The Identity Thief

by C. Forsyth

  "I'll take it my office."

  She had been airlifted to the secret base by chopper from the extraction point, after radioing in. (Where exactly on her person that tiny transmitter was hidden will remain her little secret.) She hated being reduced to overseeing the operation from afar - "playing Zeppo" as intelligence officers often called those who remained behind the scenes manning recording devices.

  The agent sat at the desk in the cluttered office - from which a captain had been booted, much to his chagrin - and was surprised when she heard Mr. Jones's distinct voice on the line. She had expected to receive notice via an encrypted email.

  "The funds have been received," the spymaster told her. "It's a go."

  "I thought you were going to send a coded message through the Riyadh office," she said.

  "There's been a change of plans, obviously," he informed her impatiently. "Now will you kindly stop asking questions and get your ass in gear."

  "Yes sir.'

  "And Traci, you've done a good job."

  Traci lowered the phone. It had actually worked. That scam artist and that computer nerd had actually pulled it off. She had been 90 percent sure The Chief would smell a rat and have them beheaded. To be frank, she hadn't slept a wink since she'd parted company with the duo. With X. Grinning, she picked up the phone again.

  "Initiate Operation Terminex," she said. "Get those birds in the air. And tell the extraction team to move."

  Chapter 23

  CASABLANCA

  Less than 30 minutes later, 15,000-pound daisy cutters dropped by B-52s began to pepper the ground beneath which the cavern lay, throwing flames hundreds of yards into the air. In the village, a quarter mile a way, concussion waves toppled buildings and knocked men carting goods on donkeys off their mounts.

  X was in his room, kneeling in prayer, when Hamid burst in.

  "Why are you still here?" the young aide asked, bewildered. "Don't you hear the bombs?"

  "I called my family to make sure they are safe," he said, rising from the prayer mat. "The Chief honored his word, as I knew he would. I am thanking Allah for watching over them."

  "We must go. The Americans are c-c-c-c-c-coming. Our spies at Fort Freedom say the helicopters will reach here within m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m minutes and raiding parties will come pouring in every entrance. We are all to evacuate."

  "Through the mosque?"

  "No, we have secret escape tunnels leading to the valley. Built for just this eventuality."

  X started out with Hamid, then stopped in his tracks.

  "What about the prisoner, the Jewish spy?"

  "In 20 minutes, nerve gas will fill this place," the overweight terrorist replied with a grin that revealed a lifetime without dental work. "It's a little surprise The Chief cooked up for the Americans. That will take care of the conniving bastard."

  X shook his head. "I want to take care of him myself. It was I who brought him into this haven; it is I who must finish him."

  This appeared to make perfect sense to Hamid. "Hurry, meet us at the rear of the hydroelectric generator room. May Allah protect you."

  They embraced.

  Gosh, they're a touchy-feely bunch, X thought.

  The Chief's escape plan was far from foolproof. While the majority of his men were able to make their way out through a plethora of hidden exits dug into the mountainside, Hamid and Fareek were not so lucky. Marines with the help of infrared probes had located one of the tunnels and were working their way through it, armed with Armalite M16 assault rifles plus Sig 9mm pistols as backup.

  Fareek, leading a dozen fighters, toppled as his head exploded. He was wearing body armor, but the Americans, anticipating just such a precaution, took down their foes with head shots.

  The Marines, firing special ceramic ammunition that shattered on impact to avoid ricochet injuries, poured round after round into the dark. Barely audible beneath the deafening gunfire were the shouts of confusion and fear from the fleeing terrorists as the Americans calmly cut down them down.

  When the Marines, emboldened, pressed on into the tunnel, the Warriors of Allah fared better in the fierce hand-to-hand battle that ensued. The jihadists slashed throats with kukris, the traditional curved Gurkha knives, while the Americans struck back with commando knives nicknamed K-Bars.

  Against all odds, Hamid fought his way past the Marines and out into the open.

  Unfortunately for The Chief's loyal aide, he ran into the path of a 7.62 mm round that literally cut him in half.

