Текст книги "The Insider Threat"

Автор книги: Brad Taylor

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

31

Omar leaned into the window as the aircraft crested the mountains, the low clouds finally breaking to show the valley below. They began to lower into the bowl and Omar saw the concrete of Tirana spilling out, threading into the fingers and ridges in the distance. The international airport grew larger and larger, and he recognized a string of old Soviet fighters on the tarmac, rusting and stoic. Proud defenders of a system that no longer existed.

His plane hit the runway fairly roughly, jarring open two overhead bins far past their service prime on the Alitalia 737. The pilot applied the brakes, the engines reversing with a whine, and Omar wondered if they were going to drive off the edge. He began squeezing his armrest, exposing his anxiety as he stared out the window at the land racing by.

Truth be told, he didn’t like flying. Actually hated the idea, but it might have been because the only aircraft he’d ever been on were ones that allowed goats in the aisles. Flights where the passengers clapped at the landing, amazed they were alive.

As they did now.

Omar didn’t join them, but he wanted to. They taxied to the terminal, and his thoughts turned to his bigger worry: getting into Albania.

He had no idea how strict the immigration process was, or even if his cursory Internet search would be proven true. Unlike the Lost Boys, he had no United States citizenship to hide behind. His passport was Russian, albeit with a Schengen visa.

Created for the travel of citizens within twenty-six countries in Europe—the so-called Schengen zone—it allowed them to cross borders hassle-free. Albania was not a member, but in the strange world of international diplomacy, they recognized the visa for entry into the country. At least the Internet said they did.

He hoped it was true, as this city had been chosen for a reason.

A majority Muslim country, Albania had been part of the mammoth Soviet Union, and, like all countries behind the Iron Curtain, had banished religion when the communist overlords secured control. After the wall fell, and the country gained independence, the Islamic faith once again flourished, and, like just about anywhere with a sizable Muslim population, sympathizers could be found.

Unlike other countries, with security services clamping down on the immigrant population, Albania had yet to draw the eye of the crusaders, making it a good location for the transfer of weaponry.

Omar remained seated until the flow of people allowed him to exit the plane. He followed the passengers to a waiting bus, then entered the immigration hall and got in line, one of the few times when his queue, as a visitor, had been shorter than the one for citizens. He presented his passport, hiding the trepidation as he had many times before. After a brief exchange, where he explained he was seeing friends, his passport was stamped and he was through.

He hadn’t even had to provide a hotel or show any other proof of his intentions, which gave him comfort that Albania had been the right choice.

Twenty minutes later, in a cab where he’d given up trying to understand the driver’s limited English, he entered the city center. Surrounded on all sides by concrete buildings with a depressing utilitarian bent, it reminded him of Grozny. Well, at least before Grozny had been leveled by the Russians.

The driver pulled over at a traffic circle and pointed across the street, muttering something unintelligible. Above a store selling luggage he saw the small sign of his hotel. He paid the fare and made his way across the street.

The hotel was a ten-room threadbare affair with a faint, musty odor, complete with actual metal keys and a communal bathroom at the end of the hall. He cared not a whit about comfort, only that it was inconspicuous. He paid in cash, thanked the clerk, and climbed the narrow stairs to his room.

He dropped his bag on the floor, then sat on the bed studying a tourist map of Tirana he’d found at an airport kiosk. He memorized his location, then found the restaurant where he was to meet his men. It looked a short walk away, maybe ten minutes, in an area called the Block.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later he was standing on a narrow street called Pashko Vasa, trying to locate an address and having no luck. It had seemed easy on the map, but the buildings were all jammed together with no obvious numbering on the doors or windows.

He could at least read the corner signs. He knew he was on the correct street, and he thought he was at the right location, because his instructions had told him to stop at an Alpet petrol station.

Which was to his front.

He did a slow circle, eyeing the buildings, then heard his name called. He glanced up and saw someone waving from a second-floor window. He recognized Anzor, his friend, then saw the name painted below the window, feeling like a fool. The restaurant was on the second floor, above other businesses.

No wonder you couldn’t find it.

