by Jack Mars
Susan sometimes found herself frustrated by Kurt’s roundabout way of getting to the meat of things. He was one of the most valuable people on her team—invaluable, really—but holy cow! Let’s get on it with, Kurt!
“And this is relevant to a terrorist attack, how?”
Kurt raised a big hand.
“Night Wolf Lines is thought to be owned by Chechen warlord Ramzan Ashkedev. While visibly cooperating with the Kremlin on the one hand, on the other hand he is a devout Muslim and known by the CIA and the NSA to provide weapons and financing to Islamic militias and terror groups. If we know this, it’s safe to assume the Russians also know and wink at it.”
Kurt looked around the room. “Is everybody clear on this? We believe that Ramzan Ashkedev owns that ship. Or did, until earlier today.”
Two new photos appeared on the screens. One was of what appeared to be a sleepy industrial port. The other was an aerial shot of a very large, sprawling metropolis.
“The photo on the left is Boma, Democratic Republic of the Congo. Located about sixty miles up the Congo River from the Atlantic Ocean, it is the second largest port in that country. International corporations, criminal gangs, rebel militias, and members of the government of the DRC itself have all made use of the ongoing violence, chaos, and the collapse of oversight to loot natural resources from the interior and move them out of the country. More often, those assets travel overland to the east, through Rwanda and Burundi. But they also leave by ship from the Atlantic coast.”
“In that regard, very little has changed in two hundred years,” Haley Lawrence said.
Kurt nodded. “Yes, and Boma is one major transshipment point for looted raw materials. There are others. But Boma is important to us because Lady Jane frequented that port. In fact, she was docked there for the past several years. Our intelligence agencies monitor ship movements in that region, but usually don’t intervene. Given her advanced age, her apparent lack of maintenance, and the fact that she hadn’t left Boma for at least three years, there is a handwritten note in her CIA file from last year. It reads No longer seaworthy?”
“But she moved today,” General Loomis said.
“That she did,” Kurt said. “Satellite imagery indicates she left Boma three days ago. The other photo you see on the screen is Lagos, Nigeria, a vast megalopolis of perhaps twenty million people. Lady Jane was moving along the Atlantic coastline about a hundred nautical miles southeast of Lagos when she was attacked by pirates.”
A new photo appeared. It was of a speedboat with aftermarket armor mounted on it. Half a dozen black men stood in the boat, all of them heavily armed.
“Nigerian pirates are not as well known as their Indian Ocean counterparts in Somalia. Their tactics are different, as are their targets. Like the Somalis, they have been known at times to attack large corporate oil tankers and container ships. But more often, they target smugglers. Smuggling is rife along the Atlantic coast of Africa, smuggling by definition is unregulated, and smugglers are much less likely to make distress calls or report being the victim of piracy to maritime authorities.”
Susan sighed out loud. She wanted Kurt to get to his point.
“Lady Jane disappeared from satellite tracking this evening. All indications are that the pirates overwhelmed and probably killed the ship’s crew, then brought the ship into port in Lagos.”
Kurt looked at Frank Loomis. “General Loomis?”
The general nodded. “This is classified information, but I’m sure you’re all well aware of it. The Joint Special Operations Command, in coordination with the CIA, the NSA, and a few other organizations, monitors the communications networks of certain Islamist groups throughout the world. One of these is Boko Haram, Nigeria’s own home-grown Muslim terrorist group. Boko was nearly eradicated by the Nigerian military in recent years, with an entirely classified assist from the United States, and highly trained mercenaries out of South Africa. They’ve been making something of a comeback the past year or two, but they are still a shadow of their former selves.
“The pirates who stole Lady Jane contacted them. There was something on board that ship the pirates wanted to sell, and Boko suddenly became very eager to buy. Worse, it turns out the item in question either belongs to, or was intended for, Al-Qaeda. Boko Haram and Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb, once allies, have grown into bitter enemies. Boko Haram now has something that Al-Qaeda wants.”
“What is it?” Susan said.
General Loomis raised his hands slightly and shook his head. “We don’t know. It seems clear that it is probably a weapon of some sort, otherwise why all the fuss?”
“Has there been a fuss?”
Loomis nodded. “Very much so. Whatever the item is, its theft has led to increasingly histrionic threats and taunts being exchanged between the two sides for the past two hours. This leads us to believe it is a weapon, and it is a powerful weapon, potentially a game changer for either group.”
“Jesus,” Susan said. “A nuke?”
“Impossible to speculate at this moment,” Kurt said. “It’s too soon.”
“Isn’t that why we’re here right now?” Susan said. “To speculate?”
Ahead and to her right, Luke raised his hand as if he were a child in school.
“Agent Stone?” Kurt said. “Do you have something to add?”
Luke nodded. “My agency detained an Algerian in Baltimore this morning, who we believe raises funds for extremist groups in the Middle East and North Africa, and who may have been in contact with the perpetrators of the attack in Egypt.”
“Detained?” Kurt said. “What was his legal status during that time?”
