Entrenched

By Alex Ryan

A former CIA field agent is a suspect in a series of execution style murders of high level Agency officials, but the trail goes dark. Former intelligence contractor Sig Austin is brought in to flush him out, in a covert, international manhunt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Ryan
• Release date: Jan 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201641214

Alex Ryan

Alex Ryan is an American author based in Northern California that has authored a series of action adventure novels in the Bruce Highland series, and the Rex Muse series. Bruce is a former US Army Infantryman, post-graduate degreed engineer, pilot, gym rat, bicyclist, and barbecue extrodinaire. He draws on personal experience in his creation of characters and plots.

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Prologue

McLean, Virginia - 2018

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If you stood outside and looked at it, you would think it was just some dilapidated, rusting metal storage unit or garage which probably hadn’t seen active use since prior to the Cold War. Which was more or less what it was. It, and the block of run-down buildings next to it with broken windows and boarded-up doors was curiously devoid of the type of homeless squatter activity one might expect in a small tract of neglected if not outright abandoned structures in a sketchy part of town. At least as ‘sketchy’ as McLean can get, which isn’t very. If you were to stand in front of it long enough, you would be greeted by some pleasant company that would casually suggest it might be best to move on. If you stayed, the company would become less pleasant. If you tried to enter, the company would become downright unpleasant.

There was a sharp rap at the metal door and an old, withered man stood up and walked over to answer it. He was dressed in wool pants and a perma-iron short sleeved shirt which bore a pocket protector loaded with pens and pencils. He could have passed for your high school shop teacher. In fact, the man looked as if he hadn’t shopped for clothes since 1952. As he opened the door, three fit looking men with hard chiseled features dressed in plain black military fatigues entered, lugging their duffel bags with them. Despite the chill of the air outside, the inside of the small metal garage workshop was hot and humid. The dank atmosphere smelled of old oil, solvents and burnt rubber. A large workbench with a thick wooden top served as their meeting table.

They were clearly out of their element. Their element was the North African bush. And the jungles of Venezuela (but don’t ask them about that one, because they can’t tell you,) and most recently, the Middle East – Afghanistan, Syria and Iraq, and not necessarily in that order. That is, if you want to call America’s longest running war ‘recent.’ In any case, they certainly didn’t belong in a suburban United States neighborhood, not even when they were home on liberty; which is why it was particularly perplexing as to why they were flown nearly seven thousand miles as the crow flies back to the DC metropolitan area on very short notice. So short that the rest of their unit was probably just now getting briefed on their temporary ‘reverse deployment.’ And if something did come up in their absence, it would be a strain since LeRoy and Halliday were the two senior lead tactical operators. Butz was an up and coming rookie eager to prove himself, and so far had done a pretty good job of it. There are only three rules to live by in this unit – push your mind and body one hundred percent, keep your eyes and ears on the mission, and keep your nose out of everything else. Oh, and keep your mouth shut. That’s technically four, but the last one goes without saying. Or at least it should. The Rangers are the gold standard in conventional quick reaction infantry forces. The Green Berets are legendary for their prowess in guerrilla warfare. Movies are made about them. Stories are told by them. But covert CIA SAD operators? Few people outside of the circle of elite military operations even know they exist, much less what they do, where they do it, and for that matter, why.

Good to see you Krikov the leader of the team in fatigues said, shaking the old man’s hand.

Krikov responded with a warm smile, Good to see you too, LeRoy. I don’t really get out much anymore. Come to think of it, I don’t even know any of the young guns these days. He turned toward the second man, extended his hand and addressed him with an equally warm smile. Halliday, I am glad to see you’re here. The man named Halliday nodded.

Turning toward the third man, Krikov raised his eyebrows and addressed Butz without offering his hand, And you – I’m not sure I know you.

The name is Butz, sir the third, more youthful figure replied.

He’s a good kid LeRoy said. He’s been a huge asset back in Afghanistan. Butz, meet Mr. Krikov. He’s basically our commander’s boss’ boss.

Butz extended his hand, Good to meet you sir.

Krikov shook his hand and replied, If LeRoy says good things about you then you must be on your game.

With the formalities over with, Krikov became serious. I am sorry to pull you guys in on such short notice, but a priority mission has just come up, and I needed you guys yesterday. Basically, what we are looking at is a snatch and grab. The apprehension of a priority subject.

Where? LeRoy said.

Here actually. Rather, across town in Arlington.

The three men looked at each other with a confused gaze. Well, that, certainly is what we do, but... here? In the States? In DC? LeRoy countered.

Yes... and yes of course, it is a bit of an unconventional mission. At that moment there was another sharp rap at the door. Bear with me, I’ll get into it, but for the moment, please excuse me gentlemen while I get the door.

