He knew nothing about this agent; they had never crossed paths in the past. But it wouldn’t take long for him to find out more. He had to admit the American's plan was sound. They would use this CIA asset to do their dirty work for them.
Then, he would be eliminated.
Rashid erased the name and typed in another. Then he cleared his browsing history. It was time to let the American know how serious he was about sharing the risks.
“Does that name mean anything to you?” asked the American.
“No.”
“He’s flying into Sana’a today. Have your agents wait at Sana’a International Airport. Photograph him. Follow him. Most of all, stay with him. He will lead you to the aircraft.”
“You think that I have unlimited resources?”
“You work for one of the richest countries on the planet. Of course I do.”
“I don’t have access to the budgets your agency does.”
“Not my problem. Your princes take too large a cut of your gross domestic product, in my opinion.”
Rashid knew he should have been offended by the comment, but he wasn’t. That was impossible now. Still, he needed to maintain face, and shift the balance of power. “I will do as you ask. I will reposition my agents in Sana’a.”
“Good.”
“Before you go, you too should check our website.”
Another pause. “Why would I want to do that?”
“I keyed in another name.”
“What name? ”
“Your name. You see, I know who you are.”
The other end of the line went silent. Rashid knew he should have felt pleased, or smug, but his mind was a blank. He instead reflected on how he had come across this information.
Two years ago, on a mission in Istanbul, Rashid had drugged his chief cyber hacker Mansoor Alharbi. He had stripped Alharbi naked, and posed him in compromising positions with a male prostitute. After he regained consciousness, Alharbi remembered nothing of the incident. Or at least he pretended not to.
Weeks later, back in Riyadh, Rashid had visited Alharbi in the middle of the night. He showed the hacker the compromising photographs. He didn’t need to explain what happened to gay men in Saudi Arabia. Eighty lashes as a minimum. Or more likely, torture and execution.
Alharbi now provided Rashid with all kinds of illicit information, scraped from the darknet or other illicit sources. Mansoor Alharbi had a wife, three sons and two daughters to worry about. Per Rashid’s orders, he had traced the calls on Rashid’s burner phone, and identified exactly who he was dealing with inside the CIA.
After a long pause, the American spoke. “All right, you know who I am now. So what?”
“If you betray me, I will send my best assassins after you. You will not live out the month.”
“My friend, it doesn’t have to be like this.”
“No, it doesn’t. Pray that we don’t have to go down this path.”
The American cleared his throat, which sounded odd through the voice distortion technology. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
Rashid considered the request. For now, he knew almost everything he needed to know. He would wait until the asset found the aircraft, then send in his soldiers to finish the job. In the meantime, he would direct Alharbi to uncover as much as he could about this man called Caine.
“Just one question? ”
“What is that?”
“Everyone on the aircraft thought you were on it. That you died when it was shot down. Since I know you are, in fact, alive, does that mean you are still with the agency? Or are you in hiding?”
The American laughed again. “I’m very much with my agency. Don’t you worry about that.”
The phone went dead, leaving Rashid to ponder the information he had uncovered… the identity of the man on the other end of the line, and what his ultimate goals might be.
What exactly was Jarod Forster really up to?
Chapter Nine
SANA’A, SANA’A GOVERNORATE, YEMEN
Sweat poured off Caine as the sun beat down through the thin high-altitude air. He was starting to believe the CIA was sending him only to very hot or very cold countries. Despite being only a mile above sea level, Sana'a was oppressively hot. The temperature of the stifling air around him was pushing one hundred degrees.
The city itself was a sprawling mess, trapping the heat in its claustrophobic and chaotic maze. Wedged between ragged mountain ranges, its buildings were a mix of old and new architecture, most of it run down. Like many poor cities, Sana’a was crowded and dirty. Thousands of television antennas bristled from the roofs of the clustered buildings. Dozens of shops sold nothing but weapons. Glocks, M16s, AK-47s, shotguns, curved daggers, and every other kind of small arm Caine could think of.