He waved back, then jogged across the street to a stairwell below, seeing a small sign proclaiming, CHEERS FOR BEERS. He followed footsteps painted on the tile, going up one flight and entering the restaurant, an expansive open area clad in warm wood, with two full-length bars lined with beer taps.

The room was empty at this early hour, with only the bartender washing glasses. The far wall had large windows, all swung open to the street below. Anzor and two other men were sitting at a high-top table in the corner, near the windows.

Omar nodded at the bartender, then walked to the table, the men standing and smiling. In Russian, Anzor said, “We were wondering if the famous Omar had lost his navigation skills.”

Omar hugged him, then the other two, pointing at the table, where three pints of beer rested. He said, “Where I come from, that would get you lashed at the very least.”

Anzor laughed and said, “Not from what I remember in South Ossetia.”

In 2008, Russia invaded the country of Georgia, ostensibly to support the breakaway independence of the province of South Ossetia, a Russian supporter. Still in Chechnya at the time, Omar had seen the water begin to boil before the invasion. He’d traveled into Georgia through the Pankisi Gorge, joining a paramilitary unit. He’d fought the Russians in a short, sharp war, at one point risking his own life to attack a prisoner convoy of captured paramilitaries destined for a torturous death. In so doing, he’d saved the three men in the room.

It had nothing to do with Georgian politics. He simply hated the Russians.

Omar laughed and sat down, saying, “Georgia was a long time ago. And a world away from where I am now.”

Anzor said, “I know. We hear the stories about the famous Chechen taking over Iraq, and we laugh about how we knew him when he was but a foot soldier. But we never heard anything about taking over Albania. Why are you here?”

Omar said, “I should ask the same of you.”

Anzor glanced at the two other men and said, “We have business here. Not all of us yearned to fight forever.”

Omar knew not to press, understanding the “business” was illicit, either human trafficking or drugs—neither of which mattered to him.

He said, “Does this business have the ability to procure arms? Do you require protection?”

Anzor glanced at his two friends for confirmation. One nodded. He said, “Yes, Davit can provide the necessary things. Understand, sometimes the police are more trouble than the criminals. Protection is required, if you want to survive.”

Omar smiled, “Of course. As always.”

The one who’d nodded, Davit, said, “How much protection? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here simply for a business transaction, but I’m not at all sure about the integrity of the meeting. It was supposed to occur tomorrow, but the man coordinating the transaction was killed in a crusader air strike. Now the meeting has been postponed to the following day by people I have never met. It makes me skittish. All I want is the same thing you do for your business. Protection while I’m there.”

Omar saw all three visibly relax. He said, “What? Did you think I was enlisting your help for something offensive?”

Anzor laughed and pointed to the third man. “Levan thought you were planning an attack and wanted our help.”

Omar looked at him, and Levan raised his hands. “You have to admit, with your reputation, it would cross my mind.”

Anzor said, “We’re businessmen now, and we can’t get entangled in your politics. We were chased out of the Pankisi because every intelligence organization in the world was hunting men like you. Nobody looks at us here in Albania, but an attack based from this area would change that. It would definitely hurt our business.”

Omar said, “Are you not Muslim? Do you not feel a duty to help your fellow Ummah? Do you not remember the Pankisi?”

Anzor said, “Yes. And we do our part, contributing money to charities that help the cause. In your world, your religion trumps everything. In mine, it’s business. We are opposite sides of the same coin. The Ummah needs your sword, but the edge is kept sharp with money. My money.”

Omar nodded slowly, then said, “It’s just protection for a transaction. I promise. All I need is for you to prevent something from happening that will interfere.”

Davit said, “We haven’t forgotten what you did for us. We all bear the scars. That’s why we answered your call. It’s just . . .”

Omar waved a hand, telling him without speaking he didn’t care about the debt. He opened his knapsack, pulling out his map. He pointed to a huge expanse of green south of the city center and said, “Do you know this area?”

Anzor said, “Yes, of course. It’s Tirana Park.” He smiled and said, “We’ve conducted business there as well.”

“Do you know the amphitheater?”

Anzor nodded. Omar said, “That’s the meeting site. Can it be protected?”

“Yes. It will be hard, but it’s not impossible. There are many ways to escape from that area, and I’ve had to use most at one time or another.”

Omar grinned. “Your business doesn’t sound that different from mine.”