Krikov left the table, and opened the door. A fourth man, in full combat gear bearing an assault rifle entered and pulled up a seat at the table. The trio did not recognize the man. Although Krikov obviously expected him, he apparently had never met him and asked. Are you Valdez?

If I wasn’t, it would be a little bit late for that, now wouldn’t it? Valdez responded with a condescending scowl.

Krikov was not amused. Yes. I suppose it would be, now wouldn’t it. Anyway, I’m glad you could join us. Krikov glanced down at his non-existent wristwatch, as if to suggest that Valdez was late. Which, he technically wasn’t, but the ‘show up ten minutes early or you’re late’ was the standard protocol in effect which was expected to be understood by all in the room.

Oh and by the way LeRoy said, continuing from his previous thought as if Valdez had not entered, Sorry to interrupt, but as you can see, I’m two men down of a full team.

I am well aware of that. Basically, this is a very discreet operation hence the short team. Your deficiency will however be partially offset by this gentleman. Meet Protective Services Officer Moses Valdez.

LeRoy cringed. What do you mean by, partially offset?

"Let me explain something. The Agency’s Special Activities Division’s mission is to operate on foreign soil in regions where the rules are very different from here; as in, there generally are no rules to speak of. Since this mission is on United States soil, we have to be very particular about how we do things. You guys may be the best of the best at what you do, which is, by the way, why you’re here, and also why you are working directly for me, you still lack one crucially important thing. And that is the legal power of arrest. SAD has no authority on US soil, and neither does the Agency, per se, have a legal charter for law enforcement. There is however a loophole exception, and that is our Protective Services division. The CIA’s cops. You don’t know them because you don’t hang around McLean, but they are the law enforcement authority within the campus and externally, where Agency staffers may be at risk. So Officer Valdez has been pulled in to this team to be the arresting officer."

"That’s fine, but why exactly is he dressed up in tactical gear, complete with an M4?" LeRoy asked, motioning towards Valdez.

It’s because I’m going in with you boys Valdez said. And I’m no amateur, I was former Fifth Group Special Forces out of Bragg.

Whoa, whoa whoa, time out LeRoy said, making chopping motions with his hands. "Sir, I’m sure Mr. Valdez is probably a fine and competent soldier, but for god’s sakes, an actual mission is not the time to take on a new man. As you know, when we take on a new team member, we literally train with him for months, and we don’t even feel comfortable working with a new man until he’s had at least half a dozen missions under his belt with us. We’ve never trained with Mr. Valdez, let alone worked with or even heard of him. LeRoy looked at Valdez. Nothing personal Valdez, it’s just how it is."

Krikov looked visibly perturbed. I understand, but his presence is not optional. You guys are just going to have to work things out.

Look I have zero problem if he wants to stand outside and wave his badge when we bring out the suspect, but integrating him into the team? That is a non-starter.

Let’s put these issues aside for now, as we’re on a time critical window. Gentlemen, I drew some arms for you. In the cases over there are three M4’s as well as Sig 226s. Your standard issue weapons.

Well, that’s great and all, but we haven’t had the opportunity to sight the rifles in on the range.

Krikov lowered his thick horned rimmed glasses. You guys are literally going to be inside of a house.

LeRoy looked surprised. Oh? If that’s the case, I’d sure as hell prefer some silenced MP5’s. I’d be a little bit worried about over penetration in a residential neighborhood. I mean, remember the raid on Ahmad’s compound? Hamid and his goat getting sliced apart by an errant burst of rounds was tough enough to deal with when it happened, but little Tommy playing with Fluffy in the back yard? Bad PR man, just sayin’.

Krikov glared at him. Want some orange juice and a croissant as well? The MP5s ain’t happening.

It is what it is I guess. LeRoy was not liking how this was going.

Moving on, the subject’s name is Imad Jafri. He’s actually one of our former agents. Why do we want him? He’s the one that gunned down three Agency staffers on a golf course five days ago. Where is he? We have learned that he is staying in a residence in Arlington. And he happens to be asleep in the master bedroom. Right now. As we speak. We have eyes on him.

Why us and not the FBI? LeRoy asked.

National security issue. I might state again that he was one of us. He was a field agent assigned to Bagram. For whatever reason, he’s gone rogue and we need to get to him first before he does any more damage. Again, the man is dangerous. And he knows how we operate.

All right.

Here is a layout of the residence. Krikov rolled out a large paper map with a sketch of a floor plan and annotations. Study it, and develop your apprehension plan.

Basically, as I see it Valdez said, barely looking at the layout. I breach the master bedroom with one of your men, we take Jafri into custody, and the other two guys clear the spare bedroom.

