African Firestorm

by Craig Reed

  Tanner had ordered the others to get some sleep, but he couldn't take his own advice. What was Riyad up to? Detonating the warheads inside Israel, a European country, or even inside the US itself? Putting the warheads on a ship and making a suicide run against a port or another ship? Put the warheads on a plane and crash it into a city?

  He didn’t know, but he was certain about one thing. Whatever the plan was, innocent people were going to die unless Riyad was stopped, and the only people who might be in a position to stop him was OUTCAST.

  Tanner closed his eyes and tried to rest, but he couldn't shake the disturbing images of nuclear clouds blanketing cities all over the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Off the coast of Somalia

  When Riyad strode onto the Northstar Venture's bridge, Narsai could see that his commander was angry. For a moment, the specter that he had done something wrong rose in his mind, but Riyad's expression wasn't directed at him.

  "It appears that the Americans are more troublesome than I thought."

  "Sir?" Narsai prompted.

  "I received a message from a contact in South Africa. It appears that Kamal Hassan tried to have the Americans killed and failed!" The last word was shouted, startling Narsai and the other two bridge crewmen.

  "What happened?"

  "Kamal tried to ambush the Americans at their hotel, only it was Hassan's men who were slaughtered. The Americans retaliated by attacking Hassan's estate later that night."

  "Hassan is dead?"

  "No one knows. They didn't find his body at the estate, but the police did find enough drugs to issue an arrest warrant. Also, the Satan-dammed Iranians are nosing around. If they catch Hassan, or if the Americans question him…." Riyad spat in disgust. "I should have ordered Ilshu to kill Hassan when he had the chance!"

  "Hassan doesn't know the plan beyond us hijacking the warheads. He has no idea what they’re for. We're leaving in twenty-eight hours; after that it won’t matter anymore."

  Riyad nodded. "Nevertheless, I'm assigning four more guards to the Northstar, and releasing Yabaal of any duties onboard this ship. Between his new toys and the enemy force approaching tomorrow evening, our good general will be distracted."

  Narsai’s ears perked up. "Tomorrow evening? How do you know?"

  The ICA colonel smiled. "Because I called and told them when to come."

  Narsai blinked in confusion. "You called them?"

  Riyad grinned. "Yabaal is a thug, but a useful one. But he is easily distracted. One of the easiest ways to do so is to give him a threat to his position, and he will forget everything else. And Yabaal has a lot of enemies."

  "Do you think the Americans are going to come after us anyway?"

  Riyad's expression darkened. "Only if they have a death wish."

  Kebri Dahar, Ethiopia

  Kabri Dar Airport was outside of the city proper, and consisted of a single runway running east-west. The first thing Tanner noticed when he climbed out of the Gulfstream was how hot and dry it was.

  He looked around. The airport was surrounded by a mix of reddish-brown soil and low, green-leaf trees. The airplane had pulled into a siding at the western end of the runway. Except for the runway and a two-story building near what appeared to be the front gate, there wasn't much to indicate the area was inhabited.

  "Fun place," Liam remarked as he stepped down the plane's stairs.

  "Isn't it?" Tanner turned to Stephen who was the next to deplane. "Are you sure this is where your contact said to meet us?"

  "Positive," Stephen said, checking out the surroundings.

  "Can you trust this guy?"

  "Yes, don’t worry." Stephen gave Tanner an annoyed look. "He's the Agency's top agent for this entire region."

  The din of approaching engines stopped the conversation. Tanner and Liam scanned the skies and saw an object coming in from the northeast. After a few seconds, they could make out that it was a helicopter descending toward them. Its paint job— the same shades of green and red as the surrounding ground — would make it very difficult to discern when viewed from above.

  Liam shielded his eyes with his hand while staring at the descending chopper. "Looks like a Mil MI-8 Hip. Soviet model that you can find all over Africa."

  "Local military?" Tanner asked.

