Stryker waited for them to reload. When the fire from the car stopped, he rose and returned fire. He hit the man leaning out of the passenger window with the machine pistol. Red bloomed across the man’s chest, and he slumped over the window frame. The Cutlass slowed, and the other man jumped out of the driver’s side as the car continued to roll. The driver stumbled, but he came up firing full auto at Stryker.
Stone fragments flew in all directions as Stryker dropped down again, some of the chips drawing blood as they pelted his arms and torso. The driver emptied his clip and ducked behind the rolling car to reload, giving Stryker an opportunity to move from behind the wall to a thick tree ten feet away.
As the driver leaned around the car to fire, Stryker fired first, and the man crouched again. Stryker still had two cartridges left in his clip when he reached for another clip in his belt. He planned to empty his gun, leading the driver to believe he would stop to reload. In fact, with the extra clip already in his hand, Stryker could fire again with almost no delay.
Stryker fired until his gun emptied. The driver stood from behind the car and started to fire, but Stryker leaned out and shot him dead. The shock on the driver’s face was clear, and with a dark, clean hole in the middle of his forehead, he dropped to the pavement. The car eased to a stop against the curb.
Stryker moved from the tree and to the car to view the men. They reminded him of the man he had fought at the airport—the same suits, the same build, the same look. Iranian Intelligence, he suspected. He left the scene as people came cautiously out of houses and businesses.
Stryker walked casually once again, the gun tucked away, and turned onto a side street before calling Rachel. She had the van pick him up several blocks away. After a short drive, the van entered the embassy and pulled to the back delivery entrance. Inside Stryker found Rachel and Sara and other members of the Israeli team waiting in the conference room to hear details of the shooting.
“Are you all right?” Rachel jumped up from her chair. “You’re bleeding.”
Stryker looked at his arm and pried out a small stone chip embedded there. “I’ll be fine. I could use some coffee.”
Rachel asked one team member to get coffee and told another to bring a first aid kit. Stryker’s coffee arrived as everyone took chairs, and they waited impatiently while he sipped. He drank half the cup as he thought through what he would say. Sara looked nearly ready to bash the cup over his head by the time he spoke.
“Two men tried to kill me today. They appeared to be Iranian. They followed me on my way to the pickup point, and I was lucky to have spotted them. I think I killed both of them, but I did not stay around to find out.” He paused. “The only way they would have found me would be to follow some of you.”
“That did not happen,” Sara said. “We are the Mossad. None of us was followed to your safe house.”
“That leaves only one other explanation.” Stryker looked around the table. “There is a mole inside the CIA.”
The room was quiet. Finally Rachel broke the stillness. “Jake, can you speak to Sparks about this? I’d like to speak to him as well.”
“Yes. I’ll call him now.”
Sparks answered after two rings, and Stryker told him they had a problem and needed to meet as soon as possible. Sparks said he could meet in an hour and to call again with the meeting location.
The team leader told Stryker and Rachel which car to drive out of the embassy. The Iranians were being kept busy with the shooting, he said, and likely not prepared to follow anyone. They should wait thirty minutes for his team to take positions to make sure she was not followed. The team would provide rolling surveillance to cover her. Someone arrived with the first aid kit, and they cleaned and bandaged Stryker’s wounds.
Soon after, they left in the car, and Stryker ducked down in the backseat as Rachel went through the gate. After about a mile, Stryker sat up.
“We got out of the embassy clean,” Rachel said. “You sure you’re OK?”
“Yeah. I’m peachy. Best day ever.” He had his Glock out and ready.
“No need to get snappy.”
“Sorry. Just getting tired of people trying to kill me.”
“Maybe if you were a little nicer,” she said.
He couldn’t help smiling. He called Sparks and told him to go to the food court in the mall. They would meet in plain sight.
Rachel and Stryker made their way through the mall with no trouble and found seats among a large number of shoppers and employees all eating and talking. Sparks finally located them and sat at their table.
