Sandfire

by Andrew Warren

  Only one thing drove him now. Comfort. Life was easier and simpler living in a luxurious mansion in Marrakesh than groveling as a beggar on the grimy streets of Riyadh. His self-assigned mission became money; making lots of it. Wealth was all he needed. Everything else in life was pointless.

  The thirty-seven boys vanished into the dark mountains, and the Al Qaeda insurgents faded into the night. Rashid turned and signaled it was time to leave.

  The next step in the mission was even more important. The plan to find what was missing had to be executed flawlessly. He had a lost airplane to recover.

  And once he found it, the secret it contained had to be destroyed.

  Chapter Five

  SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, NEW SOUTH WALES, AUSTRALIA

  Caine sipped a Sapporo beer in a modern bar at Sydney’s International Airport. He tried to relax as he watched a Qantas Flight bound for Tokyo announce its final boarding call.

  It was nine at night and the airport was bustling with activity. Thousands of bright, multi-colored lights announced departures and arrivals. A poster for the latest Hollywood blockbuster hung next to the lounge where Caine sat. The other patrons in the bar consisted of Chinese tourists, European businessmen, women in power suits, and young backpackers.

  An aroma of fatigue and jet-lag wafted off the crowd surrounding him. Airports at night always seemed to Caine to be a shadow-realm of the sleep deprived… packed with people neither fully awake nor dreaming in slumber. Passengers stuck in a kind of limbo, between one destination and another, transiting between their past and their future. Caine was no different.

  He took another sip of his Japanese beer and waited for his contact to show. He had not been told who from the CIA would meet him. He had guessed many possibilities, but he had never suspected it would be her…

  “Tom, good to see you.” Rebecca Freeling stepped up to his table. She hesitated for a moment, then bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  Caine felt reinvigorated at her touch, like he’d been in a coma until now. Suddenly he was wide awake.

  Her hand rested on his as she maintained eye contact, and stared into his soul. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. His words sounded harsh to his ears, and she gave him a surprised look. He winced slightly. She didn't deserve that, he knew. Rebecca had done nothing to hurt him. It was he who was quietly withdrawing from her, prepping himself for a long period apart she didn’t know was coming.

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca. I’m just tired. Emily Argyle was a friend.”

  Rebecca nodded, and touched her long, fiery red hair to fix where it had fallen across her eyes. She wore a charcoal, two-piece grey pants suit and a white blouse over her tall, slim figure. She looked every bit the part of a corporate jetsetter. In truth she was a rising star in the CIA. As a case officer she had run successful operations in some of the world’s most hostile trouble spots. She’d been Caine’s handler on many occasions, and like Emily, he had come to rely on her.

  But it was more than that…

  Unlike Emily, Caine was physically and emotionally attracted to Rebecca, and she felt the same way about him. To Caine’s surprise, the mutual and sudden pairing had been lasting. For years now, they had met in airports, military bases and safe houses in every corner of the globe. Their meetings usually began with official CIA business. But they almost always ended with the two of them sleeping together, after each briefing or debriefing.

  At first Caine had convinced himself their intimate hook-ups were nothing more than fun. Stress-relief, with no strings attached. But now he was preparing to disappear into a long-game covert operation in Japan, a mission Rebecca could know nothing about.

  He had planned on withdrawing from her completely, silently. Slipping away, letting himself disappear from her life forever. The trouble was, their relationship had become more than just physical attraction. He wasn’t ready to let go of her. Not now, perhaps not ever.

  He almost wished it hadn’t been her who had come to meet him. Almost…

  She squeezed his hand. “Where’ve you been? No one's heard from you in four days.”

  He nodded, remembering his recent ordeal. “I had to walk out of the mountains. Satellite phone was smashed. I couldn’t call for help.”

  Rebecca nodded, expressing her concern. “You can’t just disappear like that, Tom. No one knew you were in New Zealand until you showed up in Queenstown.”