  "Allah, receive your serv-v-v-v-v-v-v-v—!" the fat man screamed, firing his AK-47 at the U.S. soldiers as he bit the dust.

  * * *

  As X expected, no one was guarding Harry's cell. The two fighters previously posted there had already made their way to the tunnels.

  "I didn't think you would ..." Harry began.

  "Come back for you? I'm hurt," said X as he knelt and began untying the spy. "What sort of fellow do you think I am? We con artists have a motto: 'Never leave a comrade behind.' "

  "I thought that was the Marines."

  "Right. Ours is: 'There's no honor among thieves.' Should I go?"

  "That's okay, carry on."

  The knots were trickier than X had hoped. Precious moments flew by as he fumbled with the ropes.

  "Whoever did these must have been an Eagle Scout," he said.

  "Not likely."

  After finally undoing the last and most vexing knot, he helped Harry to his feet. A massive explosion shook the ceiling above their heads, almost throwing them down.

  "What the hell was that?" X exclaimed.

  "A daisy cutter," Harry said. "Over 12,000 pounds. Our boys are already bombing the place."

  "Well, perhaps we'd better leave, then."

  "For once we agree."

  He helped Harry into the hall and they made their way slowly through the passageways. The lights were flickering. At least one of the generators was kaput and the identity thief had no doubt the other two would go within a few minutes.

  When they reached the tunnel leading to the generator room - and presumably the secret exit - they were greeted by the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic gunfire.

  "Well, that's out," X said. "We'll have to go out the way we came in, the mosque."

  "We don't have much time, five minutes tops," Harry said. "The guards told me about the nerve gas. One said, 'I hope you Jews can hold your breath.' The cocksucker. "

  "A bad apple, for sure."

  They moved swiftly through the passage toward the mosque, hoping their sense of direction hadn't failed them. It was a good thing X had spent so many hours eluding his "brother-in-law." He was well enough acquainted with the labyrinth to know a shortcut to the mosque entrance.

  "This way."

  As they turned the corner, they were greeted by the unwelcome sight of Dr. Zawari pointing a handgun at them. It was a gold-plated vintage Luger, X was surprised to see, presumably a souvenir from some anti-Semitic fan of the Warriors of Allah. It made him look remarkably like a Nazi officer in a black and white World War II movie he'd watched on TV on the couch next to Mother late one Saturday night.

  Casablanca?

  "I thought the Jew would be useful to us," X informed him. "A hostage we can trade."

  "I don't think so," said the urologist-turned-terrorist. "Hands up."

  X raised his hands, as did Harry.

  "I solved the puzzle too late," Dr. Zawari said with a less than entirely chummy smile. "The email warning us about the hacking. It was you, wasn't it?

  "Don't be absurd, Doctor," X said. "We've got to get out of this place. The Americans are bombing. And the gas -"

  "The new account in Zimbabwe, it is a fiction, is it not? The Chief's 'code' useless. Where did that money really go? Into the U.S. treasury? Or some anti-terrorist slush fund like the one that your President Reagan used to pay the Contras?"

  The No. 2 man of the Warriors of Allah took a step toward them and pointed the gun directly between X's eyes.
/>   I really wish people would stop sticking guns in my face, X thought.

  "Now you will die," Dr. Zawari snarled.

  "Wait," said X. "Listen, it is true, I am not really Ali Nazeer. If you give me but a moment I can explain who I really am."

  The physician hesitated. "I'm all ears."

  "The Chief is a traitor, in league with the Americans. He has been on the CIA payroll for decades. My true name is Wahid al Khayr. I have been sent by a secret committee of imams in Saudi Arabia to bring him down. The Americans believe that I am a lookalike they coerced into working for them, but the truth is I infiltrated them deliberately."

  Harry stared at him, stunned. "What????!!!" he exclaimed.

  X smirked and tapped his head. "It's called planning, my Jewish friend. This man here is indeed a Mossad agent and when we get to safety, I will tell you what I have in store for him. It will not be pleasant."

