She nodded. “Yes. That’s all I can say, or I could get both of us in trouble.” She pointed a finger at him. “And stop going to the press. If the story breaks, it could risk your sister’s life.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Listen, you’ve done all you can. Go home and wait. The government is now on it. That’s all I can say.”
She quickly walked away, leaving the confused young man staring after her, his reflection in the glass doors showing him glued to the same spot. There was nothing she could do. Agent White was right. If the story broke, Alia Monroe would die. And Bobby’s sister was probably already dead, that part of the deal, to not forget her, probably moot, impossible to fulfill. As was almost always the case, money and power would decide this, and the Todd family had neither.
She entered the lobby and Shakespeare rose from one of the plush couches. She sighed in relief, rushing toward him. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning!”
“I know.” He lowered his voice. “Did you get a visit this morning?”
She nodded. “You?”
He grunted. “Normally I don’t mind waking up to a cute young thing in my bedroom, but not when she’s packing.”
“So what do we do?”
“We do what they say. As of right now, you and I are out of this.”
“What about your friend?”
“I already called him and he told me he had received a phone call from the Agency.”
“CIA?”
“That’s how I took it.”
“Jesus! What have we got ourselves into?”
“Nothing that concerns us. I got the distinct impression that until last night, they had no idea where Alia Monroe was, and now they’re scrambling to action this new information. Let’s leave it to the pros and get on with our lives.” A distinctive growl erupted from his stomach. He grinned. “Breakfast?”
She laughed, patting his stomach. “No time. Come on up, I’ll let you raid the doughnuts.”
Shakespeare beamed. “You’re so good to me.”
20 |
The Unit Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Colonel Clancy’s phone silently flashed at him, indicating a direct private call, one not coming through his assistant. He eyed the open door then picked up the phone, Gina having left for lunch a few minutes earlier.
“Clancy.”
“Sir, it’s happening.”
Adrenaline and anger surged through him. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and rose, straightening his shirt then tucking it into his back, before marching to one of Delta’s operations centers. His heart was heavy with the knowledge of what he feared he was about to confirm.
They had a traitor in their midst.
He swiped his pass and entered the secure room, Sergeant Donald “Sweets” Peters turning toward him.
“Sir, she’s still on the call.”
Clancy stared at the surveillance feeds showing several different angles of their target. “Where is she?”
“In her car.” Sweets pointed at one of the many displays occupying the front of the room. An image from a camera planted in her car several weeks ago was providing a live feed of their betrayal. The conversation was in Arabic, a language Clancy hadn’t bothered to learn, his enemy Russia when his brain was still capable of learning new ones.
“What’s she saying?”
“She’s just reached someone named Rasheed.”
“Do we have both sides of the conversation?”
“Yes, sir.” Sweets snapped his fingers, the sound of the translator’s voice echoing over the speakers.
“—have important information for you.”
“What is it, sister?”
“It’s about one of those who has joined our cause.”
“Thousands have joined.”
“This one is different. Her name is Alia Monroe. She’s the cousin of the President.”
“President of the United States?”
“Yes.”
“Allah be praised! And you’re certain of this?”
“Yes. They’re sending Delta troops now to try and rescue her.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No, just that they’re sending them to Iraq first.”
“Okay, I’ll have our records checked. You have done well, sister. You will be rewarded, if not in this life, then in paradise. Allahu akbar.”
“Allahu akbar.”
Clancy watched her end the call a few seconds before the translation completed, calmly checking her makeup in the mirror. He turned to Sweets. “Please tell me you traced that.”
“Oh yeah, we got it.” He pointed at a display, a pulsing red circle overlaid on a map. “It’s a cellphone in al-Raqqah, Syria.”
“Christ, sir, voice recognition has it as Rasheed Hadad!”
Clancy spun toward the analyst who had identified the other end of the conversation. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sweets smiled. “Wow! He’s one of the top intelligence officers in their organization.”
Clancy nodded. “Well, we knew she was connected, now we know just how well.” He motioned toward the screen, the destination phone number displayed. “Now that you’ve got his number, can you trace all his calls?”
“Already done, sir.”
“Sir, he’s making a call now!”
Clancy glanced at the analyst then back at the screen. “Good. Keep me informed. It would be nice if Bravo Team had a target before they get there.”
“And what do we do about her?”
“Nothing for now.”
“Sir?”
“We can’t risk them knowing we’re on to them. Arresting her now might tip them off. We’ll use her to feed false intel until she’s no longer of use, or I can’t stand having the air conditioning in my office turned off any longer.”
Sweets chuckled, the ruse having worked, a plausible explanation for a lapse in security provided by the stifling heat. “You suffer for your country, sir.”
“Aye, that I do, Sergeant, that I do.”
Clancy left the room, wondering if he’d be able to control his rage when he saw the traitor.
