No Sanctuary Box Set: The No Sanctuary Omnibus - Books 1-6

by Mike Kraus

  The second possibility is terrifying on a scale that boggles the mind. If the sensor is not broken then whatever was in the shipment that passed through and triggered the alert was not rice at all. The only thing that would have triggered the numbers Nate sees is weapons-grade nuclear material. The idea that someone would try shipping weapons-grade nuclear material in through a port that performs radiation scans on everything that comes in and goes out seems ludicrous on the surface. No one could possibly be that stupid.

  But what if it’s true? The shipment of rice that triggered the alert is already gone, having been sped through customs and picked up by the recipient mere minutes after it was marked as cleared. There are no records in the system of the manual radiation scans that Inspector Garcia performed, either, though that could possibly be explained by the fact that manual checks are so rare that it would take extra time to enter them into the database.

  The more Nate considers the two possibilities, though, the more nervous he gets. He is normally one to make fun of conspiracy theorists but he finds himself thinking more and more like one. After several minutes of thinking he realizes that there’s something else he can check.

  He picks up the phone on his desk and calls to another department.

  “Records.”

  “Ted? This is Nate down at scanning.”

  “What’s going on, Nate?”

  Nate instinctively glances around his small office and pulls his chair closer to his desk as he lowers his voice. “I need a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Run a badge number for me, will you? I got an odd call earlier and want to make sure it’s legit.”

  “A badge number? Can’t you run it from there?”

  “My system’s down right now so I can’t access it.” It’s a simple lie to disguise the fact that Nate doesn’t want a record of him looking up the badge number in the system. Looking up badge numbers is not a prohibited activity but Nate wants to stay as far from the situation as possible while he’s checking things out.

  “Yeah, all right. What is it?”

  Nate reads the badge number out that he had hastily typed into a text file on his computer when Inspector Garcia called earlier. Ted taps out the numbers on his keyboard and reads the text over the phone to Nate.

  “Badge is registered to Jose Martinez.”

  “Is he an inspector?”

  “Nope. He works off-site. General site security.”

  “Huh. All right, thanks. Appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Later, Nate.”

  The line goes dead and Nate hangs up the phone. He rubs his hand through his hair as he processes the new information and tries to decide what to do next. Making waves and drawing attention to himself isn’t something he wants to do, particularly when it might involve him being tricked by someone impersonating an inspector.

  “God dammit.” Nate picks up the phone again and dials the number for his superior. When she picks up he starts giving her a summary of the events of the day when she interrupts him and cuts him off.

  “I appreciate the call, Nathan, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “But this inspector isn’t—”

  “Nathan.” Her voice grows cold. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve checked everything out and it was a sensor malfunction. A new one will be up tomorrow morning and you can resume your duties then. Understand?”

  “I… okay. Sure.”

  “Great. Have a good evening.”

  The line, once again, goes dead and Nate sits in silence while he wonders yet again just what is going on.

  Chapter 20

  “Welcome to the United States, Mr. Amari. Have a pleasant stay.”

  Farhad Omar smiles broadly at the immigration officer as he collects his passport from the desk and his luggage from the floor. Many would be nervous about traveling under a false name. Omar is not nervous in the slightest. Two dozen trips back and forth between the United States and other countries have left him feeling confident in his alias which, in turn, helps immensely when dealing with the immigration officers.

  He passes the desk with a slight nod and another smile to the officer and continues on his way. Outside the airport, waiting near the front doors, a large black SUV pulls up. The back door opens and Omar climbs in, handing his luggage to a waiting assistant who loads it in the back before getting in as well.

  Once inside the vehicle Omar’s smile turns to a sneer. He stares out the window at the people walking and driving around, shaking his head as he mulls over all the reason he despises each and every one of them. A slight tap on his arm causes him to turn and look at the assistant seated next to him. The assistant wears a suit and a nervous expression as he holds out a phone for Omar.

  “You wanted to call him when you arrived, sir?” The assistant speaks in smooth, accent-less English.

  Omar nods approvingly as he takes the phone, speaking with the same elegant, flawless and accent-less English. “Your practice has gone well, I see. Good work.”

  The assistant’s body visibly relaxes at the praise from Omar. “Thank you, sir!”

  Omar turns back to look out the window. “What’s the status on the material?”

  “All shipments have made it through successfully.”

  “No problems at all?”

  “None, sir. He was able to arrange for technicians to fabricate sensor malfunctions to ensure everything got through. Our men handled the scanning of the shipments and everything was cleared.”

  “What about the roaming scans? How are those being handled?”

  “We had to change that some, sir.”

  Omar raises an eyebrow. “Nothing happened, did it?”

  “No sir. He informed us that the roaming scans had an updated route just a few days after the shipments cleared customs. Three of our storage sites would have been compromised by the new routes so we moved them to new ones.”

  Omar nods thoughtfully. “You have the details prepared for me to examine at the hotel?”

  “Of course, sir. Everything’s ready.”

  Omar sighs with satisfaction and sits back in his seat. “Excellent. I’ll call him now, then.”