Anzor laughed, bumping Omar’s knapsack at the table and causing a book to slip halfway out. Davit saw the black-and-yellow cover, then read the title.

Catholicism for Dummies.

He said, “What on earth is that?”

The other two men focused on it, their brows furrowed in confusion.

Omar shoved the book back into his bag and said, “Knowing the enemy. Nothing more.”

He stood, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He saw their faces and said, “My business is none of your concern. That ends with protecting my meeting. The same way I protected your lives in Georgia.”

32

I jammed the barrel of my Glock in Hussein’s face, seeing his mouth open in surprise, then clench into a grimace of pain as Shoshana torqued his arm behind his back. She swiped his legs from under him and slammed him face-first into the pavement, then cinched his arms together with plastic flex ties and put a knee into his back, leaning forward and using her weight.

She looked up at me expectantly. I have to admit, I was impressed. I’d told her that she had the responsibility for the takedown, but it was only to put her on edge for her slights against me earlier. Give her a little worry about screwing up. I figured I’d be doing the slam dance either way, and was looking forward to it, but I hadn’t even gotten the chance before she sprang into action.

I glanced down the far end of the alley, seeing Retro and Brett with eyes out toward the street, pistols held low, but ready. Brett gave me a thumbs-up and I leaned down into Hussein’s ear and said, “Welcome home, shithead.”

I yanked him to his feet, expecting to see fear and waiting on him to try to fight, giving me the authority to lump him up some before turning him over to the support team. Instead, I saw wonderment.

“You’re American!”

It wasn’t a question. I grabbed his flex ties, whirled him around toward our waiting van, and said, “What nationality I am is of no concern to you, I promise. What I’m going to do to you, if you resist, is a whole different world you should be worried about.”

I began driving him forward, causing him to stumble in the debris of the alley. I kept him up by forcefully hoisting his arms in the air. He yelped and said, “No, no, I mean, I was trying to find you. Trying to make contact!”

We reached the van and I shoved him through the door, saying, “Shut the fuck up, you murdering little toad.”

He sank into a ball, tucking his head into his chest. I leapt into the back, Shoshana following and closing the door. I put my knee into his chest and said into my earpiece, “Hipster secure. Meet us on our street, away from the target building. You lead to the support team. Any trouble, you provide blocker and deal with it.”

I heard Knuckles say, “Roger all. Moving.”

I looked at Jennifer. “Dope him.”

Aaron put the van in drive and we began rolling. Jennifer withdrew a syringe, flicking the air bubbles out of it like a doctor on TV. Hussein saw the move and began to squirm. He said, “Wait, wait. Don’t drug me. I have to talk to you. I have to tell you what’s going on. They’re going to kill my father. Please, you have to stop them.”

I leaned into him and put my thumb against the base of his ear, smashing a tangle of nerves for compliance. His jaw snapped wide in silent pain and his eyes rolled back. I looked at Jennifer and said, “Hit him.”

She leaned forward and he rasped, “Attack. They’re going to attack.”

I pulled my thumb back and waved Jennifer off. She sat on her heels, expectantly holding the needle. I said, “What was that?”

From the front, Aaron said, “Got the lead van. Five minutes out.”

Breathing heavily, sweat rolling off of his head, Hussein said, “The Islamic State. The ones you sent me against. They’re here. They’re going to attack tomorrow, and they expect me to help.”

I said, “That’s great. You can tell us all about it under interrogation.”

I nodded to Jennifer and he screeched, “No, no! They expect me to show up right now. If I don’t, they’ll know something’s wrong. They’ll think I double-crossed them. There’s no telling what they’ll do then. My information will be useless.”

He sagged and said, “They’ll kill my father.”

I leaned back at the words, knowing if I chose to believe them, I was taking a detour off the reservation, where I would be forced to disobey the orders I’d been given. A choice I didn’t want to make, given my past history. And past punishment. I looked at Jennifer for an answer. She slowly shook her head, telling me she couldn’t parse the truth. I turned to Shoshana and raised an eyebrow, letting her know I wanted her opinion. Her instinct.

