Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (28 page)

“Pretty much.”

“Good, ‘cause I have us booked on a 2:00 p.m. flight to Riyadh. Then we’re taking the red-eye to London.”

“What time is it?”

Carrie glanced at her wristwatch. “A little past 10:30 in the morning.”

“Oh, I slept so long. But it was a good sleep. How’s Nathan?”

“Good. He’s downstairs. There’s a shop, sort of a gift store.”

“And the pilot?”

Carrie sat on the stool next to Justin. “Still stable. He hasn’t gotten any better, but he hasn’t gotten any worse either.”

“That’s somewhat good?”

“I guess.” She shrugged, then added, “I talked to McClain last night.”

“And?”

“There’s a breakthrough in the file about the M16s. He’s found intel on how those assault rifles ended up in Yusuf’s hands, but he didn’t want to give me more details on the phone.”

Justin nodded. “Makes sense. We’ll meet him tomorrow and learn everything. Did you tell him about Johnson?”

Carrie did not reply right away.

Justin looked deep into her eyes. “What is it?”

“He’s as shocked as we are to hear those claims. And, of course, he’s pissed off at you.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Still? Did you tell him we got Al-Khaiwani, and we can bring him in?”

“Yes, but it didn’t help. The Yemeni government found the destroyed terrorist camp and is sifting through the ruins.”

“As we left, we blew up the camp. The explosions were gigantic and demolished everything. I thought even our chopper would be impacted by the blast wave.”

“Well, McClain’s is worried they’ll find something implicating us in that operation. To make things worse,
The New York Times
reporter is sniffing very close to our Service. McClain’s is feeling some pressure from the Minister’s office. They’re prying him for answers.”

Justin’s eyes took on a darker shade. “He’s not going to burn me, is he?”

“No, I don’t think so. It wouldn’t help him. Instead, it would cast him in a bad light. But I’m sure the thought has crossed his mind.”

“Can’t wait until we talk to him. Wasn’t there an earlier flight?”

“No, unless you want to call your friend, the Prince. We can borrow one of the King’s private jets.”

Justin smiled. “I think I’ve used all my favor cards with the House of Saud.”

“Plus, the doctors need to make sure you’re fit to fly.”

Justin began to protest, but Carrie stopped him with a hand gesture. “We can’t have a crisis at thirty thousand feet, Justin. And you need to get well, because this is not over.”

Chapter Twenty

Canadian Intelligence Service Headquarters, Ottawa, Canada

September 29, 5:30 p.m. local time

Justin used most of the red-eye flight to pour over the intelligence material secured from Yusuf and Al-Khaiwani. He slept a little in between, just enough to allow his brain to understand the handwritten lines in Arabic and to turn them into the shape of meaningful conversations with Carrie. They dissected the information, hashing and rehashing scenarios, drawing and redrawing conclusions, all in a hushed tone barely over a whisper at the back of the half-empty Airbus A330.

Their plan was crystalized during their six-hour layover in Frankfurt and took its final shape during the intercontinental flight to Ottawa. Much depended on their briefing with McClain and his assessment of their risky tactic. But as far as Justin and Carrie were concerned, they had a plan in place about dealing with Johnson before their Lufthansa airplane touched ground at Ottawa’s Macdonald-Cartier International Airport a little after four o’clock in the afternoon.

Their diplomatic passports got them through customs without a hassle. They hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to CIS Headquarters. McClain had scheduled their meeting at 5:30. Barely enough time to beat the traffic rush.

McClain held meetings in his office only when he wanted to give agents a talk. A talk about how they had disappointed him and the Service, how they had put an agent or an operation in danger, and how they should shape up their performance. Justin had only heard about such meetings. Until now.

McClain’s office was on the fourth floor, the same floor as the Maple Leaf Conference Room where less than a week ago Justin and Carrie had received their instructions about this operation. Instructions that Justin had largely ignored.

Time to face the music,
Justin thought and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Come in,” McClain called.

Justin looked at Carrie standing behind him in the hall.

“You’ll do just fine,” she said. “Just follow the script.”

“I hope so.”

Carrie retreated to a corner by a window and sat on one of the couches, waiting for her turn.

