Vengeance: A Derek Stillwater Novel (Derek Stillwater Thrillers Book 8)

by Mark Terry

  “I do not have to talk to either of you. Leave now.”

  Derek handed Effat a business card that had his title, name and cell phone number on it. “Call me if you hear from Nazif.”

  Effat took the card by his fingertips, his nostrils flaring. “I assure you I have no contact with Nazif.”

  “Well, in case you do.”

  He walked out, Noa behind him. Outside, she said, “You didn’t pressure him enough.”

  Not answering her, Derek said into his microphone, “You guys on it?”

  Irina: I’m on it. There’s a lot of computer activity. Phones are harder from where I am.

  Johnston: I’m in contact with NSA and State back here. NSA’s on both.

  Derek and Noa headed for their truck. Lynn Sholes’ voice burst in his ear. “We’ve got a track on the location of the broadcast. Our embassy people are on their way. Where are you?”

  Noa gave a location.

  Irina: You’re six blocks away.

  “Who is that?” Sholes snapped.

  “My team,” Derek said. “Don’t worry about it. We’re close. We’ll go. We can recon. If we can go in, we will. Otherwise we’ll wait for the team. Make sure they don’t shoot us by accident.”

  Sholes: Do it. We go operational as of now. I’m Eagle One.

  Derek said, “Spear One.”

  Noa said, “Spear Two.”

  Sholes: Proceed. Out.

  Irina: I’ve downloaded a satellite photo of the building.

  “That was fast,” said Derek.

  Irina: Google Earth.

  Derek looked at Noa, who said, “Spear One?”

  “Tip of the spear.”

  “Macho American. Whatever you say.”

  He shrugged. “As long as it can be understood. You ready for this?”

  They were two blocks away. Studying the satellite photo, they saw what looked like a single-story building. From where they were, they saw a labyrinth of buildings and narrow alleys, each more dilapidated than the next.

  In their ear came yet another voice, this time in what Derek suspected was Hebrew. Noa answered and nodded to Derek.

  “My people wanted a sit-rep.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “We’re going to go closer.”

  “Any advice?”

  “Be careful.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without the Mossad’s great advice.”

  They crept into the alley that would lead them to the building. A few people were walking around, one older man in tan robes pushing a cart that seemed to carry reeds. Derek was mystified as to what they were. He studied the man carefully, looking for signs of weapons or a suicide vest, but the man seemed to be just what he looked like—an Egyptian man going about his daily business, whatever that was. Papyrus, maybe?

  Turning the corner, they saw the building they were looking for. It looked abandoned. Studying the satellite image, he said into the mic, “Does it look like there’s a back entrance?”

  Irina: Can’t tell.

  Sholes: Our people are ten minutes out.

  Derek looked at his watch. He had set a timer going since the video. Fifteen minutes until they did something else to Mandalevo

  Looking at Noa, he shot her a question. She nodded.

  “We’re going in.”

  He and Noa edged toward the building, guns drawn. There were two windows on the second floor, but he saw no one at them. His heart raced in his chest, his breathing hard. Sweat rolled down his temples in the heat, his fresh shirt already sticking to his back and ribs.

  Standing on either side of the door, Derek reached out and grasped the knob. It turned. He raised an eyebrow. Noa shrugged.

  He gently pushed it open. Waited.

  Derek indicated with his hands that he was going in low. He held up three fingers.

  Two.

  One.

  Ducking low, he scuttled through the doorway, gun ready.

  Nothing.

  Sniffing, ears straining.

  Noa crept in behind him, resting one hand on his back. He nodded and pointed to a door on the left. She tapped his back.

  He slid up to the door. Noa pressed to the wall on the other side of the door. She reached out and checked the knob. Unlocked.

  Derek nodded. She pushed the door open.

  A blast exploded out of the open door.

  Crouching down, Derek took a peek, dodging back.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s interesting.” A hole about the size of a volleyball had been punched in the wall.

