OUTCAST Ops: African Firestorm

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

To travel the three and a half miles from Axiam's warehouse to the coast, The CIA agent used a WWII-era jeep he had stored in one of the other compound buildings. Axiam rode up front with Madar driving, while both Liam and Stephen sat in the back. The road was nothing more than a dirt track that ran alongside a mostly-dry creek bed, and while the Jeep still ran, both OUTCAST operatives could feel every rut and bump as Madar drove at what seemed to them an unsafe speed.

Despite all that, they reached the coastal area in just a few minutes. This part of the town was about a third of the size of the interior part of Eyl, longer than it was wide, and sandwiched between a steep-sided hill and the ocean. Almost as soon as they drove into town, they saw armed men walking along the side of the road. Like the ones from the roadblock this morning, then men wore a mix of civilian and military garb. They gave the jeep a long look as it dove past them, but when Liam looked back, they were still walking.

In front of them, Liam caught sight of a large ship anchored off shore. Because of the buildings blocking his view, he couldn't see much beyond the top of the superstructure, but it was definitely a cargo ship. A rusting crane arm that rose higher than the first ship's superstructure indicated a second ship.

Madar took a blind left turn and pulled the jeep to a stop in front of a low, wide building with white walls and writing over the arched doorway in a language Liam didn't recognize. Loud music was playing and the smell of food and strong coffee wafted from the windows.

Axiam got out and looked around to make sure they were alone. "Stay here and guard the jeep," he said in a low voice. "Chances are Yabaal already has eyes on us, so stick with the jeep for now. My second stop is closer to the beach, so that's your best chance to get your recon in without arousing much suspicion. Just stand close to the jeep and glare at anyone who gets close. Yabaal knows better than to piss me off without a good reason, but he wouldn't mind taking over the khat business if he gets the chance. We'll be only ten, fifteen minutes."

He motioned to Madar and the two entered the building.

Both Liam and Stephen were dressed the same way they had been earlier, but with the addition of sunscreen and sunglasses. They carried the AK-47s, as the MP5s would have stuck out like sore thumbs. The keffiyeh covered their throats, hiding the throat mikes they each wore.

"Two to Prime," Liam said softly, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he walked to the front of the Jeep. "We're at JACKPOT, possible target, but cannot confirm."

"Why not?" Tanner asked.

"Too many buildings in the way. CAYMAN has said there's a second location with a better view, but he doesn't want to rouse the local tangos."

"Understood. Stay alert for any misdirection."

Liam turned and found Stephen talking to a teenage boy. The youth was thin, his skin darken from the sun until he was almost black. He wore a once-white T-shirt three sizes too large and shorts held in place with a length of rope. The conversation was quiet but animated with gestures. After a bit, Stephen gave the boy something and the kid smiled and ran off. Liam waited until the boy was out of sight before walking over and talking to Stephen.

"What did you find out?"

"There are Arabs on both ships out there. The kid can't read, but he described the Northstar Venture well enough. As for the other ship, they both arrived at the same time and have been anchored out there since then."

"Any prisoners here?"

"No. If there had been any, Yabaal would have made a big deal about parading them around, but he hasn't."

"What about this second ship?"

"Smaller than the Northstar, and the kid says it looks old. Once we have the name, we can have Dani look it up."

"Anything else?'

"Yabaal has been out to the big ship several times, and the boy said he brought back new weapons with him. Apparently, one of other warlords wants this town and a battle is brewing."

"Shit," Liam breathed. "Did the kid have anything else on the Arabs?"

"Only that they stay mostly out on the ships. There were a few who came ashore, but they flew off in a helicopter."

Suddenly Axiam strode out, followed by Madar. From his expression and posture, the khat dealer was angry. He grunted for Liam and Stephen to get back into the jeep. The two OUTCASTs jumped in the back and they drove off.

They headed along the beach, and after a hundred yards, the buildings on Liam's right gave away to the sand and the pair's first clear view of the two ships anchored offshore. One was the Northstar Venture — green hull, white superstructure, funnel with the SeaStar logo on it. The other ship was smaller and looked like a cargo tramp steamer, all grays and rust, anchored close to the Northstar.