  The phone rings twice before a voice on the other end of the line answers. “Stadwell.”

  “Mr. Stadwell. This is Amari. I am calling with questions and thanks. Is this a good time to speak?”

  “Perfect. On my way out to get some lunch right now. What can I do you for, Mr. Amari?”

  Omar glances at his assistant who leans in to listen in on the conversation and take notes. “I understand that there were some hiccups with the scanning routes that you helped sort out. You have my thanks for that.”

  Malcolm Stadwell glances around as he walks down the street, lowering his voice as he increases his pace. He has yet to suspect anyone even being suspicious of his duplicitous nature but caution has allowed him to remain active and he persists in exercising an abundance of it.

  “Of course, of course. They change those randomly and it’s been a while since anything was altered so I figured something would be coming down the pipe soon. Just glad I could help out you… and my pocketbook!” Stadwell laughs at his joke but quickly stops once he realizes that the man on the other end of the line is silent.

  Omar pinches the bridge of his nose and struggles to keep his voice steady. “Your timely actions are most appreciated. As for my question, do you anticipate any problems related to the scanners? My assistant indicated that the matter was resolved but I want to ensure—”

  Omar grits his teeth as Stadwell interrupts him. The American speaks quickly and huffs slightly as he is out of breath from speed walking. “No problem at all there, Mr. Amari. No problem at all. I was able to get your people into position with some legitimate documents and they handled it flawlessly. In a few days I’ll have someone here flush the records of the incident and it will officially have never happened.”

  “You have an impressive array of resources at your di
sposal thanks to the Bureau, Mr. Stadwell.”

  Stadwell flashes an arrogant grin that Omar can very nearly hear over the phone. “Absolutely I do, Mr. Amari. Hey, listen, do you need anything else?”

  “I believe that’s everything.”

  “Fantastic! I’ll be on for our usual call tomorrow. I need to run now. The day job awaits. Talk to you later!”

  The line goes dead and Omar slowly lowers the phone from his ear. His nauseated expression betrays what he truly thinks of the man whom he bribed and turned to work for him years prior. He turns to his assistant and looks at the notepad. “What time is the call tomorrow?”

  “Around eleven in the evening, sir.”

  Omar closes his eyes and lets out a slight groan. “Very well.”

  Malcolm Stadwell’s position, like those of other double agents before him, affords him an enormous amount of leverage and power to assist with Omar’s plans. Unfortunately for Omar, however, Stadwell requires an increasing level of attention and massaging to get tasks accomplished. The only reason Omar still puts up with the man is due to Omar’s timetable. The first phase is nearly ready to begin. Once it starts Stadwell will be expendable and can be disposed of. Until that happens, though, Omar must tolerate and endure the man’s attitude.

  “Do you need anything, sir?” Omar’s assistant has a concerned expression on his face.

  “No, thank you.” Omar resumes his watch out the window, staring off into space as he contemplates what is to come. “I’ll have everything I need soon enough.”

  BOOK FOUR

  THE TEMPEST

  Chapter 1

  When most picture the country of Pakistan they imagine a harsh, sand-filled country. The idea of lush forests and green grass covering a large portion of the landscape does not occur to them and they will not hesitate to laugh at the notion.

  Just north of the city of Islamabad, located near the northern tip of Pakistan, the harsh sandy desert climate is far from reality. The city sits near the Margalla Hills, part of the Himalayan Foothills. Margalla is filled with lush trees, green grass and vibrant landscapes. The elevation is such that some areas do, from time to time, receive snow during the winter months. The city of Islamabad itself is no desert city, either. It is filled with trees and grass that stretch between the houses and buildings and roads, filling the region with enough green that one might never realize they were in Pakistan in the first place.

  It is on these green grassy paths, in view of the lush Margalla Hills, that a woman walks in the evening hour, heading for a nondescript building half a mile away. She walks alone, wearing a baggy pair of trousers and shirt and a simple scarf wrapped around her head. Her hands stay close to her waist and she constantly scans her environment, watching around her for any sign of danger.

  As the woman passes by a bench on the outside of a nearby park a man sits up and stares at her. He calls out to her in Urdu, shouting in a slurred voice that betrays the fact that he has been drinking for the last few hours. She ignores the man, keeping her pace steady as she plods along. He tries to stand up from the bench but fails to remain upright, toppling over almost immediately and falling to the ground. His loud groans of pain will soon attract attention so the woman increases her speed to get away from him before the authorities show up.

  The building the woman is traveling towards is one of many along a busy street in the heart of the city. It is several stories tall, made of brick or stone or some other material that feels to her like it is completely devoid of color and life. The building is designed to blend in and not attract attention but it is that fact that draws her eye directly toward it.

  The woman walks past the building, heading for a bus stop on a nearby street corner. She checks her watch as she approaches the bus stop and speeds up, realizing that she is nearly thirty seconds behind schedule. The bus arrives as she reaches the stop. She gets on board, pays her fare and takes a seat at the very back. Four women and three men are on the bus as well, though two of the men depart at the stop where she got on board.