“Stryker, are you bleeding? What the hell happened?”
Stryker looked down and saw that, sure enough, he was bleeding through the bandages in a few places. “The Iranians tried to kill me.”
Sparks blew out a slow breath. He braced his hands on the table and leaned his chair back on two legs. “They’re starting to make a habit of it.”
Stryker didn’t smile. He leaned closer, and the look in his eyes made Sparks settle his chair down to the floor.
“We have a mole in the Agency,” Stryker said. “I have gone over this with the Mossad, and they are certain none of their agents were followed to the safe house. Only a few, including Rachel and Sara, even knew its existence.”
Sparks took a moment for the information to settle in. “I guess anything is possible. I’ll check into it. In the meantime, let’s assume the worst. We can use misinformation to cover our real plans.”
“Could you get my things from the CIA house? I’d like to use a Mossad house to be safe. No offense.”
“None taken. Can do.”
“Jake, I can have a new place for you ready by tonight,” Rachel said.
“Thank you.” He looked to Sparks. “When’s our meeting with Herb?”
“Nine a.m. tomorrow. Maybe we should meet at that café in Tyson Corner and go from there. You can ask the Mossad team to make sure no one follows us to Alpha.”
“There’s the paranoia I know and love,” Stryker said.
“And I’m not even the one being shot at.” Sparks smiled. “Just naturally this way.”
“Good thing too.”
Chapter 35
Quebec, Canada, and Tehran, Iran
June 2011
Three weeks since the bombing in Colorado had elapsed and Ali was ready to leave Canada. Many of his operations involved great patience, yet he chafed at the idleness and longed to be in the thick of fresh action once again. Some leaders preferred to supervise from a distance, but Ali never felt more alive than when he could witness the results of all his planning firsthand. There was something about watching the light leave a man’s eyes, something rich and heartening about the smell as buildings and bodies burned.
He had spoken with his handler, Masoud, who continued his attempts to set a meeting with the Russian. Ali had been advised they would need to travel across the border and meet in Afghanistan. The middle of the growing season kept the Russian from traveling. Ali needed the meeting soon because he required funding for two more attacks in the United States.
As Ali waited in his Quebec apartment, he passed the time by recording and splicing together news reports of the bombings in Colorado until he had a highlight reel with the most explicit coverage, the most graphic images of the bombing and aftermath. A cellular phone had been recovered from the far side of the parking lot, where it had been blown. It had a heavy-duty protective case and the memory card had survived, including the video someone was taking in the parking lot when the first blast happened. A few kids were being filmed on the phone, tossing a football around, when a brilliant white explosion burst out of the parked SUVs, encompassing the boys, the football, the person holding the cell phone, the front of the church. It was grainy but glorious. The footage leaked to the press, and Ali watched it again and again.
By the time of the second blast, a half dozen people on the periphery of the parking lot were filming with their phones, and the coverage quality was much be
tter. Someone had also taken photos between the two blasts from an upstairs window of the church and had left the camera there, and these were fantastic portraits of the carnage—flames, bodies, wreckage. Ali had already sent a digital copy of his compilation to the committee in Tehran.
Several days passed. Masoud called and told him a meeting would occur in three weeks and for Ali to make his way back to Tehran quickly. It was what Ali had been waiting to hear. He was already packed and booked the next available flight, which left in the morning. Travel back to Tehran would take one week if done right. He had to be careful to leave no trail. Ali believed Stryker to be the man chasing him but did not know if he was CIA or MI6. Tomorrow he would leave and travel as Alton Seton, a wealthy Canadian businessman.
Before leaving, Ali called his remaining cell leaders and authorized attacks beginning at the end of July. He advised them to attack each target as planned. He would be in Europe but would stay in touch. The teams had been given orders; now Ali would make new arrangements to finance his operations directly with the Russian. Things were finally going well for Ali. The next year looked to be his best ever.
