The Insider Threat

by Brad Taylor

  “She’s got something to do with the Lost Boys. We’re just missing the connection. If I leave right now, I can beat her train to Rome.”

  “Pike, we have a full-court press on them. Their passports are in every port of call and police station in Europe, and they haven’t triggered. They’re still within the scope of your team, and our assessment is that Venice is the endgame. I need you to stay in Venice, at least until the reservation runs out on the room. I need you to find them.”

  “Sir, we’ve been on it since we got here. I’m telling you they’ve left. They don’t need to show a passport to travel throughout the EU by train.”

  “They came to Venice for a reason, and it wasn’t to shop. We know that Omar al-Khatami was facilitating their attack, and we assess he intends to conduct a linkup in Venice.”

  “Sir, that makes no sense. Have you seen this place? I couldn’t pick a worse location to pass explosives. You’d have to transfer them about forty times from plane, train, and boat, and then do the reverse to get back out. Why not meet in the countryside?”

  George Wolffe leaned in, saying, “Tell him what we’re hearing. Let him know the assessment.”

  That caused me to sit up. “Boss?”

  Kurt said, “Pike, we’ve got intercepts from Syria. ISIS is talking about an attack in the next two days. One that will cause ‘unimaginable harm to the heart of the infidel.’ If the timeline’s correct, they don’t have the space to get to America and set up an attack. They’re going to do it there, on the Continent, and it’s going to be close to Venice. You’ve got the only anchor. Their hotel room.”

  I sat back, reflecting on what he’d said. In my heart, I believed that waiting in Venice was a waste of time, but I didn’t know. If I was wrong, and the Lost Boys did meet Omar here, I’d be responsible for their killing spree.

  The easy answer would be to just sit back and follow orders. Rotate the team through the hotel and run random patrols around the area, hoping to hit the jackpot. If the attack succeeded, I would have followed orders like a good soldier and it wouldn’t be my fault.

  At least that’s what I told myself. Right up until Shoshana came into my mind’s eye, with her saying someone would pay for her being alive, and I was responsible for that, when I’d chosen her over the Lost Boys. She was determined that it wouldn’t be an innocent civilian, and she was headed to Rome. It wasn’t much on the logic train, but it felt right, and it was enough to snap me out of my cowardly desire to just sit back and follow orders.

  “Sir, I think they’ve already made linkup. I think I missed them with the Prairie Fire call for Shoshana. I let Omar get away, and at the same time let the Lost Boys slip through.”

  He said, “Pike, that’s bullshit. We didn’t know what Omar was up to until after your hit. We didn’t know he was involved with the Lost Boys. Don’t put that on yourself.”

  “The Lost Boys were still in Venice. I could have stopped them.”

  “And Shoshana would be dead. You made the call, and I stand by it. Shit, you’re not the only game in town. I could have pulled Johnny’s team out of Istanbul, but I didn’t because I felt the same way you did. I didn’t think the timing was critical, and pulling Johnny would have destroyed the mission he’s executing. In hindsight, I should have, because his pissant target is just a financier—like Panda in Nairobi—but I didn’t.”

  I appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t alter the facts, or my culpability in them. I said, “Let me go to Rome. I can beat the woman’s train. She’s connected. She’s a thread to the target. We have two days, and the Lost Boys aren’t here.”

  I saw him slowly shaking his head and pressed forward. “Sir, you saw the tapes. Jacob was following her. If she’s in Rome, maybe he is too. Maybe that man with her is the contact for Omar. Maybe that’s why they came to Venice.”

  He looked behind him and said, “George?”

  I waited. George leaned into the screen, saying, “I don’t know. Pike, how will you even find her? All we have is a name.”

  “She’s no terrorist mastermind. Whatever she’s doing, she’s an unwitting linkage target. She’ll pay with the same credit card. You can track that and tell me the hotel. Best case, she’s there with the man in the picture. Even better, she’s there with the Lost Boys.”

  He said, “Why don’t you leave a footprint in Venice? If all you’re going to do is interview the female?”