  The Hip landed a hundred feet away from the Gulfstream, kicking up enough dust to make the three men shield their eyes from the swirling haze. The pilot killed the engine and the airport was suddenly silent again. After a few moments to let the blades wind down, the helicopter's side door slid open. Three men jumped out and strode toward the Gulfstream.

  Tanner gave the trio a once-over. All were African, dark-skinned and wiry, dressed in civilian clothing.

  When they got closer, the individual in the middle, wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt, yelled in accent-free English, "Hey Infidel! What brings you out here to my neck of the woods?"

  Liam and Tanner tensed, but Stephen smiled and walked toward the three. "Business, you khat-chewing slacker," he shouted back.

  The native grinned. Stephen met him and the two shook hands and slapped shoulders. "Been a long time, Stephen," he said. "Iska waran?"

  "Nabat," Stephen replied. He turned to the others. "Tanner, Liam — this is Axiam Osman. Axiam, these are two of my good friends, Tanner and Liam."

  "Good to meet you," Axiam said. He motioned to the two men flanking him. "These are my cousins, Geedi and Madar. Their English isn't so great, but they're good boys." The two cousins looked a lot like Axiam, only younger, Geedi being a little taller and wearing a red T-shirt, while Madar was a little thinner and wore a green one.

  The other OUTCAST operators began deplaning, and Axiam eyed the newcomers, his gaze locking on Naomi. "Whoa, hot babe alert!"

  Naomi looked him over coolly. "You couldn't keep up with me.”

  Axiam laughed. "I doubt I could. Especially after my loving wife, she who is the mother of my five children, castrated me for even thinking about another woman."

  "How is Shariifo?" Stephen asked.

  "She is well and waiting for us. We'd better get you loaded up. Hope you don't mind sharing the space with a ton and a half of khat."

  "Cats?" Danielle asked.

  Axiam shook his head, "Khat," he repeated, the word rhyming with cot. "Think of it as the African equivalent of the coco leaf."

  "A drug," Tanner said with a frown.

  "Easy, Tanner," Stephen said. "Khat is a part of Somali culture and has been for centuries."

  "And most of the surrounding countries," Axiam said. "It's less addictive then tobacco and alcohol, but it's banned in most European and North American countries. Around here, it's used the same way the Brits use tea. Business deals and alliances are forged over a session of khat chewing." He shrugged. "Besides, the country's economy is all shot to hell. It was either become a dealer in khat, or a pirate."

  "That's why we need him," Stephen said.

  "Can you get us into Eyl?" Tanner asked.

  Axiam's smile faded. "Yeah. Won't be easy, though. Place has been overrun with Yabaal's goons."

  "Who?"

  "'General Wardi Yabaal." Axiam used air quotes when speaking the man's title. "He’s your run-of-the-mill low-life with delusions of grandeur. He took Eyl several months back from the Puntland government, and they haven't managed to push him out yet."

  "How many men does he have?"

  Axiam shrugged. "Two to four hundred. Most of them have the military training of a six-year old, but they can still kill you. That's why when I make the khat run to Eyl, I always bring along extra guns."

  He glanced at his digital watch. "We're burning daylight. I want to be home before nightfall."

  Tanner made eye contact with the others. "You heard the man. Mount up!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Hip flew toward the town of Garoowe, in the autonomous Puntland region of Somalia, fifty miles from the Ethiopian border. Tanner sat in the cockpit and watched Axiam, who wa
s also the pilot, fly the Russian-made helicopter. The Somali handed the controls deftly, coaxing a smooth flight out of the ten-ton craft.

  "Where did you learn to fly?"

  "United States Marine Corps," Axiam replied proudly. "Oorah!"

  The ice between the two men was broken. Axiam had been sent to the USA by his father right before the civil war, when he had lived with his uncle, an Inman at a Minneapolis mosque. He'd graduated from college, then six years in the Marines, before being tapped by the CIA to become one of their agents. That was seven years ago.

  "A khat distributor?" Tanner asked.

  "Perfect cover," Axiam replied. "I can go places and see people I wouldn't otherwise have contact with. Besides, it's been the family business for the last five generation."

