by Matthew Rief
Just off the freeway, up ahead a quarter mile, he saw a small harbor jutting into the land. Buildings on the waterfront, docks stretching out to sea, and boats floating in the water. Don exited the freeway, drove up to a metal gate with barbed wire coiled on top. Two guards stopped them at the gate. Taking one look at Asin, the gate rolled up and they waved them inside.
Once through, a man in a black suit ushered them over to a row of parking spaces near the side of one of the buildings. They were massive metal structures that looked like old factory buildings or hangars. The man walked over to the broken window and peaked inside. He said something in Arabic, Asin nodded back at the man.
Don’s senses started to kick in; his awareness expanded and he began to see things in slow motion, catching each and every detail of his surroundings. Two doors on the side of the building, one of them cracked open slightly, a brisk movement coming from the roof. In his peripherals he saw the metal gate roll to a close, locking them inside. A small earpiece sticking out of the suited man’s ear. Docks to the right, massive, sticking out hundreds of feet. In the rearview mirror, he saw the rotor blades of a helicopter sticking up behind a shed.
“Come out,” the man in the suit said. He looked like an oil king, with dark skin, sunglasses, and a gold watch that gleamed in the morning light.
Asin reached for the door handle. Don leaned over the seat, locked the door. He turned back to the well-dressed man who was now holding a colt pistol in his right hand.
Don shook his head. “Money first,” he said. “The arrangement is a trade. So? Let’s trade.”
The man stared at Don. He grabbed a phone from his pocket, turned around, and said a few unintelligible words.
When the man looked back at Don, Don was also holding a pistol, and it was aimed against Asin’s neck.
2 Hours Earlier
The Black Hawk helicopter, flanked by two Apache’s, turned around and flew back towards the mainland.
“We have orders to escort this man to Carrier Bush,” yelled one of the naval Special Forces soldiers, “tell the pilot to turn back around!”
But the CIA agent who’d told the pilot to turn around shook his head. “Orders have changed.”
The soldier threw his hands up in the air, bewildered. “Changed?”
Charlotte Porter, the blond CIA agent sitting across from Asin leaned over to the other agent. “Don, what is going on?” she asked in her English accent.
Agent Don Christopher put his phone back up to his ear, holding a finger up to Charlotte to keep her quiet. “Yes,” he said into the speaker, “Yes, I understand. Okay. Of course, sir. We are flying there now, sir. Okay, I will.” He brought the phone down.
“Hey!” the soldier yelled at Don. “Where are we going?”
“The Carrier can’t take us right now,” Don replied. “They had a last minute call to action. We can’t bring him there. We have been redirected to the US embassy in Beirut.”
The two soldiers looked across at him, stunned. Don continued, “There we will escort Asin to an aircraft that will fly him to the states. “
“Why Beirut?” one of the soldiers asks. “We could reach Malta, the embassy isn’t commissioned yet but the airfield is fully operable. It would be a safer bet.”
Don shrugged. “I got the order straight from the Pentagon, it has been approved by the White House Chief of Staff. We will take him to the embassy in Beirut.”
The soldiers looked at him, still unconvinced that it was the best course of action. In fact, if they were flying the helicopter they would continue on to the carrier, shoving the orders up whoever’s ass they came from. They had been looking for this guy a long time, they weren’t about to let him get away now. That’s why they were on the helicopter. The orders were for four CIA to escort him, but the SEAL team had forced two soldiers onto the helicopter, telling the agents if they had a problem with it, they should try and force them to stay.
“Not looking forward to it either,” said Don. “Seems like an idiot decision, but the orders have been given.”
“Screw the orders,” the soldier replied, “we gotta get this guy out of this part of the World. He’s too powerful to stay here.”
“We don’t have all the intelligence,” Don replied. “They know more than we do, we have to trust them. Were just gonna have to keep sharp. Take him off the helicopter. Put him on the plane. Let’s get it done quickly.”
The soldiers were still upset and stupefied by the decision. Don eyed them, thinking how they were going to be a problem. He didn’t plan on their being Special Forces soldiers, soldiers who’s skills he knew too well because he used to be one. He would have to think of some way to get rid of them if the plan was going to work.
3
Present
They don’t trust me. Don figured this would happen. Figured they would change their plan. There was something that didn’t add up, something suspicious. Don knew that feeling too well, the feeling that yelled at his brain saying “If you don’t do something real quick you’re gonna be dead real quick.” So he held the gun up to Asin’s head, turned to the offensive, switched the power, but would it work?
The man slowly reached into his phone. “Easy no,” he said as he made another call. Holding a gun to someone’s neck is a tricky thing because you’re aiming a gun at your only protection, and everybody knows it. It’s both a safety net and a death warrant rolled into one. The man walked over to the window.
“Okay,” he said, “They’re bringing out the money.”
“I want to see it,” Don yells back, sticking the gun deeper into Asin’s neck. “I want to see all of it. I want all of it in here before I’ll let him go.”
The man gave a slight bow. Seconds later the door on the right burst open. The door to the left, thirty yards down, was still just barely cracked.
