by Hawk, Nate
Abbas was sure that Niko was right: this time was different. How could Niko have been involved in the bombings and not have law enforcement searching for him. His picture would be in the news. Abbas was still uneasy about it. What could Abbas do with Niko now, after the events that had recently unfolded? Clearly, Jamaat Al Fuqra would only be asking for trouble by providing Niko accommodations at one of their facilities. On top of that, could Abbas use Niko for wet work now that he could be on the FBI’s radar? No, Abbas had a different plan. Abbas had been in communication with a member of the up and coming ISIS powerhouse and had seemingly struck a deal. A trade of sorts.
For too long, Germany had allowed themselves to be a puppet of the United States. Even they were sending troops to kill fellow Muslims on foreign battlefields. Well, it’s time to fight back, Abbas had said. Islamic extremists within the ISIS organization had been identifying German targets that they wanted to move against for years. In fact, having radical Islam strike Germany had been desired much longer than ISIS had even been on the international scene. After all, the organization was still in its infancy. With the biggest economy in Western Europe, Germany was a logical target and ISIS could use a man with Niko’s particular skillset to effectively achieve their goals.
Radical Islam had longingly desired to strike the Intercity-Express (ICE), a high speed European train line that operated through Germany and other northern European countries. Crowds and crowds of working-class people lined up in queues, waiting for their daily ride into and out of the cities where they worked and lived. These were the same people who had elected the leaders that had sent troops to perpetrate the atrocities against fellow Muslims. The trains were an essential gear that helped fund the Western war machine and it was hard for the West’s enemies to envision a more opportune target.
Additionally, with Niko’s commitment to the organization, his fitness level and his ability to pick up languages, Abbas was sure that Niko would be a good fit for that particular assignment. Abbas had negotiated diligently to make the arrangements for Niko’s transfer over the preceding days. In return, Abbas would be awarded with funding that he could use to further his own organization’s goals in America. Getting rid of a complication in exchange for desperately needed financial support? To Abbas, that sounded like a great deal. ISIS would receive a specially trained fighter that could continue the cause and the cost to them was negligible. They were making millions of dollars from oil sales in their region. Abbas just hoped that Niko would be OK with the terms.
He was. In fact, this was just the type of news that Niko had hoped for. It was the third piece of his puzzle. Jennifer: gone. Bekhan: gone. Working under Abbas: no more! Niko was excited but he knew it was best to wait for a celebration until he made it out of the US. It’s been a long time, he thought. Europe seemed so… so foreign. Niko found that odd since he had spent his younger years there. He would lay low for a few weeks, though, just in case his face was circulated around on those wanted posters that law enforcement seemed to like so much. Niko’s attempt at always avoiding photos would certainly help his current efforts of evasion. Just like when he grew a mustache and beard before having official photos taken. He was nearly unrecognizable in the photos on his license and passport. He was relatively sure that no good photos of his current likeness existed. Niko knew law enforcement would have a difficult time finding images to use against him. He liked his odds of success. Taking off to Europe for a new life? Yes, he definitely liked the odds of success. His plan was working well.
***
Chapter 26
Special Agent Owen “Tiny” Tucker never got tired of walking across the tile floor in the entrance of the Central Intelligence Agency’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia. The massive, 16 foot-wide seal, embossed with an Eagle on the floor beneath him, had become his buddy. Like a domesticated canine, loyally awaiting its owner’s return, it was always there. The bird appeared to wink with its one visible eye, solely to him. His initial expectations from watching those spook movies growing up had been satisfied. The room made him feel especially important. And he was. Owen knew he had made it to the big leagues. He was completely intrigued with each step as he clicked across the building’s entry with such purpose. Each step must have built suspense within the minds of anyone observing. Where was he going? Who was he to meet with? He sure liked playing his own role in the lobby but something was a little different than the movies he’d watched. His steps didn’t seem as controlled as those of the actors that he’d seen on the big screen. Owen was over six feet tall with a neck the size of some women’s waists.
Weren’t spies always white too? Owen was as dark as the black tiles that alternated beneath his feet. When he walked, each massive leg clunked, seemingly capable of crushing the floor under his feet. He had an ageless look about him and a magnetic personality. He was the kind of man that his colleagues enjoyed being around. Owen felt confident this morning, which he appreciated, because he was on his way to an important meeting with a mysterious agent within the Political Action Group (PAG) division of the CIA. The PAG was quite different from its sibling division, the Special Operations Group. The latter consisted of teams sent in for the wet work. They were ruthless teams that performed directed killing.
The PAG representative that Owen would be meeting with was responsible for covert activities relating to economic warfare, political influence and psychological operations. Those guys were true spies who often led double lives full of the smoke and mirrors games that Owen truly yearned for. But Owen was still a young agent within the CIA, so why exactly had the enigmatic man specifically requested Owen “Tiny” Tucker? Anyone could have briefed Rick Quinn.
