Even though Alavi had left the country with the Sheik’s emissary, the organization that the mysterious man worked for had kept its part of the deal and sent, less than a week later, five Russian 9K32 Strela-2s—a man-portable, shoulder-fired, surface-to-air missile made to destroy low-flying, fixed, and rotary-winged aircraft. As a most appreciated bonus, the Sheik’s representative had also dispatched a ten-man detachment to operate the missiles under Taylor’s orders.
Years later, with the fortune he had made through the legal and illegal trading of diamonds, Taylor had built a five-hundred-man-strong rebel force that he used for his own personal protection against rival warlords. In the eastern provinces of Sierra Leone, Taylor’s organization was a force to be reckoned with—especially since he’d continually strengthened his association with the Sheik, who’d himself become more influential.
The association had been fruitful for the terrorist group as well. Following the extensive pressure the US put on international banks to declare any suspicious transactions, terrorist organizations all over had found themselves strapped for cash. Mohammad Alavi, cousin of the Sheik’s health adviser, Dr. Ahmed Khaled, had passed along an idea that was the solution they had been looking for. He suggested that they could use the illegal diamond trade to finance their activities. He explained that through contacts he had maintained, he had kept an eye on an ex-RUF officer who still owed a debt to the organization—a Major Jackson Taylor.
The business plan was simple. The Sheik’s terror network would buy Major Taylor’s diamonds with cash at a quarter of their market value, then sell them on the black market for half or three-quarters of their value, depending on market conditions. The Sheik had been thrilled with this idea and had sent Dr. Khaled and Mohammad Alavi to discuss the feasibility of the plan with Taylor.
―
“The end of August will be fine,” Taylor finally said, wiping perspiration from his forehead with a white linen cloth. Even though they were shaded from the sun, the temperature inside the hut was close to 110 degrees.
“Good. The Sheik will be pleased,” answered Dr. Khaled, baring his yellow teeth. “This blow will annihilate France’s tourism industry for a very long time.”
The sound of a helicopter approaching could be heard across the valley.
“My ride home is here, I gather,” said the Sheik’s doctor and emissary. He was about to get up but suddenly remembered something else he wanted to say. He settled his large frame back in the wooden chair, which creaked loudly under his weight. “There is another matter we need to discuss, Major.”
“I thought everything was clear,” countered Taylor, getting up to watch the helicopter approaching the landing pad. The brown Russian-built MI-8 helicopter with United Nations markings was now in its final approach. Its massive bulk teetered precariously in the air.
The noise created by the twin-turbo shaft engines was so overwhelming that Dr. Khaled had to wait for it to subside before continuing. “Yes, most of it,” he said carefully. “I only wish to add that by the Sheik’s generosity, he’ll kindly send you his most trusted lieutenant to help you accomplish your task.”
That did not sit well with Taylor at all. “I appreciate the Sheik’s kindness, but I don’t need anyone watching over my shoulder. Haven’t I already proven myself on numerous occasions?” he said, his short temper rising.
“Of course you have, my good friend. Of course you have. Who told you he was here to supervise you? The Sheik has great confidence in your abilities, hence all the responsibilities he’s entrusted you with. His lieutenant will be here to assist you as you please.”
This qualification placated the major. “What’s his name? Have I ever worked with him?”
“You’ve never worked directly with him before, but you have met him once, a few years ago,” said Dr. Khaled with a devilish smile. “He used to be our contact in Africa while he was still serving his country’s army.”
Taylor frowned, trying to jog his memory.
“His name is Omar Al-Nashwan, and he’s now the Sheik’s right-hand man.”
Major Jackson Taylor, merciless ex-RUF officer, torturer of children, and killer of men, took an involuntary step back. For the first time in his life, Taylor was genuinely afraid. Khaled approached him and placed a hand on Taylor’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he continued, “as long as you follow the Sheik’s guidelines, everything will be fine.”
Taylor had heard the stories of how cruel and fearless Al-Nashwan was. “I understand,” he said, beaten.
“On a more joyful note,” said Khaled, “why don’t you give me the cell phone your man brought back from Conakry?”
Taylor cocked his head. He couldn’t understand the logic behind obliterating Africa’s fourth largest mosque—not that he was a believer; he couldn’t care less about religion. He just didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of some Muslim fanatics. Khaled, sensing Taylor’s hesitation, exhaled loudly before explaining.
“Taylor, with the destruction of the Conakry mosque and a few well-placed pieces of disinformation blaming Christian extremists, Muslims all over West Africa will be lining up to join us. Now give me the phone and the number.”
Taylor did. Dr. Khaled composed the number activating the explosive charges his men had strategically placed inside the mosque. Once he was done dialing, the Sheik’s representative pressed the send button.
Anyone inside Taylor’s camp expecting to hear the tremendous explosion, plus the screams coming from the injured and dying, that shook the entire city of Conakry, would have been disappointed. Conakry was located two hundred kilometers away.
