Текст книги "The Insider Threat"

Автор книги: Brad Taylor

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

79

Shoshana stood and I clamped my hand on her wrist, saying, “Don’t.”

She snarled something unintelligible and tried to pull her hand free. I feared she was going to run out of the café and launch herself onto Omar’s back. I torqued her wrist, bringing her back into her chair.

She fought me, leaning over the table in an effort to break free, knocking a glass of water to the floor. I said, “Shoshana, no. Not here. Not now. You can’t do anything on the streets of Rome.”

The dark angel glared back, wanting to hurt me. The twisted thing was greater than I’d ever seen, and I had no doubt she’d kill me if she could. Aaron reached over and touched her shoulder, then whispered something in Hebrew into her ear. Like a wave receding, the potential violence dissipated and Shoshana appeared. I let go of her wrist just as the waitress came over.

Speaking to the waitress, but keeping my eye on Shoshana, I said, “Sorry for the mess. Can we get the check?”

The waitress glanced at both of us, then dropped a towel on the floor. Brett said, “I got it. Please, the check.”

She left and I said, “Shoshana, you brought us here, now let me finish it.”

She bored into me, reading my intent in her peculiar way, then slowly nodded. Still looking at her, I said, “Brett, Jennifer, hit the street. Eyes on, loose follow.”

They stood and Shoshana said, “I go with them.”

I said, “No, you don’t. If there’s anyone who’s burned, it’s you. Brett and Jennifer are clean. He never saw them in the assault. Aaron and me, less so. We can probably get away with a limited action. You, on the other hand, are completely useless here.”

“I’m not going to sit here while that fuck walks the earth.”

Jennifer began configuring her phone and putting in her earpiece. Brett said, “What’s the end state?”

“Find a bed-down. Find the nest of vipers.”

“You providing backup?”

“Yeah, it’ll be me and Aaron. We’ll be on the street right behind you. First, I’ve got to get Knuckles and Retro’s asses down here, and to do that I need to get the rock-star bird to Venice. I just hope the pilot isn’t out boozing.”

Brett nodded in his calm way and turned to go. I touched his arm. “Don’t lose them. This is it.”

He said, “Have some faith. At least you don’t have Jennifer wearing a Rastaman wig.”

I smiled and said, “Keep an eye on her. When shit gets bad, she has a tendency to climb things like a cat running up a tree.”

He grinned at her and said, “She’ll only do that if I’m running away.” He returned to me. “And I’m not running away. We clear on the rules of engagement? He’s DOA, right?”

He was referring to a small rule the Taskforce had, called Dead or Alive, meaning the target was such a significant threat we were authorized to kill him instead of capture him. It wasn’t my call to make, and required a sanction from the Oversight Council. I was kicking myself for not setting that up beforehand, in the long discussions with Kurt. I made the decision anyway.

“Yeah. He’s DOA. He poses a threat to the team, you take him out, but only if you have to. I want that bed-down. Killing them might not stop the attack, and the other Lost Boys are out there.”

They turned to go and I caught Jennifer’s arm. “You heard that discussion, right?”

She nodded. I said, “No mercy. They pose a threat to you, don’t think about the mission. Don’t think about finding the other Lost Boys like you did in Jordan. You plant those fuckers. You understand?”

She glanced at Shoshana and said, “I got it.”

They turned to go and Shoshana said, “So I’m supposed to sit here doing nothing while your lover kills that scum?”

I said, “No, you get to drive our vehicle. Track us. It’s a really cool Fiat. You’ll like it.”

She glared at me and I tossed her the keys, saying, “It’s about a block back, crammed into a spot the size of a loaf of bread. Bring it up here and stand by.”

She stormed off and Aaron said, “I don’t think antagonizing her right now is the smartest course of action.”

I said, “I’ve got a lot of phone calls to make. Why don’t you ensure she doesn’t run anyone over?”

He left, and I began dialing, going through a million operational what-ifs in my head.

80

Jennifer kept eyes on Jacob, tracing behind him as he and Omar went down the Spanish Steps and into the shopping district, following Christine Spalding. Twenty minutes had passed, and the sun was rapidly setting. With the close confines of the buildings, they’d be in the dark soon, and she was now having questions.

