Omega Sanction

by Bob Mayer

  "Your guy Takamura has pulled two records from the database. Looks like he got them by cross-referencing some sort of criteria with the foreign student database. Location and characteristics of the people." Simpkins hit the enter key. Dublowski and Parker leaned over Simpkins's shoulders and watched as two faces appeared on the screen.

  "And there they are," Simpkins said.

  ***

  Hancock's desk was no longer the clear surface he liked to have at the end of the day. Files covered the top. He was writing on a legal pad, jotting notes, when there was a buzz.

  He opened the left top drawer and pulled out the secure phone, a slim black handset that he tucked under his left ear as he leaned back in his seat. "Yes?"

  "This is Ferguson. Dublowski and Parker are together now. Someone in Thorpe's office was killed. A specialist named Takamura. State police think it was a homicide. Parker and Dublowski went out to the accident site."

  "And?"

  "They got Takamura's office computer and took it to the Delta Force Ranch."

  "What else?" Hancock asked. Ferguson was the CIA representative to Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg. As such, Hancock knew, his primary job was to constantly deny request by the army people for intelligence while trying to cram CIA agents in the various schools run by SOCOM. His other job, maybe even more important, was to keep an eye on the Green Beanies and make sure they didn't use too much of their initiative.

  "Takamura's laptop was not found in the ruins of his trailer—he usually kept it in his car. His body was found with a cell phone in hand and a data cord that could hook to the modem of his cell phone. I've pulled the phone records—he called his office modem just before his accident. I think he sent some files to the office computer via the cell phone."

  "And of course you found all this out after Dublowski and Parker had figured it out," Hancock said.

  There was no reply. Hancock stared up at the ceiling, then returned his gaze to the chess sets on the right side of his desk. "Anything else?"

  "I've got an inquiry from the state police in reference to Takamura's killing. They want to know if we know anything."

  "Do we?" Hancock asked.

  "Not that I know of." There was a pause. "Do we?"

  "Anything else?" Hancock asked once more.

  "I think they're one step ahead of us," Ferguson said.

  Hancock laughed. "You don't even know where I'm going; my good man, so how could you even suppose they might be one step ahead?"

  "Well, it's just—"

  "Oh, no," Hancock cut him off. "Quite the contrary. Them thinking they're one step ahead means they're three steps behind."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Nothing right now. I'll call you."

  Hancock hung up the phone. There was another buzz and his secretary's voice echoed out of a speaker built into the desk. "The D/O is here to see you, sir."

  "Send her in," Hancock said as he cleared his desktop with a swipe of his arm into an empty drawer.

  The double doors whished open on pneumatic arms. Kim Gereg strode in. She walked to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Instead of immediately sitting in it, she pulled it to the side where the chess sets were located and put it down just outside the rings of light reflecting down on them. She sat down, in as much shadow as Hancock was at his desk.

  "What can I do for you?" Hancock asked.

  "One of my men died yesterday in a car accident," Gereg said.

  "I saw it in the morning brief," Hancock said. "Most unfortunate."

  "Yes," Gereg said. A long silence played out before she spoke again. "You were very qualified in your support of stronger intervention in the Balkans."

  "We either need to shit or get off the pot," Hancock said. "If you'd pardon my French."

  "You don't care which?"

  "Not particularly. I don't think that part of the world is in our strategic interests."

  "World War I started in that part of the world," Gereg noted.

  "World War III won't."

  "You sound sure of that."

  "Nothing is certain. But I do see certain parallels between this situation and the quagmire in Vietnam and I would prefer not to repeat history."

  "I didn't know you cared so much," Gereg said.

  Hancock smiled, not taking the bait.

  "That was Adviser Lane's view, wasn't it?"

  "It was."

  She turned and looked at the wall of photos.

  A long silence played out.

  "I've gone through Welwood's files," Gereg finally said.

  "Welwood?" Hancock asked.