A week passed, and Ali took every precaution to ensure his own safety and, just as critical, to prevent anyone being led to the committee. Ali eventually arrived in Tehran and went to his apartment. He called Masoud.
“I’ve arranged the meeting with Fedorov,” Masoud said. “He stressed that we both have to attend.”
“Did he? Interesting. How long before we meet?”
“Two or three weeks. We’ll fly into Herat and drive with Fedorov’s men to a village south of the city. We’ll meet for only one evening because Fedorov needs to leave the next day to travel to another village.”
“It sounds like Fedorov has it all planned,” Ali said. “I’ll be ready. I’ll be in touch with you soon to make final plans.”
“The committee would like an update as soon as you can meet with them.”
“I can come tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll let them know,” Masoud said.
The next morning, Ali arrived on time for the meeting. One after another, the committee members lauded praise on him for the attack in Colorado. The compliments filled his ears until he heard them even after their voices stopped, and he felt—not for the first time—that he was above them all, that none of them had one ounce of his courage or devotion to the cause. He was a holy soldier, a righteous warrior, a leader among cowards. They were mice, clapping their tiny paws and cheering. He was a roaring lion.
“Thank you,” he said, at last taking a seat. “I remain on schedule. The only thing needing attention is final funding from the Russian.”
Masoud indicated he wished to speak and waited until the man at the head of the table gave permission. “A meeting has been arranged. The funding should not be a problem, but we will keep you updated and let you know if there are any ongoing concerns.”
Ali waved a hand, irritated. “There aren’t any ongoing concerns. And if there are, I will deal with them.”
The man at the head of the table spoke. He had been quiet while everyone praised Ali. “We will decide what is or is not a concern to us. You will respect the authority of this committee, or you will not continue this or any other work.”
Ali fumed, silent, as the man continued.
“The committee still prefers keeping Iran out of any direct funding. Where are the upcoming operations taking place?”
Ali forced himself to speak, the words coming slow and thick. “Fairfax, Virginia, and Houston, Texas. They’ll occur in the next forty-five days when all cells have been activated.”
The committee once again seemed pleased, and Ali’s mood lifted as additional praise drifted his way. He rejected thoughts of murdering the head of the committee, which he had to force down at every meeting. He was dismissed, and he returned to his apartment.
Ali placed several secure calls to various team members, promising payment and assuring them his plans would be carried out on time.
Chapter 36
Washington, DC
June 2011
“I believe Fedorov intends to lure the Iranians to the meeting and have the Taliban kill them along with our teams,” Herb said.
On the conference room tables, he spread out maps that showed the location of the village and surrounding roads. From Herat, the highway split, with a narrow road leading to the village. It was located in a valley that opened up into a plain where crops were grown. A river curved around one side of the village. Herb told them the Taliban remained active in the area, but he had no data as to their troop strength.
Stryker folded his arms as he looked down at the maps. “We cannot afford to have a large battle in the village. We need a surgical strike to kill Ali and take Akbari captive.”
Sparks patted Herb on the back. “Alpha has experience with ambushes. Where on this road would you plan to attack?’
Herb pointed to a spot on the narrow, winding road where it began descending to the village. It was one of the few straight stretches with cover on both sides of the road. The site was only about five miles from the village, but if they acted quickly, then reinforcements would not be able to respond in time.
Stryker viewed the map and saw a thin strip of high ground not far from the attack site. He raised an eyebrow at Sparks. “Think you can put a helicopter down on that ridge?”
“Look who you’re asking,” Sparks said.
They agreed that Sparks and Herb would travel to Alpha’s base in Afghanistan to fly the area in advance, taking a route commonly used by aircraft flying to Herat. Sparks would take along some of his Hatchet operators to scout the area and practice the mission. Alpha’s men would be kept out of the action in case something went wrong, but Herb wanted to be part of the mission—and Stryker reassured him that they wanted him to command the operation personally. Sparks and Herb would depart in two days.
