“What the hell,” Rachel said, “you’re rich. Let’s have another bottle.”
He ordered. They lingered over their meals and gradually drank the remaining wine. Both knew they should not drive, so they hailed a cab, which let them out a block from the safe house. Rachel was flushed and not as light on her feet as usual, moving with a kind of drowsy contentment. He ushered her through the door and locked it after them.
As he turned, Rachel slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. It surprised him, but a moment later he returned the kiss, even as she melted against him, her head lying against his shoulder. She released a long, slow breath and murmured something unintelligible. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. By the time they reached it, she was asleep.
He laid her on the bed, removed her shoes, and tucked her in under the covers.
“Goodnight, Rachel.” He slipped out and sat for a while on the sofa, staring at the wall and thinking, before the late hour and the wine got the better of him as well.
The next morning, Stryker woke with a splitting headache. He was brewing a pot of coffee when he heard the bedroom door open, and Rachel walked in wearing an oversized sweatshirt that came almost to her knees. She huddled on the couch, drew her legs up beside her, and yawned expansively. Stryker brought her a mug of coffee.
She drank it and massaged her temples. After a while, she said, “Did we have a good time last night, or what?”
It sounded like an actual question. “Do you mean at the restaurant or after we got back here?”
“I know what happened at the restaurant. What did you do with me back here?”
“Nothing. You went to sleep.”
“Well, that figures,” she said. “The first time I have a chance to really enjoy myself, and I go to sleep.”
“I’d make it up to you now, but my head is about to explode.”
She laughed and then winced. “We’re like an old married couple that forgot the cost of having too much fun.”
They spent the day reviewing their gathered intelligence and making plans, and by the afternoon, they felt much better. Stryker told her he would contact Kaesar again the next day and press him to supply the bank lists and client lists. “The information on those lists might provide the breakthrough we need,” he said. “You should also talk with Daniel about whether someone should advise the CIA of possible terrorist attacks, maybe enlist their help.”
“I’ll speak with him. I’ll be going back to Israel soon. What will you do?”
“I have an old friend from the Army I’m going to call on. He always had his ear to the grapevine, so maybe he’s heard something. Let’s meet back here in a week.”
Rachel nodded. He rose from the couch, but she put her hand on his arm. “Do you really think we can do this? Do you think we can stop them?”
He started to answer automatically, to reassure her, but something in her expression stopped him. “I don’t know. I want to say ‘yes, of course we can.’ But I’ve seen plans fall apart too many times, and these people aren’t messing around. They’re out to kill. One way or another, blood is going to get spilled—we just have to make sure it’s theirs.”
Chapter 11
New York City, New York
October 2009
“Sparks Aviation,” answered the voice on the other end of the line.
“Sparks. It’s been a while.”
It had been four years—the last time they had spoken was at a mutual friend’s funeral. Ryan Sparks was a pilot who had made a new life after leaving the Army when he was injured and unable to fly missions. Stryker had personally seen him perform things in the air he thought impossible. He had a laid-back attitude and a hearty laugh, but when it came to flying, he had ice water in his veins.
A low exhale over the phone. “Jake Stryker. I’ll be damned.”
“How’s Sedona?”
“It’s good. Gets hot as hell in the summers, but I get to fly. Got one of those EC-135s.”
“That’s great. A lot like the chopper you flew in the 160th, right?” Sparks had served in the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, a unit famous as “The Night Stalkers” that flew dangerous missions in support of clandestine forces. Sparks owned a helicopter tour business now.
“Yeah.” A pause. “Look, I know there’s only one reason you’d call me. And it ain’t to get Jackie’s peach cobbler recipe.”
“Sparks—”
“No, listen to me. I’ve got a nice, quiet life here with Jackie now. Did you miss the part where I got out? Where I chose to have a life of my own? And now you call me up because you want to drag me back into it. I can’t believe it, after as many times as I’ve saved your ass. I guess it didn’t mean anything.”
Stryker covered the receiver with his hand and closed his eyes, swearing softly. He uncovered the phone. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re out, and I just—I just wanted to say I hope I get to come take one of your tours someday. Tell Jackie I said hello, OK?”
The phone line burst into a crackle of static as laughter erupted on the other end. It took several seconds for Sparks to get himself under control enough to speak. “I’m just busting your chops, man! Hoo! Oh, geez, that was priceless.” Sparks dropped his tone an octave, doing a mocking imitation of Stryker’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Sparks. I hope I get to take one of your wonderful helicopter tours. Excuse me while I get a tissue and hug my Teddy bear.”
Stryker looked at his phone as if he’d like to reach through the line and strangle his friend. “I see you still have your sense of humor.”
“Too bad you don’t still have your balls.”
“Hilarious. I take it you’re not too upset that I’m disturbing your little life.”
“Man, I have a great life here with Jackie. But I ain’t been out of the business a single day since I was eighteen. Tell me what’s going on.”
