The Thin Black Line

by Simon Gervais

  Control had advised her that the French intelligence agency DCRI would take over as soon as they were able to position agents in the area. That made Carson slightly nervous. She had no idea how IMSI communicated the intelligence that was gathered by its field personnel to external agencies like the DCRI. All she knew was that IMSI wasn’t supposed to exist as an intelligence agency; yet they were almost always capable of transmitting vital information to the appropriate authorities.

  But what if the French became curious about how the United States had become privy to such intelligence? What if the DCRI not only tracked the Opel, but also used countersurveillance to find out who was tailing it in the VW Transporter—and why? She didn’t think that the French government would be too pleased to find the United States playing dirty, even if it was to save French citizens’ lives.

  ―

  “Mike from Support Five, come in,” Mike heard in his earpiece.

  “Go.”

  “My guys just told me that we have a possible for you. We’ll run him through our recognition software as soon as we can get a clear look at his face, but he’s dressed exactly like the man who exited the Opel.”

  “What’s his current location?” Mike asked.

  “He’s in transit. Right now he’s on the escalator leading to the second floor.”

  “Got it,” Lisa replied. “I’ll run the intercept and keep watch.”

  “I’m on my way,” added Mike, picking up his pace. “Try to figure out what kind of plunger he’s holding.”

  “Will do, Mike. I hope it’s the type where the bomb detonates only when the trigger is pressed, and not when it’s released.”

  If it was the latter, they were in deep trouble. Once a plunger was already pushed down, it was extremely difficult to stop the bomb from detonating. If the person exerting the pressure was killed, his thumb would release the plunger and the bomb would explode. The only safe way to neutralize that type of threat was to physically hold down the plunger, making sure that the bomber didn’t let go of it. But to be successful with this technique, two agents were required: one to hold down the threat’s thumb, and the other to kill him. They would have to work together in close precision.

  But even if by some miracle we manage to neutralize the threat before it is too late, how the hell are we supposed to do it covertly? Mike wondered as he rushed toward the escalator. The incident would draw loads of media coverage, and the French press wouldn’t miss the fact that unknown Americans were responsible.

  A voice over his earpiece interrupted his thoughts. “Mike, Lisa, from Support Five. We just ran our suspect on the recognition software using the initial picture we took as he exited the car. It’s a match.”

  “Great. I just arrived in the main hall. Any ideas where he is?” asked Mike.

  “Second floor, in front of the pharmacy.”

  “I’ve got visual on Tango One,” Lisa jumped in.

  She sounds too excited. She needs to calm down.

  “Give me a minute,” Mike said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  “He keeps looking toward the security checkpoint. Maybe he’s waiting for a shift change or the arrival of an accomplice who will let him go through,” Lisa said.

  “It could be,” answered Mike. “Support Five, try to hack into the names of the security employees working that checkpoint, then run a check on them.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.”

  ―

  Dr. Lisa Walton was twenty feet behind her target, trying to get a visual on the briefcase he was holding and the type of plunger Tango One had in his hand.

  Luckily, she couldn’t see any wires running from the target to the briefcase, so she could rule out that her tango was carrying a second bomb. But her heart rate accelerated when she confirmed that the terrorist already had his left thumb on the plunger—he only had to release the pressure to blow them all up.

  ―

  Abbud Raashid was sweating. His faith was strong, but he wasn’t sure how long he could hold up. The morning’s attacks on the Canadian energy minister at the Gare Centrale had given him a boost of confidence, but he could feel his determination weakening. He’d been told that he was part of a much larger plan, and that his sacrifice would greatly help the Sheik accomplish his mission.

  Raashid glanced once more toward the security checkpoint. His instructions were to martyr himself amid a large crowd of tourists. He knew that the largest gatherings were usually close to the security checkpoints, as they were well-known bottlenecks. Unfortunately, it was a slow day at Nice International Airport; no more than twenty people were waiting in line. He was worth more than twenty infidels!

  He had trained for months at the side of great jihadis like explosives engineer Mohammad Alavi and tactical mastermind Omar Al-Nashwan. Raashid decided that he would wait until at least fifty people were lined up before going in.

  The problem was, his left thumb was starting to feel numb. He thought that maybe he was putting too much pressure on the button, but he didn’t dare ease up any. What a waste it would be if the bomb exploded while he was in a duty-free shop!

  Trying to relax, Raashid took three deep breaths and exited the shop. He spotted a Häagen-Dazs store and made a split-second decision. He’d wait inside the store, as he would be less conspicuous in there.

  ―

  All became clear to Lisa when she saw Tango One take three deep breaths. She could not let terrorists blow up another target.

  There’s no way I’ll let him slaughter innocent people just to remain covert. There are kids there, for God’s sake! Some of them not older than my Melissa.

  “Support Five, this is Lisa. Tango One has already started the trigger mechanism. I’m taking immediate action. Advise the French police.”

