Don't Look Back, page 23
Another SEAL platoon had responded to the shooting, and Teague nodded to them as they filled the standing-room-only space along the back wall beside other members of Teague’s new team who didn’t have the AOIC save a seat for them.
He wanted to ask Flyte exactly why he’d received this special treatment, but then an admiral entered the room, and they all stood at attention until the man took his seat at the head of the table.
The admiral began the meeting without preamble. “Captain Huang, I understand we have an update from Lieutenant Commander Fallon regarding the shooting on base last Tuesday.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Huang said. “Two days after the shooting, we authorized Fallon to go to Malta—on personal leave—because the shooter had information on his computer regarding Dr. Kira Hanson’s trip. His role in seeing to Dr. Hanson’s safety in Malta was unofficial and only agreed to in an abundance of caution until we could determine if Hanson was the target or the shooting on base was a direct attack on military personnel made to look like a personal attack on a civilian. Today, Lieutenant Commander Fallon contacted the AOIC of his SEAL team with intel that warrants calling this meeting for a full debrief.”
Huang nodded in Flyte’s direction. The lieutenant stood and walked to the front of the room. “Fallon called me because I have history with an individual he met today in Malta at approximately 1330 Malta time, 0730 Eastern. This is going to require some background to bring everyone up to speed. The admiral has authorized Dr. Hanson to be read in on this, as it directly relates to her. Lieutenant Commander Fallon says she has relevant intel. Right now, I have no context for how the meeting today came to be. We determined for expediency, we would all be briefed at the same time.”
The screen at the front of the room lit up, and Fallon and Hanson were there, sitting on a sofa with a backdrop of a window overlooking the deep blue Mediterranean Sea.
Fallon wore an Aloha shirt and Hanson was in a fancy tank top—probably a sundress of some kind. Both sported skin that had more color than they’d had last Tuesday. Fallon’s blond hair looked to be a shade lighter. Dr. Hanson’s freckles had come out in the sun like stars come out at night.
Even though they dressed like a couple on vacation, their faces were deadly serious, and any envy Teague might have felt for his OIC enjoying a Maltese vacation with the pretty Dr. Hanson evaporated.
Fallon’s lips moved, and it took a moment to get the sound to emit through the speaker. “—got the encryption to work.”
“Can you hear us now?” Commander Gleeson asked.
“Yes,” Hanson said.
“Good. I was just about to give background to the team,” Flyte addressed both the couple in Malta and the room. “Nearly eighteen months ago, my SEAL platoon was sent on a training exercise in Olympic National Park in Washington state.”
Teague sat up straighter. He’d been expecting this, but somehow, it still managed to hit him in the gut.
Flyte nodded in his direction and continued. “Petty Officer Teague Collins was on that team and participated in the exercise.”
He wanted to grunt a denial. That was only true if participated meant he watched his Fire Team get murdered and was nearly killed himself just minutes in and spent the rest of the time unconscious and a liability.
If Hobbs hadn’t run, Teague would have been finished off immediately. His life was saved by the other man’s failed escape. His new team knew he’d been injured, but they and others in the room didn’t necessarily know when and where. They’d find out today.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Flyte continued. “I’m sure many of you know about the LOLE—Lake Olympus Lodge Exercise—that resulted in a direct assault on a SEAL platoon on US soil, when we were isolated and armed only with Simunition.”
There were murmurs of agreement. “The motive behind the attack wasn’t as simple as it appeared, and the details remain classified, but I can share this much: my team was targeted in the assault because Russian oligarch Grigory Laskin was dissatisfied with an attempted rescue of his kidnapped daughter three years ago. The SEAL who ran the training exercise, Chief Warrant Officer Xavier Rivera, and I were the only survivors of the four-man Fire Team that tried to rescue Katerina Grigoryovna Laskina. The attack on the training was revenge on Rivera and me because we failed to rescue his daughter, who was killed along with two SEALs in the failed rescue.”
