“Go ahead with the number.”
Mike gave it to them.
“We’ll get back to you as soon as we have something.”
Mike wished the sun could stay up a little longer, but it was retreating below the horizon quickly. Another thirty minutes and it would be dark. He didn’t want anyone to become suspicious of him, but at the same time, he wanted to verify how many people were on the boat. He informed the rest of his team of his intention to stay put until darkness fell, then he let his mind wander a bit as he watched the yacht and the docks. Mike couldn’t help but remember when he was a young boy and his parents took him out on their sailboat. They had spent so many happy afternoons on the water. He felt a lump rise in his throat. At least I have Lisa, and who knows, my dad might still be alive.
Only about ten minutes of daylight were left when James Cooper from Support Five came on the air.
“Guys, we have something for you that you’ll find quite interesting.”
“Shoot,” Mike said.
“We sent all we had on the Mercedes to headquarters and did the same thing for the Azimut.”
“And?” inquired Lisa, who was still parked outside the neighborhood.
“There was absolutely nothing in the FBI or CIA databases, but Jonathan Sanchez came up with a little lead. It appears that the NSA intercepted a message sent via an e-mail address they had a lock on. An e-mail address they suspect belongs to someone who’s part of the Sheik’s network.”
“What did the message say?” asked Mike.
“It didn’t say anything. It only contained a bunch of numbers, but nobody was able to figure out what they meant.”
“And you did?”
“Not me. It was Sanchez who put it together.”
Thumbs up, my friend. “And?”
“The numbers in the message were actually the name of the company that owns the Mercedes SUV you followed from Malaga to Benalmadena.”
The IMSI operatives remained silent as they assessed what that meant.
“There’s more,” continued Cooper. “We just received a message confirming the Azimut is owned by the same company.”
Holy shit! Mike thought. This was it! They’d found the Sheik. Jackson Taylor had said so before dying. The Sheik’s mobile headquarters was a boat. I can’t fucking believe this. The man responsible for my daughters’ deaths is a mere two hundred meters away. Anger and rage mixed together in a torrent. He jumped up from the bench. He wanted to simply run to the boat and gun down everyone inside, but Lisa said, “I know you, Mike. I can’t see you right now, but I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. Let’s do this to-ge-ther. We’re a team, honey. You’ve told me so yourself not too long ago.”
She’s right. I’ll probably get shot before I set foot on the yacht. And what if my father is there?
“Lisa,” Mike said, “if this is indeed the Sheik’s boat, there’s a slim chance that my father could be there.”
“It’s a possibility, honey. We need to do this the right way, even if it’s a long shot.”
“I know,” replied Mike. He considered possible options but then said, “Meet me with Jasmine at the café. We’ll figure something out.”
―
Mohammad Alavi checked his watch. Not long now, he thought. He let the two ex-legionnaires plot the course the yacht would take to reach Tangier. Since the events in Sierra Leone, Al-Nashwan and the Sheik had been very nice to him and had even offered him his own quarters, albeit the ones next to the kitchen, aboard the big yacht. Because of Al-Nashwan’s severe injuries, the Sheik had been relying heavily on him, and Alavi had come to appreciate the responsibilities of serving Sheik Al-Assad.
Now that the final countdown had started and nothing could stop the destruction of the Edmonton oil pipeline terminal, they were moving to Tangier for the recruiting phase of the next operation. Alavi was looking forward to this; he’d had enough of living among the infidels in Spain. With ninety-nine percent of Morocco’s population being of the Muslim faith, Alavi was sure he would feel right at home.
Walking toward Omar Al-Nashwan’s cabin, Alavi felt ecstatic. He could hardly believe he’d reached the top of the pyramid. Never in a million years did he think he would become an important part of the Sheik’s inner circle. Allah is great!
He knocked on Al-Nashwan’s door and waited to be invited in. Al-Nashwan was seated at a small desk in front of a portable computer. He’d recuperated well from his injuries, but he would not be strong enough to go out for a few more days.
“Yes, Mohammad?” Because a sling and swath bandage had been used to immobilize his injured shoulder, Al-Nashwan had to turn his whole body to look at Alavi, who was standing in the door.
“Did he call?”
“There’s time left, Mohammad. You know how the Sheik operates; everything will be done according to the time frame all the cells agreed upon. It’s important to respect the timing that has been established.”
“Of course.”
Al-Nashwan smiled at his protégé. “Don’t worry, Mohammad. Go back to your room. As you can see, I’m all hooked up and ready to send the go-ahead as soon as I receive his word to do so. I’ll let you know once we’re ready. I’ll let you type the message if you wish.”
Alavi beamed, pleased he was the one who would precipitate the fall of the Great Satan.
―
Mike’s phone conversation with the IMSI director was brief. Mapother’s instructions were clear. Whoever was on that boat needed to be taken down.
