The Thin Black Line

by Simon Gervais

  CHAPTER 66

  IMSI Headquarters

  Brooklyn, New York

  Jonathan Sanchez, like the other analysts, was poring through all the intelligence Mike and Lisa had sent their way. The amount of information wasn’t overwhelming but needed to be corroborated with prior intel received from different sources, including the flash drives Zima Bernbaum had provided. He hadn’t seen Charles Mapother lately but knew he was occupied briefing his contacts within the federal government. With clear indications an attack was imminent, Jonathan presumed all the major police forces and intelligence agencies would be put on high alert.

  Sending out warnings was good, but Sanchez was very much aware that wasn’t enough. They needed specifics. Abdullah Ahmad Ghazi had mentioned Canada. Really? What was so important in Canada? It didn’t make sense to attack Canada when a direct wave of attacks could push the US economy down the drain. Didn’t the Sheik already create havoc when he tried to destroy the Irving Oil Refinery? If not for Mike and others who stopped it from happening, the destruction of the refinery would have caused severe economic problems for the eastern parts of Canada and the United States. It didn’t make sense. Unless…

  Oh, my God! Could it be that simple?

  Sanchez’s fingers were drumming his keyboard in anticipation. He needed to check a few things out before calling Charles Mapother. He pulled the report they’d obtained from CSIS and read it for the third time. It said the Canadian energy minister, prior to his assassination, had reason to believe that General Richard Claudel from the French gendarmerie had tried on numerous occasions to acquire specific information regarding the Irving Oil Refinery in New Brunswick. Next, Sanchez lifted his coffee cup and reached for the document underneath. It contained the complete report on the material gained from Jackson Taylor’s laptop. He found what he was looking for on page nine: oil pipeline schematics. Precise oil pipeline schematics.

  He called Mapother.

  “Charles,” he said, “we always believed the Sheik was running multiple small- to medium-size operations. Am I right?”

  “It seemed so,” answered Mapother.

  “We thought his actions were a little scattershot, wouldn’t you agree?” continued Sanchez. “God knows, members of our team suffered and are still suffering greatly from the consequences of his attacks, but if I take the long view of his operations, I can’t stop thinking there’s something beneath the surface.”

  “What are you talking about, Jonathan? His attacks were all over the place. The Ottawa bombings, the—”

  Sanchez interrupted him, frustrated. “I know, I know, but hear me out. What if some of these strikes were only to keep pressure on us?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think his first objective was to destroy the oil refinery in New Brunswick. He failed to do that. As saddened as I am about it,” continued Sanchez, “I think the bombing at the train station was designed to send the investigator false signals. The Sheik wanted to thin the investigators by creating more than one terror scene.”

  “Like a painting hidden in another?”

  “Yes, something like that,” replied Sanchez, swallowing the rest of his cold coffee. “What I’m saying is that if we look at all the clues we have access to, I think I know what the Sheik’s plan is.”

  “I’ll be in your office in a minute.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

  They were all waiting anxiously for the e-mail that would initiate the final phase of their operation. Abdelkarim Kashmiri was seated at the kitchen table facing his laptop. He and his four men had been in Canada for ten days. They all knew it was their final mission and felt blessed the Sheik had selected them. The assignment was straightforward and had not required any further preparation beyond what they had already mapped out in Sierra Leone.

  Before training for this mission, Kashmiri didn’t even know Alberta existed. Bordered by the US state of Montana to the south and British Columbia to the west, Alberta was the richest province of Canada, thanks to its oil reserves. The province had the third-largest proven global crude reserves in the world after Saudi Arabia and Venezuela. More important, Alberta was helping the United States to wean itself from its dependency on Middle Eastern oil.

  His men had all arrived in Canada on different flights. They had rented separate hotel rooms and never talked to each other until yesterday. They wanted to minimize the chance of being caught. But now that the final day had arrived, they had all converged at Kashmiri’s apartment.

  “Have you received it?” asked one of his men, who was watching television across the room.

  “Not yet, brother. Soon. Why don’t you get the others and prepare yourself?”

  Kashmiri watched the man get up from the couch and talk to the other members of his cell. He was proud of his men. They weren’t afraid to die; they only feared failure. So did he. He didn’t doubt the Sheik would send Omar Al-Nashwan after them if they didn’t complete their task. He preferred dying by serving jihad than at the murderous hands of Al-Nashwan.

  An hour later, his men were clean-shaven and had completed their ablutions. They prayed together before reviewing their plan one last time.

  “Remember, the Enbridge pipeline is responsible for supplying more than thirteen percent of the great Satan’s daily oil imports. Our target is the Edmonton Terminal,” explained Kashmiri, pointing his finger to the map he had spread on the dining table. “It’s the starting point of the mainline system, the world’s longest and most complex crude oil pipeline. It can export up to two and a half million barrels a day.”

  Kashmiri could tell by his men’s faces that he was boring them. They had already learned all this and were anxious for him to get to the point. He spent the next hour challenging them on what they needed to accomplish. When he was all done, he asked if they had any final questions. There were none. They were ready.

