by Becky Harmon
She took a deep breath. “I know. That’s my concern. Have you talked with Minister Aboye today?”
Minister of the Interior Habib Aboye was responsible for the police force in Nouakchott as well as the surrounding area. He was one of the few remaining leaders in Mauritania that remembered her father. It was a connection that had helped her when she first arrived in the country, and he had been sympathetic when the crowd first appeared. They hadn’t had much luck convincing him to disband the crowd completely, though, despite Sam’s daily phone calls.
“I talked with him this morning,” Sam said with a sigh. “Again. He’s unable to provide any assistance other than the occasional response team.”
“Okay. Let him know that we’re bringing in a private security company that will have permission to engage, if needed.”
“He won’t like that,” Sam said, shrugging. “But at least he’ll be aware that we won’t be following normal protocol. Want me to brief the staff too?”
“That would be great. Let me know if you feel like they need to hear from me as well. I don’t mind talking to anyone who seems concerned. This should make them feel safer though.”
“Maybe bringing in new faces will bring new ideas on how to move things along or to help figure out why they’re out there,” Sam suggested. “Do you think we should have someone attempt to speak with the crowd again?”
She and Sam had gone out the first morning after the crowd had stayed through the night. Sam had done most of the talking at her suggestion. She thought he might make more progress with the men than she would. His questions were met with silence even when they offered food and water.
“Let’s wait for the Flagler agents to arrive. Our first attempt did nothing but increase their presence and bring gunfire.”
Chapter Five
Angel scanned the tarmac as she stepped out of the plane. Nothing more than sand stretched as far as she could see beyond the airport. There were a few metal buildings that had been randomly placed on both ends of the runway, and a large glass-and-steel building that housed the main terminal behind her.
The constant coastal breeze reminded her of home, but it wasn’t refreshing. It was hot. She estimated it was close to 100 degrees, which was normal for Mauritania in October. It was significantly less humid than Florida, though.
The Flagler plane had been directed to a small hangar away from commercial travelers. Eight black Toyota SUVs stood in a perfect line at the foot of the stairs. Her teams gathered at the rear of the plane to unload their bags and equipment.
She pulled Eric and Sarah to the side. “Sarah, call me with a status as soon as you arrive at the safe house. Remain at a Level One readiness unless you hear otherwise. You guys video call with each other this evening once you’re settled in and get familiar with each other’s location. I’ll provide annotated copies of the embassy blueprints as soon as I put them together.”
They both nodded and she could see the anticipation of a new assignment on their faces. She also felt the stirrings of something new in her future.
“Okay. Let’s load up,” she called to the group as she gathered her own equipment and placed it in the rear of the lead SUV.
Climbing into the front passenger seat, she waited for the rest of her team to get settled. If the driver was surprised to find a woman in the seat next to him he didn’t show it. She greeted him in English and he responded in kind. Though his English was broken, she knew it would be better than her attempt to speak French or Arabic.
Eric knocked on her window and gave her a thumbs-up. She nodded to her driver and he pulled forward, accelerating slowly—something which she would learn shortly was not his normal driving method. He stopped at the security gate, where the SUVs immediately were surrounded by local customs and law enforcement officers. She passed them the Mauritania equivalent of a concealed weapons permit, her own temporary thirty-day visa, and passport. She didn’t expect the vehicles to be searched, but she had a contact number to call at the embassy if they ran into any problems.
The officers moved quickly to each vehicle then waved them through the gate when they were all cleared. As they passed in front of the commercial airport entrance, she could see the shiny tile floors and huge round pillars inside. It looked like every other international airport she had flown through, rippling with the movement of people. Beautiful water fountains and palm trees lined the front along with two rows of flagpoles. Whipping in the wind at the top of each pole was the Mauritania flag, a yellow star with a half-moon scooped beneath it centered in a green background with broad stripes of red across the top and bottom.
Their driver accelerated hard as they turned south onto N2 or Nouadhibou Highway, the main north-south thoroughfare. Sarah’s team split off, traveling the same road but heading north toward Nouadhibou instead. The multilane road was paved and easily traversed, and there was no apparent speed limit. They shared it with an occasional truck and a few camels.
It wasn’t long before Angel could see Nouakchott in the distance. One- and two-story tan buildings made of stone or concrete surrounded the heart of the city. After passing through a third checkpoint, she understood why Tamara had given them multiple copies of what was being referred to as a fiche, a single-page identifying document for each of the travelers in their party. Despite the multitude of checkpoints, she didn’t get the sense from the police they encountered that they had any real security concerns.
She gripped the armrest on the door as the street became crowded with people and animals. Their driver no longer held the pedal to the floor, but he also didn’t apply the brakes. There were no traffic lights or signs indicating their route and she tried to identify landmarks. Two large pillars in the distance clearly identified a local mosque, undoubtedly one of many in the capital. An occasional restaurant sign in French advertised the available food options, poisson, poulet, and viande, which she mentally translated as fish, chicken, and meat. Contemplating the possible meanings of the third option of generic “meat” made her cringe.
