American Operator by Brian Andrews

Author:Brian Andrews [Andrews, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action, Suspense, Thriller
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2018-11-06T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Manbij, Syria

0430 Local Time

Would I kill for a cup of coffee?

Yes, yes, I would.

Even one of Wang’s foo-foo coffees loaded with whipped cream and sugar . . .

These were the thoughts going through Dempsey’s head as he advanced on the warehouse, trying not to look suspicious. Beneath his makeshift poncho, he clutched his Sig assault rifle, holding it tight against his chest. His helmet and NVGs were clipped to his belt. He was looking for a safe place to hole up, just like Smith had instructed. How long he would heed this instruction was up for debate. He scanned the perimeter and windows of the unlit building for movement. Finding none, he scanned the row of two- and three-story buildings down the street—storefronts on the ground level with apartments above. He saw one, and only one, vehicle, a black BMW sedan of all things, parked on the street. The 7 Series looked to be early 2000s vintage and was beat to hell. The windows and tires were intact, however, despite bullet holes dimpling the bodywork.

A BMW 7 Series in Syria, he thought. Somebody thinks he’s the mack daddy . . .

The blackout tinted windows prevented Dempsey from seeing inside the cabin. Just in case, he pulled the spotter scope out of his kit, switched on the thermal function, and raised it to his right eye. The engine compartment glowed an angry orange, the heat suggesting the car had been recently driven. More interesting, the car was occupied, a single thermal image sitting behind the wheel.

Dempsey replaced the scope in his kit and pursed his lips.

Unlikely this guy was a pastry chef waiting until dawn to open his bakery. Probably local Mafia waiting to confront a local business owner and bully his weekly tribute. Dirtbag or not, I can’t afford to get involved, Dempsey told himself and decided to circle back south around the warehouse and look for a way inside. He was surprised Baldwin hadn’t gotten comms back up yet. What the hell was going on in Turkey, anyway? He desperately needed intel on Amanda Allen. Trying to find her alone had been a stupid idea. Really, what was his plan . . . walk door to door and ask every person who answered, “Hi, I’m John. Never mind the assault rifle under my poncho. Have you seen the kidnapped CIA agent I’m looking for?”

As he rose from his combat crouch and began to back out of his hide, the BMW’s engine roared to life. Dempsey dropped back to a knee and made himself small. Had he been made by the jerkoff in the sedan? But despite the running engine, the driver kept the headlights off and the car idling at the curb. Then, in his peripheral vision, Dempsey noticed headlights approaching from the south.

Maybe this is a meet?

His mind started playing out a fantastical scenario—maybe the dude in the BMW was a sex trafficker. Maybe he’d bought Amanda Allen from the terrorists and this was the swap. Don’t be ridiculous, he scolded himself.

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