by Trevor Scott
“You have something to say?” Jake asked.
Nod, nod, nod.
“Okay.” Jake looked at Alexandra, who slid the man’s laptop in front of her.
Pulling the ball out slightly, the professor told her the password for his computer. Jake shoved the ball back into place.
“See, it’s much better if you tell me what I need to know before the pain. Because eventually you will tell me everything I want to know. Do you understand?”
Nod, nod, nod.
“Good. Now we have a plan.” Jake glanced at Alexandra, who gave him a thumbs up.
She would navigate through the laptop quickly. Having worked for German Intelligence for more than 20 years, she knew her way around a dirtbag’s computer.
Jake picked up the bag of phones he had found in the bedroom—one smart phone and four numbered burners. First, he checked the man’s main cell phone, which was not password secured. Checking the call log, he saw just one call to the bartender in Positano. Okay, that call had been a mistake, Jake guessed. He should have used one of the burner phones. Next, he turned on all of the disposable phones. These were password protected.
Glancing at the professor, Jake asked for the pin for phone number one. He pulled the ball out of the professor’s mouth.
“They will kill me,” the professor said.
“What do you think I might do to you?”
“You are with the government,” he said. “You must follow the law.”
Shoving the ball back in the man’s mouth, Jake shook his head and smiled. “You’re a mathematician. So you know the saying about assuming certain factors in an equation. Well, you have grossly misinterpreted who I am and what I will or will not do—especially to a Marxist professor.”
Jake played with a couple more fingers until the man nearly passed out with pain. It was also possible the man was close to pissing his pants, or shitting himself. That would change Jake’s calculus.
But the man gave Jake the pin numbers for all four of the disposable phones. The pins were only different by the last digit, which corresponded with the number on the phone.
Now came the hard part, Jake knew. He would need to associate each phone with a contact—the name, number and location—along with any other information the professor had on the contact.
Once Jake got onto the first disposable phone, he saw a possible problem. There was only one phone number that the professor had called on the phone. But he had received images attached to texts from that same phone. He looked at the images and tried to discern their meaning. All of the images depicted scenes of graffiti. As he went over the next phone, the same was true. This one had the number of the bartender from Positano, and Jake realized that the woman had made a mistake when she accidentally called the professor from Cosenza on the man’s normal cell phone. The bartender had also sent images of graffiti. Guessing he would find the same on the others, he simply packed them into the bag.
Now Jake had a fresh line of questioning. What could the professor tell them about the graffiti? This might take more than needles in the fingers, Jake thought. Even more importantly, who did this professor report to? There was no way that this professor was running everything from his humble home in Cosenza.
25
Taranto, Italy
Night had settled across this extreme southern city on the Ionian Coast, the smoke and smog from factories reflecting the city lights into the appearance of a massive jazz bar in a smelly cellar.
That’s how Elisa Murici always considered this working port, which was founded by the Spartans in 706 B.C. The city had always been an important port for commerce and the Italian Navy, but that did nothing for its aesthetics. If Naples was the rectum of Italy, then Taranto was the sphincter that allowed the crap to flow freely.
Elisa sat behind the wheel of their rental car, a VW Passat, her eyes on an apartment building in a cluster of squalor between the main train station and dilapidated warehouses along the port.
“Do you think your man from Athens is still in the apartment?” Vito asked from the passenger seat.
“I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t have a current reading on his GPS.”
Vito glanced at his cell phone, which he had been viewing all night. “Shouldn’t we have an app for that?”
They should have an agency with some balls, she thought. It was as if they didn’t want to catch these terrorists.
“Put that damn phone away,” Elisa said. “Let’s go get this bastard.”
“We have no authority,” he reminded her.
True. But could they afford to wait for more evidence against the man? They already knew the man had worked as a bomb builder in Iraq years ago. “Nobody comes to Taranto for the scenery,” she said.
Vito glanced up the street. “It’s not such a bad city. If you like rats and garbage.”
“Let’s go,” she said, opening her door.
Once out on the sidewalk, a crumbled concrete with weeds breaking through the cracks, they walked slowly toward the apartment building.
“What’s the plan?” Vito asked quietly.
“Knock and ask for someone else. Assess from there.”
The streets were bare, the darkness shrouding the apartment complex in obscurity. She didn’t like this. Especially since she wasn’t sure she could fully trust her partner.
Just as they were about to head into the building, a red Fiat Panda came up the street and pulled to the curb. Elisa grabbed Vito and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, her eyes checking out the car over her associate’s shoulder. She turned the kiss into a hug as someone came from the building carrying a bag.
She turned and took Vito’s hand, leading him back to their car. The car took off and then she picked up her pace getting into their car and cranking over the engine.
“Was that him?” Vito asked as he buckled himself in.
“Yes.” She hit the gas and rushed after the car.
