The Shadow List

by Todd Moss

  Babatunde bowed his head. “I’ve been so fortunate. I will never forget that Marine guard. And I will never forget the streets of Lagos where I come from. Where my career and good fortune all began. And I cannot also forget all the other children of Lagos who were not so lucky. Big is good, but small is good, too.”

  Babatunde took a deep breath and raised his head, opening his arms to his full wingspan. “So I am very pleased today to announce that the Tunde Babatunde Foundation will tomorrow break ground in Lagos on the Babatunde Hospital for Children.”

  Clapping erupted from the crowd. The Secretary of State handed Tunde a shovel with the State Department logo on the blade. He held it high over his head, igniting another round of cheers. He held the Secretary’s hand in triumph and they posed for the cameras before the Secretary was pulled away, back into the building.

  Once the formal presentation was over and the crowd broke apart, Judd beelined for his target.

  “Ma’am, I’m Judd Ryker.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” said the older woman in the black dress and head scarf. “It is a wonderful day for Nigeria. We are so proud.”

  “I’m with the Crisis Reaction Unit here at State,” Judd said.

  “I am Ambassador Katsina. From the Federal Republic of Nigeria,” she said, handing him a card, but not making direct eye contact.

  “I know you don’t have much time, Madam Ambassador. We’re working on a special project to combat international fraud that may be of interest to your country,” Judd explained as he fished his own business card out of his wallet.

  “Those 419 Yahooze Boys were a terrible nuisance.” The ambassador clicked her tongue. “But we have dealt with them harshly. You know about the sweep last year? Our federal police. With your FBI.”

  “Yes, Madam Ambassador, I know your government has cracked down on con artists. But there are some new cases that we’re looking into. I’m wondering if your embassy is seeing a resurgence in fraud activity.”

  “No matter how hard we try, there will always be bad apples,” she tsked. “A few bad people ruin our nation’s image.”

  “I’d like to come over to the embassy to talk with your justice ministry liaison. To find out more about these new cases and get any data that you may have.”

  “I’m sorry, Babatunde is leaving now for Lagos,” she said as she backed away. “I must escort him to the airport. Please excuse me.”

  “Ambassador Katsina, can I call your office to talk more about 419?”

  “It is a terrible problem and we are trying our best, yes. But there is nothing more I can do.”

  11

  CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  TUESDAY, 9:32 A.M. EST

  Where are you with the Bear?” the Deputy Director demanded, swiveling in the chair behind his desk on the seventh floor of the CIA’s old headquarters building.

  “Purple Cell is on it,” Jessica Ryker replied. “I’ve got all my people turning over rocks. The pieces are starting to come in. It’s still early, but we’ll get a line on him. One of my team has identified a pattern of attacks in the oil sector that could give us a new way to predict the Bear’s next move. He’s working on an algorithm as we speak. Once I have—”

  “No, no, no, sweet Jesus, no,” said the Deputy Director, waving Jessica’s answer away. “New direction. Your computer hacker isn’t going to find the Bear. And enough of this sneaking around, hunting for clues like Sherlock Holmes. This isn’t an investigation. It’s an intelligence operation. Old-school, with a twist. Time to go straight to the source.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “It’s time for you to meet the Bear.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, folding her arms. I don’t like where this is going, she thought. “Purple Cell just started on the Bear yesterday. I’m throwing lines into the water. I don’t even know where he is yet.”

  “That’s correct, Jessica. You don’t understand,” he said, deadpan. “I’ve been working an operation against the Bear for years. Now I’m close.”

  “You’re close?” she snapped. “Then why did you have me starting fresh? I just pulled some of my best people off—”

  “Enough,” he held up his palm. “You know how this works, Jessica.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “May I continue?”

  “Yes, sir,” she conceded, but inside she was steaming.

  “The Bear prefers to use outside contract hit men to take out his rivals. That has been one of his protective tactics, but it’s also a weakness we’ve been trying to exploit. After years of hard work and lots of failures, we are finally close.”

  “You’ve got a man inside the Bear’s operation?”

  “Not exactly. And not a man. We persuaded one of his key lieutenants to hire an assassin code-named QUEEN SHEBA, who is really one of ours. Over the past six months, we’ve made sure that each hit goes smoothly, and thus the Bear keeps coming back to Queen Sheba.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand, sir,” she said. “Are you telling me the Agency is assassinating the Bear’s competitors in order to get close to him?”

  “In a way. Not only are we getting one of our people closer to the Bear’s inner circle but he’s inadvertently handing us his priority hit list. Queen Sheba is giving us a window directly inside his operation. We can see exactly where he’s headed next. We haven’t yet figured out why.”

  Jessica took a step back from the Deputy Director. “Do you have a presidential finding for this operation?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said with a scowl. “We don’t need White House authorization because we’re not whacking anyone. I can’t tell you details, but we’ve staged a series of hits to convince the Bear that Queen Sheba is for real.”

  “Decoy kills.”

  “You could call it that.”

