by Brad Taylor
Not paranoid after all. All he needed was the time it took the CIA men to reach his hotel. Forty minutes max. He hoped the porter could pull off a goose chase that long.
He took off at a sprint back toward the roundabout.
76
Decoy called me as soon as the plane had landed, saying they were on the ground and moving. Lucas had shown no interest in the State Department weenies on the flight, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t like he was going to slap a bumper sticker on his luggage saying, “I’m out to kill someone.”
Need more information on what those boys are doing.
When his update was complete, I said, “Okay, both you and Brett have vehicles staged in the rental lot. Spots thirty-five and forty-six. Keys are in the ignition. We’re staged out front and can trigger, but you need to hurry.”
“Roger all. Moving.”
“Put your phone in surveillance mode. I want to know what’s going on.”
Taskforce cell phones worked like every other phone in the world, but had the ability to do group conversations, like a conference call, something that I’d been missing for the initial surveillance of Lucas in Dubai. The problem was it ran the battery down that much quicker. If we had to go dismounted, away from the car chargers, we’d only get about two hours before we lost all comms. I hoped that would be enough. I could feel the endgame coming. Which was good, because Brett and Decoy had been conducting a two-man follow for days. Sooner or later, Lucas would pick them up. If he hadn’t already.
I had both Jennifer and Knuckles with me in the small pay lot right out front of the baggage claim exit. I would have liked to use them constructively, but couldn’t see how, since Lucas would spot them. At least we could see everyone who left. My bet was Lucas would flag a cab, and the make and model would be crucial to relay to Decoy and Brett for the follow. I told Jennifer to keep eyes on and dialed Kurt on my Taskforce phone.
“Sir, we’re set, ready to go. Lucas has paid some interest on the two State guys. Can you find out what they’re up to? They have a classified dip-pouch with them. I’m wondering if that’s the target. If Lucas plans on nabbing the information they’re bringing to embarrass the U.S. or maybe sell it. I need to know what’s in the pouch.”
I expected some delay, some further questions. All I got was, “They have a dip-pouch?”
I could almost hear the wheels turning in Kurt’s head. “Yeah. A Halliburton case with the orange cover.”
There was another pause, then, “Holy shit. Pull off Lucas. Get on the State guys. Get some protection on them.”
“What? I can’t do that. I’m already positioned to trigger Lucas. The couriers were met by diplomatic folks to transfer the pouch. I have no idea where they are, and I can’t get through security at the airport with any speed. If I break down the trigger to find them, I’ll lose Lucas. What’s up?”
“The pouch contains diamonds. A shitload of diamonds for a covert transfer to the Palestinian Authority. This isn’t about the peace conference. It’s a fucking robbery.”
Jennifer’s comment in Dubai came full force: He’s pure evil. I find it hard to believe he’d do something that was morally just if no money were involved.
“Sir, I can’t get to the diamonds, but I’m on Lucas. I’ve got him.”
“Pike, he’s got a plan. Being on him may not be enough.”
“Call the State guys. Get them to stay in the airport until I can resolve this.”
“Working that now, but I doubt I can get their cell numbers soon enough. The best I’ll be able to do is warn them, but they’re going to leave the airport.”
Jesus. Jennifer was right. There had to be money involved. No way would Lucas have prevented the assassination of the envoy for any greater good. Should’ve dug. The connection had been staring me in the face.
Jennifer tapped my arm, and I saw Lucas exit the airport, moving to a beat-up Ford instead of a taxi. Great. He has help too.
“Sir, Lucas is on the move. I’ll call you when I can.”
“Pike, so you know, I didn’t get Omega for Qatar. I didn’t even try. I sent Blaine on my own authority.”
“And?”
“And I’m giving you Omega. If you can’t capture Lucas, kill him. If it comes down to it—if it goes bad—you followed orders. My orders. You thought the Council had approved. But I’d rather you didn’t get compromised.”
