Ghost of Africa

by Chuck Van Soye

  “It’s after midnight here, Chu, and I’m tired.”

  “I bet, with the day you’ve had. Please do get some rest.”

  “Remember, I have that 10:00 a.m. interview, so please don’t put us on a plane before noon. Good night, Babe. Love ya.”

  “Good night, love you more.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lee Suite, Hotel Fairview, Monaco

  Bret was rudely roused out of his sleep by the phone incessantly ringing. He almost tripped over his shoes in his rush to answer. As he reached for the phone, he caught a glimpse of Zhu, a pillow hiding his ears from the obtrusive sound.

  “Hello. Oh, hi Chu.”

  “Aren’t you up yet? It’s 9:10 a.m. your time, and you have an interview in less than an hour. Wake up and get moving.”

  He groaned and rubbed his eyes, yelling “Zhu, get up. We’ve got to leave in thirty minutes.”

  “I’m glad you got some good sleep, Bret. I’ve been up for two hours here, setting things up for your visit to SOFEX. Right after your interview, you need to catch a RailEurope train from Monte Carlo at 11:30. It’ll take you to Paris, arriving 7:04 pm.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Find your way to Charles de Gaulle, and catch the redeye EgyptAir flight to Amman, leaving at 10:45 tonight. It will arrive at Queen Alia International at 9:05 tomorrow morning. Check in at the Amman Rotana hotel. I left all this travel info at the Fairview desk for you to pick up on the way out the door. Don’t forget your luggage.”

  “Good grief, Chu. Do we have time anywhere to go to the bathroom?”

  “Well, you said you wanted to go to SOFEX, and asked me to set it up, so I did. And they’ll have your and Zhu’s entrance passes waiting for your arrival.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive. Thanks.”

  “Now call me tonight and tell me all about the show and your TV interview. I’m going back to bed. Bye.”

  Bret stood quietly there in his underwear, dumbly looking into the phone’s speaker as if it would soon tell him more. As he pulled up his pants, he yelled “Zhu, move faster. We’ve got to get outta here!”

  * * *

  SOFEX 2018, Amman, Jordan

  Bret and Zhu finally arrived at SOFEX. The magnitude of the event astonished them. Located in the Jordanian desert on the grounds of King Abdulla Airbase, the exhibition encompassed acres of modern buildings and huge white tents, criss-crossed by paved roads decorated with dozens of colorful flags and pennants of countries in attendance. Six huge halls provided over fourteen acres of covered exhibit space for the hundreds of international exhibitors. Outside the structures were parked military airplanes, helicopters, fighting track and wheel vehicles of every description.

  “This is huge,” commented Zhu, as they walked amongst rows and rows of exhibits. “Small companies, medium-size manufacturers, and the big boys, Boeing, Raytheon, Lockheed and look, there’s Datron over there.”

  “The program they gave us at the gate says there’re 349 American companies here. Plus exhibitors from thirty-three other countries too,” Zhu added.

  “Yeah, a lot of booths. Supposedly takes four days to see it all. Weapons, body armor, night vision systems, survival gear, field medical stuff.”

  “Think we’ll have time to see everything Bret?”

  “No way. One or two halls of indoor exhibits only. As interesting as SOFEX is, we really need to limit our time here in order to zero in on our ultimate mission of finding Kunga. Get on to Macao. We should take some time, though, to go outside and see the weapons systems on the airstrip, as well as this afternoon’s live-fire demonstration.”

  “What did you think of the General Dynamics display? M-1 battle tanks, multiple missile systems, and those crazy airborne miniguns.”

  “I never knew they made all that stuff. Lucky we could look at their Redeye SAMs up close and personal. Kunga might like to buy some from us.”

  “Bret, it’s only gonna happen if Chu’s Wikipedia scheme for him to find you works. Then, we’ll have a pretty good chance.”

  “Careful about calling me Bret. From now on, when others are around, I’m Steffan.”

  “Sorry, Steffan. Gotta be careful.”