She’d seen their mannerisms, and they clearly had something nefarious in store for Christine Spalding, and yet she’d failed to ask Pike about Christine’s status. The key was the bed-down, but would they allow the terrorists to capture Christine—if that’s what they planned—and then follow all of them, or would they interdict to prevent it? Or worse, if they attacked Christine, would they allow that to continue in order to locate the viper’s nest?

She turned to Brett, who was pretending to look at a rack of expensive watches in a window. “Hey, she’s on the street again, and they’re still behind.”

He glanced their way and said, “Man, she really likes to shop. This must be your dream follow.”

She smiled and he began walking, keeping pedestrians between him and the target. She matched his pace and said, “Brett, hey, what are we going to do if they try to interdict her? Are we going to stop it, or just watch?”

He continued walking, the dusk setting in at a rapid pace, but the crowds on the street getting bigger. The pedestrian-only lane made keeping tabs on the terrorists both easy and hard. Easy because they could blend in. Hard because it allowed them to do the same.

Brett said, “We don’t need to worry about that. Unless she does something stupid, there’s no way they’ll attempt anything in this atmosphere.”

And then she did something stupid. She left the main thoroughfare, entering a smaller cobblestone street. The area wasn’t nearly as crowded as the original avenue, but there were still groups of pedestrians shopping for discounts off the beaten path.

She walked about a hundred meters, then paused in front of a store, using the light from a window to read her map. She looked up at the street sign embedded in the brick, then right, down a narrow alley.

Brett said, “Don’t do it. Don’t do it.”

She turned the corner, leaving the pedestrians behind for a shadow lane barely lit with tepid incandescent bulbs.

“Shit.” Brett keyed his radio. “Pike, Pike, this is Blood. Busty’s moved into an alley, cutting across the main streets. She’s on a destination, but she’s put herself at risk. What’s the ROE for this? You still want a follow if we’re not threatened?”

Jennifer let Omar and Jacob penetrate, then moved to the entrance of the alley, seeing Christine walking, oblivious to the wolves behind her, the lighting looking like something out of The Exorcist. She heard Pike answer through her earpiece, “What’s the status? I need more information.” She lost sight of the two terrorists in the shadows, but saw Christine appear in a light further down, stopping in the pool of illumination to look at her map.

She cut in, saying, “Pike, this is Koko. She’s all by herself, and she’s like a goat staked to a tree. She’s going to get hurt.”

“Keep up the follow. I’ve got you on my phone. I’m on the way right now.”

She saw a shadow appear in the light, the two men having circled around the web of illumination, one on one side and one on the other. She said, “Brett! They’re on her!”

She pulled her weapon from her purse and sprinted down the alley, hearing Brett on the radio say, “Shit. Pike, we’re committed. Get your ass here.”

She made it about fifty meters before she saw Jacob slam Christine into the wall, Omar pulling a knife. Jennifer shouted, and they both froze at the noise, looking her way. Christine dropped her purse, then brought something up, spraying Jacob in the face. He screamed and fell back onto the ground. Omar turned to the noise of Jennifer running and she saw a flash. Gun.

She jumped right, into the shadows of a building, hearing the snap of rounds. She took a knee and raised her own Glock. She saw Jacob roll upright, pulling a short-barreled weapon from a bag. Much larger than a pistol.

She heard the mechanical snick of suppressed rounds and felt Brett sliding to her left, pumping bullets down the alley. Her earpiece came alive with Pike shouting for information. She saw Jacob rise and thought of nothing but the front sight of her weapon. She squeezed the trigger. Jacob’s weapon spit fire at the same time and she saw Christine thrown against the wall, then Jacob drop to the ground from her shots, screaming.

Omar fired again, then rolled backward, grabbing Jacob by the shirt and dragging him down the alley. She saw Jacob stand and begin hobbling, then both disappeared into the darkness.

She rose and sprinted forward, feeling more than seeing Brett on her left. She reached the splash of light and saw the carnage. Christine splayed out like a broken mannequin, her legs folded, one shoe off next to a can of pepper spray, her upper body against a roll-up metal door. And her right side pumping blood from a close-range shotgun blast.

She knelt down, putting her hand over the wound, hearing Brett running forward. He slid into the light on his knees, conducting triage of the rest of her body and talking softly to her. He nodded at Jennifer and she stood, letting him get to work with his medical skills. She stared down the alley and caught a glimpse of movement. She took off, talking into her earpiece.