Some streets were blocked by protestors chanting in Arabic. “Death to America! Death is Israel!" Casual commuters slung AK-47s and other rifles from their shoulders as they went about their daily business. Caine sensed nothing would be easy here .
As soon as he had cleared customs, he received a text message from Delbridge. The man wanted to meet at an Indian Restaurant on Baghdad Street for an early lunch. After completing a surveillance detection route, taking an erratic, meandering path to the restaurant to ensure he hadn’t been followed, Caine entered the small, dingy cafe. He chose a table towards the back so he had full coverage of the room. His senses were on high alert. He hadn’t felt the need to be this diligent with his tradecraft in a long time.
There were only men in the restaurant, and his was the only white face. He was not surprised that everyone else taking in a curry for lunch glanced up at him often. He couldn’t help feeling scrutinized. One man in particular, with bushy eyebrows and a mustache, kept making eye contact. Caine stared back at him, and he lowered his gaze. Whoever he was, he went back to drinking his dark, almost black coffee.
Delbridge was calling all the shots, setting this meet in his own turf. Caine didn’t like it.
He ordered bottled water, naan and a yogurt dip. As he waited, a Russian made Mil Mi-17 military helicopter shot over the densely packed buildings, only a few hundred feet above the rooftops. He recognized the distinctive sound of the helicopter’s rotors.
A minute after the sound faded, he heard and felt the vibrations of a distant explosion.
People stepped outside to see what had happened. Caine followed the crowd outside… to ignore the disruption would seem odd, make him look even more out of place. A thick plume of smoke billowed skyward in the distance.
One of the patrons turned to Caine and muttered in Arabic… He said something about the Arab Spring, that this was another attempt by the Government to destroy a Houthi rebel stronghold. Caine wished his Arabic was better. He had only caught about half the words the man had said.
Soon everyone was back in the restaurant eating again, as if nothing unusual had occurred .
Caine returned with them, and found a fifty-something-year-old Caucasian man sitting at his table. He had parked himself in the very chair Caine had selected, forcing him to take a seat with his back to the room. The man wore a long sleeve grey cotton shirt and light cotton pants. Despite the heat, he wore a jacket over the shirt. Probably to conceal a holstered weapon, Caine thought.
His hair was grey and spiky, and he was putting on weight around his belly. Despite his flagging fitness, his presence was commanding, like he owned this city. Caine recognized him immediately from his file as Martin Delbridge.
“The coffee beans you ordered.” Delbridge slipped a paper bag across the table, which Caine snatched up. It was heavier than coffee, and Caine knew the bag concealed a pistol. “Look after that. Direct from Rhine Falls, Switzerland. Difficult to get hold of here.”
“Thanks,” Caine said. The code phrase meant that the weapon would be a SIG Sauer P226. Rhine Falls was where the company who manufactured the 9mm pistol originated. “This place seems a bit out of the way. Didn’t want to meet at the office?”
>
“Why would I want to do that? I can enjoy an excellent lunch here. You like Indian, Caine?”
“I like all kinds of food, as long as the restaurant’s good.”
Delbridge laughed, but his eyes looked cold and calculating. “Don’t you worry about that now, the food here is excellent. I ordered ahead for us.”
Delbridge called over a waiter, and explained that he had pre-ordered a series of meat and vegetarian curry dishes, along with rice and two bottles of soft drink. The waiter hurried off to get their food.
“Never want to stay in one place too long in this country if you can help it,” the older man said to Caine. “By the way, you can’t drink alcohol here, and the tap water makes you sick. Stick with the bottled stuff or soft drink. Oh—I guess I should say welcome to Sana’a. First time in Yemen?”
Caine nodded. “You already know that it is.”
