by Brad Taylor
Catholicism for Dummies.
He said, “What on earth is that?”
The other two men focused on it, their brows furrowed in confusion.
Omar shoved the book back into his bag and said, “Knowing the enemy. Nothing more.”
He stood, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He saw their faces and said, “My business is none of your concern. That ends with protecting my meeting. The same way I protected your lives in Georgia.”
32
I jammed the barrel of my Glock in Hussein’s face, seeing his mouth open in surprise, then clench into a grimace of pain as Shoshana torqued his arm behind his back. She swiped his legs from under him and slammed him face-first into the pavement, then cinched his arms together with plastic flex ties and put a knee into his back, leaning forward and using her weight.
She looked up at me expectantly. I have to admit, I was impressed. I’d told her that she had the responsibility for the takedown, but it was only to put her on edge for her slights against me earlier. Give her a little worry about screwing up. I figured I’d be doing the slam dance either way, and was looking forward to it, but I hadn’t even gotten the chance before she sprang into action.
I glanced down the far end of the alley, seeing Retro and Brett with eyes out toward the street, pistols held low, but ready. Brett gave me a thumbs-up and I leaned down into Hussein’s ear and said, “Welcome home, shithead.”
I yanked him to his feet, expecting to see fear and waiting on him to try to fight, giving me the authority to lump him up some before turning him over to the support team. Instead, I saw wonderment.
“You’re American!”
It wasn’t a question. I grabbed his flex ties, whirled him around toward our waiting van, and said, “What nationality I am is of no concern to you, I promise. What I’m going to do to you, if you resist, is a whole different world you should be worried about.”
I began driving him forward, causing him to stumble in the debris of the alley. I kept him up by forcefully hoisting his arms in the air. He yelped and said, “No, no, I mean, I was trying to find you. Trying to make contact!”
We reached the van and I shoved him through the door, saying, “Shut the fuck up, you murdering little toad.”
He sank into a ball, tucking his head into his chest. I leapt into the back, Shoshana following and closing the door. I put my knee into his chest and said into my earpiece, “Hipster secure. Meet us on our street, away from the target building. You lead to the support team. Any trouble, you provide blocker and deal with it.”
I heard Knuckles say, “Roger all. Moving.”
I looked at Jennifer. “Dope him.”
Aaron put the van in drive and we began rolling. Jennifer withdrew a syringe, flicking the air bubbles out of it like a doctor on TV. Hussein saw the move and began to squirm. He said, “Wait, wait. Don’t drug me. I have to talk to you. I have to tell you what’s going on. They’re going to kill my father. Please, you have to stop them.”
I leaned into him and put my thumb against the base of his ear, smashing a tangle of nerves for compliance. His jaw snapped wide in silent pain and his eyes rolled back. I looked at Jennifer and said, “Hit him.”
She leaned forward and he rasped, “Attack. They’re going to attack.”
I pulled my thumb back and waved Jennifer off. She sat on her heels, expectantly holding the needle. I said, “What was that?”
From the front, Aaron said, “Got the lead van. Five minutes out.”
Breathing heavily, sweat rolling off of his head, Hussein said, “The Islamic State. The ones you sent me against. They’re here. They’re going to attack tomorrow, and they expect me to help.”
I said, “That’s great. You can tell us all about it under interrogation.”
I nodded to Jennifer and he screeched, “No, no! They expect me to show up right now. If I don’t, they’ll know something’s wrong. They’ll think I double-crossed them. There’s no telling what they’ll do then. My information will be useless.”
He sagged and said, “They’ll kill my father.”
I leaned back at the words, knowing if I chose to believe them, I was taking a detour off the reservation, where I would be forced to disobey the orders I’d been given. A choice I didn’t want to make, given my past history. And past punishment. I looked at Jennifer for an answer. She slowly shook her head, telling me she couldn’t parse the truth. I turned to Shoshana and raised an eyebrow, letting her know I wanted her opinion. Her instinct.
