Calculated Contagion Read online

  “If you say one word, you will die.”

  4

  Tyler Scott kept his hands steady on the controls and watched his instruments, keeping the helicopter nice and low. The thumping of the helicopter blades made conversation impossible without the radios and headphones designed for that purpose. Even with the benefit of this equipment, Tyler’s passenger, Cam Mitchell, wasn’t known for chit-chat, particularly when he was about to be dropped in a foreign country in total darkness. Tyler’s best friend and fellow operations officer tended to go quiet before big operations, which was a convenient quality to have in a partner when your job required total concentration.

  Tyler directed the bird to the landing point five miles away from the camp. Cam was going to have to hoof it the rest of the way. Cam had walked farther under worse conditions, and it’d give him something to complain about when Tyler picked him up. Cam tightened the straps on his pack and checked each pocket as they approached the drop site. While others might interpret Cam’s actions as fidgeting, Tyler knew better. Cam was completing a mental inventory of his tools for every scenario he might encounter in the next twenty-four hours. Cam’s contingency plans had contingency plans.

  “Get in, get out, Watchman.” Tyler settled the helicopter into a clearing and delivered the command to his partner.

  Cam reply came through his headset. “You got it, Eagle. With any luck, we’re dropping in on a bunch of Boy Scouts.”

  Tyler scanned the clearing. They were still alone. “Sure. You’ll probably see the Queen of England while you’re there too. Tell her I said, ‘Cheerio.’”

  “Smartass.”

  “Call if you find trouble. I’ll be close.”

  “You got it.” Cam leapt from the helicopter, and Tyler waited for visual confirmation that Cam had cleared the area before leaving. He flew to another site several miles away. Tyler would be close by his standards, but they both understood he wouldn’t be close enough to guarantee Cam’s safety against 500 men if things got worse in a hurry.

  * * *

  Cam jogged away from the landing site to get somewhere with more cover. Alone or not, he wasn’t in the habit of being an easy target. He’d reviewed his intended path on the flight over but took a moment to get his bearings before navigating through the scrubby brush, blanketed by the deep blackness of the remote Romanian mountain country. The cold morning air cut through his gloves, but his fast pace kept his body temperature up. It was supposed to be a warm week for this time of year, but that would only be true once the sun rose. The surrounding landscape was made up of large swaths of rocky outcroppings with the occasional cluster of trees or small groupings of plants. He was in an area with minimal human activity, but if the CIA’s intel was right, his isolation would not last for long. While he normally enjoyed the solitude of remote surroundings, he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander in what could very well turn out to be enemy territory. He reached the top of a ridge and was rewarded by the glow of dim lights. Dawn would arrive in less than an hour and he needed to settle into a discreet observation post.

  While Cam’s objective was to survey the area without being detected, even the most straightforward operation could take a turn for the unexpected. Despite all signs pointing to his being the only presence in the mountain wilderness, he listened for noises behind and around him where there should be none. He used the small amount of cover the landscape provided to creep closer to the encampment. As the trees cleared, the strategic position of the camp became obvious, and what could only be described as a compound fully came into view.

  Cam positioned himself behind a large rock. Still buzzed from his night drop and hike, he observed the camp through his night-vision scope while tapping his free hand against his right leg. The perimeter of the compound was delineated by a crude, tall chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. It was packed to capacity with canvas tents. The smell of smoldering fires hung in the air. The quiet that had kept him company for hours of hiking over difficult terrain was replaced by the faint sounds of the camp’s inhabitants beginning to wake up. No place was truly quiet that had this many people, and they had no reason to suspect an intruder just outside their gates. As dawn approached, nature began to make its demands and men began to shuffle out of their tents. Cam had been a warrior for nearly all of his adult life, and he began to create a mental map of the movements from within the camp. Actions that appeared unimportant to the untrained eye would allow him to learn something about the patterns and organization of the camp even before he had the benefit of full daylight.

  The sun began to peek through the low spots in the mountains, and Cam glanced down at his clothes and felt for his gun. He was dressed in the same black, pseudo-military garb of the objects of his study, or as close as the CIA could replicate from the satellite images. Cam’s cover, should he be discovered, was that of a local who had heard what they were up to and who wanted to join their ranks. He was fluent in their language and had practiced the local accent on the way over as a precaution. The men in the camp had been careful not to make their presence known, so if approached, he would have to rely on bluffing. It wasn’t optimal, but these things rarely were, and he had little else at his disposal. Cam was naturally tan from the active nature of his work, and a few weeks of serendipitous beard growth made his backup cover as a sheepherder, accustomed to long days on the mountains, slightly more believable. He couldn’t help that he didn’t look traditionally Romanian, but he was satisfied that he had done what he could to blend in. In any case, Cam didn’t intend to get any closer to the men in the camp.

