Bishop kept an extensive collection of whisky on the bench top. She took a glass from a cupboard, filled it with ice and worked the cork out of a bottle of 21-year-old Hibiki.
Sitting on the couch she sipped while she considered her options. She could chase Bishop, but that meant failing to achieve Lisker’s task. After Jarvis, she doubted he would tolerate further failure. Avi was right, she needed to get back to being the lethal operative of old. Bishop’s life was counting on it.
***
LIFEBRIGHT FOUNDATION FACILITY, RWANDA
Jamilah cowered in the corner of her cell as the door swung open and two masked orderlies burst inside. She screamed and kicked as they grabbed her arms and dragged her along a sterile corridor into a laboratory.
Forcing her into a chair they systematically pinned her limbs and fastened them with straps. Eyes wide she thrashed against the restraints as a thin needle slid into her upper arm. It took less than a minute for the sedative to do its work. Her head lolled to the side and her eyes rolled toward the ceiling as the orderly stuck sensors to her and inserted a line into her arm.
Lifting her shirt they fastened it so her stomach was bare. One of the men rolled across a stand that held a tablet screen and a device that looked like a showerhead.
While the sedative may have rendered Jamilah incapable of motor functions her brain was merely clouded. She was still conscious as the door opened and an elderly white man dressed in blue medical garb entered.
He shot the computer monitor a cursory glance before inspecting a sheaf of papers that lay on a stainless bench. Then he turned to face her.
The man stared at her with an utter lack of emotion in his cold eyes. It was as if she was a side of beef hanging from a butcher’s hook. “This one is almost ready,” he stated to the masked orderly. “Earmark her for surgery in four days.”
“Full procedure?”
The doctor took the device from the stand and ran it back and forth across her stomach and pelvic region as he studied the tablet. “Her womb is in pristine condition,” he murmured. “Yes, full procedure.”
Jamilah caught the sad look that the orderly shot her as he made a note on the sheaf of papers. She had no idea what a ‘full procedure’ was, but that look all but confirmed it was a death sentence.
The girl who she shared her cell with, Bilan, had been taken a day earlier and never returned. Jamilah was sure that the doctor had killed her.
Doctor Morrison flicked his rubber gloves into a surgical bin as he left the inspection room and returned to his office. He had a feeling that subject 173X was going to provide the breakthrough he needed to reach the next stage of the project. So far her body hadn’t shown any sign of adverse reaction to the concoction of drugs that prepared the womb for removal. Unfortunately the last few subjects had not been as receptive. He’d successfully harvested the required organic components but they had not survived when attached to artificial life support.
He entered his office where Elias was waiting.
“You wanted me?” the head of security asked.
“Yes, Copeland informs me that a specialist is being sent to deal with the Canadian.”
Elias crossed his tattooed arms. “We don’t need a specialist–”
Morrison interrupted him with a raised hand. “You allowed her to go to the UN. It is too risky to have someone associated with the project deal with her now. You missed your chance. Leave it to the professionals.”
“If you say so.” Elias stormed out of the office.
“Animal,” mumbled the doctor as he sat behind his computer and waited for his daily conference call with Copeland. At least he had the good news of 173X to share with her.
***
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
Keila glanced at a scrap of paper on her desk and punched the digits scribbled on it into the computer. Drumming her fingers she waited for an analytical program to run the sequence and provide her a return.
The satellite phone number had been supplied by Bishop, a favor that, considering what he’d done for her team, she wouldn’t refuse. Additionally, it might provide some further insight into the reach of his capabilities.
A warning appeared on her screen indicating that someone else was already covering the number and the information was restricted. If she were a betting person she’d put money on Lisker being the approving authority however she didn’t have the access required to check that. If she wanted to get Bishop the information requested she was going to have to call in another favor with Asher. She caught herself smiling as she contemplated dinner with the handsome Captain. There was something about his relaxed demeanor and dry wit that she found desirable.
“Hey boss,” Abel called out from his cubical. “You see the news on that American guy being shwacked in Dubai?”
“Huh. No, what are the details?”
“CEO of a technology firm working on autonomous drone systems. Found dead in his hotel room from a heart attack.”
“How old?”
“Mid-forties.”
“What makes you think he was killed?”
“Oh come on.” Abel raised his hands and used them as exclamation marks. “Heart attack. Please, more like dosed up on beta-adrenoceptor blocking agents.”
“Right, and who specializes in that level of deniability?” added Keila as she reached for her phone. “The Saudis or Emiratis?”
“Nah, they just chop people up.”
“Exactly, so if anyone assassinated this guy it would have been us. But why would Mossad kill the CEO of a US tech company? It’s more likely the guy liked his fries a little too much and keeled over on holidays.” She punched in the number for Asher’s desk.
“Whatever. Still think he was knocked off,” mumbled Abel as he disappeared behind his partition.
