Page 3 of Into the Gray Zone

I grabbed my rifle case, wanting to get out of our office as quickly as possible before Jennifer changed her mind. I was six feet from the door when the computer dinged, sending a tone out that meant only one thing: the Taskforce was calling on our encrypted VPN.

Jennifer glanced at me, then clicked the protocols for encryption, saying, “What’s this about?”

I set the rifle on the floor and went behind her in the chair, saying, “I have no idea. Nothing was on the horizon at the last update.”

The screen went through its protocols and then cleared, George Wolffe’s head staring back at me. I said, “Hey, sir, what’s up with the call?”

He smiled and said, “Where’s Amena right now?”

Amena was our adopted daughter, and the question told me he was going to hand us a mission. I said, “She’s in Europe on a school trip. Italy. Why?”

“Because I need your little company right now. As in yesterday.”

Chapter3

Kamal waited while Agam put the night-vision scope into use, the small rubber boat rising up and down in the gentle swell. Kamal didn’t think Mr.Chin was setting them up to fail, but he’d been drastically wrong once before, and Kamal wasn’t going to use his word alone.

He trusted Mr.Chin, as far as it went, but he had been an enigma from the moment Kamal had met him. Originally contracted for various small-time cell phone scams, he was now sure the earlier taskings had been nothing but vetting.

Eventually, Mr.Chin had paid him for more audacious actions, involving hacking Indian corporations for information, focusing on those that dealt with mining operations. The taskings had narrowed to one mining conglomerate in particular, with Kamal simply passing the information requested to Mr.Chin. Then had come the big ask: Would he be willing to follow an Indian billionaire? Set him up for a kidnapping? For money?

At that point, Kamal had balked, the invitation clearly ludicrous. He wanted to know who Mr.Chin really was.

What Mr. Chin told him didn’t clear things up. He claimed to work for a Chinese conglomerate that wanted to stop the billionaire from creating a mine in India, and that was all. It was nothing morethan corporate competition at its roughest edge, and according to Mr. Chin, that’s how the game was played at his level.

But why use Kamal? Yeah, he had skills in computers, but nothing that transferred to a kidnapping. Surely, if this was how the “game was played,” Mr.Chin had others who could do the job. People he’d used before. People more qualified. Why recruit Kamal? And then Kamal learned why: two of his childhood friends were now on the personal security detail of the billionaire—and they were already on Mr.Chin’s payroll.

Mr.Chin had provided the contact numbers for his friends to prove his sincerity, and he’d called them, trying to find out who Mr.Chin really worked for. He’d learned nothing more than he already knew about his identity, but also that he paid very well. His friends had served close to a decade in the Army before going to private security, and now they were telling him that the Chinese man meant what he said.

Kamal had agreed, on the surface, but he also had an ulterior motive. Something Mr.Chin would learn the hard way. The mining billionaire they were targeting worked hand in glove with the state of India, and if Mr.Chin wanted to take it to the assholes who’d destroyed Kamal’s life, he had no compunction about helping. They deserved everything they got, but it would be more than Mr.Chin envisioned.

Agam said, “The dock looks clear. It’s all dark. I see maybe one or two lights on in the prison.”

Kamal said, “The gate wall? What about the front gate?”

“It’s well lit, and I can see some guards, but they’re sleeping in their chairs.”

Kamal said, “Good.” And thought,Shouldn’t have picked a tourist site to hide your detention.

Mr. Chin had given them the original target set, an expansive Grand Hyatt property in the state of Goa, right on the water. The beach area ofIndia, Goa was known for both its expensive resorts as well as its hippy bare-bones enclaves.

The billionaire was apparently going to stay there in a few weeks, and Sidak had been sent in to apply for a job, acting as a Muslim resident. His entire reason for employment was to conduct pre-assault reconnaissance of the grounds, but for some reason, he was detained within a week of reporting for work.

He was nothing more than a groundskeeper and should have been below any suspicion, as he was literally doing nothing suspicious. Just using his job to report back weaknesses in the hotel security. Six days in, he was approached by his boss, then taken to a room with two strange men. Then he’d disappeared.

The last contact Sidak had made was a frantic call saying he was under detention and being taken away, then nothing. Mr.Chin had come back with his location, one that was surprising, which had started this entire operation. Kamal had questions about how Mr.Chin knew where Sidak was being held, down to the room, but he kept them to himself. At this stage, the key thing was getting Sidak out.

Kamal said, “Bring the boat to the dock. Keep your eyes out. Someone might be hiding.”

The little rubber craft edged into the spit of concrete snaking out into the harbor, the rock walls dim in the darkness.

Agam said, “Careful, careful. We need no noise, no light. Make no mistake, someone is filming right now.”

He pointed up the coast to a mansion hanging over the cliff, one with a raucous party, the tinkling of laughter and music filtering down to their location. Agam was right: someone would be taking videos and pictures from their cell phones. They had no idea what they would catch in the recording, but later, after the assault, the RAW would be looking.

Kamal pulled a scarf around his neck, covering his face, even as he knew the resolution of whatever device the house held wouldn’t be good enough to identify anyone on the boat. He felt the hull hit the concrete and said, “Hold it here.”

Agam grabbed a bit of rock, stabilizing the rubber boat. Kamal opened the duffel bag and began pulling out pistols. Old Makarov service weapons, known as the PB in KGB/Soviet parlance, they were 9mm semi-automatics with an integral suppressor. Provided by Mr.Chin, they were another question of his true organization, as the pistols had never been sold to anyone outside of the old Soviet system. Used solely for assassinations back in the Cold War, it was an open question as to how Chin had procured them.

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