Luke smiled and shrugged. “He was detained. He was preparing to leave the country tomorrow, and we wanted to speak to him before he did. Under questioning, he became very agitated, insisting that we were all dead men. He requested that we give a message to his family—if necessary, they should stick to the plan and leave the country without him. I’ve had trouble getting that out of my mind.”
Luke took a breath. Susan noticed that everyone was staring at him now.
“What does that mean to you, Agent Stone?” Kurt said.
“My people are very good,” Luke said. “I won’t step on toes in here by saying they’re the best, but I’ve trusted them with my life on many occasions. They tell me this man is well placed among terrorist networks, and I believe them. He is very eager to leave the country. He’s worried. I believe he thinks an attack is coming.”
“I thought we weren’t speculating right now,” General Loomis said.
Luke didn’t respond.
Susan felt an urge to defend him, but checked herself. Luke was a big boy.
“Where is the prisoner now?” Kurt said.
“We have him in the SRT interrogation room. I anticipate releasing him this afternoon. We don’t have a holding facility, and we have no hard evidence that he’s committed any crime.”
“So assume it’s a weapon,” Haley Lawrence said. “And they plan to use it to attack the United States.”
“Whatever it is,” General Loomis said, “it’s on the move. Our intelligence suggests that the ship wasn’t in port an hour before the transaction was carried out. Boko Haram is moving the item deep into Nigeria, in all likelihood bringing it towards their stronghold in the Sambisa Forest, near the borders with Chad, Cameroon, and Niger. From there, it could go anywhere. Chad in particular is a collapsed state, has dense forest cover on the border with Nigeria, and is wide open for moving personnel and equipment through.”
“Can we ask the Nigerian military to intercept it before that happens?” Susan said.
“The Nigerian military doesn’t work that way,” Kurt said, frowning and shaking his head. “Nigeria doesn’t work that way. Boko Haram has survived as long as it has, despite the unspeakable violence they’ve carried out, because Nigeria is a patronage system. It operates on graft and payoffs. If Boko is already moving the item in question, it’s because they’re con
fident they’ve paid off the right people to be able to do so.”
“So what is our response?” Susan said.
“We have a drone base and Special Forces stationed in Niger at Agadez, about four hundred miles north of the border with Nigeria,” General Loomis said. “We also have a forward operating base with a skeleton crew at Diffa, right on that border. I could literally put a hundred special operators inside Sambisa Forest four hours from now.”
Kurt shook his head. “I hate to rain on your parade, General. We don’t know where the weapon is, if it is indeed a weapon, or if it even exists. An incursion by our Special Forces would be seen by the Nigerians as an attack on their sovereignty. Rightly so, I’m afraid. And a hundred special operators crashing around Sambisa Forest, with no real intelligence, invites a disaster like the Tongo Tongo operation from a couple of years ago, along with the resulting publicity nightmare.”
“And gives the tip-off to the bad guys that we’re looking for them,” Haley Lawrence said.
Loomis was clearly annoyed. Susan mused that General Loomis was like a little boy sometimes. He had his toys and he wanted to play with them. When the adults wouldn’t let him, he put on his frowny face and balled his hands into tiny fists.
“What do you recommend, Kurt?” he said.
“Stealth,” Luke said before Kurt could speak. He raised his index finger, almost as if he had seized the talking stick.
“We put a team of civilian covert operators on the ground. They collect intelligence on the border—maybe they don’t even need to enter Nigeria. They discover the location of the missing item, whatever it is. Then, and only then, we launch a lightning raid into Nigeria, let’s say three groups of four men, the best we have stationed over there. They secure the item, render it inoperable, and destroy it. If feasible, but only if absolutely necessary, they bring it back across the border into Niger for further analysis.”
“I like it,” Haley Lawrence said. “It maintains civilian control over the operation, it limits action until we have information, and if it goes as planned, it gives us plausible deniability.”
Luke nodded. “The weapon is destroyed, and we were never there.”
He seemed enthusiastic for the plan he had just hatched. That gave Susan a sinking feeling. “Sounds like a suicide mission to me,” she said.
“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Kurt said. “With the right personnel, and near flawless execution, I’d say an operation like that…”
He trailed off and shrugged.
Haley Lawrence looked at Luke. “Agent Stone, do you have any thoughts on who we might send on a mission like that?”
Luke smiled. He very carefully did not look in Susan’s direction. “I might have a couple. Yeah.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
4:01 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
The Oval Office
The White House, Washington, DC
“The link should just take a moment,” Kurt said.
In the meantime, an even smaller group than had been in the Situation Room stood around and waited.
Luke stood near the back of the semicircle of people. They were focused on the large flat-panel TV mounted on the far wall. Luke didn’t love that thing. It was an ugly piece of anachronistic electronics, intruding on the stately elegance of the Oval Office. It reminded him somehow of the large black obelisk in 2001: A Space Odyssey, a high-tech interloper everywhere it appeared.
And to extend that metaphor, Luke and everyone else in the room were the apelike pre-modern humans surrounding and gazing up at it.
