Code Name_Camelot

by David Archer

  Noah made the logical choice, and agreed. Days later, he was taken out of his cell in the middle of the night and transported to the department's training compound in Colorado. The morning news carried the story that the renegade soldier who had murdered the son of Congressman Gibson had killed himself in his cell. His unclaimed body was interred in the prison cemetery only two days later.

  Noah Foster became Noah Wolf, and his training as a professional assassin began.

  His codename was Camelot.

  ONE

  Nouakchott was the capital of the Northwest African nation of Mauritania, and its economic and political center. As such, it was also the center of international interest in the country, housing embassies and diplomatic missions from many other nations, including the United States of America.

  The US Embassy there was one of the busiest in that entire part of the world, with constant meetings between the Ambassador, Dwight Henry Morgenstern, and the country's president, Mouhammed Bamba Habib, and Prime Minister, Saleh Ndiaye. A meeting with President Habib was scheduled for that particular morning, and Ambassador Morgenstern was in his office early, briefing the two men who would be accompanying him to the appointment.

  “Mister Colson,” he said, addressing the tall, blonde man, “I'm fully aware of the sensitivity of your mission, but you need to understand that I cannot be certain that President Habib will give you any information at all. While he may be the leader of a moderately powerful African nation, he's also a father, and I'm afraid he's putting the welfare of his daughter ahead of anything else at this moment.”

  Colson smiled. “I'm going to suggest, Mister Morgenstern, that you leave that to me. All I need you to do is get me in the room with him, and then leave us alone for a few moments. I've been provided with certain credentials that we believe will convince him to cooperate. Besides, my whole purpose in being here is to try to find out just what we can do to help. I can't do him any good if he doesn't give me something to work with. Once he understands that, I believe he'll jump at the chance to tell me whatever he knows, no matter how little it may be.”

  Morgenstern simply stared at the young man for a moment, then looked at the much taller, thin youth that accompanied him. “Mister Starling, I don't know that they'll let you in at all. President Habib has tightened security all around the palace, and one of the measures he's put into place is a limitation on how many people can be in his presence at any given time. You may be required to wait outside the office.”

  “Seriously? And I was so looking forward to meeting the man.” He smiled charmingly. “That's not really a worry. I just go where they send me, and I sit and wait wherever I'm told to sit and wait.”

  Morgenstern turned back to Colson. “Then I guess we’re as ready as we're going to be,” he said. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

  Colson and Starling got to their feet, and were joined a second later by Morgenstern. The ambassador led the way out of his office, down the elevator and out the front door, past a pair of Marine guards. A BMW limousine was waiting for them, and another Marine opened the rear door for them to enter. Morgenstern climbed in first, followed by Starling, who took one of the two jump seats in the front of the compartment. Colson slid into the rear seat to sit beside the ambassador.

  The drive to the presidential palace took only a few minutes, but because the weather was so hot, walking was simply not feasible. The three men rode without talking, looking out the windows at the modern structures that rolled by. The city, which had originally been built to house only fifteen thousand people, had experienced phenomenal growth due to droughts that had caused millions of native nomads to forsake their traditional lifestyles and pitch their tents in urban areas. Over only a couple of decades, the vast majority of those tents had been replaced by modern brick and concrete buildings, though there were still areas with tents, shanty-towns that were occupied by people who lived far below any reasonable poverty level.

  The chauffeur pulled the car up to the diplomatic entrance of the palace, and immediately got out to open the driver side rear door. The men followed the same order in exiting the vehicle that they had used in entering it, and were immediately ushered inside by palace security officers.

  Once inside, the three of them walked through the same type of security scanners used at many airports, devices that use backscatter radiation to show an x-ray-like image on a monitor. A technician watched the monitor for any sign of weapons or bombs. Mister Starling's computer was thoroughly examined, as well, subjected to x-rays to be certain that it did not contain a weapon or explosive device.

  “Ils sont propres,” said the technician. Because Mauritania was formerly under French dominion, it was a common language in the country, although the official language was modern Arabic.

  “Ambassador Morgenstern,” said a young man who waited just past the security station. “I have temporary credentials for your associates, if you would follow me?”

  Without waiting, the young man walked away. Morgenstern, Colson and Starling followed him through a hallway and to an elevator. Before they could enter, the young man turned and handed Colson and Starling each a lanyard with a temporary pass, motioning for them to put them around their necks. Both of the men did so, and then their escort pushed the button to open the elevator.

  “I apologize for the security measures,” the young man said. “The situation here is very tense at the moment, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

  “We understand completely, Mahmoud,” Morgenstern said.

  The man known as Colson took note that he was not introduced to the president's aide, but said nothing. He trusted the ambassador to know the correct protocols for the situation and assumed that there was a reason for this omission. The rest of the ride in the elevator was in silence, until the doors opened. Once again, Mahmoud, the president's aide, led the way down the long hallway and motioned for them to stop just outside an ornately carved door.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but it opened again almost instantly. Mahmoud stepped out and motioned for all three men to enter. He pulled the door closed once again after them.