“Pike, this is Koko, Christine’s been shot. Brett’s conducting trauma management, but she’s hit bad. I’m moving south down the alley. I’ve lost lock-on of the targets.”

Brett came on, “Pike, she’s been hit with a shotgun. Looks like small shot, maybe nine-shot. Maybe bigger, but it was close-range. No arterial bleeding, but she’s losing fluids. Need exfil immediately.”

Bouncing from shadow to shadow, Jennifer heard Pike’s voice come on. The calm one. He said, “Standby. Working exfil with Shoshana. Stabilize and prepare for movement. Who’s on the target now?”

Jennifer said, “Me. Koko. But I can’t see them. I’ve lost them. I’m just following down the alley.”

“I see your position on my phone. Hold what you got. Hold up. Looking now, and there are about five ways they can get out. Or ambush you.”

“Pike, they’re going to get away.”

“Got it. They’ll still get away after they put a bullet in you. Stand by. Break, break—Brett, I can’t get Shoshana to you down that alley. She’s on the road you left to get in it. You see headlights to the east? Should be flashing.”

“Yeah. I see ’em.”

“That’s your exfil. Can you CASEVAC to that location?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can do it. She ain’t that heavy.”

“Do so. Break—break—Koko, pull back to Brett. Exfil with the casualty. Give him a hand. Aaron and I are circling on foot. We’ll try to interdict. Be on call for linkup.”

Leaning against a wall, hidden in the shadows, Jennifer started to object, then realized he was right. She was asking to get killed hunting blindly in the dark.

She sprinted back to the pool of light, seeing Brett ripping strips of Christine’s jacket and shoving them into the wound. She saw the blood coming out, Christine’s eyes rolled back into her head, and felt sick.

81

Out of the line of fire, Omar dragged Jacob down yet another alley, thinking of nothing but getting away. He’d made multiple lefts and rights to confuse whoever was after them, but in doing so he had become hopelessly lost. They reached a main thoroughfare and he realized he was still openly carrying his pistol. He shoved it into his waistband, then pushed a struggling Jacob into a stairwell, sitting him down.

“Where are you hit?”

Curling into a ball, his eyes and nose running freely from the pepper spray, Jacob said, “My groin. My groin. Shit, it hurts.”

Omar pulled Jacob’s hands away, looking for the wound. He saw torn clothing and a smattering of blood, but no significant trauma. He unbuttoned Jacob’s pants and pulled them aside.

The hipbone was swollen and red, surrounded by small lacerations and bits of metal, but no hole, and no gout of blood that should have been there. Omar reached into Jacob’s right front pocket and pulled out a mass of broken metal and plastic. Jacob’s cell phone.

He laughed for the first time. “Young lion, you may not believe in Allah, but He believes in you.”

“How bad? How bad is it?”

Omar held the cell phone in the light. “You’ll have a massive bruise, but the bullet ricocheted off of your phone. It didn’t penetrate.”

Jacob wiped his nose and eyes, incredulous. Omar grabbed his arm, saying, “Get up. We’re still being hunted.”

Omar helped him out of the stairwell, then leaned him against the wall of rough brick, saying, “Wait here.” He walked to the mouth of the alley and surveyed the street, his head on a swivel attempting to spot his pursuers. He came back, saying, “There’s a taxi stand fifty meters to the south. Walk as normally as possible. Lean on me, but make it look like you’re drunk instead of injured.”

Forty minutes later, they crossed the Tiber River and exited once again in front of the Mate Bar.

Omar said, “Can you walk from here?”

“Yeah. If the house isn’t too far away.”

“Just a few blocks.”

They set out, once again going through narrow cobblestone alleys, moving in silence. Eventually, Jacob said, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, honestly. On the one hand, I’d say the Israelis are still after me, but the attack in the alley makes no sense. How would they know we were going there? I didn’t even know it until you arrived.”

Jacob said, “It’s the girl. They were following the girl. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“But how would the Israelis know her? And if they did, why not interdict her in Venice?”

Jacob shook his head, remaining quiet.

Omar said, “Did you kill her?”

“I think so. I was close, and it was a shotgun, but I was hit right after. I dropped the gun and didn’t get off another shot.”