Nearly two weeks had passed since the events in Boston and Owen had amassed the information that had been requested of him and prepared a summary. It went without saying that he knew the information well. As a member of the High-value Interrogation Group (HIG), he had already been on the cutting edge of the Intel gathering, while interrogating Djabrail Akhmadov. Of course, upon accepting the assignment that led to the interrogation, he had not expected it would direct him to the Political Action Group. That was commonly regarded as a top shelf assignment. If anything, he would have anticipated a meeting with a lower ranking representative from a division within the CIA’s Middle East operations. He approached room 1845, where he briefly composed himself and then rapped on the wooden door.
“Come,” the man said.
It was just the one word and it seemed to lack any emotion. Not much to get started on. Owen wasn’t sure how the meeting would go. He had previously heard rumors that Rick Quinn was eccentric and unpredictable. Owen had a strange vibe but not enough to have a decent expectation of how that meeting would go. Special Agent Owen Tucker was well prepared for just about anything so he opened the door and crossed the threshold to the first day of the rest of his blossoming career.
“Good morning, Special Agent Tucker.”
“Good to meet you sir and thanks for inviting me over,” he said, as they shook hands.
“Ah, it’s nothing. Don’t mention it.”
Owen smiled. They were off to a good start.
“Should we get right down to it?” Owen asked.
He was a motivated man who preferred to get to the point rather than resort to flattery or a false excitement in the other man’s family or personal interests. Or whatever behavior that social expectations insisted he kowtow to. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if Rick Quinn wanted to beat around the bush for a few minutes. He knew some people like that and Owen was aware that this was entirely Rick’s barbeque. He was just there for whatever Rick Quinn felt like serving to him.
“Straight-forwardness. We’re off to a good start, Owen,” Rick said with some sort of satisfaction in his eyes.
Owen felt somewhat relieved but since when did spies say what they were really thinking? Owen had heard that Rick Quinn liked to stack his day with euphemisms and roundabout ways of getting to the point that he t
hought made himself appear wise. It was rumored that sometimes this was done in a tiring and drawn out manner. Owen gave a well-rehearsed corporate-style smile and filled in some of the latest details on the fugitive terrorist that the Agency had been tracking.
“Rick, we’ve got a man traveling by an alias of John Lambert. Flight scheduled three weeks from today on a Lufthansa. He purchased a round trip ticket, direct from Dulles to Hamburg, Germany. We do not believe John Lambert will be on the flight. Instead, we think a man named Niko Plotnikov is using his identification. The FBI has a dossier on Niko who seems to be a real shady character. He has long-standing connections with the domestic terrorism group, Jamaat Al Fuqra.”
“Yes, Owen. We’re familiar with this individual. His name frequently comes up in investigations that, well, quite frankly, have spanned most of my career. How did you tie the new alias to Plotnikov?”
“To be fair, one of my colleagues on the HIG revealed the connection while interrogating that bomber from Boston. That’s when Plotnikov’s name came up, sir,” Owen said honestly.
He had no interest in taking credit for one of his colleague’s initial accomplishments and besides, he was sure Rick Quinn would see through that.
“I started following Plotnikov from there. By the time I figured out that he might be involved the Agency had already slapped a Top Secret clearance on his dossier.”
Rick surprised Owen when he said, “Sorry if the Top Secret clearance slowed you down. I thought it was a necessary step to stop the Bureau from getting our man.”
“Oh, that was you?” Owen asked, surprised. “Then you probably know he fled immediately after the Boston bombings.”
“Yes, I do know that,” Rick admitted. “Tell me what you think about Plotnikov’s roll in the bombings.”
“Well, sir, I believe he was more of an associate of the perpetrators and less of an accomplice. If he had truly been involved, I believe the event would have had much higher casualties.”
Owen knew that proving Niko guilty in a court of law was a long shot. At best, they had circumstantial evidence on Plotnikov. And that was at best. Reality was, they didn’t have jack-shit.
Owen continued on, “The flight was booked yesterday, online, from a known IP address that we’re actively monitoring. They attempted to use cryptic software to hide their location but we were able to penetrate it. They logged on from a Jamaat Al Fuqra compound in Virginia. The alias is a legit US Citizen with a similar body type, who we presume was compensated well for the use of his documents. I believe the physical similarities of the man’s passport coupled with the IP address are not a coincidence.”
Special Agent Tucker paused apprehensively as Rick Quinn studied his demeanor. The higher-ranking man could see that Owen had something else to add but had stopped his monologue short. What was it? Rick wondered. Rick Quinn didn’t have to wait long. Owen’s pause was brief but the man could already feel Rick digging into his own soul. What Owen had to say could go either really well or very poorly. It all pivoted on Rick Quinn’s reaction, a man whom Owen did not know well. Owen knew his future with the Agency might be on the line.
“Sir, permission to speak freely,” Owen said, realizing he sounded more Delta Force than CIA.
“I would expect that from you Special Agent Tucker,” Quinn assured. “Continue on.”
“Ordinarily, I much prefer to be a team player. However, in this case, the higher ups have been on me about leaving Plotnikov alone for the last several days. I’m being ordered to focus on Intel regarding a German terror plot. Thing is, I don’t think Niko is going to Germany by chance. My gut feeling is that he is somehow involved with this German terror cell. In fact, it’s keeping me up at night. I think Niko Plotnikov is one bad character who has gotten away with a lot of crimes that we can’t prove. I think he’s a criminal chameleon. He’s great at blending in and escaping before anyone notices him. I also think Niko may be plotting to kill many more innocent people.”
