African Firestorm

by Craig Reed

  "Do we pursue?" Ahmad asked.

  Ilshu was tempted to say yes, but instead replied, "No. Everyone, retrieve all wounded and dead. We are done here."

  "But Bahar and Habib's bodies were caught in the fireball!" one of the new recruits reported.

  "Then don't bother," Ilshu said coldly. "Leave as little evidence as you can and get out."

  He shut off the radio, turned and started running. He knew his team would follow him without question, and if the new recruits didn't, well, they were useless anyway. He needed to talk to Hassan.

  A new player had joined the game.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Capetown, South Africa

  The Cape Africa Hotel was in Capetown's Green Point section. Seven stories tall, the establishment catered to businessmen and tourists, and was within view of the harbor. With one hundred and seven rooms, it wasn't the largest hotel in the city, but it had a respectable reputation.

  The OUTCAST team had three rooms on the sixth floor, at the southeast end, near the fire escape. It was after ten in the morning when they met in Tanner and Liam's room. The largest of the three rooms, the small suite had a couch and a couple of chairs arranged around a coffee table. Dante and Naomi sat on the couch, while Liam and Stephen occupied the chairs. Danielle stood at the counter separating the kitchenette from the rest of the suite, a laptop on the counter and a tablet next to it. A large pot of coffee brewed in the kitchenette, and all six had coffee cups either in their hands or on the table in front of them.

  Tanner stood by the window, looking out across the city. In the distance, he could see the Castle of Good Hope, a 17th century fort that still served as a military headquarters. To Tanner's left, the glittering water of the Atlantic Ocean and the Victoria and Albert Waterfront beckoned, while to his right, the massive Table Mountain towered above the city. The architecture, a mix of Old Dutch, English, Muslim, French, and modern skyscrapers, lay between mountain and sea.

  Tanner took a sip of his coffee and turned back into the room. The team looked as tired as he felt, but they were awake. After both sides reached the rally point, a parking lot off of Albert Road, they abandoned the bakkie and returned to the hotel in the Pajero Sport. Tanner had ordered them all to get some sleep, and five hours a shower later, they were ready to debrief the overnight operations and move forward.

  After both teams relayed a detailed account of their experience to the other, Tanner addressed them all.

  "All right, so what do we know about the enemy from last night?"

  "They spoke Arabic." This from Liam.

  Tanner looked at Stephen. "Any idea what dialect?"

  "I didn't hear enough to get an idea."

  Tanner took a sip of coffee. "The dying attacker I questioned spoke a mix of English, Afrikaner, and Arabic. He was young, maybe early twenties."

  "They were also not well-trained," Liam said. "The ones in the warehouse had no fire discipline."

  "But someone took out Aswegen and his bodyguards quickly and cleanly, then escaped in the helicopter," Naomi said.

  Stephen nodded. "And someone was smart enough to disable the warehouse's power so we couldn't finish downloading the data."

  Tanner looked at Danielle, who was absorbed in her laptop. "Any luck decrypting it?”

  "Some.” She didn’t look up from the laptop. Her tablet beeped and she stared at it.

  "Tanner, turn on the TV, news channel."

  "What's wrong?"

  "The explosions from last night."

  Liam reached for the remote on the coffee table and the wall-mounted TV came to life. The TV was already on a news station, and the scene was one of devastation. What had once been a hotel was now a war zone. The entire edifice of the first four floors had been demolished, shattered glass and broken concrete scattered everywhere, and a number of cars had been turned into horrific twisted pieces of modern art.

  "Where is this?" Dante asked.

  "Century City, six miles east of us." Danielle’s eyes scanned the tablet. "Car bomb last night, just as we were getting ready to go in. And it wasn't the only one. There were car bombs in Rondebosch District, at the University of Capetown, and at a bar in De Waterkant, all within a few minutes of each other. Casualties are in the low hundreds right now, and there have been thirty-five confirmed deaths."

