Tripoli's Target

Chapter Eleven

Matthew Garnett was not the only person awaiting Justin’s arrival in the George Washington Conference Room on the third floor of the embassy’s east wing. A woman with a strawberry blonde ponytail and big emerald eyes — in her late thirties or early forties, Justin could not be certain — was sitting to Mr. Garnett’s left, around an oval-shaped mahogany table. A small laptop lay closed on the table in front of her. A dark-skinned man, who reminded Justin of the late Ali, but shorter and stubbier, sat across from them. He was busy fumbling with a gold-plated pen and a yellow notebook.

“Welcome, Justin,” Matthew said in a casual tone, as everyone stood up. “Let me introduce you to my team. This is Jordan Mahoney, the embassy’s political chief.” He gestured toward the woman and Justin shook her extended hand. “And this is Noureddine Milad, chief of security. He goes by Nour.” The man’s handshake resembled a clamp, as he firmly squeezed Justin’s fingers.

“How was your trip?” Matthew asked after they returned to their chairs, with Justin sitting to Nour’s left.

“It was good. Uneventful.”

“Custom officials treated you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m here, all in one piece.”

Matthew grinned. “How are things in Cairo?”

“Less flashy than Tripoli for sure.”

“I heard you had a brushfire last night too.”

Justin nodded. Obviously, Matthew has reliable sources in Cairo’s mukhabarat. Do they have anyone in the mukhabarat in Tripoli? “There’s always a brushfire I need to snuff out.”

“This one was really close though.”

“Yes, it was.”

Matthew laughed out loud. Then, he spread out his palms over the table.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get to the point of this briefing. Ms. Johnson informed us that your team came in possession of highly sensitive information about the visit of my President.”

“This conversation is not being recorded, right?” Justin asked while twirling his right index finger in the air, as if to point at security cameras hidden in the gray ceiling.

“No, of course not,” Matthew replied, “you requested that there be no evidence of this meeting ever taking place, and we share that view.”

“I’ll need a laptop to show you the evidence.”

Matthew nodded toward Jordan and she slid her laptop across to Justin. He raised the cover and pressed the power button. The machine quickly woke up, the screen ablaze with a bright, blue sky over Yosemite National Park.

“Is there a password for the Internet connection?” Justin asked.

“Yes, but you’re already logged in,” Jordan replied.

With a few quick keystrokes, Justin was on the Internet. He typed in a secure server address in the browser’s search toolbar. Half a second later, a window prompted him for an access code. Justin entered it and accessed a temporary database. Carrie had scanned most documents retrieved from the Sheikh’s briefcase and they were already uploaded to the secret servers.

“I’ll need a printer for some of the documents and the pictures,” Justin said.

“Simply hit print and they’ll come out at that machine.” Jordan pointed at the end of the room, where a printer was set up on a small office desk.

Justin tapped a few keys and dozens of pages began spilling out of the printer’s mouth. He went and gathered them and set the stack of papers, as well as a stapler, next to the laptop.

“Before we review this information, give me a quick debrief of what you already know about the Islamic Fighting Alliance, so I avoid any repetition,” he said.

“Sure,” Matthew said. “On any given day, we receive tens of threats against the life of the President and her family. This number, of course, multiplies when it comes to an announced, scheduled visit, like this one, to a hot area like North Africa. So, we’re aware of the threats and we have measures in place, to ensure the highest around-the-clock protection. By the time she lands in Tripoli, dozens of agents, in addition to local security personnel, will guarantee her safety throughout the forty-eight hours she’ll be here.”

Justin nodded. “Were you aware of specific death threats from the Islamic Fighting Alliance?”

“Yes, we know about the Alliance, how they operate, who funds them and the extent of their network of sleeping cells. They have been waging jihad against America and our interests in North Africa for many years.”

“True, however, the recent bombings are unprecedented, even by the Alliance’s standards,” Justin said.

