Overwatch: A Thriller Read online

  That former captain must’ve known something like this would happen. The colonel had told Barnett that it had been Logan’s idea to place him on overwatch.

  Here was the moment he’d trained for, happening right before his very eyes. The bastards were trying to get away.

  Captain Barnett sprinted back to his position, leaned down, and picked up the heavy FGM-148 Javelin missile he’d prestaged on the roof of the dam. He jogged as quickly as he could to the edge of the roof, the nearly fifty-pound weapon slowing him down slightly.

  He was proficient in the use of the Javelin. Normally, a two-man crew was required to operate it, more for stability than anything else. Fortunately, his two-hundred-pound frame was all muscle, and he’d trained to fire solo on multiple occasions. Now he was going to get the chance to see if that training paid off.

  He crouched and sat down on the roof, bending his knees in front of him. He raised the command launch unit—the CLU—over his right shoulder, balancing the weight of the missile tube carefully.

  He looked through the viewfinder and found the four Cougars outside the camp. They were already more than six hundred meters away. The small convoy had somehow blasted its way through the main gate on the side of the dam.

  The CLU’s infrared mode searched for the heat signatures of the fleeing vehicles. Captain Barnett flipped a switch, and a box appeared in the viewfinder. Seconds later, he was rewarded with a steady tone as the CLU locked on to the lead Cougar. Bingo. He pulled the trigger.

  WHOOSH!

  The warhead shot out of the missile tube toward the Cougars, and the missile’s main ignition system ignited. The warhead streaked upward into the sky at a steep angle, the sophisticated tracking system choosing the best angle of attack.

  Captain Barnett’s part of the job complete, he dropped the heavy CLU and watched as the missile reached its zenith, seemed to stop in midair, and then rocketed earthward in a direct line at the lead Cougar now eight hundred meters away.

  Even after seeing the Javelin used several times in combat, the technology of the weapon never ceased to amaze him. It’d been designed to maximize a top-attack angle in order to defeat heavily armored vehicles, including tanks and armored personnel carriers.

  The Cougar never had a chance.

  In an instant, the high-explosive antitank warhead slammed through the top of the armored vehicle. The first explosive-shaped charge cleared a pathway through the armor, allowing the main warhead to detonate inside the confines of the Cougar.

  The result was spectacular—and horrific for the men inside.

  The vehicle exploded outward as if trying to expand on its frame. The lumbering behemoth rolled onto its side and flipped several times down the road before grinding to a halt.

  The first two vehicles behind it had been following too closely. The second Cougar tried to stop as the driver slammed on its brakes. His reflexes were too slow. The personnel carrier smashed into the burning hulk of the first and was launched into the air as it broke through the other vehicle’s remains. It tilted in midair and then fell over, almost in slow motion, as it landed on its right side.

  The third Cougar’s driver had more time to react, but not much more. The driver avoided the wreckage and veered to the left but quickly lost control as a result of the high speed. The Cougar fishtailed wildly down the road and went right over the edge. Captain Barnett watched as the Cougar rolled onto its left side and suddenly dropped out of sight.

  One shot, three kills—not too shabby. One more to go . . .

  The fourth vehicle swerved around the wreckage, and its driver accelerated past the carnage, obviously hoping to place as much distance as possible between him and the dam.

  Captain Barnett reached down and grabbed the spare warhead he’d brought. He detached the spent tube and connected the new missile, assuming a sitting position once again. Looking through the viewfinder, he saw that the surviving Cougar was already almost a thousand meters away.

  You may as well just park it, buddy. There’s nowhere to go, he thought with a wry smile.

  Seconds later, the beeps transitioned to a steady tone as the CLU locked on to the remaining vehicle. He pressed the trigger once again, and the second missile launched into the air, quickly covering the distance as it greedily streaked toward its prey.

  He put the CLU down and stood up. There was no doubt it would be a direct hit. Nothing could stop the warhead now.

