by Mark Terry
Mandalevo saw something in the eyes and expression of the second man, something that suggested he had his doubts about the path that they were on.
Nazif disappeared through the door. The second-in-command stared at him, expressionless. After a long moment, he gestured at him with the gun. “Stand.”
“Easier said than done,” Mandalevo replied, rolling over onto his hands and knees and slowly climbing to his feet. He swayed. The world grew gray around the edges. His back hurt so badly that he couldn’t stand up straight.
Mandalevo looked at the man. “Do you know the expression, caught a tiger by the tail?”
The man looked confused and shook his head.
“It means you’ve caught on to something you can’t let go of. That you lose either way. If you hang on you die. If you let go, you die. So usually you hang on until you can’t hang on anymore. And then you die.”
“You talk too much.”
“You know this won’t end well.”
“For you, certainly.”
“For all of us, I think. What now?”
Reaching into a pocket, the man pulled out a hood, stepped around Mandalevo and pulled it almost gently over his head. “You can breathe?”
“Okay.”
The man took Mandalevo’s arm and moved him slowly forward. “We’ll take it easy.”
It seemed like they walked through a building, down a flight of steps, across something outside like a parking lot or alley. In the distance, when they were outdoors, he heard sirens and maybe the clatter of helicopters.
He was helped to climb into the back of a vehicle, then told to lie down. It felt like he was on some sort of cot or gurney. Doing so, they strapped his arms and legs down.
A needle pierced the skin on his arm and the darkness came quickly.
45
@cnni
Breaking: Major bomb destroys Cairo mosque, kills dozens. Cnn.it/1tK5sVx5
@shamid4872
Kill Mandalevo and get this over with. #secstatekidnap
@alakbar2u
Stillwater should trade himself for Mandalevo. The fucking coward. #derekstillwater #secstatekidnap
@BBCBreaking
Live now: U.S. Deputy Secretary of State says no negotiations. #Egypt #secstatekidnap #bbc.in/1trzpdx
@USATODAY
Who is Derek Stillwater? US State Department still won’t say. Usat.ly/1kjklsdfs pic.twitter.com/2eYcGWJLLK #derekstillwater
@supersarge123
Knew #DerekStillwater in #army in Desert Storm. Take ’em down brother.
@eliteforces2013
#derekstillwater has been dead for years. Died in Detroit. Something weird here.
“You’re a trending topic,” Noa said, showing him the Twitter feeds. “You on Twitter?”
“Sort of,” he said with a shrug. “But not as social media. I track infections and things along those lines. CDC, WHO.”
“So practical.”
Kadish appeared with a gurney, an MP5 in his hand. He’d changed clothes, now dressed as an Egyptian paramedic. “Well,” he said. “Ready to roll?”
“Ready to rock, ready to roll,” Derek said.
And like that, a dozen Twitter accounts became active. Noa showed him the first.
@realRN2
Man leaving El Nada Surgical Center in ambulance. Looks like #derekstillwater #secstatekidnap
Derek was strapped into a gurney, the MP5 under the sheet, finger on the trigger. Safety be damned. The ambulance was bright orange with green stripes. Both Schmuel and Kadish wore green paramedic jumpsuits. Schmuel was again behind the wheel. Noa checked Twitter on her phone.
“Here’s a good one. It’s in Arabic.
@swizz814
I hope Hafiz kills both motherfuckers #jihadyes #derekstillwater #secstatekidnap
“And to think I regularly risk my life for these motherfuckers,” Derek said.
Noa kissed him on the lips. “Got to love social media. Keep plugged into your network.”
Irina: Give him a kiss for me.
“Jeez.”
Johnston: Me, too.
Konstantin: And me.
“How about you, Sholes?”
Sholes: I’ll get mine in person when this is all over. Don’t get your ass shot up.
“I don’t suppose it’s too late to head for the airport and fly out of Cairo?”
