The Gray Man Ch. 16 - Whitney

Dear Reader,

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination.

Constructive criticism, and feedback is truly appreciated. I would like this to be an interactive journey as much as this medium allows. Please feel free to send suggestions, ideas for future characters etc. I welcome the input.

Also, if you'd like a character to inquire about Gray's services send me a description and we can work from there. The previous 3 stories have all been commissioned by readers. If you'd like to meet Gray - please let me know.

I also need to be honest. Nobody on this site is getting paid - authors, editors etc. If you are the type of reader that reads to look for mistakes to send snarky notes - allow me to invite you to skip my stories.

Keep Soaring,

Pelican

(¬‿¬)

Gray was back in the saddle, getting back into the rhythm of the intelligence community. Working with Sharpshooter again was like a breath of fresh air. Folks who stood in harms way had a special bond. Military folks were a different type of person, they were truly family.

The old joke was that it was okay to fight amongst themselves, but if anyone else went after family, then it was all for one and one for all.

Gray had been tasked to work with Imka Kimathi, an intelligence agent with the South African State Security Agency. The two had been tracking weapons shipments from Syria and Iran into the escalating conflict in Africa. Intelligence officers had been predicting an increased Taliban presence in Africa. If the recent analysis of Gray and Diaz were correct, those predictions were not far off.

Gray contacted Underwood and they discussed his findings. Diaz contacted her boss who was headquartered in Pretoria. While both were impressed with the work that was done they needed more to go on.

On a warm May Tuesday Admiral Barnett called TJ and Imka into his office, "TJ, tell me, do you remember what it's like to be knee deep in the snow, tracking a shipment through the Kush Mountains?"

TJ's eyes lit up, "That's a skill set that one doesn't quickly lose, Sir."

Barnett smiled, "I didn't think so. I'm sending you to the Atlas Mountains to get eyes on this shipment, tag it so that it can miraculously disappear. Imka, you are heading home too. You will be Gray's direct liaison on the ground with the various governments whose land he will be in. I've been assured by Director De Zorzi that whatever assets he needs will be granted."

"Sir," she protested, "This is as much my..."

Barnett cut her off, "I know how much work you have put into this file. I also know what Gray's mission was before he signed on here. He has a special set of tools at his disposal. He will need every one of those tools to get eyes on the target, to place a targeter on the package, and to get out undetected. With all due respect, Agent Diaz, nothing in your file indicates a skillset that prepares you for direct interdiction operations. Make no mistake, Gray will need your skills, just not traipsing through the mountains trying to track the package. You need to be in Pretoria, or wherever else De Zorzi will send you. First, you need to get eyes on the package. Find the port in Morocco, identify the cargo, determine how it's being shipped and let Gray know. You will also be responsible for his exfil should he need it."

He looked at TJ, "You know your mission, Ghost. Track it, tag it, then get the hell out of dodge. Keep Sharpshooter apprised."

Gray nodded to Admiral Barnett, "On it, Boss."

Underwood arranged for Ghost and Imka to hop a flight to Gibraltar on a Royal Air Force Dassault Falcon 900. From there, Imka would take the Tangier Med Ferry into the port of Tangier-Med while Gray would insert into the foothills of the Atlas Mountain Range by a Royal Navy Augusta Westland Wildcat.

Underwood was not thrilled with the arrangement, "You are going to have to get lucky, Ghost. Timing is going to have to be absolutely precise."

TJ nodded, "Timing precise and some luck on the route. It's why I'm using the Brits instead of flying a Seahawk off of one of the Ike or the Stennis. Depending on their mission they could be hundreds of miles away and timing will be key. The Brits, if nothing else, are punctual."

Underwood looked at his friend, "Silence until you are in contact, then check in every 90 minutes."

Gray nodded, "Understood."

A few days after being on the ground in Gibraltar, Gray got a message from Imka. She had identified the package, photographed the truck, and bribed a dockworker to give her the route. She had cleared things with De Zorzi to work from the South African Embassy in Morocco.

Gray studied the map, briefed the flight crew and packed his gear. As the sun started to set Gray made his way to the tarmac.

