Jack Millnan. Crazy as hell Jack Millnan. If the KGB couldn't kill him during the height of the Cold War, it was doubtful God himself could acheive the feat. It wasn't that Jack was that high up on the CIA flow chart, or even that he was privy to any classified materials that caused him to be a high value target to his enemies. Jack was the grease on the wheels that kept the intelligence machine of the western world. He was off the coast of Cuba as a kid, watching the nationalists get slaughtered by Castro's forces. To see a clusterfuck that up-close and personal made the man swear that no other op he was part of would endure such a humiliating conclusion. Many people that had been involved with the agency played the political game and aimed for advancement through the ranks, but not Jack. The man loved to get his hands dirty, and his moral compass went down with the Edmund Fitzgerald. He was an enabler, an organizer, and a scrounger. Jack was there on a mule smuggling stingers into Afghanistan, and smiling like a damn fool at checkpoint charlie when the wall went down. When the milennia rolled over, the agency determined they didn't need a cogwheel like Jack anymore, so they retired him. The result was a decade of intelligence failures and Jack going freelance. He built a nice little fortress about 30 miles out of Beirut and stocked his black book contacts, former friend and foe alike. It was a few years after Yuri had gotten pulled out of front line during Chechnya that they had first met.
* * *
Kazakhstan was the country where dreams and hydration go to die in a very slow and grotesque manner. Two men sat on horseback, headwraps around their faces to keep the constant bombardment of UV rays from blistering their skin. Still, two faint streams of smoke arose from the holes in their protectin, coalescing in a vertical tango towards the heavens. A pair of binoculars peeked through the headwrap of the taller man. "No sign of man or beast, this is truly a land that nature and religion has forsaken,"muttered Yuri.
Yuri and his partner had been tasked with tracking down lost supplies of conventional explosives that had been "liberated" from the former Soviet stockpiles in an effort to clamp down on the black marketeers before they managed to get a hold of nuclear weapons. They frequently chose the lands of the Kazakh to do their business because no one in their right mind would go there. So here they were, waiting to see if a smuggler's caravan trapsed by, looking more inconspicuous by the moment. Due to the quiet atmosphere of the surroundings, the conveyance of choice was typically pack animals, and people seemed to ask less questions about a train of mules than a fleet of cargo trucks. With this in mind, the sound of the internal combustion engine nearly forced Yuri to drop both his binoculars and his cigarette. His ire drawn more towards the prospect of the latter. What was more remarkable was that the vehicle was heading straight towards them. Cars were rare enough in this neck of the woods, but how on earth was somebody able to get an exact fix on their location dabbled into the realm of the absurd.
Indeed it was directly towards the two Russians that the beige Defender 90 barrelled in the midst of the desert. The secret to its owners superhuman tracking skills was the long antenna that ran over the extra fuel tanks on the roof. That radio went directly to a satellite station which was also tasked with monitoring black market activity in the area. No one was supposed to know the existence of the sattelite or the station, but Jack Millnan frequently gave less than a damn about the supposed tos in the intelligence world. All Jack was hoping for was that his new neighbors werent too upset about having neighbors, because a few well placed rounds shot at an advancing target could easily put it out of commission.
Yuri seriously considered unpacking the LAWS rocket and just blowing the vehicle away. He hated questions, and the answers he usually go typically infuriated him even more. A smoldering ruin poses at lot less risks than even the most innocent of human beings. Then the hesitation kicked in. It started with the fact that it was a land rover that came towards him, not a military surplus jeep from the US or soviets, leftover from vtheir constant meddling in the region. This meant an outside player, and a well financed one at that. Any of the people that were trying to kill Yuri in this area would not raise their visibility enough by travelling in an expensive foreign car. The way the car was coming towards him, you could swear the driver was an English lord on the way to a foxhunt. Yuri shoulder the rifle and searched his pocket for a fresh cigarette. He had just finished lighting it when the SUV skidded to a stop about six feet in fronth of the FSB team. Like Puxatawny Phil in early February, the driver suck his head out quickly and nervously from his confines. The owner of this particular cranium seemed to be gaunt and in his sixties, but his eyes possessed the livelihood of a twenty year old. He sported a faded field shirt, a four day beard, aviator sunglasses and a Boston redsox cap. He broke into a smirk as he began to speak, "So I hear y'all got a privateer problem..."
* * *
The eigth decade of his life was creeping into existence and it seemed as Jacl Millnan had shrugged off the mantle of time and its ill consequences when Kruschev ordered the boats bound for Cuba to turn around. He shoved a few extra banana clips into Yuri's hands and motioned for him to keep low. Off in the distance, quite the commotion was brewing, as the Russian could hear the faint echo of a large number of angry voices waltzing upon the wind. Knowing Jack, he had probably created a diversion large enough to engulf a thousand men on the other side of the docks. They moved quickly and quietly, darting to and fro among the containers, like mice hunting for a lone piece of cheese when there are multitudes of famished cats lurking about. Yet all of these nefarious felines had not been accounted for. About 100 yards away from the entrance was a scout patrol, just situated where the containers ended so that nobody would be joining the party late or leaving early. Jack glanced at Yuri, motioned to the two guards on the left and pointed to Yuri, then proceeded to give instructions to the rest of the four man rescue team. In fifteen seconds, it was all over, but due to the lack of silenced weapons, the larger force was now fully aware of their presence. They raced through the gate, to the parked infiniti that awaited them. The driver gunned the engine and they were off. In the back, Jack sat next to Yuri, grinning from ear to ear, almost beaming, "Don't you just hate customs?"
I was at : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,
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