“No more than I,” the Spaniard smiled as he crouched once more before the two skulls and carefully resumed his work.
*****
Corbett could see the black Cadillac Escalade with tinted, bulletproof windows and consular plates parked beside his tent as he came down the path from the cave. Lifting the tent flap and stepping inside, he found Reed waiting with a younger man who had evidently driven him out.
“Michael Corbett, meet James Fleckner. He’ll be your new liaison on the Tariq Baker exfiltration,” Reed said stepping forward. The two men shook hands as Corbett sized him up. Bespectacled and balding, Fleckner reminded him of an accountant. Another toady, he thought as Reed continued. “Which is why I wanted you two to meet.”
Seated at the field desk, Reed wore a cream-colored suit and a paisley tie. Fleckner was tie-less and dressed in a black business suit despite the heat. Corbett tried not to smile at the contrasting styles. Fleckner held up a black backpack which he placed on the desk.
“Your last communication mentioned a ‘serious complication’
requiring immediate action,” Fleckner said, cutting straight to it. “Want to tell us about it?”
Corbett found himself taking an instant dislike to the man. He wanted to tell him to go fuck himself but resisted the impulse.
“Tariq showed up yesterday evening unexpectedly. Drove himself up from the village in a van he’d borrowed from the clinic. I showed him the video of the attack on his father and explained that we were prepared to move him as soon as he was ready to travel.”
“So what’s the complication?” Fleckner asked, sounding vaguely annoyed.
“He has a wife and a child. If he returns, he’ll have to leave them behind. He said he needs time.”
“Jesus…” Reed impatiently interjected, shaking his head. “Did you explain that we don’t have an unlimited window here?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“We disagree,” Fleckner said flatly, dismissing Corbett’s assessment out of hand.
“Really? Then you tell him.”
Seeing Corbett bristle, Reed stepped in as he attempted to defuse the situation. “What else?”
“When he left, they were waiting…”
“They…? Who’s they?” Fleckner interrupted.
“You tell me. Some sort of sleeper cell. ISIS… Al Qaeda… Whoever the hell it is, they obviously want him dead.”
“You get a look at them?” Reed asked.
“Not really. A couple of guys in a red Peugeot came out of the woods and took off after him the minute he left. Luckily, I saw it happening and managed to cut them off before they could take him out.”
“A red Peugeot…?”
Corbett nodded. “Pretty sure it’s the same one used at the airport the day I arrived when they tried to boost my computer.”
“Same driver?”
“Couldn’t tell…” Corbett hesitated. “But there’s got to be a plant. Somebody here in camp who must have seen Tariq arrive and let them know. Maybe one of our interns – there’s a kid by the name of Karim Akhtar. Pakistani. Studied at Oxford.”
Reed half-smiled and glanced at Fleckner. “Nice catch… Only he works for MI-6.”
“Bullshit… He’s with the Brits?” Corbett tried to hold his anger in check as Reed nodded. “Son of a bitch. And you trust him?”
“Trust…? I wouldn’t trust my own sister. But Intel’s been picking up mobile intercepts that indicate there’s an assassination cell operating in the neighborhood. A couple of days ago we think they may have hit a gas station 100 clicks south of here. Burned it to the ground. Then there’s the two you killed in town. So far, the Spanish authorities haven’t put all the pieces together. But it’s only a matter of time. Bottom line: we need to move Tariq now before we have an international incident to deal with.”
“Time frame…?” Corbett asked.
Fleckner met Corbett’s even gaze, “Get him back here, ready to travel no later than the night after tomorrow.”
“No guarantees.”
“If he ever wants to see his father alive, tell him to be here.”
Corbett carefully weighed Reed’s words. “So, I take it the Company has a plan?”
“The only things we have going for us are speed and surprise,” Fleckner said. “Catch them off guard, then go balls to the wall.”
“And the plan is…?” Corbett repeated. Ignoring Fleckner, he looked to Reed.
