Fog of War

Chapter Eight

The NYPD cordoned off the area around the Ambassador Hotel in a matter of minutes. The wounded were loaded into ambulances, and firemen used the Jaws of Life more than once to extract people from mangled vehicles. Department of Homeland Security agents arrived at the scene soon thereafter. After they interrogated a few eyewitnesses, heard Justin’s testimony, and confirmed his identity, they whisked them off in one of their Chevrolet SUVs to a hospital and then to their local office. Justin repeated his account to DHS senior officials, skipping over his meeting with Romanov, but otherwise leaving out no details. Satisfied with Justin’s replies and his offer about Canadian Intelligence Service’s full cooperation, DHS agents offered to drive him and Anna back to their hotel. After cleaning up and gathering their belongings, they boarded a flight to Ottawa.

The tragic turn of events had drastically changed their plans, pressing new priorities into Justin’s schedule. He dropped off Anna at her townhouse, ending their short-lived romantic getaway with a goodnight kiss. McClain had called an emergency meeting at CIS headquarters to discuss the information obtained from NCS, the evolving situation of the intelligence leak, and the recent car bombing in New York.

Justin flashed his credentials to the guards at the gate of the CIS complex, and they waved him through at once. He arrived at the massive marble building a few minutes before the meeting scheduled to begin at two in the morning. The parking lot was half-full, a usual sight for an agency that never slept. He parked at the first available spot and hurried to the main entrance, slightly annoyed at yet another security checkpoint. The young intelligence officers put his briefcase through the X-ray scanner and asked him to walk through the metal detector. They examined his badge at length, eyeing him suspiciously and comparing his face to his photo ID, reminding Justin of his early days in the Service. He had been doing this exact same job for a few weeks, and he had soon learned to learn to trust his instincts rather than just go by the rules.

After getting back his ID, Justin climbed the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. The Maple Leaf Conference Room was at the end of the fourth floor, right by where he used to have an office. He slowed down for a moment when passing by the door, where now hung a sign with another man’s name.

“Hello everyone, sorry I’m late,” Justin said as he entered the room.

McClain stood up from his seat across the large oval table. “How are you doing?” A look of concern spread over his square, unshaven face. He walked over and shook Justin’s hand.

“OK. The explosion spared me, but for a few bruises.” He pointed to his lips and the right side of his face.

“Glad to hear it.” McClain patted Justin’s shoulders. “And Anna, how’s she doing?”

“She’s fine too. Thanks for asking.”

“The Americans patched you really well,” Carrie said, before giving Justin a hug.

“Yeah, and they didn’t charge me for the pleasure.” Justin rubbed his left forearm. “Still stiff from the stiches.”

“Coffee?” McClain asked, returning to his seat.

A brown plastic carafe and a few mugs sat on a small table in one of the corners by the window.

“Sure.” Justin poured himself a cup and looked at the dim lights of Ottawa’s skyline. A blurry moon struggled to show its face from behind thick clouds.

“Well, we’ve analyzed the NCS files.” McClain said, opening one of the folders in front of him after Justin has sat down and had taken the first sip of his coffee. “Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, depending on the point of view, they’re right. Al-Shabaab has come to possess accurate, up-to-date intel about our operations on the ground.”

Justin nodded.

McClain continued, “I’ve personally reviewed all our communications, among me, you, and Nathan, about the Iran operation. I’ve also sought technical expertise from our cyber analysts. We all concluded that someone has succeeded in penetrating our Service’s firewalls, defeating our secure encryption system, and accessing our sensitive data.”

“Al-Shabaab is doing all this from some broken down mud hole in southern Somalia?” Justin asked.

“No, of course not. The data-stealing worm, as the cyber techs call it, was installed by someone working on the inside. Inside our Service.” McClain let his last words hang in the air for a few moments. “The worm is still active, but we’ve quarantined it. Our techs have strengthened some of the firewalls.”

Justin exchanged a quick glance with Carrie. She shrugged, as if to say it had not been her call. “Quarantined? Why not remove it completely? And why not strengthen or replace all our firewalls?”

McClain ran his hand through his receding, yet still mostly black hair. “That was my initial thought too, but we haven’t identified who installed the worm and the location where it’s transmitting the data. So we’re—”

“You’re keeping it active to monitor it and bait the traitor,” Justin said.

“Yeah. We’re allowing it to go in a safe direction, giving it non-secret or worthless intel about old or bogus operations.”

