Lisa and Mike were constantly challenged by their instructors, and they were never told how well they were doing or what benchmarks they were supposed to achieve.
The two had spent countless hours in briefings on the geopolitics of countries where they might get deployed. They learned local customs and traditions, as well as the different allegiances of the political parties. They were trained in on-the-ground tactics, including the art of disguise and how to cross international borders without being detected. They acquired knowledge on how to set up a covert operation using clandestine bank accounts, and how to forge basic documents. They had spent many afternoons trailing practice surveillance targets around many of the world’s biggest cities, trying not to raise the suspicion of their targets or get caught by their trainers. They were taught what their support teams could do for them and how to work with them efficiently. Mike had never been more impressed by his wife. She digested information faster than anyone Mike had ever known. She was a natural.
The final phase of the training had been the most intense. Mike was taught a hundred different ways to kill a human being without any weapons, as well as how to extract information from an uncooperative subject. He spent hours practicing how to use a newspaper and other “harmless” objects as defensive or aggressive weapons that would leave no evidence of foul play. In the meantime, Lisa received refreshers on autopsies and what a coroner would be looking for after a suspicious death.
Week after week their skills were developed. They were finally ready to be sent back to the states, having completed a final tactical practice mission in Italy. That assessment had not only convinced their trainers that they were ready, it had also proven to Mike that he had been right all along: for him and Lisa, there would be no turning back.
―
Mapother had given them a few days off to visit the French Riviera before they were scheduled to fly back home.
“Lisa, we don’t have any plans for tomorrow, do we?” Mike asked. He and Lisa were seated on a terrace overseeing the Mediterranean.
“I was planning on sleeping in.”
For the first time in two months, she thought.
“Are you kidding me? We’re in Italy!”
“So?”
Her husband acted like she had caught some type of deadly disease. “Look around you, honey,” Mike said with his arms opened wide. “The sun’s out, the view is gorgeous. There’s so much to do.”
Lisa couldn’t help but laugh. She knew her husband only wanted her to have a good time. The last two months had been hard for both of them, and she was glad that Mike had been there with her to share the pain. It was one thing to defend your country by wearing a uniform like she had done for years; it was another to join an organization where you were expected to kill people preemptively.
Exceptionally so for a physician, thought Lisa. But we’re way past the tipping point. There’s only one way to go now: forward.
“What did you have in mind, Mike?”
“I was thinking, maybe we could rent a Ferrari and drive around the coast. What do you say?”
Lisa was about to respond positively when her phone rang. She looked at the number displayed and mouthed “Mapother” to her husband.
“Yes?”
“Lisa, this is Charles Mapother.” Unconsciously, she sat up straighter in her chair. Mapother’s tone of voice didn’t convey that it was a routine call.
“What’s going on, sir?”
“The Canadian energy minister has been assassinated at the Nice train station.”
For a couple of seconds, Lisa didn’t say anything, gauging what this meant. “I believe Mike and I could be there within the next hour or two,” she finally said. “We’re both fluent in French and know the area quite well. What do you want us to do?”
Mapother remained businesslike, but he seemed relieved by Lisa’s reply. “I’m sending all the info we have on your smartphones. See what you can sniff out, and report back to me in five hours.”
“Will do,” Lisa said, ending the call.
“Where are we going?” asked Mike, standing up.
Lisa sensed that her husband was as excited as she was. They’d barely completed their training, and already Mapother was putting them to work.
“We’re going to Nice. It’s only about fifty kilometers away.”
As they walked to their rental car, Lisa explained what Mapother had said and what was expected of them.
“I’ll take the lead on this one, Lisa,” Mike said once she finished. “I’m more—”
“Sounds good to me,” interrupted Lisa as she settled behind the wheel. “Let’s do this.”
“Okay, then,” Mike said while releasing and inspecting the ammunition magazine of his small Taurus pistol. “I know you wanted to sleep in tomorrow, but I guarantee you this will be much more exciting,”
Lisa nodded. I have no doubt.
CHAPTER 25
IMSI Headquarters
New York
His eyes were fixed on the LCD screen next to him, where images from the latest terrorist attack were flashing across the screen like some horrible Hollywood action trailer. Apparently, a second explosion at the central train station in Nice, France, had killed a CNN reporter and his cameraman as they were trying to help free victims caught under the debris left by the first suicide bomber.
Even though Sanchez knew he should be used to bloodbaths by now, he wasn’t. They continued to turn his stomach upside down.
“They don’t say if the French authorities have any suspects yet,” he said to Mapother.
The IMSI director raised his eyes from his laptop. “I don’t think they do, but Mike is watching the train station’s security tapes as we speak. He’ll call if he finds anything.”
“Why isn’t the tape with the French authorities?” Sanchez asked.
“Lisa told me that apparently they’re still waiting on a warrant for the seizure of personal information,” Mapother said in a sardonic voice. “So our team stepped in and made a copy for their own perusal.”
“Are they by themselves?”
“No, Support Five is on location and Support Six has been called for backup. They should be there within the next two or three hours.”
