by Fiona Quinn
“Indulge me.” He bent to kiss her cheek.
Meg gave Rooster a wave as she shut the door.
“What was that about?” Rooster asked as they moved toward the stairs.
Randy reached up and rubbed his neck. “I’ve got eyes in the back of my skull, man. I can’t figure out where they’re coming from. What did Headquarters say earlier when we were at the bar?”
Rooster tipped his head toward the stairwell. Normally, he would have liked to have a walk and talk about the subject, but given the windstorm outside, Randy would never hear him. They’d have to keep it to low tones in his room.
As they passed through Rooster’s door, the men moved to give it a quick once-over. They sat, heads side by side, so they could speak softly into each other’s ears. “Momo is an up and comer in Al-Qaeda, the African branch. Meg is lucky she walked out of there.”
“Why do you think they let her go?” Randy rubbed his palms down his thighs and planted his elbows on his knees.
“My gut says, they didn’t think she had the financial connections to be of any use. Either that, or there was something about Meg’s translator that pulled her out of the net. Maybe his tribe and the Afar tribe had agreements for safety and hospitality like Pashtunwali in the Middle East.”
“Or maybe his tribe would have retaliated had anything happened to him or Meg. Jobs in the area are few and far between. They start capturing tourists, and there’ll be no more tourists a nanosecond later. The Bowens were nabbed off the seas.”
“Fair point.” Rooster paused as he let his thoughts settle. “We don’t know what leverage Momo had over the Afar tribe. I agree with you, Meg walked into the lion’s den. The only thing that gives me any peace about that is, we’d have found her and gotten her out with the Bowens.”
“That doesn’t give me a lot of relief. We only got out of that scrape with the help of the Navy.” Randy screwed his brows together. “Go on, what else have you got on Momo?”
“The CIA has signed a contract with Iniquus. Panther Force is mobilizing.”
“My team’s already in Afghanistan.”
“Strike Force is wrapping up their assignment. You’re still on loan to the Panthers. We’ll be with Meg through Kilimanjaro and the flight back to the capital. After that, we’ll go to a rallying point for a debrief, then we’re to leave Africa to start our R & R.”
“R & R hasn’t started yet? We’re on guard duty for The Key Initiative?”
“Keep eyes and ears open for the scientists’ safety. There’s no reason to think they’ve been targeted. The CIA tracked Momo’s movements into Tanzania the night the Bowens’ got rescued. There’s been a lot of rattle in the last couple of days, something ramping up in Tanzania. CIA and Mossad had a chat. There’s someone Mossad would like us to meet tonight.” Rooster checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes, downstairs.”
“Is this our ghost?”
“That’d be my guess. They gave me a countersign, so this is a clandestine meet and greet. Might as well get in place.”
Both men moved toward the door. Randy opened it and did a quick sweep of the hallway, then Rooster followed him to the stairwell.
Rooster had a hard time doing covert. He just wasn’t built for the job. Randy, on the other hand, had a stature and a skin tone that could adapt, chameleon-like, to most regions where he got to play. Here in Zanzibar, where various ethnicities had been steeped together for centuries, Randy’s tanned Latino skin and his ability to mimic both the spoken and body languages of those around him meant no one looked his way when he walked by. Everyone looked Rooster’s way. That was why Rooster preferred the stairs, and why he trailed behind Randy a few good paces.
Rooster did his best to slip quietly into the gentleman’s lounge, where deep leather sofas were scattered about in the low lighting. It seemed the host at the door was doing a good job dissuading women from going in. There were a few groups of men in tailored slacks swirling tumblers of scotch. The scent of cigars filled the air with pungent smoke. Rooster moved to the side of the heavily draped window and sat where he could keep eyes on the activity in the room. Randy sat at the bar doing the same. No weapons beyond their pocket knives. They shouldn’t need them.