Justin walked in and closed the door behind him.

McClain’s corner office was a large suite, with impressive dark oak furniture. A large desk was the centerpiece, flanked by a large bookshelf to the right and by an L-shaped sofa to the left. The office was well-lighted by two floor-to-ceiling windows. They had bulletproof glass, like all windows in the building and overlooked the park, with magnificent views of the Ottawa’s skyline. But McClain’s desk was set up to ignore the views, not to enjoy them. He was more interested in doing business in his office than staring out the windows.

“Take a seat, Mr. Hall,” McClain said in a cold tone and gestured to the sofa. He was sitting at his desk and was reading from a report.

“Yes, sir.”

Justin sat at one end of the sofa, expecting McClain to get up and sit next to him. McClain did not move, other than closing the folder and folding his hands across his chest.

“How are you doing?” McClain asked in the same tone of voice void of any emotion.

“I’m doing well, sir. Thanks for asking.”

“Glad to hear that. After the mess in Somalia, I was afraid your incursion in Yemen would have catastrophic consequences. I didn’t want to lose one of my best agents.”

An unexpected compliment. Is this supposed to make me drop my guard?

“Thank you, sir. You’re right, the ambush in Somalia was a grave setback.”

McClain nodded. “Whose repercussions are still affecting our operations in that area and elsewhere. The media is close to pointing the finger at us about Birgit and her guards killed in Somalia. The Yemeni government is also blaming us for the operation north of Sa’dah.”

Justin did not say anything and avoided McClain’s piercing eyes.

“Your clear disobedience of a direct order is costing and will cost us a lot of goodwill in the region, Mr. Hall. Many years of hard work to create trusting relationships are now destroyed simply because of the actions of a single man.”

“I understand, sir.”

McClain blinked, then leaned forward. “Do you truly understand it?” he asked, his voice a bit warmer.

“Yes. We had anticipated the turn of events in Somalia. Every operation carries its risks. There are many variables at play, most of them beyond our control. But we could have avoided the situation in Yemen.”

McClain leaned back in his chair. “Yes, if you would have followed your orders. In that case, there would have been no need for Ms. O’Connor and Mr. Smyth to come and rescue your sorry ass.”

Justin put on his best I-am-sorry face. Lips drawn together, head lowered, eyes glued to the floor.

“This will not happen again, Justin. It’s one thing to follow actionable intel and another one to start a new war in the Gulf. You get that?”

Justin nodded. “I do, sir.”

McClain pushed his chair closer to his desk. “OK then, apology accepted. But remember, Justin. This is your second chance. Young people think they’re invincible. They think rules are made for others, not for them. We’ve all been young.”

Justin looked up at McClain’s face. He thought he saw a glint of mischief in his boss’s eyes. McClain had been stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan before retiring to office duties five years ago. Rumors had it McClain had been quite the rebel himself when on the field, not always doing things by the book.

“We haven’t been working together for long, so I’m going to let this one slide. We’ll call it a temporary lapse in judgment. After all, you completed the mission and brought in useful intel. Is that a fair assessment of what took place, for my official report?”

“That’s quite correct, sir,” Justin spoke quickly, jumping to grab the rope McClain was throwing at him.

“All right, you needed backup in the Yemeni op, so I dispatched Nathan and Carrie. By the way, why don’t you call her in?”

“Right away,” Justin stood up and hurried to the door.

He walked in along with Carrie a moment later.

“Sir,” she said while nodding and heading toward the sofa.

“Take a seat here. Both of you.” McClain pointed to two empty seats on the other side of his desk.

Justin took the seat to his right, the one facing directly across from McClain.

“How are you doing, Carrie?”

“Very well, sir. Thank you.”

McClain tapped the folder in front of him. “Nathan’s report on the Yemeni op. Very detailed. I have a few questions, but I’ll wait until I read your two reports. Perhaps I will find my answers there.”

“My report will be on your desk first thing tomorrow morning,” Carrie replied.

“And so will mine,” Justin said. “I want to let you know I talked to my friends at
The New York Times.
They’re running the story about the Americans killed in Somalia, but they’ve agreed not to mention the name of our Service.”