Omar said, “Doesn’t matter. She’s definitely wounded, and I doubt the Israelis even remained behind to help. I wouldn’t have, given the complication of taking her to a hospital. She’ll spend the rest of the night fighting for her life. If the police get to question her, it will be about the shooting. Not about what she’s doing in Italy.”

Jacob said, “So you think continuing with the attack is smart? Seriously? After that shootout?”

“Yes, I do. Think about it: If they knew the target, why try to interdict us in the street? Why not just wait until tomorrow? The crusaders are famous for sting operations, not random shootouts.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they planned on getting us tomorrow, but we caused them to jump the gun.”

“That doesn’t explain why they were following the girl. If they knew everything about us, they would have just swept in. No, they were following her because they know we exist, but not what we intend to do.”

They reached Via del Moro and Omar held up. Jacob said, “What?”

“The house is right down the street. No reason to walk into a trap.”

“But you just said you thought we were still safe.”

“I believe it, right up until it proves untrue. Wait here.”

Omar left him and went quietly down the street, searching for a hidden enemy. He saw nothing. He circled down the small alley behind the apartment, moving past rubbish bins and stabbing the barrel of his pistol into every shadow. He reached the back of the flat and saw the flicker of a television, then Carlos move in front of it. He hid his pistol and retreated back to Jacob.

“We’re good.”

They walked straight up to the front door, Omar first knocking before using a key. The door swung open and Devon was standing in the foyer, his face white.

Omar immediately withdrew his pistol, whispering, “What is it?”

Devon closed the door and said, “Our pictures are all over the news. Me, Jacob, Hussein, and Carlos. Old mug shots from Florida.”

82

The doctor came out of the bedroom and said, “She’s stable, but sedated. She’ll be out for a while.”

I said, “Doc, I really need to talk to her. She’s the key to a terrorist attack, maybe within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Mr. Logan, I don’t know what to tell you. Get some sleep. It looks like you could use it.”

“Fuck that. I can sleep when I’m dead. She’s getting sent to the US on a medical bird in the next six hours. That’s all the time I’ve got.”

“She’s going nowhere. That’s my call as a doctor. I’ll stay here until she’s able to fly, but I’ll never help your organization again if she leaves before I say.”

I admired his conviction, given that he had no idea who we were. I’d figured he was just in it for the retainer, and he’d do his job but not quibble if he was told to stop.

As soon as we’d loaded Christine into our Fiat, Shoshana driving and Brett providing medical aid, I’d had a choice to make: Either take her to a hospital and lose any chance to learn what she knew, or take her to the safe house. To do the latter, I needed to trigger a deep asset reserved for helping Taskforce members working undercover.

The Taskforce was big, with tendrils all over the world, but most of the activities were benign, with unwitting personnel servicing safe houses or operating cover companies. They were trusted individuals who knew they were doing something for the United States government, but were not read on to Project Prometheus.

Early on, we’d determined that we might need medical help after a fight somewhere, and driving to the local hospital with a gunshot wound wasn’t going to work. Kurt Hale had set out to recruit doctors in select regions of the world.

The idea was simple: Find military MDs on the verge of separating from service and ask if they’d like to get government assistance moving to an overseas retirement location, then a major monthly stipend for simply being on call—a call that may never come. This doctor—Colonel Shepard Linkletter—was an emergency room surgeon who’d seen multiple tours in Iraq during the hell of the surge. He’d already put in his retirement paperwork while serving at Aviano Air Base, Italy, when he was approached. He’d planned to stay in Italy anyway, and had snapped up the chance to have Uncle Sugar pay for it. As far as I know, he’d only been used once, when another Taskforce team had gotten into a scrape across the Adriatic Sea in Croatia.

I knew he existed because I’d heard the stories from the team he’d helped, but now I needed Kurt’s permission to activate him for someone who wasn’t on the Taskforce roster, not to mention that, in so doing, I’d contaminate the safe house for good. A lot of work went into procuring these clandestine operational houses, including stocking them with medical and other supplies, but once the doctor saw it, not to mention Christine, it could never be used again.

Kurt had been surprisingly amenable, going so far as to initiate a casualty evacuation plan with another Taskforce aircraft flying from Germany to get Christine to a trauma center, and by the time I’d arrived back at the safe house, Dr. Linkletter was calling for directions. He’d shown up twenty minutes later with his wife in tow. She turned out to be a former civilian DOD nurse, so the team was a twofer.

