Tripoli's Target

Chapter Two

George Patterson was struggling to establish a videoconference connection with the CIS headquarters in Ottawa. He kept pressing keyboard buttons and plugging and unplugging wires into the back of his laptop. Despite his efforts, no images appeared on the plasma screen of the Maple Leaf Conference Room.

George was the CIS Cairo Station Chief and Justin’s direct supervisor, at least in terms of administration. For operations work, Justin and Carrie still reported to Claire Johnson. They had returned to their jobs with the Cairo Station last year, after a CIS internal inquiry had cleared them of any misconduct during a hostage rescue operation in Libya. The inquiry was completed right after the Arctic Wargame mission that almost claimed their lives.

Sitting across the square table from George, Justin mulled over the evening’s events. As soon as Carrie had finished retrieving all their documents and gear from the Castle, the mukhabarat arrived at the scene. Of course they did not buy the agents’ implausible cover story, according to which two employees of the Canadian Cultural Agency in Egypt had survived a shootout with barely a scratch. Justin and Carrie claimed they found the guns in the coffee shop where they were having dinner and used them in self-defense. Their explanation was unlikely, but that was their cover story and they were going to stick to it. The mukhabarat confiscated their guns and interrogated them for a few minutes. Once Justin produced two Canadian diplomatic passports, the mukhabarat had little choice but to escort them to their embassy.

The Canadian Embassy was in the lush neighborhood of Garden City, one of the safest neighborhoods in the capital. It was always crawling with Egyptian uniformed police, security contractors, and secret agents. The CIS station occupied several offices in the east wing of the embassy. It had its own entrance, parking lot, and security system. The station served the intelligence and operative needs of the entire North Africa. It was run in a quasi-independent manner from the rest of the embassy — mainly for “plausible deniability” purposes — but still under the umbrella of diplomatic immunity.

“Here, I think I got something,” George said as a bright blue light flashed on the plasma screen.

“Great,” Carrie replied with a sigh. Sitting next to Justin, she was impatiently drumming her fingers on the edge of the desk, swinging in her swivel chair. “That was only what, ten minutes?”

George ignored her and clicked a few more buttons. Then he proudly pressed the Enter key. The image on the screen changed. The three of them gazed at Johnson’s long and narrow face, distorted because of how she hunched over the camera at her work station.

“Hello, Ms. Johnson, can you hear me?” George asked.

“Yes, yes, I can hear you. I’ve been waiting here for a while.”

“Hmmm, we had some technical difficulties with the connection, but, we’re, eh… we’re good to go now.”

“All right. I see you have Justin and Carrie there. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re fine,” Justin said.

“Everything’s good,” Carrie added with a nod.

“OK, now tell me what happened exactly? Your e-mail was quite short.” Johnson spread her hands.

“We were at the Castle conducting surveillance when we were ambushed.” Justin leaned over his folded hands with his elbows resting on the table.

“I know that much already,” Johnson said.

“Those are all the facts we have so far. I suspect the shooters were from the Alliance, since Cairo has always been their home.”

“The Alliance?” Johnson asked. “Why the ambush if their sheikh was meeting with us?” She frowned while pondering the answer.

“One possibility is that the ambush was the purpose of this so-called ‘meeting,’ to lure us into their trap,” Justin said.

He glanced at Carrie and his eyes caught a slight jerk of her left hand. He nodded for her to speak her mind.

“One theory is that Rahim sold us out and helped stage the attack,” Carrie said.

“Really? What evidence do you have for that?” Johnson asked.

Carrie shrugged. “None, it’s a theory.”

“I noticed a suspicious car parked by the Castle and asked Rahim to check it out,” Justin added. “Two of the shooters escaped using the same car.”

Johnson absorbed the information. “So Rahim never checked the car?”

“He sent his nephew, presumably.”

Johnson did not ask why Justin was not sure if Rahim’s nephew had searched the car. She probably concluded he disappeared or died before I could talk to him, Justin thought.

“Who is dead?” asked Johnson.

“Rahim, his nephew, and two shooters. I also wounded one of the passengers as the car sped away. She should die soon, if she’s not already dead.”

Johnson’s eyes remained still despite the coldness in Justin’s voice.

“I don’t get it,” Johnson said, “if Rahim, and maybe his nephew, sold us out, how come they’re both dead?”

“I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Justin said. “They both got popped during the shootout. I can’t really tell whether if it was by error or on purpose.”

