Sympathy For the Devil

by Terrence McCauley

  Hicks took a sip of the civet coffee Roger had fixed him for the road. It was an hour cold but still flavorful. “Wow. Sounds rough.”

  “Man, you don’t know the half of the shit I’ve seen.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You volunteered for the army, then volunteered again to become a Green Beret, then volunteered yet again for Army Intelligence. You knew all of these things you were volunteering for were forward units bound to see action. You see said action, and then decide to use that as an excuse to break the law?” Hicks laughed. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, ace. Least of all me.”

  “Alright, white man. Let’s follow your lead and cut the bullshit. If you’re not CIA, what are you? NSA? FBI? Some other black bag bullshit outfit?”

  Hicks wouldn’t tell him any more than he had to, but he had to tell him something. He needed him focused on Omar’s men, not who Hicks worked for. “I’m not part of the alphabet soup you’re used to dealing with, so don’t waste time guessing. All you need to know is that we had the juice to get you out of jail and we’ve got enough juice to stick you right back there if we have to.”

  Kamal threw up his hands. “No problems here, boss man. I’ve always been more of an entrepreneur than a detective, so it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference to me who’s signing the checks. Just tell me who to salute and who to kill.”

  “If everything works out the way it’s supposed to,” Hicks said, “you won’t be doing much of either. You’re going to be playing the money man for a financier from Afghanistan. The man you’re supposed to be fronting for doesn’t know you but will vouch for you if it comes to that.”

  “What’s this money man paying for?”

  “We don’t know, and that’s the problem,” Hicks told him. “We need you to give this clown Omar the money, get him talking, and then tell us whatever you learn. He’s supposed to be planning something big, but those are all the details we have. The money you give him will help us find out a hell of a lot more. I’ll give you a complete file on Omar when we get to where we’re going.”

  “What kind of player is this Omar trying to be?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out, which is why I put my man inside his cab stand. Omar’s travel pattern tipped us off. Trips to Yemen, Pakistan, Egypt, and Syria but never back home to Somalia. That was strange. He also made some large cash transfers while he was over there; the last one for thirty grand to an electronics store in Aleppo, Syria.”

  “I know where Aleppo is, man,” Kamal said.

  “Good for you,” Hicks said. “We’ve never been able to get to the bottom of where Omar’s donations went or what they paid for, but it was large enough to catch our attention. My man was one of the few non-Somali drivers in the place but was still able to blend in with the rest of them.

  “So if he’s so good, why am I here?”

  “Because he got turned a couple of days ago, which caused Omar to run. He also somehow got the numbers for a bunch of Middle Eastern types who like funding actions against the West.” He looked at him in the rearview mirror. “You’re the guy who works for a financier who’s sympathetic to his cause.”

  “We’ll get to that part in a minute,” Kamal said. “What about your man? He dead?”

  Hicks kept his eyes on the traffic. “Yeah.”

  “Any of the others live?”

  Hicks looked at him in the rear view mirror until Kamal looked away.

  “Stupid question, I guess. Sorry I asked.”

  “Omar’s gone off the grid,” Hicks went on. “The only way we can flush him out is through you. You’ll be playing the role of the financier’s emissary. You’ll give him some money and make him pitch you on what he’s planning. Then you report back to me and we move on from there. A day’s work, maybe a day-and-a-half and you’re home free. All you have to do is follow your training and you get your freedom.”

  “If it was that easy,” Kamal said, “I’d still be in a goddamned jail cell. How the hell did a cab driver from Queens get contacts like that? And all that money?”

  “That’s something I hope you’ll ask Omar,” Hicks said. “You’re the man with the money he needs, so you’re entitled to ask all the questions you want. I’ve already put a list of questions I want you to ask. You’ll have plenty of time to memorize it before I put you with Omar.”

  “Whole goddamned thing sounds a little too simple for my taste.”