Because IMSI had no means of tracking the Azimut if it headed out to sea, Mike and Lisa were ordered to board the vessel to try and capture all the men aboard. If they couldn’t be captured, Mapother had authorized deadly force. Once they had seized control of the vessel and its occupants, they were to bring the Azimut to Naval Station Rota, near the Strait of Gibraltar, where US officials would meet them and the captives would be questioned. The IMSI director also informed Mike he had passed along the info to the proper Canadian authority and that he was confident an operation was already under way. Mike knew that was true, as Zima had replied to him earlier in the day to let him know she was being deployed in an attempt to intercept the terrorist cells.
After leaving Carson at the café to keep an eye on the target, Mike and Lisa sat in one of their rented sedans to devise a plan. Their first challenge would be to approach the dock without raising suspicion. Mike, who earlier had seen a boat brokerage office on a nearby street, suggested that one of them should act as a broker. Support Five was given the task of fabricating proper documentation.
While Support Five was busy creating Lisa’s profile, the two IMSI assets used the Azimut’s corporate website to review the vessel’s technical characteristics and layout. The eighty-six-foot yacht had a nineteen-foot beam. A fully equipped galley was located at the aft lower deck, where the crew’s cabin and one of the heads were also located. Still on the lower deck but toward the bow were four luxurious cabins and the three remaining heads.
Looking at how the yacht was designed, Mike immediately identified a serious problem. They could not access the cabins from the kitchen. If they were to come in through the galley, the most logical point of entry, the IMSI operatives would have to climb up to the main deck and then take the other flight of stairs to clean the cabin area. If they encountered any type of resistance in the kitchen, they might very well lose the advantage of surprise—the only advantage they’d likely have.
With only two fully trained operatives and Jasmine Carson conducting the assault, their options were limited. They would have to act fast and aggressively to prevent a firefight in a place they weren’t familiar with. But, Mike and Lisa agreed, the risk was worth the attempt—to avenge their family.
―
A knock on his cabin’s door jolted Alavi from a surprisingly deep sleep. The first thing he did was look at his watch. Had h
e missed the countdown? How could he have fallen asleep at a time like this?
“You’re ready, Mohammad? It’s time,” said Al-Nashwan, his head appearing in the cabin. “Follow me.”
Thank you, Allah, for letting me serve you.
Alavi followed Al-Nashwan to his room and was startled when his mentor handed him a satellite phone.
“Yes?” said Alavi into the receiver.
“It’s me, Mohammad. Omar told me you’ve earned the right to send the message, and I agree. It is time. See to it.” And with that, the Sheik hung up.
Al-Nashwan was looking at him, smiling. “I’ve already logged in to our account. Our message will be received instantly by our brothers in Edmonton.”
Alavi swallowed hard and sat behind the computer. He started typing.
CHAPTER 71
Edmonton, Alberta
The plane had landed at the Canadian Forces Base in Edmonton less than thirty minutes before. Zima and her team were already racing toward the address attached to the first bank account linked to the Sheik’s network. During her meeting with the CSIS director and the DDO, she had learned CSIS had received reliable intelligence that three terrorist cells were about to attack Enbridge’s oil terminal in Edmonton. The security at the terminal had been advised, but they were ill-equipped to face any real menace.
The Canadian prime minister had ordered three RCMP ERT teams usually attached to INSET to make themselves available to CSIS. Zima had been put in charge of one team, and they had flown together to Edmonton aboard a plane CSIS had chartered from Air Canada.
“How long before we reach the apartment?” asked Zima. She was seated between two huge ERT guys in the backseat of the lead Suburban.
“Less than ten minutes,” the driver replied.
“As soon as we get within two kilometers of the apartment, I want all lights and sirens off.”
“Understood.”
Zima hoped to arrive before the cell was activated—otherwise things could get messy in a hurry.
“Do we still have eyes on the apartment?”
“We do,” answered the man next to her. “I spoke with someone from Special O—the surveillance unit—and they told me there’s no movement.”
All right. We’re still good, thought Zima. The objective was to hit the three cells at the same time, making sure none of them could warn the others when attacked.
“Damn it! Engage! Engage! They can’t get away, and we’re still two minutes out,” said the ERT team leader into his radio.
“What’s going on?” asked Zima.
The team leader, seated in the front passenger seat, made eye contact with her using the rearview mirror. “The surveillance unit at our address spotted five men exiting the apartment.”
Shit! We were so close. “What about the other teams?”
“Nothing yet, but if you agree with me, I’ll order them to move in now.”
Zima didn’t hesitate. “Do it.”
“Team Two and Team Three, we’ve been compromised. I say again, we’ve been compromised. Move in when you’re ready,” said the team leader.
“Thirty seconds!” yelled the driver.
“Sir,” said the trooper next to Zima. “Special O has two men down. They’re engaging five tangos armed with automatic rifles.”
The team leader rolled down his black ski mask and turned around to face his men. “Get ready. We’re coming in hot. Check your muzzle when you exit the vehicle, and get out of the X.”
Zima found her mouth was dry with apprehension. The memory of exchanged gunfire in that seaside French village came back to her with perfect clarity. She could feel all her senses become sharper. Even though the engine of the Suburban was revving high, she could hear the clatter of automatic weapons in the background.
