“Three rings?” Shani asked.
“Congress, the White House, and the media,” Ricardo explained.
Conor processed what he heard. He wasn’t particularly concerned about who the client was. He imagined in this particular case the client was either the acting United States government or some intelligence agency with access to sufficient funds for Ricardo’s fee. It had to be an agency powerful enough to deflect any scrutiny that might come along if word of the operation got out.
“I’ve never known you to be hesitant to eradicate an enemy,” Shani said, noting Conor’s silence.
Conor glared at her. “You obviously already know what’s going on here. I don’t. I’d appreciate it if you’d kindly keep your trap shut until I’m up to speed.”
Ricardo’s body stiffened at the exchange. It was almost as if he’d been electrocuted. He seemed ready to leap up from the table and flee the room if a brawl erupted between these two deadly operators.
Conor continued glaring at Shani, trying to gauge which way this was going to go. If she made it physical, he’d give her a run for her money. It wouldn’t be the first time either. In an unusual gesture for her, she yielded. This operation was apparently important enough to her, or to her government, that she wanted his participation. She was willing to sit on her hands for a little while if that was what was required.
“Certainly,” she replied, plastering a fake smile across her face. “Mouth shut.”
Knowing she’d be simmering with anger on the inside, Conor got a small degree of satisfaction. “As I was preparing to say before I was so rudely interrupted, I’m up for the assignment. Considering the mission, I’m willing to compromise on my earlier terms. I’ll accept two containers of supplies. One from Shani and one from you. If it’s a deal, I’m at your disposal.”
“Good,” Ricardo said, relaxing again. “I think that’s manageable.”
“Happy?” Conor lobbed in Shani’s direction. He gave her a smug grin that he knew would only irritate her.
“Ecstatic.”
While she may have been sincere in wanting Conor on board, her expression did not belie her words. Like many women trained by the Mossad, she was a pro at hiding her true emotions. She could be anything she wanted. She could convince people that any emotion she was conveying was genuine. That was part of what Conor despised about her, that ability to deceive.
Ricardo reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved two devices about the size of iPhones. He placed one in front of Conor and the other in front of Shani. “This is the latest generation of sPAD from Saab. It’s basically a battlefield smartphone. It includes the background intel on your operation, mapping, navigation, and communication. If you open your device I’ll familiarize you with the target. You’ll find that it’s preprogrammed with your individual biometrics.”
Shani picked hers up immediately, apparently already familiar with the device.
“You’ll need to use your thumbprint and to enter an authorization code. The six-digit code is attached to the back of the device. Please memorize it and dispose of the sticker before you leave this facility.”
While Shani deftly accessed her device and familiarized herself with the home screen, Conor stared at his like it was a pile of dog crap on the table. Although he wasn’t against technology, he was of the belief that an important operation was not the place to learn a new device. He resented having it dumped in front of him.
“Conor, please keep up with the rest of the class,” Ricardo chided.
With a roll of his eyes, Conor picked up the device and provided the two means of authentication it required. The screen that awaited them inside was similar to that of a smartphone yet all the applications and icons were completely different.
“Please open the folder labeled Images.”
When Conor didn’t immediately find it, Shani leaned in his direction. “Do you require special assistance?”
Conor snarled at her, then jabbed a finger at the screen. He gave her a satisfied look, demonstrating that he was able to keep up. When he looked back at the small screen he found a digital image of a dark-haired, bearded man who appeared to be in his early 40s. He was dressed in business attire and attending some sort of reception.
“This man is Arif Mumin. He’s an American of Pomak descent,” Ricardo explained.
“What the fuck is a Pomak?” Conor asked.
“They’re an ethnic group from northern Greece,” Shani said. “Greek Muslims.”
“His parents immigrated to the US in the 1950s,” Ricardo continued. “They settled in the Detroit area, which has a large Greek population. His father ran a very successful restaurant in the Greektown community and Arif grew up in the business. He eventually earned a degree in finance from the University of Michigan and went on to become quite successful in real estate throughout the Great Lakes area.”
“Sounds like a guy who is living the American dream,” Conor pointed out. “That’s not someone I would expect to find financing terrorism or funding cells. Is he that dedicated to the cause?”
“It gets more complicated,” Ricardo said. “I’m sure you’re aware that Native American tribes have found a way to generate income by opening casinos. They often don’t have the capital for the initial investment so they partner with outside groups to fund the construction. It’s a smart move on the part of the tribes. Because Native American lands don’t fall under US law, they can pretty much do what they want. In Michigan, several local tribes partnered with Greek businessmen.”
“Let me guess. Our friend Arif?”
Ricardo nodded. “He now has casino partnerships in both Michigan and Wisconsin. It’s made him a very wealthy, very powerful man.”
“So what’s his angle? For someone who so benefited from the American dream, why would he want to bring down the country?”
