The Insider Threat

by Brad Taylor

  He said, “Shit. I need to get to Kurt on that. I can’t do an in-extremis without lives at stake. Keep eyes on.” He did a calculation in his head and said, “It’s lunchtime in DC. I’ll have to track him down.”

  I said, “I’m good with that, but I need a call right now, in case I see indications he’s leaving. I need to know my authorities. Something happened in that park, and it was important. I have no idea what it was, but Rashid does.”

  “Pike, you said he went into some dive apartment complex. You don’t even have a room. You couldn’t hit if you wanted to. Let me contact higher. Get some sanction.”

  What he said was true, with the exception of one thing. I said, “Sir, Aaron got a Dragontooth on him. I can find his room. The sun’s going down right now. It’ll be dark in thirty minutes. All I need is assault authority. I can do it. I have the team closing now.”

  “How will you exfil?”

  “With my vehicle. It’s a minivan. It’s got windows, but I can keep him low. I can get him out.”

  He said, “Okay, okay. Build an assault plan, but you have no execute authority. After Nairobi, I need some backup. I can’t go crazy just yet.”

  61

  I knew where Blaine was coming from, and I appreciated the support. I said, “Roger all, but Rashid’s going to flee, and sooner rather than later. Once he’s on the pavement, he’s in the wind. Tell them that. Let them know the urgency. We can do it clean right now. Later, it gets much, much messier.”

  I saw Brett and Jennifer walking up the street and heard, “I got it, I got it. I’m working it.”

  They reached me and I said, “We need to find a staging area for the van. That’s you, Brett. Jennifer, I want you to penetrate the apartment. Get up the stairs and use the Dragontooth. Find the apartment he’s in. Nothing fancy. Just get in and walk, then get out. Pay attention to atmospherics. Let me know where the stairs go and what we’ll encounter if we try to drag a body out of there.”

  They both nodded, no questions, Brett surveying the street and Jennifer looking at the door next to the pharmacy. I said, “Where’s Knuckles?”

  Brett said, “He’s coming. Right behind us. Aaron was controlling Shoshana, and he can’t get her on the phone. Knuckles went with him to sort it out.”

  I took that in, not really worried. Shoshana could take care of herself better than about 99.9 percent of the human population. I clicked my earpiece, saying, “Retro, Retro, you got the van?”

  “Got it. Headed your way. You got a place for me to stage?”

  “Not yet. Circle the block. Blood’s on it.” I nodded at him, and he disappeared, walking toward an alley next to the building.

  I looked at Jennifer and said, “Time to go.”

  She said, “What’s up with Shoshana? All she was doing was locking down the eastern exit. She wasn’t even near the gunfight.”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not a worry. She’s not tied into our commo structure. For all we know, her battery is dead in her cell phone. You were a lot closer, and you didn’t get in the fight. She’s fine.”

  She looked at me and I saw something in her eyes. I said, “What?”

  She glanced away, making sure Brett hadn’t come back, and said, “I killed a man. One of the guys running with a pistol. I have no idea who he was. I heard the call you gave to Brett, saw the kid get hit, and went into autopilot. He stood up right in front of me. He had a gun out. . . .”

  She was looking for absolution. She said, “What if he was a cop? What if they have security in the park? I just pulled the trigger. I didn’t even think about it.”

  She was staring into me, not unlike Shoshana herself, reading me. Wanting to know if what she had done in the name of the United States was correct.

  I said, “If he was there with a weapon, he was bad. You did the right thing. You can make up stories in your mind forever, second-guessing, but they don’t have undercover police in that park.”

  I saw doubt and said, “Did he shout anything? Did he say, ‘Police!’ or anything? Try to mitigate the violence? Try to stop it?”

  She reflected and said, “No, no. Nothing like that. He jumped onstage and started shooting at that other guy. The one that got away.”

  “Then quit fucking thinking about it. Look, I don’t have a single clue what went on there, or why it happened. What I do know is that if you’d let him go on, he probably would’ve killed three or four kids with the wild-ass spraying of rounds. You did good.”

