by Tom Haase
“Where are you hit exactly? I can put pressure on it.”
“In my ass, and no you aren’t going to put pressure on it,” Matt said. “I’m not going to let you grope my butt.”
“That’s something you might wish for, but I see the medic coming,” Bridget said as she moved back to allow him access. “Let’s get you taken care of, and then we’ll sort out what happened here later.”
“They all dead?” Matt asked.
“Yes. There’s one who remained outside and the rescue team took care of him. I don’t know anything else. We need to get you to a hospital and then find out from Liz what happened.”
“He’ll make it,” declared the medic, “but he needs to get to a hospital.”
“Still trying to show a girl a good time.” She gave him a full smile. She bent down and gently touched his cheek.
Four hours passed at the hospital before Bridget was allowed to see Matt again. A nurse led her down a hall to his room. From the doorway, Matt looked very pale, but he gave her a smile when he noticed her. She entered the room, but Liz Garcia already stood there.
“How did you get here?” Bridget blurted out.
“Remember, I have a badge that gets me in most places. I just got here a minute ago. We haven’t taken an opportunity to talk yet. I’ll tell you both what happened from my side and then you can fill me in on the events at the safe house.”
Matt and Bridget each nodded their agreement. Bridget took a seat in one of the two chairs in the room. The space smelled of cleaning material and exhibited the hospitality of an alligator’s open mouth. The single bed took up a large portion of the room.
“All went well during the call you had with Karim. We monitored and recorded it. When you hung up, the phone continued to transmit sounds in its immediate vicinity. Luckily, he didn’t turn it off right away. That’s when the proverbial shit hit the fan.”
“What happened?” Matt asked. “I was sure we got a great asset in Karim.”
“We were too until that moment. In short, he talked with a man we assume is the leader of the jihadist cell. That man thanked him for giving them the address of the safe house. He received praise for his initiative in deceiving you and getting you, the stupid FBI man, to believe he would turn on his fellow members.”
“I’m not going to say I told you so.” Bridget gave him a wink.
Matt rolled his eyes. “Okay, you were correct. I jumped to believe him. Your instinct proved right.”
“He assured Karim that an attack team prepared to kill you as they were speaking,” Liz said. “That you would be dead shortly. Unfortunately, the phone stopped transmitting when Karim finally powered it off. We did get a location, but when a team arrived there they found a country store in the Appalachian Mountains. The owner confirmed their presence and said he never saw them before in the area.”
“Does the GPS work when the phone is off?” Bridget asked.
“No,” Liz said. “The software you uploaded only transmits when the phone is on. Now, please tell me what happened at the safe house.”
“Safe house, my ass,” Bridget said.
Bridget spent five minutes bringing Liz up to speed on the events that almost cost them their lives.
“Since Matt and I are partners in this S.O.E. operation, I never again want to be without a weapon,” Bridget said looking at Liz.
“I’ll take care of that,” Liz said. “This time I’ll deliver.”
“I want to go home today,” Matt said.
“That’s not going to happen. Our boss has given you a direct order. Stay here for three days to get your strength back and your mobility. They may — no, they will come after you again. You are in no condition to ward off another attack in your present state. We’ll have two agents guarding this area while you’re here,” Liz said.
“Great idea,” Bridget said. Looking to Matt she continued. “You’re here for three days unless you’re looking to get the other side of your ass shot off.”
CHAPTER 34
Savannah, Georgia
SCAD Coffee Shop
Michael Alexander Alexandrovitch, known in America as Mike Alexandro, read the morning newspaper in the Savannah College of Art and Design coffee shop. The news didn’t interest him, but it was a way to kill time until his uncle called. The clock on the wall showed nine in the morning, so four in the afternoon in St. Petersburg.
He answered his cell on the first ring.
“Your new security man will arrive with the shipment in five days. Ensure the first half of the money is deposited by tomorrow.” The phone went dead.
It was a pleasure talking to you too, Uncle. You asshole.
Everything boded well for this delivery. He arranged for the pickup at the port of Savannah as usual, and the delivery location now the top item on his agenda. He planned on driving to Jacksonville, Florida, later in the day to pin down the exact spot the exchange would take place. First, he needed to contact Ashil to arrange for the down payment. In his calculations, he needed to allow one extra day. That would allow for time in customs at the port, followed by his personal inspection of the goods, and then the next morning a short drive to Florida.
“Ashil, this is Mike. I need the money tomorrow. Delivery will be in six days.”
“Usual place tomorrow morning. Where do we pick up our goods?” Ashil asked.
“Yes, the usual. The delivery will be near Jacksonville. I’ll let you know the night before with the details. What happened on your promise to take care of the federal problem?”
“We had a few glitches. We’re working on the problem. It’s more difficult than we expected. Can you get any help from your contact on finding his location?”
“No.” Mike only used his contact for operational concerns about the shipment. How he used the source was none of this meathead’s business. Those fuckers couldn’t even take care of one federal agent in multiple attempts. “I expected you to take care of that problem by now. Where are you?”