Wow. Talk about pressure. “Roger all. Gotta go. But you’d better get the president ready for some drama in Doha. Either from Lucas or from me.”
I put the phone in surveillance mode and passed the make and model of Lucas’s vehicle, getting a confirmation from Brett and Decoy that they were set. Knuckles asked, “What was that all about?”
“Kurt thinks those guys are carrying diamonds worth a shit-ton of cash, and Lucas is trying to take it.”
Jennifer said, “What? This all happened over money? He’s just trying to rob the U.S.?”
“Yeah, apparently.”
Her jaw clenched, and she squeezed the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. I pretended not to notice, feeling the same way.
I said, “Get out into traffic. He’s far enough ahead that we can leave, and I don’t want to be forced to play catch up if we’re needed.”
We started shadowing the pathetic little two-man surveillance effort, monitoring the radio traffic between Decoy and Brett. We reached a roundabout, and Brett came on.
“My heat state just jumped. I was forced to get directly behind him or lose him, and he pulled the visor mirror down. He’s looking at me now. I need to pull off.”
Decoy said, “I got him. I’m at your seven o’clock. Let him go.”
I could feel the surveillance breaking down. With Brett burned, Decoy had about two turns before he’d have to pull off too. Especially if Lucas was actively looking. I said nothing, letting them use their own judgment.
We continued down the Corniche, getting a play-by-play from Decoy, with Brett shadowing one road over. They made the roundabout next to the Sheraton and continued west. I looked at my map and saw they were paralleling the diplomatic quarter. Here we go.
I cut in to the net. “Keep your eyes out. Keep him in sight. He’s next to the diplomatic quarter. This will be it.”
A minute later, Decoy came on. “We got a problem. I’m still on the car, but there’s only one man in it. The driver.”
77
You sure? Lucas is foxtrot now?” I couldn’t believe we’d missed someone exiting the vehicle.
“Yeah. I was a couple of cars back, slowed down by the roundabout, and when I caught back up, he was gone. I didn’t see him dismount, but he’s no longer in the vehicle.”
Dammit. “Break off, break off. Circle the block. Pick him back up. Go north into the diplomatic quarter. He’s probably trying to intercept the dip-pouch.”
“Pike, our embassy is hell and gone from here. The State guys aren’t hauling money to the Australian Embassy.”
“We don’t know what the hell those guys are doing. How they’re going to transfer the cash. Lucas does. Find him, now! We’ll take up the slack on the vehicle.”
Since Lucas was gone, we were fresh. The driver would have no idea who we were. Jennifer was already burning rubber to make up the ground, instinctively knowing what I would say and that we were in the game. I vectored Brett one road over and caught the Ford passing in front of us. Knuckles shouted, “There he is!” and Jennifer jerked the wheel, cutting off traffic to get behind him.
He said, “Whoa! Keep it steady. We’re still in a follow here. Don’t burn us.”
Jennifer looked at me for guidance, understanding the situation even before Knuckles. Already knowing what I was going to say.
“Brett, we’re headed north on Al Asmakh Street. Cut over to Grand Hammad and box him in. Get ready to take him down.”
Knuckles realized the problem a split second after he’d opened his mouth. “Okay, okay. I got the right side. Passenger side.”
I said, “I’ll take the left. Brett, you pin him in. Don’t let him escape to your front.”
“Roger all.”
The vehicle never made it to Grand Hammad, pulling into the parking lot for a shopping area. I looked at the moving map on my phone and saw it was the Souk Waqif. Great. A rat maze.
The vehicle stopped outside a hotel, and the man exited in a hurry, looking over his shoulder. He was wearing Western dress. A uniform of some kind. He saw us coming and took off running. Straight into the souk.
Brett parked at the far end of the lot and came sprinting our way. I said, “Jennifer, get this thing ready to roll out of here. Knuckles, go left. Block the left.”