  “Roger that. We have a visual on you.”

  “Lisa, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Wait for me; we’ll take him down together,” Mike ordered.

  Sorry, Mike. I’ve got to do this.

  “I can’t wait, Mike. He’s gonna blow himself up any moment now. There are so many kids around—”

  “Wait for me, goddamn it! Lisa!”

  “Don’t come closer. I’ll be okay on my own.”

  Ignoring the order, Lisa grabbed her small Taurus pistol and expertly dismantled it while walking toward a garbage bin. At just over six inches long, the Taurus was easy to conceal, and she had no difficulties throwing it into the garbage without anyone noticing. Time to play the role of a random Good Samaritan, she thought. And to pull that off, she needed to be unarmed.

  “Support Five, my firearm and identity cards are in the garbage bin next to the Häagen-Dazs store, and I’m about to throw my earpiece in too. I’m going in to neutralize Tango One.”

  “We’ll take care of it, and we’ll keep an eye on everything that happens. Good luck.”

  “Lisa, wait up!” she heard Mike plead.

  “Can’t do it, honey.”

  Lisa casually extracted her earpiece and dropped it into the bin. Okay, I’m on my own now. She moved toward the entrance of the ice cream shop. In the final seconds before the takedown, she analyzed all possible advantages she had over this adversary. Although she was shorter than her target by least four inches, she had the benefit of surprise. The suicide bomber looked to be in superb physical shape, but he was wearing dress shoes, meaning that Lisa could probably make him slip easily.

  And that might be my only chance.

  ―

  Two customers were already waiting to be served by the one employee on duty behind the ice cream counter. Abbud Raashid took his place in line behind a young woman holding her three-year-old son. The young boy looked at Raashid with a big smile, as his mom had finally said yes to two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a sugar cone. Raashid smiled back, thinking that it would be nice if he could kill the mother and her
son—poster children for Great Satan’s excess and gluttony.

  He turned and stole another look at the security checkpoint and realized that the volume of travelers had picked up. Excellent.

  As he was turning his head back toward the service counter, his peripheral vision caught the movement of a woman thundering toward him, and he automatically started to release the pressure his left thumb had on the button.

  ―

  When she was a few feet away, Lisa saw her target smile.

  No! He’s gonna blow himself up!

  She sprinted the last meters and was on the terrorist less than half a second later. Using all her strength, she tackled him from the front while clamping both her hands over the bomber’s left hand, preventing him from detonating the explosive. Her target slid along the tiled floor upon impact, nearly falling over. Using her momentum, Lisa shoved her target into the wall with such force that the terrorist’s back cratered the drywall. She followed her tackle with a vicious knee strike to the groin.

  Tango One’s knees buckled, and Lisa head-butted him twice on the nose, breaking it. Blood poured over them, and the terrorist nearly lost consciousness right there. But unfortunately for Lisa, this target was a trained fighter. As she felt her opponent push forward, Lisa let him use his momentum and shoved her attacker over her shoulder. The terrorist went flying over her back and crashed onto the tiled floor. Lisa, her hands still firmly clenched around Tango One’s plunger hand, let herself fall on her target, her 130-pound frame easily crushing two of his antagonist’s ribs. Lisa heard bones cracking and soon after saw bloody drool begin to flow from her target’s mouth. His broken ribs must have punctured a lung.

  Seeing that a dozen people were staring at her in horror, she said as calmly as she could, “I could use a little help. Call the police, and let them know that there’s a bomb under this man.”

  Lisa groaned inwardly as the word bomb exerted its universal effect on the people around her. Everybody in the vicinity of the Häagen-Dazs shop ran for their lives, shouting as loud as they could that there was a bomb in the airport. Lisa turned back to look at her target. The terrorist wasn’t dead yet.

  ―

  Raashid was beyond feeling pain. He was overwhelmed with shame; he had not been able to carry out his mission. Removing his thumb from the pressure plunger had now become an impossible task. This infidel whore was simply too strong, or he was simply too weak. It didn’t matter; he had never felt so alone and useless in his life. Raashid’s only solace was that he might still be able to create a diversion at the airport and distract the French authorities from his brothers in faith in Antibes so that their attack planned for the following day might have an even greater chance of being successful.

  With all his remaining strength, Raashid forced his right hand into the inside of his pant leg, where a sheathed knife was concealed.

  The pressure of the whore’s weight on his broken ribs was causing him excruciating pain, and he was nearly choking on his own blood, but Raashid didn’t dare quit. In his last few moments of life, in an ultimate effort to at least martyr himself and kill the infidel who had stopped him, Raashid withdrew the Blackhawk Crucible from its sheath and slowly pushed the three-and-a-half-inch blade into his attacker’s back.

  ―

  Lisa knew that the suicide bomber was finished. The only thing she had to do now was wait for her target to die and then face the music when the French police showed up. She was planning what she would say to the police when she felt something sharp penetrate her back. Her whole body froze, and she registered immense pain as she was stabbed again, this time close to her neck.