  "What do you know about the ICA, the Islamic Caliphate Army?"

  "Heard of them, but haven't seen any evidence they're involved in anything this neck of the woods. Why?"

  Tanner gave him enough details to be informative, but omitted anything about Hassan or the nuclear warheads.

  Axiam listened, nodding. "So we see if your team can steal a boat to get out to the ship and retake it, and then do it, right?"

  "About right."

  "Sounds like fun."

  Tanner eyed Garoowe as they approached from the northwest. Here, there was more red soil than greenery, and the buildings were mostly one-story affairs inside walled compounds. Roads were mostly hard-packed dirt and Tanner saw only a few vehicles using them. People were out and about, some stopping to look up at them as they passed overhead.

  "There she is." Axiam pointed to a walled complex ahead of them. "Home, sweet home."

  Tanner's eyes swept the property. The walls were taller and thicker than most they passed over, resembling a European castle's walls. Buildings were arranged in neat rows inside the walls, along with a number of vehicles, giving the place the look of a military compound. An open space in the center of the compound offered a large enough space for the Hip to land.

  People stood on the walls, and as the Hip descended, Tanner could see that they were armed with AK-47s. Most of them watched the helicopter land, but no hostile moves were made. The Hip came to a soft landing, kicking up dust. Axiam shut down the engines and removed his headset.

  "Welcome to my humble abode."

  Tanner got up and went back into the cargo compartment. The rest of the team, along with Geedi and Madar, were sitting on benches on both sides of the space. Occupying the center and rear of the area were bags of khat, strapped down to keep them from shifting.

  "Grab your stuff," Tanner said

  Madar stood and unlatched the rear, sliding it open. Outside, quite a few men waited for them already. Madar said something in Somali and the men backed up. After speaking to Geedi, he took an AK-47 that hung above the bench and hopped off the helicopter. Geedi frowned, but said nothing.

  Axiam exited the cockpit. "We should be in time for dinner.”

  "Hold on," Stephen said. "Why does Madar hate Americans?"

  Axiam frowned. "What happened?"

  "He told Geedi he was going for a walk to get rid of the stench of Americans."

  Axiam's frown turned into a scowl. "I'll talk to him."

  "Is he going to be a problem?"

  "Not after I finish talking to him." He motioned out the door.

  "We need to clear the way so that my men can unload the khat and take it to the vehicles. I'll show you to a place where you can freshen up before dinner. After that, a couple hours' nap and then we're on the road after midnight."

  "The road?" Liam asked.

  Axiam nodded. "Most khat users like it as fresh as they can get it. It's only ninety miles east-southeast from here to Eyl as the crow flies, but in order to get there, we're going to have to travel a hundred and forty miles across what passes for highways around here. So we'll be driving all night to reach Eyl in the morning."

  "What’s our cover going to be?"

  "Guards. I presume you can all shoot an AK-47?"

  * * *

  It was near midnight when Tanner stepped outside the small building Axiam put them up in. He carried an AK-47, and his pistol was on his hip. He wore cargo pants and an open-necked shirt, with boots.

  Despite the lateness of the evening, it was still warm and dry outside, pleasant compared to the relentless heat of the day. A few lights were on, and the steady thrum of a generator was audible. Across the courtyard, people moved about in and around a large building that looked like a garage. Overhead, the night sky was awash with stars.

  Tanner heard Axiam's footsteps before the CIA agent emerged from the shadows.

  "Couldn't sleep?" Axiam grinned.

  "Not really.”

  "Something bothering you?"

  "Many things are on my mind."

  "Including whether or not you can trust me?"

  Tanner looked at Axiam, who returned the stare with one of his own. “Stephen trusts you."

  "But you don't."

  "I don't know you."

  Axiam nodded. "Fair enough." He pointed to a set of stone stairs placed against the wall twenty yards away. "Let me show you something."

  The climb wasn't too taxing, and moments later, both were standing on the wall's walkway, behind a chest-high wall. "What do you see, Mr. Wilson?" Axiam motioned out into the darkness.

