Read Online Callsign: King II- Underworld by Jeremy Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeremy Robinson
Ads: Link
arrival in Phoenix, he had to stop and get some new tools of his trade.
His employer had streamlined that process. “Arrangements have been made,” he had been told in another of the maddening text messages. His employer seemed to know King’s every move, and had supplied Sokoloff accordingly, with a set of desert camouflage fatigues, night vision optics, and most importantly, a used but serviceable, Smith & Wesson Model 4006 .40 caliber semi-automatic pistol and three 11 round magazines. All of this had been waiting for him in a Nissan Xterra that had been left at the parking garage of the airport.
For a couple hours thereafter, he had followed King’s progress electronically. His employer had acquired the GPS tracking signature for King’s rental vehicle, allowing the Russian to reacquire his target and obviating the need to maintain visual contact, which might have risked exposure. It also represented one more opportunity lost; he could have pulled alongside King on the open highway and casually shot him as he drove, but no…a better opportunity would come.
Yet as he had hiked across the desert, reminded with every arduous foot of forward progress that he had lived the soft life too long to be doing this again, he had been unable to get within pistol range. He needed to be close; if he missed with the first shot, there was no telling what might happen. And because King and Pierce had night vision as well, sneaking up on them was doubly difficult. The appearance of the woman, hiking along blissfully unaware of the deadly cat and mouse game, had added a further complication, but her fall and subsequent cry for help had finally given him the chance he’d been waiting for.
And then the soldiers had appeared out of nowhere.
As he ducked his head down to avoid detection, he realized that he should be counting his blessings. Had he been only a few seconds quicker, he would have given himself away to the patrol. But that was cold comfort. King was now in military custody, and Sokoloff didn’t have the first clue how he was going to overcome that obstacle.
The soldiers didn’t question their prisoners, but quickly searched them, stripped them of their gear, zip-tied their hands and then ordered them to march down the trail in the dark. Sokoloff then heard one of the uniformed men speak into his radio. “Devil 2-1, this is Devil 2, over.”
Sokoloff couldn’t make out the reply. Somehow, the electronic voice reproduced by the radio’s speakers didn’t have the same acoustic quality.
“2-1, come up and sweep the area with your team. Let’s make sure there aren’t any more surprises out here, over.”
There was another scratch of static.
“Roger that. Meet you back at the FOB. Devil 2, out.”
Sokoloff kept his face tight against the warm desert ground, but now he was smiling. Maybe there was a way after all.
13.
A High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV) more commonly known as a “Humvee” was waiting a short way down the trail. King noted that it was the M998 variant of the venerable military transport vehicle, configured almost like a pick-up truck with a soft canopy over the rear cargo area and wooden bench seats on either side. The three prisoners were bundled into the back of the truck—no simple feat with their hands bound, and two of the soldiers got in as well, keeping them covered at all times with their M4s. During the forced march, Nina had made a few indignant inquiries that had led to a threat of being gagged, and so all verbal communication had ceased. Nevertheless, as they were herded into the transport vehicle, illuminated by flashlights, King managed to give Pierce a confident nod that said: Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.
Despite his reassuring demeanor, King was still mentally wrestling to come up with a solution that would not only get them free, but also advance his mission. The recent decision to sever Chess Team from military control had
His employer had streamlined that process. “Arrangements have been made,” he had been told in another of the maddening text messages. His employer seemed to know King’s every move, and had supplied Sokoloff accordingly, with a set of desert camouflage fatigues, night vision optics, and most importantly, a used but serviceable, Smith & Wesson Model 4006 .40 caliber semi-automatic pistol and three 11 round magazines. All of this had been waiting for him in a Nissan Xterra that had been left at the parking garage of the airport.
For a couple hours thereafter, he had followed King’s progress electronically. His employer had acquired the GPS tracking signature for King’s rental vehicle, allowing the Russian to reacquire his target and obviating the need to maintain visual contact, which might have risked exposure. It also represented one more opportunity lost; he could have pulled alongside King on the open highway and casually shot him as he drove, but no…a better opportunity would come.
Yet as he had hiked across the desert, reminded with every arduous foot of forward progress that he had lived the soft life too long to be doing this again, he had been unable to get within pistol range. He needed to be close; if he missed with the first shot, there was no telling what might happen. And because King and Pierce had night vision as well, sneaking up on them was doubly difficult. The appearance of the woman, hiking along blissfully unaware of the deadly cat and mouse game, had added a further complication, but her fall and subsequent cry for help had finally given him the chance he’d been waiting for.
And then the soldiers had appeared out of nowhere.
As he ducked his head down to avoid detection, he realized that he should be counting his blessings. Had he been only a few seconds quicker, he would have given himself away to the patrol. But that was cold comfort. King was now in military custody, and Sokoloff didn’t have the first clue how he was going to overcome that obstacle.
The soldiers didn’t question their prisoners, but quickly searched them, stripped them of their gear, zip-tied their hands and then ordered them to march down the trail in the dark. Sokoloff then heard one of the uniformed men speak into his radio. “Devil 2-1, this is Devil 2, over.”
Sokoloff couldn’t make out the reply. Somehow, the electronic voice reproduced by the radio’s speakers didn’t have the same acoustic quality.
“2-1, come up and sweep the area with your team. Let’s make sure there aren’t any more surprises out here, over.”
There was another scratch of static.
“Roger that. Meet you back at the FOB. Devil 2, out.”
Sokoloff kept his face tight against the warm desert ground, but now he was smiling. Maybe there was a way after all.
13.
A High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV) more commonly known as a “Humvee” was waiting a short way down the trail. King noted that it was the M998 variant of the venerable military transport vehicle, configured almost like a pick-up truck with a soft canopy over the rear cargo area and wooden bench seats on either side. The three prisoners were bundled into the back of the truck—no simple feat with their hands bound, and two of the soldiers got in as well, keeping them covered at all times with their M4s. During the forced march, Nina had made a few indignant inquiries that had led to a threat of being gagged, and so all verbal communication had ceased. Nevertheless, as they were herded into the transport vehicle, illuminated by flashlights, King managed to give Pierce a confident nod that said: Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.
Despite his reassuring demeanor, King was still mentally wrestling to come up with a solution that would not only get them free, but also advance his mission. The recent decision to sever Chess Team from military control had
Similar Books