  “And simple’s the way it’s going to stay, unless you complicate it. If I had someone On Staff with your combination of skills and background, I’d be briefing them right now instead of you. But you know Omar’s religion and you understand his customs. You literally speak their language. We’ve even worked out a cover that’s close to the one you had in Afghanistan. Your cover’s still good as far as the locals are concerned. Everyone thinks you ripped some people off and ran back to the states. No one knows you were Army Intelligence.”

  “How much of a bankroll will I be working with?”

  “A hundred thousand. You’ll give them ten at the initial meet. More later after you and I debrief. You’ll have the entire hundred in your room at all times in case they demand to see the money.”

  Kamal let out a long, low whistle. “That’s an awful lot of money to place in the hands of a convicted felon like me.”

  “I’m not crazy about it,” Hicks admitted, “but you’re a stranger to them, and they have no reason to trust you right off the bat. We never told them how much the financier would send them, but a hundred grand in cash should make them believe you’re serious. Tell them you can get more if that’s what it takes.”

  “A man like me could have a lot of fun in this town with a hundred grand.”

  “A man like you will catch a bullet in the eye if you take that bag from your room without my say so.”

  “Are you really always this uptight or is this just for my benefit?”

  “These sons of bitches just turned one of the best operatives I ever worked with,” Hicks said, “so I’m not exactly in a joking mood. You take these guys lightly, you’re liable to wind up dead just like him.”

  Kamal threw up his hands. “Fine. Jesus. How many people are we working with?”

  “I don’t know how many Omar will have with him.”

  “No, I mean our team. Us. You and me. How many others working with us?”

  Hicks never shared operational detail with an unknown operative. He talked about the setup instead. “I’ve set you up at a small apartment in Astoria. It’s simple and plain because Omar and his people like simple and plain.”

  “How plain?”

  “You’ll have a bed, a laptop, and a throw-away phone at your disposal. You’ll be able to read all about your cover story on the laptop once I give you the password, but you won’t be able to email any friends or reach out to anyone while you’re under. Our mission files are encrypted, so even if they do look at your computer, all they’ll see is spreadsheets and travel itineraries. Your file says you’re good with computers, but you’re not better than me. If you try to email anyone, I’ll know, and there will be consequences.”

  “I figured that,” Kamal said. “Now how about answering my question about backup.”

  Hicks was encouraged. At least he was paying attention. “You’ll be under constant surveillance,” was all Hicks said. “Anything happens, we’ll know about it. Keep your phone on you at all times, even if they make you take out the battery.”

  “What good is it if it doesn’t have the battery?”

  “More good than you know,” was all Hicks told him. He checked the rear and side view mirrors to see if they were being followed, but didn’t see anything. “Just keep the phone on you if you can.”

  “You got it, chief,” Kamal said. “By the way, I’m going to need a gun.”

  Hicks had been wondering when that would come up. “No way.”

  “Then you might as well turn this thing around and take me back to the Penn, because there ain’t no wa
y I’m going in there unarmed.”

  “You’re not muscle,” Hicks explained. “You’re the money man and money men don’t need to carry guns. You’re a boss. You’re Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and whatever Muslim equivalent there is all rolled up in one package for these guys.”

  “I ain’t bulletproof neither,” Kamal said. “If these assholes throw down, I’ll need to be able to defend myself.”

  “You’re a fucking Green Beret,” Hicks said. “You are a weapon. Besides, if they pat you down and find a weapon, they’ll get suspicious. We need them calm and talkative. No one’s going to throw down anything but information. All you have to do is pump them for details, pass it along to me, and you’re a free man. And I’ll be there to back you up the entire time.”

  Hicks took another look at him in the rearview mirror. He watched Kamal pulled at his prison shirt. “I’m gonna need some walking around money. Get me some new clothes, at least. The shit I’ve got on are stockade threads. I can’t roll up on them dressed like this. I need to make an impression.”

