Cartagena, Spain, Indianpolis
A little later, they arrived at the airport, but instead of parking in the parking lot, they drove over to a private hangar across the street. The security guards opened the security gate as they drove through. He hopped on the Headshot Private Gulfstream and flew to Indianapolis after he rented a Chevrolet Silverado and drove through the city on his way to the Navy Sniper School.
As he pulled into the parking lot, he couldn't help but be awestruck by the grandeur of the surrounding landscape. With majestic mountains and imposing buildings in the backdrop, he climbed out of his car and shut the door. Strolling over, he noticed a large wooden sign that reads United States Sniper school on it. He entered through one of the buildings onto the course, where the instructor stood peering over the new snipers being trained for the Navy Seals.
The grill instructor glanced over and saw Atticus walking toward him. He tensed at the very thought of him being here. He didn't like it at all; he knew enough about Atticus to know that maybe, at one time, he might have been a marine but wasn't sure. Whatever he was doing here wasn't good; it never was.
"What are you doing on the United States Navy property?" the instructor inquired in a demanding voice.
"What can you tell me about Eric Donovan? I already know that he's an ex-Navy Seal, that he's the best and most efficient sniper, and that he's made record-making shots," Atticus asked.
The instructor clenched his teeth, causing his lip to be bitten. Out of all the snipers I have trained, he was truly exceptional. I have had the privilege of training some outstanding individuals in the past, including Brandon Webb, Jason Delgado, Chris Kyle, Marcus Luttrell, Adam Brown, and Rob Furlong.
"Hold on, did you just mention the name Holiday?" Atticus inquired, his hand on his chin as he racked his brain to remember where he had heard that name before.
"What type of military mission was he conducting in Afghanistan and Iraq?" Atticus inquired in an authoritative tone.
That's on a need-to-know basis, classified stuff.
Without hesitation, Atticus whipped out his Glock 21, levelling at it, one of the snipers down at the course, and saying, "I know I can fire a round into one of your snipers. Who gave Red his orders? Just tell me who; that's all I want to know."
The instructor paced back and forth; he fidgeted before he spoke. "I'm not sure...but I think they came from the CIA or Night Drop?
Atticus fired a shot at one of the snipers, smacking the asphalt and almost hitting the sniper on his leg. His eyes narrowed on the sniper as he scowled, "What do you know about Night drop?"
Atticus slipped his pistol back into his holster as he pivoted and emerged from the course and the building. He reached into his pocket inside his suit, pulled his I-watch, and dialled a ten-digit encrypted number for Callan. The one thing he was sure of was that Callen could find any Access Special Program black programs that didn't exist or were highly classified off the books.
Callan answered as he spoke. "What did you find out from your asset at the Navy sniper school?"
"Callan, we have a problem; it looks like Eric the Red was recruited into an off-the-books black program code named Night Drop by a man by Michael Holiday."
There was silence on the other end of the line before Callan spoke again. Yes, he knew all too well about Michael Holiday. He'd gone up against him in Iraq when he led his assassination unit to eliminate Saddam Hussein. But Holiday had quickly informed the national security advisor through a classified cable. And now he was behind this off-the-books black program, Night Drop.
"He used to be the CIA station chief in Kabul and Iraq when I was operating in Iraq. It sounds to me that he moved up, and this could be trouble for us," Callan told Atticus.
"Apparently, this Red was one of his best snipers that he had trained and that he had never seen anyone like him before. We need to know more about this black program, Night Drop," Atticus inquired.
"I'll see what I can find out about this Night drop and maybe what his orders were in Afghanistan and Iraq. I need to put a wet job team together. Gunner is expendable and loose end if the CIA or Red get to him, they interrogate him and make him tell them about the organization's operations," Call stated.
"Don't worry, Gunner won't talk; I'll make sure he doesn't. I'll put my best assassins on the wet job team," Atticus told him.
Atticus ended the conversation on his I-watch as he strode back over to the Chevrolet that he'd rented. Grabbing the door, he slid and closed the door behind him. Still, something kept nagging him like a thread on a needle. He couldn't quite put his finger on it yet, and that bothered him a lot. He started to wonder if Night Drop went back to Afghanistan and Iraq.
He'd never trusted Gunner Norwegian agents like him; he couldn't be trusted. In a way, he had been useful in eliminating Inna Davenport, which had been good. He'd back out of the parking lot and headed for the private hangar. Parking the vehicle a couple blocks down from it, he strode through the gate and hopped on the Gulf stream as he flew back to Cartagena.
He rose from where he sat, strolled over to the bar in the back, and poured himself a glass of wine to drink. He savored the taste in his mouth as he took a sip, as he considered how he was going to lure out Gunner to scrub him. This was going to be a challenge for him, he thought to himself. He'd loved a challenge; it made for thrilling kills, and he wanted to kill shot to perfect.
The private Gulfstream descended onto the runway leading to the hangar. Atticus strode down the staircase and headed over to the GMC, where the mercenaries were waiting for him. They grabbed the back door for him as he climbed in and closed the door behind him. They strolled over to the driver's side of the GMC and slid. After that, they drove back to the safe house.