  Holding up a hand for her to wait, he slipped inside the room. “Okay, come on in.”

  Inside the room a shotgun had been rigged to a table with twine that went to the door. Opening the door pulled the trigger.

  On another table were two things.

  An open laptop computer.

  And a bloody eyeball.

  28

  “No one’s here,” Derek said into his microphone.

  “That’s not true,” a familiar voice said.

  Derek slowly approached the laptop computer. On the screen Sheikh Nazif appeared.

  Nazif said, “So, Dr. Derek Stillwater. You survived my trap. Too bad.”

  Derek said, “So you know my name.”

  “I do.”

  “Did your buddy Yusuf Effat tell you?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to die.”

  “Well, sorry, you’re going to have to work harder.”

  “Perhaps I will just ask that you turn yourself over to me in exchange for Mandalevo.”

  “I like him fine, but that’s not going to happen. Besides, you have to prove to me that he’s still alive.”

  “Who is that with you?”

  Noa walked out of the room.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “She’s the Israeli.”

  In his ear, Irina said, “Keep him talking.”

  “I want to speak with Secretary Mandalevo.”

  “What happened to your partner, Doctor? Did he survive your trip out of Syria? He was in very bad shape. What is his name?”

  Derek said, “I need you to prove that Secretary Mandalevo is alive right now or this conversation is over.”

  Suddenly Noa burst back into the room, caught Derek by the shoulder and dragged him toward the door.

  “What the—”

  On the computer screen Nazif snarled something that sounded like, “Kanith!”

  They were through the doorway when the room exploded behind them. Derek and Noa flew through the air and slammed into the far wall. Stunned, Derek stumbled to his feet, his ears ringing, the air filled with smoke and dust. Where was Noa?

  She lay a few feet from him, sprawled beneath a pile of lath and plaster. Pushing the debris away, he checked her pulse. It was strong. She groaned and turned to him. Blood streamed down her face.

  “Let’s go,” he said, helping her to her feet. Pushing their way down the hallway, they stepped out into the white-hot afternoon sunlight as a dozen soldiers in camo and khaki appeared, rifles in hand. They raised their weapons.

  Derek raised his arms. Noa followed suit, a little shakily.

  One of the soldiers said in English, “Stillwater and Shoshan?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s our people,” he said. “Relax.”

  “You’re late,” Derek said. Turning to Noa he took a look at her face. “You okay?”

  She said, “You?”

  “I’ve been better. What made you come get me?”

  “I checked the other rooms. There was Semtex planted in the corners adjacent to the room we were in. They had radio receivers on them.”

  In his ear, Johnston: I’ve got satellite imagery that’s recent. I’ve got four possible vehicle locations.

  “Bring them up,” Derek said.

  “What?” asked the soldier.

  Irina: Derek, are those Egyptian milita
ry?

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  The soldier said, “Who are you talking to?”

  Derek tapped his ear. “I’ve got a team. Who are you people?”

  The soldier who seemed in charge said, “Colonel Nate Brigham, Mobile Security Deployments.” He pointed at four of the others in military camo, three men, one woman. “They’re my team. These others—” He pointed at the remaining three, “are Egyptian Army.” Something in Brigham’s expression made Derek wonder if he either didn’t like these people or didn’t believe they were Egyptian Army.

  Irina: Do not say anything.

  Johnston: What’s the problem?

  Irina: Don’t trust the Egyptians. Konstantin thinks they’re Mukhabarat, but he’s running a check right now. It’s complicated.

  Sholes: I want a sit-rep on this. What’s going on?

  Derek looked at Noa. “Everybody route through Irina. She’s the only voice I want to hear right now.”

  Brigham said, “You wired up?”

  “Yes. Give me two minutes.”

  “Sure.” Brigham was average height, but had very broad shoulders and big hands. There was something about his intensity that seemed bear-like. He spoke in a clipped way that seemed almost British, but clearly wasn’t.

