by Trevor Scott
COUNTER CALIPHATE
A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller #11
by
Trevor Scott
United States of America
Also by Trevor Scott
The Jake Adams Cold War Espionage Short Story Series
Reykjavik Sanction (Mission #1)
Napoli Intercept (Mission #2)
Wueschheim Imperative (Mission #3)
Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series
Fatal Network (#1)
Extreme Faction (#2)
The Dolomite Solution (#3)
Vital Force (#4)
Rise of the Order (#5)
The Cold Edge (#6)
Without Options (#7)
The Stone of Archimedes (#8)
Lethal Force (#9)
Rising Tiger (#10)
Counter Caliphate (#11)
Gates of Dawn (#12)
Counter Terror (#13)
Covert Network (#14)
The Tony Caruso Mystery Series
Boom Town (#1)
Burst of Sound (#2)
Running Game (#3)
The Chad Hunter Espionage Thriller Series
Hypershot (#1)
Global Shot (#2)
Cyber Shot (#3)
The Keenan Fitzpatrick Mystery Series
Isolated (#1)
Burning Down the House (#2)
Witness to Murder (#3)
Other Mysteries and Thrillers
Cantina Valley
Edge of Delirium
Strong Conviction
Fractured State (A Novella)
The Nature of Man
Discernment
Way of the Sword
Drifting Back
The Dawn of Midnight
The Hobgoblin of the Redwoods
Duluthians: A Collection of Short Stories
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and not intended to represent real people or places. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.
COUNTER CALIPHATE
Copyright © 2015 by Trevor Scott
United States of America
trevorscott.com
Cover image of shooter by abishome
Background cover image by author
1
Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain
Anna Grasso kneeled quietly in the pew of the Church of St. Francis of Assisi in the center of this Spanish city, the largest on the island of Tenerife. She had been praying for all of the patients she had served in north Africa the past month, and for those she would help heal in the next few months in the drought and war-stricken countries of central Africa where they headed next. She knew that her work along the Mediterranean coast would be nothing more than a warm-up for the conditions she expected to find on her next calling. In the next couple of months they would make port in every country from Senegal to Ghana, providing surgical procedures and immunizations.
She watched a nun wander along the small outer chapels like an apparition without legs drifting through the cold, dark corridors. Anna wished she had been able to find the strength within her to love God that fully, but her calling had been in nursing—first as an Air Force officer in Iraq and Afghanistan, and then after eight years of patching up young soldiers and airmen, she had resigned her commission and joined the Christian relief group, where she had traveled to nearly every continent to help those in need.
Anna checked her wrist watch and realized she had to go or she’d miss the ship’s departure in just an hour. Would Morgan be waiting for her outside? She hoped not. Dr. Morgan Cassidy, despite working for a religious relief organization, had nearly lost his faith. Part of that, she knew, was due to his own experiences in Afghanistan with the British Army. They had not crossed paths at that time, but had served in the same places and had those collective experiences in common. It didn’t hurt that Morgan was a handsome man, but his vices were more difficult to overlook. The good doctor drank like a sailor, and he smoked American cigarettes as if lung cancer had never been discovered. Yet, he had redeeming qualities. He was a gifted surgeon who cared too much for his patients. And she could live with that.
Crossing herself, she got up and moved to the edge of the pew. Then she faced the alter, stooped nearly to her right knee, and crossed herself one more time before turning to leave.
As she exited the church, she noticed two things. First, darkness had enveloped the city, with sparse lights in front of the church barely lighting the walkway. And second, Dr. Morgan Cassidy stood out front leaning against a stone wall, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Once he saw her, he dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. Then he met her on the sidewalk.
“I was about to come looking for you,” the doctor said, his London accent especially pronounced this evening.
Anna smiled. “Someone has to pray for us.”
“I think I’m beyond redemption,” he said, the corner of his mouth rising in a wry smile.
She considered him anew in the light of only a few small street lamps. His six-foot frame could still fit into his Army uniform, she guessed. She had seen pictures of the man during his service in the British Army medical corps, and she would be surprised if Morgan had gained a pound in the past ten years. The only difference would be his hair, which was much longer now and required him to comb the blond locks back with his hands constantly. During surgery the doctor pulled his hair back into a ponytail. But the good doctor continued one tradition from his military days—he shaved daily. She had never seen the man with a hint of beard on his strong jaw.
“We should be off,” Morgan said. “Hate to miss our ship.”
She nodded. They had gotten into port early that morning and had spent the entire day together walking the streets of Santa Cruz, visiting the sites, and eating the local cuisine.
“I guess we should hop to it,” she agreed.
He laughed. “Are we still on those rabbit jokes?”
For lunch the two of them had eaten a local delicacy—a roasted rabbit with potatoes. Ever since then they had joked about the furry creatures.