  “Look at this mob of people. A few guys in business suits, some in khaki fatigues. Lots of officers in fancy hats. Ribbons and medals on their chests.”

  “Dudes with epaulets; Chinese, African, Arabic, all over the place.”

  “Zhu, check out that huddle of hand-shaking brass, mostly foreign. They seem to be treating the American general in their midst like he’s a rock star.”

  * * *

  Amman Rotana Hotel, Amman, Jordan

  “Hi Babe. SOFEX was really worthwhile. I’m glad you discovered it and got us here. I got to hold a dummy Redeye MANPAD. We also saw one fired at a weather balloon. No contest; the balloon lost big-time.”

  “Did you hand out any business cards?”

  “Twenty-six, mostly to generals. One of them to a General Dynamics technician that specializes in SAMs. He gave me his. Who knows, the contact might come in handy.”

  “Do you plan to go back there for another day, or go on to Macao tomorrow?”

  “Macao.”

  “I’ll set it up.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I spent the day writing and placing another round of articles online. I was able to include some quotes from the TV and newspaper interviews you did in Monaco. But this time, something interesting happened.”

  “Yeah, what was that, Babe?”

  “The number of comments from online readers skyrocketed from ten or twenty for the first set of articles on Monaco to several thousand on the second. Almost all of the comments were from women. Half wanted to join you in bed with your two supermodels, and the other half wanted you thrown in jail.”

  “Jail? Why would they want that?”

  “Because you’re a scoundrel, that’s why.”

  “Scoundrel? And why are you raising your voice?”

  “Because I had you with other attractive women in Macao. And I quoted an anonymous source that said it’s likely that you deal in illicit trade, though the nature of which was still unclear. Drugs possibly.”

  “But we haven’t even flown to Macao yet, and you only have the pictures of the Monaco girls. Where did you get photos of other girls?”

  “I used a face generator. Look it up. I combined the faces of several women together and got unique new faces. I then photo-shopped these onto bodies, and voila. It actually wasn’t that hard. Don’t even have to worry about getting permission agreements.”

  “You never cease to amaze me, Chu.”

  “Thank you, hon. Now I’m in the process of creating bots.”

  “Bots?”

  “That’s short for robots. Basically, I’m creating an army of Twitter accounts that, on my command, reply to tweets of certain celebrities with something like: ‘Well, if you think that’s something, you should check out this Steffan Doevendans guy, #slimebag, #twotimer, #drugdealer,’plus a link to my articles.”

  “This generates more traffic to our articles. Legitimate news outlets often use these sites to get ideas for their stories. Stay tuned.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work; my head hurts just trying to follow you.”

  “It is, but it’s how I’ll get the final reference articles I need to finish up the Wikipedia story. It’s now about eighty percent written.”

  “I know you’ll do it, Babe. Zhu and I gotta go get something to eat now in case the grill in this hotel closes early. I’ll call you when we get to Macao.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  CIA, Directorate of Operations, Langley, VA

  To: Adnan Chira, Operations Officer From: Jim Baker, Deputy Director, DO/Counter Terrorism

  A dossier originated by NSA Signals Intelligence and handed off to the FBI found its way into our caseload at 8:00 a.m. this morning. An American is being investigated as a possible terrorist because of his communications with a questionable
Chinese government weapons expert about surface-to-air missiles. The FBI was handling the follow-up domestic investigation until the American target dropped out of sight, and is believed to have left the country. Domestic and international BOLO accompanied by the target’s photograph from CIA files were promptly issued.

  The latest addition to those reports is a Sig Intel bulletin dated 5:17 just this morning. It states that a facial recognition security system at Jordan’s four-day SOFEX 2018 weaponry show may have detected the target passing through today.

  Go there, find him, follow him and see what he’s up to. You know him well from your tour of duty in Syria . . . Bret Lee.

  Having crossed paths with Lee in DC, I know him well also. I find it hard to believe he’s involved in anything detrimental to our nation, but we can’t take a chance. Tall Dog, you need to move fast and get there before he leaves.