Collins knew these details. As a victim of Laskin’s revenge, he’d sought to learn everything he could about the man and done further research on his own when he’d exhausted what the Navy was willing to share or what the internet could tell him.
“The Defense Intelligence Agency has been monitoring Laskin for the last eighteen months, but legally, we can’t prove his guilt nor seek sanctions against him, not without revealing operational intelligence that would put informants and our agents at risk.”
Flyte looked at the screen where Fallon and Hanson sat side by side on a couch in front of a vast sea. “Today, Lieutenant Commander Fallon and Dr. Hanson were in the villa of Russian oligarch Luka Kulik. Kulik or his son, Reuben, might be behind the attack on Little Creek last Tuesday. While they were there, Reuben Kulik arrived with a guest who introduced himself to Fallon as Grigory Laskin.”
All the air in Teague’s body left him at once. He’d known Laskin had a golden passport and a home on the island of Gozo, but he’d never considered this.
His gaze scanned the faces of the people in the room, nearly all of whom outranked him. By far. He was going to have to tell them about Nadia and hope he wasn’t kicked off his new team.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kira braced herself for the coming questions, even as she reeled from learning who Grigory Laskin was. Fortunately—or unfortunately—she didn’t have to wait long.
“Dr. Hanson,” one of the officers she’d met on Tuesday said, “what’s your connection to Laskin?”
“None that I know of.”
“You said on Tuesday that your trip was personal in relation to your father. Was he an associate of Mr. Laskin?”
She hesitated for a heartbeat. She had to tell the truth. She knew it; Rand knew it. But for a moment, it felt like stepping into a trap. If Kulik’s goal was to keep her in Malta, this could play into his hands, introducing a legal limbo that could make her passport invalid.
They’d set the laptop on an upside-down garbage can, so even while sitting on the couch, the camera would be at face height. This meant their bodies below the chest were off camera. Rand’s hand found hers, offering support as he threaded their fingers together.
She cleared her throat and stepped off the cliff, taking an ungraceful plunge into the abyss. “It depends on which father you’re asking about.”
It took less than ten minutes for FMV’s operations manager Freya Lange to be authorized to join the meeting so she could provide the intel she’d gathered on both of Dr. Hanson’s fathers. Now the screen was split as Teague took in the convoluted story that began with art theft and ended with what appeared to be a CIA-sanctioned stolen mother and child.
“I’ve reached out to my contacts in the CIA, who are trying to track down paperwork on Hanson’s handler in the early nineties, when Alesya Ivanova Kulika and Kira Lukovna Kulika went missing and were presumed dead. So far, all they’ve been able to do is confirm there is a file. The Navy will likely have better luck than I in getting them to release the information as it relates to the shooting and ongoing operational security.”
“I don’t suppose they’ll talk to me?” Hanson said.
“Unlikely, except in relation to your dealings with your father’s Russian handler who claimed to be your cousin. They will want to know everything about your interactions with him.”
There was a bitter twist to Hanson’s lips, and Teague supposed he felt sorry for her, but right now, he had bigger questions. “What does that have to do with Laskin?” The words sprang from him without thought. It was Laskin who mattered here. Only Laskin.
Commander Gleeson tapped a button, and a photo of Ben Kinder filled the blank spot on the screen next to the windows that showed Lange in one and Hanson and Fallon in the other. “This morning—before Lieutenant Fallon was introduced to Laskin—Ms. Lange submitted a brief to NSWC outlining her theory that it was the FSB agent who claimed to be Dr. Hanson’s cousin who tipped off someone in Malta—most likely Luka and/or Reuben Kulik—that Dr. Hanson would be on base on Tuesday. This intel appears to have resulted in Kinder stealing a vehicle and entering the base with an M4 and a plan to go after Dr. Hanson.”
Captain Huang picked up the thread. “From the start, we’ve wondered, if Dr. Hanson was the intended target in an organized attack, how did they have someone in place who already had base access when no one—not even Hanson—knew she’d be here until the day before? But with Lieutenant Fallon providing the connection to Grigory Laskin, we have a new framework.”