  An hour passed, and Cam rubbed his leg to ease the stiffness of crouching in the same position before switching over to his binoculars. One benefit of working for the CIA was that a bunch of techies always had a handy new toy for him to use. His night scope and binoculars were recording everything he looked at. A team would be able to zoom in and slow down the high-resolution video, and he worked to keep the lenses steady on the top of a rock so they wouldn’t give him shit about the image quality later. Even if he didn’t see anything worth noting at the moment, they would be able to get facial recognition and more from the video, once they had time to process it.

  Once he’d watched the objects of his study for two hours, Cam had a good understanding of what constituted normal in the camp hidden away in the mountains. He then began to look for the unusual. While skimming the groupings of temporary shelters, he kept returning to a structure different from the others. The men in the camp kept a few feet of extra distance from it as they passed, which meant that they weren’t allowed to be close to it or they didn’t want to be a part of what was happening inside. Otherwise, there were no clues as to its purpose. He turned a dial to change the magnification of the binoculars and held them steady, keeping the video focused on the anomalous structure. The building looked permanent, but its white doors were closed. For all he knew, that could be where they kept the food and the cook was always in a bad mood. Cam compartmentalized the observation and made a mental note to follow up with the team to see if they had any ideas when he got back. As much as he’d like to sneak in later for a closer look, it’d be stupid to do it. And it would annoy Morgan.

  Cam identified the leader’s tent by the size and presence of armed guards standing outside of it. He focused the binoculars on that tent and waited for its occupant to open the thick canvas flap. The facial recognition from the satellite images had identified their leader as a disgraced Russian named Filip Stanislav, but the analysts weren’t confident the software got it right. Cam had studied the man’s photo and description on the way over, and Stanislav was thoughtful enough to confirm his presence by exiting the tent a few moments later. Stanislav had a legacy of leaving casualties in his wake, and the Russians had exiled him three years prior. While Stanislav’s movements were intended to appear careless and at ease, his mannerisms as he left his tent betrayed him. This was a man whose every motion was rehearsed. Despite the relaxed lines on his face, the la
rge man’s eyes darted, scanning for trouble. One strike against the idea that this was just a bunch of harmless hippies in the mountains.

  Two things became apparent by the way Stanislav interacted with his men: they feared him, and that was how Stanislav liked it. A tight grouping of men carrying AK-47s followed him closely, even when moving throughout his own camp. Given the remoteness of the camp, the guns were not needed for protection from outsiders, which meant they were likely intended to keep his men from getting any ideas. After several dull minutes, one of the security guards split from the group to gather the men in the camp. Cam stretched his back and focused his distance sound amplifiers on Stanislav to hear whatever announcement would be coming.

  While it was sometimes necessary for an operations officer to wait for the translation service to do their job when they were in a foreign country, Cam was a natural linguist. Research was divided on whether polyglots like him were born with a special ability to understand multiple languages, or if they had a skill set that anyone could gain as they noticed patterns, decreasing the time it took to learn each subsequent language. While the CIA probably had a team of scientists trying to answer that question, Cam didn’t really care. He just knew that languages were easy for him, and his skills came in handy on field operations.

  Cam had worked in many countries over the course of his career, and those he met on his travels often believed that their language was his first. His ability had gotten him out of a tight spot more than once, and while he was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary today, it was nice to understand the language being bandied about the camp in real time. Dan, the analyst who had guessed the correct Romanian dialect, would definitely be getting treated to a beer when Cam was back stateside.

  Not unlike a dignitary visiting the States, Stanislav was formally introduced by another man and a hushed reverence fell over his followers. He spoke with disdain towards the Romanian government and reminded his followers of the great injustice they had endured at the hands of their current leader. Despite his very real effort to sound genuine, something else was immediately clear to Cam. Every time Stanislav spoke of injustice, he followed it with a rallying cry for a violent resolution. While it was hardly the first time in the history of the world that a leader used a group of men with chips on their shoulders to serve his own ends, the operation objective shifted just that fast. Cam had another eight hours to try and figure out what Stanislav was planning. Fixing the problem was something else entirely and couldn’t be solved before sundown. Nothing was more dangerous than an enemy motivated by personal beliefs, and the heavily armed men in the camp seemed both passionate about their cause and unconcerned about the danger. The situation appeared to be every bit as volatile as his team had feared.

  After the large gathering dispersed, Cam collected very little information he deemed useful. He tore into a thick, chewy protein bar and took a long swig of water from his pack. His pick-up would be in twelve hours, and he was in the habit of making sure he had ample time to walk back to his extraction point. He stood carefully and stretched, ducking behind a tree to stay hidden from view as he relieved himself. As he zipped his pants and stepped around the trunk of the tree, his eyes were drawn to movement. He instinctively sunk into a crouch. Staying low as he returned to the large rock for his binoculars, Cam focused in on the group of men waiting at the entrance for a small covered jeep bouncing over the rough terrain of the nearly invisible access road.

