Ring of Fire

by Brad Taylor

  I said, “That’s not going to cut it. You know it, and I know it. You’re alive because I allowed it. There are children dead because of you.”

  My words sank in, but not like I expected. He became apoplectic, sitting upright and jerking against his chains, shrieking, “I didn’t do that! They killed them. It wasn’t me. I tried to prevent it. I tried. I tried . . .”

  I took that in, letting him sag back into the chair, watching his chest rise and fall in anger. I went a different tack. “You’re ex-military. Working for Icarus Solutions.” It wasn’t even a question. I was just throwing things out there.

  He said, “Yes. It’s how I came here.”

  I said, “Your passport is from South Africa.”

  “So?”

  “You showed some skill with firearms today. Are you Recce?”

  He looked at me in a new light. I chuckled and said, “Did you think an average civilian took you down?”

  He said, “Yes. I was Recce. Still am. Always will be.”

  I said, “The fact that you’re Special Forces will not give you any leeway. I want to know where those guys were going. I want to know what they have in mind.”

  He looked shocked and said, “I’m not with them. I’m trying to stop them. It’s why we had the firefight.”

  I said, “Sure. I believe you.”

  He became incensed again, saying, “They killed the boy. They killed a child. I sent that boy in. He was there because of me.”

  He jerked against the handcuffs hard enough to draw blood and shouted, “I murdered him.”

  I leaned back into the wall and looked at Carly. She imperceptibly nodded, letting me know the guy might be speaking the truth.

  I said, “Why would you be chasing these men? If you’re from South Africa? Why do you care?”

  “I have my own reasons.”

  “Okay, let’s cut the psychobabble and go straight to the evidence. How did you find them? I mean, if you’re a true-blue terrorist killer, what led you to them?”

  He scowled, then sank into the chair. “I have nothing to say.”

  That pissed me off. I leaned into him and said, “Really? Because I’ll fucking bury you. I am judge, jury, and executioner. I am God as far as you’re concerned. The only thing that will save your ass is you telling me what I want to know.”

  “Who are you?”

  I said, “I’m the ghost. I’m the one who keeps America safe, and if carving you up is the price, I’m willing to pay it.”

  I went face-to-face with him, giving the full force of my potential for violence. I said, “If you want to test me, so be it.”

  I could see the emotion roll across his face. He tossed his head a bit, pulled up on the handcuffs, then sagged back in the seat. He said, “I had a bank account number. That’s what I followed. There was a man about to embarrass my company, and my boss asked me to check it out. What I found was . . . strange.”

  I said, “Bank account? You mean from the Panama Papers leak? Is that what you’re talking about?”

  He tried to hide it, but I saw a reaction. I said, “I’m following the same lead.”

  He rolled his head away, refusing to talk. I grabbed his hair, forcing him forward. I said, “Look at me. There is a terrorist attack on the way, and it’s tied in to what you know.”

  He tried to jerk his head out of my hands but failed. He said, “Why should I trust you? You might just be another company looking for an edge. Why should I talk to you about what I’ve done? What protections do I have?”

  I glanced at Carly, then went back to him and said, “What’s that mean? I don’t care what you’ve done. If I find out you’re some low-life criminal, I won’t do anything about it if you help us.”

  He looked me in the eye and said, “What about extrajudicial killings of terrorists? You won’t hold that against me?”

  That statement took me aback. I paced a bit, then said, “That depends. I’m not going to let you slide for some murder you did. That’s not how this works.”

  I saw him study me, judging. He said, “You are Special Forces, too.”

  I said, “That’s not pertinent.”

  He said, “Yes, it is.”

  I said, “Okay, I am. Now what?”

  “Because you understand what the real world is like,” he said. “I killed a man. Because of this.”

  I was now sure he was just a nutcase who was trying to use me to get out of some sociopathic bullshit. I said, “We’re done here unless you give me what you know. Right. Fucking. Now.”

  He said, “I just did. The man in Gibraltar who caused the explosion in Houston, I’m the one who killed him. I followed him because of a bank account. I didn’t know he was involved in a current attack.”

  And it all came home. I connected the dots and said, “You were in the Bahamas.”

  He looked shocked. “I was never in the Bahamas.”

  I said, “Oh, yes, you were. You killed the source, didn’t you? And you are the man they’re looking for in Gibraltar.”

  “I’m not saying anything else.”

  I said, “Yes, you will. One way or the other. There is another attack on the way, and I will stop it, either with your willing cooperation or . . . unwilling. Either way, you’re going to cooperate.”

  Hesitantly, he said, “All I was trying to do was help. That’s all.”

  “And here in Fez? What were you doing?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I was just following a lead.”

  I said, “Following a lead. Sure.”

  Carly said my name, and I went to her in the corner of the room. Splayed out on a table were the things we’d found on him, including his passport, a smartphone, and a strange Ziploc bag with a piece of rubber in it.