  “I need my team. It’s all or nothing. If I split forces, I won’t be able to conduct an operation at either location. If I find something in Rome, I won’t be able to action it. Yeah, I’m just interviewing a woman, but I have to be prepared to find Jackpot.”

  I saw him rub his face and knew I was losing the argument. I backpedaled, remembering I had a team I could call on if I needed it, and they were already headed to Rome. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave a two-man element here with eyes on the hotel. If I find something in Rome, I’ll pull them in. If they trigger in Venice, I’ll haul ass back here. Will that work?”

  George said, “Can you execute with that timeline?”

  I gave him the truth. “Probably not. You’re asking me to split my forces until neither is capable.”

  He took that in, then said, “You feel strongly about this? Rome is the thread?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at Kurt and said, “Let him go.” He returned to the screen, saying, “Billings hates his ass, which probably means he’s right. We could use a little Pike magic on this. We’re getting too close to the flame.”

  Kurt said, “Okay. Get in the air. I’ll shoot you the credit card report as soon as I can.”

  I said, “Yes, sir,” and reached my hand up to shut off the VPN, but Kurt cut me short.

  He said, “Pike, if this decision is wrong, and we miss an attack because you’re in Rome, we’re done. There will be no justification.”

  I paused, my hand over the disconnect button for the call. I said, “Sir, there never is. Shoshana told me someone would pay for my time spent rescuing her. She knew the implications, just like we do. If it’s any consolation, she said it wouldn’t be me.”

  I saw his eyes narrow, and he said, “Shoshana? What do you mean it won’t be you? What the hell does she have to do with this?”

  “Nothing. And everything. She’s hell-bent on preventing the Lost Boys from killing anyone. She feels it will be on her head. And she’s in Rome.”

  “Rome? Doing what?”

  “Making sure the payment for her rescue is given in terrorist blood.”

  77

  Christine Spalding dropped her carry-on suitcase and flopped on the bed, exhausted from trying to find her way in a foreign country. The farthest she’d ever traveled was to Washington, DC, as a child, and the adventurous excitement of flying to Venice had fallen away, leaving the grimy smear of trying to work her way through train stops and foreigners who wanted nothing more than to pick her pocket. Or worse.

  The decision to purchase a train ticket to Rome had been a monumental one, fraught with unknowns, not the least of which were Chris’s actions to begin with. She had a paid ticket to the United States, courtesy of him, and would have used it, if only he’d bothered to say good-bye. She knew what she was, and had no illusions about her role in Chris’s life—even as she fantasized otherwise—but his dropping her cold before any consummation of the relationship just seemed weird. Downright odd.

  She’d decided to follow him. She knew it would be against his wishes, but, Lord, she’d flown all the way to Italy because he’d asked. The least she was owed was an explanation. She didn’t care if the excuse was the wife, the church, or a simple illness, as the email stated. She just wanted some closure. After the enormous effort she’d put into getting here—vacation time off from work, buying clothes, the emotional distress of figuring out a foreign country—she deserved to know.

  She lay on the bed, pondering her next move. She knew the hotel he was using, and could call it directly. If she could figure out how to make a
damn call in Italy. Truthfully, she didn’t have the energy to sort through the dialing procedures, talking to people who didn’t speak English, and even if she had, she wanted to make the call from his lobby. Where he couldn’t say no. Where he’d have to at least face her. She knew he had the ceremony tomorrow, and would probably be busy, but she was at least owed a face-to-face from the coward.

  She’d already mapped the hotel, and it was only about a half mile away, across the Tiber River near Vatican City. She’d found herself a cheap boutique hotel right near the Spanish Steps and the best shopping in Rome. Proud of her use of the Internet, learning how to operate in a country foreign to everything she’d known, she was gaining confidence.

  She decided to walk to his hotel, going through the shopping district on the way. It was late in the afternoon, but the stores would be open. It would give her time to decide on what she was going to say. How she was going to take the rejection, which she knew was coming.