  No!

  The surprise was so total that she nearly lost her grip on the terrorist’s left hand—and on the plunger. As she looked into the bomber’s eyes, she saw a devilish satisfaction in them.

  Lisa was aware that the man beneath her was about to stab her a third time, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  I’ll die here alone. For nothing.

  She was bracing herself for the next strike when she saw Mike step in to block it with his forearm. Mike immediately disarmed the bomber and slashed his throat before plunging the knife into the terrorist’s left eye socket.

  Lisa could feel her blood-soaked shirt sticking to her skin. She had no idea how badly she was injured, but at least the pain was bearable. Her worry was that if the authorities didn’t show up soon, she might lose consciousness.

  “Get out of here before the cops show up, Mike,” she managed to say to her husband.

  “I’m not leaving you,” he replied.

  She tried to look up at Mike but found herself nearly incapable of moving her neck and shoulders. She felt her breathing become shallow, and her body was starting to shake pretty badly. She didn’t have much strength left. I’m going into shock.

  With little time left before she passed out, she had no idea when the bomb squad would arrive. Something had to be done, and soon.

  “We need to secure the trigger,” she said to Mike. But her husband didn’t move. She could feel his arms around her. “Mike! I need you to listen to me,” she said louder. That seemed to bring him back.

  “Yeah. On it.” Mike got up and ran behind the cashier. Lisa could hear drawers being opened and closed. Mike was back a few seconds later.

  “What I am going to do is secure your hands, his hand, and the plunger with this big roll of duct tape,” Mike said. “And I’ll make it tight to keep the pressure on.”

  Lisa nodded feebly. “I had to do it. He was going to—”

  “I know, honey. I know,” he said stroking her hair. “You did well, Lisa.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a broken voice.

  “Stop talking. Keep your strength up; you’ll need it.”5

  CHAPTER 27

  IMSI Headquarters

  New York

  Was Mike able to slip out of the airport?” Mapother asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Anna Caprini replied. “He’s on his way to Tunis with the help of Support Six. Because there were no witnesses present to say otherwise, he played the role of a victim when the cops showed up. The authorities were so overwhelmed they let him go without too many questions. He gave them an address in Ventimiglia and one of our covert phone numbers.”

  “Turn him around then,” Mapother ordered. “I want Support Six to link up with Support Five in Antibes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caprini responded. “What for?”

  “I spoke with a friend of mine at the DGSE. His brother is Yves Bleriot, the officer in charge of the GIGN, that special operations unit of the French gendarmerie. The unit has been put on high alert, and depending on the intel DCRI collected, they’ll assault the terrorists’ stronghold or the van itself while it’s still en route. I want Mike to join with the GIGN commander and brief him on what he saw on the ground.”

  “Understood, sir,” Caprini replied.

  “What about Lisa?” Sanchez inquired.

  “Support Five says they were able to retrieve all evidence, including her firearm. If we’re to believe her tracking device, she’s at Saint-Roch Hospital in Nice,” answered Caprini.

  “We’ll take care of her,” said Mapother, touching Sanchez’s arm. He exited the enclosed area and walked into the middle of the control room. “Great effort, everybody,” said Mapother, trying to make eye contact with as many of his staff as he could. “We saved lots of lives today. Now our asset is probably at Saint-Roch Hospital in Nice. She needs a cover story that will hold for at least seventy-two hours. That is the maximum time I want her to spend in France. Any ideas?”

  “Sir, what about creating a reason for her to be at the airport?” said a young man in his early twenties who was seated in the first row.

  “Such as?”

  “She could have had a flight that was leaving from Nice. It would be easy to ju
stify—we simply have to create a record that shows her traveling frequently within France.”

  “That could work, but do so with an alias. I don’t want her real name to appear anywhere,” Mapother said. “What about her extraction?”

  Another analyst jumped in. “Maybe we could send someone to act as a representative from her insurance company?”

  “Okay,” said Mapother, liking the idea. “Do it. Create a paper trail with a real contact number. Use Support Five to work out the details. As for our ‘insurance agent,’ I’ll send Jonathan Sanchez to Nice. He will act as a doctor working for her private medical insurance company, and he will repatriate her as one of his patients. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “All right, people. Our asset has only a short period of time before the French authorities start asking her questions. She’s counting on us to bring her home. Let’s not disappoint her.”

  Mapother walked back to the enclosed area and closed the glass door behind him.

  “All right. Jonathan, you’ll be going to Nice. I believe you’ll need all your medical expertise and a healthy dose of deceit to pull this off. Support Five will assist you once you reach France.”

  “Understood.”

  “Wheels up in ninety minutes from Teterboro. You will be traveling with the Gulfstream. Anna will contact the pilots to let them know to expect you. You’ll be provided with the details of your cover en route.”