Her eyes narrowed, understanding that what she said was going to change the entire course of the operation, but not believing that I trusted her. Not believing I would want the answer she gave. I bored right back. She turned away and studied Hussein. He flopped his head back and forth between us, wondering what the hell was going on. She raised her head and locked eyes with me.
And nodded.
Still watching her, I keyed my radio. “Knuckles, Knuckles, pull over, we’re going back. Stage at the back side of the alley, where I plucked the target.”
Shoshana gave me a grim smile and I heard, “What the hell are you talking about? Did you drop your weapon?”
I said, “No time to talk. I need to coordinate with Showboat, and he’s not going to be happy.”
33
What the fuck do you mean you’re going back? You have Jackpot. Mission success. We’re not deployed here to do exploratory surgery. No Alpha mission. We have Omega for Hussein, and you’ve achieved that. Get your ass back here with the precious cargo.”
Blaine Alexander was yelling so loud into the microphone it caused me to flinch. I said, “Sir, listen to me. I’m not making this up. Remember all the chatter about an Islamic State external operation? Remember that? I think it’s here, and we’re in the middle of it. Right now. Hussein says the target is the Grand Hyatt hotel. A Mumbai-style attack where they run around killing the hell out of everything that moves.”
In 2008 a Pakistani terrorist group called Lashkar-e-Taiba had invaded Mumbai, India, and set about slaughtering civilians in shooting attacks lasting four days in multiple hotels.
“Pike, I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want a repeat of Ireland. Just get the PC back here. That’s what we get paid for. We get a mission, we accomplish the mission. If there’s something here, we’ll interrogate, then deal with it after the appropriate consultation with higher.”
I gritted my teeth. “Sir, we get paid to protect lives. Period. Let me flesh this out. Hussein is just the entry guy. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re going to do. Hell, they might have already planted bombs inside. We need to find that out, and he’s no help. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing. I still have PC, but he’s going to be worthless in an hour. They’ll consider him compromised. We don’t have time for a sit-down interrogation.”
I heard nothing, but, having seen it many times before, I knew what was happening. Blaine was running his hands through his thick hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. Finally, he came back on.
“So you can maintain control of PC and still get the information?”
Now I paused, trying to coax an appropriate answer. I glanced back into the van, seeing Knuckles and Jennifer rigging up a scared Hussein with an audio microphone that would transmit to our van.
“Yes. I’ll have enough coercive control to guarantee physical rendition.”
“What does that mean?”
I blew the air out of my cheeks and said, “Sir, I have to let him go back into the apartment, but I’m telling you, he’s on our side now. He’s worried about his father, and seems to be in over his head. He wants to resolve this as much as we do. He’s not going to run.”
He only heard one thing. “You’re going to let him out of your control?”
“Yes. I have to. I have to. Sir, come on. You mentioned Ireland, but you forget the end state of that operation. We saved everyone. Everyone. Because of your call. Do the same thing here.”
Which was a little bit of a stretc
h, but not much. He’d made a hard call that had saved the husband of the governor of Texas, but then had balked at saving the one hostage that mattered to me. I’d had to take matters into my own hands then, and I didn’t want to here. The personal stakes then had been much higher, and if he told me to back off here, I would. People might die, but they would be faceless strangers.
The thought came unbidden to my mind, and I was a little shocked at it. I never would have considered walking away from a threat like this in the past, and wondered if I wasn’t becoming part of the bureaucracy. Or maybe I’d been slapped down enough times that I was afraid of the repercussions, like a puppy spanked for something it doesn’t understand.
Crusty old warriors in the Army tell a story that there are plenty of soldiers who would jump on a grenade in a valiant act of heroism in battle, but very few who would sacrifice their careers for what they knew was right. And I was disturbed to learn I was now falling out of that very few.