Their driver tapped the brakes as several people and a few goats crossed in front of them. Squeezed between their SUV and the sidewalk, a donkey pulled a cart loaded with crates. An elderly man sat on top of the stack as it bobbed precariously from side to side. Cross traffic stopped in front of them and their driver swerved, narrowly missing the donkey and the red-and-white-striped curb, then picked up speed again. She checked the rearview mirror to make sure her other vehicles were keeping up.
She caught an occasional glimpse of people as they flew past, but mostly what she saw was a blur of vibrantly colored mulafas, long pieces of fabric wrapped around women’s bodies and then around again to cover their heads. A few faces were completely covered; they were found mainly in the gaps between buildings where the sand blew without mercy.
Their vehicles slowed at the edge of a street market. Tent canopies and tarps covered the shops to block the sun more than to guard against any possibility of rain. The vendors were selling everything from home-grown vegetables to handmade jewelry and multicolored fabrics and sunglasses. Large bags of rice and grain covered the ground and slabs of meat hung in the air.
They slowed a small amount as they turned onto Avenue Moktar Ould Daddah and neared the embassy. Situated on ten and a half acres in the Tevragh Zeina district, it was surrounded by an almost blindingly white concrete wall. After years of constructing friendly and open embassies, since 9/11 the US government had attempted to strike a balance between beauty and security.
Angel knew from the material in her briefing packet that the lot held a four-story main office building, a barracks, and maintenance facilities along with a utility building, multiple access pavilions, and several community facilities. Finished in 2017, the new facility was a secure and modern environmentally sustainable workplace. The barracks could house over one hundred people and the first-floor café could feed double that amount. The State Department’s first major wind-powered turbine for an American embassy was hous
ed within the walls as well as an onsite water treatment plant for irrigation reuse.
As they approached, the crowd outside the embassy became visible. The men parted following minimal yelling from her driver and she tried to look at each of them. Thankful for the tinted windows, she studied their eyes as they passed within inches of the glass. Their faces were filled more with curiosity than with anger, and they stopped chanting to watch the four vehicles.
“They’ve been hired,” Max Pollock said from the backseat. Max was a twenty-year veteran with the US Army Military Intelligence branch and had seen firsthand violence in all parts of the world.
She nodded. These men didn’t cause her any concern. Men with a cause didn’t lose their anger to curiosity in the blink of an eye. They were being paid to do a job. A job that currently required them to stand and chant. The nagging thought in the back of her mind was how far would they go if asked and who had been firing the rifle?
She lowered her window as the marine guard approached. Passing her Flagler identification for him to review, she kept her eyes on the rearview mirror and the safety of her team.
“The other three vehicles with you, ma’am?” the soldier asked.
“Yes.”
“Welcome to Nouakchott.” He motioned for them to pull inside.
At the base of the four-story white stone building were two roll-up doors. As her vehicle pulled forward, the door on the right opened to reveal the embassy motor pool. Inside were tool benches, a vehicle lift, and several black sedans.
She assessed the man in a tan marine uniform approaching her with his hand stretched out.
“Sergeant Shane Miller,” he said.
She guessed his age to be late twenties. In today’s military that meant he had seen at least one if not more conflicts somewhere in the world. She stepped from the vehicle and shook his hand.
“Angel McTaggart.”
He nodded to her and moved to greet each of her team members. His height matched hers and that of most of the men on her team. In or out of uniform, Angel had no doubt she would recognize him as a marine. The way he moved and handled himself was not only representative of a soldier but also of a soldier who spent his days under public scrutiny.
“Let’s get you guys unpacked and settled in. Then we can talk,” he said as he returned to Angel’s side.
She nodded and quickly grabbed her gear. Within seconds her team was standing behind her ready to move. They left the underground parking garage and climbed up a flight of stairs. Following Miller, they detoured around the metal detectors and turned away from the large café covering the right half of the first floor. They passed several passport offices and a large community meeting room before exiting out the rear glass doors.
When they entered the three-story barracks building, Miller stopped. “My men and Diplomatic Security are on the first floor. The embassy staff is on the top floor. The middle is a hodgepodge of local embassy staff and any overflow. You guys will be housed there.” He motioned to the elevators. “Second floor. Doors are tagged with occupants so chose any open room.”
He waited until her agents had moved into the elevator foyer before speaking to Angel. “I put you in the main building a floor below the ambassador’s suite. That’s where I am too. I like to be near the Communications Center.”
She nodded.
“This is a gathering spot,” he said, motioning to a long table with folding chairs around it. “Everyone that has been here for any amount of time has a television in their room, but there’s one here if your agents want to use it. Not a lot in English, but we have a DVD player and some DVDs.”
He unlocked a closet near the lounge and placed her bags inside it before leading her back the way they had come.
“First stop is the ambassador’s office,” he informed her. “She wants to meet with us before anything else.”
