Raven Strike

by Dale Brown; Jim DeFelice

  “You got it, Cap. Hey, heads up—storm headed our way.”

  Boston pointed toward the small huts. Melissa Ilse, right arm in a sling, was striding in their direction, moving at a speed that clearly indicated she wasn’t pleased.

  Danny kept up his own deliberate pace toward the main building. “Ms. Ilse, what can I do for you?”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I didn’t know I was your alarm clock.”

  “Listen, Colonel . . .”

  She took hold of his right arm. As Danny turned toward her, Melissa’s glare reminded him of a look his wife had given him when he told her he wasn’t running for Congress. Ever.

  Not a good memory, that.

  “I’m in charge of this operation here, Colonel,” said Melissa. “This is my op.”

  “No, Ms. Ilse, I’m afraid—”

  “Melissa.”

  “Right. This is a Whiplash operation. I’m in charge.”

  “You’re supposed to help me. Help.”

  “I really don’t care to argue.”

  Danny started walking again. She fell in next to him.

  “Obviously, you didn’t recover the UAV.”

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “I insist that you involve me in any other operation. Do you understand?”

  “Your arm better?” asked Danny.

  “Colonel, I insist.”

  She followed in a huff as Danny entered the main building. Nuri was inside, talking with someone on a satellite phone. Jordan was fussing with the coffeepot.

  “Your guys are all right?” asked Jordan, glancing over as he came in.

  “Yeah. Just barely,” said Danny.

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “Melissa?”

  “No thank you,” she said frostily.

  “A little strong,” said Jordan, handing the coffee over.

  “I’ll say,” said Danny.

  “Keeps me awake.”

  Nuri finished his call and came over.

  “I’m sorry,” he told Danny.

  Danny nodded. Nuri was sincere; he wasn’t an I told you so kind of guy.

  “My drugs are on the way,” said Nuri. “They should be here by first light. I’ll go back and nose around.”

  “They’re not going to connect you with tonight?”

  “Nah. They may think you were coming to get me. I’m a criminal, remember? That’ll only help my reputation.”

  “I think Li Han was behind this,” said Danny.

  “Could be.”

  “I think that’s a very good guess,” said Melissa. “I’m sure he’s still in Duka.”

  “I think it’s kind of hard to be that definite,” said Nuri. “We thought he was in the warehouse.”

  “He’s still in Duka.”

  “What do you think?” Danny asked Jordan.

  “I don’t know. Booby-trapping the truck would be very much like him. Finding the transponder? Definitely. But anything’s possible. These people aren’t stupid; they’ve lived by their wits out here for a long time.”

  “We brought two guys back,” Danny told Nuri. “Maybe you can get something out of them.”

  “Sure,” said Nuri.

  Melissa followed them out of the building.

  “Unless your Arabic’s a lot better than mine,” Nuri told her as they neared the tent, “I think you ought to stay outside. The less people who see you, the better.”

  She gave him a scowl but didn’t argue.

  Nuri adjusted the MY-PID ear set and followed Danny inside the tent. A teenager lay on the floor, arms and legs bound by zip ties. The tent was illuminated by a 150-watt bulb in a work lamp hanging from the peak.

  Nuri knelt next to the prisoner. The kid was so still that even though his eyes were open, Nuri thought he was sleeping.

  “As-Salamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuhu,” Nuri said in Arabic. May the One True God’s Peace and Blessing Be Upon You.

  The young man’s eyes opened a little wider, but he said nothing.

  “Why did you try to kill my friends?” asked Nuri. When he didn’t get a response, he switched to Nubian, the dominant tribal language of the North, and repeated the question.

  Nuri’s Nubian wasn’t nearly as fluent as his Arabic, and the differences in the dialects added considerable difficulty. He would at least have no trouble translating: MY-PID could handle it instantaneously. Indeed, as soon as the Voice heard him use the language, it would make suggestions, allowing him to refine his speech as he went along.

  The computer’s help proved unnecessary.

  “You think I don’t know English?” said the prisoner.

  “I didn’t want to insult you by using it,” said Nuri.

  The kid made a face.

  “How old are you?” asked Danny.

  “What kind of question is that for a warrior of God?” snapped the boy.

  “You’re not fighting for God. You’re trying to get Dr. Thorika into power,” answered Nuri, referring to the opposition figure supported by the Brotherhood.

  “Phhhh, Thorika.” The prisoner tried to spit, but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t even force spittle to his lips. “We fight for the rule of Islam.”

  “You’re with the Brothers?” said Nuri, who of course had suspected as much, based on what he knew of Li Han. “Have they stopped backing Thorika?”

  The prisoner frowned again, perhaps realizing he had given Nuri more information than he should have.

  “I didn’t know the Brotherhood had people this far north,” said Nuri in a reasonable tone. “Why have you come into the territory of your enemies?”

  “All Sudan is our territory. We have friends everywhere.”

  The kid switched to Arabic as he repeated several slogans popular with the Brothers. Nuri let him talk for a while before finally cutting him off.

  “What about the Chinese scientist? Why is he in charge of you?”

  “He is not in charge of us.”

