by Brad Taylor
One second we were looking at the eyes of the boy bugging out of his head, his mouth open in a silent scream, then the screenshot simply showed an empty chair.
Nobody said anything. A shadow passed over the screen as the killer sat down, taking the boy’s place.
It took a moment, but I recognized the figure.
“Oh my God,” Jennifer said. “That’s Lucas Kane.”
26
Kurt Hale watched the cloud of cigar smoke drift to the ceiling and was secretly sure President Warren had turned off the smoke detectors. The accumulated haze made it hard to see the ceiling of the Oval Office. The president didn’t seem concerned, puffing away and staring out the window behind his desk.
“So Pike’s okay? Out of enemy hands so to speak?”
Kurt said, “Yes, sir. He got dinged up a little, but he’s safe.”
The president spun his chair around. “Dinged up? That’s what you guys call it? I’d say he was tortured. And for nothing. This little Taskforce adventure was off the charts in stupidity. What on earth was Pike thinking? Who were the Lebanese he used? Without authority, I might add.”
Kurt grimaced. “They were some Druze that used to be in the LAF Special Forces. Pike trained them before the Taskforce existed. If he trusts them, so do I.”
“Some trust. They had him smuggle in a damn IED without his knowledge. Then he gets captured because of it. It’s loose as shit, even for Pike.”
“Sir, he’s just trying to get the mission done, and speaking of that, we have some indicators of—”
President Warren flipped open a folder on his desk and cut him off. “Get ’em home. Now. I’ve given orders for McMasters to skip Lebanon on his trip. I don’t care how much Pike trusts those men. That place is an absolute snake pit, and there’s no sense tempting fate, even if Pike says he blew up the assassin.”
“Sir, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’re not so sure the threat’s gone.”
President Warren closed the folder. “What do you mean?”
“Remember the reports I showed you about an American assassin code-named Infidel?”
“Yeah. As I recall that theory was discounted by the intelligence from the Tunisian hit. What about it?”
“Pike took a computer from the site where he was held. We bled it dry of information, then he inserted it back into the extremist network using some software that allowed him to access it remotely.”
“And?”
“And we got a clear screenshot of an American from inside a Hezbollah headquarters building, along with McMasters’s entire itinerary on the computer. Infidel is real, and skipping Lebanon doesn’t mean McMasters is safe.”
“So you found a Westerner working for Hezbollah, and the official itinerary of a U.S. envoy. Why’s that a big deal? Every government he’s visiting will have the itinerary, and a white guy inside Hezbollah doesn’t equate to some badass assassin.”
“It was more than the official itinerary. It had specific hotels, events, and dates of stay. Much more than we ordinarily include in official message traffic. And it was in Hezbollah’s hands, not some friendly government.”
Kurt pulled out a laser-printed photo from his briefcase. “As for the white guy, we know who he is, and it’s not good.”
“Who?”
“Remember the hired gun Harold Standish used a couple of years ago? Tried to wipe out a Taskforce team in Bosnia?”
“Yeah. Lucas Kane, right? Got his own team wiped out instead and then killed Standish as payback. I thought you guys were hunting him.”
“We were, but after he disappeared in Bosnia, his trail went absolutely cold. We heard rumors and ran them to ground, but always came up empty. I quit focusing on it because it was a drain on resources. He wasn’t a threat to U.S. interests, and I figured he’d turn up on his own sooner or later.” Kurt stood and tossed the screenshot photo on the president’s desk. “Looks like he has.”
The president stared at the grainy image for a moment. “So you think Lucas Kane is on the hunt here? That McMasters’s trip is in jeopardy anyway, even if we avoid Lebanon?”
“Yes.”
“And what would you have me do? Call it off completely? I can’t do that. It’s the first time in years we’ve been able to get the peace process rolling again.”
“No, sir. Of course not. Even if it were just a sightseeing trip, I wouldn’t advocate turning it off. We can’t be held hostage to threats. It gives the bastards exactly what they want. I’m just saying mix it up a little bit. Alter the itinerary so it’s different from what we found. Increase the security posture around him.”
He paused. President Warren said, “And?”
“And let me launch the Taskforce guys from Tunisia.”
The president leaned back, a half-smile on his face. Kurt continued. “The Oversight Council has already approved it. The only difference is our purpose for going. It’s the same country, same threats, same method of infiltration.”
“Kurt, please. The only thing ‘different’ is the primary reason for the approval. Now that Pike’s safe, there’s no justification to launch. We should go back to the Council.”
“Sir, they’re going to say no, and we’re going to lose the one lead we have. Lucas Kane is a proven killer, and we have no idea what identity he’s traveling under. If we don’t get on this quickly, he’ll disappear again. Best case, we simply lose an opportunity to bring him to justice. Worst case, we’re standing over the body of a dead Mideast envoy. And your peace process is in the gutter.”
“My, my, how attitudes change. I remember when you used to be the one demanding Oversight Council approval on everything. Now, you want to duck them.”
