by DV Berkom
“It’s not like Izz Al-Din has a problem with using kids. They’re already training them on guns and grenades.”
“Apparently using children as suicide bombers was a line my guy couldn’t cross.” He looked at first one photo and then another. “Damn. That’s a lot of targets.”
“I’ve got photographs of fifteen of the missing children. Give me an address and I’ll send them to you.”
“Do we know what the other five look like?”
“I can describe them for you. I was with them before they were taken. Have your people keep an eye out for kids under ten years old—boys and girls—most of them have dark hair, although obviously that can be changed. I assume they would have handlers. The last one they ran was a fifteen-year-old American woman.”
“The Notre Dame bombing?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard that you were the one that got her out of Libya.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault. How the hell would you know she was going to blow herself up as soon as she got to Paris?”
“You sound like someone else I know.” Lou’s words echoed in her mind.
Miller finished looking at the pictures and turned off the phone. “I’m going to have to keep this.”
“Go ahead. I already had Lou send the files to Scott Henderson.”
“That’s right. You used to work for him back in the day. How is the old man?”
“Same as usual. A little grayer, but still ornery.”
“Yeah. That guy never changes.” Miller stood to leave. Leine did the same. “Thanks for the information. This is some bad shit La Pointe’s planning. After my guy’s death, I figured it would be another year or more before I could turn one of Mufti’s followers again—that I’d missed my opportunity to put a stop to her. Now, because of you we’re back in the game.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help with the op, let me know. I’ve got some skills you could probably use.”
Miller nodded. “Lou filled me in. I’ve got your number.”
“Mind if I ask how you’re going to approach this?”
“My first priority is to contact Interpol and the counterterrorism agencies in each of the cities in the photographs and give them the target locations. We don’t know when, but you can bet it’s going to be a date with a lot of tourist potential.”
“If there’s an obvious increase in security at those landmarks, she’s going to know someone’s onto her and she might switch targets. It’s not like there’s a dearth of popular landmarks in Europe.”
“Yeah. I’ll be sure to let them know not to screw up and show our hand.” Miller’s phone erupted in a series of beeps. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. “Shit.”
At that moment, Leine’s sat phone went off. It was Lou. She answered on the first ring.
“What’s going on, Lou?” she asked, turning away from Miller so she could hear over his conversation.
“Have you seen the news?”
Leine froze. “What happened?”
“Someone detonated a bomb at Schiphol.”
“Oh, god. How many?” Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport was ranked the third busiest airport in Europe, and was one of the targets listed on the asset’s phone.
“Early reports say well over fifty so far. The place is on lockdown and bomb crews are investigating. Reporters interviewed some kid who was in the bathroom at the time of the blast who kept going on about her doll. Preliminary reports suggest the bomb originated in a child’s backpack.”
Leine glanced at Miller. His face was red and he looked angry. He must have received a similar call.
“Have there been any other bombings?” she asked Lou.
“Not yet.”
Had La Pointe decided to set them off one at a time? If so, then maybe they weren’t too late to stop the rest.
Unless this was a practice run.
“This is what she’s been planning all along. Call Henderson and let him know Miller’s contacting Interpol and is working on coordinating the different agencies.”
“I’ll do one better—I’ll patch Henderson through to him.”
“Good thinking.”
Leine said goodbye to Lou at the same time Miller ended his call. He turned to Leine. “I’ve got to get back to the station. All hell’s breaking loose.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Leine said.
“Where are you headed now?”
“To the SHEN office to find the photos of the kids we rescued. I’ll try to think of details that will help you identify the kids we don’t have pictures for, and send all of it to you.”
“Thanks. That’ll be a big help.”
The two parted ways and Leine hurried through the souk to her vehicle.
The clock was ticking.
39
LEINE WALKED THROUGH the door of the SHEN offices a short time later. Thankfully, Fatima hadn’t closed up yet. She greeted Leine with a worried frown.
“Have you heard?” she asked as soon as she came within earshot.
“You mean about Schiphol?”
Fatima nodded.
“Lou called me.”
“This is about the children we weren’t able to save, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’ve contacted the CIA and some other people who are in a position to deal with this. Any word on Jinn?”
“No.” Fatima’s face went white. “You don’t think she’s—”
Leine rubbed her eyes in frustration. “I don’t know. Her friend at the market hasn’t seen her since yesterday, and I have no idea where to look for her.”
“Have you checked to see if she’s contacted you?”
“Not since the last time.” Leine walked behind the counter and logged into Fatima’s laptop. There weren’t any new messages from Jinn. She took a deep breath and let it go, and thought about where the kid might be. If she was using herself as bait like she implied, then hanging out downtown and at the medina were the obvious choices. But Ebrahim hadn’t seen her, and Leine didn’t know any of the kids she ran with, if she even did.
You should have found out who she trusted. But Leine already knew the answer to that question—no one.
Except Leine.
“Dammit. Where are you, kid?” She slammed her fist on the desk. The stapler danced from the impact. Fatima’s concerned look made her feel even worse.
