Body Shot

by Amy Jarecki

  Now I know I’ve lost my mind.

  Mr. Kisongo met them outside the jewelry shop in the center of the market. It was the ideal front for a jeweler who traded in blood diamonds and gems. Inside, the stall looked like it catered to tourists with cheap necklaces made from semi-precious stones and dirty, uncut stones like garnets that were hardly recognizable. As a prospector herself, Henri had pegged the stones as too worthless to bother trying to do anything with them.

  Mr. Kisongo ushered them to the rear of the shop and pulled aside a curtain. “This way. Out the back is where we keep the inventory for serious buyers.” As they’d seen on the satellite images, there was a rundown adobe building just across from the rear of the market stalls. There was one window and it had iron bars. As they slipped inside, Henri took note of the infrared lights lining each side of the door.

  Inside, the décor was Middle Eastern, not African. In contrast to the exterior, it exuded wealth from the polished marble floors to the rich royal blue and gold trim. The showroom was small, and a man of Middle Eastern descent stood behind a glass display case with a licentious smile plastered on his face.

  Mr. Kisongo gestured to the man with a slight bow. “May I introduce Mr. Arni Bashir.” He shifted his palm to Henri and Mike. “Mr. and Mrs. Emmerson from Canada.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Bashir said in accented English as he held out his palm. “Passports please.”

  It was common practice for gems dealers to verify genuine buyers through a quick background search. As always, ICE had developed extensive histories of data for each of them. But still, Henri hesitated before she pulled hers from her purse. The man’s shifty eyes were about as trustworthy as a snake’s. Mike fished in his top pocket, then took hers and handed both passports to Bashir, but Kisongo grabbed them.

  “If you haven’t already, please check out our website, Emmerson Associates,” Mike said. “We deal only with the most elite jewelers in Canada.”

  “It is good to hear.” Bashir gestured to the uncut jewels in the display, though he looked directly at Mike. In fact, he hadn’t even glanced at Henri. “What particularly interests you, Mr. Emmerson?”

  Mike leaned down, giving the stones a good look. “Everything, but our clients cannot seem to find enough tanzanite...”

  Being gender-snubbed gave Henri an opportunity to use the camera in her glasses to slowly scan the room. Behind Bashir were a computer, desk and a walk-in safe much like a bank’s. Beside that was another door. In the back corners, security cameras with infrareds were pointed directly at them. Henri glanced over her shoulder. Two more infrared sensors were mounted above—as well as another two in the center of each of the sidewalls. Jawhira was seriously guarded, but not impenetrable. “Do you live here with your family?” she asked innocently, focusing on Bashir, insuring she was getting a good facial profile for Asa.

  “I do,” he said, pulling out a tray of purple stones and placing it in front of Mike.

  “Mm. Impressive,” said the Scot, using a pair of tweezers to pick up a stone and examine it beneath an illuminated magnifier.

  Henri leaned in to her partner, straining to see the stone. “I’ll bet they get customers from all over the world here.” She pulled out a set of jewelers’ glasses and handed them to Mike. “What do you think, dear?”

  He grinned and subtly arched his brows at her. “I think we’re on to something.” He shifted his attention to Bashir. “We are also interested in diamonds, but it is of utmost importance to our clients that they’re clean, if you get my meaning.”

  “Of course. I assure you, we do not associate with the thugs who deal in conflict diamonds.”

  Bullshit.

  Mike picked up another stone and examined it. “I thought as much. We’re looking for large gems—anything over a karat.”

  Bashir grinned. “You’re in luck. We’ve recently received in a shipment from the Mwadui mine.”

  “You deal with Mwadui?” Henri asked. “I’m impressed.”

  Bashir looked at her for the first time since they’d entered the shop. “I assure you, Mrs. Emmerson, once your husband has a look at these stones he will not entertain buying from another supplier.”

  She bit her tongue as the man brought out a tray of sizeable, uncut diamonds. Making sure to get a good shot of them, she again leaned into Mike. “Impressive. I’ve never seen so many gems of that size in one cache.”