  His accent had shifted now. It was not the cultured lilt of a man raised in luxury in Kuwait and trained in gentlemanly speech by tutors but unmistakably and beyond the shadow of any doubt the guttural growl of a Bedouin.

  "You have been selected to replace The Chief," the man revealed to Dr. Zawari.

  A smile played upon the lips of the physician as the truth seeped in. "Me?"

  "You filthy son of a bitch," Harry said. "I actually thought for a minute you had an ounce of compassion in you."

  "You thought what I wanted you to think," X said coldly, lowering his hands. His entire manner had changed - the sly, sardonic man was gone and a hardened leader stood in his place. Harry watched in disbelief as even the impersonator's eyes transformed. A new kind of evil glowed in them now, no longer the casual moral idiocy of a sociopath, but something far more frightening.

  Dr. Zawari stared at his compatriot, still wavering.

  "Yes, they see what they want them to see," he murmured.

  "You will be given authority over all operations in Afghanistan and Pakistan," the man who had identified himself as Wahid al Khayr informed the second-in-command authoritatively. "You will report directly to Iman -"

  "Shut up, shut up," Dr. Zawari blurted, abruptly sticking a finger in one ear. "Your days of telling lies and lies within lies are over. It is time to die, both you and your Zionist master."

  He shot Harry, who dropped like a stone. Then he pointed the gun at X's chest.

  "I wish I had a scalpel so I could cut out your organs one by one as you watch," he said. "A bullet is far too merciful for you."

  The explosion came without warning and threw X to the ground. He looked up to see the roof had caved in, burying Dr. Zawari under a mountain of rubble.

  "Now that was a timely interruption," X said, clambering to his hands and knees. How much time had that little tete a tete eaten up? They probably had two minutes to get to the ladder to the mosque. He heard the Israeli agent groaning and crawled toward him.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry was moaning. "This hurts like hell."

  "Stop whining," X said. "I can see it's only a flesh wound in your shoulder. The guy was a terrible shot. I thought they sent those fellas through some kind of boot camp. Hopefully he was more on target with his prostate exams."

  "Not the gunshot, idiot. My leg."

  To the identity thief's dismay, he saw that rubble had buried Harry's left leg. The Israeli spy was trying to shove the rocks off himself, to no avail. X knelt beside him and started pulling the heavy stones off.

  "Next time be more careful," he suggested. He thought, if I start running right now, I'm sure I can make it. X had been on the track team in high school and was surprisingly fast for an athlete with relatively short legs.

  "Swell performance, by the way," Harry said.

  "Likewise," X said. "You do righteous indignation very well."

  It took a full minute to free his comrade. X helped the injured man to his feet.

  "Can you walk?"

  Harry shook his head.

  "Here, put your arm around me," said X.

  Awkwardly, they moved through the narrow passage, Harry groaning as he hobbled along on his busted leg. To make matters worse, the lights finally went and they were forced to forge ahead in total darkness. X recalled the sewer through which he'd fled the federal agents.

  "Here we go again," he mumbled.

  "Stop," Harry said. "Look, you'd better go on. That gas will be released any minute."

  It was certainly tempting. Running at top speed he still could reach the ladder in time. And with Harry out of the way, well, things would be simpler. A LOT simpler.

  What do I owe this rude, self-righteous son of a bitch? What do I owe anyone?

  "Oh, damn it all," X said. He grabbed Harry and threw him over his shoulder fireman style. They were nearly identical in height and weight, so it took considerable effort.

  "Put me ..." Harry said. "You're not strong enough ..."

  X staggered down the passageway. Another explosion came, almost knocking him from his feet. He hadn't carried another person since he gave a piggyback ride to a girlfriend four years earlier (one a good deal more svelte than Samantha) and he was soon struggling under the burden.

  Yet somehow a minute later, X bumped into the ladder with a clang.

  "Upsy-daisy," he said. Harry began to climb.

  Am I hallucinating or is that green mist wafting down the tunnel toward us? It was hard to believe you could see nerve gas. Still, the stuff looked ominous.

  "Pick up the pace, if you don't mind," he shouted up to Harry.