Take away what a man values most, and he’ll heel. They’d taken my ability to operate within the Taskforce once before, and it had scared me to the core of my being. I didn’t like the thought, but I knew I’d comply. My actions in Nigeria had been pushing the edge, but I’d had the authority and known I could spin the results, no matter the outcome. Here, I’d be disobeying a direct order.
Blaine said, “How sure are you of the information? How do you know he’s not stringing you for release?”
I looked at Shoshana, wanting to believe, because I wasn’t sure at all. She caught my eye and knew the stakes in play. She’d heard my end of the conversation. She studied me for a moment, then nodded her head again. Telling me she knew it was true. And, after what I’d seen from her in the past, I believed it.
“Sir, I have a trained interrogator here who says it’s accurate.”
“Trained interrogator? Who?”
Shit. I’d failed to mention the Mossad participation in our mission planning earlier, knowing he’d blow a gasket. Of course, I’d duly reported the busted surveillance and the presence of the ex-Samson team, but only as it pertained to that specific mission. I’d conveniently left out that I was going to use them today, figuring I could cover it with them chasing their target and me chasing mine, whereupon we had to deconflict the battle space and coordinate for operational reasons. Nothing official. They just happened to be here.
It seems contradictory, since I was unwilling to continue without official Taskforce sanction from Blaine, but I’ve always had a healthy talent for stretching the orders I’m given. Before, that extended to outright disobedience if I deemed it necessary, but no longer. I wondered if that trait would continue shrinking like a balloon letting out air, until I was nothing more than a robot rigidly executing actions dictated by a plan that no longer applied.
I fumbled for a bit, grasping for an answer, and Showboat put two and two together. He knew Shoshana’s skills, and he’d always been smart. We’d just done too many operations together. He said, “Are the Israelis with you? Is that who’s doing the interrogating? Shoshana?”
I’d wanted to control the release of that information, but the cat was out of the bag now. I said, “Sir . . . al-Britani is their target. I’m not using them. . . . More like an intersection of events.”
I heard nothing for a moment, but saw Shoshana grinning from ear to ear. I scowled at her, and she puckered her lips in an air kiss, which didn’t help.
I heard, “Okay, Pike. We’ll deal with your little subterfuge later. What’s your course of action? How is letting him out going to do anything?”
Whew. “All I’m trying to do at this stage is keep their plan in motion. Apparently the ringleader is staying with him. Keeping him in check. Hussein’s not fully trusted and doesn’t even know where the rest of the terrorists are located. First call is to just get him home on time. From there, Hussein will learn what he can, then meet us at a predetermined location. We’ll get a debrief and go from there.”
I heard silence on the line for a moment, then, “He’s meeting the ringleader?”
“Yes. That’s the guy who doesn’t trust him.”
“Can he get him to dinner or something? Do they eat out?”
His words sank in and my first thought was, Holy Shit. He can’t be serious. The adrenaline started to rise as my mind began creating a plan of its own volition. But before jumping that hurdle, I needed to make sure we were thinking the same thing.
“Sir, we have no Omega for a second takedown.”
“If what you say is true, this falls into in-extremis authority. I have the ability to make the call. Do you have the ability to execute?”
“Yes, yes. I can execute. Same template. Same location. We’ll just stage exactly like we did. If he can’t get him down, then we’ll follow through with what I said earlier. Get Jordanian liaison involved through CIA after a debrief. Let them clean up the mess.”
I got another moment of silence and slammed my fist into my thigh, wishing I hadn’t said those words. Jennifer gave me a quizzical look and I just shook my head at her, but I knew what was going to come out of Blaine’s mouth next.
And sure enough, it did. “Maybe we should just do that anyway. Go with your plan. I’ll go through the Taskforce to get the CIA operational, they can talk to the Jords, and we let them handle the assault. We go away with our guy, they get theirs.”