Delbridge chuckled again. The Naan bread arrived. Delbridge stuffed a piece in his mouth. “Damn skippy. Oh, don’t worry about that explosion, or those Yemeni Air Force copters circling the city. They have nothing to do with us. Just the Hashad Tribal Federation. Or Army defectors, or maybe Al-Islah militia. Hell, maybe even the Houthis having words with the Yemeni Army. Someone's always trying to blow someone else to hell out here. I give it a month before one of them seizes control, and we have to move out. Shut down shop, you know? In the meantime, I’ll make the most of my favorite restaurants, right?”
Caine glanced around the room. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
The man laughed again. “You’re a funny man, Caine. I did my homework on you. I know everything about you. Even the bits you’d rather forget. Your special forces training and service record. How you were recruited into the CIA’s Special Operations Group, the missions you successfully completed. And those that you did not.”
Delbridge grabbed another piece of naan from the basket. His movement shifted the basket across the table, surprising a three inch-long scorpion that had settled underneath the warm platter. The insect scuttled across the table, darting between the two men. Caine expected Delbridge to crush it, but instead he let the venomous arachnid crawl onto his hand. He held it close to his face, studying it.
“Careful, Delbridge. I hear the scorpions here can be lethal,” Caine said, surprised at the man’s bravado.
Delbridge smiled, as he peered at the creature's thick, barbed stinger. “This one certainly is. Androctonus crassicauda , the Arabian fat-tailed scorpion. A sting from an adult specimen can kill a man in five minutes flat. They don't bother me, though. You just need to know how to handle them.”
Delbridge looked up, and met Caine’s stare head on. “Consider this. Anything dangerous, if handled with the appropriate level of care, can be used to your advantage.” He dropped the scorpion onto the table then squashed it with his glass. “I have no use for this one.” His lips twisted into a smile more suited to a hyena than a man. “Now, where were we? ”
Caine took a sip from his soft drink. “You were telling me you know everything about me.”
The older man snapped his fingers. “That's right. Like, you and Freeling, for example? That’s a wasted opportunity man. You two should really get it together. I mean, a fine looking woman like that doesn’t stick around for guys who can’t make up their mind.”
Caine forced himself to smile. “I hope we can get along, Delbridge. I’m told you can be very particular about the people who work with you. I've heard you like to ‘crush’ them if they don’t live up to your lofty standards.”
The rest of the food arrived, and Delbridge twisted his mouth into another manic grin. He waited for the waiter to disappear, then he leaned over the table, moving closer to Caine.
“People can recover from fuck ups and career terminations,” he said, all trace of humor gone from his voice. “They can’t recover from being shot full of holes, or blown to pieces. You think Iraq and Afghanistan are hell holes? Wait and see what happens here. Yemen is about to disintegrate into a devastating civil war. Hundreds of thousands will die. Millions more will be displaced. It’s my job to ensure fanatics like Al Qaeda don’t end up with more recruits to their cause, thanks to the mess that gets left behind. I can only achieve that if I have competent people behind me.”
Inside, Caine grinned. Delbridge was rattled. Caine had now learned that his contact wasn’t the kind of man who liked to be challenged.
“Fair enough,” he replied. “So let's get to work. I’m informed you want me to find your missing plane? The one that was supposedly carrying illegal pharmaceuticals out of the country.”
“Alleged, Caine. The word you are looking for is ‘alleged’. There is no proof there were medicinal drugs on board.”
Delbridge dug into his curry. Caine did the same, only now realizing how hungry he was. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone in the room was watching them. He hoped none of them spoke English, because his conversation with Delbridge wasn’t exactly discrete.
“Why are we here, out in the open?” he asked. “Why aren’t we talking in the U.S. Embassy, inside a SCIF where we won’t risk being overheard?”
“A Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility?” Delbridge snorted. “Caine, I have more Yemeni spies inside our Embassy than anywhere else in the country. Besides, I preordered at ten restaurants for our meeting. Wanted the NSB to run around tying up resources, trying to cover all the locations,” he said.
The NSB, Caine thought. Yemen’s intelligence organization, the National Security Bureau. “So that’s why the food came out so quickly,” he said.