“We’ve arranged for a helicopter,” Fleckner said. “But we’ll need you to identify a safe landing zone.”
“A chopper…? You’re serious?” Corbett started to react. “In these mountains?”
“All we need is someplace flat enough to let us do a touch-and-go,” Fleckner said. His voice was totally devoid of emotion.
Corbett considered the possibilities. “A couple of hundred meters up the slope from here there’s a clearing adjacent to the mouth of the cave – a mesa maybe thirty meters across. If your pilot’s good enough, he might be able to set it down there.”
“That will work,” Reed looked at Fleckner. “And assuming you may be right about somebody tipping them off, we’ll need you to make the extraction look like there’s been an accident.”
“Something totally unexpected,” Fleckner added.
Taking a clear plastic envelope containing a small blue capsule from his jacket pocket, Fleckner handed it to Corbett. “Give this to Tariq dissolved in a couple of ounces of water 30 minutes prior. It will shut down his nervous system. Like a temporary coma. As soon as the drug hits him, he’ll go down. Keep him warm. If anyone’s with you, tell them he’s become ill and that you’re calling in a Medivac.”
Opening the backpack resting on the desk, Fleckner held up a flare gun. “Send everyone back to camp then send up a flare.” Slipping the flare gun back into the pack he took out four road flares. “The chopper should reach you within fifteen minutes of sighting the flare. When you hear it coming, mark the landing area with the road flares and give him this.” Holding up an Atropine Auto-injector, Fleckner handed it to Corbett as well. “Atropine. Inject it directly into the upper thigh just before you’re ready to travel. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll have you out of here no later than 2100.”
“You mean Tariq,” Corbett glanced at Reed, who looked to Fleckner but said nothing. Catching the look, Corbett reacted in protest. “Hey… Once he’s aboard the chopper, my job’s done.”
“He’s going to need assurances.” Reed said at last. “We want you to stay with him as far as the boat.”
“Jesus... Think you could make it any more complicated? What boat?”
“A trawler,” Fleckner said. “Anchored off the coast just north of here. There is a beach to the west of a village called Elantxobe. The chopper will drop you there. You’ll need this.” Taking a Fenix TK47 dual-purpose flashlight from the backpack, he handed it to Corbett. “State of the art. 1300 lumens with a range of 700 meters. Waterproof, dustproof, lightweight. Use it to signal the trawler – three flashes: short-long-short. The boat will take him to Britain. From there he’ll be flown home.”
“Just like that.”
“Yeah,” Reed said flatly. “Just like that.”
Rising, the two men held out their hands. Ignoring them, Corbett said nothing.
“See you when it’s over,” Fleckner said. “As usual, the Company will require a full debriefing.”
“Good luck,” Reed added.
Corbett silently watched them exit the tent and cross to the Escalade. As Fleckner held the rear door and Reed climbed inside, Corbett found himself recalling an old Italian proverb: La madre de’gli imbecili e sempre incinta… “The mother of idiots is always pregnant.” Sliding behind the wheel, Fleckner cranked the ignition, stepped on the gas and sent the Cadillac back the way it had come.
*****
Moving carefully over the steep rocky terrain, Jarral stayed low, aware that he might be spotted. To be seen would compromise their chances for
a surprise attack. Slung across his back was an Uzi with a full clip. Far from being troubled by his Israeli manufactured open-bolt semi-automatic submachine gun, Jarral saw it as poetic retribution. Slaying the unbelievers with a weapon of their own design.
Noting the three security men would offer no more than token resistance, he marveled at how relatively easy it had been to circle around the base camp unobserved before climbing to a position from which he could look down upon the cave’s entrance. How trusting and vulnerable these Infidels were. The arrogance they displayed. The same ignorance that had allowed the martyrs of 9/11 to slip unnoticed past airline security and take down the World Trade Center. Today, he would quietly lay the groundwork for the attack so that the next time Tariq showed himself, they would be ready.