“Sir, no, no. Way too many links in the chain. Getting them on alert with extra security for the Grand Hyatt is one thing, but spurring them into conducting a tactical hit is something else entirely. They’ll never action the target without the corresponding credible intelligence, and we don’t have it without giving them Hussein, which is the damn reason I’m here in the first place. To keep them from knowing about Hussein.”
And Shoshana will kill me if I let her target escape into the hands of the Jordanians. Of course, I left that unsaid.
I could almost hear the hair being pulled out by the roots three miles away. I heard, “Okay, Pike. My call. Let Hussein go inside, and I’ll start prepping the battlefield for the fallout. I’ll start working the liaison services, get them oriented on the hotel. You snag the leader and we’ll have the intelligence that we can provide the Jords, but we’re going to let them handle the attack. You fucking bring me Hipster. You got that?”
I said, “Roger all, sir. Thanks.”
34
Hussein felt the transmitter in the small of his back like a hot coal. Something he desperately wanted to rip out and throw away. The line to the miniature microphone traced under his arm, and he felt it against his skin, rubbing back and forth as he walked, making him wonder if it could be seen through his shirt. Reminding him at every step of what would happen if it was discovered.
He saw the end of the alley, feeling a cold drip of sweat run down his back. He wasn’t cut out for this. He should have told the CIA from the beginning that he could never do something like this. Even as a child, he was the one who always crumbled.
Only one short year ago, Devon had made a fake ID for him, Jacob having said he looked the oldest because of his wispy mustache. Jacob had sent him into a store to buy beer, and Hussein had walked woodenly through the door, mumbling all of the data on the ID over and over to set it in his mind. At the counter, with the cashier staring intently first at him, then the false driver’s license, he’d panicked. When the man had asked for his address, he’d raced out of the store, leaving the beer and the ID behind.
Jacob had laughed about it, but Hussein knew his weakness. And this time he wasn’t buying alcohol. There would be no door to race out of.
Remember your father. This is the way out.
Hussein had never been religious, and in fact hadn’t ever once prayed as far as he could remember, but he was convinced getting jerked into the back of that van was a message. Divine intervention from Allah, or Yahweh, or something else. Walking stoically down the alley, he prayed for the first time. To a God belonging to no religion. Or all religions. He didn’t car
e, as long as his prayer was heard.
He exited the alley, glanced furtively left and right, begging for a vehicle to allow him one more second of delay. The street was empty. He started to cross and heard his name shouted. He looked up and saw Ringo leaning on the concrete balcony outside their little apartment.
“We good?”
Hussein nodded, and Ringo said, “Come on up. I want to see.”
Ringo disappeared inside, and Hussein jogged across the street, just one more young man in a sea of them on the east bank of Amman.
Hussein took the stairs one at a time, almost stutter-stepping, with each leg stopping on an individual step. He reached the apartment and knocked, then remembered he lived there. He put his hand on the knob and the door was yanked open, Ringo standing inside.
“Well? Did you get the access badge?”
Hussein dug through his knapsack and pulled it out. A long lanyard with a plastic card at the end, it was electronically mated to a receiver in the door of the kitchen. Ringo snatched the badge out of his hand, saying, “Perfect.” He studied it, then said, “You don’t take good driver’s license photos, do you? You look like you’re going to throw up in this one.”
Hussein smiled weakly and said, “They don’t care what you look like. Only that you match the picture.”
Ringo tossed the badge onto their small table and moved into the kitchen, pulling out a microwave snack from the cabinet. Hussein saw what he was about to do and began to panic, just as he had in the grocery store a year ago.
“Ringo, I thought we’d go out to eat tonight. One last meal. Back to that place we ate at last night.”
Ringo popped the microwave dish into the oven and said, “You thought wrong. The last thing we need to do tonight is be on the street.” He waved a spoon and said, “With your luck, we’ll get arrested for jaywalking.”
Hussein stuttered, his mind spinning for an excuse to leave the building. He spit out, “I found something you should see. At the hotel. We can eat at the restaurant on the way.”