  Moments later, the missile impacted the rear of the Cougar, tunneling through the armor and striking the gas tank. The detonation of the warhead and the gas tank’s explosion were nearly simultaneous.

  B-BOOM!

  The vehicle flipped forward onto its roof, flames pouring out of it as it skidded down the dirt road. It finally ground to a halt, a burning cauldron of death.

  Barnett saw no movement on the road from his vantage point, which was fine with him. He turned around to radio the COC once again only to find one bloody Logan West covered in dirt and grime smiling at him.

  “Nice shot, Captain. They got what they deserved.”

  Captain Barnett opened his mouth to ask what had happened below, but he never got the chance. A loud vibration suddenly shook the roof of the dam.

  He looked past Logan West and saw the FBI agent and the retired gunnery sergeant standing behind him. They turned around to face the back of the dam, toward the lake.

  The thrumming sound grew louder, filling the air around them.

  “Get downstairs and see the sergeant major!” Logan shouted. “That’s our ride!”

  Like a specter emerging from the darkness, a Bell UH-1Y Venom helicopter rose into view, a 7.62mm Gatling minigun mounted on each side.

  The Super Huey hovered for a moment and then touched down on the concrete roof fifty feet away.

  Captain Barnett stared as Logan West, John Quick, and Mike Benson raced to the open compartment in the middle of the helicopter and jumped aboard, sliding onto the two leather benches that faced each other.

  He saw the men pull on headsets and watched as the pilot lifted off. Captain Barnett said to no one in particular, “Nice ride,” as the pilot angled the nose forward toward the front of the dam. The Super Huey shot forward, leaving Captain Jack Barnett alone once again on the roof of the Haditha Dam, wondering how in the hell this day was going to end.

  CHAPTER 53

  OVER THE EUPHRATES RIVER

  The pilot of the Super Huey concentrated on the small speck in the river a mile and a half downstream. The boat had opened up a sizable lead in a short amount of time.

  The pilot spoke into his headset to his passengers. “Thirty seconds until we’re on them!”

  He heard a man say, “Roger,” and then to the crew chief, “Use the Gatling, but do not—I say again, do not—hit the boat, at least not until I give the word. Understand?”

  His crew chief said, “Roger, sir. I’ll only try to scare the shit out of him—or at least make him think about stopping.”

  The river below flashed by in a blur. At two hundred feet, the sensation of speed was magnified exponentially. Buildings appeared sporadically on both sides of the river, and small copses of green trees grew in density.

  We’re getting close to the city. Not good. Logan thought of the potential for civilian casualties, knowing this city had seen more than its fair share of bloodshed since 2003. He didn’t want to add to it unless he had no choice.

  The boat moved dangerously fast, but the Super Huey had almost reached it. A few more seconds . . .

  “Stand by. I’m going to pass him and set up a blocking position a quarter mile downriver.”

  Logan wondered how long Cain would drag this out. “Guys, I don’t know what he’s planning. Unless he has another escape route, he has to know we’re going to get him.”

  Over the roar of the rotors, he heard Mike say, “Honestly, Logan, I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that we have to get that bomb at all costs. If he gets desperate, he can always trigger it.”r />
  Logan heard John say, “I don’t think so. I think—” but he was cut off as bullets ricocheted off the side of the Super Huey as it passed the port side of the patrol boat. A few rounds struck the inside of the helicopter, and sparks sprayed the passengers.

  The crew chief opened fire with the Gatling minigun. Logan watched as two streams of 7.62mm bullets lashed out from the Super Huey with a burrrp! burrrp! cutting across the front of the patrol boat, the impacts creating small geysers in the river.

  The pilot increased the throttle, and the Super Huey shot forward, racing ahead of the SURC. Within seconds, the bird was out of range of the SURC’s mounted machine gun. Logan heard the pilot mumble something, but he couldn’t distinguish the words. I can only guess he’s as eager to end this as I am.

  He looked south and saw they were near a small island that divided the river. It was connected to the city by a short bridge.