“It shouldn’t take long to see if you were successful, Major,” said Khaled.
“You have someone in Conakry?” asked Taylor, surprised anyone would be crazy enough to stay close by.
“We have many people dedicated to the Sheik, Major. You should know that by now,” answered Khaled, reaching for the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He opened the phone and looked at the display. The numbers told him all he needed to know.
“Congratulations, Major. The Sheik will be pleased.”
CHAPTER 15
Brooklyn, New York
What do you think about this one, honey?” Lisa asked her husband about the Brooklyn penthouse they had just visited.
“I kind of like it,” Mike answered. “More than the other four, to be honest. Great location, better views, and bigger shower. What’s not to like?”
“It’s much nicer than the apartment we’re in now. That’s for sure.”
“It isn’t difficult to beat, Lisa.”
Lisa reached for his hands and squeezed. “It’s also much more expensive,” she said while pressing down the button to call the elevator. She heard Mike sigh.
“Yeah, I figure.”
“But we’ll save on gym membership fees,” she added entering the elevator. “Let’s buy it.”
“Just like that?”
“Why not, Mike? We can afford it. You’ve said so yourself; the location’s perfect.”
“All right.”
Lisa’s eyes opened wide. What? He said yes? I expected I’d have to fight much harder to get him to acquiesce.
“Really?” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
My God! Stop crying, Lisa! Get ahold of yourself.
“Yes, honey. Really,” her husband replied.
Lisa felt his arms around her. It had been two weeks since his release from the hospital. It was nice to have him back. The scent of his aftershave found its way to her nostrils and filled her head with sweet memories. For a moment she allowed herself to savor the comfort her husband’s strength provided, knowing all too well the dark clouds were coming. They always did. They didn’t give her any respite. Ever.
“You’re okay, Lisa?” Mike inquired.
“Don’t fight the memo
ries, Lisa, good or bad,” her psychologist had said. “Let them come to you. Embrace them. If you push them away, they’ll come back as nightmares.”
Allowing her tears to run freely, she looked at her husband, his face mere inches from hers. His eyes were dry.
As usual.
What did I expect? The psychologist had explained that it shouldn’t upset her if her husband didn’t cry. Everybody has to deal with loss in his or her own way. None was better than the other. But Lisa couldn’t care less what the psychologist said.
It bothers me! He always looks at me with the same stony stare. As if I was the one not dealing with it properly!
“No. I’m not okay, Mike,” she said escaping from his arms and exiting the elevator. “I miss them.”
“I do too, honey,” Mike replied. He stepped out of the elevator and hastened his pace to catch Lisa, who was already midway through the expansive lobby.
She stopped to face him. “Who would know?”
She saw the pain her words caused him. For a fraction of a second, she had seen through his mask. Why do I get so much satisfaction out of it?
“You aren’t being fair, Lisa,” Mike said, placing two hands on top of her shoulders. “I’d give anything to see Melissa again, to hold her in my arms and tell her how much I love her, and how lucky I am to have her in my life.”
“What about Chloe, Mike? What about her?” Lisa said, jabbing her finger into his chest. “You already forgot about the little girl I carried for nine months? Is that so?”
Mike caught her hand and placed it on his heart.
“I’ll never forget Melissa. And I’ll never forget Chloe either, Lisa,” Mike whispered. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke in her ear. “As long as my heart’s beating, I’ll remember.”
She tried to push away, but he was holding her tight against him. His right hand was gently stroking her neck. “I’m sorry if I said or did something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to upset you. I love you, Lisa Harrison Powell.”
“You can’t call me that anymore,” she hissed. How dare he brake protocol!
“That’s why I whispered it in your ear, honey. Nobody’s listening.”
She was about to reply when her cell phone rang. Mike let her go, and she plunged her hand in her coat pocket to retrieve her phone. The display indicated the call was from IMSI.
“It’s the office. I’ll be a minute,” she said. She waited until she was out of earshot and out of the lobby before taking the call.
“This is Lisa Walton,” she said.
“It’s Charles Mapother, Lisa. There’s something I need to show you. Can you come to the office?”
Lisa looked at her watch.
“I can be there in half an hour.”
“Fine. See you then,” Mapother said before she heard him sever the connection.
What’s so important on a Saturday? That was a rhetorical question. She knew that world events didn’t stop because it was the weekend. What would she say to Mike?
I don’t need to say anything. He’s a big boy.
She didn’t like where their relationship was going. She had been lost without him while he was recovering at the hospital. But something had changed. She didn’t recognize the loving husband and father he had been prior to that tragic day anymore.
Or am I the one who changed? Maybe we both did.
These were questions best answered later. Now she had to go to IMSI headquarters, her boss wanted to show her something.
―
Mike watched the love of his life climb into a taxi.
