Ring of Fire

by Brad Taylor

  We returned to our hotel at twilight, meeting Knuckles in the parking lot. I said, “How’d it go?”

  “Not so well.” He opened the trunk, and inside I saw four beat-up AKM assault rifles, the wood stocks chipped and the bluing fading from the barrels.

  I said, “What the hell are those?”

  “War stocks taken from Afghanistan and Iraq, now used for foreign weapons training. They have a bunch of them stacked up, and they aren’t really accounted for like US weapons. They’re all just thrown into a footlocker and sealed. My buddy was willing to let those slip out for us to use, but he wasn’t willing to give me any of the high-speed US weapons.”

  I conducted a functions check on one and said, “Jeez. What happened to the SEAL brotherhood?”

  He loaded a magazine in one and said, “If we’d relied on your SF brotherhood, we’d be pointing our fingers as a weapon.”

  Touché.

  He said, “What did you guys find?”

  “Should be easy, as long as Carly doesn’t get stuck in the window. Just have to wait for the shop to close.”

  Three hours later, I was listening to Jennifer make the calls, stationed in a vehicle adjacent to the back of the store. She said, “Truck’s on the move, truck’s on the move.”

  I looked over at Carly and said, “You ready to go?”

  I could see she was nervous, but then again, any sane person who wasn’t used to doing operations like this would be. She appeared to be channeling it well.

  She nodded and said, “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. You’ll give me early warning if anyone comes up, right?”

  “I promise. Knuckles has the outer ring, Jennifer’s got the inner, and I’ve got the bull’s-eye. You get in, get the paperwork, and come right back out.”

  Knuckles came on the net. “I’ve got the eye. He’s on the road, headed out, I’m fifty meters behind. You’re clear.”

  She heard the call and said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  We were parked at a dirt lot adjacent to a public path to the beach, a sandy berm with scrub on top separating us from the front of the shop. I called, “We’re on the move,” and we exited the vehicle, scrambling over the berm in the dark and scurrying low to the gap between the shed and the store.

  We slapped up against the wall in a crouch, the window above us. I waited a beat, getting a read from Jennifer. She said, “No movement. You’re good to go.”

  I said, “Knuckles?”

  “Still moving north. No change.”

  Carly put a thin putty knife in her mouth and nodded. I said, “Looks like we are pirates.”

  She squinted her eyes in confusion. I said, “Nothing. Just a stray thought from earlier.” I squatted down, my back to the wall and both of my hands held palm up at my shoulders.

  She shook her head, but she did look like a pirate with the blade in her mouth. She put her right hand into my left, then her left foot onto my right palm. She hoisted herself up until she had both feet on my palms like a circus performer, leaning her body against the wall.

  I said, “You ready to raise the black flag, pirate?”

  She hesitated, and I thought she was going to step down, but she didn’t. She pulled the putty knife out of her mouth, and said, “Let’s go.”

  I stood up, sliding her body against the wall, then raised my arms, hoisting her to the level of the window. She worked the lock for what seemed like an eternity; then I heard the window slide open. She didn’t say a word. All I felt was her feet leaving my hands.

  I turned around and saw her struggling. The window was almost too small for her petite frame. Eventually, she slithered in, and I heard her bark out, “Inside,” with a little bit of aggravation. I chuckled and said, “Remember that lone camera.”

  She said, “Got it. Moving.”

  I leaned against the wall and began the worst part of any mission where I wasn’t the main effort: waiting.

  That lasted all of five seconds. Knuckles came on and said, “Volvo’s making a U-turn, I say again, Volvo is making a U-turn.”

  Did we trigger an alarm?

  No way that would have happened. The police would have been alerted, not the guy in the truck.

  I said, “Give me a time.”

  “Three minutes. Maybe less.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe he left his cell phone. I have no idea.”

  “Carly, you copy? Get out.”

  “I copy. I’ll be in and out in less than that.”

  I expected, On the way, so was pleasantly surprised.

  Two minutes went by, and I called again, “Carly, what’s the status?”

  “The file we identified is only today’s rentals. I’m looking for past ones.”

  “Get out, now. Not enough time.”

  “No. I’m committed now.”

  That answer was not what I wanted to hear. Driving on with the mission was one thing, but when the team leader gives an order, it’s followed. Especially if it comes from me.

  I said, “Carly, get the fuck out, now.”

  I heard nothing. Jennifer called, “Got headlights.”

  I said, “Carly, you copy?”

  Jennifer: “It’s the owner. He’s parking.”

  “Carly!”

  Jennifer again: “He’s moving to the front.”

  What the hell? I’m going to rip her head off.

  I heard the window above me scrape open, and Carly leaned out, saying, “Help me down,” like she was sneaking out for a party in high school.

  I slapped against the wall, holding my hands up, and she scraped herself through the window, feet first. She thumped around for a bit but found my hands. I lowered her to the ground. She was flushed with the mission, smiling. She held up a piece of paper and I pulled her face-to-face and said, “If I make a fucking call, you follow it, you understand?”

