Tariq eyed the man. “How are the repairs going?”
“Slowly, but we will be done by tomorrow evening. I relayed all of this through one of Akmal’s messengers.”
“Is there anything you can do to speed up the process?”
“We have to wait for the parts to arrive tomorrow morning. There’s nothing to be done until they’re here. The mechanic already dismantled the transmission and the relevant part of the engine.”
“How confident are you that when it’s fixed, the boat will make it to Italy?”
“A hundred percent, or I wouldn’t captain it.”
Tariq studied Nidal for a long beat and then nodded. “Very good. We will have passengers and some cargo for you tomorrow.”
It was the captain’s turn to nod. “I know. Akmal’s people already told me.” He paused. “Can I offer you anything? Refreshment? A tour of the boat?”
Tariq shook his head. “No. Thank you. She looks seaworthy. I just wanted to hear for myself how you were faring, and to meet you.”
“Again, it is a great honor. I am humbled.”
“The work you are doing is very important. It is I who am humbled,” Tariq replied.
Akmal and Tariq rowed back to shore and lashed the dinghy to the dock, and were clambering from the little skiff when a figure materialized from the darkness, startling them both.
“Are you Tariq?” he asked.
Tariq squinted in the gloom. The speaker was a young man.
“How did you get past our security?” Akmal snapped.
“I was down at one of the boats. Nobody stopped me.”
“Well?” Akmal demanded. “What is it?”
“You put out the word that you wanted to be notified if anyone unusual was looking for a boat. Today I was approached by a man who wanted to charter one to take a woman out to one of the oil rigs.”
Tariq frowned. “What man?”
“I’ve never seen him before. He was asking fishermen whether they would make the trip. Because of my father’s boat, I offered to introduce them. I thought it was for himself or perhaps his family. When your men said to be on the lookout for a woman, it clicked.”
“What did your father say?”
“They agreed on a price.”
“When are they going to leave?”
“In the next day or two. That was the other odd part, besides only going out to the rig. He didn’t seem to be sure when. Who would go to the trouble of finding a boat in all this if they didn’t even know when they wanted to leave? Everyone else wants to leave immediately and go to Tangiers or Italy or Malta, not some platform in the middle of the sea.”
“What is your name?” Akmal asked.
“I am Ahmed. Everyone on the waterfront knows me. My father is Mahdi.”
Tariq exchanged a look with Akmal.
“See to it that Ahmed is richly rewarded for his loyalty,” Tariq said, and turned to face the younger man again. “How is this mystery man to get in touch with you?”
“He will call our landline phone.”
Tariq gestured. “Akmal here will give you a number to call at any hour of the day or night. When the man notifies you, all you need to do is call and let us know where and at what time he is going to rendezvous with you. We will arrange a surprise for him.”
Ahmed visibly hesitated. “He agreed to pay us…fifteen ounces of gold,” he said, exaggerating the amount. “But only once we met him at the boat.”
Tariq waved a hand dismissively. “I will make up anything you lose. That is not even a question.”
“It will be for my father. He knows nothing of my visit to you.”
Akmal nodded, his eyes slits. “We will never tell him. You will receive the gold, to do with as you will.”
“Good. He would not be happy if he knew. He prides himself on his discretion.”
Tariq offered a tight smile. “Our intention is not to come between a father and son. Your arrangements are yours. Once you make the call, your part in this is over.”
“How will I get paid?”
“After our business is concluded, Akmal will take care of you. He is well known, as am I. You have our word on this. Our word is our bond.”
Akmal removed a pen from his satchel and wrote a phone number on Ahmed’s wrist. When he finished, he stepped away and gave the young man a knowing look. “Go now. Remember to call, or there will be problems for you and your father you don’t want to imagine.”
Ahmed melted back into the night, and Tariq watched him go without comment. Akmal leaned into him and spoke, his tone soft. “It must be this woman you seek.”
“I know. She’s working with an intelligence agency. It is her network that is arranging for her escape before we have consolidated our power and instilled order.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I would dearly love to take her and find out who she’s working for, but in the end it’s immaterial. She’s either relayed her information by now or she hasn’t. Either way, our plan won’t change, and in some ways it might help our cause if they have confirmation of my role in it. But she will be made an example of. So come. Let us return to the trucks, and I will tell you what I want you to do.”
Chapter 39
Tripoli, Libya
A haze of smoke blanketed the street Jet and Salma were working their way along. The buildings around them were dark; the section of the city that had power was still out of their reach a half kilometer away.
Their trek through the outskirts of Tripoli had been fraught with near misses with armed groups – some militia attempting to act as self-defense forces, others criminal opportunists out to take advantage of the mayhem, still others factions seeking to eliminate rivals before the rule of relative law returned. They’d managed to dodge them all, and as night had fallen, it had grown easier to make progress – not even the most reckless appeared eager to be out after dark, when predator could easily become prey.
The street they were following ran toward the town center, but the going was still slow, the smoke cutting the moonlight to a minimum. Occasional gunfire echoed in the night, but nothing near enough to alarm them. Still, between the absence of power and the constant threat of being shot, both women’s nerves were raw, and they were visibly on edge, their weapons gripped tight.
