Thief of Always

by Kim Baldwin

  “Okay, here we go. One more try. Wrong answer, and you’ll have two knees to worry about. Where’s the diamond?”

  He glared at her, groaning in pain and fury. “In the bookcase.”

  “Point.”

  Wolff pointed to one of the three bookcases in the room.

  “Give me a title,” Allegro said.

  “The drawer at the bottom.”

  Keeping the gun aimed, she went to the bookcase and searched through the tablecloths and napkins in the drawer until she felt something hard. There, wrapped in one of the napkins, was the Blue Star. She stared at it for a few seconds, then rewrapped it in the napkin and stuck it in her pocket. “See, it wasn’t that difficult.”

  Before she left, she ripped out the phone cable, and took his cell phone and smashed it with her boot. She contemplated finishing Wolff off, but she hadn’t been ordered to make the kill, and the thought of the wheelchair lingered. Someone had to look after the old lady asleep in that room. As she made her way back down the hallway, she spoke into her Bluetooth. “I’m on the way out.”

  “I know,” Domino replied. “I’ll be out front.”

  Allegro took off her ski mask and tucked her gun away as she ran down the stairs. The car was waiting for her outside the entrance.

  *

  “We’re on our way to the airport,” Allegro told Montgomery Pierce as soon as the EOO Chief came on the line.

  “Good,” Pierce replied, in a much calmer tone than the last time they’d spoken. “You should be in Kabul by fifteen-hundred, local time. You are to wait on the northeast corner of Salang Wat and Shir Ali Khan with a plain white envelope. A Fouad will approach you. Your name is Sayeh. He’ll hand over a mobile phone. The mole will contact you on that phone to give you his location. When you hand him the diamond, he’ll give you the location and targets in exchange. You’re to pass the intel on to me ASAP. The MIS is ready to move. We’re all ready to move.”

  “What do you want us to do then?”

  “We don’t know what the terrorists will be using, or where the targets are,” Pierce said. “In the worst case, we’ll have to notify the Western targets for immediate evacuation. In the best case, we get there in time to stop them. You’re on standby after the drop-off, and awaiting further instructions. I can’t be more specific than that at the present time. The mole hasn’t given us anything yet. He contacted the MIS an hour ago to say the terrorists are in position and ready to start countdown in twelve hours. Make sure you get the diamond to him on time.”

  “I will.” When Pierce disconnected, she turned to Domino. “Time to rock and roll.”

  She briefed her as they turned onto the road leading to the airport. They were on the helicopter twenty minutes later, headed to their military transport in Frankfurt.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  Friday, February 15

  In his home in the outskirts of Kabul, Afghan Culture Minister Qadir slammed the phone down angrily, frustrated at his failed fifth attempt to contact Azizi to find out the status of his recovery of theSetarehe Abi Rang. The clock was ticking, and his al-Qaeda brothers would not be pleased if he failed to turn over the diamond as promised. His sponsorship of the group had given him the rare opportunity to be involved in, potentially, the greatest attack to date against the West, and he wanted nothing to jeopardize that. Especially since the attack was now just eleven hours away.

  Qadir intended to commemorate the occasion by remaining at home with his wife and daughters this day, though he would spend much of it here, in his home office, awaiting updates. Azizi should have reported in long before this. He would have the man’s head when he returned. Qadir stroked his beard as he considered his alternatives. He didn’t have many. The best option was to tell his fundamentalist brothers that delivery of the gem was merely delayed, that he would have it for them very soon, and immediately dispatch another man, perhaps two, to recover the diamond. A loyal member of al-Qaeda, a noted Kabul jeweler, had already been contacted and was prepared to cut the stone and liquidate it for quick cash.

  He stared down at the plans before him, admiring the thoughtful and meticulous preparations. Soon, two cities would lie in ruins. No, he hadn’t done all that he had, only to miss this golden opportunity to see the West brought to his knees. Whatever it took, he would have the Setarehe Abi Rang within a matter of days, at most.

