“It’s just … that’s pretty specific,” he said. “Most girls, especially first-time shooters, don’t really know what they want.”
“I’m not most girls,” she said with a sparkling smile.
“I can see that,” George replied. He discreetly looked her over while he reached for a new Glock 19 Gen 4. Man, this John guy is lucky, he thought. She was gorgeous.
Kathryn’s sapphire eyes beamed against her smoky eye makeup, and her golden hair spilled onto her shoulders in soft curls. Her turquoise top, cinched across her chest, left her shoulders bare, but it flowed loosely down her torso and over her hips. Her dark jeans clung tightly to her legs, and she had rolled the hem to expose her ankles. She wore a pair of light brown leather heels with simple straps that wrapped around her ankle and forefoot. Yes, this John guy was lucky indeed, George thought again.
George ejected the magazine from the pistol, racked the slide to make sure the weapon was empty, and handed Kathryn the firearm. As she gripped it, the memories of that day on the Aden beach poured into her mind. Her hand shook as she held the weapon, but she quickly steadied herself. Wyatt watched, concerned. He placed a comforting hand on the small of her back.
Reassured by his touch, Kathryn exhaled and tossed her hair over one shoulder. Her scalp tingled from where the insurgent had yanked her hair, and his eyes, burning with terrible desire, flashed across her memory. As she strengthened herself, the memory changed, the man’s eyes shifted and filled with horror. She had defended herself, and it boosted her confidence. The journalist focused on the pistol again and flexed her fingers around the polymer grip.
“What do you think?” George asked.
“I like it.”
“Have you shot one before?” Kathryn cracked a smile.
“I have,” she answered, little did he know. She looked over the other Glock pistols in the case below, and her attention fell on a two-tone model. A red sales tag read $499. “What’s that one?”
“It’s the same thing, a Glock 19, just in a different color,” George explained.
“Why’s it on sale?”
“We’ve had that one for a while. For some reason, the two-tone models aren’t as popular as the all back versions.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure,” he replied. He took the black pistol from her hand and retrieved the other Glock from the bottom of the case. George handed it to her. The polymer grip sported an earthy tone and the metal slide remained black like the others.
“I want this one,” she said. She looked at Wyatt, and he smiled at her.
“Great, I’ll just need to see your driver’s license.” Kathryn looked at him, puzzled.
“What for?”
“The federal background check,” he replied.
“Oh, you actually do those?” George raised his eyebrows again and glanced at Wyatt. The Marine shrugged.
“Yeah, its federal law. Of course we do them.” Kathryn rummaged through her purse, retrieved her wallet, presented her driver’s license, and he handed her the necessary paperwork in exchange. “Alright, fill this out, and I’ll run your background check.”
“How long will that take?” she asked.
“Should be instant as long as they’re not backlogged or anything,” George replied. He meandered off to the computer at the far end of the counter.
“You going to help me with this?” she asked Wyatt.
“Absolutely not, that’s illegal. Let me know when you’re done. I’m going to go look at some guns,” he replied. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and followed George down the counter while gazing at their inventory.
“Okay then,” she said to herself. She glanced down at the paperwork. “How hard can it be?”
Not long after, George returned and looked over her paperwork. He filled in the necessary information concerning the firearm, logging the model and serial number.
“Alright, your background check is clear. That’ll be $533.93,” George said.
“How about $525 out the door?” she countered. George, a bit shocked, stared at her.
“I … uh … ”
“And I’ll buy this too,” she said, handing him a Magpul GL Enhanced Magazine Well. At Wyatt’s recommendation, the part would help guide new magazines into the pistol a bit easier and provide her a more secure grip. “I suppose we can settle at $550.”
“I suppose we can,” George replied. He should have said no, but he couldn’t. Her confidence was too great to ignore. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, that will be all,” she said sweetly.
“Alright, I’ll ring you up over here.” Kathryn followed him to the computer and presented him with her debit card. She caught Wyatt’s eye and responded with an excited shoulder shrug and grin. He made his way over to her.
“I’m going to pick these up for her,” he said. He dropped two boxes of Federal HST jacketed hollow-point 9mm rounds on the counter and a set of Night Fision tritium pistol sights. “Could you put those on for her now?”
“Yeah, I can check with the gunsmith,” George replied without looking up from the computer.
“Why do I need those?” Kathryn asked him.
“The sights that come with Glocks are plastic and will break on you. I’ve had good luck with these. They’re a good price, sturdy, and easy to pick up for follow up shots,” he explained. She somewhat followed what he said, but if he recommended it, then she wanted it. He was, after all, a MARSOC Critical Skills Operator, and he had saved her life more than once.
“All right, we’re all set. Let me drop these off with the gunsmith and he’ll install those sights,” George said.
“Can he throw this on there too?” Wyatt asked, holding up the magazine well.
“Yeah, no problem,” George replied. He took the package from Wyatt and disappeared through a door behind the counter.
After George returned and presented Kathryn with her new pistol, the duo exited Stoddard’s, and Kathryn carried the weapon in its case as they headed to the car.
“What do I do with it now?” she asked, once inside her Honda CR-V. Wyatt chuckled as he buckled his seat belt.