  "My leg is broken, remember," Harry yelled down.

  "Bad contusion more likely."

  X started up the ladder. He remembered how interminable the climb down had been, like Alice descending into the rabbit hole. Their ascent seemed to take even longer. He could definitely smell something now and his eyes were beginning to sting. Becoming woozy, he stopped climbing and hung there confused, suddenly unable to recall if he was supposed to be going up or down.

  His finger tips began to tingle, and he felt paralysis creeping through his muscles. His joints began to ache and his legs went numb.

  So this is how it ends? Better than that sewer, I suppose.

  Above him, a burst of light and a rush of fresh air flooded in as Harry flung open the trap door. The Israeli agent thrust down his hand.

  "Come on!"

  As soon as Harry hauled him up through the opening, X slammed the door shut. It was doubtful it was airtight, but he didn't want to take another breath of that foul gas if he could help it. He helped Harry limp out of the mosque.

  People were evacuating the town on horseback, in Jeeps, on motorcycles and even bicycles. Over the village square, an AH-64D Apache Longbow helicopter was hovering, a machine gun poking out of an open door.

  "Looks like our ride's here," X told his companion, "right on schedule."

  X used his arms to form a triangle, the signal Traci had instructed them to make. Dressed like everyone else, they would otherwise have been impossible to pick out. The pilot caught the gesture and the chopper descended noisily into the village square, kicking up choking dust. As the two men stumbled toward it, X felt as if he was in some old Chuck Norris movie, a POW belatedly rescued from Vietnam.

  A pair of Marines in desert fatigues helped them aboard and the helicopter zipped away into the sky.

  Below, the people of the village scattered, looking like insects escaping a flooded nest. Some carried small arms, grenade launchers and SAMS. One plucky villager fired an AK-47 at the chopper and bullets tore through the fuselage, narrowly missing the agents as the chopper went aloft. The machine gunner beside them returned fire and the townsman dropped dead.

  "Get Lady Hawk on the line," Harry said.

  "Yes, sir," the pilot replied.

  "Well, we did it," X said. "Do you fellows have cigars? Or champagne? This really calls for a toast."

  "We'll be putting you down in Kabul, is that right?" Harry said.

  "That's the agreement."

 
"And you'll disappear into the crowd, a free man."

  "It's not that I don't trust the government, but I really prefer that we part with no strings attached."

  "Meanwhile, The Chief's money is safely in the hands of the U.S. government," Harry said.

  "Yes, indeed," X replied. "To build schools and bridges, I'm sure."

  "Or is it?" Harry said. X turned to see a stern look on his companion's face. He looked like a school proctor who'd caught a student cheating on the SATs.

  Oops.

  X gave him a "who, me?" look. "Beg pardon?"

  "What account number did you give them?"

  "The one you gave me, of course."

  "Bullshit. You transferred it to your own account, didn't you? All $45 billion. Where is it? In the Caymans? Switzerland?"

  X sighed. He was hoping that Harry wouldn't put two and two together until they reached Kabul and he was able to slip free. The account in which he'd deposited The Chief's nest egg was actually in Denmark; he'd set it up months ago when they were planning the ill-fated sting on Ali Nazeer.

  "Look, the terrorists don't have it," X said. "That's what's important, right?"

  "That money is the property of the U.S. government." Harry fumed.

  "Technically, it's The Chief's money. And what do you care? Aren't you Mossad? Or are you secretly working for Outer Mongolia?"

  "Where is the goddamned money?" Harry screamed.

  "All right, so you got me. Of course I have the money. I'm afraid a take of $45 billion was irresistible. And now, of course, that'll be just $22.5 billion."

  "Meaning?"

  "Fifty-fifty, right down the middle."

  Harry, kneeling and ignoring the pain in his leg, grabbed X by the collar.

  "Not everyone is a greedy, rotten bastard," he snarled.

  "Sir, we have Lady Hawk," the co-pilot announced.

  Harry snatched the microphone.

  "This is Bluebird," he said.

  "Harry, are you guys all right?" Traci's voice came over the radio.