Johnson nodded and a few strands of her gray hair came loose. “I want you to find out the identities of these shooters and their motives,” she said softly, removing a pin from her hair and fixing her stubborn curls. “Then—”

A knock on her office door interrupted her.

“Yes, come in.” Johnson turned to her left.

A man’s voice could be heard, but he was outside the camera’s angle, and his words were unintelligible. But Justin could read Johnson’s facial expression. It went from shock to awe and then to doubt in a matter of seconds. Before he could ask anything, she said, “Justin, I’ve got to check something urgent here. I’ll put you on hold for a few seconds, OK?”

“That’s fine,” Justin said. He had no other option.

“Yes, we’ll be here waiting,” George added but Johnson tapped a key and the screen turned black.

“Did you see that?” Justin asked.

“No, what was it?” George said.

Carrie nodded at Justin’s question. “The news they just gave Johnson,” she explained for George. “From the look on her face, it can’t be good.”

“Well, now she’s gonna take forever to analyze it, so I’m out of here.” Justin stood up and pushed back his chair. “If it’s going to be a long night, I need some coffee.”

George raised his hands. “Wait, what if she comes back on the line while you’re gone?”

Justin shrugged. “You’re the boss. Tell her I had to step out for a minute. But I’ll be back before she does.”

“Wait up,” Carrie said, “I’ll get some tea.”

George sighed. “OK, let’s all take a five minute break.”

“Hi, boss.” Justin pushed the door with his elbow, since he was carrying a coffee cup in each hand. “She’s still not back?” His question pointed out the obvious as the plasma screen showed no image.

George replied with a headshake.

“This is yours. Black.” Justin placed one of the cups next to George’s laptop before returning to his seat.

“Oh, thanks.” George lifted the cup and took a large sip.

“Hey,” Carrie said as she entered in with a teacup in her hands. “How much longer you think?”

George opened his mouth to venture a guess, but the image of Johnson returned to the screen. Her face looked paler and her eyes had sunk deeper into their sockets. “Hello, can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, we hear you,” George said.

“I’m afraid I have bad news. There has been a series of explosions, car bombs in Tripoli, Libya, about twenty minutes ago.”

“What?” Justin and Carrie asked almost at the same time and exchanged confused glances.

“Yes. The information we’re receiving is still unconfirmed, but it seems four cars exploded close to major hotels in downtown Tripoli.”

“Casualty count?” asked Carrie.

“In the tens, I guess. We don’t have much intel yet, but we’re trying to—”

Justin slammed his fist on the table. He startled not only Carrie and George, but also Johnson, who stopped talking. “That’s why the sheikh left in such a hurry, to escape the Libyan mukhabarat.”

The Libyan mukhabarat was as notorious as its Egyptian counterpart for its powerful revenge, which extended well beyond Libya’s national borders. The looming backlash was more than a match for the Alliance and its leaders.

“Very good, Justin,” Johnson said with a nod. “It is exactly so, confirmed by the sheikh himself. We just received word from him.”

George let out a gasp, while Justin shook his head. Carrie kept her poker face on as she jotted down notes in her notebook.

“The sheikh denied the Tripoli bombing was the work of the Islamic Fighting Alliance,” Johnson said.

“Really?” Justin asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did he also deny his men ambushed us tonight?”

“No, he took full responsibility for that attack. However, the intended targets were, let me find it…” Johnson shuffled papers on her desk and found her glasses. She began to read from one of the many documents covering her workspace. “Yes, the targets were ‘despicable collaborators of the infidels.’ I’m assuming that was Rahim and his nephew.”

“Very convenient,” Carrie said.

Johnson slid her glasses to the tip of her nose. “These words came through the sheikh’s messenger. It doesn’t mean I believe them. In any case, the sheikh still wants a meeting.”

“No freaking way,” George mumbled just loud enough for Justin and Carrie to hear him.

“This time he’s offering the guarantee of his personal honor to protect his guests,” Johnson continued.

“When and where?” Justin’s eyes flared up.

“He insists the information about the assassination plot is time-sensitive, and he would like to meet tomorrow morning, in Sudan.”

Justin frowned. “Sudan?”

“I’m assuming it’s because of Tripoli,” Johnson replied.

Justin bit his lip. Sheikh Ayman was luring them into the deadly no man’s land. Sudan’s deserts had been the breeding ground of rebellion, civil wars, kidnappings, human trafficking, and all kinds of smuggling for decades. Refusing the sheikh’s invitation, especially after the ambush, would make the CIS appear weak. Justin had spent a long time building his own reputation, and that of the CIS, as brave and fearless. They were not going to start backing down now. He had been to Sudan three times. And had come back unharmed.