“Pomaks have been Muslims since the days of the Ottoman Empire,” Shani explained, “but I don’t think this is about faith. I think it’s about money. I suspect the Muslim angle was just an avenue that the architects of the attack used to open communications with Mumin. Once he heard the plan, he knew the disaster would cripple the American economy. Someone like him, sitting on tons of cash, would suddenly find themselves in a position to accumulate a lot of power. When the dust settled, he could buy businesses and properties at pennies on the dollar. When the economy finally rights itself, he’ll be in a much more powerful position than he ever was before.”
“We think he’s partnered with corrupt leadership within several Native American tribes,” Ricardo said. “They’re providing protection for him and helping to conceal his activities.”
Shani placed her sPAD on the table. “But this isn’t only about religious ideology and greed, Conor. It goes much deeper. There are people within the government who allowed this to happen.”
“Why?” Conor asked as if it were the most absurd idea he’d ever heard.
“If you have a picture in your mind of your perfect dream house, you can’t just buy any house on the market and turn it into that house by remodeling. Sometimes you have to tear down what’s there and start completely over. America is that house. It’s just been torn down and the question is who is going to rebuild it? Whose vision of the future is going to prevail?”
“This operation and the others that will follow aren’t just about the actual terrorists who helped pull off the attacks,” Ricardo said. “It’s about the people who turned a blind eye and allowed it to happen.”
“And you know for certain that some folks within government turned a blind eye?” Conor asked.
Ricardo hesitated but Shani did not.
“Let’s just say that not all Americans are suffering equally,” she said. “There are a lot of senior congressmen and senators who are living comfortably in Saudi resorts at the moment. Some left prior to the attacks, others in the days immediately following the attacks.”
“Fucking Saudis,” Conor mumbled.
“They control the US and
UK governments,” Shani said. “They funnel billions into foundations owned by your politicians. Their money inflates the US economy and because of that, they get what they want.”
Conor sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It sounds like there’s a lot of chickens and not enough men chopping off heads, Ricardo.”
“There are many more hands in this than we know about,” Ricardo said. “We’re only one element of a much larger operation. There are forces within the government who want to make things right again and they’re hiring every specialized contractor they can find. The good guys are working to purge the people who allowed this to happen.”
“Not every target requires a Mad Mick,” Shani pointed out. “There are other teams doing their part.”
Conor gave her a look, trying to determine if she was being sarcastic or not. “So Shani and I get the special folks here in the US? The dangerous ones?”
Ricardo shrugged. “Don’t I always give you special targets?”
Shani was nodding. She knew the score. Conor didn’t get the milk runs. He got the hard targets. He got the ugly kills where a client wanted total deniability.
“So where do we find this Arif Mumin?” Conor asked.
Ricardo pointed a finger into the air. “Ah, that’s where it gets interesting. You remember all these casino partnerships he’s involved in? Those alliances with the tribes allowed him to build an office and retreat facility on tribal lands in Wisconsin. We have satellite footage, of course, but locating his facility on reservation property has made it a little more difficult to get intelligence through more conventional channels. The locals are tight-lipped and I can’t help but think it’s because he spreading lots of money around.”
“A retreat center?” Conor asked. “Like someplace for casino employees to get all touchy-feely and become better team players?”
“Perhaps,” Shani said. “Or maybe a place where someone could hide a group of terrorists while remaining under the radar.”
Conor nodded. “That makes perfect sense. I was involved in an operation back in the 80s where drugs coming from South America were being distributed off reservation lands in Arizona and New Mexico.”
“You were investigating a drug case?” Shani asked, an eyebrow raised.
Conor shook his head adamantly. “Of course not. I’m no investigator. I was hired to terminate a trafficker who wasn’t paying the CIA their fair share.”
“Okay, enough of that,” Ricardo said. “You guys can talk shop on your own time and outside of my presence.”
Conor and Shani looked at each other and shrugged.
There was a knock at the door. Ricardo shoved his chair back from the table. “Excellent. That must be breakfast.”
The briefing continued while they ate the nice breakfast Ricardo had had the decency to provide. They covered the background materials in their sPADs and Ricardo answered any questions they had.
When they were done, Ricardo wiped his hands on his napkin and dropped it onto his plate. “You two will be departing this facility by chopper in one hour. That gives you time to square away your gear. You can leave any cases or items you don’t think you’ll need on this table and I will personally see to their safety. They’ll be retained in this building and no one else will have access. You can pick them up at the debrief on your return.”
Conor started to ask their destination but he’d been in this game long enough to know that Ricardo would have already told him if he wanted him to know. He might be able to pry it out of Shani after Ricardo left. She definitely seemed to have more background on this op than he did. Conor drained the last of his coffee and stood up. He had gear to deal with.
Ricardo sighed and addressed his team of two. “I’ll have a vehicle waiting outside this door in one hour. You’ll be driven directly to the chopper pad. Be safe.”