Negative, negative, negative LeRoy yelled. Here’s the deal. I’m in operational command here, got it? Halliday and myself will breach the master bedroom, and we take down Jafri. Butz will clear the spare bedroom, and once our suspect is bound and hooded, we’ll bring him out and turn him over to you.

Valdez scowled. You want to be in charge. Fine. But at a minimum, the very minimum, I’m going in with your man Butz to clear the guest bedroom.

I don’t have a big problem with that personally Butz said. It’s supposed to be empty, right?

Suit yourself LeRoy said. Fine Valdez, you win. It’s you and Butz in the secondary room.

The men carefully studied the layout of the small, single story flat. It was fairly simple functional box of a layout, more like a two bedroom apartment than an actual house. There was the open space living room and kitchen area past the front door at the south, and two bedrooms to the north, the master being to the east, and the spare to the west. The shower/bath was in between. As buildings go, it was pretty simple. Hallways are normally problematic, but in this case there was no hallway.

Valdez reported that currently, the target subject, Imad Jafri, was still asleep in the master bedroom. The initial plan was to have Butz breach the front door with the battering ram, and LeRoy and Halliday would enter, kick open the master bedroom door, toss in a flash bang, and assault the room to subdue Jafri. Still stuck on the team integration issue, LeRoy indicated that Butz would assault and clear the spare bedroom to make sure it was not occupied. Valdez countered with his insistence that it would be safer if he assisted Butz with the assault of the spare bedroom. Reluctantly, LeRoy relented. They would then bind and blindfold Jafri, and transport him in in the waiting van back to headquarters. Once safely in custody at a secure location, the Agency would notify the FBI of the arrest.

The four men sped off in the swaying, bumpy black windowless tactical van with side mounted bench seats headed for the Arlington residence. Valdez remained vigilant, listening through his earbud mic for updates on intelligence obtained through continuous surveillance by other Agency personnel.

Valdez piped up We have an intel update. Apparently the surveillance team had their wires crossed. Jafri’s asleep in the spare bedroom, not the master. I assume you want to breach the spare bedroom then?

Yep. You got that right. Small change in plans. We can adapt. You and Butz hit the master bedroom then. LeRoy replied with a gruff voice. Changes in plan are to be expected. But that doesn’t mean he had to like it. Halliday and Butz nodded their acknowledgment of the change.

The operation started off like clockwork. LeRoy carefully surveilled the surrounding area for the presence of civilians which could potentially be in danger if things went south. Of course there was always the risk of gunfire penetrating surrounding homes, but evacuation was not an option on this mission.

Butz charged forward with the battering ram. The door cracked but it did not open. This was off to a bad start. He hit it again, and the door relented, ripping off the hinges. Two seconds of delay could mean the difference between a successful apprehension, and a firefight or even possible escape.

LeRoy and Halliday raced to the spare bedroom. Halliday kicked the door in while LeRoy tossed in a flash bang, then they both entered, with their M4 carbines pointed at the bed.

Butz was slightly slow in entering as his web gear got hung up on the battering ram. Valdez raced towards the master bedroom, and kicked in the door. Shortly after, a burst of 5.56 mm NATO rounds firing in the guest bedroom was heard.

LeRoy and Halliday walked out of the spare bedroom with no detainee. He’s not there Halliday exclaimed. Inside the master bedroom, was Valdez, whose M4 carbine was still smoking, and a bloody, crumbled body was slumped over near the window, in an apparent effort to escape.

LeRoy stood in disbelief, and stared at Valdez. What, exactly, the fuck? LeRoy screamed in an angry voice.

I had to take the shot! Valdez exclaimed. He had a gun!

LeRoy walked over and inspected the body. Valdez... he does not have any goddamned gun.

It sure as hell looked like it to me. It was a judgement call. Look, I couldn’t take the risk. I’m sorry, okay?

Within a few minutes, local police and federal authorities poured over the property, as crime scene investigators took photos and gathered evidence. FBI agents grilled Valdez and the three SAD operators for the better part of an hour.

LeRoy finally made a phone call to Krikov. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. We had some bad intelligence, and also, um, uh... a subject was killed.

Krikov sighed. Well, that’s not good, but at least if nothing else, Jafri is off the streets. So, things can’t get any worse than that... right?

Well, about that, here’s the thing. Actually, they can.

Chapter 1 – The unthinkable happens

Bethesda, Maryland, five days earlier

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It was a crisp autumn morning. Karen Richards adjusted her bib as she took her place behind the bar of the exclusive, members’ only country club’s main lounge. Within a minute after she took her post, three older men walked in the door of the otherwise deserted dining room, and took a seat at the bar. She didn’t recognize them, but then again, she had only been on the job for two weeks. The regulars tend to hang around the bar, and deliver some subtle, and sometimes not so subtle innuendos to the hand-picked, young, attractive female servers. The members all generally fit the same mold, which is that of the wealthy, lecherous and entitled. The membership initiation fee alone was easily twice her annual salary with monthly dues that rival her share of the apartment rent. And the regulars tend to let staff know that.