  A twitch of a smile touched the ends of Gereg's mouth. "My man who died yesterday."

  "Ah, yes."

  "He was doing some checking on a couple of operations. One code-named Romulus and one code-named Remus."

  Again Hancock waited, not offering anything to Gereg.

  "Have you heard of these operations?" Gereg asked.

  "How should I know anything? They were obviously something run by your department," Hancock said. "After all, it was in your man's files. Why are you coming to me?"

  "I've never heard of either of these operations and they're clearly connected, given the code names."

  "You expect me to believe you've never heard of an operation run by your own department? What would the director think of that?"

  Gereg stared at him for several seconds, then stood. "Thank you for your time. I know how busy you are."

  "No more busy than you are," Hancock said to her back."

  ***

  "Can you get to a secure modem?" Parker's voice sounded faint in the SATPhone.

  "Hold on," Thorpe said. He turned to Master Sergeant King. "Is there a secure modem here?"

  King nodded and wrote on a slip of paper. "Here's the E- mail address." He pointed across the office. "It's for that computer there." They were in the G-3 shop of Special Operations Command, Europe. Morty Lorsen had dropped Thorpe off in front of the building an hour ago and Parker had just called.

  Thorpe read the address to her. "What do you have?"

  "We recovered the last thing Takamura pulled up on the computer," Parker said.

  "What is it?"

  "Best you see for yourself, then give me a call back. It's being sent right now."

  "All right." Thorpe hung up, then followed King over to the computer. It was evening in Germany and the room was deserted except for the two of them.

  "We got it," King said. "Here it is."

  Two faces appeared on the screen line by line. "Who the hell are you?" Thorpe whispered. Both men had dark skin and straight black hair. Their eyes were identical—deep blue with a steady gaze into the camera. The combination of eyes and skin color was disconcerting.

  Names appeared below each: Jawhar Matin and Akil Matin.

  And that was it.

  Thorpe punched in Parker's SATphone number. "Who are they?" he demanded as soon as she answered. "Are there two killers?"

  "As near as we can tell, the last thing Takamura did was a search for foreign students at the posts where the girls disappeared. He came up with these two."

  "Foreign? What country are they from?"

  "Saudi Arabia."

  "With a name like Matin?"

  "Jawhar there was at Fort Rucker when two girls disappeared. His brother, meanwhile, was at Fort Benning going through Ranger School at the time one girl disappeared there."

  "You don't have any time at Ranger School to go kill anyone," Thorpe said. Thorpe remembered his own Ranger School experience quite vividly. He also remembered there were several foreign officers in his class. The same with his Special Forces qualification course.

  "Ranger students get a twelve-hour break between each phase," Parker noted.

  "And you're usually too tired to do anything other than eat and sleep."

  "And maybe have your brother visit you," Parker said.

  "What about Germany? Were either of them around Stuttgart? Who the hell
exactly are these guys? Where are they from?" Thorpe was trying to assimilate this information.

  "Their training files are sealed," Parker said. "This was all Takamura was able to get. Other than the names and those stateside assignments, we don't know anything."

  "So it's a long shot they're who we're looking for?" Thorpe closed his eyes, remembering the little round man who he had gotten involved in this. "Anything further on what happened to Takamura?"

  "He was run off the road. Dan thinks he was murdered. The last thing he did was send those two pictures and names by modem from his laptop in his car to his computer in the office. His trailer was burned to the ground early this morning also."

  Thorpe opened his eyes and stared at the screen. "Let me talk to Dan."

  Dublowski's low growl came over the phone. "Hey, Mike. You see the two sons-a-bitches."

  "I see them. Was Takamura killed?"

  "Yes."

  "Who did it?"

  "We have no idea, but whoever it was tried to make a clean sweep of things. I'll keep in contact with my man at police headquarters but I think they're going to come up with zip."

  "Could these guys have done it? Are either of these guys I'm looking at in the States?"

