The Viking Deception

by J. Robert Kennedy

  An audible sigh sounded. “I pray to Allah that you are right, my friend, otherwise you and I could be sharing a grave with our Swedish professor before the night is out.”

  “I’ll put a bullet in the sheik’s head myself before I let that happen.”

  “You would condemn your family to death just to save your own? I for one would happily accept death, as should you. I just pray that Allah finds our deaths worthy of entry into Jannah.”

  The first chuckled. “Let’s not plan our deaths just yet. I still think the sheik doesn’t care if anyone knows. He’s simply above the petty concerns of us mere mortals.”

  The second laughed. “Let’s hope you’re right.” He sighed. “So, we feed him?”

  “Feed him, and order extra for ourselves. If we’re going to die today, then I refuse to do it on a stomach that isn’t bloated with the finest life has to offer!”

  Karlsson shivered as his stomach growled. It sounded like Acton had succeeded in stealing the ring, and if he were indeed on his way, he had obviously come through the ordeal unscathed, and he prayed the same was true for Laura.

  Prayed.

  He sighed, wondering if he were a hypocrite for praying to a god he didn’t believe in.

  If you’re real, then please protect my friends. Don’t worry about me.

  He suppressed a grunt.

  No Atheists in foxholes?

  He frowned.

  I am a hypocrite!

  39 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  “Well, this isn’t good.”

  Leroux stepped over to Randy Child’s station. “What?”

  “I’ve been monitoring flights leaving Stockholm and just got a hit. James Acton and Laura Palmer boarded a flight to Dubai earlier.”

  Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Dubai?”

  “Yup.”

  “Interesting.” He gestured to the main displays. “Put it up.” Child complied, copies of the boarding passes and passport scans appearing. Leroux read every piece of information displayed, searching for something, for anything that might give them a clue, when he stopped, his gut telling him something wasn’t right. “They each checked two bags.”

  Child shrugged. “So? Maybe they don’t like to travel light. They’re rich, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but why did they have their luggage with them?”

  Child’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh?”

  “And look when those tickets were bought. Just minutes after the robbery was reported.”

  “So?”

  “So, why do you bring your luggage with you on a robbery, then buy the tickets to leave the country? And why buy tickets? They have a private jet at their disposal.”

  Child shrugged. “Maybe the jet wasn’t available? It’s a lease-share network, so there are no guarantees.”

  Tong attacked her keyboard, then shook her head. “No, there’s a jet in their network in Oslo. They could have just reserved that one and it could have been there in time.”

  Child folded his arms across his chest, regarding Leroux. “So, what are you saying? I’m confused.”

  Tong cleared her throat. “So am I.”

  Leroux dropped into his chair. “Think about it. You break into the university, assault two people, then leave for the airport. After you leave, and are heading for the airport, you buy the tickets. You have your luggage with you already, because this was obviously your plan all along. But if it was, why not have the tickets purchased beforehand?”

  “Because they didn’t want them to be flagged?” suggested Tong.

  Leroux shook his head. “No, they aren’t in the system yet, and they certainly wouldn’t have been before the robbery. There was no reason to not book the tickets ahead of time. What if something had gone wrong and they lost their data connection and couldn’t purchase the tickets from the car on the way there? There are any number of things that could have gone wrong in purchasing those tickets. Hell, there might not have been any seats.”

  “So, we have an anomaly.”

  Leroux nodded at Tong. “Exactly. I think something else happened. There’s no way they planned on assaulting two people during that robbery. They’re not the type to hurt innocent people. I think they went in, stole the ring, and they were supposed to meet with the Saudis to exchange it for Professor Karlsson.” He pointed at the display, the agency used to purchase the tickets shown. “And that’s not their regular agent.” Leroux shook his head. “I don’t think they bought these tickets at all. I think they were bought for them after something went wrong.”

  “You mean the two people assaulted.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But how would they know right away?” asked Tong.

  Leroux spun in his chair. “Remember, Acton didn’t want any contact. They’re obviously under very close observation, and if our man in Stockholm is right, it’s in the form of pins stuck to their shirts.”

  Child frowned. “Yeah, that didn’t exactly work out.”

  Leroux agreed. “No, but we did learn something that will hopefully prove valuable later.” He stood, stepping toward the large displays. “But back to these tickets. If they were bought because something went wrong, then that means there was no reason for them to have their luggage with them.”

  “Maybe they went back to the hotel?” suggested Tong.

  Child shook his head. “No time. They definitely went straight to the airport from the university. No stops or detours.”

  “Then someone must have brought them the bags.”

  Leroux snapped his fingers at Tong’s suggestion. “Exactly! Check the footage, see if you can find them arriving. Maybe we can see who did the handoff to them, and get a face. We need someone we can track, and someone we can link back to the Saudis.”

  Child continued to be confused. “But why bring the bags? I don’t understand. If this is some kidnap for ransom thing, why bring a change of clothes?”