Kurt shook his head. “No, sir. Not duck. They’ve already given approval for the three members to deploy, so I’m just stretching it a little bit. They don’t have to know Pike’s safe until after the launch. Then, they’re already on the ground. I want oversight, but by a competent body. Let the Taskforce get something done in Lebanon, and it will give the Council a little confidence in our abilities. Right now, they’re a bunch of handwringers.”
President Warren considered for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Get ’em into Lebanon and see if you can get a handle on Lucas. But they don’t do anything else without Council approval, understood?”
Kurt said, “Yes, sir,” and waited to be dismissed. Instead, the president rotated around in his chair and gazed out the Oval Office window again.
“You think this cash giveaway is doing anything for the peace process? You think it’s a good idea?”
A couple of years ago Kurt would have been completely taken aback by the question, but he’d grown accustomed to the president asking him things that had nothing to do with the Taskforce. While they both understood their respective positions, the truth was the president liked bouncing ideas off of Kurt. Trusted him as a man outside the political machine, and thus a person who could give an opinion that wasn’t tainted by whatever poll was in vogue at the time.
Kurt didn’t want to admit it, but he enjoyed the role of trusted confidant, even when the questions were outside his expertise. He had learned to caveat his answers if he felt he was leading the administration down a road about which he had no knowledge. Something else he knew the president respected. In this case, achieving peace within the Levant, he had more knowledge on the topic than ninety percent of the “experts” out there.
“I think any attempt at a reconciliation between the Palestinians and the Israelis is a good thing. Solve that problem, and you put a damper on every other issue in the region. Long-term, that is. In the short term, it will cause more violence. There are just too many groups who have specific agendas that cannot be met with compromise. And I mean both on the Israeli and the Palestinian side.”
The president returned his attention to Kurt. “That’s not my question. Do you think it’s a good idea to give the Palestinian Authority twenty million dollars? Am I funding terrorism? We have no idea who�
�s going to get that money.”
Kurt said nothing for a moment, realizing his answer would not be the usual pontification, but instead possibly alter the course of national security. He’d seen it before. A small comment in a roomful of people, then on the news the next day. It had always amazed him how national strategy was often formed more on the words of trusted advisors than the opinions of experts.
“Sir, I don’t think I can judge that. If your folks say it’s a good idea, then I’d go with it.”
“Really? That’s your answer? I could get that from my secretary. I’m not going to change course based on what you say alone. I just want your opinion. Am I about to give twenty million dollars to a terrorist group?”
“Sir…honestly, I don’t think so. Hamas is a terrorist group, and they’ve been funded by Iran for years. A limitless pocket book. They’re in competition with the Palestinian Authority for the support of the people. If Hamas wins that fight, there will be no peace. No way will Israel deal with a group that has a stated goal of the eradication of their country.”
“But if word gets out, I’ll be castrated. How can I overtly state we won’t support any organization that does business with Hamas, then covertly give that same group money?”
Kurt smiled. “That’s why you’re the president, and I’m just a talking head.”
President Warren dropped his pen and shook his head. “Great. Okay. Thanks for that vote of confidence. Getting back to Lebanon, what’s the next course of action?”
“Uhhh…” Kurt said. “Well, I figured you’d be agreeable to the team deploying, so I infiltrated some documents and equipment to Beirut. Pike’s linking up with it as we speak.”
President Warren gave him an incredulous look. “And if I’d said no?”
“Then Pike would have had some passports he would never use. I had to prep early to make this work.” He saw the president’s face darken and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Hey, all I’m trying to do is protect your peace process. What good is the money if the man holding it is slaughtered?”
27
Jennifer saw a newspaper in Louis Britt’s right hand, the signal that the meeting was safe. She moved straight past the hostess and took a seat at the case officer’s table. Now that they could recognize each other, there was no need for the verbal dance to prove who they were. He went through the mad minute again, ensuring they both understood what to say should they be asked about the meeting at a later date, then passed her a key across the table.
“That’s to a locker at the Charles Helou Bus Station. Inside are the documents and other equipment you asked for.”
“How much equipment? Will I need to bring luggage to conceal it?”
“No, it’s in a backpack already.” He took a drink of water and surprised her with his next statement. “You people have been busy. Taking the fight to the military wing of Hezbollah isn’t the smartest thing I’ve seen, but it is gutsy.”
“Hezbollah? I didn’t think they worked in the refugee camps.”
His turn to be surprised, he said, “Palestinian camp? I’m talking about the killing of the Martyrs Battalion leadership. Hezbollah’s little covert assassination cell.”
“That wasn’t us, but it is something we hope you can help with.” She pulled out the screenshot of Lucas Kane. “We think it was this guy. Your Infidel assassin. Ever seen him before?”
He studied the grainy screenshot, then said, “Nope. Where was it taken?”
She pulled a tablet PC out of her bag and showed him a Google map with the location marked.
He said, “Heart of the Dahiyeh. Headquarters for Hezbollah. If he’s on the Martyrs Battalion payroll, he’s in very, very deep. Nobody will know his name but the top leadership. And like I said, they’re dead now.”
“Yeah. Like I said, we think he killed them.”