Sholes: That’s up to you.
“Yeah, right. Let’s roll, kiddies.”
@Cairodiplom
Expecting #derekstillwater soon
@Ateyya6
Orange ambulance! #derekstillwater???
In his ear, Derek heard, “Spear One, this is Hammer One.”
Irina: Who the hell is this?
“Hey,” Derek said. “Hammer?”
Hammond: Like it?
Irina: Who is this?
Johnston: A new member of the team.
Sholes: Who is this?
Hammond: We don’t have much time. Agent Sholes, with all due respect, we’re going to disconnect you from the network for a while.
Sholes: What?! You can’t—
Hammond: Derek may or may not have been set up. But the embassy isn’t secure. We’ll contact you.
Sholes: Wha—
Irina: Derek? Advise.
“Hammer, start talking.”
Hammond: JJ and I have been working with Langley, Meade, State, and our networks, as well as the NRO. A lot of it’s in Arabic. That’s where I come in. I’m filtering a lot of it. Where’s your precise location now?
Noa: Is this network clean?
Irina: As possible, under the circumstances.
Noa: We’re on Abd El-Salam Aref just about crossing to Ali Zou Al Fekar. We’re probably going to get off on Mohammed Farid.
Hammond: Okay, good. Look, Meade’s narrowed Nazif’s location to about a half-square mile near the Military Academy and the Cairo Airport. He’s using a laptop and a cellular uplink, so he’s mobile.
Noa: Heliopolis. Where the explosion was.
Hammond: Yes. They’re waiting for him to upload another video or to communicate in some way. You’ve probably bought some time with the Twitter feeds and other traffic everyone’s generating, but I strongly recommend you get over to the Heliopolis area. I suggest El-Helmeyah Military Hospital for Orthopedics and Plastic Surgery. It’s in the area.
“They’re going to be swamped with the victims from the explosion,” Derek said.
Hammond: I know. But Hafiz said he was going to give you a location. My bet based on intel I’m reading suggests they’re working out of Heliopolis—
Noa: Except the City of the Dead.
Hammond: Which was a dead end. A red herring.
“A deadly one,” Derek said, crouched in the back of the ambulance.
Hammond: Go to the El Shams Club Heliopolis. It’s a big sports center, tennis courts, gyms, soccer fields. It’s within spitting distance of the hospital and in the area. It’s a jumping-off point. Meanwhile, we’re going to release news that you’re not going to the embassy, but to El-Helmeyah.
“On our way,” Derek said.
Hammond: Stay tuned.
46
General Abdel Fattah el-Sisi strode into the luxurious office of Mohamed Morsi, the President of Egypt. Morsi sat behind a large teak desk, bulky in a blue suit, white shirt and tie. A big man, Morsi had graying hair worn short, a close-cropped gray and white beard, and gold wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
“Have a seat,” Morsi said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “What is the status of the hunt for Secretary Mandalevo?”
“Nazif set us up. We extracted information from the ones we captured, but they led us to the truck at the mosque. I lost a lot of good men and a lot of people died.”
“Nazif is making us all look like a fool.”
General el-Sisi crossed his hands in his lap. His tan uniform was wrinkled, though his back was still military straight. “Perhaps you could share with us your communications with Husse
in Nazif.”
The President’s jaw clenched. “What are you insinuating?”
“Your people are not in communication with the Nazif Brigade?”
“Of course not!”
“It’s interesting, is it not, that the first request Nazif makes is for me to step down and turn over control of the military to you.”
“I am the Supreme Commander.”
They both knew this was not actually true. In Egypt the president held that as a ceremonial title. The Minister of Defense was the commander in chief of the armed forces. And the current commander in chief was el-Sisi.
“And,” General el-Sisi said, “you heard of Yusuf Effat.”