“She’s a smart kid, Leine. She’ll find a way. You’ll see.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Just then, the phone belonging to SHEN rang, startling both women. Fatima glanced at the clock behind the desk.
“It might be Lou,” she said as she answered. “Stop Human Enslavement Now, Fatima speaking.” She paused and then reached for a pen and a piece of paper. “Okay. Okay. Speak slowly, please.” She jotted something on the pad and slid it across the counter to Leine.
Jinn - Paris.
Leine glanced up sharply.
“Wait—” Fatima started to say but then stopped. She turned to Leine. “The caller hung up.”
“Who was it? Do they know where Jinn is?”
“He said that the girl who had been with you when the helicopter crashed in the desert has been taken to Paris.”
“He used my name?”
Fatima nodded. “He used Leine.”
“Did he say where?”
“He said if you wanted to see her alive again, you must be at the Pont d’léna near the Eiffel Tower tomorrow. If not, then she is as good as dead.”
Leine pulled out her phone and called Jack Ferguson.
ARMS CROSSED, BLANCHE La Pointe circled the mannequin, studying the wiring attached to the backpack. A thin connection ran from the pack horizontally surrounding its chest and branched off to vertically transect the torso, running between the legs and up the abdomen.
“And you’re absolutely certain this can’t be removed without igniting the bomb?” La Pointe asked.
The tall, gaun
t man standing next to her nodded. “If the circuit is broken in any way, detonation is assured.” He pointed to a circuit board hidden deep inside the pack. “Once the switch has been activated, the bomb will be primed.”
“There’s no way to deactivate it?”
“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I have also incorporated a timer, which your man will set. The other explosives will be hidden in the section of the boat we agreed upon. The pressure plate will ensure that if the girl rises from the seat, the bomb beneath her will detonate. The shrapnel contained within the bomb itself will create a sufficient amount of damage.”
He then showed her a thick black box the length and width of a mobile phone. “This detonator is to be placed beneath the bridge, along with the explosives I’ve provided to Damil.” He turned to address the gunman. “This must be oriented in such a way that the proxy switch in the backpack will trip the circuit. No one will notice the device or the explosives if you place them in the way we discussed.”
Damil nodded. “Understood.”
“I’ve made provisions in case something goes wrong.” La Pointe said. She narrowed her eyes at Damil. “This is your chance to avenge your uncle’s death and that of your friend, Saafir. Wait until dark, and don’t fuck it up.”
Damil slid the device into his pocket. “You can count on me.” With a nod to La Pointe and the older man, he left.
She turned to the bomb maker. “Your fee is being transferred as we speak. I must say, you come highly recommended.”
The man bowed, acknowledging the compliment. “I’m glad you are pleased with my work.”
“And the other item we spoke of?”
He inclined his head. “It will be completed by morning.”
“Perfect.” La Pointe allowed herself a brief smile. Things were coming together nicely. It wouldn’t be long before the main event. Once the children were in place and the plan executed, her name would be synonymous with terrorism. The leaders of extremist groups the world over would be clamoring for her expertise.
Not bad for a girl raised in the slums of Paris.
“Thank you for your time,” she said to the man. “I wish to be alone now.”
“You are most welcome. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He bowed and left.
La Pointe went over her plan for the next day in minute detail. Damil would secure the detonation device under the Pont de l’Alma, where, if all went according to plan, the bomb in the pack would destroy not only the boat, but also set off the explosives Damil put in place under the bridge, demolishing the structure itself. Casualties would be high, as the bridge would be packed with tourists and festival goers, celebrating the newly created Festival of Bacchus.
A sniper would be stationed along the route and out of range of security cameras. He had a prescribed exit plan once the operation had commenced. Holiday traffic would clog the motorways, making it difficult for first responders to reach the point of impact. She herself would have a bird’s-eye view from a hotel window, not far from ground zero.
And, she would finally be rid of her nemesis—the woman from SHEN—the one who thwarted the plans set in motion by the general the year before. She doubted the veracity of Damil’s uncle’s insistence that the woman was the legendary “Leopard,” a female assassin from years before who killed dozens of high-value targets and whose identity was never revealed. True, he’d said that she had neutralized the terrorist cell in La Courneuve, but there was never any evidence placing her at the scene. Although, according to Damil it was she who had murdered his uncle and five of his best men. La Pointe shrugged. If she was in fact The Leopard, her death would be icing on the cake.
La Pointe walked out of the room and down the hallway to the girl’s cell. It was time to lay the trap. She had no way of knowing if Damil’s call to SHEN offices in Tripoli had the desired effect of galvanizing Leine Basso into action to save her little friend, Jinn. She would have the girl send a message, asking Leine to meet her at the rendezvous in Paris. If that didn’t work, then La Pointe was dealing with a different creature altogether and would have to try a different tack. Either way, the bridge and the boat would be destroyed, incurring countless casualties.
She threw back the bolt and swung open the door to the tiny room. The girl was lying on her side on the thin mattress with her back to La Pointe. The portable toilet looked like it hadn’t been used.