  Leroux smiled slightly at him. “Because what happens when a passenger on an international flight shows up with no luggage.”

  Child leaned back in his chair. “Aaah, that’s it! You get flagged!”

  “Exactly. They needed their bags to look like legitimate passengers, otherwise they might have been flagged by security, and asked questions they couldn’t answer. It could have risked the entire operation.”

  Tong pursed her lips. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? An operation.”

  Leroux paused, considering her words. “Yes, I suppose it is. The Saudis are definitely pulling out all the stops to get this ring and the Actons out of the country. There’s just one problem.”

  “What’s that?” echoed Tong and Child.

  “They’ll be arrested the moment they land.”

  Child tapped at his keyboard. “Yup, you’re right. Their names just went out on Interpol. They’ll know pretty soon just where they are.”

  Tong frowned. “And they’ll notify the Dubai authorities, who will arrest them and return them to Sweden for prosecution.”

  Child cursed. “Aborting this carefully planned operation, and killing Professor Karlsson and any other loose ends that might be still dangling out there.”

  Leroux tapped his chin, staring at the screen. “Carefully planned is the key.”

  Child stopped his chair in mid-spin. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no way the Saudis wouldn’t know they’d be arrested the moment they arrived.”

  “So, they’ve planned for this?”

  Leroux nodded. “They must have.”

  “Which means they’ve got people on the inside in Dubai and in Interpol.”

  Leroux frowned. “Anything is possible with these people in that part of the world.”

  “What can we do to help them now?”

  Leroux pursed his lips, thinking. “Okay, you’re right. The game has changed. We now have an American citizen and a British subject about to be arrested in Dubai, after having committed a serious crime in Sweden
that I don’t think it takes a rocket surgeon”—Child snickered—“to figure out they were coerced into, and I’m sure after the fact we’ll find lots of proof to clear them. Before, it was just Professor Karlsson involved, but now that there’s definitely an American, and it’s this American, we might be able to get some real assets involved.” A thought occurred to him, and he smiled. “Where’s Sherrie? I mean, Agent White.”

  Tong blushed, tapping her keyboard. “She just landed in Baghdad.” She regarded him, her eyes narrowing. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking if our professors land in Dubai and we don’t do something, they’re going to be dead before the sun rises.”

  40 |

  Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport Rome, Italy

  Reading sat at his gate, exhausted, waiting for his flight to Stockholm to board. He was debating contacting his partner and having her courier his CPAP machine from London to Sweden, no matter what the cost.

  He needed his rest not only for his own health, but to be at his best should his friends need him.

  His phone vibrated and he checked the call display, smiling at Michelle’s number. He swiped his thumb. “Please tell me you’ve got good news.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call it good news, but I’ve got news.”

  Reading’s shoulders slumped. “Bloody hell. What now?”

  “I have them on Emirates flight one-five-eight to Dubai, arriving in five hours.”

  His eyes shot wide. “Dubai?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why the bloody hell would they be heading there?”

  “No idea, but Interpol has requested they be picked up when they arrive. I’ve pulled some strings and got you a flight there. It leaves in thirty minutes.”

  He pushed to his feet. “Who’d you have to sleep with to arrange that?”

  “Nobody. You, on the other hand, will be putting out for weeks once you get back here.”

  He chuckled. “Send me the details. Hopefully, I can wrangle them away from the Dubai authorities before anything too harsh is done to them.”

  “The ticket should be on your phone already. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He ended the call, tossing his personally paid for ticket to Stockholm in the garbage.

  There’s a month’s rent gone.

  But that wasn’t what was bothering him. Something else was. He knew his friends, and they weren’t stupid. They had to have known they’d be flagged and arrested the moment they stepped off the airplane. And why would they have left Sweden?

  They had to have been coerced into it. For some reason, the Saudis wanted to exchange the ring for the professor in Dubai, instead of Sweden.

  And that likely meant they had a plan already in place to address the Interpol issue.

  He checked his new flight’s arrival time.

  And cursed.

  They’d beat him by almost half an hour.

  41 |

  Burj Khalifa Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  A knock at the suite door caused everyone, captor and captive alike, to flinch. Karlsson was eating at a table in the bedroom, with a view of the main room of the large suite, pretending to ignore the goings on, instead consuming not only his food, but the nearly non-stop conversations held in Arabic.

  Unfortunately, he had learned little beyond their predictions for the next World Cup.

  And they were all wrong.

  The man who had removed his hood and gag, a man Karlsson had learned was named Ahmed, rose to open the door, the other, Nasir, standing, his hand behind his back, as if he were ready to pull a weapon. Ahmed stepped back from the door as another man, clearly angry, stormed in.

  “Ali! What are you doing here? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until they arrived.”

  “Someone knows.”

  Ahmed glanced toward Karlsson who quickly averted his eyes, resuming shoveling the food into himself, a sense of foreboding spreading that this might be indeed his last supper. “How?”