Her eyes narrowed, understanding that what she said was going to change the entire course of the operation, but not believing that I trusted her. Not believing I would want the answer she gave. I bored right back. She turned away and studied Hussein. He flopped his head back and forth between us, wondering what the hell was going on. She raised her head and locked eyes with me.

And nodded.

Still watching her, I keyed my radio. “Knuckles, Knuckles, pull over, we’re going back. Stage at the back side of the alley, where I plucked the target.”

Shoshana gave me a grim smile and I heard, “What the hell are you talking about? Did you drop your weapon?”

I said, “No time to talk. I need to coordinate with Showboat, and he’s not going to be happy.”

33

What the fuck do you mean you’re going back? You have Jackpot. Mission success. We’re not deployed here to do exploratory surgery. No Alpha mission. We have Omega for Hussein, and you’ve achieved that. Get your ass back here with the precious cargo.”

Blaine Alexander was yelling so loud into the microphone it caused me to flinch. I said, “Sir, listen to me. I’m not making this up. Remember all the chatter about an Islamic State external operation? Remember that? I think it’s here, and we’re in the middle of it. Right now. Hussein says the target is the Grand Hyatt hotel. A Mumbai-style attack where they run around killing the hell out of everything that moves.”

In 2008 a Pakistani terrorist group called Lashkar-e-Taiba had invaded Mumbai, India, and set about slaughtering civilians in shooting attacks lasting four days in multiple hotels.

“Pike, I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want a repeat of Ireland. Just get the PC back here. That’s what we get paid for. We get a mission, we accomplish the mission. If there’s something here, we’ll interrogate, then deal with it after the appropriate consultation with higher.”

I gritted my teeth. “Sir, we get paid to protect lives. Period. Let me flesh this out. Hussein is just the entry guy. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re going to do. Hell, they might have already planted bombs inside. We need to find that out, and he’s no help. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing. I still have PC, but he’s going to be worthless in an hour. They’ll consider him compromised. We don’t have time for a sit-down interrogation.”

I heard nothing, but, having seen it many times before, I knew what was happening. Blaine was running his hands through his thick hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. Finally, he came back on.

“So you can maintain control of PC and still get the information?”

Now I paused, trying to coax an appropriate answer. I glanced back into the van, seeing Knuckles and Jennifer rigging up a scared Hussein with an audio microphone that would transmit to our van.

“Yes. I’ll have enough coercive control to guarantee physical rendition.”

“What does that mean?”

I blew the air out of my cheeks and said, “Sir, I have to let him go back into the apartment, but I’m telling you, he’s on our side now. He’s worried about his father, and seems to be in over his head. He wants to resolve this as much as we do. He’s not going to run.”

He only heard one thing. “You’re going to let him out of your control?”

“Yes. I have to. I have to. Sir, come on. You mentioned Ireland, but you forget the end state of that operation. We saved everyone. Everyone. Because of your call. Do the same thing here.”

Which was a little bit of a stretch, but not much. He’d made a hard call that had saved the husband of the governor of Texas, but then had balked at saving the one hostage that mattered to me. I’d had to take matters into my own hands then, and I didn’t want to here. The personal stakes then had been much higher, and if he told me to back off here, I would. People might die, but they would be faceless strangers.

The thought came unbidden to my mind, and I was a little shocked at it. I never would have considered walking away from a threat like this in the past, and wondered if I wasn’t becoming part of the bureaucracy. Or maybe I’d been slapped down enough times that I was afraid of the repercussions, like a puppy spanked for something it doesn’t understand.

Crusty old warriors in the Army tell a story that there are plenty of soldiers who would jump on a grenade in a valiant act of heroism in battle, but very few who would sacrifice their careers for what they knew was right. And I was disturbed to learn I was now falling out of that very few.

Take away what a man values most, and he’ll heel. They’d taken my ability to operate within the Taskforce once before, and it had scared me to the core of my being. I didn’t like the thought, but I knew I’d comply. My actions in Nigeria had been pushing the edge, but I’d had the authority and known I could spin the results, no matter the outcome. Here, I’d be disobeying a direct order.

Blaine said, “How sure are you of the information? How do you know he’s not stringing you for release?”