  *

  The U.S. Army jet that flew Allegro and Domino from the Frankfurt airbase to Afghanistan was a Gulfstream IV C-20F, a fourteen-seater with a two-man crew. Capable of Mach .80, it traveled the thirty-two-hundred-mile distance to Bagram without refueling. They made it in six and a half hours.

  Below them, the view was a moonscape of endless steep, rugged mountains, brownish red, with a dusting of snow here and there. There were few signs of civilization. Finally they glimpsed Kabul, nestled in a narrow valley between high, jagged peaks. As they approached the air field, Allegro donned a long black burka over her clothes. The traditional full-length garment covered her from head to foot. A small oval cut around her eyes was covered by a thin mesh netting, reducing her clarity of vision. But it was necessary to blend in. She had her Walther and was wired up. Her tiny earpiece transmitter would allow everything she heard and said to be heard by both the MIS and EOO command centers. Domino wore a burka too, only in blue. She was also wired so that she and Allegro could communicate with each other if necessary. She was instructed to follow from a far distance and move in only if instructed to. They couldn’t give the mole a reason to bolt before they got the intel they needed.

  EOO Operative Lynx, a fresh-faced younger operative Allegro had seen on occasion in group ETF briefings, was waiting for them at the air field in a nondescript older sedan. Lynx’s burka concealed her golden blond hair. Only her dark brown eyes could be seen; she’d torn away the mesh netting on her veil since she was driving. Beside her was a large duffel bag filled with gear, including night vision binoculars, an MSG-90 sniper rifle, and two mini Uzi submachine guns.

  There were few words exchanged on the half-hour ride into Kabul. The journey provided the women with a kaleidoscope of images of the city’s struggle to recover from years of war. They passed through endless neighborhoods of ruined stone and mud-brick buildings, riddled with bullet holes and littered with abandoned wrecks of cars, where children searched through trash, and beggars swarmed the car.

  As they neared the city center, they began to see signs of recovery in new hotels and shops, and construction crews at work laying pipe and smoothing pavement. Merchants lined the sides of the road in carts and canvas tents, selling overripe bananas and giant flatbreads, brass and silver bracelets, beaded lapis lazuli necklaces, and embroidered robes and hats. The wind covered everything with a fine dust of sand from the surrounding desert, muting any vivid colors with a patina of ochre.

  Domino exited a block from the address Pierce had given them to cover the remaining distance on foot. Allegro got out at the contact point and waited with the white envelope in her hand. Two minutes went by before a man approached her. Fifty or so, dressed in a black wool chapan and beret-like Pakol hat, he had a white beard and green eyes, which stood out as bright beacons against his dark skin. He spoke in Farsi. “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “My brother,” Allegro replied. “He is coming to take me to my uncle’s.” Her fluency was so perfect she could have passed for a local.

  “My name is Fouad,” he said.

  “I am Sayeh,” she replied.

  Very discreetly, he slipped a cell phone into the pocket of her burka. “He will call you in five minutes,” he said, and took off in the direction he’d come from, blending quickly into the crowd on the street.

  Exactly five minutes later, the cell phone rang. “Is this Sayeh?” the caller, a man, asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is your uncle. You are to meet me inside the entrance of a deserted building on Jadayi Suhl.” He read off the address. “It wil
l take you fifteen minutes to walk,” he added before disconnecting.

  Allegro walked to the meeting place, a two-story former office complex, and waited inside. The building had lost part of its front wall to a bomb, and the interior and exterior both were pitted with bullet holes. She turned when she heard someone approach her from behind. The mole had been waiting in a room further inside the building. He wore a turban and high quality chapan with intricate embroidery. He’d covered his face with a scarf, so only his dark brown eyes—a hint of an Asian tilt to them—and the curve of an angular nose could be seen. “Sayeh?”

  “Hello, uncle,” she said. “Please confirm the name of your alliance.”

