RUSH
C.E. Vescio
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
Istanbul, Turkey
Three Years Ago
The repetitive hum of the propeller helicopter blades echoed across the open sea as the sun began to dip low on the horizon.
Alex Strong sat on the hard bench that ran lengthwise down the narrow body of the helicopter, leaning to peer out of the small window across from him. Alex was locked securely in place, but could still see Istanbul’s hazy advancing skyline below.
The world below looked calm from that height. He took a deep, calculated breath as turbulence rocked the metal cabin.
Alex never much cared for the big, dumpy cargo helos. They were loud, uncomfortable, and an eyesore. It wasn’t the subtlest of entrances.
The H-46 helicopter began its descent into the heart of the city. The lower it got, the more humidity Alex could feel.
No one had much to say for the length of the flight, until they approached the city and the new guy started getting chatty.
Alex threw a glance over at Ricky Carillo, the youngest man the company ever hired. He was a wiz kid, a Marine Intelligence Specialist who served his term and transferred to private contracting. At first glance, Ricky didn’t seem like the type that would have made it even a quarter way through basic training. He was skinny with thick glasses, clean-shaven, and out of place. He was a tech kid, who happened to be a crack shot. He kept asking questions, spiking Alex’s irritation.
“What’s the threat?” He practically had to yell over the sound of the aircraft.
Alex kept his face expressionless. “Terrorism.”
The answer was meant to make the guy feel stupid, but if he caught the insult, he didn’t let on.
“Yeah, I get that,” Ricky replied. “I mean, this sounds more like DSS territory, is all. They protect the consulates that are red-flagged. Why send us in for a diplomat recovery?”
“After Benghazi, they’re taking zero chances.” Alex’s voice rose over the din. “Plus, diplomacy doesn’t always get the job done. You’d know that if you went over the mission notes.”
Ricky pursed his lips, frowning at Alex.
The Diplomatic Security Service was backed by the US government, while all private military contractors were considered more mercenary backup if anything else. Alex didn’t mind being deemed an unlawful combatant in whatever crap country he was in, but he didn’t feel the need to school the new guy on it, either.
After showing his potential as a Navy SEAL, Alex became a private military contractor at the suggestion of his stepfather who had connections in the field. Despite his company having contracts in various hot zones, Alex didn’t factor in attacks like Benghazi sparking a full-on loyalty war within the system. Now when his team was sent somewhere, there was an extra layer of tension.
“Kind of a touchy subject,” another man spoke up, turning his head to the men.
Alex shifted his attention to his best friend, Lance Attebury. Lance adjusted his Kevlar vest before giving his neck a crack.
“Why?” Ricky asked.
“Long story,” Lance replied.
“We’re security contractors.” Alex threw his friend a look to shut him up. “Not the CIA.”
One of the helicopter crewmen reached out and slid open the side door, even though the aircraft hadn’t yet landed. He didn’t seem to think it was a safety hazard for the four-man security team that sat in a row along the opposite wall. He lifted three fingers into the air, signaling they would be landing in three minutes.
Alex glanced to his right, noting that his fourth officer, Jim Kaminski, was asleep under a lowered baseball cap that partially hid his face. He was the only man Alex knew who could sleep under any condition, including being stuck in a metal canister bumping and shaking its way into hostile territory.
He poked Jim in his side to wake him. Jim lifted his cap lazily, rolling his eyes at Alex. “I’m up.”
“I love that this counterterrorism shit bores you,” Alex chided.
The aircraft bounced again, this time dropping quickly before evening out. Alex felt his stomach churn a bit. As much time he spent in cargo helos, the rough rides never got easier.
Lance pointed to the dimming horizon. “That gonna be a problem?”
Alex looked out the door to the dark clouds moving in from the distant mountains.
The helo was still on course. The pilot hadn’t said anything about the storm, and Alex hadn’t received orders to stand down. They’d go in, pick up, and get out before the weather got worse.
“Turbulence is bad.” Ricky stated the obvious.
Alex noted Ricky’s nervousness as the young man shifted in his seat, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his brow. He wasn’t hard to read. The guy had been recommended to the company due to his expertise, but he hadn’t been in the field much, and was still a little twitchy.
“It’ll be fine,” Alex assured him. “It’s not a war zone. You’ve got this. Get in, get off, get out. First round’s on me once we’re back at base.”
Ricky looked like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not.
“That’s Strong for you.” Lance unhooked his safety harness. “Not very endearing, but practical.”
Alex’s attention shifted to the open door. The ground was getting closer, and he could see the consulate clearly.
The massive reinforced concrete building sat on top of a small hill, looming over the rest of the area like a watchdog. Alex wasn’t familiar with the layout, and as he gazed down at the freshly manicured front lawn, an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.