“I see,” said Rick Quinn as he paused and seemed to think back to something in his own past. “Going against a Supervisory Special Agent can be a real career killer.”
Owen looked at Rick Quinn whose facial expression seemed to reveal (predictably) nothing. Owen was vulnerable and the moment had come. Which way would his career go? Would he find out why Rick Quinn had specifically requested him?
“Yes, Owen,” Rick said as he interlocked his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “That coincides well with my own assessment. The Political Activities Group is hearing a lot of chatter about ISIS being involved with a German terror plot. We are concerned that Niko Plotnikov may now be planning to work with ISIS, just as you’ve outlined. With your analysis, do you think he’ll stay in Hamburg, Germany or is that a red herring to throw off law enforcement interest?”
Owen felt an enormous sense of relief. His heart began to race harder. He was excited. He felt like he was amongst a like-minded man. Better yet, he felt like he might get a shot at pursuing the insomnia-inducing fugitive-terrorist, after all.
“Sir, at this point I think it is too early to determine,” Special Agent Owen Tucker began. “We do know that radical Islamists are interested in bombing train stations and possibly executing militant assaults, much like what the world witnessed in Mumbai several years ago. Hamburg has millions of residents with a very busy urban area. Their main station would certainly fit the profile of a high value target. The leaders of these groups are rather astute so it would be safe to anticipate head-fakes at every intersection. I think they will team up for a terror plot but I am unsure of Niko’s ultimate destination or target in Western Europe.”
Quinn stood up, scratching his chin while he searched for the right expression. Once he found it, he proposed an alternative view.
“On the other hand, even if the terror plot is plausible, it is no guarantee. As they say, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. We could take Niko down now,” he said to the younger agent who, ironically, was twice his own size.
Owen Tucker rolled his eyes internally, subverting his annoyance at the idea and giving away no facial expression. He figured the man’s last comments were only a test to see how resolute Owen was, so the big man continued to speak his mind freely.
“All due respect sir, if we stop a genuine European terror plot then we are going to have our hands full of birds. Not to mention more service medals than we could keep track of.” Knowing the older agent liked figures-of-speech, he added, “Go big or go home.”
Owen’s attentive white eyes balanced the brightness of his teeth behind his smile, as those five words jumped from his mouth. Go big or go home. He gave a slightly submissive expression to the ranking agent, as if to assure Rick that it was entirely his call. Which, of course, both men knew it was. Owen figured the man would do what he thought to be in the best interests of himself and the Political Action Group. Probably in that precise order of relevance but perhaps Rick was more humble than Owen had been told.
“I wasn’t aware you were such an ornithologist, Owen. And, your enthusiasm is just what I yearn for when I am grooming an agent for my own team. Go big or go home,” he repeated with satisfaction. “I’d like to submit a request for you to be attached to my PAG team, directly under my leadership. It’s clear to me that you could be a valuable asset during this operation and I’d like your boots on the ground over there. What do you say?”
Owen was surprised. He had the impression that Rick Quinn was self-absorbed and irritable. Now he was delivering compliments and asking Owen to transfer directly into his chain of command. He didn’t need long to think about it. Every agent wished for a career move like this. He only hoped that the two would continue to see eye to eye.
“Well, thank you, sir,” Owen said finding himself pleased that his career was ramping up in such a stimulating direction. “It’d be a real honor and privilege.”
Then it was Rick Quinn’s turn to skip the pleasantries. What were they going to do, give each other a big h
ug?
“Now listen, Owen. We’ve been keeping this quiet from the FBI. The CIA isn’t completely sure what the Bureau knows but we do have Intel that suggests they are behind the curve on this one. Hell, half of the CIA seems to be behind the curve, on this one. The FBI has agreed to back down on Plotnikov so let’s see where he leads us. The domestic operations that this Jamaat Al Fuqra organization is involved in pales in comparison to the international-operations potential of an ISIS terror cell. That is if, and I stress if, they do in fact attempt to pull off a terror attack. As you know, foreign events are easier for terrorists to fund and it’s harder for smaller countries to develop adequate anti-terror measures. Our group will be responsible for monitoring Niko’s movements once he touches down in Germany and track him to see if he assimilates into the ISIS cell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Owen… Sooner or later this guy will need to be eliminated.”
***
Chapter 27
Kelly was glad to finally be out of the hospital bed. Getting back on his feet was a refreshing change from lying around like an invalid. It wasn’t like he was applying a competitive, full-court press towards his life dreams though. Not yet, anyway. Physical rehabilitation was a good start. At least he could keep his mind and body occupied with a task.
The bruising on his head was losing its dark tone and every day was being replaced with lighter shades of brown. His foot was healing nicely, too. Occasionally, after completing a rehab session, his nurse would notice some fresh bruising or occasional drainage on his left foot. Kelly noticed that his balance was still a bit off but he was determined to retrain himself quickly. Doctor Gerrard seemed to be pleased with his recovery, which Kelly took to be a good sign. Plus, Megan was giving positive feedback too.