  “Mister Morgenstern,” said a young woman in perfect, London-accented English. Mauritania was less restrictive than many Muslim nations on the roles of women in business and government, though the standard of dress for women was still somewhat extreme. The president's secretary wore a long-sleeved dress that came to just above her ankles, and a scarf that covered her hair. Her face, however, was unveiled and visible. “The president is ready to receive you and your guest.” She looked at the two men with him. “I'm afraid only one of you can go in with the ambassador.”

  The tall, skinny kid smiled. “That's not a problem,” he said. “If you don't mind, I'll wait out here with you.”

  The woman smiled, and indicated a chair against one wall, next to a window. “Certainly,” she said. “You may sit there.”

  “Thank you, I'll just sit over here and play games on my computer.” He smiled at Colson and Morgenstern, then went to sit down in the chair, opening the small laptop that he was carrying with him.

  Morgenstern hooked his head at Colson, then opened the door beside the secretary's desk. The two men passed through it, and then it closed behind them. The young man called Starling smiled and gave a finger wave to the secretary, then began paying attention to the screen on his computer. A moment later, the sounds of a video game could be heard. “Oops, sorry,” he said. “I forgot to turn down the sound.” A second later, the sounds were muted.

  On the screen, the display showed what appeared to be the controls of a spaceship, with a couple of alien crewmembers visible at the edges of the screen. In the center of the screen was what looked like a view port, showing some sort of battle taking place with other ships, but Starling's eyes were focused on a smaller frame just below that one. Text that looked like it was written in an alien language was scrolling up, but this was a font of his own design, one that the tall young man could read as
easily as any other. Tapping the keys silently as he watched the text scroll by, he was scanning all of the wireless networks in the building, and a moment later he found a vulnerability in the system that allowed him to log on. Suddenly, he had access to every computer in the presidential palace, and lists of files began appearing in that same, alien script.

  “Aha!” Starling said in a loud whisper. “I have you now, Commander Zodo!”

  The secretary glanced up at him, amused, and Starling looked sheepish. “Sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I really get into the game.”

  “It's all right,” she said. “I have a brother who is the same way.” She returned her attention to her own computer.

  Inside the office, President Habib rose from behind his desk and came forward to shake Morgenstern's hand. “Ambassador Morgenstern,” he said, “I cannot tell you how much it means to me that your country is willing to help in this terrible situation.” He released the ambassador's hand and extended his own to Colson.

  “President Habib,” Morgenstern said, “may I present Mister Alexander Colson. Mister Colson is one of my country's most trusted agents, and a specialist in the elimination of threats. He has been sent here specifically to try to locate and rescue your daughter, and make sure that those responsible are brought to justice.”

  Habib nodded. “Then let us sit, gentlemen, and discuss what must be done.” He started walking toward the conference area, where several overstuffed chairs surrounded a low table.

  “Mister President, would it be acceptable to you for us to discuss these matters alone? It is quite possible that Ambassador Morgenstern might overhear information that could leave him in a compromised position if it is ever necessary to deny my involvement.”

  Habib stopped and looked at both men, then nodded brusquely. “Ambassador, if you would excuse us?”

  Morgenstern bowed his head for a split second. “Of course, Mister President.” He turned and walked out the same door he had entered through.

  Habib eyed Colson coolly. “A specialist in the elimination of threats,” he repeated, a slight question mark in his voice. “May I speak frankly?”

  Colson smiled as he shook the president's hand. “Please do, Mister President.”

  The president hesitated for only a second. “Mister Colson, the only justice that will suffice in this matter is if those responsible are removed from the world. Is that within the parameters of your mission?”

  Colson inclined his head toward the president. “Mister President, that is specifically within the parameters of my mission. My orders are to locate and retrieve your daughter safely, and to destroy those who have threatened her and yourself.”

  Habib and Colson sat down in chairs facing one another, and the president motioned for the blonde man to continue.

  Colson reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small leather case, then passed it without a word to President Habib, who opened it cautiously. The president's eyes scanned the cards inside the case, and his eyebrows lifted by a quarter inch. He closed the little folder and passed it back.

  “That is an interesting proposition,” Habib said. “And one that I am most willing to accept, if you can deliver on your country's promises.”

  Colson smiled. “At this point, Mister President, all I can tell you is that I will do everything in my power to find your daughter and get her home to you safely, and as you just saw, I'm authorized to commandeer any resources my country has to offer.”

  Habib licked his lips. “Ambassador Morgenstern tells me that if anyone can do this, it will be you. What do you need from me?”

  “If you can tell me what you know about your daughter's disappearance, I can begin developing my plans. I understand that you only learned about the situation two weeks ago?”

