by Brad Taylor
“What is it?”
He explained the satchel and its contents, then said, “This needs to get on the ship in Algeciras before it leaves tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? That’s not enough time. I have to take the ferry from here, meet him, get the package built, and get it onboard in one day?”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t want to waste time on setting up a meeting. There’s a ferry leaving to Algeciras this afternoon.”
“I haven’t talked to my men in Fez yet.”
“You can do that when you come back, after I have the passports. You said the explosives were built, right?”
“Yes, but the containers are already in the holding area. Badis has access to the area, but he can’t introduce a package in broad daylight—especially if they’re loading the ship from that container zone.”
“Then you’ll have to accomplish it tonight. The port works twenty-four seven, right?”
Jalal said nothing, thinking of the timeline.
“Can you do it?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Badis. He’s the one who will make the call. What if we can’t?”
“The attack will be delayed, if not permanently stopped. When our other strike goes off, there will be an investigation. When they see it was sabotage, make no mistake, the security will be increased at ports all over the world. People will be screened. Areas will be locked down. We need this ship to be moving toward its target before then. And we need you to be moving with your men for the third attack.”
Jalal nodded and said, “Insh’Allah, if it can be done, it will be.”
The Sheik pointed at the phone on the table and said, “Use the Wickr app to let me know, and be sure to send the cell number of the triggering phone. I’ll need to pass that to our man.”
“This seems rushed. We took two years to get the men in place, and now we’re racing around like chickens.”
“I know, but it’s why you were chosen. Remember our talks in Madrid. This is the way. When all targets are attacked, it will cripple their shipping industry, and in so doing, cripple America. When the path grows hard, remember where it leads.”
19
Held up by the traffic on Paseo del Prado, right next to a fountain that looked like it was supposed to be the god Neptune, I lost sight of our target. I called Knuckles, saying, “He got across before me. You have eyes on?”
Knuckles came back, “Got him. Crossing next to the national museum, and continuing west.”
I’d sent the team a couple of pictures of the target, along with his direction of travel, as soon as I’d triggered the operation. He’d headed generally west out of the plaza, looking like he had a destination in mind. Jennifer and I had followed loosely behind until he came to a major four-lane road. Called Paseo del Prado, it was split by parks, with two lanes on the near side and two on the far. The target, like everyone else, was stuck waiting at the light. I didn’t want to stand right next to him, so Jennifer and I hung back. When the light changed, we let him cross, then followed at the last second, making it across the first two-lane road but missing the light for the second, leaving us stranded in the park between the lanes.
I said, “What’s up there? Where’s he going?”
Knuckles was working with Retro as a team, and on the hunt directly behind the target. Veep, operating as a singleton and staged on the target’s projected line of march, came on. “Pike, I’m up at the top of the hill. There’s a big-ass church here, and a national park. It’s big as well. Wide-open. Looks like something you’d see in France.”
Veep was at least ten years behind me in age, meaning he was someone well versed in the use of Google.
Our light went green and I said, “Veep, I’m walking across now. Do you want me to use my phone as I go, or would you like to do that research while you twiddle your thumbs next to the ‘big-ass church’?”
Jennifer scowled at me, and I heard a contrite, “Roger. Looking now.”
I was fairly sure he was kicking himself, which is exactly what I wanted.
Jennifer said, “Do you really think it’s in our best interest to insult the son of the president of the United States?”
Which is how he had come by his callsign. He’d earned it the hard way, on an operation when his father was still the vice president. Heritage meant nothing in the Taskforce. Either you could operate or you couldn’t—and in Veep’s case, he most definitely could. He just needed some instruction.
I smiled and said, “You’re just sweet on him.”
She gave me her disappointed-teacher look and said, “No. I just think you’re a jerk to anyone new.”
We’d crossed the second two-lane road and started walking up the hill past the national museum before Veep came back on. “Pike, the park is 350 acres, called Buen Retiro. It’s been around since the monarchy of Isabella in the sixteenth century. It’s got trees from Japan, architecture from Europe, and lakes and fountains. It’s been through several different—”
I cut him off. “Okay, okay, I don’t need a history lesson. What’s up there that the target would want?”
I heard nothing from him. Knuckles came on. “He’s entered the park. We’re still behind him, but getting hot. Veep, where are you?”
Veep whispered, “I see him. I got him. I’m on him. I’m behind him now.”
To Jennifer, off the net, I said, “I think Veep’s got eyes on.”
She pinched my side, saying, “Stop it. You made your point.”
We entered the park, and Veep came back on the net, saying, “Pike, he’s not just cutting through here. This place is wide-open, with plenty of tourists, but he’s off the concrete and into the trees. I think he’s going to a meeting.”
Which was the first bit of analysis that mattered. I said, “How do you know? What do you see?”
“He’s walking down a dirt path, and he’s taking it slow. This place is crisscrossed with them, for joggers or people looking to find a patch of grass to sit on. He’s not doing either. There are police on the paved paths, and he’s avoiding any stretch that has people on it. He’s got a reason to be in here, and he doesn’t want to be remembered. He’s not just cutting through this park . . . Well, maybe he is . . .”
