A Silent Reckoning: Sinner's Empire by Nikita Slater (ereader iphone .txt) 📗

“We don’t question who hires us once the tech team has given the go ahead.” Havel focused on a small, energetic man sitting near the back off the room. “Ali, tell them what you know.”

Ali stood, pushed his chair back, then immediately tripped over his own feet to get to the front of the room. Used to their technician’s clumsiness, the men patiently waited for him to settle in front of the screen. He cleared his throat.

“The job does come from the Radik we’ve all grown to know and fear.” He used the laptop to show the next image. It was Radik’s stats. 35-years-old, 6’5”, 280 lbs. His mother originated from the Congo, father from the Central African Republic. No other known family. No known home address.

“How the fuck did you decide this job is going to be safe for us?” One of the new men spoke.

Jozef crossed his arms and watched the interaction, curious about his new team members.

Ali addressed the man with a blank stare. “No job is safe. I believe that’s the point of mercenary work. We do the jobs legitimate companies won’t.”

“This looks like suicide,” the other man countered.

Jozef raised an eyebrow at Havel who shook his head, turned his back to the room and signed, his name is C-O-O-P-E-R. American born and raised. Worked as an independent before we picked him up. He has an impressive resume. He can be outspoken but has already proven himself adept. He’s particularly good with people. He talked your aunt out of her smartphone password in under ten minutes.

Jozef nodded and both men continued to observe the conversation.

Ali was speaking. “Radik is dangerous, but not stupid. He knows that there’ll be no place on this planet for him to hide if this job goes sideways. He might have an army at his back, but we’re better.”

“Hell yeah!” Halil shouted with a grin. “Let’s get this party started. I’ve been ready to go on a proper mission for ages.”

Jozef snorted and Halil looked guilty. While the men had been working on small jobs over the past year, most of their efforts had been concentrated on a smooth transition away from the Koba organization. This would be their first mercenary-for-hire job in over a year.

Jozef bumped Ali in the arm to get his attention. When Ali was looking, he gave the signal for the other man to continue.

Ali nodded and started speaking again. “Radik isn’t a cream puff, but he has a job that he insists only we can do. He sees us as second only to his people. According to Radik’s secretary, this job is of a sensitive nature, which means he can’t do it.”

“What the fuck’s the job already,” Cooper grumbled.

Ali glared, making his feelings for the American mercenary obvious. “We’re to go to a pre-arranged meeting point in South Sudan where we will retrieve the package and deliver it to Nice, France. I believe Radik will be coming in from the CAR while we come in from the west side of the continent. We meet in the middle, do the hand off and head back to Mogadishu.”

Cooper started laughing. “Are you serious? We’re going from Somalia, one of the most dangerous places on the planet, to South Sudan, a suicidal prospect on a good day, to meet with someone coming in from an even worse place, a certified dead zone. Am I getting this right?”

Nikolay cleared his throat. “You know I love these kinds of jobs, but Sudan? Are you sure? What’s the incentive?”

It was Havel who answered. “75 million.”

The seriousness of the job settled around the table. It was an extremely risky mission in one of the deadliest areas in the world with a compensation package higher than any the team had ever collected.

After a moment of silence, Halil asked, “Who’s going?”

“Everyone except our home security,” Havel answered.

“Even tech?” Ali asked. They rarely took their tech team into the field, especially on dangerous missions.

Havel nodded. “We’ll need communications while we’re travelling through dead zones. The tech boys will have to be on the ground with us, enabling our equipment via satellite.” Havel pointed at Cooper and the men surrounding him. “Our B team will land in Mogadishu ahead of the rest of us to meet with our liaison and secure the safe house.”

“Hell yeah,” Cooper said excitedly. “Now this is what I signed on for.”

Jozef smacked the table and pointed at Cooper, who immediately looked at Jozef’s hands. You will take this seriously.

The man nodded, his face smoothing into neutral lines.

Jozef looked around the room, satisfied that the others were listening and watching. In two weeks, I will meet with R-A-D-I-K here on home territory to collect the first payment and work out the details. Any questions?

“I have one,” Nikolay, the quietest member of Jozef’s team, asked. “Are we at war with the Kobas?”

Though his question was blunt, there was a wealth of feeling behind it. Nikolay was Krystoff’s second cousin, son to one of Krystoff’s cousins. He’d grown up on the periphery of the family and experienced the benefits of their loyalty for many years. He’d been uncomfortable with the transition. If any other man had asked the question, Jozef might have taken offence, but he understood Nikolay’s concern.

No, we are not at war with my uncle. I made the choice to leave, which was long overdue. We will continue our work undisturbed, maintaining respect with the Koba organization.

“What is our organization called?” The question came from another new member of the team. “On paper I mean, in case someone asks who I’m working for.”

Jozef stared at him blankly. He hadn’t thought to name his organization. They were the mob, not a daycare.

“We’re registered as Guard Dog Securities,” Havel supplied.

Jozef nodded and dismissed the room.

Once everyone left, Havel pulled out the files Jozef had been waiting to see. He spread them across the table. Jozef reached for the first one, which was titled, Krystoff Koba. Each of the others had similar titles: Dasha Koba, Leeza