  "I don't know," Dublowski said. "Even if one of them is, the reaction was too damn fast. Takamura had just come up with this and called me and whoever killed him was on top of him within the hour."

  "So someone was watching him."

  "Right."

  "Which means there's a good chance someone is watching you and Parker," Thorpe added.

  "Right again. We're on the Ranch right now, so we're safe for the moment."

  "I wouldn't bet my life on it," Thorpe said.

  "Let's not go too far with a conspiracy here," Dublowski said.

  "I don't think you can ever go too far with a conspiracy," Thorpe replied. "These two guys can't be this on top of things by themselves."

  "I don't know what the fuck is going on," Dublowski said, "but we'll get to the bottom of this."

  "At least I have something to work with on this end," Thorpe said. He told Dublowski about what he had learned from the kids Lorsen had taken him to. "Maybe one of these guys is this Jewel Man."

  "Terri wouldn't have gotten within fifty feet of no drug dealer," Dublowski growled. "Or gone to any party with scumbags like these two."

  "We don't know what happened yet." Thorpe remembered what Lorsen had said about kids but knew better than to mention that to the sergeant major. "Does Parker think these guys are the ones?" Thorpe asked. "Her profile said one killer."

  "They're brothers," Dublowski said. "Maybe one kills and the other doesn't know." There was a long pause. "All we have are the pictures and the names. We need more."

  Thorpe considered the situation. "If this one guy—Akil Matin—went through Ranger School, there's a chance he might have attended one of the schools at the JFK Center there at Bragg. The Q-Course or maybe one of the specialty schools."

  "I can check on that," Dublowski said.

  "Okay. Let me talk to Parker."

  As soon as she got the phone, Parker began speaking, "Mike, if these guys are involved in any way, we have to run it up the flagpole. Bring in the people who are supposed to take care—"

  "Takamura was killed," Thorpe cut her off, knowing where she was going. "Remember when we waited for the air police to help us get into the launch control center for Omega Missile? They almost all got killed and we ended up having to do it ourselves."

  "Mike—"

  "No!" Thorpe's yell drew King's attention from the other side of the room. Thorpe leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, Lisa, Takamura was killed because I got him involved. Dan's daughter is missing. The other girls. If we pass the buck on this, there's a good chance more people are going to die. We have to do it ourselves."

  "Are you sure that's the reason?" Parker asked.

  "Everyone with the questions," Thorpe muttered. "Hey, something big is going on here. Takamura getting killed so quickly after coming up with these guys' names is very strange."

  "Strange?" Parker repeated.

  "Keep your eyes open there," Thorpe said. "Maybe our guy is right there at Bragg."

  "All right."

  "Listen, I've got to go. I got some checking to do here. I'll talk to your shortly."

  He pressed the off button on the phone, then turned to King. "Who could we talk to, to find out if those two fellows have ever been around here?"

  King laughed. "Morty, of course."

  "Let's go."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jawhar had walked back and forth in front of the gray-streaked window of his room for hours, his expensive boots wearing a path in the thin, worn rug. The titanium vial repeatedly made its trip through his fingers, hitting against the bulky rings he wore.

  The colonel wanted more money. That wasn't unexpected.

  He felt a pull, an emotional hook embedded in his mind, demanding that he leave the room and seek out a woman. Akil should have been the one to do this, Jawhar knew. Akil was always business when business was at hand. Akil only "played" when there was no business to attend to. When he was bored.

  For Jawhar it was different. He could never escape the pull. He felt trapped inside the room, the dingy walls closing in on him. He turned on his heel and quickly walked to the door, threw it open and strode down the corridor.

  The old elevator made so much noise taking him down that Jawhar regretted getting on it and not taking the stairs. However, it made it to the bottom safely. He pulled the steel gate aside and walked into the lobby. There was the sound of drinking, muted music, coming from a hallway to the left. Jawhar followed the sound, feeling a flush run up his neck.

