by Craig Reed
"I have to go brief my team," Tanner said.
"Fine by me. When you come back up, bring me a coffee, black, two sugars."
Wilson got up and slapped DeCasta in the shoulder. "You got it."
He left the cockpit, walking back through the forward gallery, and into main cabin. His team was scattered around the cabin. He stood there and watched them for a few seconds.
Stephen Shah and Dante Alvarez played cards at a table in the back of the cabin. Stephen, who sat facing Tanner, was of medium height and wouldn't look out of place in any Middle Eastern county. He'd been a CIA agent until he'd bought a discrimination lawsuit against the agency. Fluent in several Middle Eastern languages, including various Arabic dialects, he was also quite knowledgeable about local customs. He saw Tanner and motioned to Alvarez to turn around.
Dante did so, revealing a long, thin face with a slight Simian cast to it. With deep brown eyes and dark hair, the former Secret Service agent gave a nod to Wilson, then dropped his card hand on the table and turned the chair around to face Tanner, revealing a tall, lean frame.
In front of Alvarez and Shah, Naomi "Nay" Washington was laid out on the cabin's only couch, a hardcover book resting on her stomach as she read. She was a beautiful African-American with long legs and an hourglass figure. She lowered her book and gave Tanner an expectant stare. Behind those luminous eyes was thirteen years’ experience in arson and explosive investigations for the ATF, before a whistle-blower's scandal led to her being forced from the agency.
To Tanner's right, a frumpy-looking woman with a short, conservative haircut and Lennon-like glasses sat at a table, tapping away on a laptop. She looked more like a college professor than a former NSA analyst. Danielle Sunderland's expertise in computers and hacking had proved valuable to the team in the past. Her eyes flicked up to meet Wilson’s, then went back to the laptop. She tapped a few keys before looking up at Wilson again. "Ready.”
"About time," the last member of the OUTCAST team said. Sprawled in a chair to Wilson's right, Liam Reilly stretched and looked up at the team leader. "Now can you tell us where we're going and what we're going to do where we get there?" He wasn't quite as tall as Alvarez, but was more muscular.
Tanner smiled. He was tall, fit, with rugged good looks and an easy demeanor when not on a mission. The most striking thing about him was his eyes. A condition called heterochromia, Tanner had one eye so pale blue it nearly matched the white of its surrounding cornea, while his other eye had an iris so black that it appeared not to have a pupil. Despite their mismatched look, they functioned as well as anyone else's eyes. A high-ranking martial artist had once called Tanner's eyes a reflection of Ying and Yang, opposite halves making a whole.
The team known as OUTCAST — Operational Undertaking To Counteract Active Stateside Threats — was made up of good people who had been rejected by the agencies they'd served well. Each one had been fired for one reason or another. In Alvarez's case it had been a prostitution scandal. Danielle had used NSA resources to try and find her son, taken by her ex-husband, while Liam had written an operator eye-view of the Bin Laden raid, which he had been a part of. In Tanner's case, it had been trumped-up sexual harassment charges that had forced him out of the FBI's counter-terrorism section. Now, they were taking the fight to America's enemies on their own terms.
"Casey's dropped a hot one on us."
That got everyone's attention. John Casey, former FBI director, now a "Special Projects" director, answerable to only the President and handling covert operations and operatives, was Tanner's primary contact within the U.S. government.
Tanner looked at Danielle. "Put the first image up on the screen."
Danielle entered a command on the laptop and across the cabin from Nay, the 26" widescreen HD LCD monitor came to life. A large ship with a green hull and white superstructure was displayed in three quarters profile. Cargo containers were stacked on her decks.
"This," Tanner said, motioning to the monitor, "is the Northstar Venture, a container ship belonging to the SeaStar Ventures Shipping Company, based in Capetown, South Africa. Eighteen hours ago, it disappeared five hundred miles off the Somali Coast."
Naomi sat up, swinging her long legs so her feet were on the floor. "Pirates?"