Yet preparations were not enough. Without warning, bullets started piercing the windshield, and she saw the team leader’s head snap backward as a round hit him in the face.
CHAPTER 72
Benalmadena, Spain
Lisa had just picked up her boat broker’s credentials from a nearby garbage can, where a member of Support Five had dropped it. If anyone were to check, they would find that Suzy Newton had been a licensed boat broker for the last ten years.
“They started their engines!” announced Jasmine Carson, who had just finished memorizing the plan she had received from Mike via her PDA.
“Damn it!” exclaimed Mike. “All right, guys. Check your weapons, and let’s proceed to our rendezvous point. We can only hope they’ll wait for us a little longer.”
They met in front of the marina’s security gate. Mike and Carson, walking hand in hand as a couple, arrived first and were challenged by the security guard manning the entrance.
“Sorry about that, mate. I didn’t know we needed an escort to enter the docks,” explained Mike, smiling.
The security guard was neither impressed nor particularly at ease with the English language.
“Can we go see it?” continued Mike, undeterred. “We’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Solo los corredores certificados pueden entrar sin escolta,” replied the guard, pointing at his own identification badge to elucidate his point.
“Mr. and Mrs. Graham?” Lisa asked, walking rapidly toward them. “I’m Suzy Newton from the brokerage agency.”
The three of them shook hands like it was the first time they’d met. Lisa showed her broker’s credentials to the security guard and told him in Spanish, “They’re with me. We have an appointment to view a boat.”
“You’re not from the area,” the guard said.
“You’re right. I’m new to Benalmadena.” Lisa smiled, extending her hand to the guard.
The guard looked down at her hand without shaking it but had a change of heart when he saw that Lisa was palming a few euros. The guard shook hands vigorously and pocketed the cash.
“Next time,” said the guard, “you’ll have to call in advance, and the boat’s owner will need to leave a message with your name, authorizing the visit.”
“Understood. Can we go ahead, then?”
“Just after I check with your office,” the guard replied. He called the number that was on Newton’s business card. Unknown to him, his call was bounced around the world a few times before he was finally connected with someone at IMSI headquarters in New York. An analyst answered in Spanish and confirmed that Suzy Newton was a new member of the Marina Marbella Brokerage Group. After he hung up the phone, the guard gave Sanchez the access code for the gate before returning to his paperback novel.
Mike and Carson followed behind Lisa on the docks, walking as fast as they dared. The Azimut’s big diesel engines had been running for over ten minutes, and Mike knew that was about the time they required to reach operating temperature. They passed boats of all sizes, but the farther they got from the security gate, the bigger the boats became.
As they neared the Azimut, all three covertly screwed on their suppressors and double checked that they each had at least two spare magazines. The IMSI operatives were dressed in black slacks and dark windbreakers that made them difficult to see in the darkness. With the rubber soles of their boots silencing their approach, they were able to get within twenty meters of the target yacht before they saw that a crew member, who had been in the process of rolling back the lines prior to departure, had spotted them. By the moonlight and from the profile headquarters had sent over, Mike identified the man as Raphael Dupont.
In a flash, Dupont stood up and reached inside his jacket pocket. Mike, whose weapon was already drawn, fired two muffled shots.
For Melissa.
Dupont fell backward and toppled into the black water with a soft splash. Mike immediately scanned the area for more targets but didn’t see any.
Lisa, who had a better view of the depth of the main deck, gestured to Mike and Ca
rson that it was clear. While Carson stayed back to make sure that Dupont wouldn’t surprise them, Mike stepped onto the swim platform and climbed the four steps leading to the above-deck living space. Lisa followed.
On the other side of the glass, a man they recognized as Louis Toutant was in the well-lit cabin concentrating on charts he had laid in front of him. As Mike fixed his barrel on Toutant’s head through the glass, Lisa quietly slid open the patio door and stepped inside.
“Can we leave?” Toutant asked in French, most likely thinking that it was Dupont reentering. “I’m about done plotting our course.”
Toutant turned his head, and his eyes widened when he saw the two IMSI operatives with pistols pointing at him.
“Where’s Raphael?” he asked. The look on his face told Mike that he already knew the answer.
“How many are inside the cabin?” Mike asked.
Toutant spat and told him crudely, “Va chier.”
He turned around and was able to press the horn button twice before Mike and Lisa each shot him numerous times in the back. “Go, go, go!” Mike shouted, knowing that the loud honking noise had just cost them their biggest advantage. “Jasmine, up here. Fast!”
As they had planned, Mike took the lead, heading to the first set of stairs and went down to the kitchen area. Lisa was right behind him.
CHAPTER 73
Edmonton, Canada
Abdelkarim Kashmiri was furious. They had been so careful. His mind couldn’t grasp the reasons why Allah would permit such a thing to happen. Failure! He had received the message from the Sheik and was walking toward the rental minivan with his men when he heard the first gunshot. He turned toward the sound and realized three men were shooting at them with pistols. The sight of one of his men clutching his stomach pushed him over the edge. Who were these people? They didn’t wear uniforms, and two of them had long hair. They couldn’t be the police.
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