  Shocked, expecting accolades, she bristled, saying, “I got the job done. I did what you couldn’t. You can pull that bullshit team-leader crap on Jennifer, but don’t bring it here.”

  Furious at the pushback, I spat out, “This isn’t a game. We’re professionals who act like it. You were endangering an organization I’ve spent a lifetime building. I’ll give you that leeway in the future—after you’ve proven yourself. Now? No more lone-wolf shit. You follow orders.”

  She snarled, “I don’t need to prove myself to you or anyone else. I’ve done just fine operating on my own.”

  I said, “You aren’t on your own here. You’re with a team. And you listen to the team leader. You got it?”

  She bit her tongue and nodded.

  I said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  She handed me the rental agreement. I held it up and said, “Oh, by the way, good work.”

  She looked at me like I was a lunatic.

  I smiled and said, “Hey, I can’t argue with success. Only with you ignoring me.”

  I knelt down and began slinking back to the berm. She followed, and we scampered over it, reaching our car. I turned the dome light on and read the paperwork, seeing an address for here, in Norfolk. Probably fake.

  I saw car headlights, then Knuckles and Jennifer coming over. I said, “Jennifer, get the computer out and find this address.”

  She took the paperwork and went back to her car. Knuckles said, “What do we have?”

  “An address somewhere around here. The zip code fits. Other than that, nothing.”

  Knuckles said, “How’d it work out?”

  Carly said, “I thought it was fine. Your asshole team leader thinks otherwise.”

  He scowled at me, and I said, “She did okay. She just needed some counseling after the fact.”

  He rolled his eyes, saying to her, “Let me guess, you didn’t listen to him, yet he never listens to anyone. Story of my life.”
/>   He glanced at me, waiting on me to complete the joke, but I said, “This wasn’t that. She really didn’t listen, and it could have been mission failure.” He heard my tone and understood the implications. She went back and forth between us like she was being dissected, which she was.

  I saw her about to say something we’d both regret, and patted her on the knee. I said, “Hey, I’m not trying to hammer you. You did well in there. I’m not taking that away from you. Just learn from your mistakes.”

  She said, “I didn’t see any mistakes.”

  Before I could answer, Jennifer came jogging back carrying a laptop. She turned the screen, saying, “It’s a house across the Lafayette River. Here, in Norfolk.”

  I said, “Pull up street view.”

  She did, and I saw that the house was an older ranch style, but the neighborhood was definitely well-to-do. It looked like an old, established Virginia enclave. No way would terrorists have rented there. Jennifer said, “It’s gotta be a fake.”

  Knuckles said, “Only one way to find out.”

  I nodded, saying, “I agree.”

  Jennifer said, “What are we going to do? Go barging in with our AKMs, demanding to see the lease?”

  I said, “No. This is getting dangerous. Time to call in the big guns.”

  I dialed Kurt.

  72

  Jalal went into the den, seeing his two shahid praying on the carpet. They registered his presence, and he simply said, “Ready to go?”

  They nodded, then went about gathering their things as if they were making a trip to the grocery store. Phones, keys, and, in Wasim’s case, a pair of glasses. They turned back to him expectantly. He said, “Are you prepared, my brothers?”

  They both nodded, and Jalal felt his eyes tear up. That caused the same reaction in Tanan and Wasim, and before he could prevent it, they were on the floor, crying together.

  Eventually, the sobbing decreased. Jalal looked both of them in the eye and said, “It’s time. May Allah welcome you into his embrace.”

  “What is the target? Did you decide where we should go?”

  “You are the ones who determine that. Go where you can.”

  Wasim said, “Jalal, we’ve studied the bay. We have to make a choice. I know you wanted to attack the cruise ships, but that means we go left out of the river, into the ship channel. There’s only one target there, and it’s far away. If we go right, we have the largest naval base the United States has within our reach. It’s right next to us.”

  “So you want me to pick a target? Is that it?”

  Tanan said, “I’ve already picked it. If you’ll let me.”

  Jalal smiled and said, “I am not the shahid. Please. What is it?”

  “The USS George Washington. It is an aircraft carrier that has caused death in every Muslim enclave on earth. It is in port. Let us strike it.”

  Jalal shook his head and said, “No, no, no. We can’t attack an aircraft carrier with our little watercraft. It will be like a bug striking a windshield.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ve been researching, and it will damage the boat. Yes, it’s large, but the size doesn’t increase its strength. Remember the USS Cole, in Yemen in 2000? That was another large warship, and we came close to sinking it, killing many, many people. If I go first, I’ll puncture the hull. Maybe not by much, but enough. If Wasim follows behind me and strikes the exact same point, it will be exponentially more effective. We won’t sink the ship, I know, but we will render it inoperable. A glorious strike.”

  “But what will that do?”