He scoffed. “Well, then forget about finding him. He’s already smoked.”
“I’d like to think so, but this guy has a survival instinct that’s on steroids. If anyone could get out of there alive, it would be him. Before things went bad between him and this Martyrs Battalion, they had to be helping him out. Whatever passports or IDs he’s using, they had to have gotten it for him. He’s not traveling on his true passport, we know that.”
“How?”
“His name’s Lucas Kane. The Taskforce has had a run-in with him in the past, and he’s been on a watch list for at least two years. Never once has that name spiked. We’ve also scrubbed the database here in Lebanon. That name never entered or left the country.”
He said nothing for a moment, thinking. “Let me see that map again.” He studied it, saying, “Hezbollah has built their own communications infrastructure inside Lebanon. A parallel system with the help of Iran. They claim it’s to help them defend the country against Israel, but it’s really just one more step to them becoming a shadow government. I’ve passed the nodes of that network to the Taskforce should we need to target them in the future.” He pointed at a building a few blocks away from the geo-tag of the Lucas screenshot. “That’s the central junction for the fiber-optic grid and a server farm for the network.”
“Okay. How does that help? You think we should hack the network? You think his information will be in there?”
“No. The network itself is pretty secure. So much so that the Lebanese government went to war with Hezbollah over it in 2008. The LAF pretty much lost, and the communications grid is bigger than ever. Even so, the Martyrs Battalion information won’t be on it. Hezbollah’s fairly open now that they hold a majority in the government. Even its military runs around flaunting weapons. But they have to hide the assassination cell, especially after Hariri. There is a database, but it will be air-gapped. It won’t be on any network.”
“So?”
“It’s in this building. I was trying to get access to it to prove my Infidel theory, but had no luck. You get a pipe into that, and you’ll know everything about Infidel.” He leaned back in his chair. “But good luck with that.”
“You don’t think we can get access?”
“No way. Like I said, it’ll be air-gapped, with no contact to the World Wide Web. No WiFi, no Internet, nothing that can be exploited, so you’ll have to physically get hands on a computer that’s in the network. And that computer is in this building, in the heart of Hezbollah-land.”
“Can you get us greater fidelity on where this computer would be located in the building? So we don’t have to run around trying every system we see? Can your source network figure that out?”
“Yeah. I already have that information. I just couldn’t get anyone willing to risk gaining access because they were convinced it was suicide. Add to that the fact that Hezbollah’s entire infrastructure is now on red alert because of the Martyrs Battalion leadership killings, and it’s certainly suicide now. And I mean suicide for a source of mine who’s Arabic with access to the building.”
“Well, we’ll see. Get me the information on the computers and let us worry about access.”
“I’ll get it to you, along with whatever security information I have, but a piece of advice.”
“What?”
“You white boys go in that building, make sure you save one bullet for yourself. No way do you want to get taken alive.”
28
Knuckles watched the deck of the ship grow smaller as the Bell 427 picked up forward speed. He keyed the mike on his headset.
“Say good-bye to the QE Two. I don’t think we’re going to see the black hole again.”
In the dim light of the helo he saw Decoy’s teeth flash above the dive mask around his neck.
“Fine by me. That damn boat is the smelliest thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to sleep on.”
The QE II was the sarcastic nickname of a salvage boat that plied its cover all over the Mediterranean, picking up scrap metal at various ports and transporting it elsewhere. The company that owned it was located in Tangier, Morocco, and was ostensibl
y a Moroccan entity. It paid Moroccan taxes, flew the Moroccan flag, and employed ethnically diverse individuals, without a Caucasian among them. It was completely outside all suspicion to the Arab states it operated within. It was another thread in the web of the Taskforce; a profitable, multimillion-dollar corporation that existed for one purpose. In between its journeys, the boat acted as a floating transfer point, allowing terrorists who were snatched to be flown out of country and dropped off. The men would return back to the original country, continuing with their cover activities without anyone realizing what had happened. In a perfect mission, the terrorist simply disappeared into a “black hole,” hence the code name for the vessel.
In this case, Knuckles had transferred Crusty, then returned to Tunisia only to be recalled two days later on an alert from Taskforce headquarters. The ship had begun steaming east, getting in range of the Levant coastline when the mission had been scrubbed. Eight hours later, it was back on.
Having spent the majority of his military time inside a SEAL team, he was used to the on-again, off-again nature of the work, but this time the mission caused him some concern.
Ordinarily, Taskforce planning worked from the ground up, with Knuckles being told the objective, but left to his own devices to determine how it would be executed. In this case, all planning had been conducted by someone else, and he was about to exit a moving aircraft into the Mediterranean Sea, then swim for two hours for a link-up with another boat.
All the parameters had been provided to him. The grid for the boat, the signals for the beacons, the helicopter’s flight path, and the release point had been handed to him complete. He knew it was because of time sensitivity and the lack of ability to directly communicate with his link-up, but it did nothing to ease his fears. Once in the water, they were on their own. If they moved to the link-up, and nobody was home, they’d still be two hours off the coast of a hostile country.