By now the car was four or five blocks ahead of them. Luckily the traffic in this area was sparse. But that also made tailing them difficult. She needed backup.
“What now?” Vito asked.
She took out her phone, punched in the four-digit code, and hit a speed dial she had programmed in recently. This time her call wasn’t routed somewhere strange.
Jake picked up on the third ring. “Yeah. You get the guy?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “Just as we were about to go pick up the guy, he bolts from his building and is picked up out front.”
“Did he see you?” Jake asked.
“I don’t think so. But I need your help tracking the man by GPS.”
“Did he have his backpack with him?”
“Yes. I think he’s on the move.”
“Based on the sound,” Jake said. “I’m guessing you’re tailing the man.”
“That’s right.”
“Which way is he heading?”
“They are getting onto the autostrada heading west right now,” she said.
“That’s in our direction,” Jake said. “Lay back some and I’ll get our people to keep track of him. I’ll make sure they’ve got him on the move to confirm what you’re seeing.”
“How did it go with you tonight?” she asked.
Hesitation. Finally, Jake said, “We need to talk in person. But first let me make a call and confirm for you. I’ll get back to you pronto.”
“Thanks,” she said. The line went blank. She put her phone back in her pocket and found her way onto the autostrada, picking up speed as she flipped through the gears.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Vito asked. “After our kiss, I thought you might have given up on the American.”
She refused to engage in such nonsense. “His friend will confirm our guy is on the move.”
The car seemed to be picking up speed, and Elisa wondered how the car could even go that fast. The Fiat Panda was not known for its speed.
Soon they had passed out of the western edge of the city an
d were moving toward the south. Elisa knew that this autostrada ran the entire southern coast into Calabria and ended at Reggio di Calabria before continuing across the Straits of Messina in Sicily.
Fifteen minutes later, as they continued on E90, Elisa’s phone buzzed and she picked up without looking at the caller.
“Hello, Jake,” she said.
“This is Jake’s old friend,” a man said.
Instinctively, she sat up in her chair a little. She was now talking with the former Director of the CIA, Kurt Jenkins.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I was expecting to hear from Jake.”
“I can give you real-time intel,” Jenkins said. “Your man is on the move, traveling at about a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, approximately nineteen kilometers west southwest of Taranto. Does that sound about right?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re about a kilometer behind him.”
“Is there anything else you need?” Jenkins asked.
“No, sir. We will stick with the man and see where he goes. Thank you for your help.”
“Always willing to help the Italians. Especially one of Jake’s friends.” The former CIA director hung up.
She glanced at her phone, shook her head, and put it back in her pocket.
“Who was that?” Vito asked.
“The former director of the CIA.”
“No, seriously.”
“I am serious,” she said.
Vito gave a little whistle. “I guess your friend Jake has friends in high places.”
“You could say that. Back in the day, the former director used to work for Jake.”
“And he confirmed our guy is on the move?”
“Yes.” But she wished she knew where in the hell the Iraqi was going. This could be a long drive.
26
Rome, Italy
Derrick Konrad had gotten lucky. A CCTV camera on the side street had caught the license plate of the car that picked up the Serb and the man he had followed from Geneva. Although he could not identify the driver in the video, he could definitely make out the Serb in the front passenger seat. Konrad quickly put out a bulletin on the car, and the license plate had been read going through a toll ticket station on Autostrada A13, heading toward Bologna.
Traveling in an unmarked Polizia car, Konrad and Holgar had the luxury of hitting the lights when needed, allowing them to catch up with the Serb and the man they had tracked from Geneva. But still, Konrad knew he had no choice. If he got the chance, he needed to simply take the Serb into custody. At least that was the plan that he had agreed to with his boss in Switzerland.
Now, they were on the outer ring of the Italian capital, and it was closing in on midnight. Somehow they had been able to stay far enough back so as not to alert the suspect of their presence. Hubris, Konrad guessed. The Serb had thought he had gotten away clean, so they had not changed cars between Padua and Rome.
“They’re getting off the autobahn,” Holgar said.
“I know. We’ll need help once they hit the narrow streets of Rome.”
Holgar took that as his cue to make the call. The two of them had been in contact with INTERPOL officers from Rome, who had coordinated help with the local Polizia and Carabinieri. Together, they could monitor the car ahead with a series of other unmarked law enforcement vehicles.
“On the way,” Holgar said, just as they were getting off the autostrada. “I have the radio channel set.”
Where in the hell were these men going?
Konrad followed, keeping back far enough to remain unnoticed by those in the car ahead. Soon they got help by the Italian law enforcement, who coordinated their efforts centrally. Eventually the car wound through a seedy enclave of Rome, an area of government apartments that housed the poor and the newly arrived to Italy.
Then the subject vehicle pulled to the curb and dropped off the Serb and their potential bomb maker from Geneva.
Konrad parked a block away with another vehicle directly in front of him for cover. “Get on the radio and have the Polizia follow that car,” Konrad demanded.