Behind his gold-rimmed glasses the president squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“Yusuf Effat is believed to be a significant contact with the Nazif Brigade. Shortly after Stillwater and the Mossad agent spoke to him, he disappeared. My people went to take him in for questioning, but he abandoned his offices and left. We believe he’s headed for the Sudan border, possibly Libya.”
“The Americans and Israeli and their meddling. It is not their jurisdiction! Why are you letting them get ahead of our own investigations.”
“Ask your intelligence people. One thing we are certain of, just before he left, Effat placed a phone call to someone with the Mukhabarat.”
The president’s face purpled and his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. “Do you have anything to add, General?”
“Just that we’re expecting Nazif to contact us or the Americans with where he wants Stillwater to be.”
“So Stillwater is alive?”
General el-Sisi nodded. “That we’re certain of. To what extent he’s healthy and mobile we don’t know.”
“Make sure your people are ready.”
“And the Mukhabarat?” General el-Sisi asked.
“I will contact Wahed at once.”
Major-General Mohamed Raafat Shehata Abdel Wahed was the current head of the General Intelligence Directorate, appointed by President Morsi.
“Have him liaise with me directly. He has my number.” He stood up to leave.
“Abdul.”
The General turned. President Morsi said, “You have been out in the city. What is the mood like?”
“They are restive. They were before Mandalevo was kidnapped. It’s never really calmed down since the January 25 Revolution that brought you here.”
After eighteen days of protests two years before, long-time Egyptian president—dictator would have been a good word—resigned and agreed not to protest the September election that had brought Morsi into power. Although Mohamed Morsi was the first democratically elected Egyptian politician, his rule was proving to be controversial and, to General el-Sisi and apparently millions of Egyptians, largely ineffective, even feckless. To date he had granted himself unlimited powers, quashed any attempts to review or provide oversight of his legislation, and had drafted an Islamist-backed constitution. Because of his ties to the Muslim Brotherhood—he was the Chairman of the Freedom and Justice Party, founded by the brotherhood—many in Egypt and the rest of the world were concerned that Morsi was going to evolve Egypt into a Muslim-based theocracy with himself as its head.
“It will get better. We are making inroads on the economy.”
Not that General el-Sisi could see. What he saw was a man who was in over his head and in response to public unrest, was starting to tighten his grip on the government by not allowing any dissent. General el-Sisi had been involved in removing Mubarak and dissolving his legislature. The government was still filled with Mubarak sympathizers and while President Morsi was working on the new constitution, he’d also reinstated Parliament, a bunch of Islamists who wanted nothing more than to return Egypt to what it had been like under Mubarak before the Arab Spring.
“Certainly,” the general said with a nod.
“Oh. And I understand you visited the U.S. Embassy.” Letting him know he was watching him.
“With this type of crisis, I thought it prudent. Have you spoken with Ambassador Patterson?”
“Of course. And with the American President and the Deputy Secretary of State. Resolve this problem soon, General.”
Aware of the brief threat in those words, General el-Sisi nodded and left.
47
As they drove the faux-ambulance through Cairo toward Heliopolis, Derek and his Mossad team could see the smoke ahead of them. The air was filled with sirens.
“I’m not sure this is going to pull him in,” Derek said. “He made his statement. Bob may be dead.”
“He wants you. He’s obsessed with you,” Noa said. “He may drag this out until his brother is completely safe. And that’s still at least six or seven hours away.”
The closer they got to Heliopolis, the worse traffic became. Schmuel flicked on the lights and sirens, but that only helped a little bit.
In his ear, Sholes: Goddammit! Don’t cut me off like that!
Derek grinned. He loved pissing off government personnel. “What’s the sit-rep?”
“A message just came in from Nazif. Directly to the embassy. A video. I’ve sent it on to your team.”
He clicked on his emails and pulled up the video file.
Nazif appeared. “At precisely four o’clock you must be standing by the entrance to the Cairo International Stadium or I will kill Secretary Mandalevo. Be there.”
That was it.
Sholes: Where are you?
