advance on the secure environment. They have lookouts and treetop cameras and a pretty sophisticated security system in place. That’s why a smaller, more surgical approach is warranted.”
Faust rubbed the side of his face as he examined the image on the monitor with the body of water. “We’re losing the image.”
“Yeah,” Stevie said, working the keyboard at warp speed. “The satellite is moving away. We’ll have a four-hour gap until the next one passes by.”
“Well, that’s not going to work,” Faust said. “We can’t monitor this operation with those types of gaps.”
Walt nodded, then turned to Stevie. “Tell them what you’ve got.”
The young tech was entirely focused on the computer screen and didn’t seem to hear the question.
“Stevie?”
Without ever looking up, Stevie grinned audaciously. “I’ve got one of our high-altitude drones on the way. The Zephyr. It operates in the stratosphere so it can’t be detected with the naked eye. The Zephyr will send real time high-resolution video while the satellite is out of viewing range. I can have it remain in a holding pattern over the site and if someone gets sloppy on the ground, we can send Delta Force.”
“We have to be careful,” Dutton said. “Not only is this a democratic nation, but we have an unbalanced president leading the way. A Special Forces attack is an act of war. This would not be viewed favorably around the globe.”
Walt pointed to the middle screen and said, “Stevie, move out further and add borderlines.”
A moment later, Walt pointed to a spot just south and east of the Colombian border. “The Brazilian government has given us permission to station a couple of choppers at their Air Force base in Porto Velho. Team Twelve will be ready to fly in and get out within thirty minutes.” He pointed to a spot just off the west coast of Colombia. “We also have the USS George Washington on its way as well.”
Walt turned back to face the rest of the group. “The real problem is communications. Obviously there’s no cell coverage and once they’re under that jungle canopy, it’ll be near impossible for a satellite to send and receive phone or even GPS signals.”
“Wow,” Faust said. “What’s the good news?”
“The good news,” Walt said, “is one way or another, it’ll all be over by tomorrow night.”
Chapter 13
Cat Island, Bahamas, was a tiny spec on the map. Fifty miles long and barely a mile wide in most spots, it was a long strip of paradise without the nuisance of tourists kicking up the pristine pink sand with their designer sandals.
Although it was only an hour flight from Miami, it got virtually no attention from the outside world and that’s exactly how Anton Kalinikov liked it. He sat in a wicker chair on the patio of the Greenwood Beach Resort, sipping his iced coffee and reading the morning paper on his iPad, while his wife snorkeled in the Atlantic Ocean just a hundred feet away. Every now and then he’d look up and see her gliding along the shoreline in pure ecstasy.
Once the KGB was disbanded in 1991, Kalinikov lost his job. After a couple of months without work, he discovered an underground network of overpaid professionals who were looking to mold their respective countries by manipulating the leaders who ran them. This is where Kalinikov was able to utilize his best skill set. His ability to kill. Once it became obvious he was a master assassin, he was sought after by the highest bidder. But he never would do more than one job a year and never twice in the same country. This way he made sure to avoid detection without returning to the scene.
After a good long run, he decided to end the stress that came with the job and spend more time enjoying life. He had holed away over five million dollars during his career and now he and his wife would live quite comfortably on the interest alone for the rest of their lives. When he first visited the Bahamas, he was vacationing at nearby
Faust rubbed the side of his face as he examined the image on the monitor with the body of water. “We’re losing the image.”
“Yeah,” Stevie said, working the keyboard at warp speed. “The satellite is moving away. We’ll have a four-hour gap until the next one passes by.”
“Well, that’s not going to work,” Faust said. “We can’t monitor this operation with those types of gaps.”
Walt nodded, then turned to Stevie. “Tell them what you’ve got.”
The young tech was entirely focused on the computer screen and didn’t seem to hear the question.
“Stevie?”
Without ever looking up, Stevie grinned audaciously. “I’ve got one of our high-altitude drones on the way. The Zephyr. It operates in the stratosphere so it can’t be detected with the naked eye. The Zephyr will send real time high-resolution video while the satellite is out of viewing range. I can have it remain in a holding pattern over the site and if someone gets sloppy on the ground, we can send Delta Force.”
“We have to be careful,” Dutton said. “Not only is this a democratic nation, but we have an unbalanced president leading the way. A Special Forces attack is an act of war. This would not be viewed favorably around the globe.”
Walt pointed to the middle screen and said, “Stevie, move out further and add borderlines.”
A moment later, Walt pointed to a spot just south and east of the Colombian border. “The Brazilian government has given us permission to station a couple of choppers at their Air Force base in Porto Velho. Team Twelve will be ready to fly in and get out within thirty minutes.” He pointed to a spot just off the west coast of Colombia. “We also have the USS George Washington on its way as well.”
Walt turned back to face the rest of the group. “The real problem is communications. Obviously there’s no cell coverage and once they’re under that jungle canopy, it’ll be near impossible for a satellite to send and receive phone or even GPS signals.”
“Wow,” Faust said. “What’s the good news?”
“The good news,” Walt said, “is one way or another, it’ll all be over by tomorrow night.”
Chapter 13
Cat Island, Bahamas, was a tiny spec on the map. Fifty miles long and barely a mile wide in most spots, it was a long strip of paradise without the nuisance of tourists kicking up the pristine pink sand with their designer sandals.
Although it was only an hour flight from Miami, it got virtually no attention from the outside world and that’s exactly how Anton Kalinikov liked it. He sat in a wicker chair on the patio of the Greenwood Beach Resort, sipping his iced coffee and reading the morning paper on his iPad, while his wife snorkeled in the Atlantic Ocean just a hundred feet away. Every now and then he’d look up and see her gliding along the shoreline in pure ecstasy.
Once the KGB was disbanded in 1991, Kalinikov lost his job. After a couple of months without work, he discovered an underground network of overpaid professionals who were looking to mold their respective countries by manipulating the leaders who ran them. This is where Kalinikov was able to utilize his best skill set. His ability to kill. Once it became obvious he was a master assassin, he was sought after by the highest bidder. But he never would do more than one job a year and never twice in the same country. This way he made sure to avoid detection without returning to the scene.
After a good long run, he decided to end the stress that came with the job and spend more time enjoying life. He had holed away over five million dollars during his career and now he and his wife would live quite comfortably on the interest alone for the rest of their lives. When he first visited the Bahamas, he was vacationing at nearby
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