Moments later, a red light started to blink on Mapother’s phone. He reached for the handset located on his desk. “What do you have?” he asked. He nodded a few times as he listened to the caller, then finally, “I’ll send him the message myself. Good work.”
After Mapother hung up, he typed steadily without saying anything for the next five minutes. When he was finished, he read his message over, then pressed the send button. Looking up at Sanchez, he started to explain, “We might have caught a lucky break. Using the train station’s security tapes, Mike was able to find the vehicle that dropped off the suicide bomber. Unfortunately, he thinks that there might be more suicide attacks planned for today.”
“Why does he think that?”
“He saw more than one person in the vehicle that dropped the bomber off. It was a minivan with tinted windows, but when the bomber opened the door to get out, at least one more potential terrorist could be seen inside the vehicle.”
“Shit!” exclaimed Sanchez. “You think they’re dropping off bombers at different locations across the city?”
“Probably. There’s no way for us to be sure,” Mapother answered. “Control is sending the minivan’s description to the Nice police department as we speak—under the guise of an anonymous tip, of course.”
“Have we got someone at the Nice International Airport?” Sanchez asked. “That would be the next likely target, I’d think.”
“Great minds think alike, Jonathan. I just e-mailed that exact order. Mike and Lisa are going to stay curbside at Terminal One and keep their eyes open for the van and any possible terrorists.”
“Could
they identify the suicide bomber or anyone else from the tapes?”
“No, the angle was all wrong. We didn’t even get a license plate number,” said Mapother. “There’s nothing more we can do about it right now. I’m afraid we’re playing catch up once again.”
―
Using Lisa as navigator, Mike managed to get from the train station to the Nice International Airport within twenty minutes. They arrived at the airport’s Terminal One and scanned the area for any signs of suspicious individuals or the gray Opel minivan he’d seen in the surveillance video. There was no sign of either. He feared that they’d changed vehicles—or worse, that they’d arrived too late.
When IMSI’s Support Five van arrived ten minutes after them, he asked them to keep an eye on Terminal One’s arrival ramp so that Lisa could go for a short reconnaissance drive around the airport perimeter. They agreed that one of them had to check the parking lots—especially the indoor garage, where a van packed with explosives could stay inconspicuous for days. Or until it blew up.
“Let’s split up, Lisa. I’ll walk into the terminal while you look for the Opel.”
“Understood. Be careful, Mike.”
“Always.” Before climbing out of the vehicle, Mike added quietly, “We’re a team, Lisa. If you see anything, you let me know, and we’ll work together.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll do just that.”
Mike nodded but remained concerned. Lisa had excelled during all the training phases. She even managed to wow the seasoned operators who acted as her instructors. Unwavering mental strength and extreme confidence in her own capabilities had made her a first-rate engineer and top-notch physician. In spite of this, Mike had noticed during their training together with IMSI that Lisa—on occasion, and especially when operating alone without precise directives—would act without thinking through the consequences. With so much on the line today, Mike had wanted to reassure himself that his wife wouldn’t act on impulse. He wasn’t sure he had succeeded.
―
As Lisa surveyed the indoor parking lot, her mind wandered back to what she’d seen at the Nice train station, and she immediately felt sick to her stomach.
That was too close to home.
As a physician, she had stared death down plenty of times before. But what she’d just seen at the train station was beyond disturbing. The terrorists had let the emergency crews and media arrive on the scene before setting off a second bomb. What had been their intention? Was it simply a dirty trick aimed at killing even more people, or was this scheme far more sinister?
“Mike from Lisa, do you have anything at the main entrance?” she said into her mouthpiece.
“Nothing. You?”
“Nope. I’m going to clear the last parking lot, and then we should regroup.”
“Copy that. Keep me posted.”
“What about you, Support Five? Anything interesting?”
Support Five was the newest of IMSI’s eight logistical teams. It had been decided that Support Five would be assigned to Mike and Lisa’s operation area. Each of the eight teams answered to a field operative who was assigned to a certain geographic area. Inside their specific region, a support team’s primary duty was to provide their operatives with whatever they needed to complete their assignments. It could be as simple as furnishing a weapon or as complex as accessing an airline’s software to see who was on a flight list.
On this particular day, before all hell broke loose, Support Five had been in Menton, a little town on the Franco-Italian border, setting up a safe house. Once news of the first bombing broke, Mapother had directed them to Nice on standby. Support Six, the team from Tunis, was also en route.
“We have a visual on a late-model gray Opel,” Support Five team leader Jasmine Carson replied. “It’s parked right in front of the D-Two entrance of Terminal One, right behind our Volkswagen Transporter. Somebody’s getting out…and now the van is pulling away.”
“Copy that. Stay with the van, but not too close,” Mike ordered. “I’ll take care of the passenger. Mark him down as Tango One.”
“Understood,” answered Carson. “Take a look at your PDA. We just sent you the picture we took of Tango One.”
“Thanks,” Mike said. “Could we have eyes inside the terminal to help me out, please?”
