Free The Callsign by Brad Taylor Page A

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 situation 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 roleplayer. 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. Some.thing 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