Arctic Wargame (Justin Hall # 1) (37 page)

“Hey, you finally made it.” Carrie tossed her reading glasses over one of the open folders. She tilted her head back, stretching her neck muscles. Her auburn shoulder-length hair, which she usually kept in a semi-ponytail, flowed down her slender neck. “What took you so long?”

“Trying to shake what I thought was a tail. A couple of guys who turned out to be nobody.”

“Well, double-checking never hurt anyone.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it. Still hot out there, eh?” She pointed to the soggy shirt stuck to his chest. A trickle of sweat had made its way down his neck.

“Hell on Earth. Ninety degrees in the shade.”

He placed his coffee cup on the table and stumbled onto an empty chair across from her. He took a deep breath, enjoying the cool breeze flowing down from the air conditioner mounted on the wall.

“Did you see a white Ford downstairs?” Justin asked.

“No. Nothing there when I came in.”

“Rahim hadn’t checked it out, but he’s sending Nebibi now.”

“OK, let’s hope it’s nothing.”

Justin dabbed his face with a Kleenex. “Where did Team One lose Sheikh Ayman?”

“We didn’t
lose
him. Johnson ordered us
not
to make contact, just track his movements, which we did. Sheikh Ayman arrived at Terminal 3 of Cairo International. Then he boarded a Sudan Airways flight bound for Khartoum.”

Claire Johnson was the CIS Director General of Intelligence, the North Africa Division and their boss. Johnson’s reputation within the CIS was that of a meticulously thorough individual. Terrified of committing a career-ending blunder, Johnson displayed a certain amount of sluggishness that crippled field agents. They joked that she was more efficient at witch hunting than terrorist hunting, as scapegoating often resulted from botched operations in her division.

Justin chewed on Carrie’s words. The sheikh’s departure aboard a regular commercial flight meant he was not hiding from Egyptian authorities.

“If mukhabarat is looking everywhere for the sheikh and his brotherhood, how come he can sneak right under their noses?” Carrie asked as if reading Justin’s mind.

“I was thinking that too. The short answer: he’s the sheikh and this is Cairo. The sheikh’s men are everywhere, even inside mukhabarat. They may be looking for him, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to find him. And according to the Egyptians, the sheikh is only
allegedly
linked to the Alliance.”

“
Allegedly? Allegedly?
What more do they want? A written and signed confession saying I am the second-in-command of Islamic Fighting Alliance?” Carrie clenched her fists.

Justin stood up. “It’s more complicated than that. The government is fragile, unable to defeat the militants by force, at least at this time. Maybe after the elections.”

“Oh, that’s months away.” Carrie sighed.

“That’s why we usually don’t accept
support
from the secret police. There’s too much to lose by sharing intel with mukhabarat.”

Justin unfastened his holster and placed it on the table. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, along with his bulletproof vest. He felt Carrie’s admiring eyes. He thought he saw her cringe as he turned around, knowing she would never get used to the sight of three deep scars, almost eight inches long, carved along his shoulder blades. They were reminders of the time he was captured in Libya after a hostage rescue operation that went wrong.

Justin fetched a short-sleeve shirt from a white cabinet by the door. The shirt smelled of bleach. It seemed Rahim had forgotten to ask his wife, who often did their laundry, not to use chlorine. Justin sighed as he noticed a slight bleeding of his favorite navy blue shirt.

“Did any of the sheikh’s men come back to the Fairmont?” He returned to his seat and took a big gulp of coffee.

“Yes, one of his bodyguards. He retrieved the armored Mercedes from the valet parking. I have the address of the house where he dropped it off.” Carrie tapped one of the folders.

“The sheikh’s abrupt, but not secret departure, is unusual. Why leave in such a hurry and without giving a reason? What’s so urgent? Is he afraid of something? He’s protected in Egypt. There’s nothing to fear.”

“Well, maybe there is
something
to fear.”

“If so, it has to be something big. Something powerful for the sheikh to abandon our long-planned meeting.”

Their meeting had been in the works for over a month. In late March, intermediaries of the Alliance contacted the CIS Cairo Station, seeking a meeting with them. Johnson initially had chosen another team of agents to handle this case, suspecting the militant was a low-level soldier. Once the identity of the senior leader requesting the meeting became known, Johnson insisted Justin organize all aspects of the operation. His presence became even more essential when they learned Sheikh Ayman held information about an assassination plot against a Western head of state.

“What do you think spooked him?” Carrie asked.

“I don’t know. Very few things would scare someone like Sheikh Ayman.”

“Will he reschedule our meeting?”

“I hope so.”

While the location and the time of their meeting were determined two weeks ago, they knew nothing about the specifics of the assassination or the intended target.

“I just don’t want it to take place in Sudan.”

“Hey, why not? It’s easier to bag him down there,” Carrie replied with a wide grin.

Kidnapping or eliminating the sheikh had crossed his mind too, albeit as a fleeting thought. Sudan was a lawless land and the perfect place for such a hit. The zeal in Carrie’s voice did not surprise him either. According to her, the most efficient solution to a problem was often also the most extreme. The one she always favored.

“That’s not our mission,” Justin said.

Carrie shook her head in resignation.

Justin walked over to one of the windows that overlooked the Fairmont VIP entrance and the Nile. Glowing lights from towering buildings shone from Giza, a suburb of the capital across the river. A constant stream of cars rushed through the top level of the Imbaba Bridge that connected the two parts of Cairo, their headlights flickering through the heavy smog. Justin hated the Imbaba Bridge. In fact, he hated all bridges. It was a bridge that shattered his life when he was only eleven years old.