  Carly whispered, “He’s hiding something about the Bahamas, but I think he’s credible.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Watching his body language, for one, and this, for another.” She held up the smartphone, using her frame to keep it concealed from Johan. She pulled out the rubber and put it on her index finger, saying, “He hacked this iPhone by making a fingerprint.”

  She put her index finger on the Touch ID, and magically, the screen cleared. She said, “The phone’s not his.”

  I was impressed at what she’d put together. Thank God we didn’t throw away that piece of rubber as trash.

  She finished by saying, “Threaten him with the cell. If I’m right, you’ll be surprised at the reaction.”

  I returned to Johan, holding the phone. I said, “You want us to start looking, and we can go deep. We’ll dissect this handset down to the ones and zeros, retrieving a digital trail that you can’t hide. When I find out you’ve lied to me, I’m going to cause you pain, and not gentle, like before.”

  He said, “I wish you would go deep. Rip it apart. I can’t defeat all the password protections on it. I barely got past the lock screen.”

  I looked at Carly, then said, “It’s not your phone?”

  “No. It’s the terrorist’s phone. A member of a group we’re both trying to stop.”

  61

  Tariq lounged in his father’s chair as if he had no concerns in the world. But he did. Ring of Fire was turning into a debacle, and as much as his father talked about heritage and history, he knew that their bottom line stopped right here in the present. Despite the barking about Islam and the selfless nature of the fight, at the end of the day only one thing mattered: Could anyone prove their company had a hand in something heinous?

  And it was looking more and more like they could.

  He saw the door swing open and his father enter the room. Tariq stood, sweat building under his armpits. He knew his father had heard about the fiasco in Fez. It had actually made international news. A sleeper cell that had escaped the authorities. There was a manhunt
going on for the very men he was going to use, and the only thing that helped was that the names the authorities knew were not the identities the men were traveling under.

  His father walked behind his desk and fell heavily into his chair, saying nothing. He rubbed his forehead, then looked up, asking, “Are we done?”

  “Do you mean us, as in me and you, or the mission?”

  His father leaned forward and said, “I mean Ring of Fire. Why on earth would I feel threatened?”

  “Ring of Fire is progressing. Yes, they were found out in Fez—”

  His father cut him off. “Why should I feel threatened? Is there a reason you parsed my question?”

  “No, Father, I just misunderstood, but there is no reason to worry. We are completely dislocated from any actions involving the cell. Different countries, different heritage, different everything. Jalal is the only one who’s ever even met me, and he doesn’t know my real name. Only that I’m Saudi Arabian and rich. He certainly doesn’t know you. Even if they catch him, he can’t say anything that could harm us.”

  “Yet we thought the same thing about the cell. They were supposed to be invisible, with nobody looking for them, much less finding them. How did that happen?”

  “I don’t know, but the DGST is vicious, and they are everywhere. Maybe one of the cousins said something suspicious to an informant, and they were just going to be questioned. Maybe they panicked, leading to the shootout. Either way, they got out of the country.”

  “You don’t fear them getting caught in Rome?”

  “No. I think the entire event in Fez was a fluke. I truly do. As I said, the authorities are looking for Moroccan citizens with Moroccan names, and our men are traveling as Saudi Arabians, with preapproved tourist visas for the United States.”

  Yousef leaned back, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he said, “Okay, okay, we’ll continue. How soon before they attack?”

  “A few days at least. They first have to get to the safe house I rented, then we need to ship them their vehicles, but it will work.”

  “You lost a man in Fez. Will two be enough to accomplish the mission?”

  “Yes. Jalal says it will.”

  Yousef reached into a briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He said, “The container from Algeciras is across the Panama isthmus.” He slid the top paper across and said, “It’ll be in the port of Los Angeles in two days. That’s the new ship.”

  “Excellent. I’ll inform Anwar.”

  “He’s still in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes. He’s growing impatient because I told him to keep his movements low.”

  Yousef pushed another sheet of paper across the desk and said, “I want you to travel to the United States tonight. I’ve already purchased your tickets. Go to Norfolk and retrieve the explosives that were going to be used in the third vehicle, then give them to Anwar. Have him construct another one of his flying bombs.”

  Tariq studied the sheet, then looked up at his father in surprise. He said, “What is this?”

  “The final target. The one we missed fifteen years ago.”

  62

  Stuck in the midday traffic on the memorial bridge, Kurt could see the Washington Monument a short distance away, but it might as well have been on the moon. His phone chirped, and he answered, saying, “We’re on the way. A little traffic. We should be there within twenty minutes.”

  He hung up. From behind the wheel, George Wolffe said, “If they wanted a meeting within five minutes, they should have called it at midnight.”

  Kurt said, “Apparently, the president has to get on the campaign trail, and they really want to know what we’ve found. He’s going to be out of pocket for the next week.”

  “Well, you could have told him what we have in less time than that phone call.”

  George was using hyperbole, but not much. It had been a little over twenty-four hours since Pike had contacted him, asking for reach-back technological and intelligence support, and the Taskforce had worked furiously, developing a few thin leads. Kurt would have preferred to wait until they’d managed to at least flesh out a possible course of action instead of just finding data points, but apparently that was not to be.