“On the road near Rocky Mount. Karim will deliver the money tomorrow at nine.” Ashil ended the conversation.
As he walked back to his apartment, Mike let his mind wander for a few minutes on his federal problem and the inability of the jihadists to solve eliminating the FBI agent. He offered them a great deal of money to take care of one man. That agent had disrupted his business, and he worried he could do so again in the future. Unlikely, he mused, with all the precautions he took, but still a possibility. He didn’t want another Roanoke. Perhaps the time approached to get rid of Ashil for his incompetence.
Turning his mind to the contact, he needed to ensure the man provided better information on the FBI operations in the future before making any payments. It might be worth hitting the contact up for information on Matt Higgins despite what he’d told Ashil.
Stepping inside his apartment, he looked at his icon above his mantle and thanked it with a small prayer that his luck was holding. Everything now in position for a successful arms delivery. After the disaster in Roanoke and the near loss of his icon during the FBI raid, he vowed not to take his precious religious item with him on dangerous missions. All arms transaction could potentially be very dangerous. The risk on a mission too great and the luck, the power, the protection of the icon must remain somewhere in his possession and in his mind his apartment met that condition. He concluded that’s all he needed to do to enjoy the continued benefits of its possession.
* * * *
Another phone conversation occurred between the Vatican and Washington, D.C.
“What have you got for me, Alfred?” Jonathan asked Captain Grossman.
“You came up with the idea to track the other man who visited Dmitri in Canada. It took a bit of doing, but I think I have the answer. The man entered Canada under the name of Mike Alexandro. The RCMP got a clear photo of him. I’m forwarding it to you. Also, the U.S. air carrier Delta transported the man from Vancouver to a city in Georgia. Savannah to be exact.”
“Great
work,” Jonathan said and concluded the call.
The name looked like the one Bridget told him but not the same. Different enough where a computer search probably wouldn’t connect the two. There had to be thousands of nearly matched names, but the logic of the computer dealt in facts and not cognitive speculation. Humans did that.
Too bad he didn’t have the assets in America to track down this man. But he did have the Donavans. Just as he made the decision to approach Bridget to request a favor, the photo arrived on his phone.
CHAPTER 35
Near Rocky Mount, North Carolina
Karim rode in the car with Ashil. He listened to the conversation that transpired between Ashil and Mike. When Ashil rang off, he instructed Karim that he would need to drive to Savannah to deliver the money at nine the next morning. When they reached the camp, Ashil would give Karim the money and address for the delivery.
“This is important. Why are you not going to Savannah?” Karim asked.
“There are some questions I have to ask my superior.”
“Who is that?” Karim asked. He instantly realized he might be pushing too hard.
Ashil rotated toward him showing a clenched jaw and pure anger in his eyes. Before the man could speak, Karim said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
He saw Ashil relax. “No, you shouldn’t. I think you are the smartest man in the unit, and the only native Iranian in the unit. So, I’ll tell you. The man who provides us the money is a Saudi, from the house of al-Hanabli. The loss of the weapons at Roanoke and the loss of men in Washington have put me in a bad light. I must explain my reasons and actions to him. He is committed to supporting ISIL and the establishment of a worldwide Caliphate. I intend to support his goals with our group.”
Karim could see the man didn’t want to talk any more so he pretended to take a nap as the car climbed the mountain roads to the camp. This was the time he needed. He let his mind work the problem. He had his orders.
* * * *
Karim Pahlavi did come from the family he’d described to Matt Higgins in order to gain his trust. Karim’s personal reality proved somewhat different from the yarn he’d spun as a prisoner of the FBI man. He realized that his addition of the fable concerning his made-up grandparents entailed a nice touch. He laughed to himself as he never knew anything about his ancestors before his parents. At the age of ten, his parents were arrested because he turned them in to the authorities for plotting to escape Iran. He didn’t lie about his parents teaching him English and that remained the only thing he believed they gave him that had any value. He never knew how they learned the language. Under the law, he dutifully attended religious school and accepted the precepts and ideology of the Islamic Republic of Iran. His parents were traitors. They got what they deserved.
His training during the next ten years made him a master at deception and manipulation in order to carry out his clandestine activities in the United States. His primary mission was the establishment and running of Iranian-controlled jihadist groups built on American terrorists. He held the rank of major in the Quds Force, the extraterritorial activities division of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards. ISIL comprised of forces of his enemy and the enemy of any Shiite Muslim. The Iraqi’s who controlled ISIL in its drive to conquer the world were the worst kind of Sunni Muslims. They would destroy his country. They needed to be stopped, not by any outsiders, but by the Muslim world itself.