  “I just heard a recording of his”—he jabbed a finger in Karlsson’s direction—“wife, talking to a delivery man who knew about her husband missing.”

  “Delivery man?”

  Ali smacked Ahmed across the face, causing Karlsson to flinch and drop his fork with a clatter that didn’t go unnoticed. “He was undercover, you fool! Police or something.” He charged toward Karlsson, spitting his questions at him in Arabic. Karlsson rose from his chair, holding his hands up, and did manage to stop the first blow.

  But not the second and third, the smacks thankfully open-handed, though still stinging regardless.

  “Who did you tell? Who knows? Tell me how you did it!”

  The blows continued to rain down on him along with the repeated questions, when finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I didn’t tell anyone! How could I? You’ve watched me every second!”

  Everyone froze, Ahmed’s eyes narrowing. “You speak Arabic?”

  And the open hands became fists, and for the first time in decades, Karlsson truly prayed as they slowly beat him to what he was sure would be his eventual death, the unanswered questions forgotten as punishment was doled out instead.

  42 |

  Briefing Room 221B, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Leroux paused outside the door to the briefing room, always hating arriving late to a meeting. It wasn’t his fault. He had been sent for by Director Morrison after it had already begun, but that didn’t lessen the fact he was about to be the center of attention until he found a seat.

  And he hated being the center of attention.

  He scanned his pass then knocked once, immediately opening the door.

  One didn’t wait for an invitation to enter a meeting the Director had ordered you to attend.

  Morrison was the one speaking as he entered. His boss beckoned him over, pointing at a chair next to him. Leroux took his seat, his eyes flitting around the room as he made note of the attendees while Morrison resumed briefing a man on the display at the front of the room, the metadata indicating he was in Stockholm.

  His facial expression suggested he was annoyed.

  “According to our agent, she seemed to imply contact had already been made, and indicated a pin that our footage suggests might be a listening device. We’ve picked up a stray signal from her property. That likely means they know someone’s involved, which is why we thought you should know what is going on.”

  The man on the screen cleared his throat. “We appreciate that, Director, however valuable time has been lost because you didn’t share this information sooner.”

  Morrison maintained a level tone. “I understand your frustration, sir, however our instructions from Professor Acton were to tell no one.”

  The man leaned forward slightly at the mention of Acton. “And how is it that this particular man, a mere archaeology professor, appears to have a direct line to the CIA?”

  Morrison, along with several others, chuckled. “It’s a long story, sir. Suffice it to say, he and his wife are of interest to us. I have been authorized to offer any assistance we can to not only return them safely to your country so this matter can be straightened out, but to retrieve your citizen as well, whom we believe is now in Dubai.”

  “And you’re certain of this?”

  Morrison shook his head. “No, but you’ve seen the footage. Professor Karlsson clearly enters the embassy and never exits. Minutes later, a small convoy leaves and a diplomatic flight departs for Dubai. While we haven’t been able to find any direct evidence he is in the country, we believe he is, as he hasn’t been seen since his arrival at the embassy.”

  “But you said the student”—the man checked his notes—“Elsa Andersson, received a text message from him.”

  “Yes, but that could have been sent by anyone. The number could have been spoofed. We haven’t been able to trace it yet, which means someone went to a lot of trouble to make us believe it was from him.”

  The man pursed his lips
. “I’ll take this to my superiors.” He jabbed a finger at the camera. “Do nothing until you hear back from me.”

  “Of course.”

  The screen went blank and Morrison turned to Leroux. “Who’s in the area?”

  He cleared his throat. “Any number of assets, but I think they need a friendly face. Agent White is in Baghdad. We can send her in for the retrieval.”

  Morrison nodded. “Good. Do it.”

  “What about the Swedes?”

  “We’ll wait to hear from them, but we better move some assets into the area. If the Actons are arrested at the airport, Karlsson’s probably dead within minutes.” Morrison addressed the room. “This is all going down tonight, people, and it’s going to be fast. Let’s just try to keep ahead of it.”

  43 |

  Baghdad International Airport Baghdad, Iraq

  CIA Agent Sherrie White rested her eyes as she rehearsed her cover. It was one she had used before, and if all went well, she’d use on many more occasions. After all, the best cover was well-practiced, and one no one suspected was a cover at all.

  And she certainly fit the bill.

  Today, she was Claire Masters, an event manager for the truly rich and powerful, those who wanted to throw a party talked about for years, not just until the next one came along.

  Yachts, hotels, casinos, venues, landmarks. She could arrange it all, sometimes with a little help from her CIA backers.

  Today, she was to meet with a Russian oligarch on the outs with Moscow, who might just have a server loaded with data the CIA desperately wanted. Her job wasn’t to steal it, her job was to arrange the party where one of the guests, on the CIA’s payroll, would. If she stole it, and it was discovered after the fact, there would be little doubt who did it. But have it stolen when hundreds of guests and staff were in the house?

  They’d never know who did it, and her cover would remain intact.