“Wouldn’t the people behind this worm clue in soon to your tactics?”

McClain sighed. “We just hope it’s not going to be that soon, at least not before we have uncovered their identity and their hideout.”

Justin chewed on McClain’s words. “It may work if these people are dumb enough. But the fact they were able to breach our defenses tells me that’s not the case.”

McClain’s eyes narrowed, focusing on Justin’s face. “True, which makes it even more important for us to act fast and capture this son of a bitch.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’ve started to review all new hires and dismissals during the last six months. It’s going to take some time, since I’m keeping the circle of people who are in the know quite small.”

Justin nodded and looked at Carrie. She had removed her eyeglasses and was rubbing her temples. A couple of curls had fallen over her eyes.

McClain continued, “But we have a starting point. We know it involves you and al-Shabaab.”

A brief pause followed, then Carrie said, “And we know this is personal. Someone is personally targeting you. First in Iran, then in New York.”

“Well, not exactly,” Justin said. “The attack against the Navy SEALs in Somalia had nothing to do with me.”

“It did involve you, albeit indirectly,” McClain replied. “Your team assessed the intelligence about that operation.”

Justin frowned. “Yes, and the intel was solid, as was our assessment,” he said in a stern voice.

“I have no doubts about it, Justin.” McClain’s voice also took a heavier, forceful tone. “I’m not accusing you or even suggesting there were any errors on your part or on the part of your team for that matter.”

“All right.” Justin spread his palms over the table. “Just wanted to make that clear,” he added in a softer voice.

“It is clear. Now, it seems you’re the common denominator in all these attacks. They’re shadowing you really close, and I don’t want to give them another chance at taking a shot at you. These bastards are coming after you, and we’re going after them.”

Justin smiled. “I was hoping you would say that, sir.”

McClain nodded. He took out a small manila envelope from a folder and slid it toward Justin. “Here’s your new smartphone with the updated encryption.”

Justin pulled out his old BlackBerry from his briefcase and handed it to McClain.

“Not sure if your old phone is compromised, but let’s take no chances,” McClain said.

“I haven’t used it since last night.”

“Our techs will tear it apart.” McClain set it aside, next to his other folders. “If there’s a tracker, software or hardware, they’ll find it.”

“I had an interesting meeting right before the bomb blast,” Justin said.

He told them about the stolen surface-to-air missiles and Romanov’s proposal.

McClain listened carefully.

Carrie could barely hide her contempt. She hated Russia and everything Russian. It reminded her of the unclosed wound of her father killed in action. Romanov might be trying to help her find her father’s remains, but she still hated the man.

McClain leaned back in his seat, then loosened the tight knot of his black tie. He said, “Is this related to our leak?”

“It could be, especially if al-Shabaab gets hold of that arsenal.”

“And Romanov wants you to recover the shipment? Alone?” Carrie asked. Her tone of voice indicated the impossibility of such a mission and the craziness of even considering it.

“Yes, he suggested I retrieve the missiles. I didn’t agree to his proposal, so we didn’t get into other details,” Justin said with a shrug.

McClain shook his head. “I can’t authorize such an operation. Not in these circumstances and not now. I see the need to remove such precious cargo from the reach of al-Shabaab, but first, we’ve got to catch this mole.”

Justin opened his mouth, but McClain raised his right hand, stopping him. “I know what you’re going to say. We’ve isolated the worm, but it’s not enough. I don’t want a similar breach to happen again, especially if you’re deep in the badlands of Yemen, surrounded by packs of insurgents.”

Justin nodded. “Fine, but we can’t tell the Americans about Romanov’s deal gone sour. He spoke with me in confidence.”

“Understood,” McClain said in a slightly annoyed tone. He thought a moment about what he was going to say next, then reached for a document in a folder. “I said earlier we’re going after al-Shabaab. Here’s our best chance.”

Justin glanced at the paper.

“Our military intel has intercepted two conversations between senior al-Shabaab officials. Hassan Khalif Yusuf is the man in charge of a cell operating in southern Somalia. One of the men responsible for the New York bombing tonight was a member of his cell.” McClain passed a full-page color photo to Justin.

The man staring at him had small, but piercing dark eyes, a full black beard with a couple of gray spots, and a large bony nose. A black-and-white headscarf covered his forehead, a flap falling along the left side of his head. The barrel of a machine gun was visible in the background.

