Tripoli's Target

Chapter Nineteen

“So, who is the target?” Justin pointed at the document. “May I see that?”

“We still don’t know.” Matthew gestured for Justin to pick up the folded sheet lying on the desk.

Justin scanned the half page transcript of a phone call. Two short paragraphs from someone identified as “Seif” indicated the US President was not the intended target of the assassination attempt. Furthermore, the transcript noted that Sheikh Issa Mahub Al-Arhabi, the head of the Islamic Fighting Alliance, was planning to travel to Yemen the next day.

“Who’s Seif?” Justin handed the transcript to Carrie.

“Our man within Sheikh’s intimate circle,” Matthew replied.

“Can you trust him?”

“So far his intel has never failed.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this Seif?” Carrie handed the document back to Justin, who gave it a second look.

Matthew shrugged. “Homeland Security protocol. Plus, I wasn’t sure what Seif was going to find out.”

Justin finished reading the transcript a third time and placed it back on the desk. He rubbed his palms together and took a step forward, getting closer to Matthew. “What’s next?” he asked.

Matthew spread his arms. “Business as usual,” he said with a chuckle, “as long as my President is not the target, I don’t really care. Terrorists can blow up whoever they want.”

“You can’t be serious,” Carrie said. “We have solid evidence that something big is under way, and you’re simply going to stand and watch from the sidelines?”

A stern gaze froze Matthew’s face. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m going to be right in the middle of the shitstorm, right in front of the presidential limo, on the lookout for any son of a bitch who dares to smile funny at the convoy. So, don’t you dare tell me how to do my job!”

Carrie raised a protective hand. “Hey, no need to be pissed off at me. We both want the same thing.”

Matthew’s left side of the face twitched as he produced a fake grin. “We do, but the two of you have a reckless way of getting results. I want my President’s visit to go as smooth as possible: in and out the country without firing a shot. The two of you, you want to get to the bottom of this story, which is beyond my interests.”

The phone on the desk rang.

“What is it?” Matthew barked at the caller. He listened for a minute then shook his head. “Ehe, ehe,” he said. Then he hung up.

“Guess who that was?” Matthew pointed at Justin. “Your minder from Internal Security, Abdul. One of the extremists they’ve been torturing since last night finally spilled his guts. And you’ve got your answer. The target of the Alliance is the Prime Minister of Libya.”

“What?” Justin shouted. “You must be joking.”

“What? The islamists want to kill the Prime Minister?” Carrie asked.

Matthew nodded. “If you believe this poor man’s confession.”

Justin’s lips pursed. “A man under torture would admit to anything.”

“Well, your initial suspicions came because of information obtained through torture. Whether you like it or not, this is how things are done in Libya,” Matthew said.

Justin decided it was not worth correcting him. The agents had received the details of the assassination plot from Sheikh Ayman, in exchange for Canada’s mediation between the Islamic Fighting Alliance and the Libyan authorities. The confession of the wannabe suicide bomber had served as collaborating evidence to support their theory. However, this latest piece of information came as a fierce blow, knocking down the idea about a conspiracy to assassinate the American President. Justin realized Sheikh Ayman had lied to them about the true target of the plot.

“Well, I’m out of here,” Matthew said. “If you’d like to tell the Libyans more about the extremists’ plot, be my guests. But since this intel came from them in the first place, I’m sure they have a handle on things. This isn’t the first time an attempt has been made on their Prime Minister’s life.”

“But—” Carrie began, as Matthew walked to the door, but Nour interrupted her with a promising wink and a flick of his wrist.

“As I said earlier, this is no longer my business.” Matthew turned around and raised his left hand to his eyes, making a quick I am keeping an eye on you gesture. “And it’s none of your business either. Nour will arrange for your transportation tomorrow at zero six hundred. Is everything clear?”

“Yes, sir, it is clear,” Justin replied.

Carrie just nodded.

“And no tricks, Justin. There will be no other shoot ‘em up under my watch.” Matthew raised a finger in the air and waived it in front of their faces.

“We get it. We’ll do our job from inside this trap hole,” Carrie said.

Matthew forced out a snort. “You’ll thank me later.”

Then, he walked out the room.

“What a jerk,” Carrie mumbled. She walked over to Nour, who had a slight grin on his face. “So, you’re going to help us escape?”

“No freaking way. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No? So, what’s with the wink?” Justin asked.

“This.” Nour produced a satellite phone from his pants pocket. “It’s my personal phone, untapped by the embassy. All phones here are monitored, and all calls are recorded. If you use my phone to call Johnson, maybe she’ll twist Matthew’s balls until he agrees to let you go.”

Justin eyes shone.

“Thanks, we appreciate this.” He glanced at the satellite phone. “But, what’s in it for you?”

“For starters, the pleasure of seeing Matthew squirm,” Nour replied with a quiet chuckle. “He can be a real jerk at times, although I understand his hands-off approach. In a few days, he’ll be out of this place, and I’ll still be in charge of the security for American diplomats. I don’t want this place to become more hostile than it already is.”

“Do you really think the Alliance has a chance?” Carrie asked.

“In Libya, everything’s possible,” Nour replied. “The Prime Minister came to power after a civil war that toppled a forty-one-year rule of a strongman, and he may go out in a car bomb.”

Justin weighted the satellite phone in his hand. “You call Johnson.” He handed the phone over to Carrie. “I’m gonna talk to Abdul.”

“I’m starving.” Nour followed Justin to the door. “There’s this place around the corner that makes the best falafels in Tripoli. I can bring you some lunch, since you shouldn’t leave the building.”

“No, but thanks,” Carrie said, “I can’t stomach anything until after I’ve finished reporting to my boss.”

“Is she giving you guys a hard time?”

“Not more than usually,” Justin replied. “After you.” He waited for the American to go through the door. Then, he said to Carrie, “I’ll be back in fifteen or so.”

“I’ll be here, on the phone,” she dragged her words.

“You’re welcome any time,” Justin said. Then, he dropped his voice to a low whisper, “at least she’s not dropping you somewhere you can get killed.”

“Oh, no, not yet,” Carrie replied with a sigh, “but ask me again when you come back. She may have something else in mind.”