The ghost walked into the bar, signaled to the host that he saw his party and moved toward Rooster. A case dangled from his left hand, his right hand extended out. A “glad to see you again, old friend” smile on his face. Rooster stood and reached for the handshake—he had the guy by almost a foot in height and a good hundred pounds, maybe more. The ghost didn’t seem intimidated though. Interesting. There was no attempted show of power with an aggressive squeeze. Rooster would have known he was talking to an amateur if he had tried to prove himself in such a lowbrow way. Professionals didn’t do petty shit.
Rooster’s focus dropped to the man’s left wrist. The guy’s watch had slid far enough down his arm that Rooster caught the swirls of the tattoo that it obscured. The circles and lines of the Sephirot, the tree of life. In esoteric Judaism, it was the central mystical symbol that originated in the Kabbalah. Different spheres, he was told, represented a different aspect of enlightenment.
Back in Washington D.C., Panther Force had taken down a dozen men with this same tattoo on their wrists. Iniquus had learned nothing about the tattoo in the interrogations. The CIA, if they had anything, weren’t sharing. But his commander, Titus Kane, brought a scholar in to teach them the basics. They’d nicknamed the group the Rex Deus after what they’d learned from USIPAC—a group who tried to fight Jewish stereotypes in the United States. When they had seen pictures of the men’s tattoos, the USIPAC folks had gotten riled up. It seemed the Rex Deus, sometimes called “Star families,” was supposed to be the stuff of conspiracy theories and imagination. To have a band of men wearing the Kabbalist sacred symbol was a concerning thing. The Mossad seemed to think otherwise, or this man wouldn’t be here representing them.
The group of twelve Rex Deus who went down in the US had illuminated the first triangle in the design. That highlighted aspect symbolized wisdom, understanding, and knowledge. That group had tried to kidnap a DARPA scientist building a microrobotics WASP prototype.
Another man with the tattoo had shown up on their radar even more recently. Panther Force was protecting two archaeologists who were helping to safeguard Syrian artwork. That guy had refused to talk about his tattoo, as well. But it was noted that his ink, unlike the other tattoos they had seen, had the sixth sphere illuminated, Tiferet. Their resource said this one had to do with beauty, balance, and harmony. That made sense.
Perhaps the Israeli elite warriors who were in the “explosion” that took their names off the military rosters, had made decisions about what path they would follow once they didn’t exist. It was a theory they’d thrown around in the Panther Force war room. But if that theory played out, this would be an interesting meeting. The sphere that this man had illuminated was Gevurah—an instrument God used to judge humans and punish the wicked. Rooster pinched his chin and gave the ghost a surreptitious head-to-toe assessment to figure out where his weapons might be hidden. Since Panther Force had killed some of the tattooed group, Rooster wondered if he and Randy might be this guy’s end targets. Why exactly had Iniquus agreed to this meeting? “Lovely night for a stroll on the beach,” Rooster said.
“The wind will fill the fisherman’s sails,” the ghost replied.
“I walked by the dock and ate shrimp.”
“The octopus is a treat.” That was the last of the required exchange.
Okay, good. Now what? Rooster took his seat, careful that when his eyes scanned the room they glided right over Randy. Of course, the ghost knew Randy, probably had a few hundred photos of them from Djibouti. It was just part of the dance.
The ghost moved his seat to protect his back with a wall, moving farther from the window. It put them at an acute angle to each other. They could speak quietly near the other’s ear without looking at each other.
The waiter came o
ver and Rooster said, “Whiskey, please.”
The ghost nodded his head to ask for the same. “Congratulations on your recent success,” he said as the waiter left.
“Which one would that be?”
“Momo Bourhan is a dangerous man. He has an enormous ego and equally large aspirations in Al-Qaeda.”
“He’s a true radical? Or is he using that as a vehicle?”
“As with many in the upper echelons, he is manipulating those around him to do his bidding with little personal conviction.”
“How’d you get involved?”
“The Tanzanian government has been focusing their tourist advertising on Israel. They want to make Tanzania the preferred holiday destination of our citizens.”
“Beautiful place.”