Three large men walked out. Don didn’t recognize any of them. They were low ranked, hired help, men whose lives the Al-Qaida didn’t worry so much about. They were afraid.
One of the men carried a briefcase, he reached it in through the window, but it wouldn’t fit. Five million dollars was too much to fit through the crack. Carefully, Don unlocked and opened his door, while keeping the gun up against Asin’s neck. He grabbed the case, slammed the door, and locked it behind him.
All four men stood and stared through the glass as Don shimmied the hinges and opened the case. As Don lifted and looked inside, he saw the stacks of hundred dollar bills. Reaching inside to get an idea of the amount, he felt something hard beneath a layer of bundled notes. He reached down and grabbed, his hand coming up with a small gold bar.
“Half of the sum has been paid in gold,” the man in the fine black suits said, reading Don’s mind. “We hope that isn’t a problem.”
Don shook his head. He looked over at Asin, lowered his weapon, and unlocked the door. Muhammad Asin stepped out of the car.
2 Hours Earlier
The Black Hawk helicopter landed at Beirut-Rafic Hariri International Airport, near the US Embassy in Beirut, Lebanon. Five more men, what appeared to be a combination of military personnel and US agents stood waiting for them as they stepped out. Agent Porter and agent Christopher left the helicopter first, meeting with the others on the helipad, then ushering the three to follow.
As they stood watching the two Special Forces soldiers escorting Asin, Don bumped into Charlotte’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” he said, when she turned abruptly to see what was happening. “Okay,” Don said louder, so everyone could hear, “you two with me in the middle car.” He pointed to three black Hummers parked in a line in front of them. “Agent Porter and I will handle Asin in this car, let’s get him in.”
The soldiers forced Asin into the car. As Charlotte and Don were about to climb in on either side of him, the two seals protested.
“We’re staying with him in this car, both of us,” he said.
It wasn’t a recommendation, it was a statement. Don nodded. Charlotte wen
t to the car behind them. Don sat on one side of Asin, one of the seals on the other, in the back of the Hummer. The driver, a CIA agent and the other seal sat in the front.
When all three cars were loaded up, they drove out of the small airport towards the US Embassy. Both seals held their rifles ready as the car drove into heavy traffic, buildings rising up high on either side of the road. Don kept his eyes continually shifting between the car in front of them, the car behind them, and Asin.
The traffic grew worse, more and more cars and people appeared - filling the narrow streets. People ran by holding banners, waving flags. It looked like some type of parade or festival, something that would make getting to the embassy difficult. The seal in the back, who kept one hand on Asin, the other on his rifle, wondered why in the hell they had come to Beirut. It made no sense, especially with all this… whatever it was going on in the streets.
As they turned a corner, the streets were filled with people running around. When the car came to a stop, the seal leaned over Asin to Don.
“We gotta get off this street,” he said.
Don nodded. He leaned forward and told the driver to use a different route to the Embassy. The seal beside Asin kept a watchful eye. He knew after about two seconds what was happening there, it was an Islamic holiday, and they were out in the streets celebrating. There they were trying to escort a Muslim Al-Qaida terrorist through a crowd of Muslims. He knew that most Muslims had nothing to do with Al-Qaida, but all Al-Qaida were Muslims and, despite what most westerners believed, Al-Qaida were advanced and had an impressive infrastructure. It would have taken all of maybe ten minutes for most Al-Qaida spread throughout the World to get the message that Asin had been taken, some could even have been in those very streets.
The black Hummer turned right abruptly down a side street, the driver honking his way through the crowds.
“We lost the lead car,” the seal said. It was just them and Agent Charlotte’s car behind them.
Don didn’t say anything, just looked around suspiciously. He leaned forward.
“Hey, did you hear him?” Don asked. “We lost the lead car, you should call him and let him know the route we’re taking.”
The driver didn’t reply, kept his eyes forward on the busy road. The car turned again, this time to the left, just as quickly as before. The road they entered was much less hectic and led to what looked like an old parking garage. A dead end.
The seal beside Asin lifted his rifle. Don removed his pistol from his holster and glanced over at the Special Forces soldier, giving him a look that said they were in trouble.
There was almost nobody down this street. It was empty except for the occasional child running through with their dog. The road was covered in debris and garbage, the parking garage looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The wooden gate was closed down, but the driver kept going, breaking though it and entering into the darkness.
The seal to Don’s right gave him a look and Don returned it. The two lunged forward, their weapons drawn. They heard a shot go off, loud and penetrating, from right in front of them. The driver had shot the other seal, the one sitting beside him.
After the shot went off, the driver stomped on the gas, sending the car flying through the old garage. Just as the driver hit the gas, the other seal fired three shots from his rifle through the driver’s chest. Blood splattered the steering wheel and windshield. The car lost control and slammed into a concrete divider. Both Don and the soldier flew forward into seats. They were shaken up, but okay.
They opened the door and jumped out quickly, the seal keeping a firm grasp on Asin’s cuffs.
“Hold him,” the seal said as he opened the front door. He reached in for the other seal, but he was already gone. The seal reached into his radio and called in the attack, stating that they had a crisis on their hands and needed full support.