  He nodded, not sure if she was expressing a Company or personal concern. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Shiraz. Thanks.”

  Caine ordered a red wine for her and another beer for himself.

  “So,” he asked, taking a deep breath, “what can the CIA’s Directorate of Analysis tell me about Argyle? Who were the men sent to kill her?”

  “We ran facial recognition on the two corpses you photographed. They were both former Army Rangers turned mercenaries. For the last five years, they operated out of Kabul. We tracked their flights out. They matched with flights for two former US Army Green Berets and a US Army pilot, also previously based in Afghanistan. Kabul to Islamabad, then Mumbai, Sydney, and finally Christchurch. From there they vanished, until they showed up two days later for the mountain assault.”

  Caine thought for a moment. “Did the five know each other, previously?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “We’re looking into that. Operationally no. But in a place like Kabul, I’d say all the American mercenaries in town would know one another. At least know of each other.”

  “So, someone quickly pulled together a hit team to take out Argyle. Someone well connected, with money to burn. Their weapons would have been difficult to smuggle into a country like New Zealand, and helicopters don’t come cheap.”

  “That’s right. Unfortunately, the money trail is a dead end. The account funding their operation was arranged through a Russian bank. Naturally the Russian firewalls are good, and they aren’t sharing any information.”

  “Can’t hack them?”

  “The NSA is trying. No luck so far.”

  Caine nodded as he sipped his beer. “What do we know about these covert CIA flights in and out of Sana’a?”

  Rebecca beamed.

  Caine knew her expressions well… she had information of interest and was keen to share.

  “Argyle and Forster were part of a CIA operation called SANDFIRE. They ran a CIA supply route using DHC-6 Twin Otters. They took off from U.S. Air Bases in Djibouti and Dubai, flew in arms and other tech for the field crews operating in Yemen, as Emily said. But she did lie about one thing. She said the return flights carried no ‘sanctioned’ cargo. That's not exactly true.”

  “What kind of cargo are we talking about?”

  “Off the books prisoners, persons of interest. Mostly Al Qaeda, Al Shabab, Houthis and other captured insurgent leaders. Some of them were renditioned to deniable black sites in Eastern Europe and other places. Some were just dropped from high altitude into the Empty Quarter, the Red Sea or the Persian Gulf.”

  Caine looked away and sipped his beer. “That doesn’t surprise me. But still, that leaves plenty of room to fly out sizable pharmaceutical manifests if they wanted to. About a ton of vaccines per flight, and if they were doing that every day, that adds up.”

  “Yes it does,” she said. “The flights aren’t registered because they have to be completely deniable. But I did look into fuel records and flight times. Taking into account extra tonnage, analysis is they could have only stopped off in a few countries to off-load the drugs. One in particul—”

  “Saudi Arabia?”

  Her head turned suddenly to stare deep into his eyes. “How did you know?”

  “Emily mentioned a data stick on the flight that went down. She said it contained information that could compromise the Saudi’s relationship with America.”

  Rebecca tucked another strand of her long red hair behind her ear. “Of course. You said as much in your report.”

  “
What do you know about the plane that crashed?”

  She sipped her wine. “This is where it gets really interesting. We’re certain it was shot out of the skies with a surface-to-air missile. That’s based on the chatter going on between the Houthi insurgents operating in the region. But we don’t think they shot it down.”

  Caine nodded, remembering the hundreds of briefing reports he had read on Yemen over the years. The Houthis were an armed Islamic religious and political movement originating from Sa’dah in northern Yemen. Predominately Shia, the most recent intel suggested they were backed by the Iranian government. They fought against the Sunni led Yemeni Government, which was supported in turn by Saudi Arabia. A new Cold War between the Arabs and the Persians was brewing inside the war-torn country.

  The Houthis were key players in the Yemen revolution, and street battles currently gripped the capital city of Sana’a. While not officially a terrorist group, they were accused of inflicting human rights abuses across the country.