Why is she acting this way? That’s not her. Is it because of her job at IMSI?
Since his release from the hospital, he had moved in with her in the apartment she rented close to IMSI headquarters. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He had started to exercise again, and his strength was slowly coming back. He hadn’t spoken to Mapother since their last meeting at the hospital, and Lisa categorically refused to discuss anything related to her work with IMSI. He’d asked her to tell Mapother he wanted to talk with him, but he never called Mike.
It crossed his mind that she might not be relaying his messages. Why wouldn’t Mapother want to speak with him? He’s the one who approached us. He would speak to Lisa again tonight about this.
He didn’t know much about IMSI—yet. With the info he had gathered, he couldn’t understand what Lisa was doing for them.
She’s a physician, for God’s sake! Not an operator.
“Mr. Walton?”
Mike turned toward the lobby entrance where a man wearing a lavish suit was standing. “Yes?”
“I’m Timothy Rothwell, the real estate agent,” the man said. He approached Mike, and the two men shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Walton.”
“Likewise.”
“Will your wife be joining us for the visit?” Rothwell said with a salesman’s smile.
How can someone have teeth so damn white?
“We already visited the penthouse, Mr. Rothwell. You were supposed to be here at noon.”
The smile vanished. Afraid of losing your commission, aren’t you?
“I was busy with another client.”
“You should have called,” Mike replied as he started walking toward the exit. “Be on time next time.” Mike heard the agent hurrying after him.
“But who let you in?”
“The owner’s agent was there. He showed us around.”
The agent caught up with him. “He should have waited for me.”
“No, Tim. You should have been on time,” Mike said pushing through the revolving door.
“I have other properties to show you, Mr. Walton. Much better suited for you than this one, I assure you,” Rothwell said, hustling down the stairs leading to the sidewalk.
“That won’t be necessary, Tim,” Mike replied. “We’re buying this one.”
The smile reappeared.
“Through the owner’s agent, of course,” concluded Mike before hailing a taxi.
CHAPTER 16
IMSI Headquarters
New York
Charles Mapother’s door was open. Lisa knocked twice nonetheless.
“I’m here, sir,” she said, stepping in.
Mapother raised his eyes from whatever he was reading. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Far from me to want to take you away from your husband on a Saturday, Lisa,” he started, “but this couldn’t wait.”
He grabbed a brown envelope from his desk and signaled her to approach. “This is for you,” Mapother said. “You better sit down.”
Lisa’s heart started to pound in her chest. What now? Since she joined IMSI, she’d been dealing mostly with Mapother. She’d met a few others, but not many. He’d tasked her to plan a lecture on emergency medicine. When she’d asked him who the audience would be, he told her to prepare something similar to what she would do for soldiers deploying in a combat zone. Another day or two and she’d be done with her first assignment. She wondered what he would have her do next. When Jonathan Sanchez had brought her in for the first time, Mapother had sworn she would play an important part in the counterstrike against the people responsible for the Ottawa bombings.
Is this it? In this envelope?
She sat down in one of the two armchairs facing Mapother’s desk. She opened the envelope and peeked inside. A photograph? She pinched the picture between her thumb and index finger and took it out.
She gasped. Oh, my God! Is this for real?
Mapother might have been reading her mind. “Our specialist confirmed its authenticity. If you look carefully, you’ll see for yourself.”
Lisa scrutinized the picture and accepted the magnifying glass Mapother pushed her way. A cold chill crept up her spine as her eyes met those of a terrified Ambassador Ray Powell.
Mike’s dad was tied naked to a cross, his body bloodied from a multitude of cuts on his torso. He appeared to be crying, but Lisa couldn’t be sure because his features were distorted. Next to him, a man was standing holding a newspaper. Only his piercing blue eyes were visible because a balaclava covered the rest of his face. Lisa focused on the newspaper.
“Do you see it?” asked Mapother.
Lisa slumped back in her chair. “Yes, I saw the date. That’s the same newspaper edition you showed Mike at the hospital, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“That’s why he looks so sad. I wasn’t sure if he was crying out of pain or out of sadness.”
“Or out of anger,” added Mapother. “They told him about the death of the rest of his family.”
This time it wasn’t grief that overtook Lisa’s mind and body; it was rage. She could feel her blood boiling, ready to erupt. She wanted to kill them all! These goddamn cowards who enjoyed killing little girls. She wouldn’t rest until they were all dead.
“Can I show this picture to my husband?” she asked once she had regained control of her emotions.
“If you think he’s ready.”
Lisa nodded. “What are we gonna do about this situation? We need to find him!”
“I like how you used we, Lisa,” Mapother said. “Do you feel you’re part of the team?”
Lisa wasn’t sure. Was preparing an emergency medicine lecture helping to take down the bastards who killed her daughters? “Not totally, yet,” she said. “I want to do more.”
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