I grinned at the last statement, because Veep was losing confidence in his call. I said, “Veep, you got the eye, and I trust it. Keep on him, and click on the beacon in your phone. We’ll leapfrog ahead and pick him up.”
Jennifer smiled and said, “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
I said, “Find him on your phone, then plan a route to intercept his likely destination.”
On the radio, I said, “Knuckles, Retro, you monitor last?”
“Roger all.”
I turned on the beacon to my smartphone—basically just a software feature that allowed the team to track one another’s movements—and said, “Koko and I are going to intercept. I want you two to run anchor, keeping us clean from anyone else in here.”
Meaning, I wanted some countersurveillance in case our target was moving slowly precisely to see if he was being followed. We kept walking, reaching a large fountain, a man-made lake to the left with rowers sculling in circles around it. I said, “You got anything?”
Jennifer said, “Veep’s in the trees to our right, moving south. If we go down this road, and he continues, he’ll pop out right about here. If we hurry, we can set up beforehand.”
She was pointing down a stretch of asphalt that paralleled the wood line the target was in. At the base was another road, running perpendicular and basically boxing in that section of the park. I said, “Mark it and send it to the team.” On the radio, I said, “Knuckles, got a destination headed your way. Veep, tell us if he deviates from that intended location.”
We took a right and began moving with a purpose, Jennifer staring at her phone from time to time. We’d
gone only about a hundred meters when Jennifer said, “Veep’s stopped. We just passed his position.”
I started to call him, but he beat me to the punch. “Pike, target is now moving east. I’m off. If I go that way, he’ll know for sure I’m following.”
“How far ahead of you?”
“Fifty meters.”
I looked at Jennifer’s phone, did the math, and saw the guy was going to pop out right in front of us. Before I could say anything, he did, about forty meters away.
“All elements, all elements, this is Pike. We have the eye.”
He crossed in front of us and immediately went into the wooded area on the eastern side of our path. I didn’t want to run up and cross where he had, but I needed to keep eyes on or risk losing him in the trees. I glanced to the east and saw a well-worn path that looked like something tourists routinely used to meander through the trees. I tugged Jennifer’s hand and said, “That way.”
We entered the tree line, and I saw it was much more open than it looked, with wide gravel paths and various gardens, picnic tables, and benches scattered about. I caught a glimpse of our target still moving east. We followed, walking parallel and keeping our distance. Eventually we came upon some giant two-story greenhouse-looking things fronting another lake and swarming with tourists. Appropriately enough, a sign next to it proclaimed it the CRYSTAL PALACE.
I stopped at a bench and took a seat, both Jennifer and me scanning for the target. She whispered, “There he is. Eleven o’clock. Walking toward that policeman.”
I casually swiveled my head and found him. He walked right by the cop, and I saw him pass something. The cop immediately stuffed it into his jacket.
It happened so quickly that an untrained eye would have missed the action. I wasn’t even sure if I wasn’t tricking myself.
Jennifer said, “Did you catch that? The brush pass?”
So it wasn’t my imagination.
“Yep. Let’s stay here.”
The target took a seat across the lake from us, on a bench snuggled into a small copse of trees, leaving us with an angled view of his back.
Eventually, two young local men approached. He talked to them for a moment, then surreptitiously dug into his knapsack on the bench. The men left. This happened two more times before I realized what was happening.
I said, “He’s a damn drug dealer. And that cop is his protection.”
Jennifer nodded and said, “Yeah, I think you’re right, but how is he connected to a bank account tied in to a terrorist in America? It makes no sense.”
“No idea, but we’ll stay on him. Maybe something will pop up. Maybe he’s fronting for someone. Half of AQ is funded by the drug trade.”
Jennifer said, “You know when we report this back in our SITREP tonight, that’ll be the end of it. We’ll have to turn over everything and the Taskforce will punt this to DEA or CIA or someone else.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Knuckles came on. “I got eyes on you, but not the target. What’s happening? Did you do something to spike?”
I told him, watching the target answer his cell phone, then asked, “Why the spike question?”
“I got two Hyenas who are very interested in your bench. One’s on the phone now.”
Hyena meant someone who wasn’t positively good or bad, but potentially could compromise the operation either way because of his actions. Someone who caught our attention because they were acting funny, like a hyena pacing a lion’s kill.
The target swiveled around, looking in our direction. I diligently studied the lake, taking Jennifer’s hand in mine. I said, “Must be his internal protection.”
“Just hold in place. Give me a direction and distance, and when the target leaves, Retro and I will pick him up.”
The target got up, walking back to the cop. They exchanged words, and the cop shook his head. Apparently not trusting the cop’s ability to know if other police were after him, the target decided to leave.
And I had a great idea that would guarantee our ability to operate.
I said, “Target’s moving. Coming right by us.”
Knuckles said, “I’ll get him. Stay put.”