  The interview continued in that vein for several more minutes. Nuri concluded that the prisoner was older than he looked, but even so probably didn’t have much information that would be immediately useful.

  The second prisoner stuck to Arabic, but was more talkative, volunteering that “the Asian” was in the city, though he didn’t know where. He said he was fifteen, and Nuri believed it; he had clearly not been trusted with much information, and didn’t seem to know that much about the UAV.

  “They’re the usual teenage riffraff the Brotherhood recruits,” said Melissa derisively outside the tent. “They’re ignorant. They don’t know anything.”

  “The first one spoke English pretty well,” said Nuri.

  “So? It’s the official language. One of them.”

  “The usual slugs don’t speak it as well as he does,” said Nuri.

  “Li Han doesn’t speak Arabic, or any of the local languages,” said Melissa. “They needed someone who could communicate with him.”

  “If Li Han is so good, why is he working for them?” asked Danny. “Why isn’t he working for Iran or Syria?”

  “He has worked for them,” said Melissa. “He’s here because al Qaeda gave the Brotherhood money to hire him. He’s being paid ridiculously well to help them set up communications networks, arrange their computers. Forge networks.”

  “Does he work for them, or the Brotherhood?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It makes a difference,” said Nuri.

  “The Brotherhood. They contacted him through an intermediary. I’d guess he knows where the money comes from.”

  “And where do they get it?” said Nuri. His tone made it clear he was speaking rhetorically. “The big oil states, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, the rest. It’s blood money—we’ll pay you off if you don’t try and overthrow us, or preach too hard in our mosques, or do something else that will upset our business arrangements. Whatever it is Li Han is doing out here, he’s getting a ton
of money for it. More than you and I will ever make in a hundred lifetimes.”

  “That’s true,” said Melissa. “He’s helping them organize. That’s why it’s important to take him out now.”

  “Getting the UAV back is our priority,” said Danny.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  “I want access to the file,” said Nuri.

  “What’s our next move?” Melissa asked Danny.

  “It’s not ‘our’ next move,” said Nuri. “I’m going back to see what’s going on. We’ll take it from there.”

  “I’m going in with you.”

  “No again,” said Nuri.

  “Colonel, this is my mission,” said Melissa. “Raven is in Duka somewhere. I have to find it.”

  “This is our mission,” said Danny. “All of ours.”

  Nuri tried to suppress his anger. He could tell what Danny was thinking: he saw this as a squabble between two Agency officers, a turf battle. But Nuri knew there was a lot more going on here than they’d been told—he doubted the assassination operation had been authorized, and there was no telling what else was up. Melissa was exactly the sort of gung-ho idiot higher-ups threw into a situation where the Agency didn’t belong.

  “I’m going to the clinic with the drugs,” he said. “After that I’ll check with the other group. I’m not convinced that Li Han is still in town, but if he is, I’ll hear about it.”

  “I could go to the clinic,” said Melissa. “I’m trained as a nurse. I’ll gather information in the city.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Danny. “Your arm’s in a sling.”

  “I don’t need it.” She pulled it out. Pain showed on her face, but she let it dangle. “Raven is mine. It’s my job to find it.”

  “We can get the information ourselves.”

  “You haven’t done very well at it to this point.”

  Danny scowled.

  “I’m going,” said Melissa. “I’d be there now if I hadn’t taken a spill.”

  Why not let her? thought Nuri. If she was going to be a jackass, why not let her park herself inside the clinic? She’d be out of the way there.

  Sure. And then they’d capture her, torture her, and she’d tell them everything she knew about Raven and whatever else she was involved in.

  But on the bright side, maybe they’d kill her.

  “You can’t stop me,” Melissa insisted to Danny. “This is my mission. My job.”

  That was another thing that bothered Nuri—she kept addressing Danny, not him, or at worst both of them.

  “They’ll think you’re a spy in the clinic,” said Nuri. “They’ll know you’re American.”

  “Of course they’ll know I’m an American. I don’t lie about that. There are a lot of Americans in Sudan.”

  “Not a lot,” said Nuri. “And they’re all aid workers.”

  “So?” She kept staring at Danny.

  “Fine,” said Nuri. “It’s your funeral.”

  Chapter 19

  CIA Headquarters

  Herman Edmund’s schedule was ordinarily too tight for Jonathon Reid to expect an immediate meeting, even on an important matter, and given their conversation the other day, Reid doubted that Edmund would be motivated to make time. So he was surprised when Edmund’s secretary kept him on the telephone when he made the request, and even more surprised to hear the CIA director’s voice rather than hers a few seconds later.

  “I was going to call you myself,” Edmund said.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Much earlier.”

  “We’ll call it an early lunch, then.”

  “We should talk in a very secure place,” said Reid.

  Edmund hesitated for the slightest of moments before telling Reid that he had exactly the same idea.

  They ate in the director’s dining room, only the two of them.

  Reid ordered a cup of yogurt.

  “You want to talk about Raven,” said Edmund as soon as the attendant left.

  “I do.”

  “Jon, it’s an unfortunate situation.”

  “I think we both know it’s more than that,” said Reid.

