Choke Point

TWENTY-FIVE

It was an old Libyan fishing trawler moored at the marina for who knew how long, and when Ross lowered his binoculars and glanced over at Maziq, the man was typing furiously on his laptop computer. Pepper, who was hunkered down beside Ross on the church’s rooftop, gave a curt nod and said, ‘If you want to go new school, then Kozak’s our man for this. Pair him up with Maziq and cut ’em loose. I can use one of the drones and run surveillance on the trawler. I’ll give them the signal if and when he leaves.’

Ross thought about that plan as he raised his binoculars and zoomed in on the boat once more. She was a medium-size trawler, about eighty feet, with a meager boom and dark red stains running down from her hawse pipe. Her pocket-shaped nets lay piled on her deck, and judging from their faded appearance, they hadn’t been used in some time. Perhaps the trawler’s owner had just moored her there and walked away from the boat and his business, who knew. For the past thirty minutes there’d been no movement within or around the vessel, although Ross had thought he’d seen someone near a window of the navigation bridge, but a second look proved him wrong.

According to Maziq’s intel, Tamer, the CIA man they needed to ‘neutralize,’ had set up shop on the boat because it offered an unobstructed view of the Fadakno warehouses.

‘Pepper, I like your plan,’ said Ross. ‘The only problem is this — if I’m Tamer, I don’t go anywhere without my computer, and if we’re going to compromise the information he’s receiving from Langley, then we sure as hell need access to that computer.’

Pepper squinted into the distance. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It’s complicated, but there’s a way to make that happen. We just need Maziq to call in a few favors.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

30K used one hand to hold the blanket tightly at his chin as he shifted quickly behind two natural-gas-powered forklifts parked beside stacks of wooden shipping pallets. Beside them lay rows of small boxes printed with the Fadakno logo. The mechanics were on the other side of the plane, standing atop their ladder, with the fuselage blocking 30K from their view.

Kozak, who was observing the entire hangar via the Dragonfly, spoke softly to 30K as he moved: ‘Okay, bro. You’re still clear.’

30K took a deep breath, left the wall, and began to cross the open area between the pallets and the plane — just five meters between himself and the forward landing gear.

‘Dude, wait!’ Kozak whispered loudly.

One of the mechanics came trudging down the ladder, wiping his hands on a greasy rag and shouting back to his buddy about what an incompetent asshole he was and how he had a good mind to just walk out on him.

The man crossed to a small workbench, fished around in a box of tools, then turned back toward the plane with several socket wrenches in his hands. He took about three steps –

Then froze, staring in 30K’s direction.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Kozak. ‘Do not move.’