I knew it was a ridiculous order. The souk would have forty different exits, and there was no way Knuckles could block them all. I started to chase, pounding across the parking lot and watching the target disappear through a door. Then I remembered Dubai and Brett’s track-star speed. “Brett! You got him?”
He was behind me, still catching up. “Yeah. I see him.”
“Catch his ass.”
I was running flat out toward the door he’d disappeared through when Brett passed me like I was standing still. I was able to see Brett jerk right and struggled to keep him in sight. The souk was narrow, using only natural light, making it hard to run full-bore for fear of slamming into something. I was knocking folks out of the way trying to keep up when I broke out into an alley that wasn’t covered.
Brett was forty meters ahead and right on the guy’s heels. He leapt through the air and hammered him just below the shoulder blades, slamming the guy into a stall full of parakeets. I caught up a split second later, hearing the stall owner screeching just like his birds. A crowd gathered, and the screeching grew louder. I looked around and saw birds all over the damn place. We’d caught him in some aviary zoo, with stalls left and right jammed with all manner of fowl, the owners now raising their arms and squawking louder than the goods they were selling.
By the time I’d reached them Brett had the guy in an arm bar, the man’s teeth gritted in pain. I turned around and pointed at the gathering crowd, telling them to back off in English, but using my tone and stance to convey what the language barrier would not. They got the point and quieted down, content to watch the circus.
I knelt down next to Brett. “What’s he saying?”
“Nothing. He was hired to drive Lucas. He dropped him off next to the City Center mall. Nothing we don’t already know.”
I leaned in close. “Crank his arm.”
Brett did so, and the man shrieked. “Listen to me,” I said. “The man you carried is going to kill someone. I’m trying to prevent it. If you don’t want to help, you’ll die as well. What was his plan?”
The man moaned, his eyes rolling, and I could tell he was making connections he hadn’t before. He’d done something more than just drive for Lucas and he was now realizing it might be bad. He said, “I don’t know about any plan. He said he was a businessman. Here on business. All I did was drive him from the airport. I don’t know about any plan.”
“Where is he staying? Where were you going to take him?”
“To the mall. I swear, he told me to take him to the mall. That’s it.”
Lying through his teeth. I jerked his collar tight, cutting into his throat. “Tell me more than that, you asshole. You didn’t pick him up as a cab fare, and he didn’t have you meet him at the airport to take him to the mall. Where was he going?”
The man’s eyes flicked wildly left and right, and he shouted in broken Arabic to the crowd around us. They began to react, closing in. I jerked his lapel again and felt something cut into my hand. His name tag. From the Four Seasons Hotel.
I shook him hard and said, “Is he going to the Four Seasons? Is that it?”
He moaned again, and nodded. “He’s trying to get special favors from the American delegation there. For his business. I’m not supposed to say anything. Don’t tell him I told you. He owes me money.”
I stood up, telling Brett to release him. When I turned around, we faced a hostile crowd, angry at the way we’d treated the man. I ignored them and continued to work the problem.
“Knuckles, call Kurt and find out what you can about the Four Seasons Hotel and the peace conference. See who’s staying there. Jennifer, back the SUV right up to the door we entered.”
Knuckles acknowledged, and Jennifer said, “I’m already there, what’s up?”
The mob had gotten tight around us, allowing the driver to flee out the back of the bird souk. Two men closed on Brett and began shouting, inside his personal space.
“We’ll be coming out hot. Keep the engine revving.”
Brett pushed one back, and the other threw a pathetic roundhouse. Brett dropped him with a straight punch, and the throng went wild.
I wasted no time trying to reason with any of them, even though most were still doing nothing but yelling. I hooked the legs of the nearest guy and jerked him to the ground, then popped the man behind him in the mouth, causing him to crumble. My intent was to open a path, not hurt anyone.