  Not that the Yemeni Government was much better, Caine thought.

  “So why haven’t we found the downed plane?” he asked.

  “A sand storm hit shortly after it was shot down. Our satellites and drones have been searching for it since your report, but we've found no sign of the wreckage.”

  Caine finished his beer. Rebecca sipped the last of her wine.

  “So, what now?”

  Rebecca bit her lip. “I have some news you might not want to hear.”

  Caine grimaced. “Tell me anyway.”

  “I don’t know why, Tom, but the CIA Station Head in Yemen wants you to find the missing plane before anyone else does. He asked for you specifically.”

  Caine was silent for a long moment. A part of him had been keen to follow his investigation through to its bitter end, unmasking whoever was behind Emily Argyle’s murder. Now that choice had been taken from him. He had new orders. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled and the pulse behind his temples beat loud again. His first thought was that he was walking into a trap. His second thought was that he should walk into that trap willingly, if he wanted to find Emily's killer.

  “Who is the Station Head?”

  Rebecca flashed him a mischievous grin. “If we’re going to continue debriefing, maybe we should go somewhere more private? Away from prying eyes.”

  Caine finished his beer. His penetrating emerald stare gazed back at her over the rim of the glass. He smiled.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Chapter Six

  Caine stepped inside the shower, and watched the running water cascade through Rebecca’s long hair. Her back was to him, and his eyes followed the droplets as they trickled down her back then ran along the curve of her thigh. He wrapped his arms around her naked body, and kissed her neck. Her skin tasted warm, clean, and wet. What had it been, eight, ten weeks since they’d last seen each other? He had thought that time might have been their last together. But now, here she was…

  She laughed, then turned her head and whispered in his ear. “We can talk now.”

  Caine nodded. The shower and the background jazz playing in the room would drown out any attempts to monitor their conversation. Since they had begun their affair, they had ‘debriefed’ this way many times.

  Talk first. Lovemaking later.

  “The head of the Yemeni Station House is Martin Delbridge,” Rebecca said in a breathy voice. “He’s a thirty-year veteran with the CIA and highly regarded everywhere. In the Eighties he was in Colombia, fighting the Medellin Drug Cartel and communist guerillas. In the Nineties he was in Kinshasa during the First and Second Congo Wars. Then, with the rise of Al Qaeda in Yemen, he was transferred to Sana’a. He's been there ever since.”

  Caine took the soap and washed Rebecca’s back. “Does he have a military background?”

  “No, but he’s CIA paramilitary trained, and proficient in most small arms. He’s battle-hardened, fought in dirty wars in all three countries.”

  “So Delbridge has been stationed in Yemen for more than a decade? That’s a long time in a country like that.”

  “Yes.” She turned so he could wash her back easily. “When I looked into this guy, I realized how effective he’s been. Under his watch, agent mortality rates dropped and informants became more reliable.”

  “So why are we talking about him in the shower?”

  Rebecca turned, and looked him in the eyes. “Tom, don't underestimate Delbridge. My ‘unofficial’ digging revealed more interesting details. Despite his successes in the region, most people who’ve worked with him say Delbridge is out for himself. He’ll support you so long as you play by his rules. Cross him and he’ll do everything he can to destroy you.” She took the soap and lathered his chest. Her touch was gentle and smooth.

  “And he asked for me specifically?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you know why?”

  She shook her head. “He’ll already know you were unsanctioned when you went to meet Emily Argyle. He’ll know that you worked with her in the past. My guess is he wants to keep you close, to see what kind of agent you are.” She handed Caine the shampoo, then turned her back on him again as she let the hot water saturate her head. “You know how to wash a woman’s hair, don’t you Tom?”

