CHAPTER 40
Brooklyn, New York
The debriefing lasted much longer than he had anticipated. He was drained, hungry, and eager to get home to his wife. They had talked on the phone on his way back, but her voice couldn’t replace the warmth of her arms around him. Her voice had sounded happy and relaxed, almost welcoming, as if what had happened in France was nothing out of the ordinary.
If that was really the case—and Mike would know soon enough—it would confirm that his wife was made for this line of work. Was he ready for this?
The fact that she nearly died on her first mission didn’t help either. As her husband, he felt the need to protect her, to shield her from any danger. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not if he wanted to stay married. Not after what she had endured.
He had come to the conclusion that Lisa was the only other human being he knew that could truly understand him now. Together, they had lived through an immeasurable loss and, somehow, they were surviving.
On our terms.
This last trip to France made him appreciate how much he needed her, not only psychologically but also physically. He was craving her company.
Badly.
Entering his building’s underground garage, Mike parked his black Ford Explorer next to his wife’s Cayenne. Walking toward the elevators, he remembered the breakdown he had experienced right there only two months ago. Mike wondered for a few moments where his relationship with his wife would be if he hadn’t decided to run after her. He shivered at the thought.
Inside the elevator, he used his keycard to access his floor. There were only two penthouses in the building, and only the owners were allowed access. Mike liked the extra security it provided even though it wasn’t foolproof. Opening the door of his apartment, Mike tried not to make any noise in order not to wake Lisa. But she must have known he was coming because as soon as he closed the door and turned around, there she was, wearing only a long white bathrobe and holding two glasses of red wine in her hands.
“Welcome home, baby,” she said, handing him a glass.
My God is she beautiful.
He accepted the wine glass and swirled its red liquid before taking in its bouquet.
Red fruits, mocha, somewhat smoky…
“Pinot Noir?”
Lisa smiled. Her eyes were bright and playful. “Oh my, you’re no fun,” she said, her bathrobe falling to the floor, her body proudly showing the sutures of her wounds. She took a long sip of her wine and left the empty glass on the table next to her.
“Are you sure about this?” Mike asked. “The wounds are still fresh.”
“Just be careful, Mike,” softly replied Lisa. “If they don’t bother you, they don’t bother me.”
Mike, convinced he’d never seen a more gorgeous woman in his life, placed his glass next to Lisa’s and swept his wife up in his arms before carrying her to their bedroom.
―
“You could have guessed wrong, you know?” Lisa said, out of breath. “It would have ended the same way.”
Mike chuckled. “I guess so, but I was in a hurry,” he said, holding his wife tight against him, his heart still racing.
“You remember the last time we played this game?” she asked tenderly in his ear before she nicked it with her teeth.
Mike gasped, surprised.
“I was coming back from Los Angeles, wasn’t I?” he answered moments later.
“Hmm, hmm. Not bad. You do remember.”
Mike grinned. He remembered it very well. Lisa had challenged him with a red wine from Austria. “It was a 2005 Sattler Zweigelt, that tasted horrible, I might add.”
“You had plenty of chances to guess it right, my dear. You were wearing a suit and tie while I had only my nightgown.”
“You tricked me into thinking it was a cheap Portuguese wine!” They were both laughing now, remembering how Mike had lost all his clothes while Lisa had remained immobile in front of him.
“You didn’t even guess the right country!” replied Lisa, her hand playing with Mike’s hair.
“But it had a long finish,” Mike said, turning toward his wife. He brushed his lips against hers.
Lisa smiled at him. “Yes, it lasted for quite a while.” She hugged her husband and murmured, “I missed you so much, Mike. I couldn’t wait for you to get back.”
“I missed you too, my love.”
“Charles told me about the raid you lead and the nuclear bomb you discovered,” said Lisa, her voice cracking.
“That was a close call. But I’m here now, Lisa,” said Mike, his right hand caressing the skin around her wounds.
Feeling her warm tears on his chest, Mike held her against him, careful not to hug her too hard, his own tears prickling in his eyes. Suddenly, the images and the sounds of the Antibes firefight played in his head. For a moment, he was paralyzed by fear and his breathing became shallow.
“Mike? Mike? You’re okay?”
The concerned voice of his wife brought him back. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“You’re shaking, baby. What happened?”
Mike gently kissed his wife on the forehead, taking his time inhaling the scent of her hair. “It’s nothing. I’m all right,” Mike lied.
What was that?
PART 4
CHAPTER 41
Brooklyn, New York
For the last few days Mike had been arriving at IMSI headquarters at nine. On his way, he stopped by a Starbucks to get the three warm coffees he was now carrying. He briefly wondered how Sanchez’s teeth managed to stay white while he drank up to six cups of coffee a day.
Reaching Sanchez’s office, Mike used his left foot to gently kick the door and waited for the electronic noise that would indicate the door had been unlocked. He then used his weight to push the door open and walked into Sanchez’s workspace. Like Mapother’s, his office had no window. His desk was neatly arranged, with not one sheet of paper out of place. The flat screen on the wall was tuned to CNN. Mike sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his friend’s desk.