Stryker started by telling Sparks about the deaths of his team and the bombing in the village. Sparks had heard most of it but not the details. He caught his friend up to speed on his suspicions, Kaesar, the Mossad, and the possibility of more attacks on American soil. Sparks wanted to know how he might help, and Stryker divulged the latest information—that attacks would most likely happen next summer and involve Iranian sleeper cells. Sparks was not surprised and told Stryker many Special Operations personnel believed the same about leaked information, and he had heard chatter about the possibility of impending attacks. This was always a concern, though, so he had not known how much stock to place in it.
Sparks revealed he had become involved as a special contractor working for the CIA shortly after his retirement from the Army. His flying operation was a cover for other activities. He had been instrumental in constructing and coordinating small, rapid-response teams across the country. There were currently ten teams made up of eight men per team, located over the Midwest and southern regions of the United States. Each team had been gathering ordnance and other items for war. Most were former Special Forces and similar to the “Hatchet teams” used in Vietnam. Stryker knew Hatchet teams were some of the most feared units ever put on a battlefield.
“Our goal is to have ninety teams,” Sparks said.
“So you are basically forming a small army of hunter killers.”
“Things are changing, Jake. We’re fighting a new kind of war and facing new kinds of threats. With budget cuts and commitments around the world, the military is spread thin. We’re ill prepared to deal with attacks on our own turf. If our borders were ever attacked, we’d need teams in place to keep them from being overrun.”
“I don’t know what I might need you for,” Stryker said, “but I knew you’d be the one to call. Keep everything I’ve said to yourself for now. I’ll be in touch. I had a lot of equipment moved to my family farm in Berryville—it’s centrally located, remote, and otherwise empty. I think we should meet there soon. Maybe I can introduce you to the Mossad.”
“Sounds good. And I’ll bring that
recipe from Jackie. She really does make a killer peach cobbler.”
Stryker disconnected and waited in the safe house for information he was expecting from Kaesar. Stryker had called earlier and pressed him to obtain the client lists and bank account information, and after a few veiled threats in the form of references to Seif’s disappearance, Kaesar promised to have it available that afternoon. They showed up on time, delivered via courier to his door.
Rachel had returned to Tel Aviv that morning, saying she had business in Israel but would also meet with Daniel and the team. Stryker spent the balance of the day looking through the files from Kaesar. The client list was lengthy, but some of the names of individuals and companies matched information Daniel had provided, obtained from Seif. Stryker found ten companies in the United States and several out of the country that merited a closer look. He was eager to get the information to Rachel but decided to wait until he could do it in person, as phone conversations begged to be intercepted by the NSA.
Over the next week, he tried to check in with Rachel but reached only her voicemail when he called, and she did not make contact with him. He tried not to worry. When the weekend came, he waited around the safe house and watched for her, but when she had not shown by dusk on Sunday, he left the safe house and walked toward a small café. He had gone a block when he sensed someone following him.
At the next corner, he ducked into an alley. He flattened against a wall, but after five minutes, he had not seen or heard anything. He stepped cautiously out of the alley. He had taken several steps when he felt a gun barrel press against his ribs.
Stryker’s body tensed as he prepared to spin, strike, and disarm, but he heard a voice he recognized.
“Got ya!”
He turned and looked into familiar, deep green eyes. They were the most beautiful thing he had seen in quite a while. “Rachel.”
She rose up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “I’m hungry,” she whispered. “And you’re getting sloppy.”
“At least this time you tried to kill me with a gun.”
Rachel laughed. “I had to make sure you weren’t followed. By anybody else, I mean.”
“Why didn’t you contact me last week?”
Her eyes lowered evasively. “A lot of stuff going on. Sorry. Can we pick up some food and talk at the safe house?”
“Lead the way.”
They picked up sandwiches from the café and ate as they walked back to the safe house, making small talk. Inside Rachel sat on the edge of the couch, looking both excited and anxious. “OK,” she said, “from this point forward we need to be very cautious. In fact, things could get dangerous fast.”
“Understood.” Stryker passed her the lists from Kaesar, and she began flipping through them.
“Do you want to go first?”
“No, tell me about your meeting with Daniel.”
Daniel had agreed to bring the CIA into the loop and told Rachel he would do so tomorrow. When that happened, moving freely around the country would be more difficult because the CIA and FBI would be watching everyone, including them. So, beginning tomorrow, they would need to communicate using drops, secure phones, and meetings at restaurants where noise drowned out conversations. Also, the Israeli team set up a series of new safe houses in New York, Denver, Washington, and Los Angeles to cover the country. Rachel had new cover identities and documents for both of them. She would become a redhead the next morning. Their pictures would be taken and affixed to the new documents and they would be ready to travel.
“What are your thoughts about those lists from Kaesar?” Stryker asked.
“Most of these are unfamiliar to me, but one of them stands out. Harlan Capital—it’s listed as a London private equity company with a Canadian branch. Kaesar’s law firm doesn’t have any other companies in that particular business, so that’s a little strange, isn’t it?”
“Do they give any other information?”
“Not much. James Harlan is listed as the managing director, and they’re located in Quebec.”
“You know, I think Seif also named Harlan Capital as doing business with the Prince. I’ll call Kaesar and ask about Harlan in the morning.”