Noa: Heading in that general direction. It’s going to be tight.
“Do we have some backup?” Derek asked.
Sholes: Nathan and what’s left of his team are on their way with a couple others. Our resources are getting pretty thin.
Siren wailing, lights flashing, Schmuel careened through traffic. The Cairo International Stadium was a huge facility designed for soccer tournaments capable of seating over 74,000 people. It was hard to miss, even in this built-up part of the city with its high-rise office and apartment buildings that battled with ancient mosques and tenements.
Schmuel cut off the sirens and lights as they approached the main drive. Noa said, “We’re very vulnerable here.”
Hammond: We’ve got some recent satellite footage on it.
“How recent?” Derek asked.
Hammond: Thirty minutes.
“Hope that’s recent enough.”
Irina: Konstantin has a friend in our embassy there who’s been working with small surveillance drones. He’s got one in the air now headed your way. I’m working on tapping into local surveillance cameras. Wait … this is a little complicated, but can you see this?
Looking at a computer monitor, they had an aerial view of the stadium. Glancing out the window of the ambulance, Derek said, “I see something up there. Is that a drone?”
Irina: Konstantin’s friend Boris is running it from about a kilometer away. He’s hoping to get closer. He says there’s something strange in the parking lot near the front entrance.
“Let’s go see,” Derek said.
As they entered the area, Schmuel said, “There’s something over there. Looks like a box, just sort of sitting in the middle of the parking lot.”
“How are we going to do this?” Derek asked.
Noa said, “I want you in a wheelchair in case Nazif’s somehow watching. We want him to underestimate you as much as possible.”
“And if it’s a bomb it won’t matter.”
“Stay operational and shut up,” she said. “Do not go all American cowboy right now.”
Derek tried not to smirk.
Pulling up about twenty yards from the box, Schmuel turned the ambulance so it was pointing away from the box and the stadium entrance. Kadish said, “Schmuel stays behind the wheel. I get the wheelchair ready. Noa covers us. Everybody stay cool.”
Opening the rear doors, Kadish said, “We’ve got a lift. Get in. Cover up. Gun ready. Got the vest on?”
He did. It was a Level III-A, which was designed for ligh
t combat. Over the years Derek had worn bullet resistant vests that ranged from the lightest to the heaviest armor plated vests. Level III-A was in the middle, heavy and thick, but still thin enough to be worn under your shirt if you didn’t mind looking pudgy. It could stop a Magnum round or automatic rifle fire, especially from a distance. He wasn’t fond of it. Short of being in combat situations, he preferred mobility over protection, but this wasn’t a straightforward combat situation.
And the vest wouldn’t protect him at all from an IED.
Kadish pushed Derek onto the lift and activated the button that dropped the motorized deck to the pavement. Gripping the wheels, Derek rolled toward the box. Pushing a wheelchair with a bum shoulder wasn’t the easiest thing he’d ever done, but he managed. The box looked to be about three feet tall and made out of slats of weathered gray wood.
How many times have I been in situations like this, he wondered. Intentionally putting myself in the line of fire.
His heart thudded harder in his chest. The late afternoon sun burned down from above. The air smelled of diesel fuel and hot pavement.
Wheeling closer to the box, he recognized a cheap cellular phone. “It’s a phone.”
Noa: Doesn’t mean the box isn’t rigged.
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t a sniper around here somewhere, either,” he countered.
Irina: We don’t see anything from the drone, but it’s a big stadium and we can’t see everything. Part of it’s in shadows, too.
“This isn’t helping.” He pushed the wheelchair forward and grabbed the phone, prepared for a blast or a bullet.
Nothing happened.
Glancing at his watch he saw it was 3:58.
“I’ve got two minutes if my watch or Nazif’s watch are—”
The phone buzzed in his hand. He almost dropped it.
“Dammit,” he swore. “Practically gave me a heart attack.”
Hammond: That would be irony for you.