“It’s not like we ate the Easter Bunny,” she said.
“I was thinking Bugs Bunny.”
“Now you’re just being cruel.” She turned and walked toward the main street that led to the harbor.
He caught up with her in a second. “Anna, I think we should catch a cab to the ship. Otherwise we might not make it.”
“All right. But you’re the rich doctor, so you’re paying.”
She held back a smile and knew that neither of them would get rich working for a relief organization. But that’s not why they worked for them. Despite the doctor’s callous exterior, Anna knew that Dr. Morgan Cassidy, like everyone else, worked mostly for room and board. They were all volunteers on six-month or one-year assignments.
They took a cab to the harbor, getting out at the security gate in front of the pier. This was where cruise ships docked. Only one Norwegian Cruise Line ship was currently in port, and that one was pushing away from the dock with thrusters as Anna and Morgan walked toward their ship.
The massive shiny cruise liner made their little five-hundred foot relief ship look like a third world junk in comparison. The Lord’s Compassion was formerly known as The Bella Adriatic, an Italian cruise ship built in the 1950s. The ship’s white exterior was streaked now with rust and in dire need of paint. But all of
the 450 crew aboard their ship knew that medical supplies were much more important than aesthetics.
Originally they were supposed to make port in this Canary Islands harbor for two days, but that morning the ship’s captain had announced over the intercom that they would just be there for the day, since a major storm was brewing in the north Atlantic. A cruise liner might be able to handle the high seas, but a relic like theirs could only make 14 knots and would be battered by twenty-foot waves. They needed to get ahead of the storm.
As they made their way up the gangplank, Anna stopped and turned to view the city lights. Santa Cruz was a beautiful city, she thought. Especially after some of the ports they had visited in north Africa, which struggled with their own aesthetics. But poverty was why they were in those ports. Not everyone was happy to see Christian medical workers in Muslim countries, though. Yet, they had kept their surgical suites running around the clock, and immunized thousands of children against everything from influenza to meningitis. They were not there to convert the indigenous people, but sometimes that happened peripherally.
“Anna,” Morgan yelled from the security station at the gangway entrance. “Let’s go. We’re the last aboard.”
She shuffled to the top and showed her I.D. to a security officer, a young Filipino man in a white uniform. The man normally had a smile for her, but he seemed somewhat detached tonight. Maybe he didn’t get to go ashore, she thought.
“Sorry,” she said to the security officer as she accepted her I.D. back from him.
The Filipino simply nodded without commitment.
Once inside the ship, Anna pulled onto Morgan’s arm to stop him. “Did that security officer seem off to you?” she asked him.
“I’m a surgeon, Anna, not a psychologist.” Morgan hesitated and then said, “I’m sorry. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s probably nothing.”
Anna took a ladder to Deck 4, and they both moved down the passageway toward the crew berthing area. Their cabins were only a couple away from each other. As medical officers, they were both allowed private cabins. Other crew members had to share.
She stopped and opened her door with her I.D. badge. Then she turned to Morgan. “What’s your plan for dinner?”
Morgan shrugged. “I’m still pretty full from the rabbit.” He checked his watch. “What say we meet in an hour.”
“Sounds good,” she said. “I need a shower.”
“Same here. Maybe we should save water.” He gave her a big smile.
They had done nothing more than flirt since both came aboard The Lord’s Compassion a month ago—perhaps the occasional holding of hands. Not even a kiss. Part of that, she knew, was the fact that both of them were still unloading baggage. The ink on Morgan’s divorce was still wet, and she had sent her cheating husband packing just a few months before taking this assignment. She would have to file for divorce when she returned. Some would say she was hiding and running from her problems. But she wasn’t retreating; she was assessing her life and discovering her new path.
She simply smiled back and closed the door on him. Now she sat on her bed and stared at the shrinking walls of the small cabin. Eventually she fell back and closed her eyes. When she felt the ship moving, she went to her small porthole and glanced out. Unlike the large cruise ships, which could pull away from the pier with its own thrusters, they were being pulled away with the help of two tugs. Seconds later and the lines from the tugs went limp and were reeled back to their ship. Then the engines powered up and they slowly started moving away from the pier and out toward the break water.
She went back to the bed and closed her eyes again, unsure of her life. Something startled her awake. It sounded like a bang of some sort, but it was muffled.
Anna quickly undressed and showered. If they were going to hit heavy seas, she didn’t want to be in the shower for that.