“Your turn. Tell me about your talk with your dear old chum in the CIA.”
Stryker told her about his conversation with Ryan Sparks, including the guilt trip Sparks had laid on him, and Rachel laughed almost as hard as Sparks had. She was glad to hear there might be additional help if needed.
The next morning, Stryker called Kaesar on a throw-away phone. Kaesar said he represented Harlan’s company for over ten years, involving investment transactions. Stryker asked how he came to represent Harlan, and there was silence on the phone. Stryker waited.
Kaesar finally spoke. “Abdullah Seif introduced him to me.”
Pay dirt. Stryker gave Kaesar a new phone number to call upon receiving funding instructions from Seif’s office for the account of Harlan Capital. Stryker hung up the phone and went to tell Rachel. She used a secured uplink to call Daniel even though it was the middle of the night in Israel. Daniel answered, sounding alert even at this hour, and wrote down the details.
“Stand by for more information,” Daniel said. “We’ll know more within twenty-four hours.”
True to his word, Daniel called them the next morning with information on Harlan’s private equity firm. The firm appeared legitimate on the surface, but not much information existed on its principal, James Harlan. One would expect the owner to be a member of various associations and to do business with a multitude of different banks. Harlan did none of these things and had little or no traceable history. Daniel’s team in London was unable to find any pictures of him—an anomaly in the modern, digital age. The man was a ghost.
Chapter 12
New York City, New York, and Berryville, Arkansas
November 2009
A day later, Stryker and Rachel were growing restless, sitting and waiting in the safe house when Daniel called again.
“We may have a break on Harlan,” Daniel said over the secure line. He told them he had put out feelers to MI6, the CIA, and the FBI, advising them Harlan might be of interest. “The CIA confirmed today that Harlan traveled from Canada to the United States in September. He went to several cities, but it appears he spent most of his time in Colorado Springs, Detroit, and Chicago.”
“Do we have a picture of him?” Stryker asked.
“Yes, we secured a copy of Harlan’s Canadian documents, which include his photo. I’m sending it to you through the embassy. We’re investigating why Harlan traveled to these cities, but so far we don’t have answers. All we know for sure is that after he left the United States, he flew to his office in Quebec.” Daniel told them he would be in touch and ended the call.
Stryker and Rachel decided that once Harlan’s picture arrived, they would go to Colorado Springs to see if they could pick up a trail and then move on to Detroit and Chicago if needed.
Stryker wondered about the importance of Colorado Springs; there was the Air Force Academy, of course, but security would already be tight there. Rachel received a call that a special delivery from Washington, DC, would arrive in the morning.
Shortly after, Herman Kaesar called on the private phone Stryker had given him. He advised Stryker that Seif had suffered what appeared to be a stroke and was recovering in London, his condition unknown. “In the meantime,” Kaesar said, “I’ll work for Fayez, as I suspected. His full name is Saleh Al Fayez. The next transaction requires money to fund Harlan Private Capital for investments in Europe. The funds are going to be delivered to London.”
“Physically or electronically?”
“Wire transfer.”
“When? Which bank?”
“I don’t have that information. Look, I’m already going out on a limb for you. If these people knew what I was telling you—”
“They won’t. I’m the one you need to be worried about. Call me the moment you have the date.” He clicked
off the phone.
He found Rachel grabbing the last of her gear and told her what Kaesar had said. “I think London is now the priority,” Stryker said. “We still need someone to reconnoiter Colorado Springs, so I’ll send Sparks.”
“Makes sense. I’ll change our flight plan.”
Stryker dialed Sparks, who said he would be able to help and to send him Harlan’s picture. Stryker suggested they meet at the farm in Arkansas; they would bring the picture with them, make plans, and split up from there. Sparks would go to Colorado Springs, and he and Rachel would fly on to London.
Stryker hung up as Rachel walked in, carrying her combat knife in one hand and an umbrella in the other. “The last time I was in London, it rained for five straight days.”
“Sorry about the change in plans.”
“Not a problem. I could go for some blood pudding anyway.”
“Bloodthirsty carnivore.”
She smiled. “You have no idea.”
*****
Stryker and Rachel flew to Little Rock where they rented a car to meet Sparks in northern Arkansas. There was a small airport twenty miles from the farm in Berryville, and they heard a helicopter approaching soon after they arrived. Sparks landed the chopper as if setting a piece of fine china down on a table. He remained one of the best pilots Stryker had ever known.
Sparks climbed out and walked over to shake hands with Rachel. He appeared unchanged except for a little more grey in his hair. Sparks was tall and lanky, a man in his early forties with the energy of a teenager. “You must be Rachel. You’re even more beautiful than Stryker let on.”
Stryker felt his face getting hot, but Rachel just gave a charming smile. “Well, the man can’t be trusted in general.”
Sparks laughed and slung an arm around Stryker’s shoulders. “I like her.”
They drove to the farm, Sparks and Rachel chatting idly about Sparks Aviation, helicopter tours in the desert, and even his long-time girlfriend’s coveted recipe for peach cobbler.
Operations Compromised Page 7