Ghost checked his equipment: a Sig Sauer MCX combat rifle, a silenced H&K P30 sidearm, a combat knife, map, compass, radio, night vision optics, and the GPS targeter, and a fake passport. Gray tossed what the pilot thought was a horribly undersized rucksack into the helicopter. The loadmaster started to close the door and Gray put his hand out to stop him.

Gray put on his headset so the flight crew could hear him. "I'm not superstitious but I am wearing my lucky socks and closed doors are bad luck.

Chuckling knowingly, the special operations pilot asked, "Ready to go, Sir?"

Gray gave affirmation and the flight crew brought the helicopter to life. The Wildcat lifted off the ground and headed south, flying low over the water. Ghost looked out the window and saw the Rock of Gibraltar fading into the distance. He felt a surge of adrenaline and excitement. This felt way too familiar and Ghost felt all of his senses come awake. With the doors open he felt like he could smell the different aromas from each wave they sped over. He closed his eyes and started to focus on the mission ahead..

He knew the risks were high. The terrorist cell he was after was led by a notorious warlord named Hassan al-Bakri, who had been responsible for several bombings and kidnappings across Europe and Africa. He had a loyal army of followers and a hidden base in the rugged terrain of the Atlas Mountains. Ghost was hoping if he tracked the truck he may find al-Barki's base - something he had not mentioned to Sharpshooter or Barnett.

The helicopter flew for about an hour, crossing the border into Morocco. Ghost checked his GPS and saw that they were approaching their destination: a clearing a few miles from a Asni, small village near the foothills of the Atlas Mountains near Marrakech. He grabbed his ruck and got ready to step out of the Wildcat.

"Good luck, mate," the pilot said. "I'll be back here in 1 week for exfil. If you're not here by then, I'll assume you're dead."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Ghost said sarcastically.

He opened the door and leaped out of the helicopter, feeling the wind rush past him. He looked around and saw no signs of life. He hoped no one had seen him. Following all of his training Ghost headed away from his intended destination, circling back an hour or so later once he knew he had not been followed.

He put on his backpack and started walking towards the village, blending in with the locals. He had brushed up on his Arabic and wore traditional clothes to avoid suspicion just in case he ran into any civilians. His passport identified him as a Macedonian sailor who was living in Canada. He hoped he wouldn't have to fall back onto that plan.

Gray turned on his radio every evening at 1800 hours to copy messages. On the third day he received word from Imka that the truck was loaded and preparing to leave port the next morning. She also sent a high res image of the truck so that Gray could find it if it took the main road up into the Atlas Mountains. She instructed him to check messages at noon the next day.

The next day at noon Gray flipped on his satellite radio and got the message that the truck had left Tanger-Med that morning and had passed through Marrakech and should be in Asni very soon. Ghost slipped into the background in the Asni Valley and waited.

A little over an hour later the truck appeared, Gray had stolen a small 110 CC motorcycle. He climbed on and started up into the mountains following the large truck. He followed it for an hour when the truck turned onto a mountain path. He needed to find a way to follow the truck as anyone could tell, the single road would be watched by al-Bakri's followers.

The advantage was that there was only one road. He parked the motorcycle and stopped at a cafe for coffee and khobz (a moroccan bread). He ate and waited until the traffic in the cafe had all filtered out one time.

He left the motorcycle, stopped in the local mountain guide shop and picked up hiking and climbing maps for the local mountains before starting up the road on foot. To a casual observer he was a climber, like the hundreds of others that passed through the village every year.

It took all night but finally around 2300 hours he found a small two track that had ruts that matched the ones he had been following for the large truck. Gray kept going up the trail, higher into the mountains. Finally, Gray checked his watch. It was 0200 hours. He was pleased that all of the stealth and survival skills quickly came back. He was the best the Ranger Reconnaissance Regiment had trained.

Gray kept a safe distance from the truck, using the cover of the night and the trees. He avoided any roads or villages, knowing that they could be patrolled by hostile forces. He moved quietly and swiftly, leaving no trace of his presence.

The truck was heading south east, roughly following the Setti Fatma stream. The road got more and more narrow, he knew that the truck would have to drop its load soon. He wondered how it would ever find a place to turn around. His senses were heightened, every smell, every sound amplified. He also knew that the weapons in the truck could tip the balance of power in favor of the rebels, who were already well-armed and ruthless.