  "Those must have been the explosions we heard before everything went to hell last night," Naomi said

  Liam turned the TV off. "Four car bombs the same night the SeaStar offices and warehouse are attacked? I don't think that's a coincidence."

  "Agreed," Tanner said. "Those bombs were set off to distract the police from SeaStar."

  Naomi said, "They wanted to shut down any line of questioning into SeaStar itself, and it's clear that it has something to do with the Northstar Venture. We just don't know who or why."

  "I have a contact here in Capetown," Stephen said. "He's retired British Intelligence, and he knows Africa better than most of the people on the continent."

  "I also know someone in the SAPS from my FBI days," Tanner said. "I'll see if there's anything he can tell me. I'll take Liam with me. Naomi, you go with Stephen and look up his contact. Danielle will stay here and work on decrypting the data. After Dante drops Liam and me off to pick up our car near the warehouse, he'll come back here and act as a reserve."

  "We're going out armed?" Dante asked.

  "Under the circumstances, yes. Sidearms only."

  Tanner's cell phone trilled. He took it out of his pocket, glanced at the number and answered. "Tanner."

  "What's going on down there?" John Casey asked. He didn't sound angry, but with Casey, it was hard to tell sometimes.

  "That's what we're trying to figure out right now," Tanner replied. He outlined the events of the last twelve hours, finishing with, "Someone's dealt themselves into this game, and we don't know who. We've got some contacts we’re going to check with and see if they can point us in the right direction."

  "Don't get caught up with chasing these people around," Casey warned. "The ship and its cargo is the important part here.”

  "Agreed, but Somalis are not going to fly down here and take out the CEO and wreck the company they're trying to get a ransom out of. Someone else has to be involved."

  "The Iranians?"

  "Doubtful. They'd want to talk to Aswegen first, but whoever did this didn't bother with talking. And whoever the attackers were, they spoke Arabic, not Farsi. I don't like going into a situation where I don't know who the players are. Any update on the ship?"

  "Only that it's sitting off the Somali Coast, near the town of Eyl. We're prodding the local government to do something, but I'm not holding my breath."

  "I want to know who's trying to clear away the back trail."

  Casey sighed. "All right, you have twenty-four hours. You don't dig up anything new on these people, head for Somalia."

  "Why the rush?"

  "The President's on his way to Tanzania. He's meeting with several East African leaders about combating the spread of radical Islam in the region. After that, he’s going to the United Arab Emirates to meet with Middle East leaders about the same thing."

  Tanner exhaled slowly. "Does he know about the possible threat?"

  "He does, but he’s not going to back away from a vague threat."

  "We're moving out now. We’ll talk to a few of our contacts and a couple of the ones you supplied. We'll keep you in the loop."

  "Understood. Good-bye."

  Tanner put his phone away and filled the others in on the conversation. "Time’s ticking, people. Let's not waste any more time."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  Bakir Riyad watched two western women swim in the pool a dozen feet from where he reclined on a deck lounger. Both wore modest one-piece swim suits, but were young, attractive, and blonde. For a few seconds, he felt himself stir, but just as quickly, he clamped down on the feeling. Not here, not now.

  The Jebel Ali Bea
ch Hotel was close to the Palm Jebel Ali, one of Dubai's two artificial archipelagos that extended into the Persian Gulf. It was adjacent to both the Jebel Ali Freezone and the Port of Jebel Ali, the largest man-made harbor in the world and the largest harbor in the Middle East. The hotel catered to tourists and businessmen alike, with a spectacular view of the gulf and no shortage of amenities.

  If any of his men on the Northstar Venture or Saad el Melik could see Riyad now, they would be stunned. He was bare-chested, wearing sunglasses and a pair of swimming trunks, looking nothing like the hardened soldier his men knew him as. He had checked into the hotel earlier in the morning, using the identity of Jalal Al-Hamdani, a successful Saudi businessman. The clerk had welcomed him back and wished him a pleasant stay.