  CIA, Directorate of Operations, Langley, VA

  To: Jim Baker, Deputy Director, DO/Counter Terrorism From: Adnan Chira, Operations Officer

  Jim, I’ll be at SOFEX before noon tomorrow. If Lee is still there, I’ll find and follow him. If not, I know how Bret thinks, and will track him down all the way back to Damascus, if necessary. By the way, whatever he’s up to, I can assure you he’s pure red, white and blue.

  * * *

  Tall Dog arrived at SOFEX 2018 shortly after noon, and instead of entering the exhibit, went directly to the Security Office. He was greeted by a man in uniform because this event is partially hosted by the Jordanian Army.

  Displaying his credentials, TD said, “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Adnan Chira, an officer with American intelligence.”

  Shaking hands, the security man replied, “Greetings. I’m Major Ashraf. How can I help you.”

  “Our Washington office received word that SOFEX uses facial recognition equipment to inspect arriving attendees. Apparently, that system detected a CIA person of interest yesterday. Major, do you have access to the image recordings? I’d like to see the segment associated with that alert.”

  “Yes, we do maintain a digital record. What was the ID provided in the alert?”

  “A-27.”

  “Give me a few moments, and I’ll attempt to pull up that particular image.”

  The major left the front office, heading to the back room. In less than three minutes he returned, and inserted a thumbdrive into his computer, typing in the ID A-27. A frontal close-up picture of a pair of men coming through the main entrance appeared on the screen.

  “Is either of these men the one you are seeking?”

  “Yes, I recognize the man on the right. A perfect picture. Thank you Major. One more question, Sir.”

  “I think I know what that question is, and will answer it in advance. No, he has not returned today.”

  “Thank you. You’re a sharp cookie.”

  “Cookie?”

  “Oops, sorry. Just American slang. One more question. Does that security system pair up the image taken with the associated entrance pass?”

  The major clicked a few keys on the computer. “The associated entrance pass shows the name Steffan Doevendans.”

  “By any chance, did that pass provide the name of the other man?”

  “Err. . . Yes, it was Zhu Yeong.”

  “Bingo! Thank you Major. You’ve been a great help. Goodbye.”

  As he left the security structure, Tall Dog started humming to himself, and soon quietly added lyrics: “Hello Chu, how do you do, we’re gonna find you too.” And then he pondered, Okay TD, so Bret is now Steffan, and he’s on his way somewhere. And Zhu’s with him. Gotta find them somehow. Gotta think, Gotta think.

  I remember from our days together in Damascus, Bret had zero interest in sightseeing. He had a plan, executed it methodically, and took off. If he came to Jordan to see something or someone on the first day of SOFEX, and hasn’t returned today, he’s sure not heading for Petra. I bet he’s left town. Most likely by air. Gotta get to the airport. Try to find where he did go.

  In a taxi on the way to the airport, TD sent a text to Jim Baker: Have firmly established that Bret is traveling under the alias Steffan Doevendans.

  * * *

  “Hi Chu. We’re at Queen Alia airport. The flight you had us on to Macao is overbooked. Could you quickly find us an alternative?”

  “Okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can do on the computer. . . I’ve now got you two on a half-price flight to Hong Kong leaving in forty-five minutes.”

  “Cheaper. That’s interesting.”

  “And I’ve also booked you on a turbojet ferry from Hong Kong airport to Macau . . . only an hour ride. I’ve changed your hotel to The Grand Coloane Resort. More convenient to the ferry terminal. I’ll text you all the details as soon as I hang up.”

  * * *

  On arrival at Queen Alia airport, TD wrote the name ‘Steffan Doevendans’ on the back of a business card, then started at the closest airline counter. He worked his way between noisy milling crowds from counter to counter across the terminal, checking the passenger lists for the most recent and upcoming flights. Steffan’s name appeared nowhere for flights by Qatar, Emirates, or Royal Jordanian airlines. Lastly, he moved to the side of the ticket counter for Etihad Airways, airline of Abu Dhabi.