  The pilot suddenly brought the nose of the helicopter up and turned hard to the right, slowing down as he executed the maneuver. He lowered the Super Huey to an altitude of twenty feet. The side of the helicopter squarely faced the approaching SURC, less than a quarter of a mile away and closing fast.

  Logan realized that during their brief trip in the air, they’d somehow covered the five miles from the Haditha Dam and were now in the heart of the city.

  Christ. Cain could kill tens of thousands if he detonated now.

  “Gunny,” Logan shouted at the crew chief, “if he opens fire again, sink him. The suitcase is protected, and even if it’s punctured, only the explosives should detonate. The nuclear payload itself shouldn’t—at least I hope not.” Or we’re all fucked, he didn’t add.

  “Roger.”

  The boat came at them, now less than one hundred meters . . . ninety . . . eighty . . .

  It wasn’t slowing down. What the hell is he doing? Logan didn’t get a chance to voice the question.

  Suddenly, the SURC veered to the right, exposing its side to the attack helicopter.

  Logan realized what was happening a moment too late as Scott Carlson aimed an RPG at the Super Huey. The driver of the SURC had waited until he was within fifty meters and then turned to provide Scott a clear line of sight. Scott pulled the trigger, and the RPG streaked toward its hovering target.

  The Super Huey’s crew chief reacted and depressed the trigger on the minigun. The fusillade of bullets crossed the Euphrates toward the boat. Unfortunately for the Super Huey, Scott Carlson’s aim was precise, and the result was disastrous.

  Logan initially thought the RPG would tear into the cabin of the helicopter, but then he heard a loud bang! thwack! as the rocket-propelled grenade struck the rotor above them, splitting one of the four blades in half.

  Logan’s only thought was, Smart bastard, and then he braced himself for impact as alarms sounded inside the cabin and the cockpit.

  The cabin shuddered violently as the remaining rotor tore itself apart. The Super Huey turned to the left but then suddenly straightened up, hovering for a brief moment, suspended in midair.

  The pilot seemed to regain control. Logan looked back at the river to see the SURC speeding for the bank of the Euphrates and the expansive city beyond the gradual slope of the shoreline. Not so fast, asshole.

  “Gunny, open fire again. Don’t let him—” He was cut off by the sound of shrieking metal, as the rotors completely disintegrated. The Super Huey dropped nose down and tilted to the right.

  There was no way the pilot would recover this time. He shouted, “Brace for impact!” As Logan watched the surface of the Euphrates rise up to meet the plunging helicopter, he thought, If Cain makes it into the city, we’ll never catch him.

  Then the Super Huey slammed into the water, sending plumes of smoke and mist high into the air, and as water rushed into the open cabin, Logan’s only thought was of their survival.

  CHAPTER 54

  Cain did have a backup plan. It was his last resort. During the final weeks of the operation, he’d used his considerable resources to contact a local insurgent commander in Haditha. Scott had led the effort, and it was only after multiple attempts that the insurgent leader had allowed one of his deputies to travel to Baghdad to meet with Scott.

  The offer had been simple: “Provide us with a way out of Haditha on the day of our choosing. It has to be undetectable by the US military. They’ll be looking for us. Do this one thing, and we’ll fund you with all the weapons and equipment you can handle.”

  The insurgent deputy commander had been so dumbfounded by the offer that he’d been speechless.

  “It’s a real offer. Don’t ask why. But here’s the catch. We’re not going back to Baghdad. We need to get into Syria.” The insurgent had raised his eyebrows.

  “So, we’ll help an American willing to help kill his own people and who needs to get smuggled into Syria, correct? Inshallah,” the insurgent had said.

  It sounded preposterous to Scott when the man had stated it so bluntly, but it was the truth. Their goal was larger than a diminishing insurgency or any American lives that might be lost because of their actions. They were about to make a statement that would transform history.

  The agreement had eventually been reached, and in a remote building just one hundred meters west of an old soccer stadium more than a mile away from the SURC’s current position, four men waited to honor their end of the bargain.