“Possibly a volatile place.”
“That’s true most anywhere you go these days.”
“We believe that Al-Qaeda is leaning on its alliances along the east coast of Africa, infiltrating the weak spots, and gathering members to the radical agenda.”
“What makes these spots weak?”
He tilted his head from side to side. A non-answer to a too-complex question.
“You’ve had your eyes on us,” Rooster said, wondering what was in the ghost’s case.
“Only to find out why you were in communication with Momo Bourhan.”
Rooster looked up as the waiter moved toward them, balancing their drinks on his tray. He placed shell mosaic coasters on the table before he set their drinks down with a white-gloved hand. “You know,” Rooster said as the waiter moved out of listening distance. “He introduced himself to me by the name ‘Brilliant.’ I only just identified him as Momo Bourhan.”
The ghost looked at his feet as he snickered. Then he rolled his eyes, and tilted back to stare at the ceiling. After a moment, he shook his head. “My hope is that his ego will be his downfall.” He lifted his glass in salute. “To his failure.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Rooster took a sip. “So why are we chatting?”
“You seem to be friends with one of the Key Initiative scientists. I’m guessing that you’ll be going with the group on their trip to the crater?”
Rooster had been playing poker with bad guys for a long damn time. When he was in dialogue he was emotionless. Of course, the Key Initiative scientist the ghost was talking about was Meg. Rooster wasn’t about to verify anything. He would only give up as much information as it took to get the data he might need. “You’re representing Israeli interests?”
“Exactly. The UN is warning that there’s an escalation of attacks, grenades, and small bombs in Arusha as Al-Qaeda is encouraging their African brothers-in-arms to target westerners and keep them out of Africa. Already, many Israelis have lost life and limb. Tanzania, of course, is desperate for tourist money. The changes in climate are pressing down on the traditional ways of life. Suffocating the people.”
“And you’re here because there’s an increased concern about Israeli citizens being attacked? Captured?”
“Exactly. We don’t want Al-Qaeda to believe that they can attack Israelis anywhere in the world. One of our scientists works with your friend’s initiative. I will be taking his place until they get to Dodoma to start their work. He will be given a security team and reintroduce himself once they are there. I knew you’d caught sight of my face in the airport and recognized me from Djibouti. It’s important that I maintain my cover.”
“And you thought we’d expose you?”
“Not out of malice, but out of curiosity.” He gestured with his drink in his hand.
“Why the charade?”
He took a long sip. “Our scientist’s name has been mentioned in Momo’s communications.”
“Specifically?”
The ghost nodded once.
Rooster leaned forward, his voice a low rumble. “Anyone else mentioned by name?”
“No.”
Was Meg at risk? “The name of the Initiative?”
“No.”
“What’s this scientist’s specialty?”
“Renewable energy. We held him back once we heard the chatter about his trip to Djibouti. He was supposed to reach out to the Afar tribe, the tribe is in an area where they could generate a great deal of energy for Djibouti—geothermal and wind.”
“But you didn’t let him go to his meeting.”
“We had information that the Afar were in communication with Momo. Your Dr. Finley went instead.”
Rooster worked to keep the anger he was feeling pressed low in his gut where it wouldn’t show. “And you let her go, knowing the circumstances?”
“Israel and America are allies. We arranged for a trusted interpreter to be assigned to her. We maintained surveillance of the situation.”
Rooster sent him a long, assessing—it might have been interpreted as an intimidating—glare. “That was big of you. Did you also send word through American channels this was going down?”
“I don’t follow the lines of communication. I can’t tell you what happened.”
“You communicated with someone though.”
He nodded slowly.
“Did you know Momo would be there?”
“I’ve been tracking him, trying to figure out what he’s up to. Momo has big eyes and a small plate. But he is working to position himself for leadership. My understanding is that you took three-million dollars out of his pocket. I’d say watch your back, but I don’t believe he put a name and face together. The Afar only know that a giant came into their camp. He had glowing green eyes and big guns, and they were frightened. They said that you put the Bowens on your heads like women carrying water. They’ve never seen anything like that before.” The ghost chuckled. “What I would have given to watch that scene.”
