Task Force Identity

by I A Thompson

  Martin took over. “Here is where it gets interesting. This little shenanigan has been going on for at least four years. During that time, Salib has also had his hands, directly and indirectly, in moving weapons that ended up in the hands of unsavory characters in Africa and Asia. Remember the 2015 multi-national raid on Rawti Shax, the Ansar al-Islam offshoot that was trying to set up shop all over Europe? One might think two organizations like this would cross paths at some point and we could have picked up on our guys sooner, but nothing. Not the slightest connection between our suspects and those guys. Talk about tight operational and personal security protocols.”

  “In other words,” Zach added. “We think we’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg so far.”

  Zumbach nodded. “I agree. A few minutes ago, I got Herzog’s autopsy report. The medical examiner ruled his death to be murder. Herzog was already dead when he was hung. The doctor found an injection site and had the lab run a variety of tests. They eventually got a hit with Succinylcholine, SUX for short, metabolites. He was injected with SUX, a neuromuscular paralytic drug and was dead in less than a minute. Obviously, the investigation is still ongoing and eventually, we’ll get to the bottom of who did this, but one thing is clear, they are no amateurs. They had access to information, the prison, a drug routinely used in hospitals and they reacted incredibly fast.”

  A shiver ran up and down Regina’s spine as she processed the information. If these people had that level of organization in Zurich, which was likely just one of their money hubs, what else would the task force find as they dug deeper?

  “It’s just a hunch,” she said. “But my gut feeling tells me we need to look further into this Omar Salib. He currently lives in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Given that Qatar and Saudi Arabia are not exactly on the friendliest of terms these days, there must be a financial or ideological reason as to why our spoilt brat picked this particular capital as his operating base.”

  Zach nodded. “Or both financial and ideological. And to add to your hunch, I can’t shake the feeling that the Chinese assault rifles we saw in Suriname passed through Salib’s hands at some point. I think it would be good for us to go to Riyadh and learn more about this guy.”

  Zumbach held the palms of his hands up in a stopping motion. “Whoa, hold your horses. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, that is way outside of our current mandate. The best course of action is to schedule a meeting with director Hernandez, give him a situation report, make the recommendation to take the investigation to Saudi Arabia and see what he thinks. If he agrees, he can pull the necessary strings to make it happen.”

  Zach looked annoyed for a second, then his expression changed to polite agreement as he realized he had no other choice. “Of course. There are many things we need to prepare, assuming we get approval, so we might as well get a head start.”

  40

  Less than a day later, Regina found herself in a video conference with Hernandez and DDA Treadwell. Getting Hernandez’ approval to go to Riyadh was a walk in the park; he was beyond pleased with the progress they had made. It was the fact that he wanted to send Zach and Regina that ruffled some proverbial feathers with her superiors.

  Treadwell cut to the chase. “Miss Livingston, Cliff here is making a compelling case as to why he wants you to accompany his agent to Riyadh. The two of you have proven to work well together and your skills complement each other. Out of all the countries involved in this task force, the U.S. has the most extensive intelligence network on the ground, including the most assets. However, that advantage is offset by the fact that you have no operational experience and Saudi Arabia is not exactly women friendly. I appreciate you volunteering to go on this mission. Unfortunately for you, that’s not your call to make.”

  He raised his hand to stop her as Regina opened her mouth to respond. “You’ll get your chance, don’t worry. I do want you to explain to me why I should be granting your request, but before you do so, I want you to carefully consider what I’m telling you. You may think of what you’ve done over the past few weeks as operations work, but that’s not the case. Far from it. From where I’m sitting, you’ve done little more than your analyst job, only remotely. You have zero operational training, which puts you in immediate danger, the moment you step on the ground in Riyadh. Even worse, it puts your partner at risk as well, and that’s simply not something I’m willing to support.”

  Regina felt a rush of hot, white rage at being marginalized by her boss so bluntly. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t see how my lack of operational training is going to inhibit me from doing exactly what I’ve been doing all along, which is gathering and analyzing information. Zach can handle the cloak and dagger part of the job just fine. What he can’t do is mingle with women and children without raising suspicion. While women may be second-hand citizens in Saudi Arabia, I can assure you, they pay attention and they talk, and just like anywhere else in the world, the rich and famous, like our jetsetter, are top gossip topics. I know I can eventually find information about who Salib interacts with from the office in DC, but it’ll be much faster and easier on location, which may be essential for Zach.”

  “Walk me through what you have in mind,” Treadwell requested.

  “Yes, sir. I’m planning on setting up shop at King Saud University. It’s a state-of-the-art research facility and, even though they’re physically separated from each other, with a good mix of male and female students, including seven percent international students, it’ll be easy to blend in and nobody will be questioning a curious mind.”

  “That’s what you think.” Treadwell frowned. “You need to understand that foreigners are closely monitored. In other words, you have to operate under the assumption that someone is keeping tabs on you the entire time you’re there. And you better study up on their customs related to women; their religious police are rather prickly, and I wouldn’t want you to get on their bad side.”

  “Does that mean, you’ll let me go?”