  “Major Norton.” He provided the name of the MIS man he’d been feeding information to. “Show it to me, please. And keep in mind that I am not alone here.”

  “Of course,” she replied. “I am only here to deliver and pass on what you give me. Please remember that I also am here with company and Major Norton will not take kindly to any type of misinformation.”

  “I assure you, I am no terrorist,” the mole said. “These extremists have plagued and disgraced our country for too many years. I will be happy to see them stopped.”

  Allegro removed the diamond from her pocket, unwrapped it from the napkin, and held it up. The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the broken window nearby glinted off the gem, radiating sparks of white fire onto the pitted walls of the room. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed,” he replied, staring at the Blue Star as though in a trance. “And soon it will be where it belongs.”

  “But before that, I need the information,” she said. “Please hurry.”

  He returned his attention to her. “They intend to launch missiles at nineteen-hundred hours. European targets. One to the center of London, the other to Rome.”

  “Where are they operating from?”

  “There is an underground base in Naghrak, on the outskirts of Jalalabad,” he said, before giving her specifics on how to find it.

  “What kind of missiles?”

  “Russian. RT-2UTTKh Topol-M,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Allegro’s training included a familiarity with nearly every type of nuclear device. She knew the Russian missiles had a range of nearly seven thousand miles and could be modified to carry up to six warheads.

  She could hear a commotion in her earpiece as the information she was getting was passed along and acted on. Almost immediately, a voice in her ear said, “Codes, we need codes.”

  “The deactivation codes?” she asked the mole.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I cannot help you with that. I am not privileged to that information.”

  “Who is?”

  “Very few, and only those directly involved in this mission.” He was the picture of calm, as if he was reciting the weather forecast.

  “Names, please.” She could hear in her own voice that her patience was wearing thin. His seeming indifference to the whole matter was getting on her nerves.

  “I do not know them all. But I know for a fact that Culture Minister Qadir is one of those behind the plan.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “At his home. He will wait there and go on with his day as planned. He will be informed about the mission after the missiles have been launched, and then feign surprise while an extremist group takes responsibility for it.”

  “Let him go,” a voice in her ear ordered. “We have what we need.”

  Allegro handed the mole the cell phone she’d been given, and then the Blue Star, once again wrapped in the napkin she’d taken from Wolff’s house. “You can return this to your country now.”

  “Thank you. And thank Major Norton for me.”

  “I will. I’m sure he went to great lengths to get this for you.” It was what a simple messenger would have responded, but Allegro almost had to force herself to say the words. It was thanks to her and the EOO that this had been made possible.

  She left the building and walked out into the street. Pierce’s voice in her ear instructed, “Allegro, Domino. You are to visit Qadir for the codes. The MIS is on its way to Jalalabad as we speak. We need the codes ASAP.”

  Domino spoke first. “To gain access to the computer in the bunker and deactivate the missiles, we’ll need him alive.”

  “I don’t care if we need retinal or print recognition to access it. Rip his fucking eyes or hand off if you have to,” Pierce commanded. “Understood?”

  “Yes,” Domino answered.

  “Check,” Allegro said.

  The EOO Chief relayed Qadir’s address on the outskirts of the city, and said Lynx would pick them up when they were ready to leave for Naghrak. “Rome and London are on red alert and are being evacuated,” he told them. “And we’re ready to deploy intercept missiles if necessary. The Brits will try to down theirs over the North Sea, and U.S. carriers and bases in Europe will track the Rome missile and try to get it somewhere over the Mediterranean.”

  Allegro and Domino met up a bit further down the street and stopped a taxi to take them to the minister’s residence. They got out a block before to briefly recon the area, its security, and entrance and exit points. Passersby paid them little notice as they approached Qadir’s house and stood across the street. From all appearances, they were just two local women making small talk.

  Qadir lived in a residence befitting his status, a large and handsome two-story yellow-brick domed structure, with ornate iron trim and marble columns.