  She nodded and I said, “Get inside the apartment. We’re running out of time.”

  She nodded again, this time more firmly, then turned to go. I grabbed her arm and said, “Sorry about the slight on the gunfight. I didn’t know you were in it, but I’m glad you were.”

  She said, “Shoshana would’ve been better.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. She would never question. Which is why you’re on my team.”

  She showed a flicker of a smile, then broke away, jogging across the street.

  I watched her go, then Retro came on. “I’m coming back your way. Where do I park?”

  I called Brett. “Blood, Blood, what do you have?”

  He said, “Bring him right into the alley. The one you saw me go down. It’s deserted. I’ve been to the end and back. There’s one drunk homeless guy, but he’s passed out. Stage in the entrance. I’m there now.”

  Which was perfect, because it was right next to the pharmacy and the door to the apartment. I jogged across the street to meet him, saying, “Nothing back there?”

  “Nope. Some doors, but it’s dead. Stinks like shit.”

  My phone rang, and it was Blaine. I said, “Tell me you got somewhere.”

  He said, “Okay, you got Omega, with some caveats.”

  I thought, Of course.

  “You can assault tonight, but only if you determine you can exfil successfully.”

  I said, “That’s it?”

  I could almost hear the grin. “Yep. I know that’s stupid. Kurt was pretty pleased.”

  Both Kurt and Blaine knew that I would never assault for a capture if I couldn’t get out clean. But apparently the Oversight Council thought they’d better make that clear. Just like every level of command I’d ever had. Making statements of the obvious.

  I said, “Okay, then. Get the support package ready. We’re coming home with Jackpot.”

  He said, “WILCO. Nothing stupid, right?”

  I said, “Not tonight. It’s a good situation. I promise. Gotta go. My support team just showed up.”

  Retro pulled the van in, did a three-point turn until the nose was facing the street. He exited and said, “What’s the story?”

  “We’re taking him tonight. Get the long guns ready. Jennifer’s going—”

  I was cut off by a call from Knuckles. “Pike, Pike, we’re out of the park. We’re in the Block but this phone isn’t tight enough for a location. I got you on the street, but I got a fifty-meter gap with the circle. Where are you?”

  The sun had dropped during all the planning, the twilight now bathed in a glow of sporadic neon signs. I said, “You see the traffic circle?”

  “Yeah. Just to my right.”

  I strained my eyes, the circle about seventy meters away. I couldn’t see him with all of the people on the sidewalk, mostly young, the men dressed in black jackets and wearing peculiar half Mohawks, stubble on the side but the hair long on top, and the women wearing skintight jeans. All going to the Block for party time.

  “I’m in front of a pharmacy, on the south side of the street. There’s a sign advertising drugs.”

  He said, “I see you. Be there in two.”

  Jennifer came out on the street. I saw her exit the door, look left, then right, and saunter our way. She said, “I got the apartment. 2A. Just up the stairs. The Dragontooth was booming right inside. You go up, take a right, and it’s the first one. Atmospherics are good. No people that I saw. It’s poor, and probably full of folks who don’t open the door if they hear anythi
ng. There’s a lot of noise from inside his place. He’s packing and throwing things around. He’s running.”

  I said, “All right. Good job. Jennifer, you’re the driver. Stage here. Brett, you’re lead man. Retro, you’re number two. I’ll be third, and Knuckles will take the rear. We enter and dominate. No gunfire. When I say that, I mean it. If he pulls a weapon, you’d better be quicker than him. I do not want him shot. Is that understood?”

  In the gloom of the alley, away from the street, Brett was checking his long gun. Retro pulled a weapon and shined a light on it, seeing a piece of tape that marked it as mine. My brand-new 300 Blackout. He handed it to me. I have to admit, it felt better than a UMP. Reminding me of hundreds of assaults in the past, before the Taskforce. He pulled out his own and said, “Got it. No killing. Unless he’s about to kill me.”