Matthew shrugged. “Unprecedented yes, but not unexpected. Violence always spikes prior to the President visiting a rogue country. Last month, the Vice President visited Jordan and three suicide attacks rocked Amman, as late as the day of his arrival. These are simply pathetic attempts to force dignitaries to cancel their visit. As you know fully well, that’s not the habit of our chiefs. And, we’re not in the mood to start cowering at this time.”

“We thought these car bombings were random acts of violence, until we received this information.” Justin passed around two documents. “The first one is a detailed schedule of the President’s visit to Tripoli. Times, places, locations, size of escort, length of time to reach and duration of stay at a specific place, the works.”

Matthew nodded thoughtfully, while scanning the report. After he finished, he removed his black horn-rimmed glasses and tossed them over the report. Then, he combed what was left of his thin, gray hair, as the receding hairline had taken away more than half.

“All right,” he said, with a sigh, “it seems we have a mole, most likely somewhere in White House’s admin. There are many temps and press secretaries and interns who can get their hands into an early draft of the President’s schedule. I can tell you some of these details have already changed. So, this draft is probably two, three weeks old. I’ll inform DC right away and they can start smoking out the mole. What else do you have there?”

With a flick of his wrist, Justin flipped the other document to his right, first to Nour, and then to Matthew.

“Here’s a short extract of English transcripts of intercepted communications between members of the Alliance. They’re discussing the assassination plan, the means, the guns, the location, the participants. We have the complete Arabic recording, which we’ll make available to your team very soon.”

“This is serious,” Jordan said. “How did you obtain this information?”

“Unlike you Americans, we keep the option of negotiating with terrorists on the table,” Justin replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Jordan’s face turned a reddish hue. Nour and Mathew simply stared at Justin.

“I meant no offence,” Justin offered, more as an explanation, rather than an apology. His voice was steady, as he was used to making no excuse for his over-the-top bluntness. “I mean, look where we’re meeting. Tripoli, Libya. Twenty years ago, your President, Reagan, called the leader of this country at that time, Colonel Qaddafi, ‘the mad dog of the Middle East.’ Libya supported terrorists of all flags for over thirty years. But the US built hotels and explored for oil in the same country that once was your archenemy.”

“Libya agreed to hand over those responsible for the Lockerbie airplane bombing and renounced its programs of developing weapons of mass destructions,” Jordan said in a clear, solemn tone, as if addressing a crowd of supporters in a political rally. “It has always been the policy of the United States to lend a helping hand to its old friends, to welcome them in the international community, and to guide them in the long and difficult road toward democracy and progress. This is a time of change in the relationship between America and Libya. Especially now that Qaddafi is history and Libya is on a path to becoming a democratic country, our politicians are working hard to usher in a new era of cooperation.”

Justin shrugged. “In defense and oil contracts, I assume,” he mumbled.

Matthew dismissed Justin’s words with a hand gesture. Justin interpreted it as a signal to continue, but Matthew was not finished. “We shouldn’t forget that Libya is where it is today because we, Americans, showed him our wrath with Baghdad bombings in 2003. Qaddafi feared he was going to meet the same fate as Saddam, with a noose around his neck. So, he stopped supporting terrorists and rebel groups and stopped being a constant threat to global security. Then, he turned on his people when they began demanding change, and we, Americans, helped in getting rid of him. We’re here to support the new democratic regime and to make sure Libya doesn’t turn into a rogue nation or a safe haven for Islamic terrorists.”

Justin leaned back in his chair. “I thought Qaddafi had a change of heart because Al-Qaida issued a fatwa on his head. Islamic militants wanted to overthrow his regime and replace it with a Sharia law state, like Saudi Arabia. That’s the true reason he decided to draw nearer to the Western world.”

Matthew sighed. “Let’s get back to the intel, shall we?” he said.

“Sure. We were talking to people inside the Alliance and that allowed us to dig deeper into this plot. Our contacts with top-level militants produced this intel.”