“Good morning, Mike,” he said, raising his eyes from his computer screen. “Slept in?”
“Hey, I’m listening to my doctor’s advice,” he replied, handing him a coffee.
He thanked him and smelled his coffee’s aroma before carefully taking a sip.
“Toasted walnuts?” he asked.
Mike laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “You’re too good, brother.”
“Thank you very much. Try again tomorrow,” Sanchez replied. “By the way, Charles wants to see you.”
“Do you know what it’s about?” Mike asked.
“Didn’t say a word to me. But I have a feeling that he’ll ask you if you think you’re ready to deploy.”
Mike exhaled loudly. “Have you seen Lisa this morning?” he asked. “She was already gone when I woke up this morning.”
“I didn’t see her coming in this morning.”
“All right, I’ll see you later then,” Mike said, getting up.
―
Mapother was waiting for him. He shook Mike’s hand and looked genuinely pleased to see him. “How are you this morning?”
“I feel pretty good,” Mike said. He proffered the cup. “Do you want a cold coffee? I couldn’t find Lisa this morning.”
“I think I’ll pass,” said Mapother. He gestured for Mike to sit in one of the chairs facing his desk.
“We’ve received some news regarding the situation in France,” started Mapother.
“Which situation are we talking about?”
“The death of General Deniaud.”
Mike nodded. He had briefed Mapother on all the details of his recent mission, including his impromptu meeting with Zima Bernbaum. “His death has been officially declared a suicide, but we both know this isn’t the case. That brings
us to this,” said Mapother, pointing to a binder on his desk.
“What is it?”
“This is all the intelligence IMSI was able to collect regarding the terrorism acts perpetrated in France,” replied Mapother, pushing the binder toward Mike. “I want you to read it carefully, but I’ll tell you right now what piqued our curiosity.”
Mike was intrigued. “I’m listening.”
“Thanks to the flash drives Agent Bernbaum found in General Claudel’s residence, we have evidence of collusion among three people.”
“Do we know who they are?”
“General Claudel, an accountant by the name of Abdullah Ahmad Ghazi and a man named Peter Georges.”
“Do we have any intel on Ghazi and Georges?” asked Mike, opening the file.
“His name surfaced a few times through some NSA reports associated with the Sheik’s terror network. We also know that close to two million dollars went through his account two months before all hell broke loose in France.”
“Any pictures?”
“None. The man is a ghost, and he’s covering his tracks well.”
“So, we don’t have anything concrete proving this man is in bed with the Sheik,” said Mike, pointing out the obvious.
“Not yet,” admitted Mapother. “But I hope you’ll be in a position to shed some light on Mr. Georges.”
Mike raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I want you to join forces with Lisa in Sierra Leone.”
“What? Lisa is in Africa?” Mike asked confused. “When did she leave?”
“She left early this morning to set up the operation,” said Mapother. “I think she tried to call you.”
Mike dug into his pocket to retrieve his smartphone.
Damn! Two missed calls.
“She did,” Mike confirmed. “My phone was on vibrate, and I didn’t feel it buzzing.”
“Make sure you pick up if we call you, Mike,” warned Mapother.
“So what’s so important in Sierra Leone?”
“You see, Mr. Georges has been traveling to Sierra Leone frequently during the last few months. That’s where he’s heading next. I want you and Lisa to track him down. I want to see what he’s up to so we can either confirm his link with the Sheik or move to another lead.”
“When do I leave?”
CHAPTER 42
Freetown, Sierra Leone
His time spent in Benalmadena had been a true blessing from Allah. He had met many of Sheik Qasim Al-Assad’s advisers, and they had all seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. Upon the yacht’s arrival at the high-end marina, Alavi had been escorted to a nicely appointed room in a gated villa. He didn’t know, and didn’t ask, who the owner of the villa was; he was just grateful to be given a few days to rest. The last few months had taken their toll, and his body needed time to heal.
Finally, after two days spent relaxing by the villa’s pool, sleeping late, and eating lavish meals prepared by servants, Alavi received a visit from Dr. Javed Arastoo, who introduced himself warmly. Alavi found him vaguely familiar but wasn’t able to correctly identify him until Arastoo informed him that he had been a good friend of Alavi’s late uncle, Dr. Ahmed Khaled.
Alavi knew his uncle had been very close to the Sheik, but he had never been told what had happened to him. Dr. Arastoo obliged him and went on to tell how his good friend had rejoined Allah. Alavi had always thought their enemies had finally caught his uncle and killed him after days of torture. The truth was much simpler, Dr. Arastoo assured him. While conducting a highly sensitive mission on behalf on the Sheik, Khaled had died in his sleep in a hotel in Zurich. The Sheik had been suspicious about the death, but following an autopsy performed by Dr. Arastoo himself, it was confirmed that Ahmed Khaled had died from a nocturnal heart attack following a heavier-than-normal meal enjoyed at one of Zurich’s finest dining establishments. In Alavi’s mind, Arastoo’s version of events made perfect sense.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Dr. Arastoo broached the real reason for his presence—changing Alavi’s appearance. Nothing too complicated, but enough so that he could move freely across borders at airports and train stations. They spent the rest of the day practicing how to change Alavi’s look in less than thirty minutes, using mostly theater paraphernalia.
