Page 62 of Into the Gray Zone (Pike Logan #19)

I’d decided to wait until we had our target safely on the Rock Star bird before telling Kerry Bostwick we’d been successful.

The last thing I wanted was to alert him about our operation only to have him say he’d coordinated for a rendition team in

a tiny town on the way back to Jaipur, telling us to just pass him off in some dark alley. I wanted my time to question him,

and most certainly didn’t have that opportunity in the parking lot of the Amber Palace.

Jennifer and I had heard the call that Knuckles and Brett had eyes on the target, and we’d hustled over to their building,

blending into the other tourists milling around in the colored lights splashed about. When Knuckles alerted me about a possible

meeting, I’d really considered attempting to move in close enough to ascertain the purpose, but immediately knew there was

next to nothing we could glean from the encounter, not the least because they would probably be speaking in Mandarin. It would

have taken a choreographed advanced force operation with technical surveillance emplaced days prior to execute something that

complex.

As much as I wanted to find out why they were meeting, I made the call to simply let it go and keep eyes on the target, focusing on the primary mission, which was to roll this guy up and quiz him on the hostages. The next thing we heard was that the target was being assaulted—which made absolutely no sense, but it would directly compromise my primary end state of an interrogation.

I ordered Knuckles to intervene, but, given the conditions, I knew there was little chance he could do anything. I gave him

my intent and let him sort it out, thinking that if he couldn’t do anything, he’d let me know.

Jennifer and I waited to hear something, the adrenaline flowing from a fight-or-flight response we could do nothing about,

and then the target burst out of a stairwell, running right by us. If someone had had a camera, our expressions would have

been the perfect viral computer meme.

We recovered quickly and I gave chase, following him out of the portcullis and down the road toward the entrance. I heard

a call from Knuckles saying the target was on the loose, but ignored it, as I had him in sight. When he came within view of

the entrance security he slowed to a walk, and so did we.

He left the lights of the entrance and wove through the cars of the parking lot. As soon as he was in the darkness, I sent

in Jennifer to distract him, just like we’d planned. She went to him and held out a map, asking a question. He looked at her

with a dazed expression, obviously overwhelmed from the last few minutes, but then engaged, focusing his entire attention

on her. As soon as that happened, I struck, taking him to the ground.

I rolled him on his back, crossed my wrists over his neck, and snatched his left and right collar with my hands, ignoring

his feeble attempts to fight back. I violently pulled outward, the fabric cutting deep into both carotid arteries like a closing

scissor. He flailed a bit, but in five seconds, he was out cold.

Jennifer returned with our vehicle, and I heard Knuckles calling again on the radio. I hoisted the man over my shoulder and told Jen nifer to answer, instructing her to poke them in the eye about the lack of help.

We stuffed him in the back of our car and waited for the rest of the team. They arrived, and I heard about the insane actions

they’d taken to prevent the loss of our target. Besides the heroics—which would earn them both a beer later on, but nothing

more—I was intrigued that our target’s very own masters had wanted him dead.

It was something I fully intended to use once we had him in our little “safe house” called the Rock Star bird.

After an uneventful thirty minutes on the highway, we pulled into the Jaipur airport and followed the signs to the general

aviation section, passing by Riva Thakkar’s helicopter. I noticed a flurry of activity around it, and wondered what that was

about.

We reached our rented hangar and I went inside, finding the pilots ready and waiting in a small office. I had Brett and Knuckles

bring in the car, closing the roll-up door behind them, and they loaded our target into the aircraft. He had a blindfold over

his eyes, noise-canceling headphones over his ears, and was flex-tied at the ankles and the wrists, but he was awake, twitching

like a worm on a hook.

I let them finish getting him settled in a chair and made my call to Kerry. Once the phone went encrypted, I said, “Hey, sir,

we have a jackpot and we’re clamshell at the Rock Star bird. No issues.”

I expected to hear the next steps for extradition of the target, or at least a congratulations. I got none of that. Instead,

I heard: “We don’t need him anymore. We’ve located the hostages. This entire place is moving to Mumbai.”