“Roger that. We’re working on it. Give us five minutes.”
―
Mike was now well inside the terminal, looking for the man depicted on his PDA screen.
“Lisa, this is Mike.”
“I’m listening,” his wife replied.
“Come inside the terminal to give me a hand. We might end up taking this guy out.”
“I’ll park the car and join you,” said Lisa.
With his mocha-colored skin and black hair, their suspect was obviously of Arab heritage. The photo taken by Support Five showed that Tango One was wearing a pair of tan trousers and a loose-fitting navy sports jacket. He didn’t have any luggage except for a small brown suitcase.
As he was walking through the terminal looking for Tango One, Mike took his cellular from his pants pocket, pushed an autodial button, and held the telephone to his ear.
“Yes,” came a crisp voice seven thousand kilometers away in Brooklyn, New York.
“This is Mike. Please be advised that Support Five is now following a suspicious vehicle that resembles the one that dropped off a bomber at Nice Gare Centrale.”
“Very well. We’ll advise the proper French authorities. Anything else?” asked Anna Caprini.
“I’m inside Terminal One at the Nice International Airport, and I’m looking for one of the vehicle’s passengers. He’s got a good two minutes’ head start on me. Support Five is working on penetrating the airport’s system to access the security camera inside the terminal. I need authorization to proceed with force if necessary.”
“Stand by,” said Anna before putting him on hold. A minute later, she was back on the line. “Mike?”
“I’m still here,” he said, scanning his surroundings for any traces of Tango One.
“I’ve just spoken with Charles. You’ve been authorized to neutralize the threat at your discretion.”
“Copy that. Anything else?”
“We’re going to try to get a French DCRI intelligence team to take over Support Five’s surveillance duties to free them up. Support Six should be on the scene shortly as well, and we should have IMSI’s Eurocopter at the airport soon to give you a quick exit if you need it.”
“Thanks, Anna.”
After his call with IMSI headquarters, Mike contacted his wife to fill her in on the developments. “Lisa, we’ve been authorized to use force to stop Tango One.”
“That’s good news,” Lisa replied, hurrying toward the terminal. “I’m on my way to your location.”
“Why don’t we split up? I’m already on the main floor,” Mike said. “Go to the second floor; we’ll cover more ground that way.”
“Roger that. I’ll be on the second floor.”
Mike hoped that the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Intérieure, the new intelligence agency in charge of all counterterrorism action within France, would be able to relieve Support Five quickly. He might need his support squad’s help inside the terminal.
Mike had to formulate a plan. He couldn’t simply approach Tango One, pull out his Taurus Millennium 9mm pistol, and shoot him in the head. That would be too easy—and extremely counterproductive. IMSI’s main directive was very clear. All use of lethal force by field operatives, especially outside the United States, was to be clean. Absolutely no traces could be left behind to jeopardize IMSI. In other words, under absolutely no circumstances could a field operative be caught, or even draw attention to himself.
Mike brought up the picture of Tango One on his PDA once more. Where is this little bugger? he wondered. Suddenly Mike noticed
something in the photo that he had missed earlier. A black plastic tube was coming out of the suspect’s left sleeve. Mike recognized what it was immediately, and his heart sank. Tango One was attached to an IED plunger switch. He needed to let Lisa know right away, but Jasmine Carson came on the air.
“Mike from Support Five leader,” Mike heard through the secure wireless minireceiver lodged in his right ear.
“Support Five leader, go ahead.”
“We have eyes in the terminal, and both techs are working facial recognition software. With a little bit of luck, we’ll find Tango One soon.”
“I honestly hope so. This guy is attached to a plunger switch.”
“Shit.”
“Concentrate on the cameras located outside the secured area. I don’t think our tango has crossed security yet.”
“Will do. We’ll be back at the airport to supply backup as soon as we can.”
“Please do so,” said Mike. “Lisa, did you copy our last transmission?”
Mike wanted to make sure his wife knew about the new threat.
“Got it,” came in Lisa. “Tango One has a plunger.”
“We’ll have to use extreme caution when we approach him,” said Mike.
“I’ve taken down one just like him in training, all by myself,” Lisa said. “The key is to control the plunger before anything else. Then we kill him.”
What the hell? I hope she isn’t thinking about taking him down by herself.
“We take him down together, Lisa,” Mike cautioned. “I don’t care if you’ve done it in training or not. Understood?”
“For sure.”
CHAPTER 26
Nice, France
Jasmine Carson had both hands on the steering wheel as she discreetly followed the gray Opel. They were traveling westbound on highway A8 toward Antibes. She made sure to keep at least half a dozen cars between the target and their VW Transporter, but even so, the Opel was quite easy to trail. It made no sudden speed or lane changes and kept within the speed limit. She was grateful the terrorists weren’t running any kind of countersurveillance moves. Although she’d spent eight years as a senior FBI investigator specializing in mobile surveillance, she was keenly aware it would be hard to remain undetected driving a Transporter.
The Thin Black Line Page 16