  “I thought the Agency halted decoy kills after the congressional inquiry.”

  “Correct.”

  “They were too risky. People got hurt. Things got out of control.”

  “Yes, I remember. I was there,” the Deputy Director said impatiently.

  “But you just said you’re doing decoy kills again?”

  “No I didn’t. You did.”

  “If you’re faking assassinations, that means you need forged proof of death, black-site safe houses, new identities, the whole show. I don’t understand how they’re not decoy kills.”

  “You don’t need to understand, Jessica. You only need to know that we’re running an operation to show the Bear that Queen Sheba is the most efficient contract killer he’s ever seen. We’ve made sure of that.”

  Jessica let that sink in. “You’re running decoy kills so your operative gets the most important assignments,” she said.

  “That’s it,” he said.

  “So you know the Bear’s top targets.”

  “Now you’ve got it. I thought you’d be faster than that.” He snapped his fingers. “But I knew you’d come around.”

  “So, why did you have Purple Cell chasing this guy?”

  “I wanted you up to speed on the Bear because I knew sooner or later this operation would come to a head and that I’d need you.”

  “Me?”

  “And that moment is now. The Bear wants to meet Queen Sheba.”

  Jessica narrowed her eyes.

  “You are Queen Sheba.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re going to meet the Bear. In St. Petersburg. You leave tonight.”

  “If you need someone to take the Bear out, get White House approval, task Purple Cell, and I’ll make it happen. But I’ll do it my way. I’ve got one of my best operatives in Moscow right now. Give me the green light and I can have her in St. Petersburg by nightfall. Give me the meet location and she can—”

  “N
o, no, Jessica,” the Deputy Director interrupted. “It has to be you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Queen Sheba is an ethnic Somali operating out of Djibouti. I need a light-skinned black female operative just about your size who speaks Arabic, Portuguese, and Russian.”

  “How convenient,” Jessica said through gritted teeth.

  The Deputy Director grinned.

  “You built a fictional assassin for hire from scratch,” she said. “You could have created any profile you wanted. A blond Norwegian. A Pakistani woman with a British accent. Anything. But you chose a specific profile that could only have been . . . me?”

  “We needed Queen Sheba to stand out in order to make her credible with the Bear. She had to be something special.”

  “I don’t buy it, sir.”

  “The Bear needed the best. Just like I need the best. The Bear needed you. And I needed you. That’s why her profile matches you. That’s why you are running Purple Cell in the goddamn first place. And that’s why, Jessica, you are Queen Sheba.”

  “Who do the Bear’s people think they’ve been meeting?”

  “No one in his organization has ever physically met her. Not yet. They’ve been communicating entirely through encrypted electronics. Technically, that means Queen Sheba is a former Army Ranger computer whiz from Oklahoma who is, at this moment, working nine floors down in a secure room. We can’t send him. It has to be you.”

  “You want me to go to St. Petersburg, meet the Bear, and eliminate him?”

  “Negative,” he said. “Do not eliminate the Bear. Your immediate task is to convince him that Queen Sheba is for real. We believe he’s on the verge of a major new expansion and we want to know what that is. Is his next move into heavy arms? Biological weapons? Uranium? Is he only interested in business or is he plugged into the Kremlin? We need you to go see him to get your next assignment. That’s it. You get the target and pass it to me. We’ll handle the rest.”

  “My whole mission is to acquire Queen Sheba’s next target?”

  “That’s it,” he said.

  “Get the target, then . . . come home?”

  “In and out.”

  “Why does the Bear want to see me now? Why would he take the risk?”

  “We don’t know for sure.”

  “What aren’t you telling me, sir?”

  “The last operation didn’t go exactly to plan. The target was a Chinese tycoon based in the Philippines and things got a little messy.”

  “So you’re sending me into a trap.”

  “No. It’s all under control. The problem in Manila has been taken care of. All you have to do is go to St. Petersburg and convince the Bear that you’re authentic. You’ve just got to con him. He has to believe beyond any doubt that you are Queen Sheba.”

  “And how do you suggest I do that?”

  “You have to believe that you are Queen Sheba.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Here’s the dossier.” He held up a thumb drive. “Everything you need to know is in here. Queen Sheba’s backstory, details on all the hits, anything that he might ask you. Read it, memorize it, then fry it.”

  Jessica nodded.

  “And you’ll need this,” he said, handing her a small blue velvet box.

  “A ring?” Jessica asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  12

  U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  TUESDAY, 9:48 A.M. EST

  Judd sifted through the tall stack of fraud reports received by the U.S. embassy in London. American citizens abroad had fallen for just about every trick on the planet: real estate swindles, counterfeit currency, identity theft, fake insurance rackets, bogus investments, and elaborate Ponzi schemes. A thick file detailed the sad victims of dating and marriage scams. Another file documented the dozens of young American citizens who got stuck in London after spending all their money chasing false promises of a West End acting career. People will fall for anything.