  The Egyptian who seemed in charge said in accented English, “What is the meaning of this? Who are these people?”

  Brigham said, “Major, these two are part of our team, directly under RSO Sholes.”

  The Major was thin, short, with swarthy features, black eyes and black hair. A vicious scar ran from his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. If Brigham was a bear, this guy was a hawk.

  “What happened?”

  Derek looked at Noa. She started talking. To the Major’s credit, he was listening to her, despite her being Israeli and a woman. When she was finished, he said, “So it was a trap.”

  “Apparently,” Derek said. “But I’m not sure what to do next.”

  Irina: Back to the charity.

  Johnston: Sholes, got a line on this Major?

  Derek said, “Too much chatter.”

  Noa said to the Major, “We just came from Al-Muhammadiya. We’re pretty confident the head of it, Yusuf Effat, is involved with this. We also think he informed Nazif we were on our way.”

  One of Brigham’s people came forward with a first aid kit. She was African-American, her face round, her gaze serious. “Let me take a look at those cuts. You’ve got a lot of blood, but hopefully it’s just a cut.”

  Noa nodded and sat down on the ground. The medic, whose tag said Corbett, D., started cleaning Noa’s face. Corbett look at Derek. “You look a little light on your feet, too, Doctor. Can you hear out of your right ear? It’s bleeding.”

  “Not much,” he said, and gratefully sank to the ground.

  The major’s name was Gamal Ezz. He asked questions about the location of the charity. When they provided the information, he sent two of his people to head there. “Arrest Effat if he’s there. Take him to headquarters. We will get to the bottom of this.”

  Derek wondered if they’d ever see Effat alive again. If anyone would see him alive again. Corbett finished cleaning up Noa. She had two lacerations on her forehead that the medic closed with a butterfly bandage, and one on the back of her scalp that Corbett thought might require stitches, but for now she bandaged. Taking a look at Derek, Corbett said, “What’s with the arm?”

  “I’ve had a bad month.”

  “Or a bad life,” she said. She aimed a small flashlight into his eyes. He flinched away. She shook her head. “Some of that building land on your head?”

  “Yes.”

  “Concussion wave knock you around?”

  “Yes.”

  “I recommend you and Ms. Shoshan get off the battlefield and get some medical care. We can take it from here.”

  “My recommendation as well,” Major Ezz said. “Since this is not your jurisdiction.”

  “Fine,” Derek said, looking at Noa. “We’ll head on back to the embassy.”

  He helped her to her feet. Ezz and Brigham seemed skeptical, but let them leave. They walked slowly through the labyrinth of alleys to their waiting pickup truck. Derek said, “Any idea what to do next?”

  Irina: Are you rid of the Egyptians?

  “Yes.”

  Irina: Good. I think Effat called someone in Morsi’s government. I’m still tracking it down, but my trace went to the GIS.

  “The what?”

  Noa said, “Headquarters of the General Intelligence Services. The Mukhabarat.”

  29

  Mandalevo was pushed along, a canvas bag over his head. He stumbled, hands tied behind his back. Two sets of hands caught him, kept him moving. His head ached, a vicious pain stabbed at his eye socket where those bastards had carved

  out his eyeball.

  He was forced into a hard chair. His ankles were tied to the chair and a rope went around his chest. The bag came off and he blinked in the light. Another bare room, a scuffed wood floor, a shuttered window, a bare overhead bulb.

  Nazif and his people were setting up a camera on a tripod.

  “What is it exactly that you want?” he said, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.

  Nazif walked over and looked down at him. “I want the life of Dr. Derek Stillwater. He eluded me twice just now, him and that Zionist bitch. But I will get him. And then I will trade you for my brother.”

  “In Guantanamo,” Mandalevo said.

  “Yes. My own intelligence indicates he is still alive.”

  Mandalevo did not comment.

  “It was a question,” Nazif said.

  “I am not up-to-date on all the prisoners at Guantanamo.”