Currently, Marines protected the American embassy building. The India Company 3rd Battalion, if Alex remembered correctly.
The Marines were stationed in high-risk embassies for interior guard work. Alex knew the drill. Istanbul hadn’t been a source of conflict until recently. There was some sort of alert, and he was just there to get escort the ambassador out until things calmed down. He’d let the Marines handle the rest.
He looked back down the row as the others lined up, checking their equipment and weapons, ready to debark and secure the area. He enjoyed this part. He liked the rush of adrenaline that enveloped his spine before a mission start.
Three. Two. One. Alex counted down the moment the helicopter made contact with the ground. He pushed out quickly, surveying the darkening area. The other three men followed suit.
An armed man in fatigues stepped up to the group quickly as the propeller blades died down.
“Gentleman.” The man didn’t bother to hold out a hand. “Warrant Officer Harris is waiting for you.” He gave everyone a stern once-over. “Please follow me.”
Alex and Lance exchanged glances before motioning for the others to follow. Marines never hid their distain of private contractors. It had something to do with the whole “you were military, but you copped out for more money to feed your renegade-cowboy ego” type of mind-set. Alex never got the animosity. Marines had an airtight brotherhood, but Alex still prided himself on loyalty to his men. He couldn’t argue that he was in it for the money, though. It was a nice perk.
The man led them up a short hill and into the building to the second floor. The building was warmer inside than it was outside, like someone had shut off the air conditioning. The florescent lights were off, and the windows were open, utilizing what little sunlight was left. Various staff members passed by, keeping their gaze forward, trying not to look hurried. It was unusually quiet, making the low tone that always hummed in Alex’s ears from years of firefights more prevalent.
Alex couldn’t shake the strange sense of foreboding as they made their way farther into the consulate. At each window he passed, he noted that the thick storm clouds had moved closer.
He leaned close to Lance as they approached a double door at the end of the hall. “Something feels off.”
“You mean, other than the air?” Lance replied. “It’s, like, ninety percent humidity in here.”
Thunder rumbled, accenting his statement.
“It’s quiet too,” Ricky commented. “Like there aren’t any regular sounds. Like phones, or white noise, or…”
“Power’s off.” Alex kept his attention forward. “Could be a grid down, or just a routine outage.”
“Or shit’s about to hit the fan,” Ricky muttered.
“Why you have to be so pessimistic, Carillo?” Jim asked. “I swear, if you just jinxed us, I’ll kill you.”
Alex kept quiet as he told himself that no major attack had befallen the Turkish consulate before, but to expect the unexpected. The area’s threats usually consisted of protestors getting out of hand. Protestors were a minimal issue.
They were ushered into a room where three men stood, talking near a desk. They all stopped and looked over at Alex. Two were well-dressed in business suits, and the other was a Marine. Alex quickly accessed them, recognizing one as the US Ambassador to Turkey.
“Alex Strong.” The closest man held out his hand. “I’m Warrant Officer Harris. This is Ambassador Charles Pace, and his consul, Mikael Rush.”
Alex shook each man’s hand while his team stood back. He was the point of contact in this business deal. No one else needed an introduction.
Harris turned back to the men. “Alex here is Edward North’s kid.”
Charles’s and Mikael’s eyebrows rose in curiosity, both clearly knowing the name.
“Legally.” Alex straightened himself up to his full six feet. “He was married to my mother.”
Mikael cleared his throat, seemingly unsure of what to say. “I’m sure if you learned even a fraction of his good service, you’re the top of your game.”
Alex frowned at the man. Edward North was a retired Navy captain, and Alex worked hard to stay out of his shadow. It was a touchy subject for a variety of reasons and he didn’t appreciate being called kid—especially by some jarhead warrant officer.
The apprehension in the room was palpable.
“Are you ready?” Alex asked, eager to change the subject. “Transport is standing by.”
Harris shook his head, gesturing to the window across the room. “We have a slight change in objective,” he said.
Alex fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Meaning?”
“We received word earlier in the week that Ahiret presence surfaced recently,” he began. “A few smaller protests took place around the Blue Mosque. They’ve been hiring children to throw rocks at our Marines to create panic. We took the usual precautions, but today the activity ceased, causing some confusion.”
Alex knew the Ahiret was a Turkish Marxist-Leninist party known for assassinations, hostage situations, and suicide bombings around the capitol. Never did their attacks end in peaceful resolution. Loosely translated, the name meant “afterlife” in Turkish. Both the Turkish and US governments considered them a terrorist group.
“Why target diplomats?” Alex asked. “Their group sticks to targeting public markets and places with lighter security.”
Charles’s fingers grazed a photograph facing the other way on his desk.