I looked at Shoshana, wanting to believe, because I wasn’t sure at all. She caught my eye and knew the stakes in play. She’d heard my end of the conversation. She studied me for a moment, then nodded her head again. Telling me she knew it was true. And, after what I’d seen from her in the past, I believed it.

“Sir, I have a trained interrogator here who says it’s accurate.”

“Trained interrogator? Who?”

Shit. I’d failed to mention the Mossad participation in our mission planning earlier, knowing he’d blow a gasket. Of course, I’d duly reported the busted surveillance and the presence of the ex-Samson team, but only as it pertained to that specific mission. I’d conveniently left out that I was going to use them today, figuring I could cover it with them chasing their target and me chasing mine, whereupon we had to deconflict the battle space and coordinate for operational reasons. Nothing official. They just happened to be here.

It seems contradictory, since I was unwilling to continue without official Taskforce sanction from Blaine, but I’ve always had a healthy talent for stretching the orders I’m given. Before, that extended to outright disobedience if I deemed it necessary, but no longer. I wondered if that trait would continue shrinking like a balloon letting out air, until I was nothing more than a robot rigidly executing actions dictated by a plan that no longer applied.

I fumbled for a bit, grasping for an answer, and Showboat put two and two together. He knew Shoshana’s skills, and he’d always been smart. We’d just done too many operations together. He said, “Are the Israelis with you? Is that who’s doing the interrogating? Shoshana?”

I’d wanted to control the release of that information, but the cat was out of the bag now. I said, “Sir . . . al-Britani is their target. I’m not using them. . . . More like an intersection of events.”

I heard nothing for a moment, but saw Shoshana grinning from ear to ear. I scowled at her, and she puckered her lips in an air kiss, which didn’t help.

I heard, “Okay, Pike. We’ll deal with your little subterfuge later. What’s your course of action? How is letting him out going to do anything?”

Whew. “All I’m trying to do at this stage is keep their plan in motion. Apparently the ringleader is staying with him. Keeping him in check. Hussein’s not fully trusted and doesn’t even know where the rest of the terrorists are located. First call is to just get him home on time. From there, Hussein will learn what he can, then meet us at a predetermined location. We’ll get a debrief and go from there.”

I heard silence on the line for a moment, then, “He’s meeting the ringleader?”

“Yes. That’s the guy who doesn’t trust him.”

“Can he get him to dinner or something? Do they eat out?”

His words sank in and my first thought was, Holy Shit. He can’t be serious. The adrenaline started to rise as my mind began creating a plan of its own volition. But before jumping that hurdle, I needed to make sure we were thinking the same thing.

“Sir, we have no Omega for a second takedown.”

“If what you say is true, this falls into in-extremis authority. I have the ability to make the call. Do you have the ability to execute?”

“Yes, yes. I can execute. Same template. Same location. We’ll just stage exactly like we did. If he can’t get him down, then we’ll follow through with what I said earlier. Get Jordanian liaison involved through CIA after a debrief. Let them clean up the mess.”

I got another moment of silence and slammed my fist into my thigh, wishing I hadn’t said those words. Jennifer gave me a quizzical look and I just shook my head at her, but I knew what was going to come out of Blaine’s mouth next.

And sure enough, it did. “Maybe we should just do that anyway. Go with your plan. I’ll go through the Taskforce to get the CIA operational, they can talk to the Jords, and we let them handle the assault. We go away with our guy, they get theirs.”

“Sir, no, no. Way too many links in the chain. Getting them on alert with extra security for the Grand Hyatt is one thing, but spurring them into conducting a tactical hit is something else entirely. They’ll never action the target without the corresponding credible intelligence, and we don’t have it without giving them Hussein, which is the damn reason I’m here in the first place. To keep them from knowing about Hussein.”

And Shoshana will kill me if I let her target escape into the hands of the Jordanians. Of course, I left that unsaid.

I could almost hear the hair being pulled out by the roots three miles away. I heard, “Okay, Pike. My call. Let Hussein go inside, and I’ll start prepping the battlefield for the fallout. I’ll start working the liaison services, get them oriented on the hotel. You snag the leader and we’ll have the intelligence that we can provide the Jords, but we’re going to let them handle the attack. You fucking bring me Hipster. You got that?”

I said, “Roger all, sir. Thanks.”