The CALLSIGN_A Taskforce Story Read online

  The Callsign

  Also by Brad Taylor

  One Rough Man

  All Necessary Force

  Enemy of Mine

  The Callsign

  A Taskforce Story, Featuring an Exclusive Excerpt from Enemy of Mine

  Brad Taylor

  Dutton

  DUTTON

  Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.); Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England; Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd); Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins St., Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd); Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India; Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd); Penguin Books, Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North 2193, South Africa; Penguin China, B7 Jaiming Center, 27 East Third Ring Road North, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100020, China

  Published by Dutton, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Special printing, December 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Brad Taylor

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  E-book ISBN 978-1-101-60563-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers, Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Contents

  Also By

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author's Note

  The Callsign

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Preview of Enemy of Mine

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  Thanks so much for purchasing The Callsign, my first e-book short story. Every Special Operations unit has a history that’s unique, along with an evolution that’s not necessarily all honey and rainbows. I thought it would be fun to delve into the Taskforce at its creation and get a brief glimpse of its early players and their first mission. As an added bonus, you’ll find an exclusive preview of my next book, Enemy of Mine, included at the end. This extended preview is only available to readers of The Callsign. I hope you enjoy them both!

  Best regards,

  Brad Taylor

  The Callsign

  Chapter 1

  2008

  Charleston, South Carolina

  “Lima Echo just turned around. I say again, Lima Echo headed back toward target.”

  It was the absolute worst call I could have received, because it meant the cop—law enforcement, or Lima Echo—had seen something he didn’t like. Which was probably related to our being in the process of breaking into a building on Broad Street.

  Retro was in a vehicle providing outer security, precisely because he blended in to the current environment. Actually, he blended in to just about any environment. He was a plain-looking guy, not too tall, not too short. A gray man that you tended to forget as soon as he’d passed you. The only thing that stood out was his clothing. He’d quit buying civilian duds the minute he entered the Army, and everything he wore looked like he was going to a flashback costume party. Hence his callsign.

  “Retro, this is Pike. Was it a hard turn, or is he just doing a routine patrol? Did we spike?”

  The dumbest thing we could do was panic simply because a random patrol car had decided to turn around. Something I wanted to convey over the radio to the man doing the B&E to keep him from executing an action that would elevate the situation unnecessarily. Which was a trait I was beginning to worry about in my second-in-command.

  “Pike, Retro. I can’t tell. He definitely picked an odd road to do the U-turn on, but it is four blocks away. Nothing on the radio, so he didn’t think enough about it to call it in. All I can say is, he’s headed back.”

  Cop’s coming, and a timeline I can’t meet. This is bullshit.

  I had no idea if the policeman was real or if he was role-playing. I’d never conducted a live exercise in an actual, real-world city, and the distinction had the potential to be catastrophic. If this guy was paid by the City of Charleston, and not read on to the exercise, I could possibly make the news in a big way as a member of a new counterterrorist unit that operated outside the bounds of any legal chain of command, answering only to the national command authority.

  The B&E was just an exercise, but its outcome held much, much more risk than any other I had ever participated in. Certainly more than any exercise I had been in charge of. Back then I’d always had the big Army to fall back on, so I felt distinctly out of my element here. I couldn’t shoot my way out. Shit, I couldn’t even threaten violence. I was supposed to be in and out without anyone knowing, a mission that wasn’t playing to my strength of breaking things.

  “Kranz, Reaper, this is Pike. Break contact. Get out.”

  “Screw that. We don’t have the time. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ve been here before. Nothing to worry about.”

  I recognized Kranz’s voice. My know-it-all second-in-command. A guy from the CIA’s National Clandestine Service that had apparently seen more Jason Bourne–type action than Matt Damon himself—something he loved to share at every opportunity. I had my doubts, since he had a little bit of a gut and smoked cigarettes like a chimney. I couldn’t see him running more than a block before putting his hands on his knees, no matter what skills he professed to have.

  “Jesse, give me a status.”

  “Car’s still creeping, but no flashing lights or anything.”

  Jesse had also come over from the NCS, but unlike Kranz he showed some serious talent. He was the youngest on the team and looked like a college student, but he was a smart problem solver who was ice under pressure. I was pretty sure Kranz embarrassed him.

  The rest of the team was pure commando. Retro and Bull were Special Forces, and both had worked with me in my last unit. We’d all been recruited together as a package. Reaper was a SEAL, and appeared to be okay.