  The men driving didn’t smile on their approach. Cam hadn’t seen much smiling here, so that wasn’t a surprise, but all sat tall in their seats and one looked smug. He studied the other occupants of the vehicle. All wore a hat of some sort but seemingly safe from the curiosity of outside observers, they had nothing to cover their faces. Cam zoomed the binoculars in on each one, his gut and their expressions telling him he was missing something. As he shifted his focus to ensure he’d captured each individual occupant, his scan reached the back of the vehicle. Suddenly, Cam understood the reason for their demeanor. A woman sat in the back, hands tied in front of her with a bag over her head. This was the first woman he had seen at the camp, and bile rose in his throat as he recalled the words of Stanislav’s earlier speech referring to those who would be necessary sacrifices in the pursuit of their righteous actions.

  The woman was pushed roughly out of the back of the Jeep, and the dirty sack on her head was removed. She righted herself and was led to Stanislav’s tent. Cam clenched his fists. Stanislav smiled as he exited and walked around her with arms wide to greet her captors. Cam heard Stanislav congratulate his men, slap them on their backs, and ask that they bring her back after nightfall.

  Cam didn’t have the time to feel conflicted over his next steps. His only concern was reaching the woman soon enough. He said a silent prayer for her safety. Then, he systematically assessed the situation. He had a window of time to prepare his approach. No one would touch her before the evening out of fear of their leader and his weapons-carrying minions. Despite the fact that it was a dingy little camp in the middle of nowhere, Stanislav was clearly in charge and enjoyed enforcing it. Cam was alone, which would work to his advantage. He could easily get close to the camp perimeter to see if there was an opportunity to extract her.

  Time passed slowly while Cam waited for the right moment to act. He was a patient man but even the best were tested when an operation took an unexpected turn. Cam tapped his thumb against the rock. It would increase the overall danger to the woman if he began picking his way over through the woods a little sooner than was optimal. The strategist in him stood in stark contrast to the instinct-driven warrior. The strategist won by a narrow margin, convincing the warrior that waiting for the sun to be at his back would give him a better chance to move about undetected.

  Cam began to search the perimeter of the compound for weaknesses, something that hadn’t been necessary a few hours prior, when he had the luxury of studying the video in greater detail later. A cursory examination was all it took to realize that the guard work was sloppy at best. One sentry was posted at the entrance of the camp. He showed no signs of attack readiness as he kicked dirt and generally ignored all of his surroundings outside of the access road. It would be easy to slip through the dense trees and get close to the camp without getting noticed. Getting out was something else entirely–sloppy or not, they still had him outnumbered. Still, one problem at a time.

  Cam propped up his binoculars on one of the large rocks he was using for concealment. They would continue filming while he checked his gun. Habit and training dictated a clean and functional weapon. The gun wasn’t his standard-issue, which wasn’t normally a problem, but he would have preferred his more reliable service weapon. His alias had been meticulously constructed using local materials, including the POS local favorite gun strapped to his side accompanied by a compatible POS silencer. He hadn’t been prepared to be grateful for its presence, expecting this to be a recon job only, but the little pistol would be a lot better than nothing.

  While he pulled out the magazine, Cam decided on the story he’d tell Morgan about why he rescued the woman. She could provide intel from the inside of the camp he couldn’t get from video alone. His true motive had more to do with being able to look at himself in the mirror every day, but any information she provided would be a bonus. Cam replaced the magazine and holstered the weapon with the safety off. He pulled his bulletproof vest out of his pack, took off his shirt, and pulled the vest on, securing the Velcro straps. He re-buttoned the uniform over the top of the vest and cracked his neck. He hadn’t worn the vest in the morning for comfort, but since the objective of his mission had recently changed, it was time to prepare for the worst.

  Cam considered calling in to report on the situation but didn’t want to risk the satellite phone getting detected or worse, getting orders to stand down. Instead, he wrote a quick note in the code he had arranged prior to leaving. “Went to get fresh air at the cafe–” pausing to think of how to describe the situation, he
continued, “–stopped to get something on the way. –C.” That would have to do.

  Cam placed the note in the GPS tracker black box that would be activated if he didn’t arrive at the pick-up site, buried it in the loose dirt, grabbed his pack, and began to pick a path towards the encampment. If all went well, the black box would remain dormant, the message would be unreadable within a week, and the box would degrade over the course of several months. And if he wasn’t able to meet Tyler at the rendezvous point, the CIA would have a trail of bread crumbs to follow. He placed the binoculars in his pack, threw it on his back, and tightened down the straps.

  Cam kept the sun at his back as he approached the camp from the back, near a cluster of tents where he last saw the woman. The tents were spread out into a haphazard gathering rather than an organized formation. Holes had been cut in the chain-link fence so that the men didn’t have to walk all the way to the entrance to leave the fenced area. Nice. The place was definitely not inhabited by professionals. He spotted the object of his search sitting outside of a tent with her hands in her lap, held together with zip ties. Her face was smudged with dirt and streaked from tears running down her cheeks. Her hair was dirty, with strands hanging loose from what was once a bun on the back of her head. However, she wore no other marks of her trauma. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he slowed his breathing to get it under control. Running his hand along his prosthetic leg and finding no problems, he waited to make his move. He had four hours until nightfall and would have to time his approach perfectly if they were both going to get away from the camp alive.