  Edmund raised an eyebrow. He pushed back in his chair, nearly reaching the wall. Photographs of all the Agency’s past directors hung in a line above their heads; William Casey glared down above Edmund’s.

  “I understand that you’ve been making inquiries,” he said.

  “I’ve been discreet.”

  “As always,” said Edmund.

  “You can’t expect me to put the lives of my people on the line without knowing what they’re being risked for.”

  “Come on, Jonathon. That’s bullshit and you know it. People do that every day here. You do it, I do it—it’s the nature of the business.”

  “The program is illegal, isn’t it?” said Reid. “There’s no executive order authorizing that Li Han be killed. And that’s the mandated procedure.”

  “I never discuss specific orders like that.”

  Reid was tempted to repeat Edmund’s line about bullshit back at him, but he didn’t.

  “The UAV project is probably borderline as well,” Reid said. “But what I’m truly concerned about is Raven itself.”

  “You told me you had located the UAV.”

  “Raven is not the aircraft,” said Reid. “I need to know about the software, Herman. I need to know how much of a danger it is.”

  “Software is software. It flies the plane.”

  “That’s not all it does.”

  “In this case, it is.”

  “What are the safeguards?”

  “I don’t know the technical data. Obviously, I’d be out of my element discussing them. As would you.”

  “I want to speak to the people who developed the software and the computer that it runs in,” insisted Reid. “I want them to talk to my experts.”

  “Can’t happen.”

  “Why not?”

  Edmund shook his head. “Can’t.”

  A buzzer sounded.

  “Come,” said Edmund loudly.

  In response, the attendant opened the door and wheeled in a tray with their food. The director had ordered a cheese omelet with home fries.

  “I had the chef hold the onions,” said Edmund. “I have meeting with the Secretary of State later. Though on second thought, maybe that would have been a good idea.”

  He laughed at his own joke. Reid said nothing until the attendant left. “My fear,” he said then, “is that the program, if it were to get into the wild, would be unstoppable.”

  “What do you mean, in the wild?”

  “Like a virus. It has that sort of capability.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Jonathon. Your tech people should be able to tell you that.”

  Reid rose as Edmund took a bite from his omelet.

  “Where are you going?” asked the director.

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Sit down, Jonathon.”

  This was exactly the sort of situation Reid had dreaded when he decided to return to the Agency after his retirement. But it was also exactly the reason he had not taken the post of DDO.

  “I don’t think we have anything else to talk about,” he said coldly. “If you’re not going to give me full access to the Raven program, anything else either one of us says would be pointless.”

  “Jonathon—”

  Reid hesitated, half expecting Edmund to change his mind, or perhaps appeal to their long friendship. But the director said nothing else.

  “Maybe I’ll be hungry later,” said Reid, pocketing the yogurt before leaving.

  Chapter 20

  Western Ethiopia

  Turk had now been up for an ungodly number of hours, and while his own personal record was in no danger of falling, he was nonetheless feeling the strains of fatigue. With the Whiplash team back in Ethiopia and a Global Hawk now overhead for surveillance, he was no longer needed.
Assuming the satellite arrived in a few hours, he could even go home.

  Until then he had to stay nearby. So he called Danny and cleared himself to land at the Ethiopian base.

  The runway was a long hash mark just off the peak of a ridge in the mountains, a little on the short side, though not a problem for the diminutive Tigershark. But the field wasn’t exactly the smoothest, with an almost wavy pattern running across the tarmac about halfway down, and several dozen poorly patched craters scattered over its length. The Tigershark took a couple of hard bumps as she landed, knocking Turk against his restraints. A funnel of dust followed him down the runway.

  One of the Whiplash team members took a truck out to meet him, and guided him to the maintenance area—a lone fuel truck standing in the middle of an open space.

  The Tigershark had been designed to operate from forward bases, and the aircraft’s engine intakes had special screens designed to lessen the possibility that they would ingest engine debris. This base was rough even by Whiplash standards, however; he’d need some help checking the runway before takeoff.

  Turk popped the canopy, secured the aircraft, then clambered down to the ground. His muscles felt as if they’d atrophied after his long stint in the air.

  “Captain Mako, welcome to Shangri-La,” said Boston, hopping from the truck that had escorted him in.

  “Hey, Boston.” Turk stuck out his hand. “Long time no see. Call me Turk.”

  “Yes, sir, Turk.”

  “Where can I get some food and a bunk?” he asked.

  “Empty beds in either that little building over there, next to the two big ones,” said Boston, pointing. “Or else one of the tents. We have prisoners in the ones with guards outside them.”

  “I’ll stay out of those.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “Where’s Colonel Freah?”

  “That would be the big building on the left.”

  “Wash the windows and check the oil,” said Turk as he started for the building.

  “Jeez, very funny, sir. I never heard that one. Har-har.”

  Turk cracked up. Corny jokes always put him into a good mood.

  He walked up the slight rise toward the buildings, warmed by the sun as it poked between the nearby peaks. He was just pulling open the door to the large building when someone on the other side yanked it from his hand. A furious cloud flew out of the door, knocking him back.