He’d immediately begun working on Christine while his wife turned one of the bedrooms into a mini-ICU. After an hour and a half, with me just sitting on my hands, he’d come back out, telling me she wasn’t going anywhere.

I said, “Okay, Doc, how long until she’s conscious and lucid? Best guess?”

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang. I put a finger to my lips and nodded at Jennifer. She looked through the peephole, then opened the door. Knuckles and Retro came in, lugging suitcases. Knuckles took one look at me and said, “So my rush down here was for nothing?”

“So far. You and Retro got the room on the left upstairs. Retro, how’s your leg?”

“A little stiff. Stitches itch like hell, but it’s okay.”

“Can you run?”

“If I had to, sure.”

“I mean, can you run without leaving a blood trail?”

“Questionable.”

I said, “Okay, everyone get some sleep. We’ve got no lead right now, and can’t talk to our source until . . . Doc? You never answered my question.”

“Best guess, seven to nine hours. Who do you want me to wake if it’s sooner?”

“Me. I’ll be in the bedroom right next door.”

Knuckles said, “You get your own room? What’s up with that? How come I’m sharing?”

Retro picked up his suitcase and snickered. I said, “I’m sharing, just like everyone else.”

“With who? Brett? Aaron?”

He saw me scowl and grinned, really enjoying punching my buttons. “Come on. You gotta say it.”

“Shut up, Knuckles.” I walked off to my room, a bewildered doctor looking on. He saw Jennifer follow behind me, and broke into a knowing smile. I said, “You shut up too.”

I opened my suitcase, pulling out a T-shirt as Jennifer closed the door. She said, “You really shouldn’t let him get to you like that.”

I changed into the T-shirt, saying, “Really? You’re the one who was sneaking out of our hotel room in Nairobi. Anyway, I’m getting a little sick of his jokes. He needs to get over it.”

She put on a pair of sweats and slid into the miniature European queen bed. She patted the pillow next to her and said, “He is over it. You’re the only one it aggravates now.”

I said, “You’re going to sleep in sweats?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not having that doctor come in here to wake you up while I’m wearing my panties and a T-shirt.”

“So I get the ribbing without any of the benefits? What’s up with that?”

I got the disapproving-teacher glare, and she changed the subject. “Christine’s going to live, right?”

“Yeah, she’ll live.”

“We should have been quicker. I knew that bastard was going to harm her. It happened so fast.”

“Actually, that was my question to you. Do you think you took Jacob out of the fight?”

“I honestly don’t know. I hit him. I know that, but he got away under his own power. Omar wasn’t carrying him. What did you and Aaron find?”

“Nothing. No blood trail, no Lost Boys. They managed to get out, and I couldn’t find any evidence he’d been hit in a bad way.”

She rolled over, turning out the light. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. We’ve never done a chase where we’ve been completely behind the ball at every step of the way. You should have seen Omar. That man is a demon. He’s going to kill a lot of people.”

“I know. Get some sleep. At least Kurt’s got the Lost Boys in the system. I saw them on TV tonight. Jacob didn’t look anything like the Jacob I saw, but at least they’re out there.”

She rolled back over and said, “We should let Shoshana go. She wants to, and she’s got a weird thing with Omar. I don’t want to sound crazy, but she’s got some inner bloodhound that can find him.”

“She won’t care who gets hurt if I let her off the chain. She’s crazy. I can’t control her. All she wants is him dead.”

“You can, Pike. If you get her to say it. Tell her to find him and call. She’ll do that. If she says so.”

I lay in bed, feeling the incredible pressure to stop an attack, and an absolute helplessness that I would fail. I said, “Maybe I will. Let’s see what happens tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came a hell of a lot earlier than I thought it would. Around dawn, I was awakened by my cell phone. I fought through the fog and answered. It was an intel analyst from the Taskforce. He said, “Pike Logan?”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and saying, “Yeah. Who is this?”

His next words woke me up completely.

“Kurt Hale gave me an order to contact you as soon as we identified a credit card purchase in Venice. We did. The pay-as-you-go card was used to buy a cell phone. We have the number. Do you need it?”