He scanned his badge at the rear entrance to the main building before continuing. “Probably the most important thing to know is that there are alert buttons throughout all of the buildings, including the ambassador’s office. The alert tone rings in the Communications Center and they’ll dispatch units to the location. Does your cell phone have reception?”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Yep, full strength.”
“Good, then I won’t have to give you a new one. When your team gets settled give me their room numbers and I’ll pass everything to the Communications Center.”
Chapter Six
“That was Sergeant Miller. The Guardian Angels have arrived,” Chloe informed her. A huge grin covered her face as she hung up the phone.
Word about Agent McTaggart’s nickname had blazed through the embassy like a wildfire even though Ellie had tried to discourage it. Her staff had been confined to the embassy for several days now and visitors were a welcome distraction. Not to mention a visitor who had saved countless lives and single-handedly stopped major riots, if the scuttlebutt could be trusted.
“Let’s stop using that name, okay?” Ellie suggested. “I don’t want to disrespect her or her team.”
Chloe nodded, although her smile didn’t disappear.
Ellie wondered if she needed to be firmer. Before she had a chance to say more, she heard boots coming down the hall. She quickly retreated to her office and closed the CIA file on her desk, shoving it into a drawer. Micalah had sent the information she requested, but she had barely had a chance to begin reading through it. She had thus far resisted taking even a peek at the personal information.
What little she had read informed her that Angel McTaggart had joined Flagler straight out of high school. Vince had taken her under his wing and trained her to be a sniper. She didn’t get a chance to think about this any longer as Chloe announced her visitors and she looked up at the figure filling her doorway.
The woman Vince had sent to protect her was more attractive and more imposing in person than her file photograph had suggested. She matched Shane’s height and her shoulders were broad. Or maybe they only appeared that way because of her rigid posture. Her stance was wide, occupying all the open space around her. She wore dark blue multipocketed cargo pants and a black three-button polo shirt embossed over her left breast with the Flagler emblem.
There was no pistol strapped to the belt that rode low on her hips and that surprised Ellie. She had expected a show of force even though she and Vince had discussed her concerns. Maybe he had heard what she said and passed it along to his team. The woman wasn’t diminished without a weapon even when standing beside Shane who was never without one.
“Madam Ambassador,” Angel addressed her before stepping into the office.
Ellie crossed the room and reached out her hand. “Thank you for coming, Agent McTaggart.”
The agent enfolded her hand in a firm but warm grip. Ellie was surprised at the sense of comfort and security the handshake occasioned and the flutter that filled her stomach. She glanced at the corded muscle in the woman’s forearm and at their hands, which were still clasped together. Shifting her gaze to her face, she was surprised to see a slight lift at the corners of the agent’s mouth. Had they already shared a secret?
Shane cleared his throat as he entered, and the new arrival released her hand, pulling Ellie from her daze. She motioned to the chairs in front of her desk.
Once they had each taken a seat, she rolled her chair from behind her desk to join them. She wanted this conversation to be informal so the two of them would feel comfortable enough to speak freely. Shane was used to her approach, but Angel didn’t seem surprised by her actions either. She pushed aside the irritation that maybe Vince had shared more about her than he had shared with her about McTaggart.
She hadn’t asked for information about the agent he was sending but he hadn’t offered any either. Not even that she was a female. She met the dark eyes of Vince’s protége. They were intense and left her feeling slightly vulnerable and exposed. Maybe the pebble in her shoe was more from how off balance she felt in contrast to t
he coolness emanating from the agent sitting across from her. She quickly focused on Shane before she became flustered and unable to talk.
“Have your marines worked with private security before?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. My men will accept and work with Tag’s team as if they were their own.”
Tag? She liked it.
She studied the man and woman in front of her. Their appearances were alike in many ways and yet so different in others. Both held their backs stiff against their chairs, allowing only their eyes to follow her. The agent’s dark shoulder-length hair framed her face in contrast to Shane’s almost bald head. And her eyes…
For a second she was lost in the depths of Angel’s dark eyes again. Up close she could see that they were actually brown with flecks of black that seemed to grow at times, taking over the entire eye. She broke contact with them and searched for the words she had prepared.
“Sergeant Miller can tell you I’m not a dictator, especially when it comes to security. You guys know best. I’m sure both of you have a plan on how you would like things to work. I would prefer if you discussed it here so I can be kept in the loop.”
Shane nodded at his new colleague, and she could see that some discussion had already taken place between them.
Angel McTaggart’s voice was deep and commanding and her words concise. “I only have ten agents, ma’am. Judging from what I saw coming in, I strongly recommend that we bring in my response team immediately.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to increase tensions by looking like we’re bracing for a storm.” She grimaced as she realized she was contradicting her previous comment. Okay, so sometimes she was a dictator. She stood and began to pace.
“Let me be honest here…I can be honest, right?” She faced them and waited until they each nodded before continuing. “It’s not easy being a woman in this country and I can’t afford to appear scared. Increasing the number of troops outside will make it appear I’m jumping at shadows.”