A new photo, this one showing Laskin and the Russian president, replaced Kinder’s image on the screen.
“We’ve long known Laskin is looking for his next SEAL target—with a preference for an attack on US soil—as revenge, but also to get back in the Russian president’s good graces after he dabbled with changing allegiance when his daughter was a hostage. With the attack last week being executed at the last minute by a man who must have already been in place, we believe we’ve identified Laskin’s next SEAL target. What could be better than the base that’s home to Naval Special Warfare Group 2 and its SEAL teams—2, 4, 10, and 18—along with Naval Special Warfare Group 4. Plus, if they target the Dam Neck Annex, DEVGRU.”
DEVGRU—Naval Special Warfare Development Group—was more commonly known as SEAL Team Six.
Chapter Forty
Memories whispered at the edge of Kira’s mind. The only strong part of the vague sensations and fleeting images of Luka and Reuben that carried through was how much she’d feared her father and loved her big brother.
Had Reuben protected her from their father? Or had he simply been her playmate? She remembered other children—three or four, close to her age and older—who played hide-and-seek and other games in the large villa with so many excellent hiding spots.
That same brother she’d adored could be behind the shooting at the base. On one level, she understood—he’d been left behind in the boat, terrified and full of grief, only to find out his mother and sister had survived.
Of course he would hate their mother. Part of her felt the same way. But it wasn’t Kira’s fault. She hadn’t even known. Was it simple concern she’d take a chunk from his future inheritance, or was it a festering hate that went far deeper?
She was the spitting image of the mother who’d abandoned him.
Reuben’s hate for Kira likely had no bottom.
A sudden rush of tears had her bolting from her seat on the couch. She couldn’t bawl like a baby while participating in a meeting with NSWC.
That was not Valkyrie behavior.
In the bathroom, she closed and locked the door, then leaned against the sink and stared into the mirror, wondering if she was going to cry, puke, or do both.
As always, her mother’s face stared back at her.
Bile surged, and she flipped the lid on the toilet just in time to lose the contents of her stomach. After the spasms passed, she heard Rand outside the door. “Kira? Can I help?”
Just his voice was a balm. She wasn’t alone in this. She’d blithely walked right into a trap, but Rand had chased her across an ocean and was there to whisk her out of her biological father’s house and get her back to a safe house she’d never even considered she might need.
What would have happened that first night if she’d accepted Reuben’s invitation to walk her to the hotel? What if Rand hadn’t been there yesterday when she’d actually met with him?
He hadn’t wanted her to meet their father. Hadn’t wanted her in Malta at all.
The text she’d received her first night in Malta: You shouldn’t have come. It must’ve been sent by Reuben.
“Kira?”
She rose to her feet. “I’m okay.” Fine would be an overstatement, but okay felt close enough. “You need to get back to the meeting. It’s important.”
“You’re important.”
“I am. But not in the same way. I’ll get myself together and rejoin as soon as I can, but you need to be there now.”
“Take all the time you need.” His footsteps retreated down the short hall.
She splashed cold water on her face and gave herself the pep talk she usually reserved for social anxiety. This was an entirely different kind of anxiety, but maybe it would respond to the same deep breaths and affirmations.
She remembered her break in the gallery, another pep talk she’d given herself, when she was feeling the loss of her beloved parents.
Were Conrad and Anna the actual monsters?
Another memory from that night at the gallery tickled the back of her mind. All at once, she remembered Laskin. She hadn’t met him, but she’d seen him.
Forget self-affirmations, those wouldn’t help, but this would. A purpose. A proactive role. As Rand had said, it was time to play offense while they had the ball.
She no longer wanted to cry or puke. No, she would rejoin the meeting and be the Valkyrie they needed. There was a new threat to Little Creek, and she could help.
She blotted her face with a towel. One more deep breath and she grabbed her purse from the hall table and made her way to the living room, where Rand sat before a magnificent view of the deep blue Mediterranean with his laptop propped on a trash can in front of him.