“Damnit! What the hell was that?” the seal asked Don.
Don shook his head. He looked around the garage frantically, expecting others to appear and take Asin. They ran through a door into a stairwell.
“Whatever’s happening, we have to get out of here,” Don said. “That driver brought us here for a reason, there has to be more close by.” Don looked up and down the old stairwell. He motioned up. “Been looking for this guy for ten years and were sure as hell not letting him get away now.”
As the seal looked down the stairwell, Don slid behind him, gripped his Taser tight, and slammed it into the soldier’s uncovered neck. The seal’s body shook violently, and then collapsed to the ground.
4
Present
Men stormed out from their hiding places and ran towards the Pontiac as Asin was taken into the building, the door closing behind him. Each of them carried guns and it looked like they weren’t afraid to use them.
The engine was still running, Don floored it in reverse, tires grinding against the pavement, spitting out smoke. Bullets flew at him as he shifted to first and spun the car to the right. His windshield shattered, and he heard the loud metal tings as bullets rained against the side of his car.
He stormed through the parking lot, picking up speed, and winding in and out of parked cars. Up ahead he saw the ocean, and the docks reaching out over the water. The bullets had lessened, but the occasional one still hit his car, forcing him to keep his head down. With the briefcase beside him he drove right onto the dock, smashing through a small metal gate.
The tires rattled down the wooden dock. The occasional boat flew past his view, but the place was mostly deserted. Don watched as the end came closer and closer, watched as his speed rose up past sixty. He glanced through the top mirror, there was no one in sight. He let off the gas and slowed, made sure his seat belt was secure.
The bullets had stopped, he had outrun them but they would be there in less than a minute. The car rattled and the sea air blew in through the window. The blue at the end of the wooden planked dock was right ahead of him now. He prepared himself. At the last second he took in a breath, and the car flew off the end of the dock, splashing into the ocean.
Pentagon. 2 hours ago.
Phillip Richardson sat on his swivel chair, staring into his computer. He was as short man with a round belly, thick glasses, and hair that was partially balding. He was going over the email confirmation he’d received from agents Porter and Christopher. He was one of the many desk job agents assigned to tracking to progress as Muhammad Asin was moved stateside.
When his phone rang, he ignored it for two chimes, then reached over and brought it against his face.
“This is Richardson,” he said, like he had a thousand times before. He had worked for the CIA for ten years, and five years in the counter terrorism department.
“Sergeant Jimenez calling from the USS George HW Bush,” the voice said. “We have a situation here.”
Richardson scrambled across tabs on his computer. He’d been out of contact with both agents since they took off in Baghdad.
“Go on,” Richardson said.
“The Black Hawk carrying Muhammad Asin was set to arrive here ten minutes ago, sir. We’ve tried contacting them, but haven’t gotten anything. Has there been a change in their route?”
Richardson stood abruptly from his chair. “Stay on the line Sergeant.” He covered the microphone and walked out of his windowed office. He approached two men who sat across from each other in a large room separated off by cubicles. “I need you to make contact with Agents Porter and Christopher, find out where they are.”
He placed the phone back to his cheek. “Keep us informed if you make contact. We had no scheduled change.”
They both hung up. Ten minutes late seemed almost impossible.
“Rich,” one of the seated men called out. “They’re not answering their phones. We’ve tried to contact the pilot, but the radio appears to have been switched off.”
“I want that helicopter’s location, now! John, bring up the GPS tracker on my office screen.”<
br />
As Richardson walked back to his office he felt his pocket vibrate. He reached in and came up with his cellphone, the screen of the smartphone telling him he had a new message. He closed his office door behind him and opened the message; it was from agent Porter.
Lost Asin’s car. Heli landed in Beirut. Searching the streets.
Richardson wondered how they would possibly have landed in Beirut without informing him first, wondered why in the hell they would even land there when the plan was the carrier. And now Asin’s car was lost? That wasn’t possible.
Richardson quickly replied, short and sweet. His palms were sweaty and his mind ran through thousands of possibilities and courses of action.
? US personnel in Asin’s car?
He waited nervously for a reply. He was startled by a tapping on his window. A fellow agent pointed at Richardson’s computer. He nodded, sat on the chair, and swiveled around to face the screen. The GPS tracking system was loading up. He manually narrowed the search results to Lebanon, then entered in agent Porter’s phone.
After a few moments he located her, moving through crowded streets. His phone vibrated on his wooden desk.
2 NSF. 1? CIA? & Christopher.
He translated the message: two naval Special Forces, one unidentified (possibly CIA), and agent Don Christopher.
Richardson quickly called the US embassy in Beirut, but they hadn’t heard anything regarding Asin landing there.
He brought up agent Christopher’s number on his phone and put it into the tracking system. A few moments later he had a location; he was near Porter, inside what looked like a parking garage.
He replied to Porter, giving her Christopher’s location. Whatever building Christopher was in, whatever he was doing there, he wasn’t moving. Richardson sighed, knowing well what that usually met.
He had his phone to his face, ready, when Porter’s message vibrated in.
1 NSF dead. 1? Dead. Asin, NSF, Don, missing.