  The fattest file from the embassy, however, was for advance fee fraud. People just couldn’t help themselves when offered the chance at a big payout in exchange for a seemingly modest up-front fee. Judd found a recent consular report about $22,000 sent by a retiree in Buffalo, New York, to an account in East London that was supposed to unlock $40 million in unclaimed lottery winnings. Another complaint was filed by a dentist in Orlando who wired $15,000 as a down payment for half of an unpaid $70 million legal judgment against the Queen of England. Who could believe this stuff?

  The Jason Saunders case was not too different. Landon Parker had sent down a copy of the original letter that Saunders’ company, Holden Harriman Quinn, had received. Fortunately, the hedge fund scanned all incoming mail as part of its compliance and security procedures.

  The outlines of the case were pretty simple. The approach was an offer from a fictitious firm called Global Allied Financial to help manage a $2 billion account comprised of assets allegedly recovered by an international court from Syria’s ruling family. The lure was a four percent annual management fee, unusually high, but supposedly endorsed by the Bank of England. The hook was a face-to-face meeting in Canary Wharf. That was where Jason Saunders had supposedly disappeared. The airline records showed he had landed at Heathrow on a British Airways flight from JFK four days earlier. That was the last anyone heard of him.

  If the basic facts were clear, the case left many unanswered questions. Why would an associate of a well-known New York financial firm travel all the way to London for a deal with an unknown company that was obviously too good to be true? Judd deduced there was probably a pretty good answer to this one: $80 million a year.

  But what motivated the scammers? Why would anyone lure a low-level hedge fund employee from New York all the way to London to just kidnap or kill him? What was the payout? Was that the plan or did something go wrong at Canary Wharf? Were they specifically targeting Saunders, or HHQ, or was it just random? Was Saunders just unlucky or was he caught up in something larger? Was HHQ?

  The security office at One Canada Square reported that the lobby’s closed-circuit cameras weren’t operational that day and the visitor log was lost. They claimed some software glitch shut down the system. It was suspicious yet plausible. But it meant that there was no record of whether Saunders had ever arrived at the meeting or not.

  London Metropolitan Police hadn’t recovered a body, either, and there were no reports of any John Does matching his description at any London hospital. So, where was Jason Saunders?

  And the biggest question of all that nagged Judd, which he couldn’t yet answer: Why was S/CRU given such a case?

  “Dr. Ryker is unavailable,” Judd could hear Serena insist in the outer lobby.

  “Oh, I don’t think so” came the brash reply of a familiar voice.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t just walk in there,” Serena shouted. “If you’d like to leave a message . . .”

  “You tell Dr. Ryker that it’s me and I’m here to see him now.”

  “He’s in the middle of an important—hey, you can’t go in there!’

  “Judd, darling!” said the voice as his office door was flung open.

  “Hello, Mariana,” he said, looking up from his papers to see Mariana Leibowitz, five foot two inches and 106 pounds of well-toned twisted steel in an immaculate Versace pantsuit.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Ryker,” Serena apologized, scurrying to put herself between the intruder and her boss. “I’ve called Diplomatic Security.”

  “It’s okay, Serena,” Judd said. “I’ll see Ms. Leibowitz now.”

  “Of course you will, darling,” Mariana announced with a smile as she straightened her jacket. The super-lobbyist was in her late forties but still knew how to leverage her charm and beauty inside the hallways of Washington, D.C.

  “Security can stand down, Seren
a. Apologize for me,” Judd said. “Again.”

  “I’ll be at my desk if you need anything, Dr. Ryker,” Serena said with a scowl before shutting the door behind her.

  “She’s very good,” Mariana said.

  “Yes, she is,” Judd replied.

  “But she clearly hates me.”

  “Serena is just doing her job.”

  “Maybe I should hire her.”

  “You can’t keep busting in here, Mariana. Why can’t you make an appointment like everyone else?”

  “I don’t make appointments, Judd dear. That would ruin all the fun.”

  “This is fun?”

  “Do you think I’d be where I am today if I made appointments?”

  Judd blinked.

  “Do you think my clients expect me to just—good God, no—wait in line?”

  “I don’t know, Mariana,” Judd said. “Why are you here?”

  “Haven’t you learned anything from working with me yet?”

  Judd couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or if this was part of the setup. “I see you’re back from Zimbabwe,” Judd offered.

  “President Mutonga is well on her way. Gugu doesn’t need me anymore. At least not until she runs for reelection. Don’t you worry, I’ll let you know when the time comes.”

  “So you’re here today because you’re now working for . . . ?”

  “Judd, I was just delighted that I could help you out in Florida. You know, when you called me all the way in Africa when I was crashing with Gugu in the very first days of her administration. When I took your call and time out from what I was doing just to get you into that little party. Miami, was it?”

  “Las Olas.”

  “Oh, right. Las Olas. I’m sure it was a lovely party. And I was very happy to do that favor for you.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mariana,” Judd said. “I owe you a big one.” Judd was genuinely grateful. He just could never tell Mariana how crucial getting Jessica into the political fund-raiser had been to unraveling the entire Cuba puzzle.