Which explained Thakkar’s helicopter preparation, but not what they’d found. I said, “Mumbai? Where and how precise is the

intelligence?”

“It’s precise. The crazy bastards have taken over Thakkar’s residence in Mumbai. He has the most expensive house in the world. Twenty-seven stories, and his head of security apparently just waltzed right in with the hostages and locked it down.”

That made no sense. “How did we get the intel? Is this cell phone data from the other bodyguard, an inside source, or what?”

“It’s from the head of security himself, a guy named Jaiden. He literally contacted Riva Thakkar on the phone and sent a video

showing Annaka. Claims he’s going to kill the hostages in the next forty-eight hours if they don’t read the manifesto on the

air.”

“Did you verify it? Make sure it’s not a deepfake or some other trick?”

“Thakkar verified it. Jaiden had the daughter say certain things to prove it was real, and the call was on FaceTime using

Thakkar’s Wi-Fi. Afterwards they geolocated the cell phone used, and it’s in Thakkar’s house. I didn’t see the video, but

everyone here thinks its genuine.”

“Just Annaka? You didn’t see Sledge or Nadia on the video?”

“Like I said, I didn’t see it, but the assumption is all the hostages are collocated. Look, I have to go. This place is going

nuts and I still have to brief the president.”

“Wait, what about my Chinese guy?”

“He’s going to have to wait. He’s not a priority right now. Pike, I have to go.”

Great. So now I’m a babysitter.

I said, “Put on Veep.”

He did so and I heard, “So you got jackpot?”

“Yeah, fat lot of good that did. What’s the plan right now? Are the JSOC guys on the ground?”

“Yeah, but I’ll tell you, I’m not sure how much sway they’re going to have on operations here. Thakkar is losing his mind

at the insult of his pride and joy being taken, and the Black Cats are leaning way forward on an assault.”

“Black Cats? Who is that?”

“Sorry. That’s the nickname of the hostage rescue element, the National Security Guard, and they are raring to go. They got

a black eye in the Mumbai attacks in 2008, and they aren’t going to let this one get any worse. One thing’s for sure, nobody’s

reading that manifesto on TV any time soon.”

“But the terrorists would know that would be Thakkar’s response. They must know an assault is coming. Why would they telegraph their position like this?”

“Maybe they’re ready to see the virgins. Maybe they knew this would make worldwide news. I don’t know.”

“They aren’t Muslims. There are no virgins in this scenario, and Sikhs don’t do suicide attacks for martyrdom. This sounds

off kilter.”

Something didn’t smell right about the situation. It was too easy, reminding me of times in Iraq when insurgents would feed

our intelligence apparatus false information for a target, then load it with IEDs in the hopes we’d hit it.

I said, “What’s the press reporting? Does the world know Thakkar’s place has been taken over by terrorists?”

He said, “Not at this point. They’re still reporting the original story. The RAW and Black Cats are keeping everything about

Thakkar’s residence close hold. They aren’t planning on telling the press anything, because it might screw up the assault.

They’re going to take that place down with overwhelming force and don’t want any complications.”

Meaning they didn’t want any cameras rolling if this turns into a bloodbath.

I said, “What about the hostages? Are they discussing how to rescue them, or just talking about smoking that place?”

“They’re talking about smoking it, but they can’t come right out and say it. The RAW is concerned about Nadia since she’s one of their own. They’re demanding all options be considered, but they’re losing that fight to Thakkar and the military. Right now, Sledge is the biggest blocking point to a scorched-earth assault. Since he’s American, it’s causing them to slow their roll in favor of our input for rescue.”

“Tell the JSOC guys to leverage that. Get them to pause before they do a knee-jerk assault.”

“They are leveraging it, but there’s no proof of life on Sledge, and Thakkar’s ranting to anyone who will listen that the hostages

are probably all dead. He’s given them permission to hit the place with any means necessary, and the Black Cats are taking

that to heart. They aren’t going to allow a repeat of the 2008 Mumbai terrorist attacks. I hate to say it, but right now the

hostages are taking a back seat to national pride.”