But who were these three guys specifically? Physically, they fit the mold. They were in their sixties, tall but with a slight paunch to their guts, with sparse gray hair combed over a balding spot. That pretty much described all three, yet, they didn’t quite give off the lecherous vibe. The, what could loosely be termed as the ‘leader’ of the group smiled, and ordered a round of Bloody Marys. He introduced himself as Mel Smith and said, put them on my tab. She was expected to remember their names, and automatically know who to charge it to. It was eight in the morning, and these guys were already boarding the ‘M’ train for getting their buzz on.

The club itself was surprisingly empty, even considering the fact that a neighboring club was hosting a local tournament drawing players, fans and onlookers alike away. Even staff members were lured away for a lucrative temporary double hourly pay they received to during the event. As a result, the club was virtually barren.

She swiped through the register touchscreen and cringed. Was it Melvin Smith, or was it Melwood Smith? I’m so sorry she asked... As she was abruptly cut off from finishing her question.

Melvin Smith The man said with a jovial smirk. You aren’t the first to ask, and probably won’t be the last. He was a little bit hard to read. He was either being a mischievous joker, or a pompous jerk. And let’s do one more round, please. We have a tee time of eight-fifteen.

Ten minutes passed by. Whelp Mel exclaimed, Looks like our mystery foursome partner is a no show. Let’s get going boys. By the time they put on their cleats, pulled their bags and checked out a cart, there was no way they are going to meet an 8:15 tee time. Then again, they weren’t exactly going to be holding anyone up either.

She looked down at her gym bag. One of the perks of working at the exclusive country club is having free access to the club’s fitness center. At least, free access if you’re a svelte, one hundred twenty pound blonde, with flawless skin. The weathered groundskeepers that didn’t come across as eye candy, not so much. Then again, exclusive member’s only fitness centers generally aren’t a thing for weathered groundskeepers to begin with.

It occurred to her that she was all by herself, or would be after the men left. It would be enticing to sneak in a workout on the club’s time. As enticing as it would be, she did actually possess a strong work ethic. There was always work to be done around the restaurant, even if it would be otherwise deserted save for Chris the cook. But, she thought, he’s just going to hide in the kitchen, probably surf his tablet for porn, and he will likely take a break outside in the back, lighting up a joint by the dumpsters, if he hasn’t already.

So, young lady Melvin asked. How much do you know about golf?

Sir, to be honest, all I’ve ever played was the putt putt course, like twice.

Please, call me Mel. And this is Andy, and Frank. The other two men meekly waved and smiled. Why don’t you come with us? It would be educational for you.

Karen blushed. Sir, I mean Mel, I’m flattered by the invitation, but I really have to cover my shift.

Melvin looked around the room, and peered outside the window. Look, I’m personal friends with Antonio himself. You won’t get in any trouble. Plus, I don’t think anyone will be put out. Mel fished out a one hundred dollar bill. But, it’s your call. Here’s your tip. Mel winked.

Karen looked horrified. In her experience, when a customer leaves such a large tip, they want service that goes beyond pouring drinks at the bar and retrieving the empties. I really don’t know if I should.

Mel smiled. Look, just for your information, all three of us work for an organization where, how should I put it, misconduct, even out of the office, is a potentially terminal offense. You have nothing to worry about.

Feeling defeated, she gave in. Oh all right. Let me grab my jacket. She pulled off her bib, put on a blue sweat jacket over her black with white trim uniform dress, and left with the men. Despite the chill in the air, they chose to remain in their polo shirts.

Well, we’re at the first tee Melvin explained to her. Looks like Andy’s up by card order. Then Frank, then myself. After that, the player with the lowest gross score on the previous ball will go first.

Andy surveilled the fairway, and did some mental calculations for wind drift. He stepped away for a couple practice swings, then lined up. He was sweating bullets as he sent the ball downrange with a loud clanking ping, in a horrible, left slice that sent the ball in to the rough.

Damn it! He scowled, eyeing Karen critically, as though her presence was a jinx. Out of the corner of her eye, she could spot another golf cart approaching from behind. Frank managed to keep it centered on the fairway, with a two hundred fifty yard drive. Mel’s drive landed ten yards behind, and to the right, but on the fairway.

The three men stowed their drivers, and climbed in the cart along with Karen. Meanwhile, the cart that Karen had noticed earlier appeared to be approaching them. It was a single person, who initially appeared to be a groundskeeper. He was wearing baggy, gray garb and a loosely wrapped headdress. He circled around the front of their cart and stopped approximately fifteen feet away. Karen and the three men stared at the man.