His mind wandered. How much his life had changed. Born into a prominent Pakistani legal family – his father had been a judge, his brother a prominent barrister – it was not so long ago that he, himself, had a promising career in the law. Just four years ago, he had been a second-year student at the National Law College in Lahore when his world, without warning, had come tumbling down.
It had been the new moon, the end of Ramadan, and his family had gathered to celebrate Eid al-Fitr at their home in Lahore. He had been running late, cramming for his upcoming Constitutional Law exam when the phone rang. An unmanned U.S. drone – the one he now knew to be a MQ9 Reaper – had strayed over the Pakistani border on a mission to target and terminate ISIS’s number two ground commander. The compound where the Jihadi had been hiding was located directly across from his father’s house. In an instant the entire block had been turned to rubble.
Devastated, Jarral remembered going into shock. In an instant everything had changed. Withdrawing from law school he began attending worship in a mosque where a radical Imam named Mohammed Ameer al-Khalid preached Allah’s commandment that Muslims must return to the true faith of Islam as practiced in the time of the Prophet. A willing student and quick study, Jarral had been easily recruited by ISIS, converting from secular law to the absolute demands of Shari’ah. After spending a year in the killing fields of Afghanistan where he learned the basics of asymmetrical warfare, he was sent to Germany by way of Turkey before eventually immigrating to Spain. Finding work as a laborer, he was given charge over a sleeper cell in the city of Salamanca and told to prepare, for the End of Days would soon be at hand. It was thus at last that Jarral had found his true calling.
Finally reaching a position that afforded him an unspoiled view of the cave’s entrance, Jarral dropped down into a crevice between two boulders. Producing a pair of binoculars from a well-worn leather pouch that hung from his left shoulder, he began to survey the activity below. The first thing that struck him was the lax security. The guards never ventured out from the base camp below. Only laborers, most of them European and younger than himself, could be seen moving in and out of the entrance to the cave. Assuming Tariq would be coming here, who would protect him? The answer, of course, was the American. Which forced Jarral to recognize the need to take out the Infidel first thereby leaving Tariq exposed to swift and easy capture.
Moments later, as if his thoughts had somehow served to summon Satan himself, Jarral reacted to the sight of the American making his way up the incline from the base camp below. He appeared to be unarmed but carried some sort of black satchel slung over his shoulder. As he reached the mouth of the cave, he stopped briefly to speak with an older man. Then the Infidel ducked into the darkness to the right of the lift. Less than a minute later, he reemerged minus the satchel and crossed to the metal cage. Entering, he engaged the winch. With a jolt, the lift began its descent, carrying the American into the darkness below.
Taking out a folded piece of paper and a pencil, Jarral quickly sketched a rough map of the immediate area. Then tucking it in his belt, he turned and nimbly retraced the route he had traveled. Obviously, Tariq was not there. But time was growing short. And with the father’s impending death, the son must soon come to them. All they had to do was remain vigilant.
Moving nimbly, Jarral skirted the camp once more and made his back way to the abandoned farmhouse below.
TWENTY-TWO
R eaching the cave’s mouth, Corbett stopped to speak with Sebastian and his two assistants. The initial progress they had made in beginning to exhume the dual skeletons was extremely promising. A Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon buried side by side. A remarkable find. Encouraging them to keep at it, Corbett moved off.
Skirting the lift, he slipped into the shadows just beyond. Making certain he was alone he found a fissure in the rock to the far right of the entrance where he carefully positioned the backpack so that the opaque canvas blended in seamlessly with the darkened recess. Then turning back, he entered the metal cage of the lift and began his descent.
As the cable from the winch unspooled, Corbett could see Roberto and Karim operating the laser as it scanned the cave’s upper chamber recording the data on their computer. He watched as Karim began to reposition the tripod. This kid’s an agent for MI-6, he thought with a grim smile. He shook his head. What was the world coming to?
Reaching the cavern floor, Corbett slid the door to the cage open and stepped out. Taking out the LED flashlight Fleckner had given him, he turned it on as he moved toward the lower chamber. Instantly, the cave before him filled with light. Much brighter than the one he had been using, this new light would make everything easier.