“No, Jennifer and I will get him. Keep eyes on the Hyenas. They’ll probably move to interdict us. When they do, let it happen.”
Jennifer whipped her head to me, and I heard, “What? Say again?”
The target passed us and I rose, bringing Jennifer with me. I said, “We’re done after our report tonight, unless something drastic happens. This’ll go into the intelligence slush pile, and we won’t get Omega. But we always have the right to self-defense.”
Knuckles said, “So? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want those two thugs you’re watching to interdict us. They’ll take us somewhere and you can then come in for the rescue.”
We started following the target again, and Knuckles said, “That is the most harebrained thing I’ve ever heard. Pike, Hyenas are now on you, fifty meters back.”
I said, “It’s pure genius. A Trojan horse. Once I’m on the inside, we’ll have all the authority we need to interrogate and exploit whatever we find.”
“What if they just kill you?”
“Then you’ll have failed.”
I heard nothing for a second, then, “This is a really bad idea.”
20
Sitting at his desk, trying to appear nonchalant, Dexter said, “So, I saw that the journalist met an unforeseen fate at a dangerous stretch of road. They should mark that highway better.”
Johan said nothing, not even hello. He set a laptop computer on the desk and booted it up. Dexter continued, “The source in the Bahamas, not so much. That made a little bit of a splash.”
Johan said, “Shut up. What I got out of that hit is the splash.”
Dexter clamped his mouth closed. Johan clicked on an application, then began flipping through one document after another, saying, “Your account was, in fact, in that leak, and it’s got some seriously strange activity.”
Dexter said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you used it only once, someone else has been using it ever since, and your name is all over each transaction.”
Dexter leaned forward toward the screen; then his jaw dropped. “What the hell? I’ve never done anything with that account since then!”
Johan flipped through the documents, getting to a fuzzy scan of an original. “Is that your signature?”
“Yes. That’s the founding document. I placed two million dollars in it, and it was withdrawn a day later. After that, the account was closed. I was given the closing documents.”
Johan flipped to the next document, saying, “Does this look like it was closed? Cash transfer to Yemen, 2002.” He flipped again. “Cash transfer to Nigeria, 2004.” And again. “Cash transfer to Libya. Libya, 2012.”
Dexter’s mouth went dry. “I . . . I didn’t do any of that.”
Johan zoomed in to the signature. “Is that you? Because it sure looks like it.”
The signature was, in fact, Dexter’s. He said, “What the fuck is going on with this thing? Who are these people?”
“That’s my question to you. What have you been involved in? You just had me kill two people. Why? For Icarus? Or for you?”
Dexter licked his lips and said, “Johan, I had nothing to do with this. Those assholes are using the account from my original bribe, using my name. We have to stop this.”
Johan kept flipping the documents, which recorded transactions up until the present day. He said, “The last transfer you made was to a company in Gibraltar called Mint Tea Maintenance. What was that for?”
“Johan, I have no fucking idea. I didn’t do it.”
“I looked, and it’s a company that doesn’t even have a webpage. It’s got an address, but that’s about it.
Looks to be some singleton repair shop on the naval shipyards there. I can’t find anything else on them.”
“Johan, you have to believe me, I haven’t done anything with that account. Ever.” He turned and started tearing through a filing cabinet, saying, “I have the closing papers right here.”
He turned around, holding a folder and finding Johan’s blue eyes on him, the color of a mountain lake, hiding what was below. Johan brushed his hair aside and took the folder, saying, “What, exactly, did you do in 2001?”
“It’s irrelevant now. I gave a bribe. Nothing more. Or, apparently, much more than I wanted.” He put his head into his hands and pulled at his hair, saying, “This is a fucking disaster.”
Johan tapped him on the head to interrupt the whining. Dexter looked up, waiting. Johan said, “If you’re lying to me . . . if you asked me to take the lives of people to protect some bullshit operations for your business . . . I’ll fucking cut your throat.”
Dexter said, “It’s not like that. It’s not.” Now in a panic, he said, “Jesus Christ, those fucks had no right to keep using that account.”
Johan said, “What ‘fucks’? Who did you give the money to?”
“I . . . just . . . it was a man who . . . a nobody.”
“A nobody? Well, this ‘nobody’ has accounts that span the globe.”
Dexter sat upright and said, “Johan, I had nothing to do with these accounts. I did nothing wrong. For Christ’s sake, all I did was bribe someone. Why are you so angry?”
Johan sat on the desk, leaning into Dexter’s face. “I believe you, for now. But your bribe is going to get out, and when it does, it’s going to be tied to some very bad things.”
“What do you mean? What bad things? All you have is that those sons of bitches used my name. What are you saying?”
“Take a look at the accounts. Every transfer happens to go to some bad-guy land. You, by your name, have probably funded terrorist attacks.”
“Wait a fucking minute. You can’t make that claim. Yeah, the Saudis gave money using my name. So what? I did not have anything to do with terrorist attacks. All I did was make a business. One that employs you now. One that gets you out of the line of fire.”