"I thought the Somali pirate situation was under control," Dante said.
"For the most part, it is," Liam said, folding his arms. "But there are a few bands who still try their luck."
"Any ransom demands?" Stephen asked.
"Not as of yet," Tanner replied. "SeaStar hasn't told anyone about the hijacking and they’re trying to quietly get the ship back as quickly as they can. But pirates isn't the reason Casey wants us on this. It’s what's on the Northstar Venture."
"Which is?" Liam prompted.
"Intelligence has been tracking a cargo container from North Korea, through China to Singapore, all the way down to Capetown, where the intel indicates the contents were repacked into another container they haven't been able to ID yet. What they are certain of is the cargo was placed on the Northstar Venture. The Northstar's next stop was supposed to be the port of Doha, Qatar, where the intelligence suggests it would be transported across the gulf to Iran."
"The spooks think the North Koreans are shipping missile technology to Iran." This from Shah.
Tanner nodded. "The North Koreans have tried smuggling missiles through the Panama Canal before, but they got caught. They need the cash, and the Iranians have that in spades. Those two have been trading partners with each other for years, even with the UN embargoes against each of them."
"But something has both the North Koreans and the Iranians in a panic," Danielle interjected. "NSA intercepts between the two countries have been intense in the last twelve hours."
"More than missiles then," Dante said.
"That's the best thinking at the moment," Tanner agreed. "It's possible that the cargo is nuclear material."
"Shit," Stephen breathed.
"Yeah," Tanner said. "That's why we're going in low, and under the radar. Our objective is to locate the ship, board it, and determine the cargo container's contents. If it is in fact weaponized nuclear material, we call in the Navy."
"So where are we going?" Naomi asked.
"Capetown first, where SeaStar Ventures has their headquarters and main warehouses. Myself, Nay and Dante will be going to the shipping offices to talk to the President and CEO, Horst Aswegen. Danielle, please post Aswegen's picture on the screen."
The picture of the ship was replaced the in image of a blond-hair Afrikaner with a craggy face and pale gray eyes.
"Intel has Aswegen pegged as a major conduit of illegal cargo to Iran, so he has to know what's onboard the Northstar. But he's slick and has avoided all attempts to pin anything on him."
"Won’t this be splashed all over the news?" Dante wanted to know.
Tanner shook his head. "SeaStar is playing this close — only a dozen people inside the company know about the hijacking, and maybe another dozen or so outside of the company, all in the Iranian, North Korean, and U.S. intel communities."
"So what are Danielle, Stephen and I going to do?" Liam asked.
"You three are going to go down to SeaStar's main warehouse, access their computer systems and download the company's shipping records. There are over a thousand containers on the Northstar, and we need to narrow down that list before we board the ship."
"Why not do it remotely?" Naomi asked.
"Internal network only," Danielle replied. "Basically a local network not connected to the web. It can only be accessed it from the SeaStar offices or warehouse."
"Aswegen hasn't stayed out of prison by being complacent," Tanner said. "I doubt there's more than a half-dozen people inside the company involved with the smuggling."
He glanced at his watch. "Time to go to work. Danielle, see if you can scrounge up some floor plans for both the SeaStar offices and warehouse. We'll be in Capetown in ten hours.”
CHAPTER TWO
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Somali Coast
The sun was just cresting the horizon when Riyad walked onto the Northstar Venture's bridge. Narsai was there, directing Musa as he guided the ship into position. Less than a kilometer away, the brown and gray dusty land of Somalia rose out of the blue-green ocean. Within the shades of brown and gray, a few green hues were scattered across the view, speckled with color from the buildings near the beach. To Riyad, it looked like a foreboding place.
Narsai turned and snapped to attention, while Musa spun and snapped a quick salute before returning to his task of bringing the Northstar as close to the beach as he could.