Pleased, he began making his way over the uneven rock surface. Moving quickly, he slipped past the stalactites and stalagmites as he approached the secondary chamber below. The stale air smelled of lichen and decomposing organic matter. From somewhere deep within the recesses of the cavern, he could barely hear the sound of rushing water.
As he approached the rock wall that contained the cave paintings, he switched off the flashlight on the chance that the additional illumination might adversely affect Ella’s photography. Hesitating, he stood there in the darkness for a long moment watching her work. Completely absorbed by her photography and the music coming from her MP3, she failed to hear him approach. Her tight-fitted knit thermal NTS top accentuated the curves of her body. There was something about her casual grace as she stepped from the camera to the cave paintings that ambushed his imagination. Her unselfconscious sexuality. As she returned to the camera to make a minor adjustment, he waited for the sound of the shutter release before he stepped from the shadows and spoke her name.
“Ella…?” he said at last, stepping forward into her line of sight while doing his best not to surprise her.
Reacting with a start, she stepped back. Then seeing that it was him, she managed a small smile.
“Michael…?” she said, turning off her music and removing her earbuds. “You startled me.”
“Sorry. Just on my way to finally have a look at the lower reaches of the cave and thought I’d stop and see if you needed anything.” He found himself whispering for no reason.
“No. I’m fine… really.” She replied then realized she was whispering as well. She self-consciously raised her voice to a normal level. “It’s just so quiet down here. I feel like I’m in church.”
He nodded at the obvious absurdity as they fell into an awkward silence. For a long moment, neither spoke.
“So…” they both began again at once, then stopped. “You first,” she said suppressing a smile.
“How’s it coming? The photography, I mean.”
“Slower than I’d like. But the end result is going to be spectacular. The detail… the use of color, of linear design is just remarkable. I feel the way whoever first discovered the cave paintings at Lascaux must have felt.”
Approaching the wall, Corbett half-nodded. “Only I’d say these could easily predate Lascaux by at least 10,000 years, maybe more. Look at the workmanship -- truly exquisite.” Then pointing to the outline of a bison, he added, “And the very fact that the artist who created them used charcoal to outline the figures means we’ll be able to a
ccurately carbon date them.”
Moving closer, he traced the fluid lines with his fingers being careful not to touch the surface. “Funny, but moments like this made me decide to become an archeologist. Science wants you to believe that it is primitive man’s ability to work with tools – hand axes and scrappers – that defines human progress. But for me, it’s always been his ability to conceive of the world like this – in symbolic, purely representational terms. It’s man’s creativity that transcends everything.”
Hearing the excitement in his voice reminded her of the way he had captivated her imagination the first time she had ever heard him speak. Intoxicated by his insights, she turned back to stare at the wall once more.
“You’ll have to give me a guided tour when you’re done.”
“Absolutely. Whenever…” She hesitated then stretched her body like a cat waking from a nap. “But right now I think what I need to do is move around. Get the blood flowing.”
“Good idea,” he tried to look away as she bent forward touching her palms to the ground. He caught himself staring at the curve of her spine. “Listen,” he said, attempting to keep things professional, “Why don’t you take a break and come with me? Get a look at the rest of the cave.”
“Really…?” she said brightening. “I’d love to… I mean, it sounds like exactly what I need. Just let me save the lights.”
He waited as she cut the power to the two side panels before switching on his LED flashlight once more.
As they moved down through the labyrinthine maze of subterranean hollows created by the flow of water over eons of time, they used the sound of the rushing water as their guide. The sound grew louder and more pronounced the deeper they went. In places where the rocks were slick and damp with moisture, she grabbed his arm to steady herself. Once, as she started to fall, he caught her by the waist and held her until she found her footing. Acutely aware of each other, they forced themselves to stay focused as they pressed ahead.
The Exfiltrator Page 18