  “Not so fast. You haven’t convinced me yet, but I do like your idea of utilizing the university as an operating base. How do you and Zach plan to stay connected when you’re separated? Have you given any thoughts to how you’ll exfiltrate yourselves if something goes wrong?”

  “We have been using commercial chat applications to establish a messaging pattern consistent with a growing relationship. Anyone who gets a hold of our phones will find a seamless stream of personal back and forth text, picture and video communication that can be expected from a couple in our situation. For all confidential communication, we’ve been using Ghost Coms. If worst comes to worst, we’ll individually make our way to the U.S. Embassy and meet up there.”

  “I assume, you’re going to stick with your current cover stories. Time Magazine and UNICEF?”

  “That’s the plan. Why change a winning horse, right?” Regina’s smile quickly faded under Treadwell’s withering look.

  Hernandez cleared his throat. “John, if I may. I’ve observed how Miss Livingston and Mr. Jones handled themselves so far and I think they are well equipped for the task at hand. The Riyadh Interpol office will be available for support and I’m sure you have a few agents on the ground as well who can step in if needed.”

  Treadwell trained his eyes on Hernandez. “That’s where you’re wrong, Cliff. I can’t risk exposing any of the agents at Riyadh station for an Interpol sting. Which is why I’m so leery about sending one of our own into harm’s way. If Regina goes, she’ll be on her own. The only protection we can provide her are the standard embassy services available to any U.S. citizen.”

  He looked at Regina. “It’s a big risk, you’re willing to take here, Miss Livingston. And I want you to make that decision with your eyes wide open, all facts on the table. With that said, I agree with Director Hernandez that the job needs to get done and soon. So, if you’re convinced, you’re the right person for the task at hand and you accept the risks, I’ll approve the mission from my end and get the okay from the Directorate of Op
erations.”

  Regina breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir! You won’t regret it.”

  Treadwell nodded. “Yeah, yeah, famous last words. We’ll talk more about this and your future when you get back to DC. For now, make sure you always play it safe. No risk taking, you hear me?”

  “Absolutely, no risks.” Regina shook her head while keeping a straight face, even though she wanted to jump up and down with excitement like a kid. She had been waiting for this opportunity almost as long as she’d been with the CIA.

  Hernandez leaned forward. “I’ll touch base with you and Jones as soon as we’re done with the red tape here.” He barely got the last words out when Treadwell pushed a button and the screen went dark.

  Regina sat there for a few seconds, contemplating what just happened. It was clear that the DDA’s approval had not been given easily and that he was not happy at all. She racked her brain. Had she put him in a fait accompli? She didn’t think so. Which meant Hernandez had twisted his arm already before she even joined the call. Then why did she feel like she had committed career suicide by pleading her case? She mentally shrugged and grinned. If the CIA didn’t want her anymore, she was pretty sure she’d find a new home with Interpol.

  She stepped out of the conference room into the hallway where Zach had been pacing back and forth.

  “And?” he asked. “How did it go?”

  “We got the okay.”

  “That’s great!” He smiled and then frowned. “Why are you not more excited?”

  “It was weird. Treadwell made it sound like he was just worried about my wellbeing, me not being trained for field ops and all that, but I got the vibe that his arm was being twisted and he was pissed about it.”

  “Maybe he’s mad that Interpol got a nice big fish before the CIA did? A little turf war between agencies?”

  “Possibly, but my gut tells me there is more behind it. It wouldn’t surprise me if there is already another operation in progress down there and Treadwell is worried, we might compromise each other’s efforts.”

  “If that’s the case, wouldn’t it make sense if he at least gave us a hint so we’re not tripping over each other?” Zach clapped his hands. “Enough with the speculations. We have a mission to plan and bags to pack.”

  41

  “How do I look?” Regina stepped out of the women’s bathroom at King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh, wearing a black abaya, hijab and niqab; the traditional attire and head cover worn by Saudi women when they went out in public.

  Zach looked at her intently and smiled. “Your outfit compliments your eyes. I’m not sure why, but it really highlights their beautiful green color.”

  Regina blushed and was immediately grateful that Zach couldn’t see it. Getting the outfit she needed hadn’t been easy and despite Gabi’s best efforts to find a store in Zurich that sold clothes for Muslim women, she had come up empty. Instead, Regina and Zach had to make a stop-over in Istanbul, so Regina could go shopping for the appropriate garments.

  They had been given a crash course in Saudi Arabian laws, culture and customs, so they would not attract the attention of the Muttawa, the country’s religious police. In addition to squaring away their paperwork, Treadwell and Hernandez also arranged for a liaison from the United Nations Development Program in Riyadh, Al Tucker, to serve as their sponsor while they were in the country. Since Regina was a single female, having a male sponsor, was another requirement for her to be able to visit the kingdom.

  Now, Regina and Zach were about to meet Samir Al-Ahmadi, said sponsor’s representative. It was barely 7 a.m. and already scorching hot. The air conditioning in the airport could barely keep up with the climate’s demands. They picked up their suitcases after what seemed an eternity of waiting and made their way to the exit.