  “And yet,” Nazif said, pacing around Mandalevo, forcing him to turn his head to follow, “I believe you know about my brother.”

  He again kept quiet. There were four men in the room with him—Nazif and three others. They appeared to all be Egyptian, or at the very least, Middle Eastern.

  Nazif pressed a blade to his throat. Mandalevo’s heart hammered in his chest. A metallic taste flooded his mouth. He thought, I’ll see you soon, Laura. His wife, who had died of ovarian cancer five years ago.

  He thought of his daughters, twins, now grown. Megan, an agent in Hollywood, married with two children. Midge, who worked with the State Department, now stationed in the U.S. after years at the Greek Embassy. I love you both, he thought.

  Nazif said, “Is my brother alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will arrange for his release.”

  Mandalevo found his voice. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”

  “You have another eye.”

  Mandalevo’s stomach churned. Fear clutched as his guts. To lose an eye was one thing. To lose both …

  “It is out of my hands.”

  “You will negotiate this. Or I will cut you to pieces.”

  Nazif walked over to the camera and computer, tapping keys. “Do you know what to say?”

  Mandalevo nodded.

  30

  Derek and Noa climbed into the truck. She looked over at him. “Plan?”

  Glancing at his watch, he winced. “Let’s look at Jim’s satellite images. Jim, any analysis?”

  Johnston: Not from my end. We need someone familiar from Cairo.

  Sholes: Let me see. We’ve got the NRO and the NSA working on this, too, but you’re half a step ahead.

  Johnston: Here you go.

  Noa and Derek hunched over the satellite imagery on his tablet. There was an image of the ambush. They studied the second image. “What is this one?”

  Johnston: It’s where you just were, before the explosion. Two vans left the area just before you got there. I’m pretty sure the white one is the original. The other looks black.

  “So Mandalevo could be in either of them,” Noa said.

  “Or neither,” Derek said. “What are the other two images?”

  John
ston: Follow-ups on where the two vans may have gone.

  Sholes: The black van looks like it’s going to the City of the Dead. The other one is headed over toward the river. That’s a pretty modern area. The City of the Dead … that’s sort of a slum.

  Derek looked at Noa. She nodded. “We’re going to head there. Let us know if anything happens.”

  Noa drove south. Derek stared out the windows, trying to focus, but his ears were ringing and his head ached. He thought of this lunatic gouging out his friend and employer’s eyeball as some pretext for exacting revenge on Derek. A couple years ago an assassin dubbed the Gecko had kidnapped Lev as a way to control Derek. He had traded himself for Lev.

  He didn’t see that as an option here, even if he had been inclined to. But if he had Nazif in range, the man was dead.

  Pointing to an enormous domed building, he said, “What is that?”

  “The Citadel. It was built originally by Saladin. He was the first sultan of Egypt and Syria, I think, probably a thousand years ago.”

  “Huh. I was in Aleppo a few weeks ago. Big freaking citadel in the middle of that city, too.”

  “I think Saladin’s son might have lived in the Aleppo citadel at some time. I’m a little fuzzy on all this. I think the citadel in Aleppo is a lot older than the one here in Cairo. Is this really the time for all this sight-seeing?”

  “Do you know much about Egypt?”

  “Enough to get around reasonably well. And I speak Arabic. I’m more familiar with its relationship with Israel. What do you know about Egypt?”

  “Besides the recent Arab Spring? Mostly just pyramids. What do you know about this City of the Dead?”

  She was quiet for a moment. There was a lot of people and traffic on the streets, battered cars and trucks, bicycles, pedestrians. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “It’s huge. Five hundred thousand people live there. It’s four miles long and made up of five huge cemeteries, but they’re not cemeteries like you think of in the United States.” She thought for a moment. “Except maybe in your New Orleans, with mausoleums, perhaps? It was a very old custom in Egypt, where you spent forty days mourning for the dead, so the cemeteries are almost like houses, and people moved into them. But housing is a mess here in Cairo, and poor people have moved into the cemeteries.”