He wondered what kind of weapons they were. Gray tried to determine what was in the crates. His analysis said they were weapons, but what type of weapons were anyone's guess at the moment. He hoped they were simple rifles, grenades, rockets, maybe even some anti-aircraft missiles. His objective was to gather intelligence and relay it to his team, who would then coordinate with other units to neutralize the threat.

He checked his radio. It was still working, but he hadn't heard from his team in hours. They were supposed to be in contact every 90 minutes now that he was in contact with the target, but the last time he spoke to them was before he left Asni.

Gray decided to try to contact them, He powered up his radio, clicked the transmit button twice then quietly whispered into the microphone.

"Ghost one to Ghost prime, do you copy? Over."

He waited for a response. Nothing but static.

He repeated his message. Still nothing. Gray silently cursed to himself. All of the years and technological advances since Afghanistan and they still had not made a radio that did anything in the mountains.

He switched off his radio and put it back in his pocket. He looked through his binoculars and saw that the truck was still moving along the same route. It was about a kilometer ahead of him now.

He resumed his trail and followed the truck for another two hours, until it reached a checkpoint outside of a compound. Two guards in uniform, armed with AK-47s stood guard outside of the gate. They stopped the truck and asked for papers.

Gray watched from a nearby hilltop, using his thermal imaging device to see through the darkness. He saw that the driver of the truck handed over some documents to one of the guards, who inspected them and nodded. The other guard opened the canvas that covered the crates and looked underneath.

Gray zoomed in on his device and saw that there were dozens of crates stacked inside the truck. He couldn't see what was inside them, but he knew they were weapons.

The guard pulled down the canvas and waved the truck into the compound. The truck parked outside a large building that looked like an old factory or warehouse. The driver got out and knocked on a metal door.

The Ghost settled in behind an outcropping of rock, took out his binoculars and watched as the door opened and two men came out. They were wearing western civilian clothes, but Gray recognized them as rebels by their beards and bandanas.

They greeted the driver, opened the large door and brought out a towmotor to unload the crates from the truck. They carried them inside the building and closed the door behind them.

Gray counted 20 crates in total. He took out his radio and tried to contact his team again. "Ghost One- Ghost Prime, over." No answer.

"Ghost One, Ghost Prime, Over." Still no answer.

Gray sighed and mumbled, "Fucking radio." He pulled out the satellite radio and spoke calmly. "Ghost Actual - Redbird - Over." It took a few minutes, "Ghost actual, this is redbird - Go." Gray relayed what he knew to the operator located deep within a secure room at NSA headquarters at Ft. Meade."

The radio operator had no idea who Ghost was or what his mission was, his only job was to run the message up the chain. It would be hours before a response would come back down the chain, and Gray didn't have hours.

Gray knew his mission and that was to put a targeting chip onto a grate. He could call in an airstrike and laze the target, but that wasn't his mission. He was to identify and mark the target.

Without being able to contact the Special Air Service units at Gibraltar or Imka this part of the mission grew in risk. There was no exfil, no Royal Marines to come to his rescue, it was him versus probably 20 guards and time.

Breaking into a building was not a problem, it was getting out that was the issue. Gray had infiltrated many enemy bases before, and he had the skills and equipment to do it again.

Ghost did a perimeter sweep then scanned the area for any signs of guards or cameras. He saw none. He wasn't surprised. A remote location like this, surrounded by allies there was little chance of being found, other than by satellite. They had overestimated their security.

Gray approached a green metal door and quietly tried to open it. It was locked. Ghost took out his lockpick and inserted it into the keyhole. He twisted and turned it until he heard a click. Gray opened the door and entered the building.

He found himself in a large hall filled with crates and boxes. He saw labels on some of them. They were written in Russian and Arabic. He opened one of them and looked inside. "Fuck," he whispered as he took out his camera and took a couple of pictures. They were bio weapons. He wasn't sure what kind but the skull and crossbones on a red placard were a universal warning.

