Over the Atlantic Ocean
Logan watched the wispy clouds race below the speeding Gulfstream jet. Even at this altitude, he spotted a whitecap wave and the occasional ship. He turned his attention back to the two men accompanying him to Madrid. Two more hours. I hope the trail’s not cold.
“So the Russians in Spain who picked up the equipment have mob ties,” Logan said, returning to their conversation. “I remember reading about two major operations against the Russian mob that captured several high-ranking members.”
Cole Matthews nodded. “That’s true. The government of Spain pulled off a coup. They captured four of the Russian mob’s senior leaders and dozens of mid- and low-level enforcers. Unfortunately, they also discovered that the Russians were embedded in almost every branch of the government, and they’re still rooting them out.”
“If nothing else, you have to admire the Spanish resolve,” John added. “But what I don’t get is why the mob would help a Russian covert team that’s being directed by the government in Moscow.”
Cole smiled, and said, “Until recently, that puzzled us as well; however, thanks to that jackass kid who gave all those documents to WikiLeaks, we have an answer. As much as I’d like to put a bullet in his head for compromising the identities of numerous operatives in various agencies, one of his documents revealed that the Russian government is closely connected to the Russian mob. We now know the Russians are using the mob as proxies wherever and whenever it suits their interests, both home and abroad.”
John replied, “And I thought the Russian government was a lover of democracy and free-thinking individuals. You know, for a CIA guy, you’re not half bad.” He looked at Logan and then back at Cole.
“We don’t exactly have a great track record with the CIA,” John continued. “One of your ilk led us into an ambush in Fallujah in ’04—an ambush that led to the violent deaths of most of our Force Recon platoon.”
John knew Logan still harbored the same resentment and anger that he felt toward that agency.
“That same man then supported a megalomaniac who wanted to start another war in the Middle East, all to settle a personal score with the Iranian government,” John said.
Cole nodded. “Trust me, Mr. Quick. I’m well aware of what Mr. Carlson did to you, your unit, and this country. I’m disgusted as anyone by his despicable actions. If Mr. West hadn’t ended his life in Haditha a few years back, I’d have been tempted to sanction an off-the-books action on him.” He looked to Logan. “Fortunately, you took care of that for me.”
Cole turned to John. “You don’t know me. I know you don’t trust me. And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t either. What I can tell you is that I spent over a decade with that unit at Fort Bragg everyone loves to glorify, and my current job was a personal calling for me after something went south on a mission.”
Logan wondered what could’ve forced a Delta operator out of the community on his own volition but knew better than to ask.
“Most importantly,” Cole continued, “you need to know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect our country from all threats, whatever the origin.”
John studied the man for a moment and then shrugged. “Works for me. I figured you can’t all be bad. And I just hope for your sake you’re as good a shot as you were in Delta.” He paused, and added, “I hear you can get soft as a civilian.”
“From what I hear about you two, you’re not that soft, even at your advanced age and as civilians.” Cole smirked.
“Well played, Mr. Matthews,” John said.
“Are you two done? Or would you like me to join the pilots so you can hold hands and cuddle?” Logan asked. Something still nagged at him about the Russians. “So what should we expect in Valdemoro?”
Cole looked at John. “Is he always like this?”
John laughed. “This is on a good day. Sometimes he gets really serious, and then the fun begins, usually with explosions, screams, and bodies.”
“Great. Okay then.” Cole shifted in his chair, and said, “Down to business. We know the Russian mob still has several networks that continue to operate throughout Spain. Like cockroaches, it’s hard to kill them all.”
“Sure, but we can always try,” John said.
“Spanish police traced the license plate of the white box truck that picked up the equipment to a Madrid Chinese restaurant.”
Logan interrupted. “Chinese?”
“Turns out, like in all major cities, there’s quite a Chinese population in Madrid. Anyhow, they thought the restaurant was a dead end until they checked with their organized crime task force, who realized it was a money-laundering front for the Chinese mafia. The head of that Chinese family also has an arrangement with a team of Russian businessmen who just happen to operate an illegal casino in the same district. The Spanish police raided the casino with a small unit from their Special Group of Operations, the Grupo Especial de Operaciónes, referred to as GEOs. They’re equivalent to the FBI’s HRT.” Cole paused, and added, “I understand you’re both quite familiar with them.”
This guy seems to know a lot about us, Logan thought cautiously.
“From what the embassy told me, after less than ten minutes of ‘persuasive’ conversation, the Russian mobster they cornered at the casino gave up the location of a safe house in Valdemoro. He said he’d received a phone call earlier in the day from his leadership in Moscow to arrange for pickup and delivery of a shipment from Barajas Airport. His men had specific instructions to pick up the shipment, head to Valdemoro, and wait for follow-on orders. He provided Moscow with their cell numbers, and for all he knows, they’ve already received their instructions and are gone.”
“Great. You know, I really, really hate playing catch-up,” Logan said. Changing subjects, he asked, “Do the GEOs—or anyone for that matter—have the safe house under surveillance?”
“As a matter of fact, they do. There’s a car waiting for us at the airport. It’s going to take us directly to Valdemoro, where the team leader has orders to assist us in any way possible.”
“I’m sure he’ll love that,” John said.
“Depends on how professional he is. In my experience, these guys are like us. They’re just a different flavor of the same candy,” Cole said.
“Agreed,” Logan said, and then stuck out his hand. “And the name’s Logan, and this is John. I don’t want my battle buddy using ‘Mr. West’ and ‘Mr. Quick.’ Sounds so fucking formal.”
Cole shook his hand firmly and said, “Please, call me Cole. It actually is my real name, by the way.”
“Good to know you are who you say you are,” Logan said. “And now that introductions are over, I’m going to sleep for an hour before we gear up and hit the ground.”