  “I’m going in through the balcony,” Allegro said, as they watched a woman—either Qadir’s wife or cleaning woman—hang a small Persian carpet out to air, then walk away toward the main thoroughfare. “Wait here on the bench until I’m in.”

  She crossed the street, ran a few steps, and jumped to grab the bottom railing of the balcony. As soon as she’d pulled herself up and over, she heard Domino in her ear, “All is clear.”

  Allegro hid behind the wall until she was sure the room was empty. She entered and quietly walked across to open the door. She heard children’s voices coming from upstairs. “Meet me at the front door,” she told Domino.

  She hurried down a short flight of stairs and let Domino in. “Kids are upstairs,” she said. “I haven’t seen anyone else yet. Follow me.”

  They hurried to the bedroom where the children’s voices were coming from. Two little girls, probably five and six or so, were playing on a fine old carpet as large as the room. Embroidered pillows and several dolls lay scattered around them.

  Allegro pulled her veil away and smiled. “Hello,” she said in Farsi. The girls stared up at them, too surprised to respond. They both had long black hair and dark eyes. “What a beautiful doll,” she told the older of the two, as she knelt beside her, still smiling. “Can we join you?”

  “Who are you?” the girl asked.

  “Friends of your father. He sent us to say hello.”

  “You can have this one,” the younger girl said, placing her doll in Allegro’s hand. “Her name is Samara.”

  “We’d love to play, but let’s go tell your daddy first that we’ll be up here.” Allegro held her hand out as both girls stood. She took the older girl’s, and Domino the other’s.

  “Daddy’s downstairs in his office,” the younger one said.

  “Yes, that’s where we left him,” Allegro agreed.

  The girls pulled the two of them down the stairs, giggling and talking about what games they could all play together. Allegro drew her gun but kept it hidden between the folds of her burka. She knew Domino had done the same.

  The door to Qadir’s office was shut. When they got to it, the eldest girl knocked on it with a tiny fist. “Daddy, it’s us.”

  “I’m busy now,” said a man’s voice patiently from inside, as Allegro stooped to scoop up one child into her free arm, and Domino did the same with the other.

  “But your friends are here.”

  Allegro didn’t wait for the girl to finish. She opened the d
oor and both she and Domino walked in, each with a child and guns drawn.

  Qadir, seated behind his desk, glared at them. “What is this?” he asked in Farsi.

  “What, you don’t like our fashion sense?” Allegro replied in English. “I think these sacks are pretty fetching.”

  “This is the deal,” Domino said. “You give us what we need to access the computer and deactivate the missiles and we give you your daughters back…alive.”

  Qadir got to his feet. “I don’t know anything about missiles.”

  “Now is not the time to go into denial, prick.” The child in her arms started fidgeting, and Allegro tightened her hold.

  Qadir smiled. “Such a decline. A country that has its women fighting a man’s war when they should be at home with their children. They must be desperate.”

  “Not as desperate as you’re about to get. Now, unless you want me to put one right here,” she pointed her gun at the girl’s head, “like I did with your guy in Amsterdam, I suggest you stop stalling and give me what I want.”

  The smile froze on Qadir’s face as the girl started to cry. “Daddy, help.”

  “Get that away from her!” he shouted.

  “Qadir, what’s going on?” a female voice behind them called out, and a few seconds later, a young woman walked in. She wore no veil, so Allegro knew it was the minister’s wife.

  Domino was closest to the door. She had her gun pointed at the woman’s head the moment she walked in. The woman screamed. “Go and sit in the chair,” Domino ordered, gesturing with her gun to the chair nearest Qadir.

  The woman complied, her eyes wide with fright as she took in the scene before her. Both children were crying. “Qadir, what’s going on?”

  “Stay out of this,” he said.

  “Your husband is responsible for funding and helping al-Qaeda plan a terrorist attack against Europe. We are here to stop him,” Domino told her.

  “What is she talking about?” the woman asked.