A noise ahead stopped them in their tracks, and they froze, rifles at the ready. When after fifteen seconds they heard nothing more, they resumed edging forward. A dark form darted from the shadows, and Salma gasped and raised her rifle to fire, but Jet reached out to stop her with a whispered warning.
“It’s a dog, Salma. Relax.”
Salma exhaled heavily and lowered the AK. “Shit. I’ll be glad when this is over.”
“Tell me about it.”
At the end of the block, they glanced along the intersection, trying to make out any potential threats. They didn’t see any and were halfway across when a shout from their right rang out.
“You. Stop, or we’ll shoot!”
Jet and Salma turned to where the voice had come from, and saw four uniformed police approaching, assault rifles in hand. Jet frowned at the sight – they looked disheveled and unshaven.
“How do you want to play this?” Salma whispered.
“Drop your weapons,” one of the men ordered.
“Do as they say,” Jet said, and slowly knelt to lay her AK on the street. Salma followed suit, and when they both straightened, the men moved toward them at a more confident clip.
“Well, well,” the lead cop said. “Two women on their own on a night like this? And armed to the teeth, no less. What’s this all about?”
“We’re trying to make it to where there’s power,” Jet said.
The lead officer glanced at the others and then back to Jet before his eyes settled on Salma. “You’re both lookers, aren’t you? Not a good idea to venture out in this.”
Neither woman spoke, waiting to see what came next. They didn’t have to wait long.
“
I want the one on the left,” the man behind the lead cop said.
“You’ll have your shot at both,” he replied with an ugly laugh, gun trained on them.
“What is this?” Salma demanded. “You’re the police. You’re supposed to protect us.”
“You’re obviously dangerous criminals,” another of the cops said with a twisted smile. “We’re just doing what we can to keep the community safe.”
The suppressed continuous fire of the MP7A1 from within Jet’s robe was muted by the cloth, but the jacketed bullets shredded through the group of would-be rapists and cut them down like wheat. Some of the men screamed and others moaned as the wicked rounds tumbled through their tissue on impact, but all fell, dying or terminally wounded, their weapons skittering as they crumpled.
Jet ejected the spent magazine and felt for her last full one. She slammed it into place and hissed at Salma, “Grab your gun and move.”
They snatched up their rifles and bolted down the sidewalk, leaving the cops in pools of coagulating blood. They reached another side street, and Jet slowed. “This is getting worse, not better,” she said, surveying the surroundings.
“We only have to make it another ten blocks or so, and there’s power.”
Jet looked around. “Which presumably will be safer. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“What other choice do we have?”
“None,” Jet conceded, and inclined her head at the artery to the right. “Let’s stay off the main drags. If those cops were any indication, we want to avoid everyone, no matter who they are.”
They made the turn and then cut over a block down, on a two-lane strip of cobblestone that ran between ancient tenements and stank of garbage. Jet led the way, but after three blocks, she slowed. She grabbed Salma’s arm and held a finger to her lips.
“Hear that?” she whispered.
Salma shook her head. Jet looked around and pointed to a darkened doorway that looked like the door had been kicked in. “Follow me.”
They raced to the opening and were inside just as the sound of dozens of running feet on pavement reached them from the street. Jet pulled Salma deeper into the darkness, which reeked of urine and rot. The floor was littered with trash, and once they were far enough inside that they couldn’t be seen, they stopped, weapons pointed at the entry, Salma breathing hard.
A group of young men ran by, some with assault rifles and others with handguns, several of them laughing. The sound of a car window being broken brought more laughter from the men and a few shouted curses from a window on the second floor, followed by a gunshot from one of the runners. The gang continued on its way, savaging more vehicles, and eventually the sound of wanton vandalism faded, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake.
Jet and Salma waited until the men had disappeared before cautiously returning to the doorway and peeking outside. The sidewalks were deserted again, the only evidence of the gang’s passing shards of glass glittering like diamonds on the pavement.
“What do you think?” Salma asked.
“The sooner we’re in an area with power, the better. This way.”
Jet set off at a trot, tailed by Selma, who was limping but doing her best to keep up. They made it three more blocks and skirted a group of men in army uniforms who were kicking a youth senseless at a junction, their laughter harsh and ugly. Once past that nightmarish scene, the glow of electric lights beckoned from only a few hundred meters away, and they both exhaled sighs of relief when they made it to the first lit street, which while barely more inviting than the ones they’d traversed, at least held the promise of power to charge the phone that would connect them to civilization and, with it, escape.
Chapter 40
Tripoli, Libya
Leo met Jet and Salma at a safe house five minutes from the harbor – a one-bedroom apartment he leased in another name for just such events. He looked them up and down and frowned at the damage evident on Salma’s feet.
“Looks like you’ve been through hell,” he said, extending his hand. “My name’s Leo.”
Salma shook and closed her eyes for a beat. “You have no idea.”
“Well, you’re safe now. Make yourselves comfortable. The water’s hot if you want to take showers,” he suggested. “And we’ll see if we can get you some clean clothes. Although not much will be open. Maybe some street vendors for a new robe.”