  Kranz was the issue. He seemed to have little-dick syndrome, and he was always trying to prove he was as big of a badass as the military guys.

  “Kranz, get your ass out of the building. You still have time.”

  I heard nothing for a moment, and then Reaper came on. His voice sounded clinical, but I could read the underlying anger. “Pike, we’ve penetrated the office, but we left evidence.”

  That jackass broke a door or a window.

  Then the s
ituation got worse.

  “Pike, Pike, lights are on. Lima Echo is coming hard.”

  I started moving immediately, trying to get a read on the approaching vehicle. “Reaper, Kranz, you hit an alarm. Get out. Get out.”

  Kranz said, “Five seconds. Might as well get what we came for.”

  The police car swung into an empty parking space right out front, hitting the building with its spotlight and causing patrons from the local bars to become a gaggle of onlookers. I saw the officer in the driver’s seat shouting into a radio, scared.

  Not a role-player. We’re in deep shit.

  The mission just went from exercise to real world because there was no way I could allow the police to compromise our fledgling little unit. After 9/11 my boss, Kurt Hale, had realized the limitations inherent in our own government’s fight against radical Islam and set out hell-bent on making drastic changes. With the new administration he’d finally succeeded. We’d only been up and running for four months, and it was looking like we were going to end up on CNN as a bunch of clowns. Which would more than likely cause the resignation of the president of the United States.

  I slipped into the shadows, heading away from the target building. “Retro, what do you have on the scanner?”

  “He’s talking. Calling in backup. He’s been told to hold fast until it arrives.”

  So I had maybe a minute to solve the problem.

  “Kranz, Reaper, status?”

  Reaper came back, running somewhere and panting, “Got the target package. Headed to the roof. We’ll escape through the cemetery on the north side. Pickup on Church Street.”

  “Roger that. You got about a minute to hit the ground before they lock this place down. Jesse, you got exfil. Retro, what do you have?”

  Before he even answered, I heard the sirens—then heard more bad news.

  “Pike, on the roof and there’s no fire escape. We can’t get down.”

  What the hell?

  “Reaper, climb the damn building. It’s granite stone with ledges at each floor. Nothing to it.”

  “Uhh . . . Roger. I can do it, but Kranz can’t.”

  That damn liar.

  Kranz had been placed as my second-in-command by Kurt—a little bit of forced love between the military guys and the CIA. I understood the reasoning; the Taskforce was supposed to be a blending of elements that was legally stove-piped by United States code. But somebody should have done some fact checking before Kranz was allowed to go operational. I had no idea how the CIA had picked the men to participate. Clearly Kurt trusted them to use some selection process, but he had been relying on his own experiences. Each of the military members had been handpicked from special mission units in the Department of Defense. In effect, we were already the cream of the crop. Though it was looking like that wasn’t the case on the CIA side.

  Two patrol cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing passed me in my little hide site on Meeting Street and kept going.

  My mind switched into high gear, leaving the quandary of the exercise behind, moving seamlessly into combat mode. Something I knew a little about. Something that was distinctly in my element.

  Solve the problem.

  “Reaper, find an anchor point for a rope. Jesse, meet me at the north cemetery gate on Meeting and Broad. Bring the exfil vehicle with the kit. Retro, you there?”

  “Roger.”

  “Hey, bud, hate to do this to you, but we’ve got two ways to go here. Either we get Reaper and Kranz out quickly, or we slow down the response. And getting them out quick doesn’t look like an option.”

  I heard nothing for a second, then, “Uhh . . . yeah. I don’t like the sound of that. How am I going to slow down the response?”

  I poked a feeble beam from a penlight at the map affixed to my forearm and said, “See the art gallery two buildings over from the target?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I need you to make them think they’re at the wrong target. Make them think we’re after the art and used the real-estate building to penetrate.”

  “Roger. . . . How?”

  “I need you to do a B&E. Right now.”

  Chapter 2

  “Pike, I’ve got a view of the street,” Retro said. “There are people all over, staring at the show. I can’t pick a lock on the front door in full view of everyone.”

  I saw Jesse with the exfil van round the corner and shot my penlight at his windshield to get his attention. “Get to the back. There’s an alley between the buildings. All I need you to do is trip an alarm.”

  I heard the skid of the police vehicles from a hundred meters away and knew I had about a minute before they coordinated and began a search.

  “Retro, we’re out of time. I need that alarm right now.”