His assistant, Gina Nassar.
21 |
Todd Residence Queens, New York City, New York
Bobby unlocked the door to his parent’s apartment, pushing it open with his shoulder, making a mental note to tell the handyman it was sticking. Before he had the door closed, his mother was rushing down the hall toward him, sounds of his father struggling from his chair surprising him, his normal shift at work not yet over.
“Are you okay?” he asked as his father rounded the corner. He was in constant pain, though he’d never complain, at least not in front of his kids. It was Bobby’s hope that one day he’d be successful enough to allow his father to retire comfortably, though the work he had found so far wasn’t giving him much confidence in his ability to deliver. He had thought the environment was the future, so majoring in that would be a way to leverage that future, but so had thousands of others like him, the only work at the moment in advocacy, and that didn’t pay much.
His father grunted at him. “I switched shifts. I wanted to hear if you found out anything.”
Bobby slipped off his shoes as his mother hung up his jacket. “You’re gonna want to sit down for this.”
A hand darted to his mother’s mouth as she gasped. “Oh no, it’s bad news, isn’t it!” Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she fainted. He reached out, grabbing her by an arm as his father did the same from the other side. They led her to the living room and his father directed them to her favorite chair.
Bobby shook his head. “No, lie her down on the couch. She needs to get blood to her head.”
His father grunted and they lay her down flat. Bobby propped a pillow under her legs and the color in her face quickly returned. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, and by the time he returned, she was awake. She stared up at him, then snapped back to reality as if she had forgotten why
she had collapsed.
“What did you find out? Are they going to cover the story?”
He held up his hand, cutting off the eruption of questions. “It’s good news, but it won’t sound like it at first, so stay calm, okay?”
She sat up. “I’m perfectly capable of staying calm.”
His father gave her a look. “You just fainted.”
She glared at him, then returned her attention to Bobby. “Well?”
“They won’t be covering the story—”
“Oh no!”
“—because they said it could put her life in danger.”
A gasp.
“But, Aynslee Kai did say that they made some calls and the government is now looking into it.”
His father laughed. “Into it? What the hell does that mean?”
“Watch your language!”
“Sorry, dear.”
His mother looked at him. “So, what does that mean?”
“I got the impression that they’re going to try and find her and rescue her. I don’t know for sure. She just said that the right people were now on the job, or something like that.”
“Well, was that what she said, or wasn’t it?”
Bobby threw up his hands, exasperated with her. “I’m not sure, Mom! I was kind of in shock. Bottom line is, it’s good news.”
His father dropped into his chair. “Well, if you keep making noise, then maybe we’ll really get somewhere.”
Bobby shook his head. “No, she told me not to. She said it could get her killed.”
His mother gasped, pointing a finger at him then his father. “I don’t want a word out of the two of you to anyone! If you get my baby girl killed, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”
22 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
Chris Leroux sat at the Control station, in charge of one of the CIA’s state of the art operations centers, browsing through the intel that continued to pour in. The door opened and he glanced over to see his boss enter, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison.
Leroux leaped to his feet. “Hello, sir.”
“What have we got?”
Leroux motioned toward the massive display that wrapped around the front of the room. “A possible location.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir. You know how well computerized and organized ISIS is.”
Morrison joined him in the center of the room. “Yeah, like the Nazi’s.”
“Exactly. They keep track of every arrival, their background, their current location—whatever. Well, Rasheed Hadad made a call to their records department, and they’ve apparently run her name.”
“Did they find anything?”
Leroux smiled then frowned, the intel gratifying and horrifying at the same time. “She’s due to be sold at auction tomorrow morning, local time.”
Morrison pursed his lips. “Well, if that’s the case, then they definitely didn’t know who she was.”
“Yeah, and they definitely know now.”
“Will Delta be in place?”
“Yes, sir, they’re already in the air. They’re coordinating with assets already in the area, but this is the heart of enemy territory. It’s going to be a risky op.”
Morrison agreed. “I’ll brief the President, but I know he’ll want them to go ahead.” He paused. “And the mole inside Delta?”
Leroux’s chest tightened, the very idea unsettling. “Their suspicions have been confirmed. They’re planning on using her a little while longer, just in case it might help in the rescue.”
Morrison shook his head. “That’s a mistake. They had their suspicions, now they’ve been confirmed. They should plug the leak now.”
Leroux nodded, though not certain he agreed with his boss. “Yes, but if they do that now, and ISIS tries to contact her, it could blow the entire op.”
Morrison shook his head. “Risky. Too risky.” He frowned. “Okay, you said she’s due to be sold tomorrow. Now that they know, can we be sure that’s actually going to still happen?”
Leroux grunted. “I think it’s likely she won’t be, but it’s the best lead we’ve got.”