A large number of armed Somalis milled about, again wearing a mix of civilian and military clothes. Some of them worked on the beach, unloading crates from a skiff. Other men and a few woman, wearing brightly colored headscarves, went about their daily business, paying the armed men little or no attention. The jeep attracted a few glances as they passed, but no one seemed to pay serious attention to it.

The drive took only a couple of minutes. Their destination was a two-story, red-roofed building with white walls, set back from the dirt road. Despite the short trip, by the time they got there, Axiam had managed to reign in his temper. Once Madar put the jeep in park, Axiam got out and faced the Americans.

"Looks like Yabaal’s been plundering.”

"Isn't that what pirates do?" Liam asked.

"Not these days. The real money is in ransoms — for the crew and the ships themselves. Cargo is left intact, as it's good for business and it's mostly stuff pirates can't use anyway. What's a poor fisherman going to do with a sixty-inch plasma TV? Or an iPad? They won't buy you food or khat. But the coffee shop back there had three new TVs and a bunch of laptops lying around. That's cargo from the Northstar."

"Any prisoners?"

"None. I've had my people check the local places where sailors are usually held, and they’re empty. Which means that either the crew are still on the ship, or—"

"They're dead," Stephen said.

Axiam's expression darkened. "That’s another no-no in the pirate way of business. Live sailors are worth money, dead ones are not and it's really bad for business. The rest of the world is hesitant to drop the hammer on these bastards because they don’t want to get the hostages caught in the crossfire. But if the sailors are dead, the entire situation could get real ugly."

Liam turned to look at the ships at anchor. "We need to get a closer look."

"Madar can guard the jeep this time," Axiam said. "Mr. Reilly can come with me to my meeting and use the balcony up there for some photos."

"I'm going to walk back the way we came and see if there's anything I can find out," Stephen said.

"Pretend to be Yemini," Axiam told him. "Khat is a national obsession with them, and a few of them come through as guards or buyers. Be careful with any Arabs you run into. According to the coffee shop owner, they are a bit paranoid about people asking questions."

Stephen nodded. "I'll see what intel I can pick up by listening."

Stephen Shah had been a CIA field agent, specializing in the Middle East, before he'd been fired. Unlike in the movies, most fieldwork is slow and dull, with the chance of being caught. In most civilized countries, capture meant prison, or if they were lucky, expulsion from the country in question. Here, in near-lawless Somalia, getting caught meant almost certain death, after a long and painful interrogation.

Yet Stephen walked down the street with an arrogant swagger, AK-47 slung over his shoulder. The Somalis who noticed him assumed he was with the other Arabs. As he walked along, his senses were alert for anything out of the ordinary.

When he saw no one in sight, he stepped between two building and onto the beach. Dozens of people filled the beach, mostly Somalians who were either preparing to go out fishing or had already returned. But there were two groups that held Stephen's interest. One was a small crowd of Somalian men wearing the same mismatch of clothes as the roadblock soldiers. The second and much smaller group of Arabs, dressed in green fatigues, unloaded crates from a skiff.

Stepping into the shadow of the building next to him, Stephen produced a small digital camera and took pictures of the two groups as they unloaded crates from the skiff. He took the photos as fast as he could, making sure to get as many faces and shots of the crates as possible. Stephen put the camera away and hurried back the way he had come.

He reached the road and began walking again.

Twice more, he slipped between buildings and snapped photographs of the warlord's men, the Arabs, and the ships. The second time, one of the crates was open and AK-47 magazines were being removed and handed out to each Somali thug standing there.

Shah slipped out onto the dirt road and continued walking. A couple of buildings ahead of him, two armed Somalis lounged in front of a building. Neither was alert, so Stephen started to turn into an alley next to the building when a trio of men strode out the door, past the two lax guards and onto the street.

Instantly, Stephen became alert. All three were Arabs, and two of them were escorting the third, an officer. All three wore green fatigues and a white keffiyeh with a black agai— a rope wrapped around the head to keep the keffiyeh in place. Two of them carried AK-47s while the third toted a weapon featuring a "bullpup" design — the magazine being located behind the trigger housing — along with a holstered pistol.

They turned toward Stephen and he saw the officer's eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Who are you and why are you here?"