Luke glanced around the office. Three tall windows, with drapes pulled back, still looked out on the Rose Garden. The Garden was covered in snow, and the light was fading from the sky. Near the center of the office, a comfortable sitting area was situated on top of a lush carpet adorned with the Seal of the President. In the corner, the Resolute Desk—a long-ago gift from the British people—was still there in its customary spot. Standing at the double doors were two Secret Service agents.
The TV flickered, and on the screen appeared Army General Michael “Kip” Wellesley, Commander of the United States Africa Command. He was a round-jawed black man with a perfectly bald head. He looked young, though Luke knew he was in his late fifties. He had gentle and intelligent eyes, which was an oddity for a man of his profession, and in his position. He wore dress greens for the occasion, and was beaming to them across the skies from his headquarters at Kelley Barracks, in Stuttgart, Germany.
To Luke, Germany seemed an odd location for AFRICOM to be based, but then again, the locations rarely made sense. CENTCOM, which had authority over the strategically crucial Middle East, Persian Gulf, and Central Asia, was based in Florida.
“General Wellesley,” Susan said. “Thanks for joining us.”
The general smiled. “President Hopkins, it’s an honor, and my pleasure, to speak with you.”
Luke nearly smiled. The general was laying it on a little thick.
“Kip, we know you’re busy,” Haley Lawrence said. “We just want to give you a heads-up and run something by you. You may have been briefed by now about the freighter that was seized in the Gulf of Guinea today. A weapon of some kind appears to have found its way into Nigerian hands as a result.”
“I’m aware of it,” the general said.
“We’re sending a civilian investigative team your way, coming straight from the President. They’ll be covert operators from the Special Response Team, and they’ll arrive within the next twenty-four hours, possibly within the next twelve. They’re going to need the red carpet treatment, both at Agadez and at Diffa. Full cooperation. Carte blanche.”
“Okay,” the general said. His mouth said okay, but his eyes seemed to say something else.
“We also need three drop teams of special operators on stand-by, positioned very near the border of eastern Nigeria.”
“Haley, am I to understand you’re planning an incursion into eastern Nigeria?”
Haley shrugged. “Yes.”
“With all respect due to yourself and the President, I’m not sure that idea is advisable.” He shook his head and offered a half-smile. “In the parlance of infantry troops from my combat days, that area is hotter than hell.”
Haley Lawrence shook his head. “Be that as it may, the President and I are expecting that you, working closely with General Loomis of the Joint Special Operations Command—”
“Hi, Kip,” General Loomis said.
“Hi, Frank,” General Wellesley said.
“We’re expecting that you will select and deploy the best troops currently active in that region. General Loomis will fill you in on the details of the operation. We intend it to be a quick strike, on a location to be determined, very likely in the Sambisa Forest.”
Luke got the sense that if this were a telephone conversation, Wellesley would have rolled his eyes.
“Understood,” Wellesley said. “Do you have the identities of the covert team?”
“Yes,” Luke said. Until he spoke, he hadn’t fully decided who was going. Now he knew for sure. He tried to ignore the laser beams boring into him from Susan’s eyes.
“It’ll be myself and three others. You’ll have their dossiers within the next hour.”
Wellesley focused on Luke. “Ah, Agent Stone. There you are, hiding in the back. I was wondering where you were. What else do you need from me, besides carte blanche everything?”
“I need a local guide,” Luke said. “Someone who knows everyone and everything in that region. If the missing item is there, in the forest or somewhere nearby, there are people on the ground who already know where it is, and what it is. I need someone who knows those people.”
The general smiled, and it seemed a devilish sort of smile.
“I think I may have the perfect person for that.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
4:55 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
The White House Residence
Washington, DC
“I hate thi
s,” Susan said.
They were standing in her bedroom, the same place where they had been rudely awakened by the telephone—she glanced at the clock—a little more than twelve hours ago. It had been a long, stupid day, full of faraway tragedy that somehow hit close to home, and vague, mysterious threats that might not mean anything.
But the threats had to be investigated, and naturally, superhero Stone had taken it upon himself to go out there and do it.
The heavy blue curtains had been thrown wide by the housekeeping staff, probably sometime this morning, and the last of the weak winter sun shone through the triple-paned bulletproof glass. The afternoon was gone, gray and fading. Night was coming in. The sky would soon be black. The colors matched Susan’s mood.
She was tired, she realized. She felt like she could go to sleep now and wake up tomorrow for a late lunch.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.
He shrugged. “It’s an important mission. I’m putting my top people on it, including myself.”
“Okay, Mr. Arrogant,” she said.
Luke shook his head gently and smiled. “Confident.”
Susan didn’t really want to hear it.
“Every time you go on one of these… operations of yours, I feel like you’re never going to come back.” She shook her head. “Now listen to me, I sound like a teenager. And I hate that, too. I hate everything about that.”
“They’re not really my operations,” Stone said. “They’re everybody’s operations. The taxpayers pay for them, I was trained to carry them out, and hopefully they keep the country safer than it would be otherwise. I’ve been going on them since long before you met me. So far, I’ve always come back from them.”