Justin took the last sip of his coffee. He stepped closer to the other window, facing the apartment building across the alley. On a second floor apartment, two lights were on. They were almost in a clear line of sight to their room. Justin squinted and saw the silhouette of a man wandering around in the living room. A television set was flickering in one of the corners. A knock on the door startled him, and Justin turned around.

“It’s me,” Rahim said, “I brought the mezze.”

“Come in,” Justin said.

Rahim walked in, holding a round tray with pita and garlic bread, pickled olives, slices of cucumbers, and a few bread dips. Carrie began to make room on the table for their supper when a bullet pierced the window glass and slammed into Rahim’s chest. The man tumbled to his knees. The small plates of food flew across the table.

“Get down, get down,” Justin shouted. Carrie had already hit the floor, her hand clenching her pistol.

A short burst of gunfire exploded, breaking the other window. Sharp slivers of glass rained over the agents’ shoulders.

“Two shooters!” Carrie shouted.

Justin nodded, reaching for his Browning pistol. He cocked it and held it tightly in front of his face.

“You can handle them?” Justin asked as he stared at Rahim. A dip dish still swirled next to Rahim’s lifeless face.

“Yeah, I got them,” Carrie replied.

“Cover me and watch your head.”

He crawled to the door and ran outside.

* * *

As soon as the gunfire paused for a brief second, Carrie took a quick peek over the shredded windowsill. A gun muzzle flash betrayed one of the shooters’ location. She squeezed her trigger. She ducked as bullets sailed past her head. A few long moments dragged on. She lay low, her chest heaving with each quick breath. The gunfire stopped for a second. She looked up just long enough to fire the rest of her magazine. Once she heard the dull clink of her empty gun, she slid in a fresh magazine. She leaned against the wall and listened. Chaotic screams and rushing footsteps came from the street, but no more gunshots.

Carrie looked out of the window. A car engine roared and tires screeched. Down on the street, Justin chased a white Ford, shooting even as he ran to keep up with the car. Despite his torrent of bullets that riddled the runaway target, the Ford rounded the corner and disappeared behind the grocery store. Justin, gun in hand, stood alone in the middle of the alley.

* * *

Carrie walked outside to meet Justin. She stepped cautiously around a body lying halfway through the entrance to the apartment building. She noticed an AK-47 by the man’s hand and her eyes rested on the wound in his neck. Justin had fired kill shots. Most of their targets wore bulletproof vests, so they rarely aimed at their chests. After a couple of clashes with mercenaries in the Niger River Delta swamps two years ago, they almost gave up shooting at the heads of their enemies. Kevlar helmets were becoming increasingly resistant to small arms fire.

“There’s another body upstairs in the hall,” Justin said, drawing nearer to her.

Carrie nodded. “Is this the work of the Alliance?”

“If it is, it’s lousy at best.” Justin looked at the dead man.

“Did you get the men in the Ford?”

“Yes, I’m sure I got the woman passenger on the shoulder.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah.”

Carrie raised her hand and touched Justin’s bristly face. A reddish stain appeared on her fingers trailing over his chin. “You’re wounded?”

“Slivers. My favorite shirt is ruined though.” He ran his hand over his chest. “That’s Rahim’s blood.”

“If Rahim had checked the Ford, maybe this would have not happened.”

“If
I
would have checked it, this would
not
have happened.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility. It was his. You can’t do everyone’s job.”

“Maybe Rahim didn’t want to check the Ford.”

Carrie’s gray-blue eyes narrowed. “He wanted this to happen?”

“Well, not the part where he died.”

She glanced back at the Castle. Some of its patrons had run away. A few curious souls peered from behind the windows. She scanned the windows and balconies of the apartment building. Narrowed eyes of some of the residents glared in their direction. An old woman screamed at them in Arabic. A dog howl cut through the hot, heavy air.

Justin was staring at the dead man.

“What is it?” Carrie asked.

“I wonder if this is why the sheikh disappeared.”

“You mean he lured us for a meeting and set up an ambush? That is, if Rahim gave us up.”

“Yes, and before the ambush, the sheikh disappears.”

“Uh-uh, the sheikh needs no alibi. It has to be something else.”

Justin nodded and checked the magazine of his pistol. Four bullets left.

“You’re right. But this was no coincidence either.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll find out.”

“You’re right about that too. Whoever it is, they made a grave mistake putting us in their crosshairs.”

* * *

“Tell me what you see.” The man passed his binoculars to the driver.

He took the Bushnell binoculars and peered through it. The powerful magnification produced a sharp close-up image even through the BMW’s windshield. They had a clear view of the entrance to the Castle coffee shop from the Nile City Fairmont parking lot.

“He’s standing outside the shop, talking to the woman,” the driver said.

The man shook his gray-haired head.

“No, you see two brave soldiers ready for a fight.”

His voice showed clear disappointment. After so many years in the Islamic Fighting Alliance, the driver still failed to see beyond what was in front of his eyes. “They still have their weapons drawn?”

“They do,” the driver replied.

“Our men have become martyrs now.” The man’s voice held no regret. “Good thing they were our least talented shooters. They served their purpose.”

“You don’t think we went too far?” The driver raised the binoculars to his eyes. Justin and Carrie were now pacing in front of the Castle.

“No. We want to make this fight personal. Revenge is a powerful motivator. In this way, they’ll be more eager. More dedicated. That’s exactly what we want.”

Faint police sirens sounded in the distance.

“I’ve seen enough. Let’s go,” the man ordered his driver while looking to his right for police cars. “It’s time to brief Sheikh Ayman and play our next card.”

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