“Always a conspiracy with you.” She laughed as she waited for the signals intelligence officer to pick up.
The dial tone stopped
“Keila, nice to hear from you,” said Asher before she could speak.
“Hey, you free for coffee this afternoon?”
“No, but I can do dinner.”
Doesn’t miss a beat, she thought. “What makes you think you deserve a dinner date?”
“Because I’ve got something you want.”
She frowned. “And what might that be.”
“There was a reason you called, and it wasn’t for coffee.”
She glanced at her screen and figured out exactly what he was telling her. The number she inputted was flagged and it was part of the target set he was monitoring. Straight away that told her it was likely related to Lisker, but she needed more for Bishop. “OK, dinner. Where are we going to meet?”
“I know a place,” he said. “I’ll send you the address. You good with eight?”
“It’s a date.” She cringed as the words left her mouth and slammed the phone down in its cradle. Glancing around the room she saw that all the team members present had popped their heads over the partitions and were staring at her. Abel was smirking, Jacinta was grinning like an idiot and Fahim’s eyebrows were raised.
“It’s not a date. Get back to work.”
The room broke into laughter and Keila shook her head as she turned her attention back to the computer. “I seriously hate you guys.”
CHAPTER 10
THE SANDPIT, ABU DHABI
“Have you spoken to Bishop?” Vance asked Chua as he entered the Sandpit’s operations room.
The intelligence chief sat at the conference table scrolling through his iPRIMAL. “No, he sent me a message saying he was heading to the cottage in Spain.”
“Saneh with him?”
“I’d say so.”
“You get any additional intel on their client’s death?”
Chua shook his head. “According to the media reports, it was a heart attack. No mention of foul play.”
“Hmmm.” Vance sat at a vacant terminal and stared at the blank screen.
“Maybe you should call Ta
riq and ask him.”
“No. He made it perfectly clear that PRIMAL wasn’t to be involved in any of his activities and vice versa. If he thought it was suspicious and wanted our help, he’d reach out.” Vance turned his chair to face Chua. “This just doesn’t feel right.”
“The death?”
“No.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Seems like yesterday we were running operations across the globe. Now we’re sitting here waiting to wrap things up and get out of town.”
“Yeah, it’s a different pace.”
“Gonna take some getting used to. Right, so where are we at with Kruger and Kurtz?”
“They’re waiting on intel from us before they can continue their operation. Bishop passed the number to Keila and he’s waiting for a response.”
“Any thoughts on operations once they wrap this up?”
“I was going to recommend that we focus them on network development. Take the downtime to build our capability in case we want to step things up again.”
“I think that’s a smart move. Africa could become our new stomping ground. When the time is right.”
“And when is that likely to be?” asked Ice from the door.
Vance turned and shot the big man a wink. “All in good time, brother. You’ll get your chance.”
“When are you guys heading down under?”
Vance shot Chua a look. “How the hell does everyone know about that?”
“Because,” said Ice, “you guys are crap at keeping secrets.”
***
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
“I want to know all of Tariq Ahmed’s secrets,” Manfred Lisker announced as he entered one of the secure briefing rooms in his department within Mossad’s headquarters.
Avi Lerner, his head of operations, sat at the conference table, only recently returned from Dubai. Beside him sat the department’s lead analyst, David Hitzig. The two men glanced at each other.
“Does this mean you’ve got nothing?”
“Not exactly,” said Avi. “But it is proving difficult.”
“Difficult?” Lisker looked at David as he sat at the head of the table.
“8200 has identified a secure communications network being used by Tariq’s employees within Priority Movements Airlift,” said David.
“His militant arm,” said Lisker.
“Yes. They’re using a highly sophisticated encrypted network to communicate. It’s taking a significant amount of analytical and processing power to break it.”
“Do we have an estimated timeframe?”
“As yet, no. However, the process would be significantly enhanced if we had access to a physical device.”
“Could Mantis provide that?” Lisker asked Avi.
Avi shook his head. “That would burn the network. We can’t trust her not to alert the others.”
“Her termination may achieve the same effect,” added David.
“True. We will delay her retirement until after we have gained access.”
The scowl on Avi’s face flagged his disappointment. “It may well be that she and Aden Bishop are Tariq’s only active operatives.”
“Not by my assessment,” said David. “8200 have indications that the network is extensive with at least a dozen active members and possibly many more who are dormant.”
“What about locations?” asked Lisker. “Do we know where any of these people are? Can we target them?”
“Not until they break the encryption. However, I am looking into Lascar real estate holdings, particularly in the UAE. I think they may have a safe house in the area.”
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Thank you, David.”
The analyst took the cue and left Avi and Lisker alone in the room.
“Well done on the mission in Dubai. Has Mantis left for Africa yet?”
“In the next few hours. I’ll also have one of my men on the ground to clean up.”
“Off the books?”