Standing now before her bathroom mirror naked, she assessed her body. Although she had lost weight since joining the ship, most of that had been lost in the right places. She lifted her breasts, disturbed they had fallen somewhat from her Air Force days. Back then she ran daily, reducing her cup size to a B. But now, only walking the decks of the ship, she was back to her normal C. She looked down at her flat belly and couldn’t help wondering how her life would have been if she had had children with her husband. Would that have saved their marriage? She ran her fingers through her dark, curly hair and gazed into her hazel eyes. Could she eventually find joy again with life? She wiped away a tear and went back into the main part of her cabin.
She got dressed quickly in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Then she tied on a pair of running shoes and checked her watch. Over an hour had passed since she closed the door on Morgan. She considered going to get him, but she didn’t want to catch him without clothes.
So she picked up the ship’s phone and called his cabin.
“Miss me already?” Morgan asked.
“Yeah, right. I was just thinking that we might want to eat soon if we’re going to hit high seas.”
“Good point, my dear. I’m showered and ready to go.”
“Same here. I’ll come and get you.”
She hung up and found her I.D. lanyard, flipping it over her head. Anna left her cabin and headed toward Morgan’s place. Just as she turned, she saw a man in dark clothes scoot across the passageway ahead. After a month aboard, she thought she knew everyone on this ship. But that was a black man she had not seen before. There were only two black men aboard—a doctor from Tanzania and a purser, and the man she saw was neither of them.
Anna knocked on Morgan’s door and he answered just as her knuckles were about to strike a second time.
“Everything all right?” he asked her.
“I think so. Were we supposed to pick up more crew in the Canaries?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
She glanced down the passageway and then shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s eat.”
The dining facility was packed. It seemed that everyone else had the same idea. Fill the gut before the waves hit.
Just as they finished eating, Anna noticed a few crew members walking backwards into the dining facility. They were followed closely by two men with automatic weapons. A few women screamed.
Anna shifted her glance quickly to the other entrance, where two more men shoved their way into the room.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Morgan said, rising to his feet.
One of the Italian crew members rushed a gunman, struggled with the man for a moment, before a second gunman smashed the Italian’s head with the butt of his rifle, dropping the man immediately to the metal deck.
An Arab man with an MP5 submachine gun strapped across his chest stepped forward and said, “The next person to resist us will be shot in the head. Do you understand?” This man was clearly in charge.
Crew members glanced about, as if trying to assess the situation. With crew from a dozen countries, the only common language was English, and the gunman spoke that with a thick accent.
Anna noticed the tattoo of a snake wrapped around the Arab’s right arm from his wrist to his biceps. She reached over and grabbed Morgan’s hand, pulling him back into his seat. Morgan was in complete shock.
When the room was quiet, suddenly gunfire broke out somewhere else on the ship. Someone had resisted, Anna thought. She only hoped those were simply warning shots.
2
Calabria, Italy
The sun set slowly on the Tyrrhenian Sea as Jake Adams stood on his terrace high above the ocean, his eyes concentrating on the island of Stromboli to the northwest. He and his girlfriend Alexandra had stayed up the coast for a while in Pizzo before buying a small villa a few kilometers south of Tropea. Their nearest neighbor was nearly five hundred meters to the north and south, and their unobstructed ocean view was thanks to a nearly sheer cliff of some one hundred meters to the rocky shore below.
A slight breeze chilled his expos
ed skin. February along the southern Italian coast was not exactly high season, Jake knew, but it was much better than his old home in Austria at this time of year, or in Berlin where Alexandra was currently located. She had told Jake that she was going to Germany to visit a relative, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew she was doing something for her old agency, the BND, the Federal Intelligence Service of Germany. As a former CIA officer called back in to service more times than he liked to admit, Jake understood her reluctance to retire completely. She still loved her country and had a hard time saying no. Just like Jake.
He was surprised when his phone buzzed and he pulled it from his left khaki pocket to see who might be bothering him at this hour. But this buzz had nothing to do with a text. It came from his security system. A motion sensor had been triggered a hundred meters down his gravel driveway. Someone had ignored the ‘stay the hell off my private property signs,’ and was heading to the front of his house. Maybe he needed to put up an electrified gate, he thought. As it was, he had paid the local Malavita, the Calabrese Mafia, to protect his property from common thieves. He knew this was actually protection money from those who might have normally ripped him off in the first place, but that was the nature of the game in southern Italy.
Jake walked into the main living room, locking the sliding glass door behind him. Then his phone buzzed again and an image popped onto his phone, showing two men approaching his front door. He picked up his Glock on the way to his front door. He shoved his phone into his pocket again and then touched the screen on the door, which showed both men more clearly. One man looked too familiar. His hair had gotten much more gray, and his shoulders were now a little less broad. But Jake could still tell that the man had once been a military officer. The other man was much younger, perhaps thirty-five, and shorter, with the paunch associated with inactivity. His hair was short and dark and his beard like that of a fryer—which was apt, since he wore all black and had the collar of a Catholic priest.