  There was no way to miss Samir, who was holding a sign with their names on it. He looked like he was in his late twenties or early thirties, impeccably groomed, with a tightly cropped dark beard, and dressed in the traditional white thobe with a red and white checkered headdress; he smiled widely as he saw them walking in his direction.

  “Welcome to Riyadh, Miss Livingston and Mister Jones!” His English was flawless with a slight British accent.

  “Please, Zach and Regina will do just fine,” Zach said as he shook Samir’s hand. Regina didn’t even attempt to shake hands as that too was ‘haram’, forbidden.

  After exchanging a few pleasantries, Samir took Regina’s suitcase and led his guests to a silver Mercedes. “We’ve made arrangements for you to stay at the ‘Burj Najjar’ hotel. My boss’ wife, Meagen, recommended it. She and her friends are members in the hotel’s health club, and she thought Regina would appreciate the amenities, especially the swimming pool.”

  “That’s very kind,” Regina replied. “I doubt I’ll have much time to spend at the spa, but given how hot it already is, having access to a pool will definitely be a plus.”

  Assertive would have been a charitable way of describing Samir’s driving style. He seemed to only know two speeds – fast and faster. Twenty minutes of floor-boarding the gas pedal intermittently disrupted by abrupt braking led to both Zach and Regina breathing a sigh of relief when they arrived at their destination.

  Samir assisted them with getting checked in and then left with the promise to return in the afternoon to give them a tour of the city, help them get set up with everything they needed, and answer any of their questions.

  The hotel was one of the tallest residential buildings in Riyadh, a modern, elegant and comfortable oasis of Arabian and European hospitality in close proximity to shopping and sight-seeing. After spending a few hours sleeping, swimming, and talking to her family on FaceTime, Regina had to admit that Meagen’s pick was perfect. By the time mid-day prayer was over, she felt relaxed, at ease and ready to tackle whatever laid in front of them.

  She knocked on Zach’s door, who motioned her to come in while he was talking to someone on the phone and waited patiently until he wrapped up his conversation.

  “That was Kamal Aziz, my local Interpol contact,” he said. “We’ll meet up tomorrow. I figured you wouldn’t mind since you said you were going to check out King Saud University.”

  “I don’t, but I’m somewhat concerned about my ability to move around without Samir constantly being on my heels. I haven’t quite wrapped my mind around this whole sponsor concept yet. Feels more like a baby sitter.”

  “Come on, look at it as having your own personal tour guide. I’ll have Kamal, you’ll have Samir. After all, Hardy did the same for us in Suriname.”

  “I beg to differ; both Kamal and Hardy are Interpol and working with us.”

  Samir’s arrival put an end to what otherwise likely would have become a debate at best and an argument at worst. Much to their surprise, he started laughing heartily when Regina confronted him with the question of how she would get around in the city.

  “You have watched too many Hollywood movies,” he finally said. “You cannot seriously believe that women in this country are just demurely sitting behind the walls of their houses, waiting to be escorted around all the time. Now, don’t get me wrong, some do and that is entirely their choice. For everyone else, there are an array of options, from family members to hired drivers to taxis and Uber.”

  “Uber, as in the rideshare service?” Regina asked.

  “Oh yes.” Samir nodded. “Uber is huge here. It’s the pay-as-you-go alternative to a hired driver; much more cost efficient, and besides that, women are now allowed to drive themselves if they choose to. With traffic, especially in Riyadh, being as crazy as it is, it’ll be interesting to see how many will continue using male drivers as time goes by and the novelty factor wears off. So far, it’s been mostly younger women who are leaping at the new opportunities, whereas older and more conservative ladies are with a few exceptions not overly eager to get their driver’s licenses.”

  “Yeah, I find that hard to believe,” Regina muttered.

  Zach ro
lled his eyes. “Not everybody is an independent spirit like you. My grandmother never drove a day in her life; she didn’t have to, had everything she needed and wanted in her neighborhood.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Regina replied. “You’re comparing me to your grandmother, for crying out loud.”

  “No, I’m not, I’m just saying, to each their own. You’re the one making assumptions about how these women feel.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Samir said with enough authority in his voice to stop Zach and Regina in their tracks. “You will have plenty of opportunities to build your own opinions while you’re here, so please don’t jump to premature conclusions. Now, shall we go on our tour?”

  Zach and Regina looked at each other, suddenly feeling like scolded school children. “Dude, we’re sorry. That was totally inappropriate on our part. It won’t happen again,” Zach said while Regina nodded in agreement.

  Samir smiled politely. “All good. I’m just asking that you keep an open mind and remember that you are in a different country and culture.”

  A few hours later, an exhausted Zach and Regina concluded that Riyadh was a fascinating blend of traditional and pragmatic, desert and greenery, antique and modern and welcoming and distant all at once. They had seen the Masmak Fort, visited a Souk, drove by the Kingdom Centre, the U.S. Embassy and King Saud University and walked around the historic city of Diriyah on the outskirts of Riyadh.

  Over dinner, Samir continued explaining life in the kingdom to his captive audience. The strong family orientation, the influence of Wahhabism, an ultra-conservative Islamic doctrine, on everyday life and how a new generation of Saudi women was chipping away at the big block of old-fashioned ideas alive and well in the Kingdom.