Justin took another look at the photo, memorized the face, then moved it toward Carrie. She glanced at Justin, who gave her a slight nod. “NCS showed me an older picture of Yusuf. He seems thinner here,” Justin said.

“His cell has the intel that endangered our recent operations,” McClain continued. “And yes, he’s lost some weight. Yusuf is sick. Kidney failure. Somalia doesn’t have the greatest health care system, and Yusuf is on so many blacklists, he can’t leave the country.”

“Do we know his current location?” Carrie asked.

“Yes, well, we know where he was yesterday. And we also know he’s on the move.” McClain pulled a couple of reports from one of his folders. “According to our intelligence, Yusuf is scheduled to see a doctor in three days, near El Wak, in southwest Somalia. He’s travelling light, with just three guards, as to not bring too much attention to himself.” He handed one of the reports to Justin, the other to Carrie.

Justin skimmed through the first page. “Do we have any assets in that part of the country?”

McClain sighed. “We don’t and neither does NCS.”

“MI6?” asked Carrie.

McClain shook his head. “Not that we’re aware of. The entire region is a wasteland, apart from a small village here and there — a few huts more than anything else — and a couple of struggling refugee camps. The drought and famine have devastated almost everything, and al-Shabaab is cutting down the few people still standing.”

Justin said, “Anyone from the camps we can use for infil and exfil?”

McClain shuffled through his papers. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled a couple of photos and a few maps. “Birgit Fredriksen. She’s the UN representative at Dagadera camp, a hundred miles south of El Wak.”

“Fredriksen. Danish?” Carrie asked.

“Swedish,” McClain replied. He handed the photos to Carrie and the maps to Justin. “Last year, she helped hide a couple of MI6 agents on a rescue mission. Their team was ambushed by unknown militants near the Somalia-Kenya border, somewhere around here.” He pointed to a particular point on the first map. “Our sources tell us she has a solid background. I’ve got a file on her.”

“Did she know they were MI6?” Justin asked.

“No. They said they were kidnapped tourists who were able to get away,” McClain replied.

“And it worked?” Carrie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It did. I don’t know if Fredriksen bought it. The truth is, she provided medical assistance and kept them hidden until the arrival of another rescue team.”

Justin studied the map showing the area surrounding the town of El Wak, the border cutting through its center. “For this to work, Birgit will have to pick us up near El Wak, then drive us to the village where Yusuf is seeing his doctor.”

“She’ll do that. Fredriksen will bring to this mission her knowledge and reputation. She has been working in Somalia for over ten years, the last six of them spent in this region,” McClain said, gesturing with his head toward the map.

“Then, after we snatch Yusuf, she’ll have to drive us into Kenya. So we’ll have to tell her about our mission, which will put her in grave danger,” Justin said. His voice turned low as he spoke the last words.

McClain’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “That can’t happen. She’s already in danger, working and living in an area infested with insurgents, witnessing battles among tribes and all-out wars. She doesn’t need any of our problems.”

“So we’ll have to get our own transport for exfil,” Carrie said. “We’ll take whatever Yusuf’s men are driving. By then, we should be familiar with the way out.”

“Yes, that could work,” Justin said. “What if we went in with our own transport?”

“I was thinking about it,” McClain replied, “but that adds additional risks. You’ll be a much more visible and precious target. Our CIS station in Nairobi will secure you a vehicle, which you can use at least some of the time.”

Justin nodded. “That would be good. This border is just in a line on a map. If Birgit meets us a few miles inside Somalia, then gets us close to the village, we’ll take care of the exit.”

McClain’s drew back his lips to form a thin line. He shook his head slowly, then said, “You need a more concrete plan. What if Yusuf’s SUV is disabled in the firefight? You may not be able to find another car. This area is al-Shabaab’s heartland, and you’ll have people shooting at you from all directions. Women. Children. And you’ll have no backup.”

“Agreed.” Justin spread out his hands, leaning forward. He tapped the map on the Somali side. “According to the intel, we’ll be about twenty miles in. Let’s have Birgit be our backup plan. If we can’t get our hands on a car, she’ll be our next option. Kenyan troops should also have a couple of choppers on standby, in case things get really ugly. They’ll be our last resort.” Justin placed his index finger on the Kenyan side, west of El Wak.