Avi nodded. “The best money can buy. How did South Africa go?”
“Ginsberg is building an impressive facility. His ongoing patronage will be paramount to our expansion into Africa.”
“A continent of opportunity,” agreed Avi. “When you green light Mantis’s termination do you want her boyfriend neutralized?”
“Not immediately. I want him to reveal the rest of the network. Keep him under surveillance. Then, when the conditions are right, we clean house. In the meantime I need you to recruit the required field teams. Use the Sakkin funding as you see fit. Additionally, I want an update on the operation in Egypt.”
“We’re ready for the next phase. All I need is the anti-tank weapons.”
Lisker rose from the table. “The shipment’s ready. Have Lascar make the delivery.”
***
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
Asher spotted Keila as she entered the upmarket seafood restaurant on the Tel Aviv Promenade. The Mossad operative wore a full-length blue and white polka dot dress with an elegant V neckline. She’d let her brown hair down to her shoulders, framing her green eyes.
He rose from the table and caught her eye with a raised hand. As she crossed the room he noticed a hint of makeup around her eyes and the faintest possibility of lipstick on her full lips. “Keila, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She smiled as she gave his white cotton shirt and linen pants the once over. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
They took a seat and Asher offered her the wine menu. She chose a bottle of sauvignon blanc and their waiter soon had both glasses full as they perused the extensive Mediterranean menu.
“How did you find this place?” Keila asked.
“My sister recommended it. She’s a real foodie.”
At the mention of his sibling she realized that she knew very little about Asher, other than the details of his military career. “Do you have any other siblings?”
“No, just a sister. Chantal works in banking here in Tel Aviv.”
The small talk continued and Keila soon found herself divulging the details of her own family and childhood. There was something about Asher that made her feel comfortable telling him things that even her teammates didn’t know. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a candid conversation with someone.
The conversation paused as they ordered their meals then Asher went on to tell her a little more about himself. It turned out they shared quite a few common interests, including a love for the outdoors, in particular, hiking.
When their meals arrived the conversation had progressed to their jobs. Keila was pleasantly surprised to find that Asher, like herself, wasn’t looking for a career. However, unlike her, he actually had a post-service plan. His dream was to leave the military and run his own business guiding clients on luxury hiking experiences.
“So,” said Asher once their plates had been removed. “I guess you want to know about the number.”
Distracted by good food, wine and great conversation Keila had forgotten all about the information Bishop had requested.
Asher took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slid it across the crisp white tablecloth. She placed her hand over it and slipped it into her palm.
“His name is Ross Krenich and he’s a people smuggler based in Kampala, Uganda. You’ve got the address on the paper.”
“Who had him on cover?” she asked.
He winked. “Some prick.”
“Why the hell would Lisker be interested in a scumbag smuggler in Uganda?”
He shrugged. “I just do as I’m told.”
“OK, last question. Any news on the Lascar network?”
“We’re close, very close. I’ll let you know when we crack it.”
She smiled. “OK, but enough about work. How do you feel about coffee and sweets?”
“I feel like that’s a great idea. There’s a wicked little bar a few blocks from here. They do an amazing caramel torte.”
“H
ow did you know I like caramel?”
“Just a guess. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Later that evening, once Asher had dropped her home, she dialed Bishop from a burner phone. He’d given her a new number during their meeting in Greece. Despite the late hour he picked up quickly.
“Hello.”
“Aden, it’s Keila. I’ve got the information you wanted.” She read off the name and address from Asher’s note.
“Thanks, greatly appreciated.” He sounded tired.
“You OK?”
“I’m fine. Just taking a little time off. How are things with you?”
Keila took a second to reflect on the date with Asher. The evening had been perfect and not surprisingly, she was looking forward to seeing him again. “I’m great. Life is really good.”
“Glad to hear it. Thanks again for the info.”
“Anytime.”
Keila placed the phone on her bedside table. She should have asked what Bishop’s intent was regarding Krenich. However, something told her that a little justice was coming to the people smuggler. The bonus was it might throw a spanner into something Lisker was planning, whatever that was.
***
NYAGATARE, RWANDA
Saneh parked her rented SUV out the front of Nyagatare’s Cityblue hotel and walked into the reception area with a barrel bag over her shoulder. Dressed in khaki slacks and grey polo shirt with her hair in a ponytail she looked every part the medical contractor that was her cover.
She’d flown into Kigali on a direct flight from Dubai, hired the car and driven it three hours to reach the town where her target was last reported to have been located. Given that Bianca was a blonde caucasian in a small Rwandan town, it wouldn’t take long to find her.
By the time she’d checked in and unpacked it was early evening. She grabbed a bite to eat in the hotel’s bistro then made a beeline for the bar. As she pushed through the frosted glass doors she was greeted by the mayhem of happy hour. The place was packed with exactly the crowd she was expecting.
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