The Keystone Protocol (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 8), page 1
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DEAD IN THE WATER
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ALSO BY R.J. PATTERSON
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Game of Shadows
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Line of Fire
Blowback
Honorable Lies
Power Play
State of Conspiracy
The Patriot
The President's Man
The Haitian Assassin
Codename: Killshot
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False Flag
Brady Hawk series
First Strike
Deep Cover
Point of Impact
Full Blast
Target Zero
Fury
State of Play
Seige
Seek and Destroy
Into the Shadows
Hard Target
No Way Out
Two Minutes to Midnight
Against All Odds
Any Means Necessary
Vengeance
Code Red
A Deadly Force
Divide and Conquer
Extreme Measures
Final Strike
Cal Murphy Thriller series
Dead Shot
Dead Line
Better off Dead
Dead in the Water
Dead Man's Curve
Dead and Gone
Dead Wrong
Dead Man's Land
Dead Drop
Dead to Rights
Dead End
James Flynn Thriller series
The Warren Omissions
Imminent Threat
The Cooper Affair
Seeds of War
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Newsletter signup
Acknowledgments
About the Author
THE KEYSTONE PROTOCOL
THE PHOENIX CHRONICLES | BOOK 8
R.J. PATTERSON
For Geoff, your enthusiasm for life is contagious
CHAPTER
ONE
KOROSTELI, KAZAKHSTAN
Hawk braced himself against the special compartment nestled in the trailer of the barley truck as it rolled to a stop. The driver killed the engine, the loud rumbling replaced with nearly complete silence. Amidst the darkness, Hawk couldn’t see his own hand, let alone Alex’s face just a couple of feet away. But he knew she was there, probably just as anxious as he was about crossing the northern border of Kazakhstan and entering Russia.
The smell of freshly cut barley mingled with the stale cigarette smoke wafting past the back of the truck. Placing his ear against the side of the truck bed, Hawk strained to hear the conversation between the Russian guard and Mansur, their truck driver. But neither of the men uttered a word. Nothing but heavy deliberate footsteps mixed with an occasional splash in the pockets of standing water.
Hawk pressed his right eye up against a sliver of an opening to see if he could tell what was happening. After scanning the area, he spotted a guard walking toward the back of the vehicle. Alex tapped Hawk, but he remained silent, instead just patting her on the hand in a gesture of reassurance. But he was anything but reassured. He tightened the grip on his Glock 19 and prayed he didn’t have to use it. If the doors flung open, he would know that Mansur had betrayed them.
The locking mechanism on the gate squeaked as the guard rattled it. Then almost as soon as the lock jiggling started, it stopped. More deliberate footfalls pounded the pavement, each step growing fainter than the last. Hawk eased out a breath and clicked on his gun’s safety.
A few seconds later, Hawk heard some unintelligible conversation before two quick slaps against the side of the cab. The engine sputtered before it turned over and roared to life. With a quick jerk, Mansur shifted the truck into second gear as the delivery received approval to move forward. Hawk watched as the guard stood aside, waving them through the border.
Alex squeezed Hawk’s hand and he squeezed hers back. Then he eased his other hand off his weapon and took another deep breath.
“I thought he was going to betray us,” Alex said.
“I was ready if he did,” Hawk said.
“That would’ve blown this entire operation.”
“This operation is going to hinge on moments like that,” he said.
“You know I’m not used to going this far behind enemy lines.”
“It never gets any easier, only more comfortable—if you let it. When we get comfortable is when we’re most prone to making our biggest mistakes.”
“Should we really be doing this?” she asked.
“It’s a little late to be wondering that now. But if it makes you feel any better, this mission doesn’t rank very high on the danger scale. It’s a simple human smuggling operation. And aside from getting the asset across the border, our main goal is to avoid detection and resist engagement, no matter how threatened we feel. The director made it clear that this better not turn into an international incident.”
“And how do you feel about our odds?”
Hawk couldn’t see his wife’s eyes, but he knew the look on her face all too well. He’d seen it dozens of times, those moments when she questioned their operation, whether the purpose of it or the danger associated with it. While he never made much of a distinction when it came to accepting his assignments, Alex did. Ever since John Daniel had been born, she assigned each mission a risk factor. Hawk hated it, though he’d learned to downplay some of the hazards and emphasize the benefits of succeeding. But neither one of them had to mull over a decision this time because extracting Russian General Aleksandr Litvinov would’ve been one of the greatest intelligence coups since the Cold War ended. If they could transport Litvinov from Aleysk, Russia to Korosteli, Kazakhstan and then get him safely into the United States for a debriefing, Hawk knew every detail of how this defection would be studied by aspiring CIA officers for years to come. The only question then would be what famous Hollywood actor would play Hawk on the big screen.
“I feel like the odds are in our favor,” Hawk said. “Nothing has happened recently that would precipitate Litvinov leaving his country. He’s remained patient and focused on getting out, which has helped him avoid the scrutiny that often derails such noble pursuits. You have any idea how many extractions like these we’ve tried over the years—and failed?”
“You see, that’s the part that makes me nervous,” she said. “The failure part.”
“This mission couldn’t be any more straightforward if it was distilled to just a pair of steps: Get to Aleysk and grab Gen. Litvinov, then go home.”