Ashil, the leader of this cell, an Iraqi-born Muslim, had a very limited vision and lacked fundamental leadership skills. As a Shiite, the man supported ISIL and that contradicted Karim’s orders. He could not allow his unit to engage in any operation to support them. The use of terrorism against Americans couldn’t be misunderstood as support for ISIL. His goal focused on ensuring the Americans changed their minds on the interference they conducted against a sovereign nation to develop its own defense systems, including the development of a nuclear capability. The time now arrived to assume command of the operation and start inflicting damage on the citizens of this country. A reign of terror, concentrating on killing mass numbers in train stations, shopping malls, and airports would soon be unleashed under his command.
The weapons, the ones from Mike, were essential to his plan and he knew Ashil couldn’t accomplish the goals in Karim’s mind. The use of bombs on planes minimal and extremely difficult to accomplish with the level of security on the planes these days. The airport terminals and malls, however, were another matter. They were rife for exploitation, especially if three or four could be hit at the same time. Those activities Karim planned to achieve in the near future, ideally, as soon as he obtained the weapons from the shipment.
* * * *
Before the car reached the camp, Karim made his decision. When Ashil led him into the small conference room, the man’s phone rang. He listened for only a few seconds before hanging up.
“The man Higgins is in a hospital at Fort Belvoir in Virginia. His FBI watchers will be called off tomorrow night after ten. So he will be unprotected.” Ashil smiled. He then called two of the team, gave them the information, and ordered them to terminate Higgins tomorrow night.
Karim listened and silently approved this action. It would relieve him from having to do it himself. Higgins already knew too much about him and needed to be taken care of. Karim fully appreciated the information he needed to complete the task before him. After all, he’d been trained for this mission.
“Do you have to call the Saudi now?”
“No, I’ll wait till you leave for Savannah. Let me get the money from the safe.”
Karim looked over his shoulder and memorized the combination.
“Just curious. Do you call the Saudi on your cell?”
“Yes, he will see the number and know it is me.” He handed Karim the money and a road map to Savannah with the address of the SCAD coffee shop. “That’s enough questions from you.”
Karim quickly unholstered a silenced PPK and shot Ashil twice in the head. He retrieved the man’s phone.
“I think you’re right. I have no more questions.”
CHAPTER 36
Ft. Belvoir, Virginia
Hospital Room
On the morning after Matt suffered his wound, Bridget entered his hospital room. She hated hospitals, mostly because of the antiseptic smell and the fact lots of people died there. The patient appeared sweaty and moaned in pain. He didn’t seem to recognize her when she stood beside the bed. From time to time they had brief conversations during the short periods when he regained consciousness. Right now something bothered her.
Things were not going as planned.
The doctor entered the room and escorted her out into the hallway.
“I’m sorry to inform you Mr. Higgins developed some complications overnight,” the doctor said.
“What happened?” Bridget asked. Bridget’s gut tightened at hearing this.
“In simple terms, strep got into his bloodstream. We’re countering the condition with antibiotics, but he’s running an exceptionally high fever. It will take some time for this condition to clear. I’ve given him a strong sedative to allow the medicine to work. He’ll be here for a few days at least.”
“Will he recover?” She tried to hide the growing fear she felt about Matt’s condition and how much she cared for him.
“Yes, of course, but you’ll need to be patient for two or three days.” He left her with those words.
Everything sucked. Nothing was going according to her wishes. She needed Matt to help her find the icon and get Schultz off her back. With him out of action, Schultz would be wanting his money that she didn’t see any way to get, and to top it all off, their double agent proved to be a complete fraud. She felt like shit. No, worse, she felt like a failure.
Bridget spent the rest of the morning in a state of depression. She again, for the umpteenth time, examined Matt’s face. No sign of pain appeared there. Something from deep inside her told her to reach down and hold his hand.
This act brought back memories of their time together in the army. He’d been her commanding officer when they tracked down a terrorist cell operating in Saudi Arabia. The group actually planned to set off an atomic detonation to destroy the major oil-exporting harbor in the kingdom. At the same time, they’d rigged an old oil well, which had connections underground feeding to all the major oil reserves in the country.
The American team prevented the explosion at the port but weren’t able to stop the detonation underground. Fortunately, the damage did not match what the terrorists contemplated. Bridget saved Matt’s life at that oilrig. She remembered it all as if it happened yesterday.
In the silence of the room, she realized she needed to confront her developing feelings toward Matt, which emerged in spite of her resolve not to allow any romantic emotion to cloud her mind. She, however, couldn’t deny having feelings for Matt, but now they were to be partners in a business, it wouldn’t be prudent to let those feelings out of the bag. Doing so might just ruin the whole arrangement. She wanted their business partnership to work and saw a great future, assuming Schultz didn’t kill her.
Taking a short break from the hospital to get some supper, she realized she had nowhere to go, no leads, and she had run out of options to get the money to pay Schultz. She might just have to run, to hide, and to disappear for good.
On the second night of Matt’s hospitalization on the military base, the doctors informed her they believed his infection finally under control, but Matt lost all his color and now continually moaned even with the drugs. As she sat in the hospital room, her phone rang. The caller ID showed Jonathan. She almost let it go to voice mail, but at the last second answered it. She decided to be cheerful despite Matt’s serious condition.