“Wake up. I need you to do something for me.” The girl remained motionless. La Pointe strode to the side of the bed. “Wake. Up.”
Jinn rolled onto her back, brandishing a piece of wire in her right hand. La Pointe sprang backward, but not before the end of the wire grazed her forearm. She grabbed the girl’s wrist and ripped the piece of metal from her hand. It was part of the spring from under the bed. How did she manage to break it off?
“That little display just cost you.” La Pointe grimaced. “I was going to spare you the details, but now I think I shall let you know just how horrible this is going to be for both you and your friend, Leine.” She put the wire in her pocket and let go of the girl’s wrist.
Jinn slid across the bed so that her back was to the wall. She clasped her hands around her knees and glared at La Pointe.
La Pointe smiled. Bravery was easy when there was no perceived threat. “Have you ever seen an explosion before?”
Jinn didn’t say anything.
“It’s really quite horrible. Body parts everywhere. People screaming. The smell of smoke and scorched plastic and burned flesh.” La Pointe sighed, as though talking about a beautiful spring day.
“Of course, you won’t be able to see or sense any of that, because you will be at the epicenter of the blast. Your death will actually be quite quick. I’m afraid that your friend Leine won’t have it quite so easy. You may think that if it’s over quickly for you, then it will be the same for her, because surely she’ll try to remove the bomb. That will simply be impossible. She’ll end up experiencing the worst of the blast.” La Pointe grinned. “It’s a good plan, if I do say so myself.”
Jinn’s expression remained impassive. Disappointed that she didn’t get a rise out of the girl, La Pointe decided not to continue with the description of the horrors she’d be missing. Instead, she reached across the bed, grabbed her by the ankle, and dragged her across the mattress.
“No—let go,” Jinn cried as she struggled to wrench her leg free.
“Ah. You do have a voice.” La Pointe seized her shirt collar and pulled her off the bed, shoving her out into the hallway. “Come with me.”
THE WOMAN MARCHED JINN down several doors to her office and sat her in the big leather chair behind her desk. Jinn scanned the room for a way to escape, but saw none.
“Log onto your email or messaging service or whatever you use to communicate with your friend. Tell her to meet you tomorrow at eleven o’clock at the Pont d’léna, near the Eiffel Tower. Tell her you will be waiting.”
She stood behind her, watching over Jinn’s shoulder as Jinn’s mind raced for something she could say to Leine to warn her. She didn’t dare log into the chat room she had used before. Besides, Leine hadn’t responded to her earlier messages, so she didn’t think it would get to her in time. Then she remembered Leine’s friend, Lou, and the number she had called from the desert in Libya when they’d been trying to rescue the missing children. He knew how to get in touch with her.
She logged into the messaging application she had used the last time she’d stolen someone’s smart phone, and typed in his number. She hoped that he would know to change his phone number after this message. It wouldn’t be good for this woman to know what it was.
“Excellent,” the woman said. “Now write what I tell you to.”
Jinn began to type.
40
THE FPS JET touched down at the same private airfield outside of Paris as before. During the flight from Tripoli, Leine called to brief Jack Ferguson on the particulars and her best guess as to
what would happen once she arrived at the rendezvous point. Jack called in his team of personal security contractors, several of whom had worked in special ops. She and Jack were due to meet when she landed at the airfield.
“I’ll coordinate with Miller and the CIA,” Jack had told her. “They’ve got a working relationship with French counterterrorism units and can work with them to deploy drones and airborne snipers. I’ll have my guys set up near the rendezvous point with eyes on the quay. We’ll be ready in case you need a diversion.”
While Leine was still in Tripoli, she’d called Miller and told him the instructions she received for the rendezvous. He had his hands full coordinating with Interpol and local law enforcement in each of the cities listed on the dead informant’s phone, but said he’d inform French authorities of the additional threat. He wasn’t happy.
“This compresses our timeline considerably,” he’d said, clearly frustrated. “Looks like our window is closing.”
“We don’t know if she’s coordinating attacks on all of the targets at once.”
“Maybe not, but we’d better have assets in place in the event that she does.”
A sleek black town car was waiting for Leine at the airstrip, compliments of Ferguson Private Security. Jack Ferguson was waiting for her in the backseat.
Leine looked around the luxury ride. “See, that’s what I like about you, Jack,” she said, sliding into the seat next to him. “There’s no reason you can’t run an op in style. Why choose something understated and forgettable?”
“What can I say?” Jack shrugged. “The Fiat’s in the shop.” He instructed the driver to take them to the Pont d’léna. “FPS has room for someone with your skills, Leine. You’ve seen how we operate. And the pay ain’t bad, if I do say so myself.”
The comfy leather seats and high tech bling were nice, but extras Leine deemed unnecessary. Getting used to the luxury transportation was a no-go if she was going to continue her quest to eradicate the trafficking scum of the world. Let FPS have their slick jobs protecting billionaires and heads of state. That kind of detail wasn’t what she wanted.