“That seems like three steps to me,” she said.
Even in the darkness, Hawk rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to debate with her whether this was a good decision. Regardless of what she thought before, none of that mattered as they continued to bump along the highway toward Aleysk.
“Are you sure that truck is going to be waiting for us?” Alex asked.
“Stop worrying, will you?” Hawk said. “We’re going to be fine.”
“You know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men?”
“Nothing’s going awry here,” Hawk said. “We’re going to get our truck, pull up into the alley behind Litvinov’s apartment, invite him to join us, and then leave. Please, just relax.”
“Hawk, if for some reason we don’t—”
“Just stop right there,” he said, cutting her off. “That’s enough. We’re going to complete our assignment and you can be home with John Daniel as long as you like.”
“I only came on this mission because President Bullock personally requested that we do this together, but these days I feel a growing desire to avoid the field. I just want to stay at home with John Daniel.”
“It’s called motherhood,” Hawk said. “And there’s no shame in wanting to be with John Daniel over being in the field.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Look, if this is the last time you ever enter the field, you should only ever be proud of what you’ve accomplished, not down on yourself for not wanting to stay. Countless Americans have no idea how you spared their lives with your quick thinking and problem-solving skills, never mind your sharp shooting.”
Alex chuckled. “The way you talk about me, anyone else would think I was the reason all our missions are successful.”
“And they’d be right,” Hawk said. “We make a great team, whether out in the field or back on our ranch. We do it all together. And we’re going to be great again once we arrive in Aleysk, right?”
“Yeah,” Alex said before she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “If this spy thing doesn’t work out, you could be a good motivational speaker.”
Hawk laughed and took Alex’s hand before drifting off to sleep to the rhythms of the truck bumping along the two-lane highway.
Several hours later, Hawk pulled into the alleyway behind Litvinov’s apartment building in a small white produce truck. A stiff breeze tossed a plastic cup and a paper sack down the alley. The truck bed was cordoned off with a makeshift wooden railing that raised the vehicle’s capacity for taking larger loads. A small sign was emblazoned along the sides, proudly displaying the company’s name and phone number. If anyone dared to dial the number, their call would be routed to a phone number manned by CIA personnel.
Hawk patted the dashboard as he eased to a stop. “Told you there weren’t going to be any problems getting this truck.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” she said. “Still plenty of work to be done.”
Following the designated protocol, Hawk rolled down his window, signaling he was the pickup vehicle. He caught a whiff of freshly baked bread and the stench of urine. A man bundled up in a coat glanced at Hawk before shuffling around the corner.
Hawk noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked to his right and saw Litvinov peeking out from behind one of the curtains and giving the signal to indicate he was ready to leave.
In less than a minute, Litvinov was downstairs with a small suitcase. He tossed his bag into the back of the truck.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “but I forgot something. I need to go back and get one more thing.”
“General—no, general—” Hawk called out after him as discreetly as possible.
Litvinov ignored Hawk’s pleas and continued dashing toward the door.
Hawk drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he searched the rest of the windows in the surrounding buildings.
“I don’t like this,” Alex said.
“Neither do I, but what are we going to do at this point?” Hawk asked. “Ditch him?”
Hawk noted the general, who was sixty-seven according to his file, moved with the agility of a man in his twenties. Litvinov’s fleet-footedness caught Hawk by surprise.
“I knew the workup we had on Litvinov said he was in shape, but he doesn’t move like any sixty-seven-year-olds I know,” he said.
“Me either,” Alex said. “But if that’s not the general, it’s a dead ringer for him.”
Hawk checked his watch and then bit his thumbnail.
“Be ready to help him get under the tarp as soon as he gets back,” Hawk said as he scanned the area.
“Looks clear for now,” Alex said.
Hawk agreed, but he was all too aware of how quickly a situation could change. He looked at his watch again and then surveyed the alley. If something were to go wrong, he noted there were two ways out. But he also couldn’t help but notice they were in a space that met the quintessential definition of a kill box.
Moments later, Hawk heard some shouting followed by gunshots coming from the rear of the vehicle. He glanced over his shoulder to see Litvinov sprinting toward them and gesturing with his hand to start driving.
Hawk twisted the key in the ignition, holding it for a moment to coax the engine to turn over. After a couple of tense seconds, it sputtered to life. Alex rolled her window down and started shooting at the armed men racing after Litvinov, providing him with cover. The gunfire prompted the men chasing Litvinov to take cover behind a dumpster positioned against the left side of the alley.
Hawk kept his speed low until Litvinov reached the truck. He vaulted himself over the gate to the truck bed and dove inside. Screeching tires echoed off the walls as Hawk barreled toward the opening at the far end.
As he neared their exit, two SUVs skidded to a stop, blocking any escape route. Hawk jammed his foot on the brake and then threw the gear into reverse. With the engine whining, Hawk raced backward toward the spot where he entered the alley. Curious onlookers poked their heads out of their windows as the action escalated. The men at the other end of the alley hustled out of their vehicles and took up positions behind the hoods before opening fire. Hawk and Alex ducked low to avoid getting shot. It only took a couple of shots before one struck the windshield and shattered it. Alex fired back at the men, granting Hawk a brief reprieve even though he was focused on the rearview mirror at the moment.