On the fourth day, Al-Nashwan came to the villa to check on him. He told Alavi that he would have visited earlier, but the Sheik had kept him busy preparing for their next trip. When Alavi inquired what it would be, Al-Nashwan had replied that Sierra Leone would be their destination and they would leave as soon as Alavi was ready.
Two days later, Alavi boarded a plane from Brussels without a problem, using a fake passport provided by Al-Nashwan. The airport security was good, but Alavi’s new identity and facial changes kept him from being detected. As his flight began its final descent toward Freetown-Lungi International Airport, Alavi once again went over the meticulous plan that Al-Nashwan had crafted.
Alavi exited the airport and headed for the water taxis that would take him across the Sierra Leone River to the capital city of Freetown. Even though the ride across the bay was bumpy, Alavi enjoyed it a lot more than renting a car for the four hours it would have taken to travel by road, he thought.
Threading his way through the throng of fish vendors who had set up shop along the shores of the river, Alavi wondered if Jackson Taylor had aged well since Alavi had last set foot in Sierra Leone. He doubted it.
Alavi took a cab and, twenty minutes later, checked in at the Country Lodge Hotel. His room on the first floor had a great view of the kidney-shaped pool and the ocean a few kilometers beyond it. The hotel was supposedly the best in the city, but it wouldn’t have earned more than two stars by international standards.
Al-Nashwan had chosen this hotel for several reasons. First, he suspected that Taylor wouldn’t agree to meet Alavi within the heart of the city for fear that some overzealous government official might recognize him. Even though he had been officially granted a pardon, Taylor was supposed to stay away from downtown Freetown. Second, the hotel was difficult to access. Only one road led up to it, and Alavi had a bird’s-eye view of that access route from his room.
If he played his cards perfectly, Jackson Taylor wouldn’t know what hit him.
―
Alavi spent three full days scouting the area around his hotel and reviewing all the possible escape routes. He also became very familiar with the route that Taylor’s motorcade would use to drive up to the Country Lodge Hotel. He spent long hours walking along the dirt road, running his feet over the caked mud surface, and eyeing its soft sandy shoulders.
When Alavi was training terror recruits in Afghanistan, his specialty had been the assembly of improvised explosive devices. He taught his students how to appropriate the things they would need to fabricate the explosives, and he showed them how to build them from scratch in an old school gymnasium.
Depending on the location, it could be either moderately easy or damn near impossible to acquire the components necessary to build one. In some countries, buying the needed components could raise serious questions from the authorities. Luckily for Alavi, in a city like Freetown, cash could guarantee pretty much anything. On the fourth and fifth days following his arrival in Sierra Leone, Alavi went to numerous mechanical and electronic shops to purchase the tools and paraphernalia he needed to build a couple of devices that would be powerful enough to obliterate his intended targets.
Al-Nashwan, who had developed the security protocol for Taylor’s bodyguards, had told him the major didn’t travel in an armored car. The Range Rovers he usually used for travel were great for cross-country trips but were definitely not made to withstand the blast of IEDs.
Alavi spent the next two days assembling two improvised explosive devices. He didn’t leave his room once and had room service leave his meals outside his door. He hung the Do
Not Disturb sign on his door and focused all his concentration on ensuring that his devices would not detonate in his face. To disable the Rovers, Alavi opted for two cell phone-activated platter charges, smaller versions of the ones favored in Iraq and Afghanistan to fight against the invading American troops and their allies.
The platter-charge concept was based on the idea that if a sheet of explosives was backed against a steel plate, the detonation would project the blast wave away from the plate. If another plate of lighter weight was placed on the opposite face of the explosive charge, that plate would be projected like a missile in the opposite direction at a speed of close to six thousand feet per second.
Once his two IEDs were completed, Alavi decided that a Claymore type of explosive device would be perfect for finishing the job. The concept behind this device was pretty much the same but at a smaller scale. It still required an explosive charge, a detonator, and an initiation system, but instead of another lighter-weight steel plate, metal pellets were used as projectiles.
Building the backup explosive wasn’t part of Al-Nashwan’s original plan, but Alavi wanted to make sure that his mission was successful. He still burned with shame every time he recalled how the last one had failed. He rued the fact that he couldn’t test his devices, but he had no choice. He’d have to trust that they would work.
The following night, Alavi went to his ambush site and planted the devices. By the time he was done, he knew that only someone who was trained in what to look for could spot them.
The hardest part of the plan was about to begin. He had to contact Taylor and convince him to come to the hotel. He knew very well that Taylor didn’t like to come to Freetown, but he also knew that the man would be too greedy to refuse his invitation. Taylor had always been ready to take considerable risks if he believed that the reward was handsome enough.
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