  She sat up and popped the top on a bottle of water, knowing she’d end up paying for it. This hotel was on her dime—her credit card—but she didn’t mind. She was seeing the world, with or without Chris.

  She stood up, looking at herself in the mirror and wondering if it was something she’d done, when her hotel phone rang, startling her.

  She answered.

  “Yes, this is room service. We’ve been to your door twice, and nobody answers. Do you wish the dinner you ordered?”

  “I didn’t order any food. I just got here.”

  “Is this room three forty-two? Gustavos Bittering?”

  “No. I’m in room four nineteen. It wasn’t me.”

  “So sorry, madame. Forgive the intrusion.”

  She hung up the phone, happy that the man on the other end at least spoke English with an accent she could understand. She stood up, putting on her scarf.

  * * *

  Jacob disconnected his cell and said, “Room four nineteen. We should go right now. Take her in the hotel.”

  Omar leaned back and said, “I’m not sure. What can she do before the ceremony? I’m thinking we let her run amok. Trying to kill her now may be more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “That’s a mistake. She’s determined, and she’s not an idiot. I think she smells something wrong. If she confirms it, she’s going to raise an alarm, and we’ll show up tomorrow to an arrest.”

  Omar said, “But that would be better than being a shahid, no?”

  Jacob smiled at the insult from their earlier conversation and said, “Same as you. Same as you.”

  On the train, an hour out of Rome, Jacob’s new phone had rung, and Omar had demanded he provide the passport information from Fart Boy, the kid he’d killed and assumed the identity of. He’d given it, then provided Omar the rundown of his fears with the woman. Jacob heard the suspicion in Omar’s voice, but had no time for it. He agreed to call when he arrived, and hung up. He spent the rest of the train ride alternately thinking of his future and the mission. Deciding what he would demand from Omar.

  After they’d arrived in Rome, he’d exited the train rapidly, before the woman could identify him, and waited. She’d finally appeared, clearly lost. He’d followed her back and forth, aimlessly wandering about looking for an exit, then eventually out of the train station, getting into the cab line right behind her. When his cabby had asked, “Where to?” he’d actually uttered the most trite thing imaginable. “Follow that cab.”

  He’d identified where she was staying, then had the cab drop him off in Trastevere. Not wanting anyone to be able to reconstruct his movements, he exited four blocks away from the safe house, paying the cab with Chris Fulbright’s credit card. He’d found a pub called the Mate Bar just outside of the American John Cabot University and called Omar.

  Omar had arrived with a small duffel bag and a large amount of hostility. Jacob had explained where they stood. The risk of the woman, but more than that, he told Omar the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind. Where his dedication lay. What he wanted.

  Omar had opened up the duffel and showed the hilt of a sawed-off shotgun. He’d said, “Remember what we talked about in Istanbul. The attack is tomorrow. You are with the Islamic State, or not. Are you with me?”

  Jacob had said, “I am with you. With you. I will not be a shahid. My life is worth more than that. Just as yours is. You can send Devon and Carlos to their deaths, and they’ll do it willingly. I will not.”

  Omar had leaned back, saying, “What does that mean, with me?”

  “It means I’m better than the others. I’m not cannon fodder. You know it. You told me that very thing. I want to work for you. I want to be your second in command. We’ll do the mission tomorrow, and we’ll succeed, but I won’t be the man killing the target. I’ll control it, and I’ll get out, just like you. From there, we’ll take the fight to whomever you want.”

  He’d seen Omar’s face cloud, and wondered if he’d pushed too far. But he didn’t really care. He’d made his decision. He was better than a shahid, and all that mattered was whether Omar agreed. If he didn’t, they’d wrestle for the shotgun. If he did, they’d move forward.

  He’d waited. Omar had tapped his fingers on the table, his cobalt eyes on Jacob. Finally, he’d said, “You wish to move into leadership of the Islamic State? You, who have never shown any allegiance to Islam?”

