by Tracy Brody
The GPS directed them to a crowded commercial area in the Batha district. Some businesses included English signage, and Tony made mental notes of what was around the building the CIA operative was camped out in. After cruising the block a second time, Mack pulled the SUV over. Tony, Lundgren, and Grant exited the vehicle, then headed past the hotel where al-Shehri was reported to have entered and was hopefully staying.
They kept a standard pace but did a visual security check. Tony didn’t get a decent view into the lobby, though, to determine if they had any type of guard they’d have to avoid.
The trio crossed the street at the corner and made their way up to the second floor of a three-story office building. Lundgren checked the surroundings before knocking on the door three times with a pause between each rap. He waited. Then three more rapid taps: God, Bless A-mer-i-ca.
Land that I love. Tony silently sang the next line.
A low voice from the other side of the door spoke in Arabic, asking for the day’s crash code. Lundgren answered, and the door swung open. The space they slipped into was the size of a typical American family room. Tight quarters for eight.
The operative stuck out his hand. “Jon Smith. No h. You’re looking kinda light.”
“Didn’t want to draw attention coming up together.”
Smith nodded his approval. A deep dimple showed in his right cheek as he stroked his beard.
Chief Lundgren gave his name, then made the rest of the introductions. “So, this is it?” A large corner-unit desk was the only furniture. Probably too big to get out of the office when the occupant vacated.
“Best we could do spur of the moment. Didn’t want to lose track of the guy if it was al-Shehri.”
“Have you had eyes on him since he went into the hotel?” Lundgren stepped to the side of the sole window and looked down the street.
“No, the guy who I am convinced is al-Shehri hasn’t left. But I have seen one of his bodyguards leave and return with food.”
“What made you suspect it’s him?” Tony thought it was him from the picture, but wanting it to be, didn’t mean it was, and it would majorly suck if it wasn’t al-Shehri.
“I couldn’t get a decent shot without drawing attention to myself, but I got a good look. That face is in my nightmares. Saw the scar below his bottom lip.”
Tony liked Smith’s confidence. He changed places with Lundgren. The angle wasn’t great, but they could see the front of the hotel and a good bit of the street.
“Is there a back entrance to the hotel?” Lundgren asked.
“Delivery entrance. I couldn’t cover that solo. Best not to be spotted loitering, even in garb.” Smith indicated the robe and headgear he’d shed.
Lundgren gave a grim nod. “We’ll get a camera up there once it’s dark.”
Grant handed two energy bars and a bottle of water to Smith, who drank a long swallow. Considering the guy had been on al-Shehri’s tail for twenty-four hours, they could give him a minute before pumping him for information. He hadn’t finished the first bar when Mack and Porter arrived.
“Dominguez and Rozanski are scoping the area and will bring up food and supplies.” Mack set two oversized shopping bags on the floor near the wall. “Liu and Shuler are keeping an eye on our vehicles until we can get the rest of our gear up here.”
“Does al-Shehri have a car, or did he take a taxi from the Four Seasons?” Lundgren asked Smith.
“Taxi.”
“Did you overhear any of what he and El Waddi were talking about?”
“No.” Smith shook his head. “El Waddi and a few others from the billionaire-sheik club are in town for this huge auto show. I was keeping my ear to the ground when I spotted our guy having tea at the Four Seasons. When he saw El-Waddi in the lobby, he beelined for him. The sheik seemed surprised—not in a good way. They only talked for a minute. He pretty much blew off al-Shehri and left with his entourage.”
“Interesting. If they didn’t have a meeting planned, what would motivate al-Shehri to come out of his hidey-hole to Riyadh?” Grant mused.
“Even from his profile, he did not look happy in the picture,” Tony said. “Think about it, the planned Fourth of July bombing was a total bust. Didn’t even make the news. He’s lost Hakim, his crew, the radioactive material. He probably needs money, and it sounds like there are several sources of capital in town he may try to meet with.”
Lundgren nodded. “Makes total sense. But how long will he stay?”
That was the million-dollar question. Their time window might be tight if he left when the sheik did.
“Was al-Shehri alone when you spotted him?” Lundgren asked.
“He was with two others at the hotel. I think they’re his protection detail. I got pictures.”
“We’ll need those.”
Smith shared the photos of the bodyguards, and Lundgren forwarded them to the team. At least they were wearing traditional Afghan attire, so they stood out from all the Saudi’s in white robes or more Western attire.
“You guys might want to check the alley down the street as a possible location for a snatch-and-run,” Smith advised.
“Washington wants us to tail al-Shehri to his home base to get computers and potential intel.”
Lundgren’s statement was met by uncomfortable silence. Tony ground his teeth together. What the hell did the suits in Washington know about tailing a terrorist? Al-Shehri had the intel they needed—about the damn bomb. If he got away—again—they had nothing. A bastard in the hand, was worth two in the bush.
“Course I want to win the lottery,” Lundgren continued, “but I don’t like the chances of that happening, so if we can get al-Shehri alive, we take it.”
Now the chief was talking. Tony was not going back to North Carolina and telling Angela they’d failed to get al-Shehri or information on the second bomb. No way.