“Very well. then.” McClain set aside the folder. He pulled open one of his desk drawers. “I have some reports about those M16s rifles found in Yusuf’s possession.” He put a set of folders on his desk. “According to British intelligence sources from Yemen and Qatar, their serial numbers matched a shipment sent about three months ago from the US to Qatar. They were intended for the UN-backed African Union peacekeeping force in Somalia.”

“Oh, so there you have CIA’s explanation,” Justin said.

McClain said, “Which is?”

“Al-Shabaab militants clashed with AU troops somewhere in Somalia, and the booty included these rifles.”

McClain smiled. “Good thinking,” he said, pointing his index finger at Justin. “But according to these documents, a larger shipment including those weapons and sniper rifles and machine guns is still supposed to be in a warehouse in Qatar.”

“Let me guess the name of the warehouse owner,” Carrie said. “Rashed bin Hussein Hamidi.”

McClain nodded. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you broke into my office and read these files.”

Carrie grinned.

“The warehouse is not important. At least not at this time. And you’re not going back to the Gulf anyway. Not any time soon. You don’t have to,” said McClain.

“No reason to do that. Hamidi’s associates will claim the guns were stolen from one of their trucks or some other bullshit story like that,” Justin said.

“Yes, claiming this is all a mistake,” McClain said. “But the report gets interesting when it comes to Yusuf. About three months ago, two days before the shipment was sent, Yusuf comes to the US.”

“What?” asked Carrie.

“Yes. Through Dulles International.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Justin said.

“No, I’m dead serious.” McClain handed over the report.

Justin flipped through its pages.

“Our friend stays in the US for just a day, then leaves the same way he came. The day after that, the shipment is sent to Qatar. Coincidence?”

“I think not.” Justin shook his head.

“It’s impossible for a terrorist to strut through the front door, and for CIA to have no idea about what’s taking place right under their noses,” said Carrie.

“Unless CIA is a part of this whole story,” McClain said.

“How? Yusuf works for them?” Justin asked.

“CIA will never tell us. They rejected the idea they even knew Yusuf was an American citizen. Of course, Adams called my allegations absurd and did not want to entertain the notion CIA may have made any mistakes in this operation.”

Justin leaned back on his chair and rubbed his chin.

“What?” McClain asked.

“It’s a waste of time to press the CIA. They’ll stick to their guns. I might need to go to Moscow. Visit an old friend, well, contact.” He looked at Carrie, then at McClain.

“Romanov?” McClain asked.

“Yes. He owes me an explanation about the half-truths of the Yemeni op. Hamidi was his partner in their arms trade. Romanov may be willing to give me some information after screwing me over in Yemen.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Carrie said.

McClain considered Justin’s proposal for a moment. He fidgeted with a pen on his desk. “Is Romanov in Moscow?”

“Yes, I checked. He’s there over the next three days. Meetings with oil executives from the States and throwing a couple of parties. It shouldn’t be a problem for our tech guys to add us to one of the guest lists,” Justin said with a grin.

“OK,” McClain said after what seemed like a very long pause, “set out for Moscow tomorrow morning. Both of you. But no shooting anyone. Just talk to him.”

“Will do,” Justin said.

Carrie nodded.

McClain let out a loud sigh. “Now, we’ve got to deal with Ms. Johnson.”

Justin frowned at the mention of her name. “I have an idea about this as well, sir.”

“I was afraid of that.” McClain groaned. “Let’s hear it.”

“We still haven’t made any progress in identifying the traitor, but now we have a name. We should wiretap Johnson’s home and office phones, cellphones, tablets, mail box, whatever she uses for communication. We should have two teams follow her at all times. If she’s the mole, she’ll make a mistake, and when she does, we’ll have people in place to document it.”

McClain nodded. “Go on.”

Justin shifted in his chair. “Here’s the kicker. Since we haven’t located where the data is transmitted from and the information from Al-Khaiwani doesn’t reveal that, we need to bait Johnson. We should give the data-stealing software some accurate intel about an operation and see if the intel makes it to Johnson and to whom she forwards that intel. If that happens, we’ve established the connection, and we have the evidence to put her away for treason.”