  This wasn't the first time Riyad been in Dubai, where, as Al-Hamdani, he was known as the owner of an import/export company. He already had an office in the freezone, staffed by fellow ICA followers who not only ran it at a profit, but funneled weapons, supplies, and intelligence to the ICA though the network of shipments they managed. He'd used his time in the city to carefully put his pieces into place. And he was nearly ready.

  The plan he had conceived had been in the works for several years, but when word about the warheads being transported reached Riyad, he had immediately jumped on the chance to seize them. The basic plan was still the same, but the warheads would enhance the damage against the target.

  He glanced at his watch, a Rolex, in keeping with his cover as a rich businessman. He still had time before the zhur, the noon call to prayer, to see of couple of customers, then after prayer, to check with a couple of suppliers. After dark, he would meet Tarik, the head of the ICA cell in the city and make sure there were no problems on this end. Tomorrow, he would appear at the office and get an update on how it was doing, then back to Somalia the day after that.

  The time for Allah's followers to claim the world in his name was now. Today, Israel. Tomorrow, Europe, Russia and Asia. Then South America and finally, North America. Only then would the world would know peace and justice.

  But first it would see fire and death, starting here in ten days.

  * * *

  The maqha, or coffee house, was located near the Dubai Internet City, the Dubai Media City, and ironically enough, the American University in Dubai. Tarik had reserved a back room for the meeting, and after both had settled in, sipping the Saudi coffee from small handless cups called fenjan. In the background, the strains of a song in the Khaliji style, heavy on the strings of the oud and the beat of the tabi drum, acted as a layer of white noise. On the low table between them, a couple of dishes of candied fruit and dates waited, along with the dallah, the specially made coffee pot. In addition, Tarik had set up a pair of white noise generators in opposite corners of the windowless room, and dismissed the waiter. Since the coffee house was a natural place to meet and discuss business in a relaxed atmosphere, and both men were regular customers, they were left alone.

  Riyad let the smoky bitter smell of the coffee fill his nostrils as he sipped the fenjan's contents. "Excellent as always," he said.

  "Of course," Tarik replied. He was a gaunt man with a narrow face, high forehead and an exposed Adam's apple. Like Riyad, he wore a business suit, though his was less expensive than his superior's. With his wire-rimmed glasses and general demeanor, he looked like a nervous accountant. The reality was while Tarik was an accountant and ran the business for Riyad, he was also an experienced fighter, bomb maker, and cold-blooded killer. Outside of Ilshu and Narsai, Tarik Al-Kali was Riyad's most trusted subordinate.

  Tarik took a sip of his own coffee. "Did you secure the shipment?"

  Riyad smiled. "Yes, just as advertised. And on your end?"

  Tarik's smile was cold. "The Americans will be here the day after tomorrow," he said. "They'll be staying at their usual place."

  "How long?"

  "My sources say ten days."

  "That is good. My Pakistani team believes they'll have the shipment ready to deliver before the Americans leave."

  "I'm glad. I’d hate to be late with the delivery.”

  “Is Dwight still heading up the American team?"

  Tarik shook his head. "He was reassigned. Harry's heading up the team now."

  "Ah. I hope he's as agreeable as Dwight was."

  “There’s one other thing of interest I discovered.”

  Riyad raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “It seems The Americans will be visited by the president of their company while the team is here. Harry’s hosting a meeting between his boss and several local companies.”

  “Really? That is indeed most interesting. Can you find out when?”

  “I should be able to find out.”

  “Good.” Riyad finished the small amount of coffee in his fenjan and held it out for a refill.

  "Why don't you fill me in on the office gossip?"

  * * *

  After the meeting, Riyad walked back to his rental and drove back to the hotel. As he did so, he thought about the information Tarik had given him. The American aircraft carrier Harry S. Truman and its escorts would be docking at port the day after tomorrow and staying for ten days.

  In port, the carrier would be a perfect target.