Riyad returned the salutes, then stood and watched the new captain finish directing the anchoring of the Northstar. As soon as Faisal, who was manning the anchor, radioed that it was secured, Musa shut the engines down, leaving the ship floating three-quarters of a kilometer off the coast.
"Excellent work," Riyad said.
"Thank you sir," Narsai replied. He looked tired, his face drawn.
"You and your team should get some sleep. Captain Kashgari can supervise the transfer of the missiles from the Saad el Melik to this ship."
"I'm fine sir.”
"None of you have slept in thirty hours," Riyad said gently. "I need you and your team to get some rest."
Narsai nodded. "All right, we'll do so, sir."
The port-side door on the bridge opened and General Yabaal stormed in. He was tall for a Somali, and unlike most of his men, he wasn't thin. He was also dressed better than his men, though not to the level of Riyad's own troops. The general's head was shaved, and combined with a break of a nose, reminded Riyad of an overweight vulture. Behind him, two of his men followed, both armed with AK-47s, and both looking at the ICA commander like dogs sizing up a potential meal.
"Colonel!" Yabaal said in accented Arabic. "When can we inspect the cargo?"
"When we are finished," Riyad replied in as respectful a tone he could muster, given the words. "If everything goes well, the cargo, with the exception of those listed containers, will be yours to inspect in a few hours."
Yabaal's face scrunched up as if he smelled something rancid. "How do we know you're not taking the best for you and your men before we have a look?"
"I am only interested in the contents of a few containers," Riyad said steadily. "The rest hold nothing of value to me or my men, and will be all yours."
The two stared at each other for a few seconds, but Yabaal was the first to break the confrontation, by shifting his glare to Narsai. "All right," he said in a menacing tone. "But do not take me for a fool. I will know if you try and cheat me and my men, and you will pay!"
"I have no reason to cheat you," Riyad said with a smile. "The most valuable stuff is in the center hold, while the containers I'm interested are above deck. Once we are done, you will see that I am right."
Yabaal's face contorted in thought, then broke out into a big grin. "I believe you!" he said in a booming voice. He held up two meaty hands in a giving gesture. "We are allies, are we not? If we can't trust each other, who else can we?"
Riyad smiled, showing even white teeth. "I assure you my friend, you and your men will find everything you are looking for once we are done."
"Of course. You will keep me informed?"
"I assure you that we will."
"Good. I am going ashore to inspect my men."
"I have to go ashore too," Riyad said. "I am needed elsewhere for a couple of days. Captain Narsai will let you know when our part of the operation is done."
"Of course!" Yabaal said agreeably. "Any idea on how long that will be?"
"If everything goes right, this evening," Narsai said.
The Somali warlord's grin widened even more, showing khat-stained teeth. "That is more excellent news! I must tell my followers at once!"
"If I may have a few moments with my man," Riyad said, "I will join you on your trip to Eyl."
"I will be waiting!" Yabaal said. He turned and left the bridge, closing the door behind him.
Narsai went over to the window and watched the general and his men descend the stair case to the deck. "The man's a muti," he snarled.
"True, but he makes an excellent shield to hide behind while we work in the shadows. Besides, we still need what we don't have — manpower."
"I do not trust him."
"He can be controlled, as long as you give him scraps and tell him it's the finest steak."
"Do you think the Iranians will try to assault the ship?"
Riyad pursed his lips. "Not until they have more information. The last thing they need is an international incident."
"What about Aswegen? If the Iranians question him—"
"Yasir and a small team will handle that. I'm dispatching him to Capetown."
"Yes sir."
"Now, I want the missiles and the launchers unloaded and assembly started before I get back. Any word on the Pharaoh's Pride?"
"The latest still has her on course and speed."
Riyad smiled. "Good. And one last thing. Make sure you keep those warheads and Masood's team under tight guard at all times. I don't want to give 'General' Yabaal any ideas."
"Understood, sir."