3
There was no conversation between Shani and Connor as they prepared their gear. Each had their own ritual for preparing for an operation and fell into the routine as they’d done many times before. It was not a time for lighthearted conversation. It was a time for getting their head in the right place and making sure their gear was squared away. When your life depended on the items strapped to your body, they fucking well better be right. Besides, Conor had nothing to say to Shani. She was the coworker down the hall he wanted nothing to do with. He’d be as professional as he could be but that was all he was promising.
True to Ricardo’s word, a vehicle rolled up outside the Quonset hut in exactly one hour and honked the horn to let them know it had arrived. Conor removed his weapons from the case and added them to the other gear he’d be wearing on his body. He dropped his plate carrier, bulging with kit, over his head. Everything but the plates. After what he’d heard of this mission in the briefing, there was no way he was dragging the extra weight of body armor around in the boonies. It was inhospitable terrain that might not even have trails. They could be climbing beaver dams, wading swamps, and fighting through thickets. With weapons, ammo, food, and cold weather gear he’d be hauling his maximum capacity anyway.
Conor kept in shape but he never took his physical conditioning to the level of some operators he’d worked with. He didn’t have the level of fitness obsession that Barb did, or even Shani. Being a gym rat wasn’t his thing. He was a specialty tool that only came out of the toolbox on certain occasions. He kept himself in good enough shape to maintain a keen edge but his life wasn’t about working out, it was more about puttering around the shop with a donut and a bottle of Mountain Dew.
He squared away his pack and they exited the building, piling their gear in the rear of the Humvee. The driver didn’t get out and didn’t address them when they climbed in. With the sun up, Conor could see more of the complex as they drove to the landing pad. Everything he saw contributed to his suspicion that he was in West Virginia. This was not a military base but more likely a private training facility. There were way more of these in the country than most people suspected. Conor had lost track of how many he’d visited over the years for one reason or another. They ranged from high-tech shooting ranges to extremely remote off-grid facilities that didn’t show up on any map.
The chopper idling at the pad was the same one that had delivered Conor to the facility. Both pilots were seated in the cockpit and the side door was open, waiting on the passengers. Shani climbed in first and Connor passed their gear up to her. When everything was on board, he climbed in and the crew chief shut the door behind them. Conor took a seat, leaving an empty between him and Shani. They both liked their space. They strapped in and retrieved the communication headsets hanging nearby.
The copilot turned around to visually confirm that his passengers were secure and had located their headsets. “We good?”
Conor gave a thumbs up and Shani did the same.
“Roger that,” the copilot said. “Passengers are secure. Going up.”
The roar of the engines grew louder as the pilot smoothly lifted the chopper off the pad. In the dense tree cover, they rose straight into the air before banking to the northwest. Out of curiosity, Conor removed the sPAD from his pocket and opened the navigation app. The device confirmed that they were currently in West Virginia and now on a northwest bearing, presumably heading for Wisconsin.
The flight was long. Ricardo had included rations in the gear they’d been issued and Conor was almost ready to dig into them out of boredom. He didn’t know how long he’d be in the field though and didn’t want to run short. He wished they could dip down and swing through a drive-thru or something.
He and Shani spoke very little. He had questions about the operation and she might know the answers, but it wasn’t the most secure place to share those details. He tracked their progress on the handheld device and spent some time familiarizing himself with it. He even looked for a folder of games, hoping for some Solitaire to help him pass the time, but he turned up nothing.
Bastards.
They landed in a little under s
even hours at Duluth Air National Guard Base. The pilots didn’t announce this was where they were landing, but the navigation function on Conor’s sPad revealed their location. He’d never been there before but understood it was on the grounds of Duluth International Airport. It was also home to the 148th Fighter Wing.
As the chopper lowered to the ground, the crew chief spoke through their headsets. “This is the end of the road for us. The hangar directly in front of us has been cleared for your use. If you need to use the facilities, go for it. Your next pilot will meet you there.”
When the chopper settled, the pair doffed their headsets and unbuckled their harnesses. Shani slid a black mask up over the lower half of her face and Conor did the same. They didn’t know the people at this base and didn’t want anyone to know them. They never knew who might be looking, even at a secure facility. There were always eyes, cameras, and facial recognition. Conor had no doubt that both he and Shani were in a variety of very interesting databases.
Conor slid the door open and hopped to the ground. It was bitter cold, a reminder of what lay in store for them in the woods. Conor hauled his gear out of the chopper and took Shani’s as she passed it to him. When she joined him on the ground, they slung their gear onto their backs and headed for their hangar. Behind them, the chopper lifted off again.
There was a noticeable lack of ground traffic in the immediate area. People were moving around outside, doing their jobs, but nowhere close to this hangar. Conor flashed back to what the crew chief said. The area had been cleared for them. The word must have come down that there were some scary characters passing through. Spooky black ops shit that no one wanted any part of. It made Conor smile.
The wide berth given to operators always surprised Conor. He assumed that people who suspected what he did would be hitting him up for stories about his adventures. They’d be wanting the inside scoop on what he’d done and what he’d seen. Instead it was the opposite.
Northern Sun: Book Four in The Mad Mick Series Page 2