  “What will it do? Seriously? After Houston and Los Angeles? They’ll have to shut down the ports all over the country. They won’t be able to predict if there isn’t another attack on the way. Every single attack has been different. Every blow has been unique. They’ll make the connection between them, and then they’ll have to make the ultimate decision to shut them down for fear of some other, unexpected attack. They have over three hundred major ports. They’ll all be shut down. It will destroy their ability to trade. Everything from bananas to computers will be closed off. Isn’t that the point of this anyway? Even if we fail to sink the carrier, the point is the attack. That’s what will drive the economic destruction that Tariq has always preached.”

  Jalal paced a bit, considering, then said, “I believe you are right. It matters not what destruction we bring. Only the fact that we can. So be it. I like the final attack being against something that has slaughtered the ummah all over the earth.”

  Wasim and Tanan smiled, and an uncomfortable silence settled. Jalal broke it.

  “Do you wish to do final prayers?”

  Awkwardly, they both said, “We just completed them.”

  Jalal was unsure of how to deal with the tension in the room. He wasn’t going to die, and felt like he should. It wasn’t right. Tanan saw his face and said, “Brother, don’t feel sorry for us. We’ll be in paradise soon. Just get us to the boat ramp.”

  Jalal nodded but didn’t feel assuaged. Resigned, he said, “Load up all of your things. I’ll destroy them after you’ve left.”

  They both went to their room, coming out with the backpacks they’d had when they fled Morocco. He said, “You didn’t leave anything in your room? The police will be here after we’re done. Of that I’m sure.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Jalal caught his eye, seeing the dedication, then said, “I suppose not.”

  They went out the front door to the pickup truck. Behind it was the trailer holding three Sea-Doo watercraft, one just as it was delivered, and two with the front hulls turned into explosive shaped charges.

  Jalal loaded the knapsacks in the bed of the pickup, then said, “Well, this is it. In thirty minutes you will make the entire Khattabi clan proud. You will enter paradise. The boat ramp is only a mile away. Are you truly ready?”

  Tanan said, “We have to fill up the watercraft. They have no fuel.”

  Jalal heard the words, dumbfounded at his oversight.

  73

  Kurt answered the phone fairly tersely, saying, “Pike, you’d better not be calling to tell me you need bail.”

  I said, “Sir, no. But I do have a request. And it’s going to hurt.”

  He said, “Seriously? Your actions as of late have caused a little bit of a stir back here. Specifically, how some Recce guy from South Africa crossed paths with a Taskforce asset, then both managed to find out about a ship headed to one of our largest ports with a dirty bomb.”

  I said, “That’s what the Council cares about? Instead of cheering the fact that the architecture we created actually works, they want to nitpick the edges?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they want to do. Not for us, but they’re circling the chum because of the South African. I’ve got him in holding, but I want to cut him free. Get him out of Taskforce control so I don’t have to worry about the repercussions. If they want to question him officially, they can find him.”

  I realized Kurt was playing both sides against the middle, and I liked it. We were holding Johan without any due process or rights afforded by our judicial system, and he was asking me if he could let him go free, knowing that he could defend the decision by using the very arguments that were being thrown against the Taskforce as an extrajudicial force. In effect, doing what was correct by turning him loose into the real world of US justice, letting them conduct the due process.

  He continued, “But I don’t want to do that if he’s got some information about terrorism. If he can prevent a death, I’ll take the pain. I want your opinion.”

  I said, “Let him go. He’s a white hat. It’s been tarnished, but it’s white.”

  “You sure?”

  I didn’t mention that I suspected he’d been the one to kill the source in the Bahamas. I suppose I should have, but I didn’t. It would just complicate things, because K
urt couldn’t ignore such information, but Johan had led us to the thread. In my mind, it canceled out. Harsh, I suppose, but there it was. He’d given me all the information he had, and he did it because he wanted to prevent further deaths, not because he was concerned about himself. And in my world, that was a cutline that meant something.

  I said, “I’m sure. The guy has no other information on this thread, and he’s not a threat. You want to cut him free, let the US Justice Department take up a case. You’ll get no arguments with me.”

  I heard a sigh of relief; then he said, “Okay, what do you have?”

  I took a deep breath, thinking what I’d say, then just let it out, “We did the B and E and got out clean. We have a potential safe house for the entire crew.”

  I ran down what we’d found, giving him the evidence of an attack coming in Norfolk and the fact that nobody had located the Tariq guy from Saudi Arabia. I ended with, “I can’t take that house on my own. I’ve only got Knuckles and Jennifer. Carly isn’t capable of an assault, and anyway, this isn’t a Taskforce mission.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want the FBI Hostage Rescue Team. I want someone who can assault, and we need them right now.”

  “If you think it’s that bad, call in the local SWAT team. Get the police on it. Let’s flush it right now.”

  “No way. How the hell am I going to do that? Walk in and say I have a terrorist beehive to the local sheriff? That’ll end up in a two-day clusterfuck. I want someone I trust. I’ve trained with them. I don’t want some local-yokel team that shoots on the weekends. We’re talking about a direct threat to the largest naval base on the continent. I want HRT.”

  “We don’t have liaison with the Justice Department.”

  I knew that, but it didn’t alter my request.