  Habib nodded again. “Yes. My daughter's name is Selah, and she is seventeen years old. She left our home two weeks ago, to go on a shopping holiday with some of her friends. She was to meet them at the Women's Bazaar, but did not arrive there when she was supposed to. I did not know this at the time, of course, but late that afternoon I received a telephone call. A man who had represented himself to the palace switchboard as an associate of the Syrian embassy informed me that my daughter had been taken as a hostage, and that in order to see her returned, I must convince the Prime Minister to enter into an alliance with the Russian and Syrian governments. Russia has been trying to entice us into this alliance for many years, but we have always been an ally of the United States. For this reason, we have consistently refused any cooperation with Russia, other than in the areas of trade. Now, suddenly, the Russian ambassador has informed me that I must either accept the alliance, or face what he terms to be dire consequences. He has made threats about economic sanctions, and possibly even military action against my country, but I do not believe that any of these threats are real. It is my opinion, after consulting with my advisers, that the only true threat I face is the one made against my daughter's life. The rest, I believe, only exist to suggest a public reason for our agreement to the alliance.”

  He fell silent, and Colson leaned forward. “Mister President, did the caller give you any information that might suggest where she is being held? Or anything that might indicate who is specifically behind this?”

  Habib shrugged. “He told me that Selah has been taken out of the country, and that I can have her back in one of two ways: either intact and alive, or in pieces and dead. He also told me that I have only until our next summit meeting with Syria and Russia on the twenty-third day of this month to agree to the alliance. I asked him for a way to contact him, so that we might possibly negotiate, but he refused. He said the only way to contact him was by notifying Russia's ambassador of our agreement. If the alliance is not in place by the twenty-third, then I will begin receiving pieces of my daughter in the mail.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, and then looked at Colson again. “I have discussed the matter with the Prime Minister, and he is in agreement with me. If the situation is not resolved by the twenty-second, he will notify the Russian ambassador that we agree to their terms, and we will make a public announcement during the summit.”

  “The twenty-second?” Colson asked. “That only gives us sixteen days.” He looked at the president for a moment. “Let's concentrate on the caller for a moment. Did he have a specific accent?”

  Habib nodded. “Yes, that was something I noticed. His accent seemed to be American, perhaps from the southern part of your country. He initially spoke to me in Arabic, but his accent made him difficult to understand. I suggested French, but he changed to English. That made his accent even more identifiable.”

  Colson steepled his fingers at his chin, his eyes half closed in thought. “Interesting,” he said. “Of course, it could be a ruse, an attempt to throw you off, but there are certainly a lot of Americans involved in international crime, espionage and such.” He opened his eyes and looked at the president again. “Were there any background noises, any sounds you could hear through the phone that stuck in your memory?”

  Habib leaned back in the chair and closed his own eyes as he thought about his answer. “There was a roaring sound in the background, not close, but some distance away. It got louder at times, then seemed to fade away before it came back again.” He held up a hand to indicate that Colson should wait, that there was more. “There was also someone speaking not far from the caller, someone standing nearby. I could not make out exactly what he was saying, but I caught a few words that I'm sure were in English. I would say that his accent seemed to be British, or perhaps Welsh.” He opened his eyes and looked at Colson. “That is all I can remember.”

  “That's excellent, Mister President. The second person you mentioned, the one who was speaking in the background, did it sound like he was speaking to the caller?”

  “No, no, I don't think he had anything to do with the caller. He seemed to be speaking to someone else, perhaps a child. There was a scolding tone to his voice.”

  “How did the
caller convince you that he was telling the truth? That he really had your daughter?”

  Habib let his eyes fall to the floor, and when he spoke, it was softly. “We are a Muslim people,” he said. “As such, it is important to us that our women are modest. Unlike the women in your country, our women do not ever display certain parts of their bodies. For this reason, when the caller described to me in great detail a specific mark on Selah's skin, a birthmark on the back of her thigh that no one would ever see, I believed him to be telling me the truth.”

  “Have you heard anything more from the caller since then?”

  Habib hesitated. “I—I have. I did not tell the ambassador, but someone has sent me emails, with photos of my daughter. They show her wearing what appears to be some sort of coverall, in a room with only a bed, a chair and a television.”

  “May I see the photos?” Colson asked.

  Habib smiled, and reached into his own inner pocket. He withdrew a manila envelope and passed it to Colson. “I printed these to carry with me. You may have them. I can print myself more of them. Perhaps they will help.”

  Colson opened the envelope and looked through the fourteen photos inside. Selah was a pretty girl, with long, dark hair. She appeared to be upset in a few of the pictures, and seemed to be praying in others. Colson scanned them, but did not see anything specific that he considered a clue to where she was being held.

  “Thank you, Mister President,” he said, as he slipped the envelope into his own pocket. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Please, I don't mean to be pushy, but if my time is that limited, I need to get started.”

  Habib gave a sigh. “The caller did tell me that he was not an agent of the Russian government, but only an independent contractor who had been hired to secure our cooperation. He alluded to successes that he had in similar assignments in the past, but gave me no details.” The man seemed defeated, and Colson reached across the intervening space to lay a hand on his arm.