23 |
Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea
Red sat facing the aisle, the other members of Bravo Team assigned to the mission gathered around. He had received the latest update from Control, with intel from the CIA, and it wasn’t good.
“CIA believes she’s in Kobani, Syria.”
Niner held up a finger. “Umm, isn’t that like ISIS central?”
Jimmy leaned in. “Umm, don’t you mean, Daesh, dear?”
Niner snorted at Jimmy’s comment about how they were supposed to address the terrorist organization. “That’s just the Arabic acronym for ISIS, and it’s politically correct morons who want us to call them that. They think if you call it Daesh, then you’ll forget that it’s Islamic terrorists.” Niner threw his hands up. “I mean, come on! To try and claim we should be referring to them as Daesh is like saying we should call Germany, Deutschland, or China, Zhong Guo. I mean, come on!”
Red looked at him, agreeing with every word, though not indulging him. “Finished?”
Niner grinned, extending his hand as if presenting the Queen. “I now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.”
“Thank you. Now, as I was saying, she’s scheduled to be sold at auction tomorrow. Now that they know who she is, I doubt she’ll be there, but we’re going anyway, hopefully their communications aren’t as efficient as their filing system. If word doesn’t reach whoever’s holding her, she might actually still show up.”
Atlas’ impossibly deep voice echoed through the rattling fuselage. “Yeah, but how the hell do we get her out? I mean, that’s like walking into Red Square then trying to launch a rescue op. It’s suicide.”
“Yes, it is. But that’s not the plan.”
Atlas looked at the others. “That’s why he’s in command and not us.”
“Speak for yourself,” replied Niner.
Red cut in before he lost control again. “If she’s there, we follow her until it’s safe to attempt a rescue. If she’s not, we leave, nobody the wiser.”
Niner frowned. “I don’t know if I could just leave. I mean, man, those are innocent women and girls being sold. And let’s be honest here, they aren’t being sent off to clean the house and cook the food. They’re sex slaves. All they can look forward to is repeated gang rapes for the rest of their lives.”
Atlas grunted. “I wonder why we never hear the feminist groups up in arms over this.” He held up a hand, stopping any replies. “Forget I said anything. We all know why.”
Red regarded his men, feeling the same way. Their job was to protect the innocent, and there were none more innocent than those they were about to see auctioned off tomorrow. But they had a job to do, and one job only. “Listen. I know we all want to do the right thing—go in and kill all these bastards and save these women, but we can’t. That’s not the mission. We’re there to get Alia Monroe, and Alia Monroe only. If we get lucky and save a few others at the same time, then great, but all we’re doing tomorrow is finding her and tracking her. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
24 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“The drone’s in position, sir.”
Chris Leroux looked up from his monitor at the large display in front of him, a rubble-strewn neighborhood visible, dozens of heat signatures shown in the target area. “And we’re sure this is the place?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Randy Child, the youngest member of his team—brilliant with no brain-mouth filter. “We triangulated the cellphone signal. This is definitely the area.”
Leroux rose, stepping toward the displays, hands on his hips. Rasheed Hadad had placed a call once he had identified who owned Alia Monroe, but they hadn’t had assets in place to see who had received the call. At the moment, they had no way of knowing who
had Alia, and therefore no way to track her.
It was time to change that.
“Okay, we need to be sure. Ping his phone.”
Child tapped at his keyboard, a separate display appearing showing the successful signal reception and automatic reply from the cellphone.
In the area the drone now circled.
“Okay, excellent.” Leroux pointed at their Arabic translator who had arrived minutes before. “You up to speed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, call him.”
The translator fit a headset in place, the entire room falling silent as they heard the call going through over their own headsets.
“Marhaba?”
Their translator returned the greeting, a scripted flow of Arabic erupting, Leroux smiling as he listened to the choppy audio, the computer modifying it to simulate a bad connection. He stared at the screen, watching for anyone on a cellphone when the translator jabbed a thumb into the air.
Everyone leaned forward, Leroux rushing toward the screen, stifling a cry of triumph as a heat signature emerged from one of the dwellings, stepping into the backyard, clearly holding something to his ear. Child tapped some keys and a second image appeared, zoomed in, the infrared gone.
Leroux turned to the translator, signaling with a wave of his hand in front of his throat for him to end the call.
He did.
Leroux smiled as the man on the screen stared at his phone, throwing his hands up in frustration before reentering his home. Leroux turned to face the room.
“We’ve got him!”
25 |
Qayyarah Air Base, Iraq
Red huddled with his men behind a Humvee, the noise from the airbase significant, though nothing they weren’t used to. “Okay, here’s the latest intel. Langley thinks her current owner, for lack of a better word, has been told who she is. He’s to transport her as scheduled to the auction, where she will be handed over to Rasheed Hadad, a bigwig in their organization. If we can capture him as well, that would apparently be appreciated by the brass.”
Forgotten Page 6