  Knuckles and Aaron arrived, breathless. I said, “Late for the game. He’s here, we have Omega, and we’re going in. Aaron, you’re out here with Jennifer. I want you to lock down the entrance. Knuckles, you got tail-gunner.”

  Knuckles said, “We got a problem.”

  I said, “What?”

  Aaron said, “Shoshana’s missing. We searched for her, but all we found was her cell phone, smashed on the ground.”

  62

  Omar fled the park like a demon was after him, running like a child afraid of the night. He avoided the main entrance and went deeper into the woods, thrashing through creeks and stands of brush until his hands were cut and his clothes torn. He slowed up after twenty minutes, listening. He could hear police sirens in the distance, and assumed they were in reaction to what had happened, but he couldn’t be sure.

  He continued on, the dropping sun making it hard to see his footing. He bumped into the back fence of the Sheraton Hotel and searched for a way out. He thrashed through the brush and heard someone shout on the other side, then ask another if he’d heard the noise. Omar moved higher, back into the woods, continuing east.

  Eventually, he hit a makeshift game trail, one of the many in the park. He followed it and saw that it spilled out east of the soccer field.

  He wedged open the small gap in the fence and dropped from the four-foot concrete wall, now on the street. Now safe.

  He began walking north, uncertain of where he was but sure he could find his way once he hit the city square. He reflected on what he knew. What had happened.

  There were many, many people with guns in that amphitheater. Some were from his contact, of that he was sure. What he was less sure about was whether he’d been wrong in killing them. Not in a moralistic way, but simply in a business way. He’d made the decision, then executed. It wasn’t until he’d left the stairs and seen the myriad of men shooting that he’d had doubts. They weren’t all shooting at him. In fact, they were shooting at one another. He’d seen a black man with a silenced rifle kill at least one, and two others shooting against themselves. Why? What the hell had happened up there?

  He remembered Hussein. The Lost Boy. He wondered if it had something to do with him. Omar had the luggage ticket for the explosives, but even that was in danger. Should he use it, or would he be walking into a trap?

  Omar had spent the better part of his life paranoid, first in Chechnya, then in Georgia, always looking for the traitor, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He wondered if he was being played. Was there a reason for the Islamic State to fight him? Were they the ones doing this? But Adnan had been killed. There was no way they’d kill the emir of Syria for a play. Adnan could have slit his throat on any number of occasions, just by giving the order.

  He thought about that strike, and another chill went down his spine. Had the Lost Boys killed Adnan? Was it really the satellite phone, or had they told the crusaders where to launch the Hellfire?

  But then, why continue on? If they had that capability, why had he lived to cross the border? Maybe it was simply because they were with him. He remembered the other strike against the convoy from the camp. The one where no Lost Boys were riding.

  But that made no sense, in the end. The attack today was pathetic. A bunch of confused gunfire. If the Lost Boys had anything to do with it, why didn’t they just assault the building? Why the strange confusion? It was like nobody on the ground understood what was going on, and all were just shooting because that’s what they knew.

  He quit speculating. The answer would be held with the woman his men had caught. She would tell them. And she would provide the distance he needed, if they brought her home.

  He crossed the fetid canal that split the city, the concrete littered with cans and plastic bags, and checked a street sign for his bearings. He saw Rruga George W. Bush, and shook his head. He hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.

  He pulled out his worn tourist map given to him by Anzor, reading the Cyrillic Anzor had written on the edge detailing directions. He continued on, searching for a street called Toptani. Two blocks later, he found it, and took a left, walking down a pleasant pedestrian thoroughfare with various stops extolling Tirana history. He reached a wall of ancient stone, now grafted onto new edifices, and saw what he was looking for. A cheap hotel called Kalaja, built right into the old walls of a defunct castle. He passed through the archway and warily walked up the steps, avoiding the front desk.

  He saw nothing to alarm him.

  He went down a short, worn hallway and found the door he’d been given. He put his ear to it, hearing nothing beyond.

  He pulled his pistol, keeping it low, and knocked. He heard movement, then the door opened. He recognized Anzor and broke into a smile. “I thought you had been killed.”

