, but was a second too slow as Maclean scooped it up and turned it on the attacker. “Don’t move!” he warned. “I’ve fired this kind of weapon before. It is a modified German G11, which fires caseless ammo.”

  Grant went to grab the unknown assailant by the arm. Instead, the man lashed out with his foot, hitting Grant in the groin. Stars flashed before his eyes. With a muffled moan, he doubled over.

  Maclean never hesitated. He went to pull the trigger, but nothing happened. The weapon refused to fire.

  The assailant leaped to his feet, grabbed hold of the G11 and tried to yank it from Maclean’s hands. When it wouldn’t budge, he released the weapon and shot his right foot out at Maclean’s left leg, sweeping him off his feet.

  Maclean hadn’t seen the move coming and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  With pain radiating like fire from his groin, Grant gritted his teeth and stood up. He saw Maclean fall and the attacker dive to the ground for the G11. The man rolled over on his shoulder and came up with the rifle tight in his shoulder. He spun around and aimed the weapon at Grant.

  A shot rang out. Grant broke out in a cold sweat. He looked down, expecting there to be a hole in his chest. Instead, the assailant tumbled backward to the ground, dead.

  “Are you okay?” asked Tatiana, stepping out from the shadows. In her shaking hand was a pistol. As she looked down at the lifeless body, her face turned white. “I’ve never killed a man before.”

  Maclean got to his feet. “Better him than us.”

  The firing in the hangar abruptly stopped.

  “That’s our cue to leave, sir,” said Maclean, as he handed Grant the G11, bent down, and threw the dead man’s body over his shoulder.

  “Gents, for God’s sake, hurry back to the plane,” said Hayes.

  Grant took Tatiana by the hand and began to run. If the extra weight on Maclean’s shoulder bothered him, he didn’t let it show. He ran as fast as his colleague as they tried to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the charnel house inside the hangar.

  “Run!” yelled Andrews from the top of their plane’s stairs. The engines were already running.

  Grant helped Tatiana climb aboard before turning to assist Maclean with the corpse.

  “Why the hell did you bring that?” asked Andrews.

  “Because I want to know who these SOBs are, that’s why,” replied Maclean, laying the body down on the floor of the plane.

  Andrews hauled up the stairs and closed the door. He looked toward the cockpit and yelled, “We’re all here. Now let’s get the hell out of here before it’s too late.”

  Grant sat down beside Tatiana and buckled her in. She sat in her seat, shaking like a leaf. “It’s okay. We’re all alive, and that’s what counts,” said Grant, as he wrapped his arms around her. “You did the right thing back there.”

  Tatiana nodded and fought back her tears.

  The plane started down the runway, and right away began to pick up speed. The nose of the Learjet rose up and a second later, they were airborne.

  “Ten seconds,” said Hayes to Andrews.

  “What’s happening in ten seconds?” asked Maclean.

  “We can’t leave any evidence behind,” said Andrews, looking out of his window.

  Maclean turned to look out of his window. Below them, they could see the airport. Like a pair of flaming arrows in the night, a pair of Hellfire missiles, fired by a stealth UAV, struck the hangar and exploded. The warhe
ads combined with the fuel in the An-12 tore the hangar to pieces. An orange-and-red fireball shot up into the night. A sea of flaming debris rained back down onto the tarmac.

  “Jesus! What about your people who were still in that bloody hangar?” asked Maclean.

  Hayes shook his head. “They were all dead seconds after the attack began.”

  Grant gently let go of Tatiana and stood up. He looked down at Andrews, his cheeks burning with anger. He was tired of being told half-truths. “Colonel, before we land, I want to know just what the hell is going on, and I don’t want any of your need-to-know B.S., either. I don’t believe for one second that you’re from the Special Investigations Branch of the Pentagon. I’m scared, and I’m tired of being strung along. I think by now Jim and I have earned the right to know who you are and what you’re up to.”

  Andrews sat back and glanced over at Hayes. The professor shrugged and closed his laptop.

  “Okay, Captain, you win,” said the colonel. “I guess you’re in too deep now not to know what it is we do. But not here. Not now.”

  “Where, then?” said Grant.

  “Your new home, Captain. That’s where.”

  Chapter 6

  The Bahamas

  Peter Roth looked out the window of his red-and-white EC-155 helicopter and smiled to himself. Up ahead, moving slowly on a brilliant blue sea was his yacht, Asteria. He decreased the power to his helicopter’s powerful twin turboshaft engines, lined up his craft right behind the Asteria, and flew directly above the ship’s wake.

  He keyed his helmet microphone and said in Spanish, “Asteria, this is Alpha-One, I am less than two kilometers out, please prepare for my arrival.”

  “Roger that, sir,” said a man through the speaker in Roth’s headset.

  Roth slowed his helicopter down, lowered the landing wheels, and brought it over the top of Asteria’s landing pad. He watched as a crewman holding two orange paddles in his outstretched arms guided him down onto the pad. The instant his wheels touched down, Roth reached up and switched off the power to the engines. He waited a few seconds for the rotor blades to stop spinning, before unbuckling himself from his seat and opening his door.