  Once the bus is moving again she reaches under her seat and dislodges a white envelope that was jammed between the seat and the seat support. The envelope is thick, at least one and a half inches, and contains over two hundred sheets of paper. She eyes the people sitting in front of her carefully as she opens the envelope, making sure to hide it behind the seat in front of her so that no one else can look at it.

  The pages are written in a mix of English and Urdu and each is marked with the logo of the Inter-Services Intelligence agency, the main intelligence agency of the country. With operations in most countries around the world, the ISI is well-known to other countries as a top-tier intelligence agency though most people have never heard of them.

  It has taken months of work and a large sum of money to obtain the envelope she now holds in her hands and Linda Rollins can feel her heartbeat increasing as she thumbs through the pages. The ISI’s intelligence assets on the ground inside Iran are second to none and she hopes that the price she paid and the risks she has endured are worth the information contained in the pages.

  For the next half hour, as the bus winds through Islamabad, Linda skims through the pages, looking for the promised details about Farhad Omar, the person she so desperately wishes to find. Unfortunately, though, the more she looks through the pages the more she realizes that every piece of information about Omar is something she has already found out through other means.

  She knows where he was born and she already knows each of his closest lieutenants by name. She knows the places where he has been and where he’s likely to turn up even though he fails to do so each time it is predicted to happen. After reading through half of the documents she stuffs them back into the envelope with frustration and tucks it beneath her tunic.

  She watches out the window of the bus, mulling over what to do after yet another dead end, when the reflection of one of the men sitting in front of her catches her eye. He is staring directly at her, unblinking. His expression is calm and plain, with no leering or devious thoughts of any kind written across it. It is the definition of an expressionless expression and she immediately hears alarms going off in her head.

  Linda’s hotel is two stops ahead but the fact that someone is watching her has changed her plans entirely. Instead of going back to her hotel for the night and leaving on a flight the next day she decides to head to the hotel, grab her things and go immediately to the airport. She also gives up any hope of making any calls home, as there is no chance she won’t be constantly monitored until she’s well out of the country.

  When the bus finally stops in front of Linda’s hotel she hurries out and heads inside. She glances behind as she opens the door and sees the man who was staring at her standing outside the hotel. He is making a show of looking at anything except for Linda which in turn causes what he is doing to become even more obvious than it was before.

  Linda heads to the front desk and talks to the person on duty. Instead of leaving her bag in her room she left it at the desk along with a sizeable tip to ensure that nothing would happen to it. After she checks to make sure everything is inside she pays her bill and exits through the back of the building, running to catch the next bus that is about to leave a nearby stop.

  The squeal of car tires from a nearby street tell Linda that her tail has discovered her subterfuge and is after her again. She briefly considers trying to make it to the American embassy but decides against it since they will likely ask the same uncomfortable questions that her pursuer wants to ask.

  She watches out the bus windows with no small amount of nervousness as she heads for the airport. When she gets close she pulls the stop signal and gets out early, running across the street to approach the airport from a side entrance. She makes it inside the building and up to the ticket counter with no sign of any pursuers, then she quickly has her ticket changed to the soonest available flight. Leaving in two hours is better than twenty-four, but she still has to avoid her pursuer unt
il the flight is ready for boarding.

  The airport is quiet late at night and she passes through security in a matter of minutes. After she finishes she heads for the nearest bathroom and opens her bag, pulling out a pair of pants and scarf that are different in color than the ones she was wearing previously. She changes her clothing and exits the bathroom before making her way to a small restaurant inside the terminal. There she sits at a table, sipping on a cup of coffee as she pretends to read a magazine, all while observing the people around her.

  She spots her pursuer just after she gets up from the table after the boarding call is made for her flight. The man is walking slowly through the terminal, one hand pressed against his ear. His lips move subtly as he speaks into a microphone tucked away in his sleeve. Linda considers turning around but knows that if he was going to stop her then he would have done it already. She wagers that he wants to catch her alone, steal the documents she has in her possession and get away without being caught. It’s a risky wager but one that she has to make or else she may miss her flight.

  Linda increases her walking speed, gliding past the man and nearly causing him to trip and fall as she brushes up against him. She drops a white envelope on the ground as she passes by, joining in with the small crowd of passengers waiting at the gate for her flight. The man is distracted from her twice: first by her pushing him and second by her dropping the envelope. He ignores her and scoops up the envelope, tears it open and finds it to be empty. He looks around, searching for her but she is already gone, having blended in with the crowd at her gate before he can look to search for her.

  The man futilely tries to have the plane stopped before it can take off but given that he is working unofficially his pleas with the agent at the gate have no effect. Linda’s plane is in the air in twenty minutes, winging its way towards Germany where she will change flights again and head towards home. After the plane levels out Linda gets up from her seat and walks down the aisle, observing the other passengers closely. None of them bother to look back at her, absorbed as they are in their own affairs. When she sits back down she breathes a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of the man following her. Disappointment sets back in quickly, though, and she sighs again, wishing she hadn’t taken the time to travel to Pakistan to chase yet another dead end.