  “No. I wish to work under you, and you alone. If it supports the Islamic State, so be it. Religion means little to me. It’s just a method for people to justify their actions, which is why I have no trouble killing the Christian tomorrow. I’ve seen what he causes.”

  Omar had studied him, then said, “We’ll take this one step at a time. You won’t have to martyr yourself tomorrow, but it’s not for the reasons you state. I can’t guarantee you can get in, so I’ve already thought about altering the plan. Devon and Carlos have confirmed seats, and are rehearsing with the explosives right now, but because we didn’t have your passport, because you were on this chase after the female, we may not get you cleared for security. We’ll find out tomorrow.”

  “If I hadn’t, the only thing promised to Devon and Carlos would be handcuffs when they show up. She needs to be killed.”

  “But we lose the propaganda. Carlos and Devon were going to eliminate his personal security, giving you space for your speech prior to the final explosion. Now it’ll have to be quick, and the speech will be done on the Internet, after the fact, competing with others wanting credit.”

  “It can’t be helped. I didn’t make the woman up. And there are ways to ensure they know who did the attack. Evidence we can leave. You and I.”

  “Do you even know her room?”

  Jacob had picked up his cell phone, saying, “I will shortly.”

  78

  Sitting with Jennifer and Brett outside of the hotel, I waited for the cell to connect. After three rings, I heard Shoshana say, “Well, that didn’t take too long. Did you miss me?”

  She sounded nonchalant, but I knew she’d been waiting. She’d probably been sitting in a hotel room staring at her phone, begging it to ring.

  I said, “I’ve had a little downsizing to my team. I had to leave Knuckles and Retro in Venice, and I could use some additional muscle here in Rome.”

  “That sounds interesting. Does it involve the busty woman?”

  I laughed. “Exactly. I have her room, and I could use a female touch. Meet me at the outdoor café on Via Veneto. Right outside the Hotel Imperiale.”

  She said she was five minutes away, and hung up. I turned to Jennifer, “I want you and Shoshana to talk to her. Be nice—you know, girl talk. I don’t think she’s involved in whatever the Lost Boys are up to, but she’s tied somehow. There’s way too much smoke around her.”

  We’d landed a little over an hour ago, and, because we were leaving a huge trail flying all over the place without a whole lot of justification for Grolier Recovery Services, I’d asked Kurt for the use of a safe house instead of checking into another hotel.
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  We had them in every major city, rented from about four hundred different cutouts, but we rarely occupied them. A safe house was supposed to be just that: safe. If you used it every two weeks, you tended to draw attention to it, and risked compromise. In this case, I deemed our heat state from flying all over the world a justifiable reason not to splash our names into yet another hotel registry.

  He’d agreed, and gave us a sweet two-story flat located in the north of the city in Municipio III, about two miles north of the old Urbe airport, a general aviation facility that made it pretty convenient for the rock-star bird. Even better, the house came with a dented four-door Fiat clown car in a roll-up garage.

  No sooner had we moved our luggage in than Kurt had called, saying that Christine had used her credit card to check into the Hotel Imperiale. The strange thing was she’d used her card. Not the pay-as-you-go card. Stranger still, the pay-as-you-go card had also been used, once at a store in Venice, and today at a cab company—in Rome. Kurt was running down what the other purchase was for, but the Rome connection was enough smoke to get everyone’s blood pumping. Now I hoped Jennifer and Shoshana could find the fire.

  Jennifer said, “What if she doesn’t want to talk?”

  “If she stonewalls, go good cop/bad cop on her. Shoshana will have no trouble being the bad cop. If she really clams up, give us a shout. Brett and I will be right here for some extra intimidation. Either way, we’re getting something out of her.”

  Brett said, “I see the little killer coming.”

  The café we were in was a literal glass house built right on the sidewalk, allowing anyone to stop and stare as you ate your food. I don’t know who thought that was a great idea, but it allowed me to turn around and see Aaron and Shoshana walking past the metro station to the south, headed our way. They came abreast and I tapped on the glass, letting them see us.