  The bar was dark, not for ambience but rather frugality. A few dim lights left most of the room in dark shadows. A radio sputtered out some unidentifiable music amid the clink of glasses and conversation. The smell of cheap Russian cigarettes filled the air.

  Jawhar walked to the bar and took a stool. He had been in this type of place before and he knew the choices for drink would be limited.

  "Yes?" The bartender, an old, portly man, asked in Russian.

  "Budweiser," Jawhar did not particularly care for the American beer, but he knew it would be far better to drink than anything local. Hard liquor might have the right label but would most likely be filled with some local swill.

  "Such a beer travels a long way to get here—" the old man began, but Jawhar cut him off by dropping several bills on the bar. Three American twenties. The old man had them scooped up before they even settled. The beer appeared quickly.

  Almost as quickly, a dark-haired woman claimed the seat next to him, barely beating out another woman, a younger blond. Jawhar ignored her for the time being. Something brushed against Jawhar's left leg and he turned.

  "Hello." The woman was rubbing her hand up his thigh.

  "Leave me," Jawhar said the words flatly.

  "Oh, come on, baby, don't—" she never finished the sentence as Jawhar pressed his thumb into the forearm that was rubbing him, squeezing down on the pressure point just as Akil had taught him. Her eyes widened and she quickly vacated the seat with a curse.

  The seat remained empty for a minute. Finally, the pull was too strong. Jawhar turned and made eye contact with the young blond. She hesitatingly came forward and claimed the seat.

  "How are you? I'm Katrina."

  Jawhar stared at her, his eyes narrowing. If she'd been an animal in the wild she would have read the look he was giving her for what it was—nature's way of saying "predator." Unfortunately for her, she was an animal of civilization.

  "Are you looking for some fun? A good time?"

  "Perhaps."

  He took a long drag from his beer, polishing it off. The bartender was good; he was there in a second. Jawhar nodded at the incline to the man's head. He needed another. The bartender raised his eyebrows and gestured at Katrina's glass. Jawhar shrugged and threw down severa
l more American bills.

  "Are you staying here?"

  Jawhar looked her over more carefully. "Yes. Are you?"

  "I could be."

  Jawhar could see the shadows in her eyes. She was experienced, but not as experienced as someone her age would be if she had been doing it since she was able. The free-market economy had changed many things in the past few years.

  "You have very nice eyes," she said.

  "Are you a student?" Jawhar guessed.

  She nodded. "I was. I hope to go back to school soon."

  "What did you study?"

  She slid the drink closer. "Psychology. Real interesting stuff, don't you think?"

  Jawhar shrugged. "I don't know."

  She sucked in the cherry from the drink, toyed with it on the end of her tongue and winked. "I can be very understanding because of my studies." She swallowed the cherry.

  Jawhar looked at her blankly for a second and then relaxed.

  Katrina didn't seem too perturbed by his lack of verbal repartee. "You are visiting our city?"

  Jawhar nodded. "Just here for business."

  "What kind of business?"

  Jawhar smiled. "Contract work for the government."

  She licked around the rim of her glass for a second and then put it down. "Sounds exciting. What kind of contracts? You're not with the KGB or anything like that, are you?"

  "No."

  "Going to be in town long?"

  "No. Where are you from?"

  She gestured vaguely. "North. A long way north. Where it gets very cold at night when you sleep alone."

  Jawhar noted that she'd gestured in the wrong direction. North was behind them. That was the problem with too many people. They didn't know where they came from.

  She'd finished her drink. He could tell she didn't know what exactly to do next, as he was still toying with his beer.

  "Tell me about yourself." He looked at her intently and smiled. "You seem to be a very fascinating woman."

  She gave him a look of such genuine happiness that he was surprised for a second. "I would love to talk to you. Let's go somewhere else. By the way, you never told me your name."

  Jawhar stood up and put his hand to her waist to guide her out, his rings glittering in the bar light. "Jewel, my name is Jewel."