“I use street boys to pass messages, like they did in the Middle Ages. One of the kids on my payroll made the preorder. Means we aren’t here long enough for the wackos to send an assassin.”
Caine nodded, not sure whether he should be impressed or concerned.
“Caine, let me give you a little perspective. With the missing plane, we’re not talking about anything serious here. Three deceased mid-level CIA agents, and a missing aircraft that’s already been swallowed up by the Empty Quarter. It’s hardly a blip on my radar, not when I’m dealing with a country deteriorating into civil war.”
“So, you don’t think the data stick on board is a problem?”
He shook his head. “I doubt anything important is on it. But if there is, you have your orders. If you find anything, you destroy it.”
Caine nodded, sensing that Delbridge was purposely shifting his emotional responses between one statement and the next. First he seemed angry, then nonchalant. Disinterested then passionate… it was a technique used to throw off interrogators, and he did it well. Caine could get no sense what the man was really thinking or feeling.
Now Delbridge looked impatient. “I only came here to get a sense of who you are. Now I have.” He placed his utensils on the table and pushed the food away from him, even though they had both barely started to eat. “It’s time to go.”
Caine knew better than to ask why they were leaving so suddenly. It could have been for multiple reasons. Most likely, Delbridge had gotten word that they were compromised. All it would have taken was for his phone to vibrate, or one of his undercover bodyguards to give the appropriate hand signal. Delbridge threw money on the table, and they left.
Outside, a black SUV—armored, no doubt—pulled up. What looked to be a U.S. Marine stepped out. He wore casual attire, but was armed with an M4 Carbine, and body armor was strapped over his clothes. He covered the street while Caine and Delbridge climbed into the SUV. Less than five seconds passed before the Marine was back in the vehicle and they were driving away.
Caine glanced behind them. A motorcycle pulled up at the restaurant. A thin man in a red and white football jersey, loose jeans and well-worn sneakers leapt off the bike. He raised an AK-47 and emptied the full clip into the restaurant. Glass shattered. Men screamed and fled. Caine could only presume innocents had just been killed.
The SUV turned the corner, and sped down a narrow st
reet. The driver barely slowed enough to allow a crowd of pedestrians to get out of their way.
“Well, won’t be going back there again anytime soon,” Delbridge said as he checked messages on his cell phone. He turned to Caine. “Don’t worry about it. This is a war zone. Some kid probably thought he could join one of the factions if he could boast he took out two Americans. He’ll tell that story anyway, even though he failed.”
Caine glared at Delbridge for a second, but said nothing. He opened the coffee bag, withdrew the SIG Sauer P226 and three spare magazines. Working in silence, he checked the gun’s mechanisms for wear and tear.
Delbridge smiled again. “Now we go to the Embassy. You can peruse our files, or at least any files you’re cleared to look at. We’ll equip you with a satellite phone, some local funds, and whatever else you need. Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you access to one of my analysts too, to do some leg work for you.”
Caine nodded. Delbridge was nothing like he was expecting. It troubled Caine he couldn’t get a read on the man. Caine’s earlier concerns that he was walking into a trap suddenly seemed even more plausible.
Another Mi-17 helicopter shot overhead, casting a brief shadow on the dirty roads. Instinctively, Caine slammed a magazine into the P226 and pulled back the slide, chambering the first round. He was expecting combat, but when he looked again, the helicopter was already gone.
“You’re going to love it here, Caine,” Delbridge said, with that same Cheshire grin plastered across his face. “Everyone does, eventually. Or else they go mad.”
Chapter Ten
Like everything in the country, the U.S. Embassy, and the diplomats and support personnel who staffed it, looked tired and worn. He sensed that everyone was giving up, that they knew they were fighting a losing battle in Yemen. Yet Caine relaxed a bit once he was ‘inside the wire’, as they called it. With the Marine Security Guard controlling all points of access, at least here he would get some warning if the sovereignty of the United States came under attack.
Sandfire Page 6