“Just tell him,” Mikael spoke up.
Charles took a deep breath. “My work here has gained some negative attention from the Ahiret. I was unaware of the hostility until last night, and by then it was too late.”
Alex quickly looked back at Lance, who gave him a subtle shrug and rubbed the back of his neck. His friend looked unsure of where this could be going.
“Too late for what?” Lance asked.
“We tried to keep all the information locked down,” Charles said. “But they managed to find out my daughter is working here on internship. Our informants believe she’s the actual target.”
Alex’s skin grew cold in the sticky heat.
“They compromised the power grid in this district,” Harris interjected. “We believe it’s to cause more confusion as the storm rolls in. A kidnapping attempt is imminent. The Ahiret rarely return their hostages alive.”
Alex ran his forefinger and thumb down the length of his jaw. “So, you need us to escort your daughter to safety?”
Mikael and Charles looked at each other, exchanging glances.
“I don’t want to cause panic,” the ambassador said, locking eyes with Alex. “My daughter doesn’t know what’s going on and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want her experience here to be damaging. I think a full evacuation is best. Make it seem like it’s a routine drill.”
“On a Friday at six?” Lance said.
Alex blinked, holding up his hand to silence him. “End of day or not, four men can’t sweep and evacuate this whole building. We’re four men with one mode of transportation. Where’s your battalion?”
“I have a convoy incoming from the air base,” Harris said. “They’ll take care of the lingering civilians. Your job is to secure the ambassador’s daughter.”
Alex tilted his head, shifting the rifle strapped to his back.
“I called you in because I know you’re the best man for the job.” Charles gave him a nod. “Your men can take Mr. Rush to the air evac, but I’d like you to escort me over to my daughter Lena and get us both out safely ... without causing any panic. I’ll pretend nothing’s wrong.”
Charles turned the photo around to show him a photo of a young woman with pretty blue eyes, blonde hair, and a dazzling smile. She was the kind of woman who stuck out like a tall tree in the middle of a prairie based on beauty alone.
“I know it’s a little out of the way,” Charles said. “But the threat is high, and I won’t leave without her.”
Alex wanted to tell the man to go to hell. His orders were to escort him out quick and be on his way, but one look at the man’s face made Alex hesitate. He wanted to ask questions, but now time was his enemy.
“Where is she?” Alex asked.
“East building,” Charles said. “Through the courtyard.”
He reached out, squeezing Alex’s shoulder as if they’d known each other for years and this was just a small favor. Just protect his sheltered daughter from an extremist group known for murdering their hostages, no biggie.
“Okay.” Alex threw a quick look at Lance. He could tell his friend was pissed. Lance often gave him a hard time about being too soft. He’d never hear the end of this one. “I’ll get you to her.”
“Thank you,” Charles said.
Alex gestured to his team. “My men will get Mr. Rush to safety. I’ll take Portillo and secure a path to the back building.”
“Yes,” Charles said. “The faster we get moving, the better.”
Alex opened his mouth to respond, but a low rumble began to vibrate through the building.
It wasn’t thunder.
****
Present Day
Alex woke with a start, drenched in sweat.
His eyes darted around the room, as he tried to gain his bearings. The walls were a dull white, the lighting was soft, and he could smell the flowers sitting in a glass vase on a table across the way.
Dressing room, he reminded himself. He had fallen asleep on the couch in his client’s dressing room at the Staples Center. He was safely back to the present.
He inhaled deeply to slow his racing heart, blinking to push the dream from his mind.
It had been three years since Istanbul. Three years since he left the life of a private military contractor to settle back in the States. In that time, he had gotten much better processing his PTSD, then it unexpectedly reached up, grabbed him, and held on tight. He hadn’t slept in a few days, so he crashed hard on the plush couch backstage that practically lulled him to sleep.
Alex forced himself to his feet and walked to the bathroom sink. He turned on the faucet, then splashed water on his face.
He wiped his eyes and glanced at the mirror in front of him. “Get a grip,” he told his reflection.
A lasting sense of tension hung around him. He glanced at his watch, noting the time.
Ten p.m., he thought. The concert would be over soon, and he’d have to get back to work. He didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place, and he inwardly cursed himself for doing so. He didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in a cloud of anxiety.
It’s fine. Just another bad dream.
It was a lie he often told himself. It wasn’t just a bad dream; it was a memory that tormented him from time to time. Alex wanted to believe it was getting easier, that the memories would fade more as time went on, but lately his mind was trying to remind him.
He didn’t appreciate it one bit.
Alex moved back into the dressing room, then opened the door that led to the main stage. He could hear the distant cheers of adoring fans listening to their favorite pop star.
Everything else was just as it should be.
As Alex finally began to relax, an alarm began to blare down hall.