WILD CARD (Shadow Warriors Book 11) by Stephen England

Author:Stephen England [England, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

9:31 P.M.

The trainyard

Homburg, Saarland

Germany

“Nein. Wait.” There had been a peculiar edge of desperation in the young Turk’s voice, Harry thought, his hand resting on the lowered window of the Taurus as they pulled into the trainyard from the southeast—Fritsch’s foot tapping the brake nervously as he turned into a parking space. The abandoned rolling stock in the yard across from them, shrouded in the gathering gloom, taking on gargantuan proportions only magnified by his own unease.

“I’m to drive up to Frankfurt, tomorrow night. Abu Daud’s orders. There’s a man, flying in from Ankara.”

“What man?”

“Someone to help their cause, I don’t know his name. I’m just to pick him up.”

Tressel already had her people checking incoming flights, and he’d talk with Cordair about reaching out to Jim Stetzer at Ankara Station, to determine what could be accomplished from that end. But there was something that bothered him about all of it, beyond the knowledge that their operation was as good as blown, in this moment, if the young Turk chose to betray them. But if he was planning to sell them out, why would he have volunteered something like this. . .

Harry paused with his hand on the door, his eyes searching the night, flickering across the rows of cars. Only too aware that the BfV surveillance teams were only now moving into position—that Müller’s people, having finally extricated themselves from the nature preserve, were still ten minutes out.

Ten minutes could be an eternity in the field. But there was no help for it but to play it out, see where it took them. “You ready?” he asked, glancing back at the staff sergeant.

The man nodded, tight-lipped. “I guess.”

“Just stick to the plan, as we rehearsed it, and keep your nerve. Let me do as much of the talking as you can—I’m the one who can get them this launcher, remember?”

The man’s tongue showed for the briefest of moments, moistening his lips. “I remember.”

But his voice trembled as he said it. Harry shook his head. “Look, you had the sand to pull off this job in the beginning—were bold as brass, stealing these weapons, passing them on. That’s the person you need to be tonight—the person Khuseynov knows.”

The intelligence world—counterterrorism—was a business that brought a man into contact, and into partnership, with all sorts. Few of them savory.

But the traitors he’d dealt with over the years had, nearly all of them, betrayed some other country. Often as not, because he—or a colleague—had asked them to.

Dealing with an American in such a position was both new and unwelcome, and he found it harder than ever before to find the kind of empathy one needed in order to run—to exploit—an asset. “Come on, let’s go.”

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