  After examining the stones, they made an initial purchase of $200,000. Mike made a call to “his banker” who happened to be at ICE, and a quarter of the funds were transferred to Bashir’s Swiss account with an agreement to pay another quarter when the gems were delivered to the transport to Canada, and the remaining half when Emmerson Enterprises took possession of them on the tarmac in Toronto, or so was the plan.

  ***

  Not surprisingly, before they made it back to the hotel, Asa reported that Bashir had been photographed in Baghdad with al-Umari—five years ago, but still, the Jawhira shop’s ties with the Islamic State were confirmed. And the jeweler’s name wasn’t Bashir. It was Hazma Mahmoud and he’d done some nasty stuff—had been one of bin Laden’s cronies as well.

  They needed to move fast. If Bashir was part of the ISIS regime, no doubt they’d be running film on Mike and Henri as well. Their disguises were decent, but someone as skilled as Asa or the cyber recruits at ICE would eventually be able to drill down and connect the dots.

  With no time to waste, they decided their next visit to Jawhira had to be that night.

  They dressed in black, including balaclavas and night vision goggles. It was July and they were hotter than hell, but it was worth it to get inside and begin their attack on terrorist funding.

  Mike carried the duffle with his tools. They were armed to the teeth and had choreographed their every moment. They each had their tasks and it was well after midnight.

  Taking on the grunt work, Mike disabled the security system by unscrewing the keypad and using the ICE decoding program on his watch. It took 1.5 minutes.

  Weapon balanced against her shoulder, Henri entered first. Mike had the barrel of his M4 pointed over her shoulder as she moved. Once she verified the infrared was down, she stood against the wall while Mike slipped razor blades into the camera cables to create static. If he completely sliced through the cables, ISIS would know they’d been hit but if he pushed the blade in until it connected with wire, the cameras would only record static, then would be back up as soon as the blades were removed. They were also banking on the fact that in this part of the world, it was common for there to be interruptions in the electric grid.

  Once security had been shut down, Henri made a beeline for the computer. Her job? Copy the contents onto a thumb drive which they would upload to ICE as soon as they got back to the hotel. They didn’t care about the safe or its contents. Right now, they needed intel. And a “robbery” would only make the rats scatter. Even if the Avignon diamonds were in there, once confirmed, Interpol would be all too accommodating to seize and arrest.

  It was best if they slipped in and out stealthily with ISIS none the wiser.

  Mike stood guard while Henri worked her magic, her fingers flying over the keys and clicking the mouse.

  “Holy shit,” she whisper-shouted.

  “What?” He moved in beside her and pushed up his NV goggles.

  “Bank transactions—big ones, to a mine in Ruhuhu.”

  “Buying gems?”

  “Can’t tell.” Her fingers typed rapidly. “I’ll download it all. Checking the e-mails now.”

  Mike looked over her shoulder. One word caught his eye, nuclear. “What’s that?” He pointed.

  “Jeez, let me start the download first.”

  Mike kept his eye on the subject line. “Tell me when.”

  “Right.” She glanced his way. “What did you see?”

  He pointed, the tip of his glove touching the screen. “Fifth e-mail down. Open it.”

  Henri clicked and read al
oud. “Doctor Thomas Flynn from MIT flying into Ruhuhu on July 16th to lecture about mining uranium.”

  “That’s tomorrow.”

  She snorted. “You mean today.”

  Mike’s jaw twitched as looked at the green bar indicating the progress of the download. “How much longer?”

  “Less than a minute.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With their rifles hidden inside a duffle, Henri followed Mike out of the elevator, itching to hook up to her laptop.

  At the door he swiped his key card. “How’d you get so computer savvy? You’re almost as good as Asa.”

  “It pays to go through ICE training with a bunch of cyber nerds.” Her mouth dropped when he flicked on the light.

  The entire place had been ransacked. Clothes strewn everywhere. Dresser drawers discarded and strewn across the floor, the contents of the bar fridge scattered.