  “Excuse me, but may I speak to the agent in charge?”

  A uniformed male agent quickly walked to him, saying, “Yes, may I help you.”

  Noticing his name badge, TD showed his credentials and explained, “Ameer, I’m a U.S. special agent on assignment to find and follow a person of interest that I believe may be on one of your flights.” Displaying the card, he continued, “Please check your passenger lists for any of today’s afternoon international flights for this name.”

  The agent closely studied TD’s credentials, walked into the back office and spoke on the phone, then quickly perused an office computer screen and returned to TD. “Yes, Mr. Doevendans is on the 3:20 p.m. flight to Hong Kong. Boarding is ongoing, and the door is about to close.”

  “Ameer, I must get on that flight. Do not allow that door to shut.”

  “I’m sorry Sir, but the plane is sold out.”

  “Including first class?”

  “There is one vacant seat in first class, but you have to have a ticket. There’s no time.”

  “Ameer, in the interest of world security, get me on that flight. Please! Here’s my credit card.”

  Ameer whispered into the ear of a young female agent, who nearly leapt out from behind the counter and ran over to the boarding gate for that flight. The door remained open while TD completed the transaction, and ran over to get on. As he walked the few steps to his front-section seat, he shielded his face from passengers in the rear economy section, sat down and asked the attendant nearby, “How long is this ride?”

  “Thirteen and a half hours, Sir.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hong Kong International Airport

  Hours later, after well-deserved sleep and excellent first-class food, TD was first to the exit door when the Boeing 747 touched down in Hong Kong. After walking up the ramp and through the gate, he walked directly across the central aisle to the opposing gate’s passenger waiting area. He picked up a newspaper left on a nearby seat to shield his face, and sat down to watch debarking passengers from Jordan. Hundreds of passengers emerged from the plane before he spied Bret and Zhu. They started following signs towards Immigration and Customs.

  TD discreetly trailed behind them.

  To avoid being seen, he selected a different lane leading to the Immigration inspectors. Too late, TD realized that the lanes obviously did not all move at the same speed, leaving him annoyed at his oversight. His frustration intensified as passenger after passenger ahead fumbled the process of passport inspection. As a result, Bret and Zhu exited Immigration before TD could. Luckily, he was able to catch up and subsequently pass them in the next room where they were slowed by baggage inspections.

  TD had no baggage, so he slip
ped unseen by them into the main terminal. He quickly took position next to the Starbucks vendor where he could view the pair as soon as they left Customs to head towards ground transportation. The tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee tempted a quick purchase, but he stoically resisted.

  Once outside, Bret and Zhu took a taxi. TD hurriedly elbowed his way through an angry queue of passengers to the front of the taxi line so he could grab the very next cab. During his long career as a CIA field agent, TD never had occasion to repeat a famous line of script from so many movies he’d seen as a boy. As his driver pulled away, TD gleefully shouted, “Follow that cab!”

  Soon the first taxi pulled up in front of the Sheung Wan Ferry Terminal, and discharged its two passengers. Pulling up right behind it, the chase driver asked “How’d I do, boss?”

  “Great job,” replied TD as he paid and tipped the driver and asked, “Where does the ferry go from here?”

  “To Macau, Sir. It’s a turbojet, and only takes about an hour. You usually need reservations to ensure space.”

  TD cautiously followed Bret and Zhu inside the ferry terminal, allowing adequate spacing to avoid being seen. He observed them hand their ID’s and reservations to a gate official for inspection, and then enter a waiting room to sit down. TD hurriedly walked to a ticket window bearing the sign, “Advance Reservations.” Walking up to speak to the agent, TD presented his credentials and asked, “I have no reservation, but I truly need to get on that next ferry to Macau.”

  “Ordinarily no way, Sir, but if you don’t mind standing, I may be able to arrange it. Please wait; I need permission to do this.” The agent discussed TD’s credentials with another man and handed them back. “It’s approved. Your one-way fare is US$21 or 165 HKD.”