“Buy a thousand rounds of ammo and book a training class,” he replied. A smile spread across her face. That was exactly what she wanted to do.
“Do you recommend anyone?”
“Yeah, the Warrior Poet Society. John Lovell is a good guy, and he’s here in Atlanta.”
“Alright, the Warrior Poet Society it is. Can we do that tonight after dinner?” she asked.
“Sure,” he replied. She cranked the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Great, any thoughts for dinner?”
“Yeah, I could go for some good Mexican food,” he replied.
“Bone Garden Cantina it is.”
24
The CIA rented a simple apartment for Natalie in Reston, Virginia near Washington Dulles International. Shaw immediately assumed that she spent very little time there. Although the interior was furnished and decorated in a light, modern style, he, like most would, recognized brand new furniture when he saw it.
“You just move in?” he asked as he traced his fingers across the top of the entertainment system.
“You could say that,” Natalie answered as she moved into the galley kitchen. “You want anything to drink?” she asked.
“Water’s fine,” he replied. He waited a moment, observing the space until she approached with a glass of ice water. “Thanks. So, what are we doing here?” Shaw asked.
“Follow me,” she responded with a grin. Shaw, unsure of what to expect, followed Natalie from the living room, down the short hallway, and into the first bedroom. He stopped abruptly when he witnessed the state of the room; it was not at all what he expected. The far wall lay covered in various images, maps, and documents. On the table against the same wall sat a mess of papers and photographs. Discarded materials littered the floor, and a laptop and printer rested on the far end of the table. The entire s
cene reminded Shaw of his intelligence work in his team’s loadout room during his search for Al Amiri.
Order existed within the room only as an individual employed by the intelligence community would see, and Shaw appreciated the sight. However, the nature of the scene nagged at him. Why had Natalie done all this in her personal residence? It didn’t bother him, but he realized Natalie perhaps hadn’t revealed everything just yet. His eyes fell on the large photograph centered on the wall.
“Is that him?” Shaw asked. His tone hardened at the sight of the man. Natalie nodded, and Shaw approached. “How did you find him?”
“In Dubai. Take a seat, and I’ll catch you up to speed.”
• • •
Dubai, UAE
Two Weeks Ago
Natalie, next in line for her turn at the customs window, gripped her luggage and readied her story should the official probe. The customs agent waved her over, and she complied. She removed her ball cap and presented her passport. The man glanced at her photograph and turned his gaze toward her.
“What brings you to the United Arab Emirates?” he asked in a relatively light accent.
“Vacation,” Natalie replied. The customs agent stared blankly at her before turning his attention to the computer next to him. He didn’t appear the least bit interested in her story. He clicked away with the computer mouse and then turned back to face her.
“Welcome to Dubai,” he said as he stamped her passport. “Next!” Natalie smiled, took her passport, and continued through Dubai International Airport.
Tall silver pillars supported the curved roof, and spotless white floors swept through the entire interior. Light appeared to shimmer throughout the corridor casting an ethereal glow. She strolled past the central gardens and palm trees planted symmetrically throughout the hub. The woman scanned the faces holding signs near the exit and frowned when she didn’t spot her name.
“We don’t do that anymore,” came the voice behind her. She smirked.
“That’s probably smart,” she replied. The man moved to her side, and she turned to greet him.
“How are you, Natalie?” he asked.
“I’ve been better, Ari,” she replied. The stoic Israeli nodded his understanding.
“We heard what happened and extend our condolences,” he said. She offered him a sad smile.
“I appreciate that, but I’m ready to get to work. I’m grateful for your assistance.”
“I told you that day in Tehran that all you had to do was ask, and we would be here for you.” Again, she smiled, a bit embarrassed. Ari made too much of her assistance in Tehran, Iran two years ago, but she wasn’t going to turn down his help in locating Silva. “I have a vehicle waiting where we can talk more privately.”
Natalie followed Ari outside the airport and into a waiting sedan. He took her luggage, loaded it into the trunk, and took the driver’s seat.
“Hannah is here?” she asked.
“She is. She has talked of nothing but seeing you since you called,” Ari said as he put the vehicle in gear and left the airport. Natalie smiled; Hannah was sweet.
As the Israeli drove, the two talked about life developments that had transpired since they all left Iran. His wife had received a promotion at the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, and his daughter had just finished her government service and was looking to attend university. Ari’s son prepared to enter mandatory government service, and he was hoping to follow in his father’s footsteps and serve in the Hativat HaTzanhanim, Israel’s elite Paratroopers Brigade.
Ari was a third generation Israeli. His grandparents had survived the holocaust and fought in the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, known as Israel’s War of Independence. Since that time, his entire family had served in one war or another.
The two intelligence officers shared an interesting relationship. A slight tension loomed over what was acceptable to share and what was not. The Mossad officer, although indebted to Natalie, always maintained professional secrecy, and Natalie responded to their friendship in the same way.
“Did you find him?” Natalie asked after they finished catching up. Ari nodded, and his expression firmed.
“Natalie,” he began, “I want you to know that we cannot take any action against this individual. We are here without support and are unable to help you take him.”