  Anzor scowled and said, “No, no. We weren’t killed, but we do want to know what shit you’ve brought us.”

  Omar pushed the door open, saying, “Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

  He walked forward, seeing a cheap room not unlike a hostel. Chipped tile and a seedy shared bathroom connected to the adjacent room, the lights illuminating someone digging through a bag next door. There were two twin beds perpendicular to each other, and a small desk with a computer, but none of those details captured his attention. In the center, tied to a chair, was a woman with a gag in her mouth, one eye black and swollen, the other wide and fearful.

  Anzor said, “We want no part of this. We will not get into an Islamic war. Whatever you’re doing, you do. But we’re done.”

  Omar tossed his backpack on the bed and said, “Then why did you bring her here?”

  Levan, the one who’d spoken out earlier at their first meeting, came from the adjacent room and said, “We did what you asked, but that was before the damn killing at the amphitheater. Two children are dead. Two more wounded. The police will be ripping apart anyone with ties to crime. We are going to get raked because of it.”

  Omar said, “You did right. You have helped the caliphate.”

  Levan said, “Fuck the damn caliphate. I want no part of it. I told you that.”

  The third man, Davit, said, “I got the weapons because you said it was a business transaction. You said it was simple. This wasn’t simple. It was a bloodbath.”

  He stood, facing Omar. “I appreciate our time in combat, and support your cause, but this is too much. While I support you, you do nothing but destroy me.”

  Omar held up his hands and said, “Okay, hear me out. I speak the truth. I had no idea that was going to happen. I thought it would be a simple exchange, but I feared it was something else. That’s why I called you. I truly do not know what happened.”

  Anzor said, “You’re fucking lying. You knew she was hunting you, and she probably has a team with her.”

  “Are you sure she was?”

  “She had a gun. A silenced Glock. She almost killed me with it. If Levan hadn’t been behind her, I’d be dead. She’s quick as a snake, and she’s killed before. I can tell.”

  Omar heard that and paused. This wasn’t the Islamic State. One thing eliminated. He said, “What do you know of her?”

 
“She’s Israeli. As if that is a surprise to you.”

  Israeli? That placed a whole different spin on things. No Lost Boys. No Islamic State. His paranoia kicked in full force, confirming his worst fears. Of course.

  He said, “How do you know? She has an Israeli passport?”

  “No. Her passport is Australian, but she sure as hell isn’t. I spent some time in Gaza. She can deny it, but she reeks of Mossad. We had a checklist we followed whenever we suspected someone, and she’s matching up. Australian passport, silenced pistol with the serial number acid-etched, European labels in her clothes, trained in martial arts. She’s a Jew.”

  “Give me her phone. I want to call her contact. Give him a message. Let them know what will happen if they continue the hunt.”

  Anzor said, “She smashed it in the fight. She got off one round, and I knocked her down. She fought like a demon. She didn’t stop until I got a gun in her face, and even then, she almost caused me to shoot Levan. She knocked it out of the way, and it went off. When it did, she pretended to submit, then smashed her phone.”

  Omar took that in, thinking. He looked at her and said, “Protecting your team. I appreciate that.”

  He walked to her and withdrew the gag. He said, “I want to know what your team knows. I want to know how you found me.”

  She said nothing, lowering her eyes.

  He raised her chin and said, “You have heard of the Islamic State, yes?”

  She simply glared. He said, “Do you know what we did with the Yazidi women? Sold them. Married them off. Raped them. And all they did was make the mistake of living. Do you know what I will do with you? A Jew?”

  She spoke for the first time, and Omar saw the steel. “I have been fucked by better terrorists than you. And I killed them after.”

  In that instant, he knew that fear would never work with her, and he didn’t have the time for pain. He needed relief from the hunt. Soon. He said, “You have a team here. I want them to stop. I have something special planned, and I can’t have them searching for me. Give me the number of your team leader. I wish to talk to him. Man-to-man. You do it, and I’ll make an accommodation that will be favorable to you.”