  ―

  “That makes sense, Jonathan,” said Mapother thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

  Sanchez had showed him all the documents and had explained the reasoning behind his conclusion. First was the attempt on the oil refinery, then the assassination of the Canadian energy minister. Next came the information they had gained from the flash drives Zima Bernbaum had seized from General Claudel’s residence. Supplemented with the pipeline schematics Mike had sent from Sierra Leone and the intelligence the Sheik’s accountant had provided them, all the collected leads added up to one destination: the Enbridge Terminal in Edmonton. It was the only location with strategic importance vital to the US that could link all the pieces of evidence together.

  “I’ll call DNI Phillips with this and strongly suggest he contact the Canadian authorities right away,” said Mapother. “I hope it’s not too late.”

  “Should we bring back Mike and Lisa?” Sanchez asked. “Maybe they could help the Canadians figure out what’s going on in their backyard.”

  Mapother had reached the door but turned to face Sanchez. “No. It wouldn’t do us any good. Plus, the government has enough operatives to take care of the problem.”

  “As long as they didn’t receive the green light to proceed.”

  “That’s exactly why I want our two assets to remain in Spain. They’re our last chance to catch the Sheik before it’s too late.”

  CHAPTER 68

  Spain

  Following the successful transfer of the funds, Mike and Lisa spent the next couple of hours watching the entrance of the bank and listening to the conversations occurring in the vault. Only one person was needed to do this, so Mike instituted a three-hours-on, six-hours-off schedule that allowed each of them enough downtime to remain vigilant when it was someone’s turn to monitor the situation.

  Mike was about to wake Carson, who was sleeping in the bedroom before her turn at watch duty, when Lisa announced that a black Mercedes GL550 had just pulled up outside
the main entrance of the bank.

  “Three guys. One is still behind the wheel with the engine running. The windows are darkened; I can’t see his face. The two others are entering the bank as we speak. They look the part, Mike,” Lisa said.

  Mike felt a familiar rush of adrenaline. Now, they’d see some excitement. “I’ll go wake up Carson. Give me a second.”

  Less than a minute later, Carson and Mike entered the living room.

  “Anything?” asked Carson.

  “Not yet. Nobody has entered the vault,” Lisa said. “But these guys look like mercenaries.”

  “Okay,” said Mike. “Lisa, jump in one of our cars and make sure that you’re in position to tail the Mercedes if it comes to that. Jasmine, take her place at the scope.”

  Lisa nodded and, after grabbing his equipment, kissed her husband and ran out of the apartment.

  “I have something,” exclaimed Carson a few minutes later. She put the conversation she was hearing in her earphones on speaker. “This is coming from the vault.”

  The voices sounded distant, but Mike could easily make out their words:

  “Everything went well?”

  “As far as I know, though the courier seemed more nervous than last time.”

  “You counted the money?”

  “It’s all there, minus our fees.”

  They heard a rustling of paper and the sound of a zipper.

  “Very well. Now that we have these, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Let me accompany you out.”

  The sound of a heavy door being slammed informed the IMSI agents that their targets were on the move.

  “Honey, they just picked up the duffel bags,” said Mike into his radio.

  “Copy that.”

  Mike turned toward Jasmine. “Try to take a few shots of them, then join us in your car.”

  “No problem,” replied Carson, who already had her camera ready and its telephoto lens directed out the window.

  Mike exited the apartment and hurried down the staircase. He used the back entrance of the building. The rented gray sedans provided by Support Five were only a few feet away.

  “I got a few good face shots,” Mike heard Carson say through his earpiece. “I’m sending them to James Cooper and Support Five along with the license plate number of the Mercedes.”

  “Excellent,” said Mike.

  “They’re on the move,” Lisa announced.

  With two cars at their disposal to trail the Mercedes SUV, Mike and Lisa didn’t have much difficulty following it through the city of Malaga. By the time they reached the A-7, Carson had caught up to them.

  “Still traveling at a hundred kilometers an hour on A-7 west,” Lisa said.

  “Copy that. I’m about fifteen cars behind you,” Mike replied.

  “My team just got back to me regarding the pictures I sent them,” came Carson’s voice. “Their names are Raphael Dupont and Louis Toutant. They both served in the French Foreign Legion for a while before disappearing in 2002 during a mission in Africa.”

  “And the Mercedes?”

  “It’s registered through a numbered company based in the Emirates. Support Five sent the info to headquarters for further research.”

  “They’re taking the exit toward Torremolinos,” came Mike’s voice suddenly.

  “Roger that.”

  “Damn it!” exclaimed Mike. “All my buffers continued on A-7, and I’m stuck between them. Jasmine, you’ll need to take the lead. I’ll be burned if I make the next turn with them.”

  “No problem,” replied Carson as she pressed the gas pedal. “Lisa, stay on the highway in case they’re doing a stop and go.”

  “Will do. I’ll take the next exit if they’re serious about Torremolinos.”

  “Same here,” Mike said.

  Confirmation that the Mercedes SUV wasn’t going to return to the A-7 came rapidly. “We’re taking N-340 west, boys,” came Carson’s voice.