He looked to his left at a tense Carrie. Her hand was pulling on the handle of her teacup as if it were a gun trigger. Let’s do it, her blazing eyes told him.

“Do you have the meeting coordinates?” Justin asked.

“Yes. I’ll get them to you.”

“Excuse my interruption,” George said. His voice came out dry and staccato. He coughed then resumed his thought, “but sending a team to Sudan is the same as suicide.”

A wrinkle the size of the Grand Canyon appeared on Johnson’s forehead. She lifted her glasses and peered at George.

“George, let me tell you something.” Johnson’s frown melted and her voice turned soft, taking on a motherly tone. “Cairo is deadly. Sudan is deadly. All of North Africa is a death trap. The whole world is a dangerous place, George, especially for secret agents.” Johnson sighed. Her left hand jerked in a dismissive gesture. “I appreciate your concern, though.” Her voice returned to her normal tone. “Your objection to this mission is duly noted. And overruled.” Johnson’s past as a judge often returned in the form of legal jargon whenever she whipped her subordinates like she used to lash at contemptuous counselors in her courtroom.

“Justin and Carrie,” she continued, “our contacts in the Egyptian Air Force should be able to provide you a safe passage across the border and a safe insertion into Sudan. I’ll get in touch with them.”

Justin nodded.

“The sheikh’s message indicates the drop-off area is about sixty miles south of the Egyptian border. We need to find a neutral intermediary escort to take you to the meeting place.”

Justin pondered the possibilities. The escort would have to be a local warlord with great authority in the area. But his authority could not be too strong, or the sheikh might consider it a threat to his own safety.

Justin nodded. “I know a few people, gunrunners in the area. The name of Ali Abd Alraheem comes to mind. If he’s still alive.”

“I don’t recall him.” Johnson rubbed her temples.

“I last worked with him three years ago.”

“OK, see if he can serve as the go-between and let me know. The sheikh expects an answer in the next hour.”

“He will get one.”

“How do we know we can trust this man, Ali?” George asked.

Justin said, “We don’t know and we can’t trust. Unless a man has taken a bullet for you, never put your trust in them. You’ll be disappointed and you could end up dead. I have worked with Ali but we’re still going down there with eyes wide open.”

A moment later, a stern frown covered his face.

“What is it, Justin?” Johnson asked.

“The change of plans and this detour.”

“Take care of this matter and then you’re off to your sailboat,” Johnson said, faking a smile.

“Yeah, my deposit is nonrefundable,” Justin replied with a grin.

He could not care less about the three-thousand dollar deposit for the forty-two-foot cutter. Justin was worried about disappointing Anna, his fiancée, whom he had promised a ten-day sail in the Caribbean on the eve of her thirtieth birthday. Anna used to work for CIS Legal Services in Ottawa, and their bond was forged during the eventful Arctic Wargame operation. To avoid any conflicts of interest, Anna had moved on to become an in-house counsel for the Canadian bivision of Vigorsoul Pharmaceuticals. Two weeks away from her desk almost never happened.

“If you’re quick, you can wrap this up by tomorrow at noon,” Johnson said.

“I’m planning to,” Justin said.

“When’s your flight out of Cairo?”

“6:00 p.m.”

“Yeah, you can make it.”

Justin nodded. “Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so. Let me know when you’ve heard from Ali, or if not from him, your other contacts on the ground.”

“By all means,” Justin replied.

“Perfect.”

Johnson turned off the satellite feed and the screen went black.

George signed them out of the connection with a big sigh. “What was that? You have a death wish?”

“Relax, George,” Carrie said. “Nobody’s going to die. Well, at least we’re not.”

“You’re crazy, going all alone into the lion’s den.”

“Listen, the sheikh could have killed us today, if that’s what he wanted,” Justin said calmly. “I don’t think we’ll be of much use to him dead. He wants to talk. We want to listen.”

“We’ll fly down there and learn about this assassination plot,” Carrie said.

George threw his arms up in the air. “Do as you wish,” he said. Then he added with a sigh, “The two of you always do.”

Justin stood up. “Thanks, boss. We’ll bring back the intel. Now I’ve got to get in touch with Ali and finish making preps. Carrie, we’ll leave ASAP.”

“I’m ready,” she said and gulped down the rest of her tea. She placed down the cup on the table. “I’m ready.”