  “I’ve got the kind of clothes Omar will expect you to wear at the apartment. The place is already stocked with food, too. After I drop you off, you’re not allowed to leave the apartment until you meet Omar. No walking around money. No getting beers or getting drunk because pious Muslims don’t drink beer or get drunk, remember? After we get you settled in and debriefed, you’ll call Omar and set up a meeting for tomorrow. Everything you need to know about your cover is already on that laptop. We won’t call them until you’re comfortable with your cover.”

  “As long as I’m comfortable with it by tomorrow, right?”

  “Like I said before, you’re a Green Beret. You can handle it.”

  “I’m glad one of us thinks so,” Kamal said. “So what do I call you, anyway?”

  “Whatever you want, Ace. It makes no difference to me.”

  “How does Power-Tripping Cracker Motherfucker sound to you?”

  “I’ve been called worse.” He looked at Kamal in the rearview. “Don’t be nervous, honey. This isn’t your first dance. You’ll do fine, and all the boys will love you. Just stick to the plan, and you’ll come out of this better than you were going in.”

  Kamal folded his arms across his chest and went back to staring out the window. “I don’t like you.”

  Hicks steered the Buick into the passing lane. “Then you’re in good company.”

  HICKS DROVE back to Manhattan after getting Kamal set up in the apartment—the top floor of a four-story walk up in Astoria.

  Kamal had spent most of the time complaining about everything. The décor wasn’t right. The clothes were uncomfortable and bland. The food in the fridge was lousy. Hicks reminded him he was supposed to be a pious Muslim on a mission, not some drug dealer in a Miami Vice episode. He even complained about the large Islamic wall calendar Hicks had tacked to the wall next to the door. Said it was depressing as hell.

  Kamal was complaining about the television being too small even as Hicks walked out the door.

  Hicks didn’t tell Kamal that the apartment was under surveillance via the cellphone he’d given him as well as the TV. Both items were plugged into the OMNI network and monitored everything that went on in the apartment without Kamal’s knowledge. Kamal didn’t know the phone was designed to transmit even when it was off or even when the battery was removed. He certainly didn’t know the TV had been optimized to monitor his every move. OMNI would send him an alert if Kamal left the apartment or so much as touched the hundred grand.

  But Hicks didn’t expect to get any alerts. He figured Kamal would take a couple of hours and get himself acclimated to his newfound freedom. Maybe take a shower or grab some sleep in the first real bed he’d seen in over a year. He was a free man now and, one way or the other, he wouldn’t be going back to prison. If he did what he was told, Hicks would give him a chance at getting a job within the University system. If he failed, Hicks would put a bullet in his brain.

  That’s why Hicks was surprised when the Buick’s dashboard screen showed an OMNI alert for a call being made from the burn phone he’d given Kamal. A call to the number Omar had given the Middle Eastern financier so his emissary could reach him.

  Hicks didn’t know whether to be pleased by Kamal’s enthusiasm or disturbed by it. He couldn’t have properly reviewed Omar’s file in such a short amount of time. Hicks had given it to him only twenty minutes before.

  He listened to the phone ring as the traffic approaching the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge slowed to a crawl. It was a bad time to be taking the bridge; just after six o’clock and rush hour was in full swing. But for once, Hicks didn’t mind the traffic. He could concentrate on Kamal’s conversation with Omar.

  When someone answered in Arabic, Kamal responded in kind. The banter ended there as Kamal didn’t speak Somali and wasn’t expected to. His cover was from Nigeria—the same place where his parents had been born—so there was no expectation of a common language.

  But Hicks still recognized the voice on the other end of the line. It was the same voice he’d heard on hundreds of hours of surveillance audio. It was the voice of Omar.

  Kamal wisely switched to English with a heavy Nigerian accent. “I am afraid, my brother, we have the same faith but different languages. I suggest we meet and discuss our brotherhood in person where our privacy can be assured.”

  Hicks couldn’t see Omar, but he could hear the excitement in his voice. “Yes, of course, my brother. We have much to discuss and much to make our uncle happy. We thank Allah that he has told him to send you to us. Your faith will be well rewarded.”

