Running With The Big Dogs: Sybil Norcroft Book Six by Carl Douglass Page B
Authors: Carl Douglass
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However, Sybil could activate those numbers anytime, and a person she designated could pick up almost any amount of cash imaginable. She came prepared to seduce confidential informants and Mafiosi and to subvert the much-vaunted, and highly over-rated, code of honor and silence of the russkaya mafiya .
Two days of nervous pacing on Sybil’s part and a small army of trusted operatives—both American and Russian—produced a Mafioso willing to put aside his scruples for enough filthy lucre to take him away to a beach in Mexico where he could live in luxury for the rest of his life. Mac and the absolutely daunting leader of the special-ops hostage rescue group convinced the man that he did not have to fear reprisal from the Solntsevskaya Bratva anywhere near as much as he needed to fear Mac and his friend, and even more, the dragon lady, who never spoke. Sybil sat in an old imperial Russian chair like an all-wise Sphinx and held the Mafioso with an unblinking gaze. He acknowledged both the carrot and the stick and swore that he could lead them to the kidnapped girls without them risking capture by Leonid Aleksandrovich Zaslavsky and his minions.
Now that the team was in Moscow, Sybil was able to pick up the signal from Cerisse’s GPS implant. The signal was stable and in a fixed place—central Moscow. Without the Mafioso, the team would be able to track the girl to 100 yard diameter circle, but the GPS device did not live up to its promise of precision of location within 10 feet. They had to be able to be more precise than that. The team’s and the girls’ lives depended on it.
The CIA ring leaders held a quick and intense conference and decided to trust the Mafioso enough to have him lead them to the girls and their captors. As soon as the man left the safe house, Mac, Steffan—not his real name—and Sybil quickly dismantled the safe house and moved on to a different location which their Mafioso “partner” did not know about. They arranged to meet in the forested area of Sokolniki Park at 0200 the next morning.
The cold was beyond numbing; it was frightening—25°F below zero. The plus side of that problem was that almost no one was out on the streets, and not a soul was in the park other than the CIA team and their “partner”. Moscow is one of the greenest cities in the world; and, at that hour, on that day, it was one of the whitest. There are 96 parks, 18 gardens—of which four are botanical—in Moscow. 170 square miles of forest have been preserved in the city, most of which is in the central part of Moscow. It was easy to remain anonymous to the point of near invisibility among the birch, maple, and elm tree labyrinths contained in the two-and-a-half square mile area of the park.
The team was in place at 1:30 to be able to guard against betrayal by their Mafioso “partner”. The members of the team who were to participate in the actual attack on the Solntsevskaya Bratva stronghold numbered twelve, and the rest of the team—ten men—was held in reserve and to provide back-up and communications. From their vantage point, Mac, Steffan, and Sybil could see out of their dense cover of trees to the large fountain situated just beyond the frozen ponds.
The Mafioso arrived exactly on time, and was alone—both pluses. The CIA team waited patiently for five minutes; and when no one else appeared, Steffan left the cover of the trees and walked in a circuitous path towards the man who was about to betray his Solntsevskaya Bratva masters. At this point, his life and that of the CIA agents were inextricably intertwined, and trust became an empirical imperative. Steffan was dressed all in white and was almost invisible. The night was clear, and there was nothing but starlight to offset the mine-shaft blackness of the very early morning.
Steffan gave the pre-arranged signal—two long and three short flashlight exposures followed by a pause, then repeated. The Mafioso returned the signal.
“Everything still a
Two days of nervous pacing on Sybil’s part and a small army of trusted operatives—both American and Russian—produced a Mafioso willing to put aside his scruples for enough filthy lucre to take him away to a beach in Mexico where he could live in luxury for the rest of his life. Mac and the absolutely daunting leader of the special-ops hostage rescue group convinced the man that he did not have to fear reprisal from the Solntsevskaya Bratva anywhere near as much as he needed to fear Mac and his friend, and even more, the dragon lady, who never spoke. Sybil sat in an old imperial Russian chair like an all-wise Sphinx and held the Mafioso with an unblinking gaze. He acknowledged both the carrot and the stick and swore that he could lead them to the kidnapped girls without them risking capture by Leonid Aleksandrovich Zaslavsky and his minions.
Now that the team was in Moscow, Sybil was able to pick up the signal from Cerisse’s GPS implant. The signal was stable and in a fixed place—central Moscow. Without the Mafioso, the team would be able to track the girl to 100 yard diameter circle, but the GPS device did not live up to its promise of precision of location within 10 feet. They had to be able to be more precise than that. The team’s and the girls’ lives depended on it.
The CIA ring leaders held a quick and intense conference and decided to trust the Mafioso enough to have him lead them to the girls and their captors. As soon as the man left the safe house, Mac, Steffan—not his real name—and Sybil quickly dismantled the safe house and moved on to a different location which their Mafioso “partner” did not know about. They arranged to meet in the forested area of Sokolniki Park at 0200 the next morning.
The cold was beyond numbing; it was frightening—25°F below zero. The plus side of that problem was that almost no one was out on the streets, and not a soul was in the park other than the CIA team and their “partner”. Moscow is one of the greenest cities in the world; and, at that hour, on that day, it was one of the whitest. There are 96 parks, 18 gardens—of which four are botanical—in Moscow. 170 square miles of forest have been preserved in the city, most of which is in the central part of Moscow. It was easy to remain anonymous to the point of near invisibility among the birch, maple, and elm tree labyrinths contained in the two-and-a-half square mile area of the park.
The team was in place at 1:30 to be able to guard against betrayal by their Mafioso “partner”. The members of the team who were to participate in the actual attack on the Solntsevskaya Bratva stronghold numbered twelve, and the rest of the team—ten men—was held in reserve and to provide back-up and communications. From their vantage point, Mac, Steffan, and Sybil could see out of their dense cover of trees to the large fountain situated just beyond the frozen ponds.
The Mafioso arrived exactly on time, and was alone—both pluses. The CIA team waited patiently for five minutes; and when no one else appeared, Steffan left the cover of the trees and walked in a circuitous path towards the man who was about to betray his Solntsevskaya Bratva masters. At this point, his life and that of the CIA agents were inextricably intertwined, and trust became an empirical imperative. Steffan was dressed all in white and was almost invisible. The night was clear, and there was nothing but starlight to offset the mine-shaft blackness of the very early morning.
Steffan gave the pre-arranged signal—two long and three short flashlight exposures followed by a pause, then repeated. The Mafioso returned the signal.
“Everything still a
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