Matthew gave his half-bald head a good scratch.

“And this information is reliable?” he asked finally.

“Absolutely. It came into my possession directly from one of the sheikhs of the Alliance. Needless to say, I can’t give you his name, but the intel is true. These conversations really took place. These schemes are really unfolding as we speak.”

Matthew heaved a deep, resigning sigh.

“I need those recordings, so our experts can pick them apart and match the terrorists’ voices to our database samples. Then, they’ll have to determine the authenticity of the transcripts as well. It’s not that we don’t trust your Service, but, if an assassination attempt is in the works, we need to analyze every piece of information ourselves.”

Justin nodded. “Do you want me to download the files to this laptop?”

Matthew replied “Please do.”

Jordan offered a slight nod as well.

“What intel do you have on the explosions?” Justin asked, while typing on the laptop’s keyboard.

Nour shifted in his chair and Justin knew it was the security chief’s turn.

“Terrorists launched a coordinated strike, targeting four hotels in the heart of Tripoli,” Nour said. “They hit the JW Marriot, Continental, Grand Hotel, and Radisson. These are all places frequented mostly by foreigners. Businessmen, contractors, tourists, mainly Westerners, which makes them legitimate targets for Islamic militants. The toll, as expected, is catastrophic. Eighty-five dead, more than a hundred and fifty wounded. We’ve confirmed twenty-five victims are Americans. An additional ten are reported as missing. The target of the fifth car bomb was the Gold Market, in the Old Town.”

A fifth car bomb? Johnson said nothing about a fifth car. How come we don’t know about it?

“The Old Town is also a preferred destination for Tripoli visitors,” Nour said. “Fortunately, the police neutralized the suicide bomber of that truck before he could detonate the explosives. He was a young man who obviously didn’t know how to set them off.”

Was? I guess he’s not anymore. “Did you talk to him?”

Nour shook his head.

“Libyans interrogated him already. He gave them some general information about an Alliance plan to kill the President, the Alliance’s war against the infidels, and other general threats. Then, he committed ‘suicide,’ as most prisoners do in Libya’s jails. Libyans kept this story out of the press, but they shared some information with us. We dismissed that man’s claims as irrelevant, until we received your intel.”

That’s why Johnson and our Cairo office didn’t learn about the fifth man. Still, I hate when Americans are one step ahead in the game.

“Anything else from the local investigation?” Justin asked.

“No, nothing else.”

“Have you examined the evidence? The car truck? The bomb? Interrogated any eyewitnesses?”

“This is not our investigation, Justin,” Matthew said. “The Internal Security Service is running the show. We have some contacts within the Agency, and we’re collecting pieces of information here and there, and completing this puzzle, one piece at a time.”

“In light of recent events, you may want to reconsider,” Justin said. “You don’t want another Benghazi.”

Matthew frowned. An angry mob had stormed the US Consulate in Benghazi, east of Tripoli, and had murdered the US Ambassador to Libya and three other Americans. Order and stability in Libya was still fragile.

“You’re not telling us how to do our job, are you?” Nour asked.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Justin replied, “after all it’s your President’s life under threat. Terrorists have made their move and it’s up to you to leave no stone unturned in protecting her. I’m not the one who’ll have to explain to her family and to the nation the President was blown to chunks, as a crucial piece of evidence was overlooked because of a technicality.” Justin finished by folding his arms across his chest.

“All right, Justin, I hear what you’re saying,” Matthew said. “And, since you’re insisting on an investigation, you’ll have it. Your boss offered us the CIS’s full cooperation, and I understand you’re here to provide us with more than a simple briefing. You claim to know all the ins and outs of this case, so I’m requesting your assistance in leading this joint investigation.”

Justin’s face remained calm. He had made no such claims, but he was expecting to be a major player in this operation ever since Johnson had dispatched him to Tripoli. He knew his task consisted of more than simply delivering a message.