  Hicks hoped Kamal would play it aloof and he did. After all, he was the one with the money Omar needed. “Then I suggest you have someone meet me tomorrow morning at ten o’clock so we can discuss the matter in greater detail. I despise tardiness, so be sure not to be late.”

  Kamal gave them an intersection near the Astoria apartment and killed the connection.

  Hicks hadn’t told Kamal the cellphone was designed to transmit even when it appeared to be off. Since it operated on the OMNI system, the screen could be dark and the battery could be removed, but it was still powered wirelessly by the network. The computer and television worked the same way.

  Hicks expected Kamal to call him and ask him how he thought it went, just as they’d discussed. He expected Kamal to be like most field agents and need some kind of reassurance that he’d done well.

  But Kamal didn’t call. He didn’t say a word or make another sound. Not even a whistle. Instead, he heard what sounded like a light switch click off, followed quickly by a light snoring.

  Hicks killed the connection. He knew OMNI would monitor the scene and automatically alert him if Kamal went on the move or if he made or received another call.

  Kamal was obviously one cool customer. Hicks was beginning to think that maybe Jason had sent him the right man for the job after all.

  A text message from Jason appeared on his dash board screen:

  AN ENCOURAGING BEGINNING. WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW?

  Hicks decided not to respond. A little bit of Jason went a long way and he’d been dealing with the insufferable bastard all day long.

  He needed a drink.

  HICKS HAD always preferred the lobby bars of New York’s grand hotels as opposed to the Irish bars, cocktail lounges, and other types of watering holes throughout the city. He liked the mix of locals and visitors and how the crowd was almost different every single night. Change made patterns harder to form and patterns lead to predictability. Predictability meant death for people in his line of work, so the fewer people who knew his habits, the better.

  The Bull and Bear Bar on the corner of Forty-ninth and Lexington at the Waldorf Astoria was his favorite bar in the city. He liked the circular wooden bar and the way the light hit the bottles just so, especially after sunset. He liked how the bartenders were always efficient and friendly, but never got too chatty. The bar drew a nice mix of well-heeled
travelers and jaded New Yorkers who sometimes dropped in for a couple of drinks before catching the train back to Suburbia. Occasionally, some wide-eyed tourist might wander in and nurse a beer, shocked at how much it cost while they gawked at the drapes and the bronze bull and bear above the bar. They went there so they could tell the folks back home that they had drinks one night at the Waldorf Astoria as if paying more than ten dollars for a glass of alcohol made them cosmopolitan.

  Ambiance was a state of mind. Liquor dulled the pain no matter where you drank it or how much it cost. The romance of booze was a glass of bullshit, but he ordered it anyway.

  Hicks lucked out and found a parking space on the street a block away. He left the events of the day and the chilly New York evening behind him as he pushed through the revolving doors of the Bull and Bear. It was after seven o’clock by then and the after-work crowd had thinned out a bit. The pre-dinner folks had already gone to eat and the restaurant was still busy.

  That left the die-hards at the bar; the people who had good reason to drink and no reason to be anywhere else. Hotel guests, mostly. Business travelers and tourists too tired to go anywhere else. And people like Hicks, who just needed to be somewhere other than where they were supposed to be.

  Hicks never walked into a bar with an agenda. He never went in looking for company or conversation or to meet a woman. He never had an agenda because he hated being disappointed and New York was a city built on a bedrock of disappointment. But he never allowed himself to bring alcohol into the Twenty-third Street office. The life of an Office Head was a lonely enough and drinking alone only made it more so. He’d seen many a good Office Head devolve into self-pity and drunkenness, and he’d be damned before he let the same thing happen to him.

  Besides, his job afforded many more pleasant ways of getting himself killed.

  That made it a bit easier for Hicks to spot the woman who was sitting alone at the right side of the bar, near the stairs that led back up to the rest of the hotel. She was tapping away furiously on her BlackBerry and didn’t look happy about it.