“That would be wonderful.”
He smiled at Salma. “There’s a pretty comprehensive first aid kit in the bathroom. You name it – morphine, antibiotics, antibacterial ointment, stitches, bandages…whatever you need, just take it, or ask and I’ll get it.” He looked to Jet. “I need to have a word with you while she’s showering, so, Salma, if you’d go first…”
“You don’t have to ask twice. That and some sleep sound amazing right now.”
“Perfect.”
Salma disappeared into the bedroom, and Leo indicated a chair near the living room couch. Jet set her MP7A1 and AK down beside it and sat, her expression blank as she waited for Leo to debrief her.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone or get in touch for the last two days?” he began.
“We ran out of juice, and there was nowhere to charge it until we got here. As it was, it took everything we had to find someplace safe with an outlet to charge it enough to reach you.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.” He paused. “I spoke with HQ. We have a situation we need your help with.”
“A situation,” she repeated, her tone flat.
“That’s right.” He explained about the nerve gas, the forthcoming blockade, and the need to locate Tariq. When he finished, her emerald eyes bored into his without blinking.
“I didn’t sign up for that. Sorry.”
“The director asked you to do it. He wanted to make clear it’s a personal request.”
She stood and brushed dust off her robe before pulling it over her head and tossing it in a pile at her feet. “My assignment was to locate and facilitate an extraction. Which is what I’ve done, with almost no help from anyone, even after I was promised complete support. I’m not going to risk my life here for a moment longer because the director feels he can put me to more use.”
Leo stared at her in surprise. “I didn’t realize following orders was optional.”
“It is for me. I’m a free agent. I have the right to refuse anything. And that’s what I’m doing. I want to get out of Tripoli and go home. That’s the extent of my involvement from here on out. The director’s going to have to find someone else to do his dirty work.” Her tone softened. “Look, Leo, you seem like a nice enough guy, and I know this isn’t your doing. But my refusal isn’t negotiable. I took this assignment for only one reason, and that doesn’t include flag-waving or national security or the director’s whims. So let’s save some time. How are you getting us out of here?”
“I chartered a boat to take Salma out to an oil platform, where a helo will pick her up.”
“Great. And then what about me?”
Leo looked away. “The director assumed that you’d take the new assignment, so there isn’t a plan to extract you yet.”
“There is now. I’m going with Salma.”
“I…I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Sure it is. Two instead of one. I won’t take up much room.”
“I’ll need to get approval from HQ…”
Jet threw him a dark look. “Leo, I’m calling the shots. And I’m getting on that boat. I’m not going to allow the director to blackmail me by keeping me in-country, so no, you don’t need approval from HQ, you need to do as you’re told. Now break down how you found a boat in all this, and what the plan is for getting us safely aboard.”
Leo described his interaction with Ahmed and Mahdi, and when he was done, Jet was frowning.
“How can you be confident that he’ll perform? In this environment, what safeguards do you have that he won’t have you jumped when you’re walking down the dock with gold in your pocket?”
“He didn’t strike me as that type. I did a little checking after our meeting. He’s got a good reputation.” Leo hesitated. “Plus, I’ll be armed.”
“Have you been out on the street recently? Everybody’s armed. Doesn’t seem like that will be much of a deterrent.”
It was Leo’s turn to frown. “You have a better suggestion?”
She thought for a long moment. “I’ll hang back and watch for anything suspicious. If they’re going to ambush you, it won’t be from the front. Do you have any two-ways?”
“Of course.”
“Then here’s how will do it.” She laid out her thoughts, and by the end he was nodding along with her.
“That’ll work,” he agreed. “One issue we may have is that the captain may want more gold to transport two instead of one.”
“He may want it, but he’s not going to get it. You’re paying top dollar for the boat and his time, not by the pound. And it should be a short run. A couple of hours round trip if it’s a rigid-hull Zodiac and the seas aren’t too ugly.” She eyed him. “Still, it can’t hurt to bring a few extra ounces. I’m not price sensitive.”
He eyed her skeptically. “You know the director is.”
“Put it on my tab if it’s a problem. After this he owes me more than a little.”
Leo nodded. “Give me an assessment of Salma before she comes out.”
Jet scowled. “She’s suffered moderate physical damage and severe psychological trauma for three years. You saw her feet. That’s just part of it. They’ll heal. Not sure about the rest.” Jet told him about the slavers and Mounir’s men.
“God. She’s lucky to be alive.”
“That she is.”
“But the USB drive is lost?”
It was Jet’s turn to nod. “I’m afraid so. It wasn’t practical to scour Sebha for it. A needle in a haystack.”
“Given how things are degrading, that was the right call.”
“And we know the broad strokes. They have a nerve agent they acquired through China. Tariq Qaddafi is behind it. He plans to take over the Libyan government and establish a caliphate based on extremist principles and Sharia law, backed by the threat of deployment of the bioagent as his WMD. I have to admit it’s bold, and it could work – try to overthrow him and any number of bioattacks would be launched in retaliation. Mutually assured destruction.”
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