  The original plan, codename DESERT WIND, had been to use the Saad el Melik as a firing platform for a conventional cruise missile attack on the docked aircraft carrier. The ICA had two Babur cruise missiles, the newest weapons system in the Pakistan Army. The two missiles were built "off the books." There was no way for the Americans or anyone else to know about their existence. The ICA had smuggled both the missiles and Masood's team out of Pakistan a month earlier.

  But two missiles, even against an immobile target like a docked aircraft carrier, wouldn't do enough damage to cripple the ship unless Allah smiled upon them.

  And he had.

  Riyad smiled. Even though both nuclear warheads were, at best, thirty kiloton yields, it would be more than enough to cripple or destroy the Truman, kill hundreds, and damage American prestige in the area. If the Truman's own nuclear weapons or reactors were breached, such an event would cripple port operations and cost the Emirates millions in lost revenue.

  And if the timing was right….

  The President of the United States’ death, along with the deaths of other leaders, would cause chaos on a level undreamed of. If the attack could be coordinated with the meeting, it would do more damage than a thousand strikes to cripple Islam’s enemies.

  And who would receive the blame for all this? Riyad chuckled aloud. That was the best part! With a little manipulation, the Iranians would become the number one suspect. The bodies on the Northstar were being stored in an empty freezer onboard. Before the attack, they would be brought out and posed as if in battle. After the attack, the Northstar would be set on fire, leaving just enough evidence to point the blame at the Iranians. The enraged Americans would focus on them, giving ISIL that much more time to consolidate their battlefield gains.

  As he pulled into the hotel's parking lot, Riyad calculated how long it would take the Northstar to make the trip from Eyl to the UAE coastline. Four and a half days at twenty knots to cover the eighteen hundred miles…Another day and a half for him to complete his business here, and a day to make his way back to the Northstar.

  Yes, he thought…a week from today, the Americans would understand the ICA's real strength.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Capetown, South Africa

  The South African Police Service's (SAPS) West Cape Regional Headquarters was located in Capetown's Green Point District, not too far from OUTCAST’s hotel. It took up almost an entire block, a brick and glass structure across Alfred Street from a primary school.

  Tanner and Liam parked the car half a block from the headquarters building and exited. There was no trouble retrieving the car left behind at the warehouse, as it wasn't within the area blocked off by the fire and police departments. They caught a glimpse of the warehouse
, or what little was left of it. Of the massive structure that had stood there just twelve hours before, only the far wall was still standing. The rest was twisted metal, charred objects and things burned beyond recognition. "You got out just in time," was Tanner's only comment.

  "Are these really necessary?" Liam asked, motioning to their clothes. Both men wore suits, dress shoes, and designer sunglasses. They left their pistols in the car, as they weren't licensed to carry in the country.

  "First impressions," Tanner said. "We want to make good ones."

  "Who's this contact of yours?" Liam asked as they began walking toward the police building.

  "He's the head of the West Cape Criminal Intelligence Unit," Tanner replied. "He's Afrikaner, but he's honest and good at being a cop. I met him when he was a team leader in the SAPS Special Task Force; they’re sort of a cross between SWAT and commandos."

  "Think he'll talk to us?"

  "We're about to find out.”

  They reached the front door and went in.

  Neither operator saw the figure standing in the shade of a sixth-floor balcony near the police building, watching the front entrance. When Tanner and Liam entered the building, the man quick-dialed a number on his cell phone and made a report.

  * * *

  Brigadier Jayden Keyster was a large in his mid-fifties with ash-blond hair cut close to the scalp, and a craggy face with a lantern jaw. He stood when Tanner and Liam entered his office on the sixth floor, and both men noticed he was leaning on a cane.

  "Tanner!" he said in English. "It's been what, six years?"

  Tanner smiled and removed his sunglasses "Six and a half.” He motioned to the cane. "What's with that?"

  "This?" Keyster replied, holding up the cane. "Last STF operation I was on, about four years ago. We had to go in, but one of the Dagga-smoking Tsotsi caught me with a shotgun blast. Five months in the hospital and another year in physical therapy."

  "Sorry to hear that," Tanner said. He looked around the small but neat office. "Nice place."