Nour frowned and his displeasure did not go unnoticed by Matthew.

“Nour, you’ll work together with Justin, representing our interests in gathering this information. This will be an unofficial investigation; however, the embassy will provide all necessary support. I expect the CIS will put its contingent of operatives in the country at the disposal of this investigation.”

“Johnson will have to authorize that and the CIS’s role in this operation,” Justin said.

“Of course. In principle, she has already given her seal of approval, but I’ll let you and her figure out the details.”

Justin drew in a deep breath. “Since we’ll be working closely, do you mind sharing your intel on the current situation of terrorism in Libya and in the region?”

He could not ask directly if the US was aware of the Mossad’s agents conducting assassination missions against senior terrorist leaders in Sudan. Therefore, he tried to frame his question as broadly as possible, without raising any suspicions.

Matthew gestured with his left hand toward Nour.

“Libya is relatively stable. After the civil war ended, acts of terrorism have been rare. The recent improvement of Libya’s relationship with the West has brought in investments, money, higher standards of living. A few people are upset by these developments and some Qaddafi’s supporters are trying to spread fear among the people. Then there are people settling old scores and creating new feuds. Libya is awash in weapons and many young men are using them to resolve their arguments.”

Justin nodded.

“There are some weak factions of former rebel groups that fought Qaddafi who seem to be reconsidering their objectives,” Nour said. “Now, they’re targeting Westerners and foreign interests in Libya, and filling up the terrorists’ ranks. The Islamic Fighting Alliance recently began a wave of attacks throughout North Africa. First Algeria, then Morocco, and Tunisia. They’re penetrating every country in the region, vowing to burn the entire continent, until the last of the ‘white colonialists’ are thrown into the ocean.”

“How strong is the Alliance and who finances it?” Justin asked.

“We believe they have a couple of hundred men, armed and ready at all times. There are many other supporters, mainly outside Libya. They have strong links to militants in Algeria and, to a lesser extent, in Egypt. Money pours in from wealthy Saudis, in the form of ‘private donations’ or through different types of ‘charitable foundations.’ Other financing comes from smuggling weapons or immigrants across the borders of Libya and Egypt.”

“What kind of support is the US providing to these countries to fight the Alliance and terrorism in general?”

“Technical and training assistance.”

Justin was not expecting such a dull and short reply from Nour. Earlier that year the US had targeted objectives described as “terrorist training camps” and “weapons facilities” in Sudan. They also launched air strikes against Islamic militant “strongholds” in eastern Syria, and “selective targets” in various locations in southern Somalia, against Islamic rebel factions.

“Anything else you want to know?” Nour asked.

“No, it’s enough for now.”

In fact, Justin wanted to ask whether the security chief had any intelligence about other foreign countries involved in military operations in the region. He decided not to trigger the Americans’ intuition about the real motive of his question.

“I’ve finished downloading everything on your laptop,” Justin said. “There are a few pictures of some of the Alliance’s known suspects, which will help you in identifying them, as well as a couple of amateur videos of the bombings in the city. As you can see from the clips, there were many witnesses who can provide us with information about these bombings.”

“Tomorrow you’ll get a chance to hit the streets of Tripoli, looking for these witnesses,” Matthew said. “If that’s everything, we thank you for your assistance.”

Justin nodded, as he stood up.

They shook hands.

“Do you need a ride to your hotel?” Matthew asked.

“No, thanks, I’ll get a cab.”

“Whatever you need, let me know.”

“Thanks. At the moment, I can’t think of anything.”

“Stay safe.”

“You too.”

Justin shook Jordan’s slender hand and braced himself for Nour’s bone-crushing grip. Fortunately, this time Nour spared Justin the knuckle-crunching experience.

“Where do you want to meet tomorrow?” Nour asked.

“If you can pick me up at my hotel, Corinthia, at 8:15 a.m. That would be great.”

“Sure, I’ll see you there.”

“Perfect.”