Tripoli's Target

Epilogue

Justin nursed his water bottle, patiently waiting for Carrie to return from her phone call. Thomas had just called and their plane for Toronto was not leaving for another hour. If it were up to her, Carrie would talk to her boyfriend for that entire hour.

“Eh, there you are,” Abdul shouted from across the departure hall. A few passengers looked up with curiously mixed with annoyance at the loud interruption.

“Hey, Chief,” Justin greeted him once Abdul was a couple of feet away, “or should I say General?”

“Shhhh, don’t use that word.” Abdul sat next to Justin. “After the plot, the Prime Minister hates generals.” His eyes darted around the hall for anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. “Conspirators were everywhere, in the Assembly, the Ministry of Defense, everywhere. However, after they learned the attempt on the Prime Minister’s life failed, they mounted very little resistance. A few of the Alliance fighters were able to leave the country, though.”

“So, what was your reward for all your hard work?”

“I got the position of Colonel Haydar. You’re talking to the new chief of the Counter Terrorism Branch for Tripoli.”

“That’s great. Congrats.”

“It was thanks to you.”

“No. Your put your life on the line. It’s the least the Prime Minister can do for you.”

Abdul nodded and patted Justin on his shoulder.

“Did you find Colonel Haydar’s body?” Justin asked.

“No. I don’t think we’ll ever find it, but we’ll keep looking.”

Justin nodded.

“But we found Tarek’s body.”

“You did?” Justin asked with excitement. “Tell me he’s really dead.”

“Dead and rotting. Someone obviously retrieved his body from the scene of that attack but never got around to burying it.”

“I’m glad you found him.”

“This morning I got an important call,” Abdul said. “Guess who it was?”

“The Prime Minister?”

“No, he called yesterday. I’ll give you a hint. It’s a prince.”

“Oh, that’s really helpful.”

“A Saudi prince.”

“That narrows it down to about five thousand.”

“Someone very close to Prince Al-Farhan.”

“Now you’re making it too easy. It was one of his brothers, Prince Fouad bin Al-Farhan.”

Abdul peered curiously at Justin. “How did you…”

“I know because he called me too. Thanked me for saving Sameer and told me he’s going to take care of the kid.”

“Did he make you an offer you were tempted to accept?”

“Yeah, he offered to make a small donation to a charity of my choice.”

“I was so close to saying ‘yes’ when he made me the ten million dollar offer.”

“But I’m glad you said ‘no.’”

Abdul nodded. “I don’t want to be in debt to anyone,” he said quietly.

“Neither do I. How is Nour doing?”

“Stable. You know, he came out of his coma yesterday.”

“Yes. I saw him last night before leaving Tripoli. I also talked to Matthew, who said they found the mole in the White House admin. Remember, we were wondering how all that information about the US President’s schedule got out? Some intern in human resources was working for one of the Prince’s associates in the States.”

“That’s good.”

Justin took another sip of his water. Then, he glanced at his watch and at the television screen mounted to the ceiling ten feet away. It was tuned to CNN.

“You shouldn’t miss this.” Justin drew Abdul’s attention to the news edition, about to start in a few seconds.

“What, American politics?”

“Be quiet and listen.”

The anchorwoman, a voluptuous blonde, opened up the newscast with breaking news. In a clear, solemn, yet somber tone, she read from the teleprompter. “The identity of a senior official with the Canadian Intelligence Service was revealed in today’s edition of The New York Times.” The screen switched to a picture of Johnson. “Ms. Claire Johnson, the CIS Director General of Intelligence for the Western and North Africa Division, is suspected of leaking information about covert operations to secret intelligence agencies of several countries, including the CIA. The latest of these leaks surrounds the alleged assassination attempt on the US President during her trip to attend the G-20 meeting in Tripoli, Libya.”

“I can’t believe you did this.” Abdul’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“I offered Johnson an exit option. She didn’t take it.”

“She’ll have to retire?”

“Absolutely. She’s burned. She has to go away. For good.”

“But won’t the CIS inquiry link you to this leak?”

“The inquiry will show I had a disagreement with Johnson on how she handled certain aspects of our operations. However, this job was done by someone else.”

“Who?”

Justin smiled. “Someone the CIS won’t find.”

Abdul did not insist. Justin wanted to tell Abdul how the Mossad had agreed to leak the information about Johnson to their trusted sources in The New York Times. The price Justin had to pay for this leak was not cheap. He had to confirm that Prince Al-Farhan, one of the most wanted people on the Mossad’s hit list, was terminated. The laptop of Prince’s aide, Zakir, contained a recording of all the events taking place aboard the Prince’s Boeing 707. The paranoid Prince and his cameras installed everywhere. I just hope that recording doesn’t end up on YouTube or Wikileaks.

“Hi, guys,” Carrie said in a bubbly voice. Her face radiated with happiness. “Guess what Thomas did?”

“Really? He proposed? That’s wonderful,” Justin said.

“Yes, he just did. On the phone… but he did it.”

She held Justin close in a tight embrace, under the gawking eyes of Abdul.

“Congratulations,” he told her when she sat next to them. “When’s the big day?”

“Oh, we haven’t gone that far.”

Her voice faded as she looked at her leather briefcase on the floor.

“There are so many things to do.” Her left hand rested over the briefcase handle.

Justin understood her concern. Abdul did not. “Yes, yes,” Abdul said, “a wedding has so many preparations. The dress, the place, the guest lists, the photographer…”

Carrie tuned him out. She was tempted to open her briefcase and look again at the photograph of which every detail was engraved in her memory. Last night she had received an envelope sent from Romanov. It contained a single photograph of a wooden cross placed upon a tomb. The inscription on the cross read: O’Connor. An address was scribbled on the back. Northern Grozny, Chechnya. If this is Romanov’s idea of a sick joke, I’m going to kill the bastard, Carrie had thought more than once. But deep down she felt the photograph was real. She just hoped the tomb contained her father, the man she had searched for most of her life. After I see mom and Susan, it’s time to visit Grozny.

“Is it time to go?” She looked at her wristwatch, in order to hide her watery eyes rather than check out the time.

“Yes, we should go,” Justin said with a nod.

“When will you be back?” Abdul asked.

“Oh, I’m planning on taking a long break.”

“Vacations in some place warm?”

“That too. But first I need to attend to some family affairs.”

“Family affairs? I thought you said you had no family.”

“I do have a family now,” Justin said.

“Eventually, he’ll go sailing with Anna.” Carrie smiled.

“Yes, I should do that. If she finds out I went to France without her, I’ll be in big trouble.”

“So, everything is well now?”

“Oh, yeah. She’ll be glad to finally see me.”

Justin stood up and stretched his hand toward Abdul. “Goodbye, my friend.”

Abdul spread his arms and hugged Justin. “Be safe.” A moment later he added, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope to see you soon.”

“We’ll miss you, Abdul,” Carrie said, as Abdul embraced her as well. “Thanks for everything.”

Justin pulled the handle of his suitcase. Carrie picked up her briefcase.

“Time flies,” Justin said, “but it won’t be long before we’re back.”