  I heard “already moving” and ran to Jesse and the van, ripping into a duffel bag in the back and pulling out a Kernmantle climbing rope.

  “Jesse, stage on Church Street with the engine running. We’ll be coming out hot as hell,” I told him.

  I had shouldered the rope and turned to go to the building when he said, “We need to talk about this when we’re done.”

  I was surprised, since he was basically saying he’d had enough of the CIA bullshit. I said, “We will. Trust me, we’re going to hot wash this entire thing. Now get out of here. Keep the radio on. We get busted, and you’ll know it. If that happens get Kurt on the horn and get him ready for the fallout.”

  I jogged through the shadows of the cemetery until I reached the wall adjacent to the target. I was about to put myself in jeopardy, because I needed to start climbing before Retro accomplished his mission. He didn’t, and we were all going to jail together.

  “Reaper, I’m coming up. You got an anchor?”

  “Yeah. Inside the third floor window. It’s open now. You see it?”

  I flipped over the wall and landed softly on my feet in the alley. I could see the old window cracked a smidgen, a small penlight flashing.

  “I got it. Retro, what’s your status?”

  “Working it now. They just confirmed entry with headquarters on the scanner. From the radio calls, they’re searching the first floor slow and methodical.”

  I went to the corner and started to climb, using the rough-hewn granite blocks as hand- and footholds. I’d reached the second floor when Retro called again.

  “They’ve found the busted door. They’re now focused on it and the stairwell leading up.”

  “Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing? Trip the damn alarm.”

  “I’m working it. The door has four different locks and is steel plate. You want me to go out front and chuck a rock through the window?”

  “Get it done. Now.” I kept climbing. I began wondering whether we should try subduing the cops in order to escape, knowing I was pushing a seriously bad idea.

  I reached the third floor and was pulled in by Reaper. Kranz said, “Got the intel.”

  Like that would make up for the disaster we were in. The guy didn’t even realize the stakes he had created, as if the cops themselves were part of the exercise.

  I said nothing to him, simply whispering to Reaper, “Where’s the anchor? I need to put in a full loop so we can retrieve the rope once we’re on the ground.”

  He showed me an old cast-iron radiator, long dead but still installed, and I looped the rope through it, feeding it out the window until both halves of the line draped down the sixty feet to the ground, no knots involved. I was turning to get Kranz out first when I saw a light flash from the stairwell.

  Shit. They’re coming up.

  I hissed, “Get your ass out of here. Slide down the rope.”

  Kranz said, “I don’t have any gloves.”

  Jesus. That means there are fingerprints all over the place.

  I
grabbed his collar, jerked him to my face and said in a low whisper, “Get your ass out of here. I don’t give a shit if you leave your palms on the rope. Get out, or I’m going to fucking throw you out.”

  His eyes wide, he nodded and climbed through the window.

  “Reaper,” I whispered, “you think you can disarm that cop without injuring him?”

  He glanced at the light and said, “Pike, I don’t know. I go for it and miss, I’ll have to hurt him to keep him from shooting me.”

  He watched the beam, now bobbing brighter, and said, “Shit. I don’t know.”

  I slowly nodded, understanding that the decision was mine. I leaned out the window and saw Kranz was close enough to let go and jump.

  “Get out the window. Get away. Jesse is stationed for pickup. If I’m not out, get Kurt on the line. Let him know I’ve been arrested.”

  Reaper looked at the window, then at me and said, “I’ll do it. I can take him down.”

  I smiled, taking a liking to my only squid. “Yeah, I’m sure you could. With the help of some Army guys. Get out.”

  He started to say something else, and the light flashed into the room for the first time, a small glimmer that meant the guy was now on our floor. I pointed to the window and moved to the blind side of the door.

  Reaper disappeared from view, and I remembered the rope. If I were caught now, they’d know I wasn’t alone. But I would need it for a hasty exit. Once I disabled this guy—if I disabled this guy—I couldn’t afford a slow building climb. I would need speed above all else.

  Man, this exercise is really sucking.

  From the hallway, the reflection of the flashlight bounced through the room again, this time much brighter, and I pressed myself against the wall. I saw it splash into the room proper and felt my pulse race, the adrenaline flowing through me.

  I moved into a fighting crouch, waiting for him to breach the door, when the alarm from the gallery pierced the night. The flashlight paused, the police officer’s radio exploding in a cacophony of voices.