Holgar did as he was told and they watched as one of the unmarked Polizia cars followed the driver.
“Now what?” Holgar asked.
“We have two choices. We sit and wait, or we take them now.”
“If the Serb actually has explosives in that backpack, we could be in trouble.”
His young friend had a good point. In fact, for all they knew, their man from Geneva could have been carrying C-4 or Semtex all along. When they raided the apartment in Geneva, they had found bomb-making materials but without the actual explosives.
“That’s a big building,” Konrad said. “We don’t know which unit. Have the Italians track down who lives there. And tell them not to only consider those with Arab names. They could be staying with an Italian or another Serb.”
“Got it.”
If the Italians saw this as merely a law enforcement engagement, they would insist on taking over. On the other hand, if they thought it was potential terrorism, one of their federal intelligence agencies would take the lead. He glanced at his hands on the steering wheel and saw that they were trembling. Konrad built up a bunch of spittle in his mouth, found one of his pills, and swallowed it quickly. It was too soon, he knew, but stress often brought on the unthinkable.
“Are you all right, Derrick?” Holgar asked.
During their time staking out the apartment in Geneva, Konrad had told his young partner about his affliction. He had a right to know, just in case he ended up flopping around on the floor. But Konrad was getting concerned. The onset of his symptoms seemed to be coming much more frequently. He wasn’t sure why, though.
“I’m fine,” Konrad said. “Just trying to figure out how to best play this.”
“The Italians might not give us much choice.”
“I know. We are in country at their pleasure. But if we move fast. . .”
“We can ask for forgiveness,” Holgar said.
Their radio squawked and someone came across with very fast Italian. Besides German, Konrad was fluent in French and English. But his Italian wasn’t great. Especially if he didn’t know the subject.
“Could you have them switch to English?” Konrad asked.
“Shit. He said they were bringing in a tactical team.”
“When?”
“Pronto. He said they would be switching to another channel and cutting all cell signals.”
Konrad pulled out his phone and considered who he might call on such short notice to have the Italians hold off. “They know this man might have explosives?”
“Yes. That’s why they want to move fast.”
He couldn’t really blame them. This was their country. Plus, the Serb was under an INTERPOL Red Notice already. That was enough cause to pick the man up.
“How do they know which unit?” Konrad asked.
“They linked the car that dropped them off to an apartment,” Holgar explained.
Within a half hour, Konrad first noticed movement in his rearview mirror. It was a team of heavily armed SWAT members, probably Carabinieri, moving methodically and swiftly up the edge of the sidewalk. All of them wore face masks. Then, looking forward, he saw that the road was quickly blocked off. Looking out his side mirror, he saw the road close off behind them as well. They were good, he thought.
Konrad checked his cell phone and saw that there was no signal now. That was standard procedure, but especially important considering the bomb making materials they had recovered in Geneva, which included cell phone detonators.
SWAT entered the building, and they could hear that another set of units were around the back covering any possible escape.
The two of them listened intently at the radio traffic, trying to discern what was happening.
“What are they saying?” Konrad asked.
“Ready to breech.”
Konrad glanced at the building, hoping like hell it wouldn’t suddenly explode. He startled sligh
tly when he saw a flash from a third-floor window. Flash bang, he thought.
More Italian.
“They’ve got them,” Holgar said.
Wanting to get out, Konrad stopped himself. The Italians didn’t know him. They might consider him a threat. But they didn’t have to wait long.
A plainclothes officer finally came up to the passenger side of their car and Konrad lowered the window. The officer identified himself as a primo capitano with the Carabinieri. They spoke English.
Konrad quickly identified himself and Holgar and then asked, “How many were taken?”
“The Serb with the Red Notice, a man with a Swiss passport, and an Italian. The resident of the apartment. His brother also lives there. He was the one who drove the men here. We picked him up about two kilometers from here. Thank you for your help. We will need everything you have on this situation, especially the man from your country.”
“I would like to be part of the interrogation,” Konrad said, choosing his words carefully. He knew the Carabinieri, like other elite units, could be very paternal with their investigations.
The Italian handed his card across Holgar to Konrad. “This is where we will take the men. It will take time for our forensics team to complete their search of the apartment, but our interrogation will commence within the hour. I’ve informed our people behind us to let you through the barricade.”
Konrad thanked the man and started his engine. Then he pulled a U-turn and slowly drove through the gauntlet of vehicles.
“Could you map their location?” Konrad asked, handing the card to Holgar.
“You got it. Looks like it will be a long night. Any chance of stopping for a quick Panini sandwich or a pizza? I’m starving.”
They hadn’t eaten since earlier in the day. Perhaps that was why he was shaking. Yeah, they could eat. “Something quick. I don’t want to miss out on this interrogation. As soon as we get cell service, call our boss and brief him.”