  She drew her Glock from the small of her back. Mike already had a pistol in his hand. It only took a glance between them and they fell in step, taking opposite sides of the wall. Mike went first and scanned the bathroom. “Clear.”

  Henri slid past and swept her gun to the blind corner before she peeked around it. “Clear.”

  Mike ran to the bed and dropped to the floor while Henri made a sweep behind the drapes. “They’re gone.”

  Jesus, even the trash had been tossed across the floor.

  “They didna find your computer. Thank God.” He pulled it out from where she’d taped it. “This is exactly why I dunna take computers into the field.”

  “Even if they’d found it, they never would have cracked it.”

  “So you say.”

  “So says ICE.” She tucked her Glock back into her rear holster. “You know they change the encryption daily. That’s why they need so many cyber nerds.”

  “Yeah, well, I like paper maps and paper notebooks.”

  “Notebooks can be stolen, too.”

  He pulled his out of his back pocket. “Only if they go through me first.”

  “Anything can happen.” Henri picked up the duffle and tossed it on the bed. “I need to upload this stuff to ICE.”

  “Not here. I’ll call Hali and have him meet us.”

  “Roger that.” Snorting, she shook her head. Mike wasn’t so old fashioned he didn’t travel without his phone—it was a minicomputer, too.

  After they’d packed their gear, Mike pulled his Glock and headed for the door. “You ready?”

  “You think someone’s out there?”

  “Dunno. Probably not. But they ken who we are, lass. That’s for certain.”

  Mike led with his gun and Henri followed. Together, they dashed for the stairwell. The elevator dinged as they passed.

  The doors opened as the hairs on the back of Henri’s neck pricked.

  All it took was a peep over her shoulder. “G-e-t. D-o-w-n!” she hollered as if in slow motion.

  Flinging her body into Mike, she tackled the enormous man to the ground. Something seared her bicep as she rolled and fired at the gunmen. Her hand became an extension of the pistol, squeezing the trigger. It took three bullets to nail three attackers. Without suppressors, the shots were loud enough to wake the dead.

  Henri sat up, watching for any flicker of movement, her gun ready.

  Mike was already on his feet, throwing her over his shoulder.

  “Put me down,” she growled.

  “You’re hit.”

  The searing pain started again—right where she’d felt it the first time.

  Bouncing, she glanced to her arm as he ran into the stairwell. His feet barely touched the steps as he flew down them like she weighed nothing. But she’d been shot all right. A trail of blood followed them. Henri’s head swam and her eyes rolled back.

  “Stay with me, lass,” he said as if he could sense her going limp.

  He burst out the hotel’s side door and ran for the curb.

  A Land Rover sped beside them and screeched to a halt.

  Mike opened the passenger door and shoved Henri inside, then slipped in beside her. “Head south out of town! Punch it!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Set your GPS for the Ruhuhu Basin,” Mike said as he used his hunting knife to cut off Henri’s sleeve to the shoulder.

  “Ruhuhu, boss?” asked Hali. “It’s a big place. It’s like asking me to head for the Serengeti.”

  “Just drive.” Mike pulled a first aid kit from his duffle, ripped open a roll of gauze with his teeth and jammed it against her arm.

  “Ssss,” she said, her face ashen.

  “Sorry, love, but I need to have a look at the damages.” He knew it would hurt, but he pressed hard enough to feel for a bullet.

  She winced. “I think the shot just grazed me.”

  “I dunna feel anything in there.” When he pulled away the gauze, blood gushed, but he’d seen enough. The bullet caused a jagged wound that was surrounded by purple flesh. She’d be sore for a good while.

  Henri closed her eyes and rested her head back. The woman was tough. He knew men who would be whinging and carrying on with the pain, but not her. He fished in the kit for a shot. Special ICE issue—antibiotic combined with a local painkiller that worked in seconds. All he had to do was punch it against her skin. “I’m jabbing you now.”

  Grunting, she jolted as the needle pierced her skin. “Damn, that hurt.”