  “That makes no sense,” Lisa said. “The driver could have taken the N-340 all the way from Malaga. It would have been a lot faster.”

  “It makes sense if they’re conducting countersurveillance,” replied Mike. “They must have at least one guy watching their rear.”

  “Right,” said Carson. “I’ll lay off, then. You guys rejoin them, but keep a fair distance. Lisa, what’s your location?” she asked.

  “I should be able to link with the N-340 east in a few minutes.”

  “Good. Let me know once you’ve reached it.”

  By the time Lisa informed them that she was traveling eastbound on the N-340, the Mercedes had made a left on Calle de Goya.

  “That will be my last turn with them,” announced Carson. “Lisa, you better hurry up.”

  “I’m two minutes out,” she replied.

  “Calle de Goya leads right into a traffic circle,” Mike intervened, looking at his GPS. “There will be a Riu Hotel just before you reach the circle.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s a big marina, a shopping center, a few other hotels, and residential buildings in the area.”

  “Is this a destination or a detour?” wondered Carson over her hands-free device.

  “If he’s making a detour through this neighborhood, he’ll either take Avenue del Puerto, Calle el Mar, or backtrack to Calle de Valazquez,” Mike responded.

  “I think they’re heading toward the marina,” came Carson’s voice.

  “Are you sure?” asked Mike.

  “Positive,” she replied after a moment. “They just parked the SUV in the marina parking lot.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there shortly,” informed Mike.

  “You want me in there as well?” came Lisa’s voice.

  “No. Stay in reserve.”

  Carson lost sight of the Mercedes SUV for a few minutes while she parked her car on a side street and walked back toward the marina. The place was beautiful. Its architecture gave way to a stream of restaurants, shops, and small cafès. With palm trees on either side of the boardwalk, it was exactly what tourists loved about the Costa del Sol.

  Carson found the Mercedes SUV in no time. Its three occupants were climbing out, and the rear hatch opened automatically to reveal the two black duffel bags. Carson entered a café patio and sat at a table where she had a great view of the marina.

  “I’m at a café close to the marina entrance,” she said into her concealed microphone.

  “I see you, Jasmine,” Mike replied. “I also have a visual on our three friends. Some kind of security guard is talking to them.”

  “He’s probably screening who has access to the yachts,” Lisa said.

  Just at this moment, one of the men turned around, and Mike saw his face. His heart stopped a beat. Bingo! It was Mohammad Alavi.

  “I have an ID for the third member of our group,” he said.

  “Say again,” Lisa said.

  “Mohammad Alavi is the third passenger of the Mercedes SUV. I repeat, it’s Mohammad Alavi.”

  “I confirm,” Carson replied, who was using her camera to zoom in on Alavi.

  “They’re through,” Mike said after a moment. “They must have a boat somewhere in the marina.”

  “Or else they’re visiting someone who has one,” added Carson.

  CHAPTER 69

  Ottawa, Canada

  Zima Bernbaum was beat. Following her flight back to Ottawa, she’d spent the entire day filing reports regarding the events in Portugal. Simon Corey, the director of CSIS, and the deputy director of operations, John Aschner, had conducted the verbal debriefing themselves.

  Zima had told them exactly what happened in Lisbon but kept Mike and Lisa Walton out of her story. It wouldn’t serve any purpose. She’d told her superiors she believed that Israeli assets had intervened. She was looking forward to
going home, having a glass of red wine, and enjoying a long hot bath. And I need a massage. Maybe I should call the laundry boy…

  Her phone rang, and her pleasant chain of thought was broken.

  “Bernbaum.”

  “Zima, this is DDO Aschner.”

  What now? “Yes, sir?”

  “Please come to the director’s office immediately,” said Aschner, hanging up without leaving her the time to reply.

  She sighed. She would have loved a few hours of sleep. She was tired and emotionally exhausted. She wondered what the director wanted. She’d given them everything, and she’d hoped the info would be enough to start sending agents in the field poking their informants for more intelligence. She was slowly getting up out of her chair when her phone vibrated, indicating a new text message. She glanced at her phone display.

  It’s from Mike! The text was short but to the point.

  We got a breakthrough. I believe all the intel has been sent to your boss. Good luck and stay safe. M.

  She closed her phone and ran to the director’s office, all signs of fatigue gone.

  All their hard work was paying off.

  CHAPTER 70

  Benalmadena, Spain

  “I’ll try to find a favorable vantage point,” Mike said, walking along the boardwalk parallel to Alavi and the two ex–French legionnaires. Luckily, the dock on which his targets were walking was one of the closer ones to land.

  They finally stopped next to a large red-and-white boat Mike recognized as an Azimut. He couldn’t be sure what model it was, but he knew it was expensive—in the four- to six-million-dollar range. Not the type of toy two ex-soldiers could afford.

  He sat on a park bench and took his binoculars out of his backpack. Playing the part of a boat enthusiast, Mike started examining the vessel through his binoculars.

  “Support Five from Mike.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Please check the registration number of an Azimut yacht through all available databases.”