  As Cain watched the helicopter sink into the Euphrates, he turned his attention to the riverbank. The driver aimed the craft toward a gradual slope forty yards away.

  Within seconds the patrol boat reached the shore, and Cain felt the bottom scrape the bank below.

  Cain looked back at the helicopter one more time. He thought he saw a flash of movement near the remnants of the hulking machine above the surface. He couldn’t be sure, but he certainly didn’t have time to wait and see.

  Scott and the driver both jumped out of the boat, boots crunching on the gravel surface. Scott carried the nuclear suitcase.

  “Let’s go, sir. We’ve got a bit of ground to cover before we’re in the clear.”

  “Nice shot with that RPG, Scott. I knew I paid you well for your skills,” Cain said.

  “Honestly, I’d have done that one for free. I can’t stand that smug West bastard or his fucking sidekick.” Scott wasn’t smiling.

  Cain nodded. He shared the same sentiments. “If nothing else, it should buy us some time. Let’s go.”

  He turned his attention to the driver, Tom Denton, as he walked up the short slope to the streets above. “Tom, nice job. I knew I could count on you.”

  “Sir, I’m in this till the end. I lost a cousin to an IED attack in Sadr City, and I know those assholes were funded by the Iranians. So if we can hit them back, I’ll do whatever needs to be done,” Tom said.

  Cain nodded. “Scott, hand him the suitcase. You and I are on point.”

  Scott turned over the nuclear weapon to Tom, who, though surprised by the move, didn’t appear to be afraid of the bomb.

  Good, Cain thought. Maybe I really can count on him.

  It was down to just the three of them, and it was all or nothing. If they reached Syria, the rest of the operation was already in place. He’d paid heavily for an Iranian visa, and after a substantial weapons shipment to Damascus, the Syrian government had guaranteed him a private flight to Tehran. All the Syrians knew was that he wanted to meet with the Iranian government.

  It had taken over a year and a half of clandestine meetings and worldwide conversations to secure a two-hour meeting with a representative of the Iranian regime. The meeting was scheduled for two days from now in a hotel in downtown Tehran. The hotel itself was unremarkable; however, its proximity to the Iranian Parliament building near Baharestan Square was crucial. In two days, the supreme leader of the Islamic Republic of Iran would speak to Parliament about the future of Iran’s nuclear program. That is, unless I have something to say about it.

  Cain didn’t know if the Americans had foun
d his map of the Quds Force headquarters at Fajr Base. He hoped they had. It was intended as a decoy to throw them off his scent once he dropped off the grid in Iraq.

  His real targets were the supreme leader of Iran and the entire Iranian Parliament. He was going to kill them all.

  Once his meeting with the regime was concluded, he planned to set the nuclear device to detonate during the speech. He’d flee south of the city to escape the explosion.

  He’d established a network in southern Iran, one that wouldn’t ask too many questions, even in the wake of the country’s political collapse. This network controlled the final piece of the puzzle—smuggling him into South America to a nonextradition country of his choosing. Iran had been involved for years in shady deals with various South American dictators. Guaranteeing his sanctuary had been the easiest aspect of the whole operation.

  “All right, then. Let’s go before any survivors from the crash or their reinforcements show up. We’ll stick to the alleys and side streets.”

  The three men climbed the slope and disappeared, their new objective more than a mile away.

  CHAPTER 55

  Logan pulled the pilot’s unconscious body toward the shore, acutely aware that with each stroke, Cain Frost and Scott Carlson moved farther away and into the urban maze that was Haditha.

  John assisted the copilot, who was conscious but had two crushed legs and couldn’t swim on his own. He clung to John’s back as the shoreline grew closer, the contingent of men laboriously working against the flow of the Euphrates.

  It was a miracle that none of them had been killed in the crash, especially Mike, whom he’d seen flung against the side of the Super Huey like a rag doll. Mike had complained about pain in his right ankle and foot, but he swam with the rest of them.

  The gunner and crew chief had surfaced from the wreckage unscathed. Some Marines have nine lives, Logan thought.