Sparks told Stryker he would only tell the Agency about meeting a contact in Afghanistan who might have information about the Colorado bombing. He would mention possible involvement of a Pakistani Prince. The Mossad could check whether the information was leaked to Fayez, which would confirm a mole in the Agency. Should the Prince get the information from the CIA, things would become even dicier.
Sparks dropped Stryker off at his new safe house, where he called Rachel. “See if Daniel can help locate two men flying on Canadian passports to Herat on the meeting day. If someone from the Mossad could watch at the Herat airport, they could give us a description of the vehicles picking the men up.”
“That’s pretty critical for the ambush, isn’t it?” Rachel said.
“We have to be sure we’re firing on the right cars.”
“I’ll call Daniel and ask him. I’m sure he’ll take care of it.”
The next morning, Rachel and Sara joined Stryker at Alpha’s firing range to sight and practice with the two Barrett .50 caliber rifles they would use in Afghanistan. Both rifles were amazingly accurate and performed well at distances of two hundred, five hundred, and one thousand meters, where they engaged the integrated ballistics computer mounted directly on the scope. Stryker maintained his precision, and Rachel and Sara scored hits on the targets at all three ranges as well—Rachel placed two rounds through the same hole at five hundred meters. The computer system made hitting long-range targets easy compared to rifles using the old methods. The key seemed to be in properly estimating distance. If the distance was correct, the computer would do the rest of the work. Stryker made a mental note to ask Sparks to bring laser range finders with them.
Herb and Sparks departed the next day, leaving Stryker to wait to hear from Daniel and to ensure that Rachel’s team was prepared. Three days later, Sparks called.
“Make plans to leave with Rachel and her team,” he said. “You’ll fly courtesy of Alpha Security and meet me and Herb at the base.”
“And the two Hatchet teams?”
“Already on their way. All of the equipment has be
en picked up and taken to the base.”
Stryker nodded, though he realized Sparks couldn’t see it. “Has the Agency asked why this equipment is being shipped to Afghanistan?”
“I made up a story. The shipment is small enough it’s pretty much under the radar.”
So far Stryker felt confident that nothing had been compromised. Sparks assured him things were in order, which made him feel even better. Sparks had arranged for Herb to supply two more helicopters to help transport the Hatchet teams and Rachel’s team to the attack site. Sparks always made things work. The next day, Stryker boarded Alpha’s private Falcon 50 jet, determined that he would not return without finishing Ali’s reign of terror.
The flight would take them to Dubai with two fuel stops. From Dubai, the plane would fly direct to Shindand Air Force Base, located fifty-eight miles from Herat. It was the third largest air base in Afghanistan and a major helicopter training facility, so their test runs with the helicopters would not draw attention. Alpha Security had a base of operation at Shindand and had recently built two new hangars for aircraft and equipment.
The Falcon climbed to its assigned altitude and the passengers were advised they could move about the cabin. Stryker motioned for Rachel and Sara to start looking at maps he brought that showed the village and ambush site. He shared information that Sparks had given him prior to takeoff and motioned for the team leader to join them. Stryker told the Israeli his number one priority needed to be aiding in the capture of the Iranian Masoud Akbari. The other teams would have a priority to kill the Russian guards and Ali.
“We don’t know how many vehicles to expect, but it will probably be one or two. Daniel will monitor the airport and obtain vehicle descriptions,” Stryker told him. “The Mossad at the airport will coordinate the information through you and then it will be your responsibility to get it to the rest of us. We’ll be in constant contact.”
“Understood,” the team leader said. “Let’s get the rest of the team together and review.”
They gathered the rest of the team riding with them in a loose group in the middle of the plane, and the team leader nodded to Stryker that he should take charge of the meeting. Rachel, Sara, and Abel all watched him expectantly.
Operations Compromised Page 19