Gray placed the targeting transmitter in the bottom of one of the crates and started to egress from the premises. He couldn't hurry, because detection now was as bad as being detected before. Even if he could win a firefight against overwhelming odds, al Bakri would be alerted and sweep the crates before moving them again.

Gray slipped out of the camp, and down the road. In the early hours of the morning he carelessly stepped in a hole and badly rolled his ankle. Fortunately, a couple of hours later an open air truck passed by with a group of climbers making their way back to Marrakech. He told them a story about his solo climb, and how he had hurt his ankle and they welcomed him on board for the ride into the city. Gray thanked them but told them he only needed to get to Asni

Once in Asni Gray found a hotel, took a hot shower, finally was able to call Sharpshooter on his secure phone with his update. Gray wanted to get a good night's sleep, then make his way to Gibraltar for the fight home.

Underwood sighed, "Sorry to burst your bubble but St. Jean has a plane on the ground at Gibraltar to bring your ass home now. She said you can sleep on the plane. She wants a full report when you touch down at Andrews. Imka is already there."

"Fuck," murmured Gray.

Sharpshooter chuckled, "Grab a train to Rabat. Head to the US Mission, we will send a SeaHawk to fly you to Gibraltar."

TJ shook his head, "Not going to blow my cover now. Get a hold of the SAS crew on Gibraltar, tell them I am ready for exfil and will be at the dropoff coordinates. See you tomorrow, bossman."

The Wildcat was barely on the ground with the side door open when Ghost came out of the woodline and climbed into the helicopter. He left the door open as he pulled on the headset and fastened his seatbelt.

"Welcome back, Sir," the pilot said over the intercom as the nose dipped and the attack helicopter turned and started back out of the country (Feet Dry) before most people realized that the sovereign airspace of Morocco had been violated.

Gray kept his eyes focused outside as the terrain sped underneath. He didn't allow himself to relax until he heard the call, "Wolf Flight - Feet Dry" TJ realized how tired he was. His body was reminding him that he was about to turn 40 and that he didn't have the same energy as he did at 25.

Wolf Flight sat down close to the United States Navy C-20 - a military version of the Gulfstream IV. The jet was already lighting up, the red strobes were on, the GPU was humming and a Staff Sergeant was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She snapped to attention and rendered a salute, "Welcome aboard, Sir," she said as Gray walked by.

He paused, returned the salute, "Sergeant Major, Staff Sergeant, and thank you." He handed her his bag. "Weapons are unloaded and safe, but you may want to double check before you stow them. I'm tired."

Gray felt a surge of relief and satisfaction as he buckled his seat belt. He was tired, as the Staff Sergeant closed the cabin door gray was taking off his shoes. She offered him coffee and a snack which he politely declined. He replayed the mission in his mind. Ghost knew that he had done all he could, but the mission was only half over.

He looked out the window and saw the runway speeding by. The plane lifted off the ground and soared into the sky. He felt a slight jolt as the landing gear retracted, and then he relaxed into his seat. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

Before The Gulfstream had cleared the clouds Gray was asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he was at 40,000 feet somewhere over The Atlantic. When he opened his eyes again and reached for his laptop. He had to write a report on his mission, detailing everything he had seen and done. He had to debrief his superiors and share his findings. He had to make sure that his work was not in vain. He grumbled, he'd prefer to use his trusty legal pad and write notes that someone could later transcribe, but with Bio Weapons, time was essential.

He opened a word document and started typing. Gray detailed everything, from his and Imka discovering the possible shipment, to tracking the shipment, to his time in Morocco. Across the aisle in the darkened cabin the blue light of Imka's laptop showed that she was doing the same thing from her perspective.

Gray recalled every detail of his time on the ground, from the moment the Wildcat touched the ground in country to the moment he boarded the plane. In his report, as he had done in countless other reports he complained about the lack of radio coverage in the mountains.

He knew one comment would get him in trouble with the brass, but at the moment he was tired and frustrated enough that he didn't care, "I still find it amazing that with trillions of dollars in a military budget, that we can not circle a drone at 60,000 feet over an operation to provide communication relay with higher command elements."

He wrote for a couple of hours, his fingers clicking over the keys. When Ghost had finished writing, he saved his document. He read over the report, smiled briefly and closed his laptop.