Her heart squeezed at his sheer beauty. But he’d shown her he was so much more than a pretty face and muscles. This wasn’t a fling for him. He wanted a relationship.
Her past was a mess, but he offered her a future. She wasn’t alone anymore.
She would do everything she could to deserve him. Starting now.
She sat on the couch next to him. He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. She felt the heavy beat. It was soothing. In the small box on the screen that showed the two of them, she could see their entwined fingers. He wasn’t hiding the change in their relationship status from his commanders or his team.
She waited for a pause in the conversation, but none came, so she jumped in, having no clue what they were discussing. “I might be able to get us into Laskin’s house.”
Her words were like a record scratch.
In the silence, she added. “If not his house, then one of his businesses.”
The SEAL sitting next to Chris said, “You mean the house on Gozo?”
“Yes.” Her belly churned, and she took a steadying breath. “With everything going on at the villa, my brain skipped over the fact that I’ve seen Laskin before. When he showed up at the villa, I was reeling from learning Darth Vader is my father and Reuben…” She shook her head. “I didn’t really look at Laskin. Even here, seeing his photo on the screen, it didn’t register. But I saw him. Friday night, at the gallery.”
“I don’t remember seeing him,” Rand said. “I didn’t get a photo either. Freya would have caught that.”
“He left before you arrived. He’s an art patron, like Reuben, and he was there to support the glass artist, Juliette Vella. From their body language and what she said, I gathered they’re lovers. She gave me her card.” She reached into the side pocket of her purse, produced the item, and held it up to the camera. “And invited me to visit her on Gozo. She specifically wanted me to see her work in a gallery on the island.
“I think it would be…prudent for my client, military thriller author Randall Fallon, to be interested in investing in her art. He saw her work on Friday night, and it’s actually quite amazing. A good investment. But more important, I’m pretty sure the Gozo gallery is owned by Laskin. He and Reuben are involved in some sort of competition where Juliette’s work is concerned. I wouldn’t be surprised if Laskin told Juliette to invite me to visit because he already knew I’m Kulik’s daughter.”
Chapter Forty-One
“I’ve heard of Juliette Vella and know about her connection to Laskin.” Teague’s face reddened as he spoke, which was somewhat humiliating given that he was a SEAL in a room full of them, but what he was about to reveal could land him in a psych eval that he could very well fail.
Still, he had to speak, no matter the future cost. He had information that could speed this investigation along.
He cleared his throat. This was it. No turning back. “When I was recovering from injuries received during the Lake Olympus Lodge Exercise, I researched Laskin.” He was tempted to justify his actions, but most would understand, even if they didn’t approve.
“NSWC has their own analysts who are trained in that sort of thing.” The statement came from a lieutenant he didn’t know.
Teague shrugged. “Still, I have information that’s relevant.”
Captain Huang nodded. “Please continue Petty Officer Collins.”
“I speak and read Russian, and I wanted to learn what I could about the man who paid mercenaries to kill me.” He looked at the unknown lieutenant then scanned the room at large, eventually his gaze landed on the screen that showed Fallon and Hanson in one box, Lange in another, and a third showed an old photo of Laskin with his wife, son, and daughter. Both women were now dead.
“Laskin’s son, Aleksandr Grigorevich Laskin, is now twenty-five. Oligarch in training. Supposedly ambitious, but nothing I’ve seen confirms that. His father’s reputation took a beating when rumors spread that Laskin was turning away from supporting the current regime—which we know he was because that was part of the deal he tried to cut with the US in exchange for the rescue of his daughter.
“As already stated, analysts believe Laskin financed the LOLE attack in an attempt to win back the favor of the Russian president after he dallied with betraying him. But it failed. He got no headlines of a massacre of SEALs on American soil. The man who ran the mercenary team was killed in the park, but there had to be people on Laskin’s payroll who were involved. Laskin did some very angry house cleaning of his security team. At least one man had a date with an open window. Another escaped.”