“What if alive isn’t an option?” Mack asked.
“Dead is better than him getting away, but we need details on the bomb. We’ve got to get ears on what he’s talking about and who he’s talking to.”
“I’m on it, Chief.” Porter pulled his laptop from his satchel and inserted a secure hotspot.
Smith gave him the name of the hotel, and Porter typed away.
“I’m in.” Porter went from shaking his head to low growls. “I didn’t expect him to be under his name, but the hotel doesn’t have security cameras on the floors to give us eyes.”
“Not surprising. A lot of shady dealings in this district. Lack of that kind of security is actually a draw,” Smith said.
“Flipside is they won’t have eyes on us if we go in,” Mack said like an eternal optimist.
“We need to know where to go, though,” Lundgren groused.
“We can use the drone. Peek in windows,” Porter suggested.
“You don’t want it spotted, and after dark, the curtains are likely to be drawn,” Smith said. “Though if the drone can read heat signatures, and we spot one of his guards making a food run, we can track him.”
“That’s a possibility,” Lungren agreed. “Though we still have to get access to hear, and if al-Shehri isn’t going anywhere…”
“Bribe a maid?” Grant threw out.
“I wouldn’t risk trying that. More likely, they’ll tip him off.” Smith shut that idea down, and he knew the area.
“For now, we’ll observe. Gather intel and try tracking anyone in his party to come up with a plan. But it will likely be on the fly,” Lundgren warned.
Rozanski and Dominguez were filled in when they brought up more equipment. Since the team had no idea how long they’d be holed up, they might as well be as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Before nightfall, they’d used thick tarps to partition the room into a sleeping area with four travel hammocks affixed to the wall studs, a living area with four camping chairs, and the observation nest.
Smith happily settled into a hammock, and Tony claimed another. Smith’s even breaths started within minutes.
Tony couldn’t have been asleep long before jolting awake to Mack’s voice.
“We’ve got the younger bodyguard exiting the building,” Mack said into the radio. “He’s heading east. Need you to confirm the ID, Smith.”
Smith swung out of the hammock and hurried to take the binoculars from Mack. “That’s him.”
“I’ve got him,” Kyle Liu reported.
It wasn’t al-Shehri, but it upped the chances he was still here. And if he were planning another bombing attempt next month, he could be so desperate for money to pull it off that he’d make a mistake. Adrenaline flooded Tony’s body at the possibilities.
“Tail him, but don’t attempt contact,” Lundgren ordered. “Let’s see where—let’s call him Ibrahim—goes. Rozanski, go to the roof and get the drone up. Shuler, give a signal when you see him return.”
Their training taught them to wait patiently, but Tony couldn’t stay put. He wanted to be on the street. Doing something.
“We got this,” Lundgren said through clenched teeth as Tony prowled around their cramped space.
“I’ll go to the roof and be his lookout.” Tony jerked a thumb to Rozanski, who was pulling on his thawb.
“Good idea,” Lundgren agreed, probably more to have Tony out of his hair for a few minutes.
Tony dressed in a flash, then peeked into the hallway to make sure all was clear. They took the stairs up to the flat roof. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows, but the temperature hovered in the mid-nineties. The dry air parched his throat.
He did a surveillance scan before Rozanski opened the case and took out the high-tech drone. In seconds, the spinning blades emitted a low whir and went airborne. Rozanski piloted it like a pro, sending it so high Tony lost sight of it.
Even once Rozanski lowered the drone so the hotel filled the screen, the images from the heat-detecting camera were blurry blips. Maybe they could determine what floor the guy went to based on the size of the figures. Grant could probably calculate that, but they still had to get a listening device in the room.
Or did they?
Tony’s brain whirled.
Angela replaced the sim card in Hakim’s phone, so they could hear both sides of his conversations. Surely, the guards had cell phones. If they cloned one, they wouldn’t have to get into the hotel room.
He ran through scenarios on how to make that happen. They needed a situation they could control, or at least manipulate.
Shuler reported the guard they’d dubbed Ibrahim was about to enter the hotel with sacks of food. After Rozanski landed and packed up the drone, Tony put the finishing touches on his plan. A plan that would utilize his skills, putting him right in the thick of the action.
Back in their space, Tony sat on the edge of his seat while they waited on Liu for the rundown. The fact that Ibrahim made a mundane food run and occasionally checked his six for a tail didn’t give them anything useful to work with, so Tony took the opening.
“I have an idea. If we clone the guard’s phone, could you use it to listen in?” he asked Porter.
“Yeah, as long as it’s a smartphone and has a speaker app. They all come preloaded with speech recognition now.”
Lundgren’s head bobbed. “How close would someone have to be, and how long to clone it, though?”
“Real close and I don’t know. Not as fast as they do in the movies. Maybe a couple of minutes.”
“If you got trapped in an elevator with him, that might work,” Grant threw out.
“I don’t know about that,” Smith said. “Might make him suspicious. If he’s alone, he might not even get in the elevator with a stranger.”
That shot down one of Tony’s ideas, but he had another. It was a little more complicated. And a little more fun. He kept his delivery professional, watching the chief and Smith’s expressions.