McClain nodded. “The Kenyans will play ball. Al-Shabaab is a big pain in their ass. A string of car bombs have targeted their cities, and militants routinely raid their border towns and villages.”

Justin rubbed his chin, then scratched the corner of his left jaw, just below one of his bruises.

“What are you thinking, Justin?” McClain asked.

“How will we convince Birgit to help us?”

“I’ve got some pull with high officials at the UN mission here. We helped them a year ago when five of their workers were kidnapped near the Dabaab refugee camp in Kenya, close to the border with Somalia, not far from where you’re going. We negotiated their release, so I’m sure they’ll return us the favor.”

“Perfect,” said Justin.

“I’ll get you on a plane to Nairobi, then to Wajir.” McClain pointed at the second map. “It has a decent airport, a tarmac runway, the only one north of Garissa, which is almost 200 miles south. Wajir is about sixty miles from the border with Somalia. You’ll travel as part of a diplomatic mission, so get all your gear ready. We have limited resources on the ground.”

“Will do,” said Carrie. She handed over Fredriksen’s photos to Justin.

The first one was a close-up. She was behind the steering wheel of a vehicle. Sweat, dirt, and fatigue were clear on her face, but Birgit was still a pretty woman, with blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a straight, narrow nose. She had thin lips and long blonde curls tied in a ponytail. The second photo showed her among a crowd of African children, probably from Dagadera camp. She looked as happy as they were to receive food and other supplies she was handing them.

“Now, get some sleep,” McClain said, closing his folder. “You’ll head out tomorrow, well today in the morning. We’ll convene here for a pre-mission briefing at zero nine hundred. By then, I should have more details about this operation.”

“And the mole?” Carrie asked.

“We’ll input data in our systems about a recon mission in northern Somalia to throw off al-Shabaab. That should give you some extra cover. Hopefully, Yusuf will give up his source, and we’ll find this traitor.”

McClain provided Justin and Carrie with detailed topographical maps of the border area, recent satellite photographs, and a collection of pictures of known and suspected al-Shabaab militants active in the area. More importantly, the agents received aerial shots of the village of Barjaare and of the house where the doctor was expected to treat the terrorist mastermind. A RQ-170 Sentinel reconnaissance drone was expected to secure real-time intelligence on any movements of militants, and the CIS station of Southeast Africa Division in Nairobi was going to monitor the operation and provide constant updates.

During the flight from Ottawa to Nairobi, Justin and Carrie re-examined the files received from NCS and McClain. They met in Nairobi with the two operatives that formed the entire CIS presence in the country. McClain was not kidding when he said they had limited resources on the ground. The station operated out of the High Commission of Canada to Kenya to provide the operatives with the vital diplomatic cover that came with being “members” of the Canadian Defense Advisor’s office.

McClain had vouched for the two CIS operatives, but Justin still kept their involvement and their knowledge about the operation to the necessary minimum. He relied on the operatives to secure a safe house for them in Nairobi, but he swept the apartment for bugs, and Carrie and he took turns keeping guard during the night.

They received updated intelligence from the Nairobi station in the morning. Al-Shabaab fighters had clashed with Kenya Defense Forces north of Wajir and around the border area last evening. Six people were dead, and several Kenyans were kidnapped. Al-Shabaab had taken the hostages back to Somalia, while Kenyan troops were sent in to pursue them. The army had set up checkpoints every ten miles or so, but its clampdown on the insurgents had not affected flights to Wajir Airport.

While it was still possible to fly the agents’ baggage — along with their weapons — under the label of “diplomatic mail,” it would be difficult to explain their arsenal if discovered at an army checkpoint. Justin and Carrie travelled on diplomatic passports. Even so, the presence of two Canadian senior officials in a war zone, heavily armed and without bodyguards, would raise a lot of suspicions. Everyone would realize they were anything but diplomats.

Justin and Carrie were not about to abandon their mission so far into it. Their cover of freelance journalists in the area to report on the recent incursions was going to allow them a certain freedom of movement, especially if they were not carrying any weapons or suspicious gear. They decided to change their travel plans and cross into Somalia closer to Wajir, to avoid at least some of the checkpoints. Birgit would have to meet them at another location, farther down south, away from El Wak. The use of aerial surveillance was out of the question, to avoid detection by Kenyan helicopters and fighter jets patrolling the airspace.

Justin and Carrie knew the bitter truth. They were going into this extremely dangerous operation completely on their own, without any weapons, and almost blind.