“Do you think there’s any kind of danger on this trip, aside from the obvious concerns of lions and such? Maybe the field trip should be curtailed. Maybe they should go right into their meeting, and get security on everyone?”
“The hippopotamuses are more likely to kill you than the lions. And no. The target is our scientist for more reasons than one. The Ngorongoro Crater and the trek up Mount Kilimanjaro aren’t good strategic places to take Silverman. They’ll wait until he’s in the capital filled with places to hide and without the fear of being killed by the animals.” He shifted onto a hip and pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket.
“Yet you’re here.”
“Excuse me.” He turned away from Rooster and sneezed, rubbed his nose, and thrust the hanky back into his front pocket. “I’m sure you are contemplating the safety of your friend, especially since our scientist will not be showing up. The truth is that he was detained by his father’s funeral. We would not force him to sit out this leg of the journey. I am simply taking advantage of the fact that there’s an empty seat so that I can take a look at the other scientists on the off chance there’s a mole of some kind.”
“Care to elaborate on that? What would be the purpose of the mole? These are scientists.”
Again, a tip of the head from the left to the right. A non-answer to a complicated question. Rooster didn’t need the fine print on why the Israeli scientist was interesting to Momo Bourhan. But he damned well needed to make sure Meg was safe. Rooster was surprised by how vehemently that thought rushed through his system. He knew the ghost had seen his reaction. Probably guessed at his thoughts. His emotions had taken him by surprise, and he hadn’t had a chance to shut them down. He wondered if the ghost would use that as some kind of ammunition against him along the way. Rooster slicked his tongue over his teeth.
“She’ll have both of you there. I’ve been tasked to be at her disposal as well, should a need arise. For both of the American scientists, actually. I doubt seriously either of them will need my help other than, perhaps, to carry their bags to the shuttle.” He offered a smile. His teeth were stained along the edges from tobacco and coffee. He was fit, but he had a balding head and the weathered face of a man approaching fo
rty.
Rooster wouldn’t let the man’s age fool him, he’d met many an operative, and he’d learned to scent out the people with deadly skills. This man reeked of lethality.
“I consider this outing a perk of the job,” the ghost was saying. “And I plan to enjoy myself. In the event that this conversation has made you concerned about the situation, an arrangement has been made between our organizations for you to have what you might need for comfort’s sake.” His eyes fell to the case. He lifted his glass and took the last swallow. He clapped Rooster on the knee and stood. “Well, old friend. Always a pleasure to find time for a drink with you. Sleep well, we leave very early tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Eleven
Rooster
The Gentleman’s Lounge, Seraphina Hotel, Zanzibar
“You get all of that?” Rooster asked.
“I sent the recording to Nutsbe. I’m waiting for an all clear so I can erase it.”
“I want to listen to it one more time before you do.” He flexed his wrist. “This case feels like it’s full of bricks.”
Randy clenched his teeth, making the sides of his jaw bulge in a staccato beat, while he thought. “I’m not clear about our role here.”
“We’re eyes and ears until the Panthers are boots on the ground. But yeah, that info file is feeling kind of thin. Let’s see what we’ve been handed, then we’ll call Nutsbe.”
Randy signed his tab, and they walked out of the bar one at a time. Randy took the elevator. Rooster pushed the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder, checked that it was empty, and jogged up the stairs, three at a time. He was already swiping the key card to his room when Randy moved up behind him.
Randy checked the room, pulled back the curtains at their window. “If this weather keeps up, the plane they chartered isn’t going wheels up any time soon.”
“The bar guy said it’ll be nice by tomorrow.” Rooster inspected the outside of the case. “Nothing ticking.”
“There’s a relief.” Randy pulled his phone from his pocket. “Strike Force is out of the loop since Panther Force has this assignment?” He raised a brow.