  George said, “Maybe we should ask the Oversight Council for approval of lights and sirens.”

  Kurt laughed and said, “I’m not sure they’d appreciate a clandestine force racing around DC with lights blazing.”

  “It worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

  After bumping along for another fifteen minutes, they eventually pulled into the security access point for the White House, and then to the portico of the West Wing. Alexander Palmer was waiting under the awning, waving them forward.

  They pulled up and he said, “George, find a parking spot. Sorry, but Kurt needs to get inside now. The president is running late.”

  Without another word, Palmer turned and walked to the entrance. Kurt raised his eyebrows at George, then jumped out, trotting to catch up. Palmer handed him his access badge, and they entered the White House.

  They reached the Oval Office and Kurt asked, “Is the entire Council in here?”

  “No. Just the principals, but President Hannister wants an update.”

  Meaning it was the director of the CIA, the secretary of state, the secretary of defense, and the president. The four members who habitually hashed out Taskforce business before bringing it to the full Council.

  He opened the door and ushered Kurt inside. Kurt saw the principals sitting on two couches facing each other, with President Hannister in a chair at the head.

  Kurt nodded at the members, then said, “Sir, sorry. I understand you have a flight to catch.”

  Hannister smiled and said, “Unfortunately, yes. Apparently, part of the job description of president means I have to campaign so I can keep the job of president. I’ve received briefings from the other parts of the intelligence community, which amounted to a bunch of guessing about groups, motives, and possible follow-on targets. After your report from Pike, I was wondering if you had anything concrete.”

  Earlier, Kurt had given a detailed SITREP describing the trail that Pike had followed, ending with the action in Fez.

  “Sir, yes and no. We have a bunch of data points right now but haven’t analyzed them enough to weave a story. I will say, unfortunately, that I believe one or more attacks are in motion right now. It’s undetermined how far along they are, but I can state with some certainty that it’s coming.”

  Palmer muttered, “Shit.”

  President Hannister said, “Why?”

  “The threads are too spread out. We had an attack originating in Gibraltar from a Moroccan, then a team of Moroccans engaged in a shootout in Fez, all of whom have disappeared, and now a link to someone else in Algeciras, Spain. All of that wasn’t for the Houston attack. It’s spread over three different countries, and it’s for something greater than a single attack.”

  Kerry Bostwick, the D/CIA, said, “What did you find in Algeciras?”

  “You read about the man from South Africa in my report, correct?”

  “Yes, we saw that.”

  “He had a phone that he’d hacked on his own but couldn’t get anything out of it because of further encryption and password protections. The Taskforce hooked up to it remotely, and we digitally drained it of everything we could find. In it is an application called Wickr. It’s an end-to-end encrypted messaging service, and a Moroccan ship worker having that, in and of itself, is suspicious.”

  “So you were able to break the encryption and get the messages?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The application has a built-in design that allows the messages to self-destruct after a predetermined amount of time. There were no messages in it—but there was the contact information for someone else with a Wickr account. In effect, the owner can hide his messages, but not who he’s talkin
g to. They both have to have a Wickr account.”

  Palmer said, “And this other contact is in Algeciras?”

  “Yes, and I think it’s the root for a second attack.”

  “Why? Maybe it’s just a friend of his.”

  Kerry said, “Algeciras is the location of one of the biggest ports in the Mediterranean.” He looked at Kurt and said, “You think a second attack is coming from that port, like the first did from Gibraltar?”

  “I do. I’d like a modified Alpha authority to go check it out. Modified in the sense that we don’t have a lot of time here. I want to check out the contact and, if he’s Moroccan, conduct an Omega rendition operation. If we’re wrong, we’re wrong, and we deal with it. I think that option’s better than not interdicting, given the stakes.”

  Palmer said, “You want to capture a guy solely based on his nationality?” He turned to the president and said, “Sir, I really think we should bring this to the entire Oversight Council. That’s a pretty big precedent to set.”

  Kurt said, “Sir, please don’t spin it that way. I’m talking about capturing a Moroccan who’s been using a highly sophisticated encrypted messaging service tied into another Moroccan who blew up the Houston Ship Channel. I think it’s warranted.”

  President Hannister said, “And if you’re wrong? What do we do with him? If he’s innocent, we can’t throw him in the Cloud to protect Taskforce involvement.”

  Referring to the Taskforce’s unique detention capability where true terrorists were imprisoned without experiencing the US justice system, Hannister was asking a valid question. Kurt said, “Pike can mitigate that. Worst case, he’ll get thrown back onto the street and we disappear. He won’t even know where we’re from. Hell, buy him a new car or something. I’m not talking about torturing the guy. Just questioning him.”

  President Hannister said, “Okay. Get the Council together and put it before them. You’ll get your Alpha, I’m sure.”

  “Sir, we don’t have time for that. It’ll take another day, at least, to get a meeting established, and every minute is precious. The attack could be tomorrow for all I know.”