  "I see the town. A few lights. It's quiet."

  "This is my home," Axiam said quietly. "A home that's been torn apart by warlords and religious extremists for the last twenty years. Now?" He shrugged. "These days it's clan versus clan, with alliances, betrayals, and innocents getting slaughtered. No one cares."

  "Must be tough.”

  Axiam laughed derisively. "Tough, yeah. It’s a damn nightmare. I'm only tolerated in some areas because I'm the only source of khat they can get. Clan loyalty is still strong here, stronger than the idea of belonging to a country. Then you add in the pirates and religious hard-liners…I just don't see it getting any better."

  He leaned forward until he rested his elbows on the wall in front of him. "Do you know what I miss about America the most?"

  "What?"

  "Not being pigeonholed as being from this clan or that clan. In America, I was an American.” He paused to shrug before continuing. “Most people didn't care where I came from — the Marines sure as hell didn't. My uncle doesn't worry about the religious police coming in and telling him what to do or say. There, I am free to make my own decisions. Here, I'm trapped between clan obligations and family duty."

  Axiam turned and looked down at the garage. "I have ninety men depending on me for their livelihood, so they can put food into their family's bellies, and maybe a new headscarf for their wives. The average Somali makes six hundred dollars per year. Do you know how much I pay my people? Fifty dollars a week. Here, that's an incredible amount of money."

  "All from distributing khat?"

  "Mostly. I've been expanding into other businesses, trying to give the people here hope. Nearly three hundred people see me as their leader, and depend on me. Without me, they would turn to piracy, flee for a refugee camp, or risk crossing the Gulf of Aden for menial work in Saudi Arabia or Yemen." He motioned toward the garage. "That is why I stay, when it would make more sense to take my family and return to America."

  "Sounds like a lot of responsibility." Tanner said. "And outside of your agent responsibilities."

  "It is. The CIA sends me a little money and some spare parts now and then, and in return I send them reports detailing the Somali equivalent of a soap opera — which clans are talking alliance, who's backstabbing who, who's up, who's down, who's backing who…" He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "I don't know if anyone actually reads them, and I don't care anymore. I trust Stephen, and he trusts you. That's why I'm helping you."

  "It's liable to be dangerous."

  Axiam snorted. "Life here in my country is dangerous every single day, Mr. Wilson. Bullets and shells have no morality, and
famine is never far away. A quarter of my clients would kill me if there was another way of getting their khat, and about half would steal it if they thought they could get away with it. I've lost a dozen men to would-be hijackers and ambushes, and three times, other gangs have tried forcing their way into my territory. I've had to become the major khat dealer in the area in order to survive and do my job for Uncle Sam. Yabaal is dangerous, but he isn't the first psycho I've had to deal with, and he won't be the last."

  Axiam glanced at his watch. "You'd better get your team together. We're leaving within the hour."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Eyl, Somalia

  From the back of an old Soviet GAZ-51 cargo truck, Tanner's first impression of Eyl was that it was similar to Garoowe, just smaller. The town rested in a valley of sorts, surrounded by rocky hills, and was still mostly in darkness. The convoy drove in from the north along a deserted two-lane highway in the pre-dawn hours.

  Axiam gave the team a brief overview of Eyl via radio as they neared the settlement. "The bulk of the town is three miles inland,” the CIA agent explained. “Yabaal's headquarters is in the section fronting the beach. For centuries it was a fishing village before piracy raised its ugly head. For a while, it was like a modern-day Port Royal, with pirates swaggering up and down the streets, until the world had enough and cracked down. Then Puntland came along, pushed the pirates out and reestablished law and order. Earlier this year, Yabaal's goons show up, they take over and we're right back to Port Royal again. Not only that, but there's a couple of warlords who want the town as a home base."

  "What about Yabaal's goons?" Dante asked.

  "Bullies, but they generally leave the town's population alone beyond keeping everyone in line and the occasional beat-down. They tolerate me because I'm the only khat dealer willing to come out here to deal with them."