CHAPTER THREE
Capetown, South Africa
Kamal Hassan and his bodyguards stood in front of the hangar as he watched the Cessna Citation S/II Business jet roll toward them. This part of the Capetown International Airport catered to the business jets that frequented the city.
Hassan was a short, plump man, dressed in an expensive suit with manicured fingernails and an expensive haircut. Despite the early morning, he seemed comfortable and cheerful, looking like a wealthy businessman waiting for his guests to deplane.
But although he was wealthy, most of his fortune came from smuggling contraband, drugs and weapons in and out of the country. He also was an information broker, with sources all across the continent. Deep at his core, however, Hassan was committed to the goal of the Islamic Caliphate and did everything he could to further their cause.
Hassan's chief bodyguard and enforcer stood behind and to his right, towering over his employer by more than half a foot. Wahid Tamrez had the look of a half-awake man, but few people could best the former Syrian Republican Guardsman in a fight. Despite his half-closed eyes, Tamrez was alert and ready, as was the rest of the bodyguard team.
Tamrez leaned forward and said to Hassan, "I don't like this, sir."
"Neither do I," Hassan replied. "But Colonel Riyad's orders were clear, and we must follow them."
The Citation, a twin-engine jet large enough to carry up to ten passengers, rolled to a stop near Hassan and his team. As the engines began shutting down, the Citation's door, located behind the cockpit, slowly opened out and down, deploying the stairs as it did so. As the engine noise died away, a pair of men in suits climbed out of the plane and took positions on either side of the door. Yasir Ilshu was the next man to emerge from the plane, dressed in a tailored suit. Behind him, three more men came out, also in suits. Hassan noticed that all of them were clean-shaven, in good physical shape, and looked all around, even up into the air.
Hassan held his arms out. "Kassem!" he said loudly in Arabic, using Ilshu's cover name. Ilshu smiled walked over to Hassan.
"It is good to see you again, my friend."
The two embraced like old friends. After breaking the hug, Hassan said in a normal conversation, "How was your trip?"
"Fair," Ilshu said, falling into the role of a businessman. There was no telling if the South Africans were watching them, so they played this charade.
"We should get going," Hassan said. "You can ride with me, and our associates can ride together. My servants should have lunch ready by the time we arrive, so I hope you brought an appetite!"
They walked to the four waiting vehicles, and Hassan, Ilshu and Tamrez got into the nicest of them, a luxury car with tinted windows, while the rest scattered to the other three. They rolled away from the business terminal at
a fast clip.
Hassan waited until the convoy was on the road before he said, "What is wrong, my friend? Is the plan still on track?"
"It is," Ilshu said. "But the Colonel has sent me to tie up loose ends here."
A chill went through Hassan and he noticed Tamrez's shoulders tense. "What loose ends?"
"Horst Aswegen. The Colonel believes the Iranians will be direct with their questions."
Hassan relaxed. "I see."
"I'll need everything you have on the man, and plans for his house and offices."
"Aswegen is holed up in his office, along with the senior SeaStar staff, trying to ransom back the ship and its cargo. I doubt he's going to leave until that is done, short of the building catching on fire."
Ilshu nodded. "Good. I'll need the floor plans for the office."
"If you're going to eliminate loose ends, may I suggest that you destroy the company's cargo manifests database? Those records are the first thing authorities will seek when they try to unravel the disaster."
Ilshu looked at Hassan suspiciously. "Can't you do that?"
Hassan shook his head. "The SeaStar network is internal only, with no connection to any outside networks. The entire network will have to be destroyed, both at the office and the main warehouse."
Ilshu frowned. "I don't like the idea of splitting up my team."
"May I make a suggestion?" Hassan asked mildly.
"What?"
"Part of my job has been to cultivate new recruits to the cause. I have two dozen who I believe are ready to take their first steps on the road to holy war."
Ilshu frowned for a moment, then said, "Very well. If nothing else, they will make good cannon fodder."
Hassan sighed. "I hope it doesn't come down to that.”
"What reaction can we expect from the police?"