“It’s a stretch,” Smith said when Tony wrapped up. “But it could work. Show him a soccer video, but be sure to call it fútbol.”
“Porter, we have any of the long-range trackers that look like Euros?” Lundgren asked.
“Sure do.”
“We’re going to need those because we’re going to piggyback on Vincenti’s idea.” Lundgren shook his finger for emphasis.
“How soon do you plan to try this?” Smith asked.
“Tomorrow. Can’t wait when we don’t know when he might blow town. This is our shot at getting the intel we need to plan our next step. And if anyone can pull it off, Vincenti’s the one.”
“I’m gonna leave this in your capable hands from here. If you need anything else, text me,” Smith said.
Tony leaned back in the chair with a smile. He wished he could tell Angela the plan but knew that was out of the question.
“Ow,” Angela complained.
“That hurts?” Doc Rivers let up the pressure on her side.
“It does when you press that hard, considering I got shot there five weeks ago.”
“Exactly. Healing takes time. Do you need a refill on pain meds?”
“No, I’m only taking one at bedtime, so I can sleep through the night.”
“You’re tough,” Doc said, “but don’t overdo it or let Tony push you too hard.”
“He’s not. He oversees my rehab strength training like a pro.” Or a mother hen. She couldn’t help smiling, thinking about the way he watched over her.
“Sit up. Let’s check the range of movement in your shoulder.” Doc pulled the ill-fitting medical gown back to cover her side.
She maneuvered to an upright position and let Doc manipulate her arm.
“Show me how high you can raise it. That’s better than I expected,” he said when she complied. “Tony must have you working on that.”
“You could say that.” Her cheeks heated at the memory of Tony guiding her arms over her head to remove her shirt yesterday.
Doc cocked his head. Understanding dawned in his expression. “I thought he’d come in with you today.”
“He had to go out of town.”
“Code for deployed on a mission.” Doc grinned at her. “Why don’t you come down for dinner at our place tonight?”
“I can manage fine. You’re releasing me for work soon, remember?”
“Yes, but that’s what we do on the teams. Take care of family. We’ve been neighbors with Tony for years. He plays ball with my boys. Helped me coach their soccer team when their head coach moved. You’re the first woman we’ve seen at his place. I already had orders from Shelly to invite you both for dinner,” he admitted.
Family. When was the last time she’d been thought of as family? She didn’t have a clue what to say, yet a pleasant and comfortable acceptance drew her to its bosom.
“If you aren’t at our house by eighteen hundred hours, Shelly will send Lacey and me down to escort you.”
“Sounds like resistance is futile. Can I bring anything?”
“Not this time. When we have you and Tony come, he can bring his famous cannoli.”
Would there be a next time? God, she hated the idea of tearing him away from his team, his friends. The job he loved.
The weight in her chest returned. What was she going to do when Doc cleared her? This was going to be the hardest decision of her life.
Forty-Seven
“Damn, Vincenti, that hawk’s beak is more noticeable than your old nose.” It took Dominguez all of two seconds to start in on the prosthetic.
“Good. I want to be memorable. Does the scar look realistic up close?” Tony stepped over to Mack.
“I’d buy it’s real,” Mack said.
“Grant, you have a finger splint?” Tony wanted to ensure if either of al-Shehri’s guards saw him again, there’d be no resemblance, so the more memorable, the better.
Grant dug in his medical pack and produced a padded silver splint. “Which finger?”
“Put it on the middle one.” That got a snort from several of the team.
“Phone’s loaded with a couple of soccer videos.” Porter hande
d him the cell they’d picked up that morning. “I loaded some contacts and apps just in case he gets a look at it.”
“Perfect.” Tony checked the phone’s home screen.
With Tony’s finger wrapped and Rozanski and Grant ready to play their parts, all they had to do was wait—and hope that Ibrahim or Rashid did a food pickup today.
The morning dragged, and the afternoon passed by agonizingly slow. Tony tried reading the book he’d brought but got lost in thought about the pending mission to the point of rereading the same page and still not knowing what he’d read.
Maybe the hotel had a continental breakfast buffet as the team had eyes on both the front and back doors, and neither al-Shehri nor his two known bodyguards had left those ways. But what if the hotel had an underground passageway? That would be like al-Shehri. Or was there another guard they didn’t know about?
If they didn’t see anyone from his party today, he was going to press Smith to see if they could dig up building plans or suggest to the chief that they send someone in to check out the hotel.
Dominguez and Liu headed out to relieve Mack and Shuler after their stint on surveillance in the brutal afternoon heat. The two came in soaked in sweat.
“We got pictures of anyone coming and going from the hotel.” Mack set down the food they’d brought up, then stripped off his headgear and robe. “There were two who appeared to make food runs. Could be a fourth in al-Shehri’s party.”
“Makes sense to provide twenty-four-hour coverage.” Lungren sighed. “We’ll see if Intel finds anything on the pictures of the two who we know about. If one of the others ventures out again today, we’ll tail them to see if they pick up anything. We might need to get someone in the lobby to try and determine what floor they’re on, then we can use the drone to see how many are in the room. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