Someone grabbed my shoulder from the front and I clamped my hand over his, trapping it. I leaned forward, rotating down and away, and heard the wrist break. The guy screamed and dropped. Someone flew into the wall to my right, his head snapping back and making contact with the stone. He fell like a sack of wheat, and I saw Brett running back the way we had come. I took off after him, thinking of the old proverb about running from a grizzly.
I don’t have to be faster than the bear. Just faster than you.
Brett apparently knew the proverb as well, running like a scalded cheetah and leaving me to the crowd. Luckily, while there was no way I could catch him, I could certainly outrun a bunch of wheezing souk-stall owners.
I jumped into the back of our SUV seconds after Brett. I glared at him and said, “Jennifer, get the hell out of here.”
She hit the gas, driving to Brett’s vehicle on the far side of the parking lot. I turned to Knuckles. “What did you find out from Kurt?”
“Nothing good. I’ve vectored Decoy, but we’re probably already too late.”
“What?”
“The Four Seasons is where the entire Quartet is staying for the peace summit. Lucas is at ground zero.”
78
Lucas saw the line snaking out the door to the Four Seasons before he even began walking up the drive. The security had become extremely tight, with everyone waiting until each piece of luggage was checked and they themselves had been wanded by a security guard. It would have been more efficient to have two lines: one for people checking in and one for people already staying, but apparently that idea hadn’t occurred to the management.
He took his place at the end and slowly shuffled forward. He glanced at his watch, knowing the two CIA escorts would be here at any time. Just as he reached the front and handed his backpack over, he saw a Westerner exit the hotel and speak in the ear of one of the security personnel. After that, he positioned himself at the head of the circle in front of the hotel.
He’s going to meet the couriers to get them past security. A horrendous thought crossed his mind. What if they bypass the check-in? He takes them straight to their room? The plan would fail. They had to check in.
The security guard snapped him out of his thoughts by poking him in the shoulder. “Sir, raise your arms and spread your legs.”
He did so, watching the Westerner as the wand ran up and down his body. A minute later, he was told he could enter the hotel. He walked into the lobby and took a left, toward the reception counter, glancing over his shoulder to the security at the door, trying to see the couriers’ car pull up. What he saw instead caused him to freeze.
The Caucasian from the airplane was now in the security line. Patiently waiting to enter the hotel. Jesus. How the hell did he know where to find me? Opt
ions were flitting through his head when the receptionist said, “Sir? Sir? Can I help you?”
“Uhh…yeah. I’m checking in.” He handed her his passport and turned to the right while she tapped on the computer. There, situated at chest height, was his vase. A large, expensive-looking vessel containing real, fresh flowers. The positioning was perfect. The men would leave their baggage on the ground, below the countertop, where the marble would protect it, while their upper bodies would be shredded.
Provided they checked in at all.
He glanced back out the door and was shocked again to see the two CIA men coming through the lobby, led by the escort out front, bypassing the security line. Jesus Christ. If they checked in now, he’d be in the blast radius.
They did so, marching right up to the counter.
The lady helping him asked something else, but he wasn’t listening. He saw one of the couriers pull out his passport and hastily said, “Where’s the bathroom? I have to go.”
“Sir? Sign here and you can use the restroom in your room.”
The clerk helping the CIA men took the first passport in her hand.
Dropping the subterfuge, Lucas snatched his key without signing and fled across the lobby to the far side. He reached the concierge desk, ignoring the stares and watching the receptionist desk.
The clerk opened the passport, and nothing happened for a split second. Then, a violent explosion erupted from the vase. The embedded ball bearings came searing out in a radial arc, decapitating both CIA men and the escort with them. The bodies toppled over, one on top of the other.
The receptionist helping the CIA men had fallen behind the counter. Lucas had no idea of her status. The one who had helped him was shredded from the pottery shards of the back-blast and was shrieking. The orange-covered briefcase was in pristine condition, still standing next to the fallen men. Lucas ran to the site of the blast, as if to aid the downed men. When he crossed back through the lobby, he saw the unknown from the plane, fighting his way through security. And staring right at Lucas.