“I understand,” Natalie responded. She had hoped they would, but she had planned for that condition. “I just needed your help in locating him.”
“We have done just that, and will support you, and, how do you Americans say, watch your back?” Natalie grinned.
“I appreciate that very much, Ari.” He nodded. The Israeli kept his black hair short and maintained a constant five o’clock shadow. He thought it shortened his long face, but Natalie thought otherwise. His brown eyes glanced down to the tablet he pulled out of the bag at Natalie’s feet and handed to her.
“This is the man from the private jet,” Ari said as Natalie activated the device. A photograph populated the screen. “The plane is registered to a shell company. We’ve tried to locate more information but have not been successful.” Natalie listened and looked intently at the photograph. The man, wearing the gold, wire-framed aviators, held a bronze complexion and maintained a pristine appearance.
“Name?” she asked.
“We don’t know.”
“Nationality?” she asked. Ari shrugged.
“Middle Eastern, North African, Latino, who knows,” he replied. “He’s staying at the Giorgio Armani Hotel in the Burj Khalifa. We’ve booked a suite for us there.”
“What about his flight crew?” Ari nodded.
“They are staying there as well, along with two bodyguards.” Natalie swiped through the photographs Ari and Hannah had taken. In each new photograph, a different young woman hung on his arm; he appeared most charismatic.
“She is one of the flight crew,” Ari stated before Natalie could swipe to the next photo. She studied the scene a bit more intensely. The woman wore a tight-fitting cocktail dress and sat alone at the bar.
“How often is she there?” Natalie asked.
“Every night since we arrived,” Ari answered.
“Always alone?”
“Yes, until your man comes and checks on her.” Natalie chewed on her cheek as she contemplated her next move. “I know that look,” Ari said. “What are you thinking?”
“I think I need to go shopping,” she replied with a smirk.
25
The room appeared simpler than she thought as the trio strode inside to rendezvous with Hannah. Considering the ornate nature of the lobby and its intricate design, Natalie thought the rooms would mirror the grand vision of the Burj Khalifa, but she had to remember that the Armani Hotel simply dwelled within the impressive skyscraper, and, that in its entirety, the world’s tallest building was more than a hotel.
The mini suite, sporting a modern design of sleek, taupe furniture, existed on the exterior wall of the building and provided captivating views of the oasis city.
“Natalie!” a woman squealed with delight as she rose from a table swamped with surveillance equipment and ran towards the CIA officer. The Israeli threw her hands around Natalie’s neck, and with one hand Natalie returned the hug. She held her new dress and shoes in the other. “Oh, it’s so great to see you!” Hannah exclaimed.
“It’s good to see you too, Hannah. It has been too long.”
“It has,” she replied with a warm smile. Unlike Ari, she possessed more European traits. With her blue eyes, lighter hair, and olive skin, she stood in stark contrast to her colleague. She did possess a larger nose, a wide, white smile, and round cheeks, resulting in a more adolescent appearance. A Jew, she was born in Paris, and her parents migrated to Israel when she was four. Making Aliyah, the Hebrew word meaning ascent or the act of going up, Hannah’s parents had joined almost half of the world’s Jewish population in returning to their ancient, ancestral homeland.
“What do you have there?” Hannah ask
ed, noticing the shopping bag.
“Something you’ll have to help me into later,” Natalie joked. “It’s a bit tight.” Hannah pursed her lips and tilted her head as she beheld her friend.
“That’s uncharacteristic of you,” she teased.
“Any surveillance updates?” Ari asked as he set Natalie’s luggage by the door to the room she would share with Hannah. The young Israeli woman moved back to her station and accessed the most recent footage.
“I finally managed to tap into the hotel’s security feeds, but the rooms aren’t monitored,” she answered.
“Will you be able to tell me where he is this evening?” Natalie asked.
“As long as he isn’t in his room or left the hotel,” she replied. Natalie smiled and checked her watch.
“Great, I’m going to get some sleep. I didn’t get a chance on the plane, and tonight we’ll find out who this guy is,” she said. She was risking a lot going after a man she hoped was Silva, but she couldn’t deny the trail of evidence. Still, they all could be wrong.
Natalie made her way to the bedroom from the main living area and scooped up her luggage as she entered. She hoped she would be able to sleep, but she couldn’t fight the fear that she had called in her biggest favor for the wrong guy. The gamble was worth the risk, she decided.
• • •
Natalie awoke and lifted her head from the pillow. Everything blurred until her eyes focused. She checked her watch. It was almost twenty-one-hundred hours. She had slept longer and deeper than she had anticipated. She blamed the bed’s luxury, the soft touch of the sheets, and the weight of the comforter for robbing her of valuable preparation time.
She set her feet on the floor and, out of habit, kept the weight on the balls of her feet as she made her way to the bathroom. She showered and focused on her makeup and hair. She parted her hair down the middle in what looked to be the latest Hollywood fashion, and she tossed it regularly to generate volume. Satisfied that it framed her face in the most alluring way possible, Natalie left the bathroom and jumped when she saw Hannah sitting on the edge of the bed. Natalie placed a hand over her heart to slow its thumping.
Saber Down Page 17