  He applied a generous handful of shampoo to her scalp and massaged it through her hair. “Is Delbridge a patriot? ”

  “Of course,” she said without hesitation. “It’s been said that if stars on the wall at Langley were awarded to living agents, he’d be the first to receive one. In terms of actionable intelligence, Delbridge’s reports contain far more value than any other asset we have operating in the area. It’s probably the reason he’s been there so long.”

  Caine nodded as he worked the shampoo down the full length of Rebecca’s hair.

  She moaned appreciatively. “That feels nice.”

  He nuzzled her neck but his mind was elsewhere. He was wondering why Emily had run to Australia, then New Zealand. As far as Caine knew, she had never been to either country. Most agents who ran hid in countries they had worked in previously. They relied on the contacts they had developed and leveraged over the years. Then again, maybe that was part of her plan. Hiding out in an unvisited country would go a long way towards throwing the CIA off her trail.

  He still had the nagging feeling that he was walking into a trap. That didn’t mean he would fight the reassignment. He would go willingly to Yemen, but with his eyes wide open. Emily might have been a criminal, but she wasn’t a traitor. He would prove that she was innocent of that, at least. He owed her that much.

  “What do you know about Jarod Forster?” he asked.

  “He’s a CIA logistics officer like Argyle. IT background, knows how to hack systems. That's how he kept the Twin Otter flight paths off any official records. Digital records anyway.” Caine finished washing her hair. She then applied conditioner, raising her arms high and stretching out the length of her full, slim body. She turned to face him again. “Argyle and Forster were an item, had been for several years. From what I’ve been told, the two were in love.”

  Caine wondered how many intimate showers those two had shared. Did they use their fleeting intimate moments to discuss the highest secrets of the American Government, as he and Rebecca were now?

  “Anyone else on the flight? ”

  “Yes, the pilot. Charles Li. I’ve checked out his records, but nothing about him stands out.”

  “Delbridge was sanctioning the flights?”

  “Yes, but not the illegal pharmaceuticals. At least we don’t think so.”

  “Would Emily have normally been on the flight?”

  “From what I can work out she should have been. So why wasn’t she?”

  Caine already knew the answer to that one. “Forster saw something he wasn't supposed to. Whatever it was, he downloaded it onto that data stick as insurance. But whoever that information affected, they knew Forster had it. They decided to shoot him dow
n in the desert, bury the secret again, instead of negotiating with him. I’m guessing Forster knew he wasn’t going to make it, so he insisted Emily didn’t get on that flight. She didn’t. So they went after her in New Zealand.”

  Rebecca rinsed the conditioner from her hair. Caine finished washing his taut, muscular body. They were running out of excuses to wash each other.

  “Rebecca, Emily told me that whatever was on the data stick would compromise the U.S.-Saudi relationship—”

  “I know, it was in your report.”

  They held each other close for a long moment as the water washed over them. They started kissing.

  “Anything else I need to know?”

  She shook her head.

  Caine turned off the water. They dried each other then he carried Rebecca to the king size bed. Her arms gripped him around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. They had talked enough. They were silent as they made love long into the night.

  Later, when Caine was certain Rebecca was in a deep sleep, he dressed and slipped out quietly.

  His last image of her was lying naked on the bed. He wondered if she might have been pretending to be asleep. Maybe she didn't want to make their departure anymore awkward than it was, and spared him a last goodbye.

  That was the trouble with spies. Neither side ever really knew what the truth was.

  Chapter Seven

  MA’RIB GOVERNORATE, YEMEN

  The road from Al Abr to Ma’rib was long and dusty. There was nothing to see except gravelly desert, towering sand dunes and the occasional ridge of barren, ragged mountains. Yet despite their isolation, Kimberley Hustwait was glad her UNHCR Jeep had an armed escort. An armored personnel carrier of Yemen’s Central Security Organization traveled along with them. Ma’rib was a hot bed of rising Al Qaeda insurgency. There was no doubt in her mind that several attempts would have been made on her and her partner’s lives if the APC wasn’t there to protect them.