  “You got the worst of it.” After holding the compress in place for a minute, he doused the wound with an iodine solution, then tore open a field dressing and wrapped it around her arm. “This baby will stanch the bleeding.”

  She looked at him with half-cast eyes. “Thanks.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been shot—a little woozy. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “You cold?”

  “A little.”

  Mike pulled a Mylar blanket out of the kit and draped it over her. “This’ll help.” He looked to Hali. “Take us to a hospital.”

  Henri sat forward, pushing the blanket away. “Are you crazy? Someone’s got our number. There’s no fucking way we’re going to stop anywhere to treat a freaking flesh wound.”

  “But—”

  “I said no. I’m tired because it’s nearly four in the morning—and we didn’t get much sleep the night before. I need a few winks and then I’ll be fighting fit. You got it?”

  Mike gave her a narrow-eyed glare while he shook his finger under her badass nose. “If you grow any worse, I’m taking you in.”

  “I said I’d be fine.” She flicked her fingers toward the windscreen. “Now just get us the hell out of Arusha.”

  “You heard her, Hali. Let’s make tracks.” Mike sat back, his head pounding. The older he got, the harder it was to go without sleep. But right now, too many things swarmed through his mind. Who ransacked their hotel room and what did they know? They must have been made at the Jawhira shop. Had their passports given them away? If so, the Islamic State was growing more high-tech by the day.

  Still. They made us damned fast. Almost ICE fast.

  And it was clear that whoever ransacked the suite expected to find them there—otherwise why would they have sent the hitmen back? And who knew they’d slipped to Jawhira to do a little snooping of their own? Or did they?

  Most likely not, else they would have jumped us there.

  Henri opened her eyes. “We still need to upload the files to ICE.”

  Mike pulled out his phone. “I’ll call in. Let them know about Thomas Flynn. Tell Asa to expect the upload.”

  She grabbed his wrist before he punched the speed dial. “Don’t tell them I’ve been shot.”

  He gave her a look. “You’d be better off in Iceland.”

  “I’ll be better off when Fadli has daises growing over his coffin.”

  Pressing the speed dial for ICE, he said, “I reckon only thorns will sprout on that bastard’s grave.”

  ***

  “They’re all dead,” said Me
lvut Amri from the other end of the phone.

  Omar Fadli could have spit out his teeth. “I knew it was Anderson.”

  “You should have let me kill them when they were in the shop.”

  “You know we couldn’t risk it until we were sure. Killing a pair of Canadians would have exposed the cover we took years to create.” But Fadli had known it was her beneath that ugly hat and glasses. And the passport check had confirmed it—not a standard passport check that would lead them through the backgrounds of a pair of fictitious Canadians, but high-tech facial scans run on their photographs without hats and glasses had revealed it all.

  Anderson’s traveling companion was Mike Rose—a Scot and former officer with the SAS. The only problem was that’s as far as his background went. The man was a ghost. Who they were working for was a mystery. Worse, the assholes were getting too close. Omar could have put a bullet in his chief information officer’s brain—if he didn’t need the man’s computer genius for other, more important things. That’s right. He must remind himself that there were things far more important than Henrietta Anderson.

  But he’d get her, too.

  “Where are you now?” he asked.

  “The plane just landed.”

  “You need to move swiftly. Hours. That’s all you have.”

  “Yes, sir. Peace be unto you.”

  “And unto you, peace.” Omar clicked the red phone icon and tossed his cell on the desk.

  So far, Amri had managed to stay two steps ahead, but ISIS needed Anderson and Rose off their trail for good, and preferably dead. Nothing could get in the way of their plans. Too many hours of careful preparation had gone into this mission. It was both brilliant and divine. Omar was so close he could taste the glory that would be his. Once he ensured all the world knew who possessed totalitarian rule, he would become the true caliph. It was time for al-Umari to step aside. Omar Fadli would bring all Muslims together and unite Earth under one true faith.

  And those who dare to defy me will die.

  Chapter Twenty-Three